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They’re no better, essentially. Just another organization willing to do what it takes to survive.
I’m merely banking on the fact they have a soul. A moral conscience. Humanity.
More than I can say for the Creed family.
“Our concerns are that if we take you in,” Tyke explains, “it places us in a certain position with the cartel.”
Cartel. I’d never heard Connor’s family described that way, but I suppose it makes sense. The word cartel always conjured cliché images of Colombian men with guns, guarding an outpost in the jungle somewhere. But I guess they come in all shapes and sizes. Even those cut from the finest cloth of upper-class, white America.
“We operate on a do-not-disturb style agreement with them,” Tyke continues. “They stay out of our business; we stay out of theirs. Holding you here muddies that line.”
“I understand.” I swallow, focus on my hands, and remind myself that there’ll be another way.
I’m not ready to give up.
“We need time to talk about this. Discuss the potential fallout when and if we take this on.” Tyke leans forward, softening hisgaze as he implores from beneath hooded eyes. “Understand that it’s not about you, this decision, Rae. It’s about us.”
“I appreciate you doing this much already.”I will not cry. I will not cry.
I’m alone in my greatest time of need—again. I can’t pretend that the familiar barb of disappointment doesn’t cut deep into my already wounded and guarded heart.
“Digger will take you home. We’ll vote on this tomorrow when Rigs gets back.” Tyke sets the redundant notebook on the table with a sigh. “I’ll let Maddie know what’s happening.”
“We’ll tell you what we’ve decided when it’s done,” Digger offers, rising from his seat.
I nod, afraid that if I open my mouth to voice my thanks again, nothing will surface but the despair that grips its icy hands around my lungs and throat.
The men all sit in amicable silence as I’m led from the room, a mixture of pitying and suspicious stares on their hardened faces.
They’re the officers of an outlaw motorcycle club. Men who’ve seen this situation—if not some version of it—before. They know how this plays out. They know the consequences, and they know the game.
I don’t even know if I’ll wake up tomorrow morning.
I’ve never felt so fucking in the dark in my goddamn life.
4
DIGGER
The reservation wasin each jerk of the woman’s body as we rode toward her residence in the heart of town. Hands gripped around the edge of the seat, she refused to touch me. Every downshift, every brake I made, she stiffened, her body taut behind me in order not to align us any more than necessary.
It fucked me off, no end.
“If that asshole shows up, you give Maddie a call,” I instruct after we pull up outside her place.
Rae nods, settling the spare helmet on the seat before deciding better of it and lifting it into her hands again, searching for a sturdier place.
I take the lid from her and stash it on my handlebars for later. “He have a key?” I nod toward the above garage apartment she rents from Brawny Michelson, a retired carpenter who I remember fixing our house as a kid.
“Connor?” She frowns, studying the same windows I do as though viewing her safe haven through new eyes. “No. He doesn’t.”
Not that it would stop the little shit. “I’ll check things out.”
She hustles to catch up as I cross the street, babbling some shit about not needing me to and how she’ll be okay. Like she has so far, I bet.
“I’d feel better if I did,” I explain, standing aside to let her go up the external staircase first. “If he has the kahunas to fuckin’ sit around outside your work, he wouldn’t think twice about comin’ here.”
Rae climbs with a sigh, hand resting on the weathered rail. Peeling paint reveals cracked timber, the rough edges fucking asking to give her a splinter. Not that she seems to care. Rae gets to the door at the top and retrieves a single key on a chain from the front pocket of her backpack.
