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Hawk pulled out a chair and sat down. “So, you’re going to sit here and get drunk and wonder why you didn’t just ask her for the truth?”
“I didn’t want the truth,” Easy admitted. “The truth is I was looking for a way out. And I found one. She could have told me it was all bullshit. I wouldn’t have believed her, because I didn’t want to believe her. I didn’t want to believe in her.”
Easy leaned back in his chair and studied the ceiling. “This… foul mouthed, sassy little girl blows into town and everything’s on her terms, always. She doesn’t give a shit what anyone else thinks. Like she wouldn’t even let anyone take that much from her. If he hurt her… ”
“You don’t know that.”
“I didn’t ask! Too busy feeling sorry for myself.” He reached for the bottle again.
Hawk eyed him as Easy poured himself another drink. “You could stop,” he suggested. Easy wasn’t sure if he meant feeling sorry for himself, or the drinking, or both.
“I am,” Easy assured him.
Hawk frowned. “Doesn’t look like it.”
Easy shook his head. “It’s not a bender.”
“Then what is it?”
“The end of the road. Or the beginning of it. Fuck, I’m not sure.”
“Deep,” Hawk said with a smirk.
“Fuck you. I’m drunk. And this shit’s all going away,” said Easy, gesturing to the table.
Hawk reached out to pluck the silver box from the table. On instinct, Easy reached for it to stop him. Then he blew out a boozy breath. “Fuck it,” he proclaimed. “I don’t need it.” He pushed it away, and Hawk picked it up. He took off the lid and peered inside. Easy felt a flood of warmth coursing through his body. He wasn’t sure if it was the booze, or embarrassment, or what.
“You’re getting rid of this?”
He nodded sharply. “It’s time,” he told Hawk. “I don’t need it anymore. I’m done with that.”
Hawk frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Fuck yeah, I’m sure!”
“Well, it’s not my thing,” Hawk told him. “Or my business. But are you sure you don’t need it?”
Easy gaped at the man. “What the fuck?!” he demanded. “So… you’re writing me off? Just like that?”
Hawk looked just as surprised. “No. Of course not. But I’m not sure you should give up on the idea of-”
“Fuck. You!” Easy shouted and snatched back the box. He slammed it down on the table with a resounding thud. A glimmer of gold caught his eye and he looked down. He stared at it for a moment before reaching inside. His fingers trembled as he tried but failed to grasp the small chain. At last his fingers pinched the clasp and he held up the small gold crucifix. It dangled above the silver box and twinkled in the afternoon sunlight coming in through the window.
“Son of a bitch,” he whispered.
Hawk was silent a moment before he asked, “What was in it?”
Easy blew out a harsh breath and looked at him. “A hollow point,” he said finally.
“Jesus, Jimmy!”
“I’m over it!” he insisted. “Like I said, I don’t need it anymore. I haven’t thought about needing it for a long fucking time. I was gonna put it back in the ammo box with the others.”
Hawk spun the box around on the table. “Fucking Christmas box, too,” he muttered. “Drama queen. But you were getting rid of it?”
“Yeah.”
“What changed your mind?”
Easy looked at him.
Hawk smiled. “It figures.”
“Why does it figure?”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Hawk told him. “We never save the girl. The girl always saves us.”
Chapter 31
Easy was acutely aware of Shooter’s gaze on him as he stepped out of Slick’s SUV. The slightly larger man watched calmly but curiously as his wife followed Easy to the garage.
“It’s your day off,” Shooter said to Easy.
Easy nodded. “Got business.”
Shooter cocked his head. “Tempted to ask what kind of business involves my woman.” He looked at Sarah, who had her lips pressed together. Since Easy had called her the day before, she’d barely been able to contain her excitement. It was a wonder that she hadn’t already told her husband everything already. But Easy wasn’t flat on his back, choking on dust, so he figured she’d managed to keep things to herself.
Shooter tucked a rag into his back pocket and cast Easy a look. “What-?”
Before he could finish, a rumble of engines caught his attention. Down the street, two Harleys and a jacked up truck were coming their way. The riders were sporting club colors. Shooter moved forward and took hold of Sarah, pulling her toward him. Tex appeared on Shooter’s other side, keeping a watchful eye on the caravan.
“Easy,” Shooter growled, and there was an entire interrogation packed into that one word.
“They’re just a club,” Easy assured him. “I checked them out.”
“So, I don’t need to get my gun?” Tex asked.
Easy shrugged. “You could. They might come down on the price.” He left the group and headed across the lot, waving at a large, burly man with a salt and pepper beard and aviator sunglasses. After a cursory meet and greet, the man stepped back and gave Easy some space.
