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And something twinged in my chest at the sight of that. Something I’d never experienced.
“I don’t hate it,” I replied, suddenly feeling the crotch of my jeans getting tight.
That shirt, those words on her tits? I fuckin’ liked that a whole lot.
“Why’d you cut it?” I asked. “Trench coat and fedora improv? This a covert mission?”
“For one, Aunt Francie.”
I stretched my neck, avoiding the urge to scoff.
She explained, “I called to check in on her the day before yesterday. Her hair is comin’ out by the handfuls. She’s really upset. Your momma knows a retired hairdresser who can have it made into a wig.”
“Cecilia. Lives down the street,” Arch put in from about twenty feet away.
Gigi nodded. “Yeah. She popped by and took it after Fern cut it off. She’s got wigmaker connections. I’ll be bringing it to Aunt Francie when it’s ready. Hopefully it’ll lift her spirits.”
“For one? What’s for two? A disguise for the covert mission?”
She put her index finger to my nose. “Yes to the disguise but no to the covertness. New start for the club today, you said, right?”
Arch grabbed her guitar, Bront grabbed her purple box and her giant bag of clothes, and they loaded up Bronto’s car and moved off to the side, giving us a modicum of privacy.
“Right,” I agreed and lowered my voice. “Turned to a new page last night. We haven’t lifted our curfew and we’re still avoiding traveling alone if we can help it. There are still a couple assholes out there that might try to pull shit. Like Sarge. Wild Will Forker. A couple others we know of that didn’t get pinched or get…” I sliced my finger across my throat.
She winced.
“But yeah, new page starting with cautious optimism.”
If the dregs of the Jackals were smart, they’d fuck off and accept their defeat. Our experience with them told us they were allergic to smart, hence the caution.
“Everything went well, though?” she asked.
I had not had time to talk to her last night.
“We did a patch-over. Jackals officially no longer exist.”
Her eyes bulged. “Seriously? But… a patch-over? That means some of them are part of your club now.”
“We’ve got just a few carefully chosen Ipswich members that are Jackals, but most of the rest of ‘em are arrested, dead, or have gone to ground.”
“Mantis?” she asked.
“Gone,” I replied firmly.
“To ground?”
“Gone, baby,” I gave it to her straight. “There’ll be club shit you won’t be in the know for but given everything, you get the facts with this. Mantis paid for at least a few of his crimes.”
I ran into Edge this morning in the men’s room right after my shower. He was just getting in, throwing me a toothy grin before he leaned against the wall to get his boots off, leaving a bloody smudge on the wall. Those clothes would need to be burned and that shower stall would need to be bleached. Edge obviously knew that given that he came in with a spray bottle of what I suspected was bleach.
Though he grinned at me, I heard a guttural sound the running water did not drown out. It was a sound that let me know the man needed privacy. I spat the toothpaste out prematurely and vacated.
He had to be feeling a fuck of a lot after all that. What started out as a rush likely ended with the adrenalin crash of all crashes after losing the woman in his life.
“I’m glad he got closure,” Gigi muttered, blowing out a breath and melting into me.
“Now to work on closure for you,” I said.
Her eyebrows went up.
I elaborated, “We’ll get to that later. Do some sort of funeral, yeah?”
She shrugged and bit her lip.
“So…” I went on, “no need for a disguise, but we’ll still be careful.” I dropped a kiss on the side of her head.
“Good. But … beyond making a wig for Aunt Francie, I figured maybe if I don’t look like the bunny with the hair, they won’t keep thinkin’ of me that way.”
“You’re only gonna be hoppin’ for me,” I told her with a grin.
Her shoulders shook with laughter, and she wiggled her nose in an exaggerated bunny way.
“Gimme that mouth, my little wabbit.”
She leaned in and put both hands to my jaw and gave me a sweet kiss.
“I missed you,” she whispered.
“Why’re you shaking?” I asked into her neck, taking in her scent. It was different. She smelled a little like Ma. I noticed her citrus shampoo and Pink Sugar shower gel were in my bag instead of hers when I got back.
“Nerves,” she whispered against my earlobe. “The hair. Worrying you hate it. Goin’ to the club. You know…”
“It’s all good,” I replied, running my fingers through her hair again, examining the strands as I did.
I fuckin’ loved her long blonde hair. I didn’t like that she lopped it off to give it to that miserable bitch. I also didn’t like that she also did it to change her appearance in the hopes people who are my chosen family treat her better. I’d be making sure they treated her better regardless. But no point bitchin’ since it was already gone.
