“What’s in the bags?” Prospect asked, looking curious.
I rolled my shoulders. “Don’t worry about what’s in the damn bags, just leave one a day outside her door in the mornings and don’t open them. And don’t say anything to her, okay?”
Prospect poured himself a cup of coffee. “Yeah, man. Deliver the bags, don’t open them, don’t get caught, don’t mention the secret deliveries. I think I can handle it.” He rolled his eyes, obviously disappointed that I didn’t give him some kind of task to carry out to prove his worth to the club. Until we were sure of him, satisfied that he was Crow material and deserving of our trust, he’d remain a prospective member. He didn’t know it yet, but we’d already decided to allow him to patch into Los Cuervos. We'd have a party when the Alvarez job was done, and Prospect would become an official Crow. Until then, I needed him to help me out, and I didn’t feel at all guilty about exploiting his eagerness to please.
As far as I was aware, Indi had no idea I was the one leaving baked goods at her door every day. When I heard her tell my ma that she wasn’t ever allowed desserts growing up, an idea took shape in my head. How fucking sad was it that she’d never had a Twinkie or an apple turnover? I couldn’t slay her demons for her or erase her shitty childhood, and I couldn’t take back what I did to her in the confessional or how hateful I had been to her in the past… but I could ensure she had a little bit of sweetness every day going forward. So I enlisted the help of the ole ladies where I could and went to a bakery in Sagebrush when needed to deliver a daily dose of dopamine to the girl who was steadily taking over my thoughts. I never signed the cards in the bags because I didn’t want her to know I was leaving the treats. At first, I was worried that if she knew who was leaving them, she wouldn’t accept the bags. Then, as her delight in each treat became evident, I was worried that if she knew they were from me, she’d feel like she had to give me something in return. I didn’t want something transactional from her or for her to feel obligated to return the favor.
I finished my coffee and thanked Prospect again for his help. Casting my eyes to Bard, he nodded his head, and I knew it was time to ride. Tank, Thor, Sticks, Bard, and I headed outside. It was a little after five o’clock in the morning, and dawn was already breaking. Early September in Nevada was still hot, and we were eager to get on the road before the sun became scorching. Sticks and Thor climbed into a truck while Tank, Bard, and I climbed onto our bikes. As I threw a leg over my Harley, a black 2010 Dyna Wide Glide, my thoughts were instantly drawn back to last night and the sexy sounds Indi made for me. I grunted as I got settled; desperately thinking about loogies, dead puppies, and Gilbert Gottfried's voice to deflate the hard-on I was sporting before it became noticeable.
“You alright there, Priest?” Tank asked, already seated on his Harley Davidson Fat Boy.
He smirked at me. “You look a little uncomfortable. It wouldn’t have anything to do with the tune-up you did last night, would it?” Tank's deep rumbly voice held an edge of laughter like he was just soooo fuckin’ amused. I narrowed my eyes at him and glanced around to make sure we weren’t overheard.
“You say a word to anyone, and I swear to God I’ll pour out every damn bottle of Yoo-hoo you keep in the garage,” I threatened.
Tank let out a deep belly laugh. “No need to threaten the Yoo-hoo, man. My lips are sealed. But hey”—he lowered his sunglasses and focused his umber eyes on me—“you find out who’s been stealing from my stash, you let me know. Their ass is grass.”
“You got it, man.” I checked my phone, but so far, I haven’t heard back from Clover. I was hoping she’d have some information for me on the Petrovs before we left, but it wasn’t looking likely now. Shaking my head, I started my bike, and soon, the snarling of engines shattered the early morning serenity. Lowering my shades, I motioned for us to move out. Bard took point with Sticks and Thor behind him in the truck. Tank and I followed, and we set out for the border and our Alvarez Cartel contacts.
Indigo
Thundering rumbles woke me from a dream, the kind that clung to your consciousness in the best way. Nightmares could feel like spiderwebs clinging to your sweat-drenched skin that, upon waking, you desperately wanted to wipe away. This dream, though…this dream had been like sinking into a warm bath, and I buried my face into my pillow and desperately tried to submerge myself back into what my subconscious had conjured up. Priest’s silhouette beckoned as my eyes drifted closed, and I almost slipped back into slumberland. Unfortunately, the thunder became deafening, and my dream slipped through my brain’s fingers like sand. Ugh. I threw myself out of bed and raced to the window, ready to tell whoever was outsideexactlywhich circle of hell early risers could go to, when I realized the noise was engines and that meant that some of the Crows were leaving for the Alvarez job.
Shifting the curtains slightly, I peered out into the early morning light to see Priest talking with Tank. A few minutes later, without sparing a glance back at the clubhouse, three motorcycles and a big truck drove down the long driveway and off of the Crows’ compound. I knew that the guys leaving were going on a job to meet some people called Alvarez and that they’d be back in a few days. I didn’t push for more information because a) it wasn’t any of my business, and b) this job didn’t sound fun so I didn’t really care about the details. Two-plus days of driving all over hell and back with minimal sleep didn’t sound like a fun road trip. I’dmuch rather take my time and glamp with Sheila than ride a bike for that long.
However, after my “ride” with Priest last night, I might need to rethink my disinterest concerning motorcycles. Don’t get me wrong, Sheila was my ride or die…but she didn’t vibrate likethat. With a groan, I threw myself back into bed and had a very luxurious catlike stretch. I tried to sink back into sleep, but my brain was too awake. After about twenty minutes, I gave up and decided to take a shower and get my day started. As I lathered my hair, I couldn’t help but give my shampoo, conditioner, and body wash bottles a complimentary shower concert. “Paint the Town Red” by Doja Cat was stuck in my head and needed to be belted out, diva style.
After taking a bow for the standing ovation my toiletries would have given me if they could, I got dressed quickly. Deciding not to go on a run, I threw on a pair of cutoffs and a forest-green cami tank top. I fixed my still-wet hair into two French braided pigtails, a new skill I was immensely proud of mastering under Lennon’s semi-patient tutelage. I wasn’t the best student, getting frustrated easily and threatening to cut my hair off if it didn’t stop being difficult and just bebraidedalready. It had taken a few meltdowns and getting whacked with a hair brush by Lennon before I finally got the hang of it, and now I could French braid with the best of them. With my shit-kicker boots on and my butterfly knife tucked in close to my sock, I was ready to rock and roll.
I opened my door to find yet another white paper bag, this one containing a “death by chocolate” muffin. I squealed in delight before taking a massive bite of the devilishly delicious muffin. Moaning in appreciation, becausechocolate, I skipped down the stairs and entered a deserted common room. I wandered into the kitchen, which was also empty. I knew Lennon was in class today, and Bones was working on a restoration at Rusty’s. Ratched was probably working a shift at the ER in Sagebrush, and I honestly didn’t give a fuck where Pyro was. Cricket was probably upstairs asleep, having closed the bar last night, and I briefly considered waking him up so I had someone to make mischief with when I heard a rustle coming from outside the kitchen.
I stuck my head out the door to find Ace kneeling in the flower beds lining the kitchen side of the clubhouse. “Hey there, Ace! Want some ofmy muffin? It’s ‘death by chocolate’ and I have to say, it’s not a bad way to go.” Ace squinted up at me, deep creases forming in the corner of his eyes. He was one of the oldest Crows I’d met, even older than Duke whom Lorna had told me wasfifty-five. Ace’s hair was all white, though if you’d asked me what kind of hairstyle he had, I honestly wouldn’t be able to tell you because I’d never seen him without his faded Rusty’s trucker hat.
“Naw, Indi, I don’t much care for chocolate.” I shrugged, popping the last sticky bite of my breakfast into my mouth, and sat on the steps leading out of the kitchen and into the yard. Ace liked to putter around out here, in what I learned was an herb garden.
“How come you’re the only Crow who gardens, Ace? I’ve seen you doing landscaping and handyman jobs around the compound too. You need any help?”
Ace tilted his hat back and swiped a dirt-covered hand across his sweaty brow before adjusting his hat back on his forehead. “You trying to tell me I’m too old to take care of a few plants?”
I eyed him up and down. “Well,” I drawled, “you are as old as dirt, so I guess it makes sense you work in it all day.” Ace snorted back a laugh. This was one of the reasons I liked Ace so much. He got my jokes, he never called me crazy, and he let me talk his ear off when I was bored. Several times since I moved into the clubhouse, I’d visited with Ace and talked about nothing while he worked and listened, sometimes offering conversation but mostly just companionship. I got the sense that, like me, Ace was lonely. He just wasn’t a fan of most people, so it made making new friends a challenge. Luckily for him, I loved a challenge and didn’t mind carrying the conversational load for him.
Finished with whatever he was doing in the garden beds, Ace slowly rose from his knees, joints popping as he did. He was old, sure, but only a fool would think being elderly made Ace weak. I’d seen him tossing bags of concrete for a driveway Blaze was pouring for one of the homes on the compound, and Ace still rode his bike every week. I hoped if I managed to live as long as he did, I’d still be as strong as he was. Ace held out a hand, which I eagerly took, and he pulled me up until I stood before him.
“Come on, I need to walk the fence line and check the coyote traps. Might as well make yourself useful and keep me company.” That was another reason I liked Ace; he seemed to get me a little better than most. He could tell when I didn’t want to be alone without me even having to say anything. It was nice, not having to admit out loud that I just didn’t want to be alone today.
Ace and I stopped by his truck so he could grab a rifle he kept nearby when he worked out on the property in case he came across a wily coyote. We walked in companionable silence for a few minutes before I couldn’t help myself anymore.
“Ace, how long have you been a Crow?” I asked.
Ace mulled over my question for a moment before he replied. “Since I came back from Vietnam in ’73. I met Gavin, that’s Duke’s dad, after I had been discharged from the Army. I had lied about my age so I could enlist. I came back from that war a bitter, messed-up kid, and going home wasn’t an option. Gavin offered me a place with Los Cuervos, and I’ve been here ever since.”
“Wow, so you’re like a Granddaddy Crow, huh? That’s cool.”
Ace grunted his agreement.
We continued our walk, checking traps and making sure the fence was in good shape. Ace stopped suddenly at one point, examining a portion of the fence a little longer than he usually did. “What’s up, Ace? Find a coyote? Or oh! A roadrunner?” I eagerly scanned the area, but I didn’t see what Ace was looking at. Eventually Ace shook his head.
“Naw, there’s some tracks there, but it’s probably nothing. Someone’s driven over this way, but it could have been one of us.”
