Chapter 8
Indigo
A group of crows was a murder, and it was the murder of a crow that caused the gathering today. Or should I say flock? I’d awoken, snuggly and warm in my nest within Sheila’s cargo area. I was a little groggy, but overall, I slept much better than I thought I would after the events of the past few days. My ghosts and demons rattled the door to the crawlspace in my mind where I stashed the worst of my trauma. But I wasn’t overrun and overwhelmed like I thought I would be after hearing Uncle Roark’s voice. Maybe it was snuggling with my best bitch, Sheila, all night. Perhaps it was the watchful presence of a certain growly, grumpy, sexy Crow. Who could say?
Priest’s presence shouldn’t make me feel safe, especially considering that not too long ago, he seemed to hate me. Oh yeah, and he tied me to a chair and zapped the shit out of me in the confessional—his Wish.com dungeon and official Los Cuervos interrogation station. Since we came to terms with each other, we’d been slowly inching toward somethingthat I couldn’t quite name yet. I felt a pull toward Priest, which was really confusing for me because, for the most part, he was kind of a dick. Sometimes, though, I felt like we were connected, and the sensation intrigued me as much as it scared me.
When I woke up in the morning, there was no sign of my guard crow. I must have been sleeping like the dead because the lot had already filled with motorcycles and vehicles. Duke had briefly explained that there was a small cemetery on Los Cuervos land where Ace would be laid to rest. Today, we’d bury the old Crow; tonight, we’d celebrate his life; and tomorrow, we’d plan for vengeance. Pyro had an entire murder of Crows out for blood, and I prayed to Bob I’d get to be there when he got what was coming to him.
I’d never been to a real funeral before, unless you counted my impromptu burial of one Roger Slyzec, a.k.a. Hoodie Guy, which I did not. I had seen them on TV, though, so I felt like I could fake it till I made it. Crows from the geographically closest chapter of the MC, the Utah chapter, had driven in to attend Ace’s funeral and pick up the guns from the Alvarez job that never made it to Cedar City the night Pyro’s trap was sprung. I was nervous about all the new faces around the compound, but I was determined not to ruin Ace’s last big day with my anxiety.
I went up to my room to change, relieved to find a bag containing a lemon and poppyseed muffin waiting at my door. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about finding breakfast. I got dressed in a hurry as I scarfed down my muffin. My clothes were casual because that was all I owned, but I made sure to dress all in black. Thankfully, the ole ladies and MC brothers kept things simple as well. Lennon and I rode in Sheila as we joined the funeral procession from the compound to a small cemetery outside Sagebrush on MC land. A hearse, driven by Prospect, was followed by a deafening procession of motorcycles and vehicles filled with family members.
A pastor stood with Duke and Lorna, while the rest of the Crows and their families fanned out around the grave that would soon contain Ace’s body. With a nod from Duke, the pastor began Ace’s funeral service. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the life and honor the memory of Walter Morrison.”
“Who the fuck isWalter?” I whisper-hissed at Lennon.
Suddenly, I felt a presence behind me. It stopped millimeters away from touching me, but the warm scent of leather and sandalwood identified the presence as Priest a heartbeat before his voice, soft and hushed, murmured into my ear, “Ace.”
“I’d like to thank everyone for coming to lay Ace to rest. I know the crotchety ole bastard woulda probably hated us making such a fuss over him,” Duke chuffed a soft laugh. “Ace was the last prospect patched in by Rusty before he died. He dedicated his life to Los Cuervos, and we willneverforget him,” Duke said, raising a shot of whiskey into the air of the clubhouse bar after Ace’s funeral service. “To the lost, and to those who remember them.”
“To the lost,” the rest of the club repeated, before tossing back a shot of their own.
“To the lost,” I murmured, gulping down a shot that tightened my throat and warmed my belly.
Everyone began to break off into groups or mill around the clubhouse. Hyde, the prez of the Utah chapter of Los Cuervos, stood by the bar and talked grumpily to a few of his men. Duke had introduced me to Hyde briefly, and I’d been warned to give the foreign Crow and his crew space. Apparently, they were skittish of new people, even fabulous ones like me.
I gave the Utah Crows their space, but it was super hard because Hyde looked like he’d lived one hell of a life. The man’s hands and arms were littered with scars, some of them very uniquely shaped. I kept staring, wondering what even made marks like the ones he bore. He turned his head to say something to Duke, and that was when I noticedsomething else that made Hyde even more interesting. He had a glass eye! That was so cool!Aw, man, I wonder what happened to his real eye… and if he’d take it out and let me hold it?
“Don’t ask him that, chica loca,” Bones said to my left. I must have been thinking out loud. He took a swig of his beer. “Hyde is the least whimsical person I’ve ever met, and he won’t find your brand of questions amusing. He lost his eye in the Salt Lake City incident. And honestly”—he drained his bottle and nodded—“my stomach isn’t strong enough to go into that shit show.” Bones rolled his shoulders, seeming uncomfortable with the sling that held his arm. Ratched had taken him to get an X-ray, and it turned out he had a hairline fracture to his radius. Ratched said that if he let his arm rest and wore a splint and sling, Bones wouldn’t need a cast and should be right as rain in a few weeks. Bones hated the sling, but I had a feeling he’d hate a cast even more.
“Seriously, what the fuck happened in Salt Lake City?” I asked. “You guys talk about it like it was a horror show.”
“You’re not far off,” Bones muttered before leaving to find another drink. All around me, the reception continued. Duke made his way around the room, slapping backs and shaking hands as he went. Cricket was busy organizing the kids and teens belonging to Crow families to help set up the funeral after-party. A squad of teens and kids, followed by my conscience, marched into the bar bearing trays of snacks and finger foods, which the ole ladies set out on tables and the bar. Everyone here knew everyone else and were united in their grief and shared history. It left me feeling out of place, and I couldn’t help but feel like it was my fault they were having a funeral reception in the first place. If I had left with Sheila as soon as her repairs were finished, Pyro wouldn’t have found out about my connection to the Callahans back in Boston. He wouldn’t have sold me out to Uncle Roark and the Iron Raiders, and Ace would still be alive. Priest was right about me.
Panic squeezed my chest and left me feeling swirly. My face felt hot, and I could hear my heartbeat in my ears like a deafening drumbeat. Scanning the room to make sure I hadn’t drawn anyone’s attention, I carefully faded into the outskirts as I made my way to the exit. Slipping out the front door, I scampered off the porch as my breathing began to hitch.
I made it all the way to Ellis’s spot, a boulder off the side of the clubhouse yard, where she used to sit as a kid. Slapping my hand down on the rock and panting a bit, I felt out of breath and clammy with sweat. I knew stuffing my trauma back into the crawlspace of my mind would come around to bite me in the ass eventually, but I thought my ghosts would at least have the decency to wait until I was dead first.
I didn’t have time to unpack all the barrels of toxic sludge and trauma I had stored in the deep recesses of my mind. My brain was a freaking OSHA violation, hazardous materials and dangerous environments abounded up in that bitch. I needed to put my big-girl knuckle dusters on and show my brain exactly who called the shots in this relationship. (It was me). I needed to calm down ASAP. Hyde would never let me hold his eyeball if he saw me crying like a giant baby at a funeral after-party!
I worked on slowing my breathing, my palm held to my chest, counting the beats. My ragged heartbeat was a steady rhythm that saidstill here, still here, still here. I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth until the serrated sounds of my exhalations smoothed out into controlledwhooshes.As soon as my breath evened out, I reverted to my time-honored method of self-soothing. I sang.
“Is that Lizzo?” a voice rasped out behind me. Priest’s voice sounded gritty with exhaustion and too many cigarettes.
“‘Truth Hurts,’” I replied, eyes fixed on the stars above me. “If you try to put me in a chokehold again, Priest, I swear to Bob I will turn your dick into a keychain for Sheila.”
“All I’m hearing is that you want to see my dick, angel,” Priest drawled, taking a drag from his cigarette.
I cut my eyes to the biker. “That’s not—"
A smile that actually reached his chilly blue eyes warmed his face. “I know.” He winked. My next words, a few moments later, slowly erased the humor from his face.
“You were right, Priest.” I swallowed loudly. “I never should have stayed here. I’m the reason Ace is dead.” Tearing my eyes from him, I studied the stars like that might spell out a way to escape the taint of Uncle Roark.
“The only person responsible for Ace’s death is Pyro,” Priest insisted, dropping his cigarette into the gravel and grinding it beneath his boot heel.
“If I didn’t stay, Pyro wouldn’t have found out about my connection to the Callahans. He wouldn’t have had anything to give the Iron Raiders, so they wouldn’t have broken in and hurt Bones. Ace wouldn’t have been checking in on the clubhouse when the power was cut, and Pyro wouldn’t have killed him. Tell me, Growly Gus, how isn’t this my fault?” My words were bitter tasting on my tongue.
