She gives a small smile but doesn’t push the moment. Then she finally looks up from her phone. “What’s wrong? You look…off.”
I exhale, letting my head fall back against the cushion. “I just got fired.”
The words tasted unreal in my mouth. Fired. After years of quiet loyalty, of shelving books until my fingers ached, of showing up early and staying late because this place felt like the only corner of the world where I fit. My stomach dropped, cold and hollow. It wasn’t just losing a job—it was losing the one place I thought I was safe. And all because of who I loved.
Her eyes widen. “Seriously? What happened?”
I shrug. “Officially, ‘public image concerns.’ Unofficially, I think someone must have said something about me and Jinn. The board decided I was bad optics, apparently.”
Marcy whistles. “That’s bullshit.”
“Yeah.” I let out a weak laugh. “Guess I should’ve stuck to cardigans and sensible shoes.”
There’s a long pause. She studies me for a second, then says, “You wanna talk about it?”
I shake my head. “Not really. Not yet.”
She nods, understanding. “If you change your mind, I’ll be here.”
After Marcy turns back to her phone, I wander down the hallway and into the bathroom, flicking on the light. The mirror is a little cloudy from someone’s rushed shower earlier, but I can see myself well enough.
I rest my hands on the edge of the sink, studying my reflection. The same round cheeks and soft jaw I’ve had since I was a kid. My shoulders are broad, arms full, chest generous and waist stubborn. No matter what I do, nothing really disappears. The world has always called women like me “big-boned” or “curvy” if they’re being kind, “fat” if they’re being honest or cruel. I learned long ago to let the sting of it fade.
Sometimes, though, it creeps back up—like tonight. I see the same girl people whispered about in the school hallways, the one they called names when teachers weren’t listening. I hear the laughter, remember the snickers when I tried out for track, the sideways glances when I wore something too bright.
I feel a pang, old and familiar.
Being the girlfriend of Jinn Parker, President of the Satan’s Reapers MC, was bound to cost me. Everyone knows what kind of man runs a motorcycle club like that—hard, wild, dangerous. And Jinn is all of those things. Tattoos on his knuckles, that easy, cocky grin, the kind of rough edge that makes even other bikers stand straighter when he walks into a room.
He could have had anyone. Hell, he’s probably had half the girls in this town. And yet he chose me. Carrie Saxe. Fat Carrie.The librarian. The one who knows more about late fees and the Dewey decimal system than how to look sexy in a mini skirt.
If I’m being honest, sometimes I still don’t believe it. Sometimes I wonder if this is a joke I haven’t caught up to yet, if someone’s going to pull back the curtain and reveal the punch line. Maybe that’s why I cling to every little sign that I belong—like that jacket, or the way he sometimes pulls me onto his lap at the clubhouse and calls me his “good girl” in front of everyone.
I drag a hand through my hair and turn sideways, eyeing my reflection with critical eyes. There’s a little bit of Carrie White from Stephen King’s book in me, I think. The way I flinch from the world sometimes, waiting for the bucket to drop, for the laughter to start. I’ve always been waiting for something to go wrong.
By the time I head out, the sun is low and gold on the horizon, setting the asphalt aglow as I pull up to the Satan’s Reapers clubhouse. The parking lot is already filling up, bikes lined up like chrome teeth, trucks jammed wherever they’ll fit. Music thuds from inside, and the whole building vibrates with energy. Someone’s grilling out back, and the scent of smoke and cheap beer hangs in the air.
Inside, the party is already in full swing. Neon lights throw purple shadows across the old wood floors. I nod to a few of the regulars as I make my way in, trying not to look like I’m searching too hard for one person.
I don’t see Jinn.
Instead, I spot Whale near the bar, big, broad-shouldered, with a beard that looks like it could hide a family of raccoons. He gives me a friendly nod. “Carrie. You want a drink?”
“Not yet, thanks,” I say, forcing a smile. “You seen Jinn?”
He shakes his head, chalking his cue. “Not yet. Probably off sweet-talking the ATF or some new recruit.” He winks. “Club president’s always late for his own party.”
“Figures,” I say, but my stomach sinks a little.
I squeeze through the crowd, eyes scanning for that familiar wild grin. Near the pool table, Blade and Wrecker are arguing over a game. Blade’s tattoos snake down his arms, the ink bright against his skin, while Wrecker leans in, all quiet menace and calm.
They both look up when they spot me. Blade grins, tossing his cue onto the table. “Hey, library girl! Didn’t think we’d see you here tonight.”
“Where else would I be?” I say, laughing a little. It’s always like this—Blade loud and charming, Wrecker watching everything with those cool, unreadable eyes.
Wrecker just nods, arms folded over his chest. “Looking for someone?”
I glance around, careful. “Jinn was supposed to meet me. Is he in the back?”
