Slate doesn’t say anything, but he’s as good as his word when it comes to riding safely. He eases down the interstate—not too slow and not too fast. He was always so certain and unshakable like this in Kabul as well. To say he’s good in a crisis would be a mild understatement.
His leather vest brushes against my hands, and I see the patch on the back. It reads ‘Sons of Rage’. That’s new. I remember him saying something about a motorcycle club, but I envisioned it being one of those car clubs where collectors went to show off their cars—but with bikes.
We don’t go far before he pulls off onto a side road. I don’t know where we’re going, but I have to trust that he does. Eventually, his little convoy slows as we turn into what appears to be a compound of some sort. I thought we might stop at a hotel, but apparently Slate had other ideas.
A heavy double-bay garage door slides up as we approach, like they’ve been waiting for us. The bikes roll in two by two, and we come to a stop. Slate cuts the engine, kicks the stand, and looks back at me. “You two okay?” he asks quietly, his voice rough.
I nod. “Yeah, we made it here in one piece. Thank you for getting us the hell outta there.”
“You’re welcome. You’re fuckin’ smart for gettin’ the hell away from that asshole baby daddy of yours.”
My eyes fly open, because that’s the last thing I expected him to say. I don’t know where he got the idea that I was in a domestic violence situation, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I glance away as he climbs off the bike and holds out his arms for Katie, presumably so I can get off the bike without risking a fall.
Katie seems unperturbed by the events and goes to him without any protest. He puts her on his shoulder and holds one hand out to me. I take it and lift myself off his bike. My legs shake when my feet hit the ground. I take a glance at him again. He’s still as handsome as ever. Looking at his leather vest I see a patch on the chest that reads, ’Vice President’ and one below it that reads ‘One Percent’. So, Slate is an outlaw biker? I push any worries aside, telling myself that he and his club just got us out of danger, so it isn’t my place to be judgmental. He takes my elbow, steadying me, and leads us through a side door into a hallway.
I notice other men with different patches on their vests. My mind rolls right past it all, not trying to memorize anything. I’ve got no spoons left to cope with being in this strange place full of outlaw bikers. I feel myself starting to shake and realize Slate is still carrying my child.
He ushers us into a room with a big bed and a private bath. The lock clicks when he turns it. He lays Katie on the bed and pulls a blanket over her.
“You doing good, princess?” he asks.
My daughter just nods. Her eyes go to me, and I give her a reassuring smile. “Remember the game? Everything’s going to be okay, sweetheart. Tonight we’ll stay here and tomorrow we’ll go on that fun vacation.”
I pull the blanket up and stroke her hair back from her forehead and kiss her goodnight.
Following Slate, I head to the other half of the room where there’s a sofa. I gratefully collapse into it, suddenly feeling shaky after everything that’s happened.
“This is a safe house for bikers allied with my club. You’re safe here,” Slate says.
“I can’t believe you joined an outlaw bike club,” I stammer.
“I didn’t join one. I am one. My father founded Sons of Rage. It’s a legacy club, and I’ve been there since the day I was born. We talked about this. Did you forget?”
Slate was always the straight shooter. He doesn’t sound mad, just confused. I pull back my hair and show him the scars running through my hairline. “I was on assignment in Myanmar when a pipe bomb exploded not long after I left Afghanistan. I was in a coma for months, and my brain is kind of Swiss-cheesed.”
His eyebrows fly up. “Shit! Do you remember anything at all? You must, because you called me by name.”
Glancing over to make sure my daughter is still sleeping, I lower my voice. “Of course I remember you. You’re the badass soldier with a heart of gold. We had a whirlwind romance,and you got me out at the last minute when I thought all the transports were booked solid.”
“They were. I gave you my seat and made my own way out.”
My mouth falls open. “I never knew you did that.”
“Yeah, the military called it going AWOL. The stupid fuckers sectioned me out of the military on a dishonorable discharge.” His tone sounds mildly irritated, considering the impact it probably had on his life. I feel a well of guilt spring up in my chest.
“I’m really sorry that happened, Slate. You’re a good man and didn’t deserve that.”
He frowns. “I don’t give a shit about that. It’s ancient history and didn’t affect my life in the slightest. I just went right back to bein’ a biker.” Jerking his chin at me, he says, “What about you? Are you still working as a reporter? I remember you were doing a story on that international human rights organization. What was it they called themselves, RETCH, or some such shit?”
“It was REACH. The acronym stands for Rapid Emergency Aid and Community Health. And no. Getting blown up killed any desire to continue my investigative reporting career. Now I’m just a writer. It pays my bills.”
“Good for you. Sometimes surviving is the best you can do.”
I look up at him with new eyes. Being born into an outlaw biker club explains a lot about his personality, but it’s sad in a way. Poor man never really had a chance in life. He was destined to be an outlaw from the start. I guess I’m staring at him too much because he takes a step back.
“You’re safe. No one would risk war with my club by messing with you or your daughter. If anyone even looks at you, let me know immediately.”
I nod. “Sure. Whatever you say, Slate.”
