Katie
One Week Later
I’d been bluffing a bit when I first spoke to Connor.
Without the Black Reapers’ agreement to join, there was absolutely no chance in hell I was putting those signs up. I wanted to fight back, but I’d spoken about an idea, not a resolution. There was a difference between being willing to stand up to Damian when he came into my store versus daring him in a public setting to come to my store.
But once Connor signaled that he was in, there was no fucking escaping it. I had committed myself. And for better or for worse, when I said I would do something, I fucking did it, consequences be damned.
It was now, sure enough, a week later, a Monday night at the gas station. The signs had gone up around three in the afternoon that day just on the outskirts of Santa Maria, calling for the city to protect its citizens and, in not so small letters, mentioning that I had sponsored the sign. It was like putting bread crumbs out next to a colony of ants, all but carrying them to me.
Admittedly, the idea depended on a whole lot of shit I had no control over. If Damian somehow found the strength not to take it in anger, there was no strike. If the Bandits hit during the day, that was especially bad. If the Reapers failed to follow through on the plan—or even just execute properly—I could be putting myself in a lot of danger.
But I knew how much political signs could get people riled up over just something as basic as a candidate none of them would ever meet in person. What would a sign that directly called out an entire gang and one specific individual do to the targeted people? It was all but a fucking guarantee to work.
I was alone in the shop—at least, that was what anyone who came by would believe. I sat behind the cash register, with only my car parked on the side of the building. From both the highway and the pumps, I looked like a lonely woman working the night shift.
But I had backup. And I knew where it was and how close it was.
“Katie, we’re hearing motorcycles coming in,” Connor said.
I had my phone just beneath the cash register on speakerphone. It wasn’t quite earpieces and microphones on the lapel of our collars, but we weren’t some secret agency, either. Just a woman who didn’t take shit and a biker club that didn’t give people the opportunity to give shit.
“My guess is they’ll be there in two minutes if they’re headed for the store.”
“Great,” I said, a response that perhaps overstated how I actually felt.
“You got your gun ready, just in case, right?” he said.
“Yes.”
“Cool.”
Silence fell over us. I looked over at the door to my office, which looked shut unless you got two feet away from it. I looked to the back where the freezer was, apparently empty. I thought about all of the hills and unlit terrain around me.
“Nervous?”
Wait, what?
“Connor?”
“Yeah? It’s me. I was just asking if you were nervous.”
“Oh,” I said. Connor didn’t ask questions like that. Connor was too closed off.
Unless…
Maybe Connor was going in the opposite direction. We hadn’t talked much in the week since he’d come over, but when we did, it felt like there was some underlying tension there—things not being said, perhaps out of anticipation and nervousness for tonight. We had felt, perhaps, like we needed to see how tonight turned out before we did anything.
But with a question like that…
He would only ask that question if he cared. Only if he was willing to be vulnerable. Only if he was worried.
“A little,” I admitted. “But I know it’ll be fine.”
“OK,” he said. “We’re ready to jump the second you need it. Stay calm and stay cool.”
I had to laugh at that.
