“I do,” Gunner said, voice solemn. “It’s very… you.”
Parker rolled her eyes, but she blushed. “You’re not in the club. You couldn’t handle the dark stuff.”
“Try me.”
She shot him a look that made my skin prickle. “I’ll bring you a reading list.”
Wrecker raised a glass. “Speaking of clubs, how’s the gun shop, Arsenal? You running out of inventory yet?”
I shrugged. “Damn near. Every month it’s three days of restock and then we’re dry again. I got a line on a new shipment, but it’s stuck at the border.” I looked at Bronc. “Supposed to be clean. I trust the source.”
Bronc nodded. “Good. We’ll need it.”
For a second, the air changed. I saw the old wariness pass between Bronc and Wrecker and Papa, the way their eyes flicked to Harper and then back to me. They were all thinking about what came after tonight, what waited on the other side of the Atlantic.
But for now, it was family. For now, it was food and laughter and the kind of comfort you only got after you’d bled for each other.
Big Papa wiped his mouth and leaned over to Harper. “You settling in alright?”
She nodded, a curl of hair falling over her cheek. “I am. Everyone’s been really kind for the most part.”
He smiled big and soft. “That’s because you’re good people.” He jerked his chin at me. “Arsenal ain’t always easy, but you keep him in line. We all see it.”
She ducked her head. “We’re good for each other.”
I watched her, watched the way she started to relax by increments, her hand coming to rest on my thigh beneaththe table, fingers tracing slow circles. My wolf inside settled, content.
Oscar the prairie dog crawled out from under the table, circled the group, then stood up in Aspen’s lap. “Miss Harper,” he intoned in his tiny, perfect British accent. “Should you require additional cutlery, I am at your disposal.”
She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. “Thank you, Oscar. That’s very sweet.”
He bowed and vanished beneath Aspen’s chair, mission complete.
As the meal wound down, the noise level ramped up. Parker and Harper huddled close, talking about some trashy romance novel. Gunner taught Aspen how to blow straw wrappers across the table. Papa and Doc argued about the best whiskey in Texas. Bronc and Juliet conferred in low voices, her hand never leaving his.
I leaned into the noise, the closeness, the feeling of being part of something that was bigger than myself. I watched Harper’s face light up, watched her walls come down, watched as she let herself belong.
At some point, Parker dragged her to the bathroom. As they left, I caught Parker’s eye. She winked, and for the first time in a long while, I trusted her to have Harper’s back. There was no threat at this table, not tonight.
When they returned, Harper’s cheeks were pink, and she was laughing. Parker had her arm looped through Harper’s, and they slid into their seats with the easy grace of old friends.
Wrecker glanced at the clock. “Time?”
“Just past 2100 hours,” I said.
He nodded, finishing the last of his beer. “We should go soon.”
Bronc stood, clearing his throat. The table went quiet.
“Thank you, Pearl, for feeding the wolves,” he called, loud enough to reach the kitchen.
Pearl popped her head out. “Don’t mention it, sugar. Next one’s on the house, so y’all better come back alive.”
That hit harder than anything else all night.
We rose as a pack, chairs scraping, bodies moving as one. The old men at the next table gave us a wave and a half-drunk “Oorah.” Oscar scurried up Aspen’s sleeve and disappeared into her purse.
On the way out, I paused at the door. Harper hovered behind me, her eyes wide but steady. I bent down, putting my lips to her ear.
