“I am. But pressuring Wren doesn’t get us any of this any faster. They’re fucking terrified.”
“So am I—that we won’t get that money back.”
The voices trail off as they head to the kitchen.
It’s easy to understand why Grudge, the new president, is worried. Anyone starting something new has a big chip on their shoulder to try to prove themselves.
I hate that my natural empathy is winning out here.
But I quickly change out of the pajamas I thought might help me nap, into a pair of heavy cargo-style jeans and a black hoodie that I stole from Niro. It has the Iron Outlaws New Jersey logo on it. I thought it wasn’t cool to wear the logo if you weren’t an affiliated member of the club, but Niro reassured me I was family and if anyone had a problem with it, to go talk to him about it.
He also told me once he’d convinced the brotherhood to make Cat a brother, he’d help me become one too, if I wanted.
I don’t.
But right now, I want to channel a little bit of his “I don’t give a fuck” energy. The energy that allows him to think so broadly, you can’t guess what he’s going to say next. The reason I was dreaming about hurricanes and dark green kites.
I want to feel like New Jersey has my back, even if Colorado doesn’t yet.
Grabbing my laptop from the desk, I walk out into the kitchen, where Grudge and Catfish immediately stop talking when I enter.
Catfish looks at my face; concern washes over his at what he sees. Maybe I look as exhausted as I feel. But the way his eyes rake over me gives me shivers. The good kind. I focus on the sensation rather than the biological function.
Then, his head snaps to Grudge. “You and Lucy need to go out to dinner tonight,” he says.
“We do?” Grudge asks.
“Yeah. Celebrate. You’re on the path to having your conviction expunged. Step one done. Go get sundaes or whatever you guys want. I’ll work with Wren.”
That was part of what I found yesterday. The proof that Lucy’s father had a role in getting Grudge sentenced to prison for something he hadn’t done.
“Fine. Lucy is downstairs talking with Quinn.” He grabs her coat off the back of the door. “Hey, Wren. Sorry again for earlier. You being here has been really fucking useful. I’m sorry I got in your face this morning.”
I raise my hand. “It’s fine.”
“It’s good of you to say so, but it’s not. Contrary to first impressions, I’m not an asshole. Will try not to reinforce that perspective going forward.”
The door closes with a slam, and I jump at the sound, even though I’m expecting it.
“Sit,” Catfish says, pointing to the stool at the kitchen island.
Without a better plan of my own, I do as he says and open up my laptop.
“Are you going to do some more work?” he asks.
“I’m not giving up on the crypto just yet.”
Catfish smiles softly. “Then let me make you dinner while you work. You haven’t eaten. You’ll be hungry.”
I am, but my stomach feels raw.
“Don’t worry,” he says, as if reading my mind. “Thought I’d make a chicken and dumpling stew. It’s my mom’s recipe.”
He turns the music off, and the quiet is so overwhelming, it almost sounds deafening. I sigh and rub my temples.
“You cook?” I ask.
“Do I look like I can’t?”
