I nod, watching them head out the front door.
“You’re a rat bastard,” Symphony says.
“Symphony, hey,” Diesel says.
She whirls on him. “You two, you son of a bitch.”
Great, now I’m busting up homes everywhere.
But Diesel is slicker than me on this, hopping the bar and gathering Symphony in his arms.
The two of them hole up in one of the back booths. He’s probably getting her off in there. Those two will do it anywhere.
They’ll be all right.
But I’m not sure about Marietta. Pressure is going to come from all sides.
And we still have the raid to go.
CHAPTER 35
MARIETTA
Word of my big mouth gets out fast, and even Iron Jack agrees that I have to stay at the club until the raid is over. No bar. No class. No leaving at all.
Symphony about loses her shit over it and drives up to the club with Jenna. Betz makes them turn around, pointing to Adam on the roof with his gun.
I know all this is too much. If romance author Joanna Wylde put this in one of her motorcycle club books, she’d get one-starred into oblivion for not being believable.
But it’s happening. I don’t know what to do to stop it.
Betz is super pissed about me talking at the bar and gives me the silent treatment outside of ordering me around.
Carol sleeps odd hours with the new baby, and Celia has decided motherhood is in her future and hangs out with her and the kids.
So, I spend most of my time in the bunkhouse with the new girls. It turns out Crystal’s name is actually Christina. The Kin changed it as a joke. Once she and Jami get some sleep and decent food for a few days, they look a lot better.
Iron Jack limits their roaming to the bunkhouse, kitchen, and back porch. We lug a TV into the bunkhouse from thestorage room. It has a crack across it, but it mostly functions. I have Merrick smuggle me a wireless streaming stick, and we watch Netflix like it’s our job.
We trySons of Anarchy, but the whole storyline with Jax and his pregnant ex makes Jami sob like the world is ending, so we switch to reality TV, especiallyLove is Blind. Christina is nuts for that show.
“I can’t believe Salvador called off the wedding at the altar!” Christina shrieks Thursday night when we’re watching season two. “What the ever-loving hell?”
Betz appears in the doorway. “You three, make yourself useful. We’re doing steak and potatoes for the last supper. You all need to prep.” She disappears.
I shut off the TV. “You ever heard anyone call something ‘the last supper’ at your club?”
Christina scoots off her bed, pulling a black scrunchie off her wrist to tie up her black hair. “Sounds biblical.”
I’ve been careful not to talk about the raid in case the two of them have a way to communicate with the Kin. As far as I can tell, neither of them came with a phone or anything else, and we sure haven’t provided one, but we can’t be too careful.
“Never heard of it,” Jami says. She strips off the gray cardigan she’s wearing over a long-sleeved T-shirt covered in kittens. The bunkhouse can get cold, but she gets hot in the kitchen.
I’ve been living in sweats since I got banished to the clubhouse. I smooth my hair in its ponytail and head to the other room.
Betz has left two full bags of baking potatoes on the counter. “Who wants to scrub and prick?” I ask.
“I’ll take the pricks,” Jami says, and she and Christina burst out laughing.
