I’ve learned my lesson the hard way. You can travel across continents, live on tropical islands and wipe your ass with palm leaves, run away from the life you once knew as much as possible.
But the demons still find you in the night and remind you why you’re not good enough. Why you’ll never be.
The foster families didn’t want you for a reason—you were never anything special.
No matter how far into the ocean you sail, no matter who you meet—the demons will always be waiting.
And I hear them now, starting to creep back into my life. Tomorrow marks three months since I first arrived in the US.
I’m familiar with the way of things. I know my way around.
But that’s not a good thing.
It means I need to change up my lifestyle and introduce something new into it. When your mind is busy navigating, you don’t have time to think about other things.
“Venom Vultures. Ever heard of it?”
“No,” I say, taking a sip of whiskey. “It sounds like a cult.”
“Probably is.” Vex finishes his drink and slams it down on the table. “The club was brought to our attention a while back in the station. It’s a motorcycle club. A few of the officers have reason to believe it’s a crime gang, but there was never any hard, concrete evidence to support that claim.”
“What are you proposing?”
“We join it.”
In my years on the boat, I’ve witnessed some bizarre things. You write them down in the log book and think you’re writing fiction.
A police officer suggesting that the two of us join a motorcycle club has to be one of the most crazy stories yet.
“You’re being serious,” I state, biting back laughter.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
I note the beige uniform with the yellow embroidered logo reading “Police.” A silver badge glows on Vex’s breast—the badge he stuck in my face when he arrested me a few weeks back.
“I’m already skating on very thin ice. I could get deported.”
“So, what? You get deported and jump back on your cruise.”
Cruise is an overstatement. If Vex could see my boat, he’d take back his proposition to sail with me.
“What about your job?”
“What about it?” challenges Vex. “I’m tired of the rules and protocols. I get why criminals break the law. The law sucks.”
I hitch my eyebrow. “I’m glad I can agree on that with a police officer.”
“When you do what I do, you don’t get to win. You just get to exercise control over the general public and arrest people. But there’s really no control or victory in it at all when superiorsare drilling orders down your throat. I’m done with it all. Join me. You’re not ready to leave the country yet. There’s a lot more to America than flashing billboards and strippers.”
Is there?
I narrow my eyes and wonder for a second if I’m being played. Some officers go far and wide to get you in the back seat of their car.
But I don’t think they’d go as far as this—drinking whiskey in a random Australian’s motel room.
Vex is right. I’m not ready to leave yet. In my forty years of living, I’ve never met a man like the one sitting before me. He could be a friend, and I’ve never had a proper one of those before.
“Sounds like a plan. Find out the club’s location and we’ll give it a shot.” I second-take his outfit. “And maybe swap out the uniform.”
