“You want to settle the score? You know where I live. Drop by anytime. I’ll be happy to kick your ass.”
Wheels lets out a deep, smoker’s laugh. “Why should I have to when I got people to do it for me?”
“Hasn’t worked out too well for you,” I remind him. “You’ve always gotten your ass handed to you, remember? Now’s no different. But know this—I’m not playing games any more, Nate. You’ve crossed a fucking line, and there will be hell to pay for it.”
I hang up before he can respond.
Solana’s staring at me with wide eyes when I turn around. “What’s going on? Who’s Wheels? What did he mean about settling a score?”
I tuck the phone into my back pocket and put my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “Later,” I say. “Right now, we gotta get your ear checked out.”
I guide her back toward the truck. As we walk, I glance back at the young punk Wheels sent after us. He’s still lying in the grass, sobbing, his legs bent at unnatural angles.
“Better hope help is on the way!” I call out to him. “’Cuz I damn sure ain’t calling 911 for you. You should be grateful you’re alive at all.”
We don’t make it back to my place ’til well after sunset.
The sky’s gone from orange to pink to deep, bruised purple by the time I pull into the driveway. Solana’s got a white bandage taped over her ear, courtesy of the Pulsboro Urgent Care. Thankfully, the cut wasn’t deep. Just a nasty slice from the shattered glass.
It could’ve been so much worse. I could’ve lost her tonight.
The thought pulls at the muscles within my chest, making every heartbeat a tense punch against the ribcage.
We picked up a pizza on the way home. Pepperoni and black olives, her favorite. But neither of us has much of an appetite after the day we’ve had.
How could we? In the span of a few hours, our relationship got blown wide open in front of the entire club, I got decked by her uncle, we fucked in my truck on the side of the road, and then some Road Rebels prospect tried to kill us.
Just another Saturday in the life of Silver Kingman.
Solana showers while I set out the pizza and grab a couple of sodas from the fridge. When she comes back downstairs, she’s swimming in my sweats and one of my old Harley t-shirts, her locs piled into a big knot on top of her head.
Though I know she’s strong as hell, it doesn’t change how delicate and young she looks in a moment like this.
…how she looks like she needs protection from the evils of the world.
My protection.
She curls up on the couch next to me, tucking her feet underneath her. I immediately reach for her, fingers gripping her by the chin, turning her head so I can check her ear again.
The bandage is clean and white against her brown skin, which means the bleeding hasn’t started up again.
But it doesn’t change that I hate the sight of it. Hate that somebody hurt her. That I hadn’t been able to stop it.
“Silver,” she whines softly, her lips quirked in a near-smile. “This is, like, the fiftieth time you’ve checked it.”
“I know.”
“It wasn’t as bad as it looked. The Urgent Care nurse said it’ll heal up fine. It won’t even leave a scar.”
“I know,” I say again, but I don’t stop touching her. My thumb traces the soft line of her jaw. The curve of her cheek. I need to feel her. Remind myself she’s here.
She’s whole and she’s mine.
Solana leans into my touch, resting her cheek against the palm of my hand while her eyes search my face. “What are you going to do?”
“Retaliation,” I answer plainly. “That’s where this goes after the history between us.”
“You and… Wheels?” she says slowly. “From the Road Rebels? I’ve heard stuff here and there from Unc and Moses. Are the clubs fighting?”
