“Yeah. That was scary.”
Jagger opened the med-bay. Picked up my hand. He traced the bones beneath the surface of my skin. His fingertips felt rough and scratchy. I liked it. “Mateo also said that alarms went off at the junkyard this morning. Wanda called for assistance and then was cut off. Jolene said the office was shaking, and then went silent for two hours. Shit’s happening there.
“An hour into her com silence, Mateo took off in the Simba with Evelyn still in a med-bay, running in silent, full combat mode. He said to tell you that you have thirty-six hours before bunker busters kick in.”
Mateo must have left them emplaced, aimed, and ready to fire. I had a day and a half to clear the bikers out of the bunker, which I was sure they all wanted to claim and would happily go to war over.Bloody lovely.
“Jolene?” I asked.
“Your Jolene came back online twelve minutes ago, demanding we wake you up. I had no idea Southern ladies could sound so pissed.”
Jagger held up a finger and tapped his comms. “Anyway, you need to hear what she has to say. Jolene, you’re on.”
“Just so you know, Sugah, I just shot up a passel of bikers on matte-black bikes carrying the latest in military gear. They were all wearing black unmarked street clothes with no kuttes, no insignia. I am currently tracking the serial numbers of the ruined bikes, and Wanda is burying the dead. You get your little butt back here. You hear me?”
“I hear you. Thank you, Jolene.”
“You’re welcome, Shining Sugah. Out.”
I scrunched up my face. “How am I supposed to get home?”
“You’ll have a long walk.”
My face must have said that I was not amused.
Jagger chuckled, a sound that traveled along my skin and bones and nerves like fire, to settle low in my belly. “I’ve been offered a bike with a sidecar,” he said. “Amos will ride my bike. Cupcake will be provided one of my private bikes. We’ll have a small escort for protection, insisted upon by Whip and McQuestion, and they’ll be driving your ATVs.”
So they would know exactly where the junkyard was. I could refuse the escort, or dismiss them before we got there, but that wouldn’t last long. I focused on the other crap in his statements. “Sidecar?” I growled. “I hate sidecars.” My mother had died in one, but I didn’t say that. Instead I shot him anI will hurt you when I am welllook.
Jagger just grinned. “And when we get home, we’ll revisit that expression.”
“Home?”
“McQuestion has offered to give the junkyard provisional chapter house status.”
My eyes might have bugged out of my head. “You could have led with that, Asshole.” I shoved my good arm under me to sit up.
“Whip says you can ride with his personal house if you’d rather. Same invitation from both Bengal and Mama-Killer. Marconi offered to adopt you as family. I thought the clubs might go to war right then.” Asshole seemed to find imminent war among biker clubs amusing. He adjusted the med-bay mattress so I could relax.
As the mattress moved to better support me, all kinds of thoughts meandered through my head, the kind that I’d have to look at later, after I was no longer druggy. Family beckoned, though I’d probably have to kill Mina if I went with Marconi. And I’d have to turn Whip into a thrall to keep him from getting shot if I went that route.
My own chapter house in the OMW though.Thathad possibilities.
“Thanks,” I said, as the bed stopped moving and pain from being shifted eased.
Not looking at me, Jagger said oh so nonchalantly, “To keep bloodshed from happening, Cupcake suggested the junkyard become neutral territory.”
I blinked. “Neutral . . .” Goose bumps rose on my flesh. “What did you say?” I willed him to look at me, but he didn’t meet my eyes. “Jagger. Neutral territory?”
“Your own MC.”
“My own motorcycle club . . . ?”
“Yeah. Something like a road house or central clearing house or trading post, autonomous and self-supporting, dealing equally with all the clubs and all of them having access to you. All that’s on the table. All of it. You get to decide your fate, which is about as good as it gets, Little Girl.”
“But how? People die when they walk away from a club.”
“Not always. McQuestion and the prez would have to release you. You’d turn in your kutte. Design your own colors and insignia, your own emblems, draw up your own charter.” He shrugged slightly, still not looking at me. “You’d be president. You’d have to assign a VP, treasurer, sergeant-at-arms. Pick your own enforcers, top guns.”
