Jake’s house keys are in a bowl by the door. I dress in a pair of his jeans, cuffs rolled up, and another one of his t-shirts. Then I lock the front door behind me and walk to Damian’s truck.
It’s big and black and looks like it could drive through a wall. I slide behind the wheel and sit there for a second. I feel like I’m six feet off the ground.
Then I put the truck in gear and head down to the service road.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
REDWATER IS A picturesque small town. One straight strip of main street, storefronts shoulder to shoulder. I park near the doors to the little grocery store and climb out of the truck with Wyatt’s hundred dollar bill in my pocket. The store smells like overripe fruit and floor cleaner. There’s country music playing softly over the speakers. I grab a cart and zigzag through the aisles—produce, dry goods, prepared foods.
I’m considering a box of pasta when I become convinced I’m being watched, a tingling-at-the-back-of-my-neck kind of feeling. I turn around and do a quick scan and see a girl looking at me. At first I don’t recognize her out of context.
Bleached blonde hair, too much eyeliner, staring at me like she’s seeing a ghost.
It takes my brain a second to catch up.
“Babydoll!” I blurt out. The name is barely out of my mouth before I want to clamp a hand over it. I’m supposed to behidingfrom the O.D., not calling out to one of their girls in the middle of the grocery store.
But I’ve known Babydoll since I was fourteen, since I ran away from my foster home and moved in with Billy. Her old man, Cipher, was one of Billy’s roommates, and then one of the first members of the Order of Disorder. About ten years older than me, Babydoll has always been kind to me. She’s as close a thing to family as I’ve ever had.
I’m moving toward her automatically, unable to stop myself, just going on instinct.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, stunned.
“I could ask you the same thing,” she answers.
I notice the roots of her hair are showing, dark beneath the blonde. It’s scraped back into a practical ponytail, not curled like she normally wears it. She’s dressed in a worn-out tank top under an open flannel, jeans that have seen better days. Her mouth is bare. No lipstick.
Her eyes flick down my body, then back up.
“Jesus,” she says. “Aren’t you a fucking cockroach.”
The words get a laugh out of me. “Nice to see you too.”
“You’re supposed to be dead. Or in Mexico. Or in prison. Take your pick.”
“Yeah, well.” I shrug. “I’m not good at doing what I’m supposed to.”
Her gaze cuts past me, flicking around the store. “You alone?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I answer, surprised by the question. Then, maybe because I don’t know what else to say, I turn it around on her. “You?”
“Yeah.” She nods. “Cipher’s at the clubhouse.”
A thousand questions crowd into my mind at once. Babydoll is here, Cipher is at the clubhouse…
Babydoll can tell me what’s happening there.
Babydollisrecon.
“What’s happening at the clubhouse?” I ask. “I heard about Silas and Billy.”
“What happened toyou?” she fires back. “You disappeared that night. Dutch and Ray been saying you and Ryan had something to do with everything that happened.”
“No.” I think quickly. “We escaped, that’s all. We…had to.” I leave it there for now.
“You with the feds?” she asks.
“What?”
