“Don’t you think there’s a better way to ask that?”
“I’ve never seen him make friends with a black woman before,” Ruger insists. “It’s true. Is that not the word we’re using now? Should I be calling her a person of something or other?”
“No… You can call her black,” Zayna says, her chest tightening with slight impatience. “That’s not the problem.”
“I don’t make friends with a lot of women because I’m not a whore.”
“Zeb, there’s no need to use that word,” Zayna says. “Janelle, be careful. These bikers are ignorant. I’m only here because I… got into serious trouble.”
“You can walk away any time…” Ruger grumbles.
Somehow, everybody in the room knows that isn’t true. Zayna wraps her arms around her husband and kisses his cheek.
“Be good.”
Ruger grunts with frustration and looks at Janelle with suspicion again. “Have you had any inkling that this man might sell you over the border to some Mexican?”
I can tell Zayna wants to launch into another lecture about racial stereotyping, especially considering the current situation with everybody hating on the Mexicans these days and talking about how they’re all criminals. Ruger covers her mouth with his firm hand which is large enough to cover her entire face.
Janelle doesn’t immediately respond to defend me. Heat rushes over my face. I feel a surge of embarrassment and humiliation that she thinks for a second that I would do anything other than protect her.
“I mean… I don’t know why Zeb wants to help me.”
“So you think he might sell you?”
“I don’t… Maybe?”
The heat is enough to burn me alive. I have been sweet on this woman the entire time we have ridden across the country together. I put my tongue in her asshole. I held her close to me every night. I killed for her. Just because I haven’t dragged her off to bed without making my intentions clear to her, justbecause I haven’t forced her, just because I’ve restrained myself to avoid forcing her to make a choice… she thinks I don’t care.
It’s especially humiliating to have my feelings dragged into question and picked apart in front of my older cousin, Ruger. I feel almost like less of a man and worse because my feelings and words can’t come out. My tongue ties in an impenetrable knot that makes me feel like a weak fucking bastard.
Ruger takes his hand away from Zayna’s mouth and gives her a look that’s both victorious and defiant. Like he knew I couldn’t be trusted.
“Don’t worry, Janelle. Zeb and I will be out today, and we will make sure that he does not shackle you up and sell you off. I can guarantee it.”
Chapter Twenty
Janelle
Iscrewed up somehow and I don’t exactly knowhow.Zeb and Ruger leave like they promised once they get hyped up on two pots of coffee. I don’t know what to make of Zayna. She has a calm, placid face and she’s pretty, but it unnerves me to meet women who don’t smile very much. She doesn’t look sad, but she doesn’t smile at all. It’s not like she doesn’t seem happy, just calm and totally in control over her emotions in a way that seems to complement Ruger.
Ruger terrifies me still and it felt good to have Zeb by my side earlier even if he was cold before he left. Zayna takes me into the kitchen to talk while she cooks. They’ve left and she’s hungry. I share the sentiment. Zayna puts Eden in her high chair and she makes sounds that sound very close to words while playing with one of those books made out of fabric, perfect for toddlers who put literally everything in their mouth. I get to meet the newest member of Zayna and Ruger’s family – Talitha. She’s beautiful, with wide blue eyes and dark, thick hair that has a tight 4c texture with gingery-brown curls in little tufts on her small head. I’ve never seen a baby with that much hair. Talitha has her own baby chair, and she looks around the room gurgling, just happy to be included.
Zayna is seriously one of the most beautiful women that I’ve ever seen. She wears her natural hair in two long braids cornrowed down flat against the side of her head with a zig-zag part in the middle and thick braids indicating healthy natural hair that end at the middle of her back. It’s hard not to feel a pang of envy that she can get her hair to grow that long. I’ve never been able to get my hair past my shoulders.
I get so comfortable in Zayna’s kitchen that I forget she isn’t an old friend or even a new close friend like Rana back in Boston.
“Are you planning on staying with Zeb long?” Zayna asks, getting straight to the point. Her expression is calm, even friendly, but I still feel strangely wary about the question. Do I have a plan when it comes to Zeb? The last time I had a plan it was the night I planned to go home to Rakeem and cook him dinner. Life was so devastatingly simple and routine back then. But maybe… a little boring.
Life with Zeb is anything but boring, but what would staying with this man look like? So far, it’s been constant murder.
“I don’t think I’m cut out to be in a motorcycle club.”
I’m scared to use the word gang out loud as if that could summon some type of even worse juju than what I’ve already experienced during this ride out west. I would love for us to spend thirty days or more without committing a felony. If I stay with Zeb, I don’t know how that could be possible.
“It’s not all non-stop madness,” Zayna says. “The Blackwood men like their peace. Zebulon is very similar to his cousin from everything I’ve seen.”
I believe her that Zeb likes his peace. I don’t know what that means for the future. We co-exist peacefully after murdering everyone in our path? That’s not exactly the wedding and house with a white picket fence that most women dream about.
