She makes a choking sound. “Y-you can’t keep doing this, it’s not fair.”
I cup the back of her neck and tug her close, resting my forehead against hers. “You of all people should know life isn’t fair. I did what I had to do.”
“You could have just walked away the night we ran into each other in Shreveport. Why’d you chase me, Brick? Don’t you get it? I never want to be a part of an MC again. I hated my father. I wanted to kill my husband. And I sure as hell won’t let you, Eagle, or the Iron Norsemen send me back to Alabama. The Devil’s Crusaders treat dogs better than women.” She’s shaking uncontrollably.
“Listen to me.” I grip her by the upper arms. “Have a little faith, Starlet.”
“In what? You?”
“Christ.” I let go of her and take a step back.Patience, I remind myself. The one thing I lack the most—another reason I wear the nomad patch. I don’t like complications. And Starlet Vega is a beautiful complication. “If not me, then Eagle.”
She snags a flat rock off the ground and throws it, it skips twice and then sinks in the water. “I don’t even know him.”
“You will.”
“That’s my misfortune, isn’t it?”
I sigh, through trying to convince her I have her back. Instead, I take her by the elbow and usher her up the pathway, back to my bike. “We’re going to be late for dinner.”
She doesn’t say anything, but does put the helmet back on. We reach the compound five minutes later. Black Sabbath is playing on the outdoor stereo system, and Shorty is manning the grill. There’s old ladies and kids running around, and Eagle is sitting on the porch with a beer in his hand, his wife on his lap.
I wasn’t expecting a gathering like this.
“W-what is this?” Starlet asks.
“Fuck if I know.” I’m just as surprised as she is. And I’m definitely not in the mood to socialize. “Just smile and act like everything is okay. The old ladies don’t need to know why you’re really here.” We walk to the porch and I wait for my prez to acknowledge me.
“This must be, Starlet,” Angel, Eagle’s old lady, says as she stands up. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
I throw Eagle a what-the-fuck look and he shrugs. “Blame it on the nice weather.”
“Let’s get this over with,” I say, opening the front door and stepping inside, in need of a shot of whiskey.
Starlet doesn’t follow me, so I walk to the bar and grab a bottle of Jack Daniels off the shelf.
“Is that the girl?” Shorty asks as he walks up to me.
I take a long sip from the bottle, not giving a shit if anyone else wants some whiskey. I set the bottle aside and jamb my thumbs into the front pockets of my jeans. “Christ, Shorty.” Why does he keep hounding me? Asking stupid questions? “Did you see us drive up together?”
“Yeah,” the old man says.
“Guess you know the answer then.”
He shakes his head. “Just because you wear that goddamned patch doesn’t mean you have to hate the world.” He pokes me in the chest with his index finger. “I backed you as the vice from the moment I read your profile and saw your picture. There’s hunger in your eyes—reminds me of myself when I was your age. But if you keep rattling everyone’s chains, you’ll never get a chance to achieve your full potential in this chapter, any, really.”
It’s a long climb to the top of any club, and an even harder fall. Maybe that’s why I like staying where I am. “I’m not here to make friends.”
“Maybe not,” he says. “But you’re about as methodical as one of those fancy computers you work on. It won’t work here, Brick. Sooner or later, a brother needs a place to call home.”
Those words are eerily familiar. If I were a normal man—even a regular brother, I’d embrace the chance of staying in one place. But I’m not. I gaze out the screened door where Starlet is still chatting with Angel. Eagle has it all. Even Shorty does. But I’m my own enemy within. Whenever I get too close to someone, I self-sabotage, putting as much distance between me and whoever threatens my life plan.
“This isn’t Philly,” he adds.
“No.” I stare at him. “It’s not.”
“Then quit acting like it is and do the right thing.”
Why is he making such an effort to reform me? “Thanks for the wisdom, old man.”
He nods, slaps me on the back, and walks away.
Louisiana isn’t anything like what I thought it would be. There’s a deep connection between the members of this charter—different than any other club I’ve visited. And I’m not sure I can handle it, even if I wanted to. I take another swig of whiskey, mentally preparing for what’s coming after dinner. Starlet doesn’t have a chance in hell—the brothers are going to send her back to Alabama.
A number of outcomes play out in my head. Defying the club and making a run for it with Starlet. Or just killing every motherfucker that poses a threat. Or turning my back completely and letting the Crusaders deal with her like the law says they can. No matter what, someone is going to get hurt. And because of it, not sure which way any of this is going to go yet.
I take another deep drink, hoping to achieve complete numbness, the only temporary relief I’m likely to find.
