“Probably trying to be friendly to a club officer’s old lady,” I say, thoroughly perplexed by his behavior. I add, “One of the club girls filled my coffee cup. Do you want a rundown on her too?”
“Tell me what he said to you.”
I shrug. “He asked about the trucking business.”
Mica is quiet for a second, then he lowers his voice. “Nova, don’t make me pull information out of you about that bastard. What specifically did he ask about your business?”
It takes me a minute to reel back in my memory of exactly what he said. “He asked if I was running everything myself.”
His expression is more serious than I can ever remember it being.
“What’s this all about?” I ask.
“Bran was embedded inside one of Viper’s patched-over clubs as an informant for the Sons. While he was in there, he fed information to us and to Viper simultaneously.” He pauses. “He betrayed us.”
Bran is busy restacking the empties near the storage room door, apparently unbothered by our conversation.
“He seemed genuinely nice, if a bit talkative,” I tell Mica, gentling my voice because I can see how upset he is.
“That’s the problem with him. He’s an expert at seeming like a really decent guy, but he’s not. He isn’t trustworthy at all though.” He holds my gaze. “Please don’t talk to him again.”
That’s when I notice something I’ve never seen before in Mica’s eyes, a tiny hint of fear. I find myself nodding before I even make the conscious decision to agree to his demand.
“Alright, if that’s what you think is best, I’ll roll with it,” I assure him.
Chapter 8
Mica
Getting ready for a regional council meeting is serious business in my world. I check the knife at my belt, the one I carry to meetings because guns aren’t allowed. These meetings are more political than outright fights, but there’s too many men with competing interests for me to feel safe without a weapon.
I can hear Nova in the next room. She’s getting ready as well. Drawers opening and shutting a little too hard. I’m pulling my hair back when she appears in the doorway. I glance at her reflection in the mirror.
She’s wearing dark jeans, a dark shirt, and her grandfather’s watch on her left wrist. And she’s proudly wearing my property cut. The cut fits her differently than it fits most women who wear one. Unlike most of the other old ladies, she was born to this life. She wears it like a second skin. Seeing her like this makes something kick deep in my gut. If I’m honest, it makes me want to keep her for life instead of one year.
When I walk over, she reaches up and smooths out my collar. Her hand is so soft against my skin that it makes me feel things I shouldn’t in this moment.
“You adjusted my collar,” I say, trying not to sound as touched as I am over such a small gesture. It only seems affectionate, I remind myself.
She lowers her eyes and murmurs, “It was lying wrong.”
I reach out and return the favor, straightening the right shoulder seam of her cut where the leather had folded slightly, a two-second adjustment, and she goes still while I do it. I step back.
“Better,” I say. “Now, we’re both looking sharp for our big day.”
She nods. “We should probably go,” she tells me.
I grab her hand before she can walk away and tug her closer. “I know you’re nervous. Don’t worry, me and my family will keep you safe. We appreciate what you’re doing on our behalf, Nova.”
“I’m just doing what I agreed to in our marriage contract. I get my inheritance and you get my grandfather’s territory.”
I drop her hand and allow her to slip away. Her words sting because I’ve been hoping our arrangement had come to mean something more than just this transaction we’ve agreed to. Maybe, I’m mistaken about that. Tugging down the front of my cut, I follow her downstairs where Rock, Jasper, Slate, and Onyx are waiting for us.
They’re outside, already on their bikes, with the engines running. Rock and Jasper move into position at the front. Me and Nova move forward behind them. Slate and Onyx cover the rear. We pull out of the lot and maintain formation and we ride.
It’s a great morning for a ride. The air is cool and the road is clear as far as the eye can see. People on the sidewalk slow down to look. A truck on the highway moves over without us signaling. This is because we’re respected in our community. Today, for the first time, the formation includes my wife.
Nova’s grip is steady around my waist. She doesn’t cling to my back the way some old ladies do. She sits straight up, owning her place on my bike. She doesn’t flinch when I take us through sharp curves or when we accelerate on the open road. This woman belongs on the back of my bike.
