There’s a boundary. A thick line splitting the country in two—east to the Sinners, west to the Raiders. A border stained in blood from a war that Jimmy put an end to well before I was born. The wrong man crosses it, it’s unlikely he’s coming back. But it’s a boundary I’m depending on now. One I’m praying keeps the men at my heels at bay.
“There’s no patch on my back.” I down another shot and set the glass on the table with a thunk.
Axe keeps pouring. I’m too tired to drink this much, but god, it feels nice to relax a little after the month I’ve had.
“No,” he says as he sets the bottle down. “But the wrong man finds out you got Sinner blood, and you won’t like what happens to you. Tell me you at least dropped the last name. Being a Donovan in the wrong city out there will get you killed.” His throat works as he tips back his own shot of whiskey. “Got any friends out that way? Boyfriend?”
Eyes narrowed, I study him as he pours more liquor into my cup. “You know, I think this is the longest conversation we’ve had in ten years.”
“Suppose it is.”
“So why do I feel like I’m still being interrogated? And why are you trying to get me drunk?”
He angles closer, his elbows on the scarred table. “Maybe I’m just trying to get to know my sister.”
Snorting, I sit back. “You haven’t ever called me that. What is this, Axe? What do you want to know?”
He leans back in his chair. He’s quiet. Assessing. Like he’s trying to read me. Or like he knows something and he’s waiting for me to say it. But I can’t do that. He’s like Jimmy. He’ll see it as a betrayal. To him and the Sinners. Betray the patch, you pay with your life. I’m not sure my blood ties could save me from that fate.
I’ve been around men like Axe my whole life. I know what he’ll do if his way of life is threatened. But I’m not here to threaten anything. I came here hoping that scary, cold, Axel Donovan reputation would keep the threataway.
None of this was intentional. One night, I was riding into a city I didn’t know, looking for a job, the next I was serving drinks at a biker bar that belonged to the only MC in the country that could give the Sinners a run for their money. And now that MC has gotmerunning. Now that I’m back in Sinner territory, I’m hoping to god they’ll stand down.
Much like the Soldiers of Sin, the Road Raiders are not to be fucked with. Unfortunately for me, I have done exactly that.
And in their minds, what I did is unforgiveable. They want payment, and they want it in blood.
“Why you really here, Grace?” he asks, the coldness back in his voice.
“I told you. The first three times you asked. I needed a change of scenery,” I lie. The silence stretches, and the knot in my stomach does an uncomfortable flip. “Anything else?”
He shakes his head slowly, suspicion and doubt still marring his face. “Welcome home, I guess. Keep out of trouble while you’re here, understand? Don’t think I’ve forgotten how much of a handful you used to be. That shit won’t fly with me.”
Jack’s booming voice carries back into the room as he pushes through the far door, his phone jammed between his ear and shoulder as he tugs on his leather jacket. “You ready, Gracie?”
“Yes.” I push to my feet. “We’re done here.” I zip up my jacket and move past him towards the door.
Axe only tilts his head, watching me the whole way.
This might have been a mistake. Taking refuge in enemy territory was a last-ditch effort to save myself. I’m just not sure it’s enough. I need the full force of the Soldiers of Sin behind me. But with the way Axe is looking at me? Suspicious, untrusting. I’m an outsider. This man is no more my family than the ones I’m running from.
I don’t know what the hell I’m gonna do or where I can go. All I know is I need to lay low, stay out of trouble, and not give Axe any reason to doubt my loyalties.
And I need my damn bike back, before someone finds out what’s in it.
6
With one lastslurp of my iced coffee, I put Triss’s car into park. According to her, it will take some time to get my bike out of impound. But since time is something I don’t have, I’m resorting to other strategies.
My old neighbourhood hasn’t changed. Same graffiti painted on the mailboxes. Same aging, rusted park next to the convenience store.
The suburban side of South Bay’s west end might not be as upscale as the newer subdivisions we drove past on the way to Triss and Jack’s place last night, but I’ve always liked this side of town. It has character. A-line roofs, colourful siding, peeling paint. The gardens are always a little overgrown, the lawns covered with wildflowers and dandelions.
Perfectly manicured lawns are too unnatural for me. I don’t like the idea of taming something that’s supposed to be wild, even in Suburbia Land.
Decker’s lawn isverygreen. Too perfect. As I walk up the gravel driveway leading to his front door, I take extra care not to step on the grass. It’s the kind of lawn that would tell youif someone had walked on it. I don’t want it telling any stories about me. It’s best no one sees me here.
With a deep breath in, I rap on the door. Then I step back and wait. When the knock goes unanswered, I try again. And then a third time. Nothing.
