Cassie watched her disappear behind the counter, smiling wryly.Turning back to Ollie, she wrapped her hands around her mug and took swallow.“What were you saying?”
“How people can change,” he replied around a mouthful of cookie.“Like me havin’ a badge now, and you not being on the back of Nash’s bike no more.”
Cassie’s grip on her mug tightened.“Still, we both grew up in the same town.We learned early not to trust the law.That doesn’t go away just because you leave.”
She left it there, unwilling to touch the part about Nash.Not now.Not ever.
“Honestly?”Ollie shrugged.“Part of me still feels the same.But the whole county went to hell—all them factory jobs dried up, drugs started pouring in.People dyin’, and nobody doin’ a damn thing.”
He lifted his coffee, taking a slow sip.“And after a while, I started seein’ it different.Nobody on the ridge would even talk to the law when folks should’ve been workin’ together.Figured maybe I could help—make some kind of difference, bridge that goddamn gap—but…” He shook his head.“Never mind all that.What about you?You still performing?”
Cassie caught the hesitation in his voice and, for a moment, wasn’t sure which to address.Clearing her throat, she said, “Uh, yeah.Still performing.I play first violin with the Hudson Philharmonic during the main season.”
Ollie nodded.“So, the main season—that mean you get summers off then…like teachers?”
“I would,” she replied, “Except I’m part of the Gemini Ensemble too—we do the international circuit.”
The Geminis were still in France where she’d left them, carrying on without her.They’d be there another week before moving on to Prague—she felt a pang thinking about it.Her phone was still stacked with their messages, but she couldn’t bring herself to answer.Maybe tomorrow.Definitely not today.
Ollie let out a low whistle.“Sounds fancy.”
Cassie coughed out a laugh.“Not really.I basically live out of a suitcase all summer.But the performances are a lot more fun than the Philharmonic—and so are the people.”
The Gemini Ensemble was exactly what the name suggested: everything in twos.Monteverdi and Billie Eilish.Schubert and Lana Del Rey.Half the ensemble in dark, half in light, moving as they played, crossing and recrossing until it felt like the music itself was pulling the strings.
“So there you go,” Ollie said.“People can change.”
Cassie hummed noncommittally, lacking the energy to argue.Everything around her had shifted—her friends, her work, even the ground she was standing on—but she still felt like herself.Guarded.Stubborn.Still doing reckless shit like storming the Kings’ bar with a baseball bat.
She took another sip of coffee.“Your turn.You thought you could make a difference…but what?What aren’t you saying?”
Ollie looked at her for a long moment before shaking his head.“Nah.You've got enough on your plate.”
Cassie set her mug down a little harder than she meant to.“I’m not a little kid anymore, Ollie.Don’t decide what I can and can’t handle.”
He gave a short laugh, shaking his head.“’Course you’re not—ain’t sure there’s anything you can’t handle.”The humor faded, replaced with a long sigh.“I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, Cas.It’s just…it’s about Con.And the Kings.
“They got their hands in everything that moves through these hills,” he went on, rubbing the back of his neck, like he wasn’t sure how much to say.
“It’s worse now—Nash expanded.I’ve seen Silver Demons cuts comin’ and goin’ through the ridge…
“—you know who they are, don’t you?”
Even if she hadn’t grown up immersed in biker culture, she’d still know the Silver Demons.Everybody did.They were outlaw royalty, one of the big one-percent clubs that made headlines wherever they went—highway shootouts, bars burned to the ground, concerts that ended in riots, funerals where patched men lined up by the thousands.She’d heard stories—how they’d gone toe-to-toe with the Italians once and left the mob limping for years after.
“The Demons run guns, drugs, probably women,” Ollie said, his voice hardening.“And now they’re in these hills.You really think fentanyl just shows up here by accident?You think Nash, of all people, isn’t in on it?”
Cassie knew the Kings weren’t saints.Back in Maverick’s day, they’d run chop shops out of their garages, stripping parts or swapping VINs and reselling whole.Maverick kept stills tucked in the holler—probably Nash’s now.There’d been a greenhouse up there too, packed with marijuana plants under grow lamps.But that was Ridge business.Everybody’s uncle or cousin had a still; homegrown weed was just part of life.And sure, stronger stuff turned up now and then—ecstasy, coke, whatever someone pulled out at a party.But it had never felt organized.
And it sure as hell hadn’t been fentanyl.
“You know I already went after Nash,” she said quietly, “Screamed in his face.Took a bat to his bar—”
“You took a bat to the bar?”Ollie grinned.“Hell, I’d’ve paid good money to see that—”
She cut him off sharply.“Do you really think they’re running drugs?That Nash just stood by and let Connor…die?”
Nash flashed in her mind, asleep at the ruined bar, clutching Connor’s colors.
