Where the hell was Dani? I paced back and forth in the bedroom, my mind a blur of thoughts about the club and what the cartel vote would mean for our future. If I had a future in the club anymore. I'd had doubts for some time now. And then this happened. Right when Dani and I were about to elope. It was like some kind of fucking sign from heaven, right?
I could walk away.
The front door opened, and Dani walked into the bedroom, headed straight for me, and snaked her arms around me. Like she knew I didn't want to talk, that I just needed to hold her. She stood there, her face buried in my chest, and I felt my heart rate begin to return to normal, like some kind of weird symbiosis or something. I was absorbing her calm energy. It was my version of anger management.
After a few minutes of silence, she looked up at me. "Cambodia," she said.
"Cambodia."
"Sihanoukville," she said. "On the beach."
"Cambodia."
Dani nodded. "It's off the grid," she said. "Well, not really, but, you know, more than a lot of places are anymore."
"You and me in Cambodia," I repeated. I sounded like a parrot, but I couldn't get it to sink into my head.
This girl, this amazing, brilliant, gorgeous girl, was really going to do it.
She was going to fucking marry me.
She was going to fucking pack her bags, run away with me, leave all this shit behind.
And marry me.
This girl, who could have her pick of anyone, was choosing me.
She was aligning with me.
"Yep," Dani said.
"You and me, married on a beach in Cambodia," I said, this time smiling. I wrapped my arms around her, lifted her up, and spun her around. She slung her legs around my waist, locked at the ankles, and looked down at me, her hair falling around her face.
"I love you," she said. "Let's run away."
I looked over at him, sleeping in a hammock on the balcony of the little bungalow that had been our home for the last few weeks. Tomorrow we were heading to Thailand, then to Laos and Vietnam.
My husband.
The words seemed strange, even in my thoughts.
My husband.
I stretched my legs out in front of me, tan from days of lounging in the sun and playing on the beach. The wedding was exactly what I'd hoped for-me in a sundress, my hair piled on top of my head, all sticky and sweaty from the blistering heat. Blaze in a linen shirt and pants, his skin already so dark from the sun that he looked like an ex-pat, not a tourist. Our minister with dreadlocks.
"Hey." Blaze looked at me with hooded eyes, still drowsy. "What are you sitting there looking all thoughtful about?"
"Mmm," I said. "Nothing. Just thinking about being married to you."
"It's pretty good, right?"
I nodded. "Even if it's not all legal yet."
"Those are just details," he said. Getting married in Cambodia sounded like a great idea, and it was. The ceremony was perfect. But, as it turned out, there was a lot of paperwork involved, visiting the embassy and that kind of thing. When we got here, that was the last thing we wanted to do. So we had our perfect ceremony, and we'd just have to make it all official when we returned to the United States.
"We'll have to thank Benicio when we go back," Blaze said.
"You mean, if we go back?" I asked, only half-joking.
Blaze smiled. "That. Exactly."
"Are you sure you can get away from the club for a while?" I asked. I must have asked it a hundred times already. He hadn't told me what was going on, but I sensed that something must have happened, something that had shaken his faith in the club. And I hadn't told him yet about the weird vibe I'd gotten from Mad Dog, or anything like that - it was minor, and anyway, I didn't want to spoil the beauty of this place. We were away from everything, with zero stress. And I wanted it to stay that way. I wanted to keep this place, this time with him, as pristine as possible.
"Of course I can get away from the club for a while," I said.
You should call Axe, check in. That little voice in my head, the one that had been nagging me for the past few weeks, kept echoing it. Like some kind of goddamned parrot, over and over and over. Check in with Axe. Make sure things are okay.
Of course they were fucking okay. Mad Dog had wanted an alliance with the cartel. He tried to arrange it so that a majority vote would let it sail through. He thought he had all the votes he needed, thought he had swayed all the club members he could sway.
He thought Axe was on his side.
He was wrong.
But he wasn't stupid. Mad Dog might be pissed, but he wasn't an idiot. He wouldn't do something crazy.
He wouldn't.
I kept repeating it to myself, like a goddamned mantra.
Besides, Axe was a fucking adult. He could take care of himself. Even if he'd been acting like an adolescent for the past year, getting shitty and drowning himself in * and booze.
Axe didn't need my help.