“It means the Widow Makers are nothing more than your hired help these days. You only call on us when you want us to protect her,” she says, stabbing a finger at me. “And now here we are, working with the Mexicans to go save her father. She has nothing to do with this club, Rebel. She’s not one of us. Why the hell should we be endangering our lives to fix her problems?”
Jamie’s furious. I’m furious, too, but nowhere near as outraged as he is. I can practically see the steam blowing from his ears. The thing about Jamie when he’s angry is that he doesn’t blow up or start screaming and shouting. He gets quiet, his movements more precise, his voice clipped and tight. All three of those things are happening now as he says, “You’re not going to be risking anything, Shay, because I didn’t call you up. And in case you missed it, Sophia is one of us. She’s a prospect. When she’s outside the walls of this compound, she’s wearing the same cut you wore when you prospected for us. We’ve been here before, haven’t we? I’ll tell you what I told you six months ago. If you don’t like the way things are being run, feel free to leave at any point. And feel free to leave your ink behind at the same goddamn time.”
I didn’t know what he meant the last time I heard Jamie tell Shay she could leave her ink, but I do now. You can’t just walk out on the club. Joining is a commitment and a responsibility. It’s something you have to take seriously, which is why the prospecting period is so long, aside from the fact that the other members need time to work out if you’re going to be a liability or not. So wanting to leave is a big deal. Shay will need to have the Widow Makers club emblem scoured from her back with fire or acid if she wants to pack up her shit and go. Some people try and cover the huge back piece with something else, but the work is never good enough; if that’s the route you want to go down, Jamie and Cade have to inspect the new ink, and nine times out of ten it won’t be acceptable. The club’s banner will still be all too clear, and they’ll take your skin anyway.
On the other side of the clubhouse, leaning against the bar, Julio starts to laugh. “Trouble in paradise, my friend? You can say whatever you like about my operation. My men aren’t dumb enough to question me like that. It would mean death for them, and they know it. Bad business, letting women play at big boy games. Haven’t I told you this before?”
Jamie doesn’t respond. He’s too busy burning holes in Shay’s head. “Do we have a serious problem here, or can we get on with the task at hand?” he demands.
“Whatever.” She turns her back on him. “Get on with your precious task at hand. I’ll be right here when you get back.” Sarcasm drips from her voice. She’s not happy, but then when is she ever? Cade shakes his head, rubbing his hands at his temples. The other members of the club are all looking to Jamie, waiting for him to tell them what to do next. Julio, Andreas and the rest of the Mexican crew file out of the clubhouse, all of them still smirking at the discord they just witnessed.
Five minutes later, the people Jamie called up including myself are all climbing on our motorcycles, watching Julio’s Humvee burn off into the settling dusk.
The skyline is a deep pink, tinged with burned orange—a smudged blur of color that looks like it was violently splashed across the desert. An ill portended prophecy perhaps. Those pinks and oranges will deepen to crimson before long, a brutal and bloody horizon, and all six of us will find ourselves riding toward it.
Cade and Carnie talk in hushes tones as Jamie stands beside my Ducati, checking and rechecking the clip of the Glock he’s holding in his hands. “Don’t hesitate. You see anyone you don’t recognize and you shoot. Have your gun up and ready at all times. Don’t leave my side. If shit goes bad, get the fuck out of the farmhouse and back to the bikes. Make your way back here, no matter what. We’ll all be following behind you.”
He wants me to turn and run at the first signs of trouble, but he has to know I won’t leave him. If shit goes bad, it means we all need to stand our ground and fight. I won’t be leaving if Cade or any of the other Widowers are hurt. And if he’s hurt? God, if he’s hurt, I’ll die before I get back on my bike and ride off into the darkness. He doesn’t need to hear me say this, though. He needs to hear me tell him I’ll do as he asks for his own peace of mind, so this is what I do.
“Of course. I will, if that’s what you want.”
He nods once, a hard, sharp, military nod. I think that’s who he needs to be right now: a soldier, and not my fiancé. After he hands me the Glock, he still cups my face in his hands and kisses me deeply, though. “Be careful,” he whispers. “I’ll never forgive you if you get yourself killed.”