“And if I hadn’t given you cause to go running? There are too many ifs, Laura. You are not to blame.”
She’s heard this from me already, more than once, but I think she will believe it now. Only Jamie can relieve her of her absurd guilt. It’s as though she visibly relaxes as he holds her, the weight of her remorse finally falling from her shoulders, and I know it: she’s going to be okay. She’s really going to be okay.
EPILOGUE
The Widow Makers have their fingers in many pies. In order to fund the work we’ve been doing to find Laura, alongside helping other victims of sex trafficking, we’ve had to become resourceful. We do run guns occasionally. We do transport weed every once in a while, though we don’t sell it ourselves. And we also have a tattoo shop in New Mexico—the Dead Man’s Ink Bar. Above the tattoo shop is an apartment I’ve been using as a base for a while now. Separate, away from the compound, I’ve always found I can think better here. Breathe better.
As I show Natalia into the apartment, I’m wondering what she’s thinking. She’s used to luxury. She’s used to having people around her, twenty-four seven, to wait on her hand and foot. And now, she’s going to be living in a two-bedroom apartment full of guy stuff. Old plastic tubs filled with my military gear. Toolboxes, grease-covered towels, and a small mountain of shoes discarded in a heap beside the front door. At least there aren’t dirty plates and cooking utensils all over the place. She walks around the apartment, lifting up random items—a photo of Jamie and me out in the desert, arms slung around each other’s shoulders; the scratched and scuffed silver pocket watch that belonged to my grandfather; my cut—Widow Makers Vice President, New Mexico emblazoned on the back.
I’ve never thought what another person might think of the place where I live. I’m barely here, really. I often end up sleeping at the clubhouse when shit is going down, so my bed remains unslept-in a lot of the time.
“It smells like you,” Natalia says.
“Ha. Sorry.”
She shakes her head. “You smell good, Cade. You always smell good. I like it.”
“Well I guess that’s okay then.”
She smiles, her eyes curving into half crescents. “So what do I do here?” she asks matter of factly. “What is my role here, Cade? How do I fit into this life of yours, here in New Mexico?”
This is the conversation I’ve been dreading. “I don’t know. I guess the first question we need to answer is, do you want to fit in here? Do you want to have a life in New Mexico?”
“Are you staying here?” She hangs my cut over the back of the sofa, turning to face me. Her expression is open, her eyes inquisitive and clear.
“Yes. I’m going to stay. My parents still live in Alabama, but my real family is here. Jamie. The club. I don’t want to move on any time soon.”
“Then yes, I do want to stay here, too. I want to be where you are, Cade. I want to be with you, wherever that is. Is that all right with you?”
I try not to smile too wide. I don’t want her thinking I’m fucking soft in the head or something. “Yeah, Natalia. That’s all right with me.” It’s more than all right. It’s fucking perfect. It’s exactly what I hoped she would decide. She smiles too, and for a moment we just watch each other—two grinning idiots, happy for the first time in a long time.
“You can always help out in the shop,” I tell her. Her expression falters. “I mean, I know it’s not the most glamorous work. Not the most mentally challenging. But the pay is decent, and it would mean you’d be close by all the time. I know booking in appointments and doing admin stuff probably sounds really fucking boring, but it’s not too bad.” From the look on her face, I think she’s going to tell me to go fuck myself. But then she rushes me, throwing her arms around her neck.
“A job? A real job?” she asks.
“Haha, yeah a real job. You’d like that?”
She beams, planting a kiss on my mouth. “I’m going to love it! My father would never have let me leave the estate to get a job. Never.”
I kiss her on the side of her head, laughing under my breath. “There will be lots of things you can do around the compound, too, if you want that.”
“I do. I am looking forward to staying here and being with you. But I’m also looking forward to building my own life. I want to figure out what I like and what I don’t like. I want to experience so many new things. I want to go to a bar! Will you take me to a bar, Cade?”
She seems so excited that it seems cruel to burst her bubble by describing the dive establishments in town. They’re certainly nothing to write home about—sticky floors, peanut husks and sports on the old school TVs mounted on the walls—but she will probably love them. “Of course I will, beautiful.”