“I hear you. So you think it’ll take a while?”
“No idea,” he replied. “You flexible? I won’t need you there all the time, but I’ll want you backing me at least part of the time.”
“Sure, I can make it work,” I said, figuring I’d bring along a few sketch pads or something. I’d gone more than a year without doing any serious art—no reason to get worked up about it now. “What if we say you’re a trucker? Lets you come and go, distances you from club life while still giving you an excuse to ride a bike when you’re in town. Not only that, Pic’s got his hands on Pace Howard’s big rig right now—he let him park it behind the shop while he’s deployed, promised he’d keep it up and running. Maybe we can use that.”
Gage nodded thoughtfully.
“Not a bad idea,” he said. “I’ll talk to Pic, see what he has to say about it. How are you holding up? Two weeks out now, right?”
“Good,” I said, realizing it was true. Aside from the Melanie situation, I was happy with things overall. “Parole officer—I’m with Torres, he’s on the payroll—seems to know his place. Not supposed to be heading out of state, but he’ll cover for me.”
“All right, then,” he said. “I’ll talk to Pic. Let me know if there’s any complications on your end, and we’ll plan to leave tomorrow or Monday.”
I nodded, then headed down the stairs toward the main floor of the Armory. There were more people up and about now. I could smell breakfast coming from the kitchen and figured they’d be doing the usual—cooking inside, serving food out in the courtyard.
Might as well get myself something to eat.
Outside I grabbed a plate and then loaded up on eggs, ham, and hash browns. I’d just sat down at a table with Ruger, Horse, and Duck when Kit Hayes—Em’s evil sister, and I don’t use those words lightly—plopped down next to me.
“We’re going to the fair tonight,” she announced. “A bunch of us want to see the rodeo and maybe eat some of those little donuts that they throw in the bags with powdered sugar. Sophie and Marie want to go, but your ladies won’t if you guys don’t. What do you think?”
“Note how she pretends our opinion matters,” Duck muttered, leaning toward me. I had to smile. The older man was in his sixties, and while he was always shown respect, he tended to stick close to the clubhouse most of the time.
“Don’t look at me,” I told him. “She’s here to recruit Horse and Ruger.”
Kit glared at me.
“Don’t spoil it,” she said, arching a brow. “We want everyone to come with us, but I know for a fact that Marie won’t go if Horse doesn’t, and the same for Sophie and Ruger. They feel like there’s work to do out here at the Armory.”
“There is work to do out here,” Horse said, his voice dry. “We’ve guests camped out back. They’ll need dinner.”
“Which they can buy at the fair,” Kit said, her smile growing grim and fixed. “Not only that, there’s plenty of other women who aren’t going. And it’s not like the rodeo goes that late. You can all come back here and party when it’s over . . . and it’s not like sitting around drinking in this courtyard is anything special. You guys do that all the time. The rodeo only comes once a year.”
Ruger sighed. “It’ll be easier to give in now.”
“Pussy,” I said, although the man never really had a chance. Nobody could stand up to the Hayes girls when they set their minds on something, and apparently their minds were set on going to the fair.
“Oh, and Painter?” Kit asked, and I swear to fuck she fluttered her eyelashes at me. “We’re bringing Melanie with us, so if you want to stay here that’d be just great. I’m sure she doesn’t want you around.”
That little bitch. Now I had to go.
I took a bite of my eggs, pretending to ignore her. She laughed, then skipped off across the courtyard, presumably looking for fresh victims.
“I’m real glad that girl moved to Vancouver,” Duck said, sighing. “I love her like my own, but damned if she doesn’t stir shit wherever she goes. I assume you’ll all be out at the fair tonight?”
I stared down at my food, pretending to be fascinated by the pattern of ketchup across the hash browns.
Duck laughed.
MELANIE
“Pleeeeese . . .” Kit whined, kneeling on the ground in front of me. She’d caught me and Jess out in the front yard—note to self: never go outside or even unlock the door again when the Hayes girls are in town—and dramatically demanded that we go to the rodeo with her, because “Those cowboys aren’t gonna pinch their own butts.”
While I’m sure this was true, I still wasn’t planning to go with her—I had a paper to work on, and I’d already made a fool out of myself the night before. Avoiding the Reapers was high on my list of priorities, yet here Kit was, on her knees in all her Bettie Page–inspired glory.
Parked behind her on the street were no less than five Devil’s Jacks riders led by Hunter, Em’s old man.
No pressure at all, right?
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Taz climb off his bike and start walking toward me. Gaw. I felt my cheeks heating up as the memories of last night flooded me.
Alcohol. Alcohol was the enemy here. Alcohol and the Hayes family.
Taz came up next to me, draping his arm over my shoulder.
“You sure you ladies don’t want to come out with us?” he asked. “Fried food. Horseshit. What’s not to love?”