Page 131 of Bad Attitude
“What was it like? Home? Why did you want to leave?”
She shifts in her chair. “Nothing much to say really. Mormon upbringing. Suffocating mother. Goton okay with my father, but he wasn’t around much.”
More of a reply than I’d expected, and it explains a lot. I grimace in sympathy. “Suffocating’s the word, isn’t it?” I pause. “I’m an atheist. Does that bother you?”
“You do surprise me,” she says dryly. “With that skull on your chest, staring at me while we eat, or the way you ride like you’ve nothing to live for, and rob banks for a living.”
I blink at that. I don’t ride that way, do I?
“What do you mean? About the way I ride?”
Her chin comes up. “You almost killed yourself the other night. You could’ve pulled over, strapped up your leg at the very least. But you didn’t; you just kept going.”
“That’s different,” I protest. “We were running from ajob, with bags full ofjewelry.”
She shrugs one shoulder. “Even the first time I saw you, on Angeles Crest. You pushed hard.”
I remember. “And you still overtook me.”
She lets a small smile play with her lips. “That’s just because I’m better.”
I chuckle. “Or maybe it’s because you ride like you’ve nothing to live for, too.” I’ve sobered by the time the words are spoken, and her smile’s slipped away.
“Maybe,” she murmurs. “But that’s riding a bike, isn’t it? You can’t do it properly if you’re worried about dying.” A sniff. “If that’s your mentality, buy a fucking car.”
“Absolutely,” I say with feeling. No one whohasn’t ridden a sportbike at speed on sharp roads could understand that. But we both do.
She’s perfect for me.
“So, family?” I prompt, returning to that. “Siblings?”
“A brother.” Her voice softens as she says it. “Caleb. He’s just found himself a nice Mormon girl. She’s not too bad, actually.”
“But not your scene?”
“Fuck, no. Lace-rimmed dresses and the Relief Society? I’d rather ride over the edge at speed.”
It’s said with such feeling, I can believe it. But I don’t want her having thoughts that dark. Dark is my domain, not hers.
“Genesis and Caleb, huh?” I say, distracting. “Good Mormon names.”
“Genesis Greer.” She grimaces. “Now you know why I go by Raven.” She meets my eyes. “What about you, Mister Enigma? Siblings? Father? A mother who worried when you were in the Marines?”
Shit. I should’ve anticipated this. I was the one who started this damn conversation, and that’s not something I ever should’ve done.
“I’m not an enigma,” I say, deflecting to buy myself time to think. “I’ve let you ask me whatever you want before.”
“Sure you have.” Her tone turns scathing. “And then you never properly answer.”
And I’m not about to now, either. “Then let me answer properly.” I take a mouthful of scrambled egg and speak around it, letting it disguise any emotionalslips I might make. “One sister. No father; he left when I was six.”Both true.“No mother; she died in the pandemic.”True.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly. Her hand twitches on the table like she wants to reach for mine. “It was a shitty time. The pandemic.”
“Did you lose anyone?”
“No… I was lucky.” She pauses. “Well, I suppose I lost the reason I first came to LA, but that was a blessing in disguise. The guy was…” Her face twists with a mix of hurt and anger. “…Let’s say he’s the reason I fight like I do. Because I had to learn fast.”
And now he’s a vegetable. A fitting end.
