The compound was not meant to hold this many people.
None of this is obligatory, just precautionary.
But nobody else in the club wants their members to join the ranks of my sisters or René’s son and granddaughter.
It’s a brilliant tactic, if you think about it. The mafia is terrifying the club’s regular members, guys who do little more than distribute dope to dealers. They don’t murder people like Beast does or arrange caravans of armed soldiers to guard weapons deliveries like Sin. DBD is supposed to be blood in, blood out, but imagine if a bunch of guys went rogue and fled with their families?
We wouldn’t have the manpower to stop them or bring them back, not right now.
There’s a soft knock on the door, and I lift my head just in time to see Nellie open it.
She peeks in with a soft half-smile on her face, and guilt rushes through me, making my eyes sting with tears, making my chest so tight that I can barely breathe.
It was between me and Gaz, Mama. He had to choose between me and Gaz, and I don’t understand it at all.
“Mom,” I manage to choke out, keeping my eyes dry—I’ve had plenty of practice at it—and making her cheeks flush with pleasure. She slips into the room and closes the door behind her, blond hair curled gently, makeup expertly applied, her leather pants offset by the pink blouse she’s wearing with them.
“Hey honey,” she says, moving over to take the chair opposite me. I stare at her across the surface of it, and the dynamic feels right to me. Nellie belongs on that side of a desk. I belong here, my ass in the chair. “How are you holding up?”
Holding up. Fuck. She isn’t talking about Gaz; she doesn’t know he’s dead. She’s asking about the mountain of overwhelming and mundane but necessary tasks ahead of you. That’s what.
“I, uh, it’s a lot.” I rest my hands on the surface of the desk. I’m doing Sin’s work right now. I mean, none of this is exactly in his job description, but if he were here, he’d be the one handling it. He’s good at that, organizing things, making chaos make sense. “But I’m happy to do it.”
Nellie nods, looking past me toward the window behind me, her blue eyes just a bit glassy, like she’s lost in memories. I know what she’s thinking about because I spend a good portion of my time thinking about it, too. No words need to be said in order for my sisters to be remembered.
“How’s married life?” Nellie inquires politely, turning her gaze back to me. “I know it can be a bit overwhelming at first, but …”
“I grew up here; I don’t know any different.” And that’s true. This is my reality.
“Yes, but you should be able to spend time with your new husband and not worry about …” She gestures loosely around her to indicate the situation. “All of this.”
I shrug and lean back in the chair.
How do I explain to Nellie that there’s something wrong with me? That I like this, the high stakes, high adrenaline bullshit. How could I have ever lived a normal life? I’m too used to excitement around every corner; I’d get bored quick. I’d be one of those people who start a life in one place, as like a baker in New York City. And then I’d move. I’d become a waitress somewhere in South Dakota. Six weeks later, I’d be living in a youth hostel in LA and trying to become an actress.
I’m addicted to the life.
Well, I would like to be done with all of this administrative type shit. Put a gun in my hand; put me in the field. This isn’t my forte. But I will, however, excel at it, just to prove to the vice president that I can.
“I’d invite you and Beast over for dinner, but your father’s been … well, this is a lot for him, too,” she says gently, but the way her eyes shift to the side and her mouth thins, I get that Cat’s been weirder than usual. Sure, this is a lot, but this isn’t the first time he’s fought a war with the Grey Wolfe Mafia.
He’s reacting to Gaz’s death, whether he realizes he’s doing it or not.
“That’s fine. We’re still … figuring things out.” I drum my nails on the table. They’re painted a solid matte black with coffin tips, but I kept them relatively short. Not going to let my nails get in the way of holding a weapon or driving a bike. No fucking way. “We wouldn’t have the time anyway.”
“You need to find time to spend together,” she tells me gently, and I quirk a brow. I’m not exactly going to offer up that we spent about, uh, twenty hours in his bedroom fucking. I just nod in acquiescence and wonder when Crown’s going to come and get me so I can take a break.
