The prospect of getting out and seeing Ti made my heart beat stronger, faster, and more powerful.

And then suddenly it hit me.

“I think I know how to get to my old man,” I said, taking a long slow drag from my smoke, my thoughts firmly on my surprise visitor from that very morning.

“How?” Munch asked, leaning in close.

“Not how. WHO,” I said.

“Okay who?” Wolf asked, also leaning in.

“You said Chop was asking the BBBs where SHE was.” I stubbed out my smoke and pulled on my beard. “I think I know who SHE is.”

In the yard of the county jail on a day where the sun relentlessly beat down on us like it was trying to punish the occupants of the earth, a broken piece of me was put back together.

“So what do you say, brother? You want some new soldiers, so we can all wear a cut again? So we can all believe in shit again?” Munch asked, stubbing out his smoke. “We can be our own club, do shit right this time.”

I cracked my knuckles. “I ain’t putting a fucking cut on again. That part of me is fucking dead. I won’t be your leader. I won’t be your Prez, but I’ll be a soldier with you. We’ll go to fucking war together, and we’ll bring that motherfucker down.”

We may not have been an official MC.

But we were officially at war.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Thia

“I THOUGHT YOU were taking me to the grove,” I said as King pulled up at a motel off the highway, halfway between Jessep and Logan’s Beach.

“I am, but Bear didn’t want you to be alone out there. He called someone to watch over you. We’re meeting here.”

“Who?” I asked, but King was already out of the truck and opening one of the motel room doors.

We waited for what seemed like hours, but in reality was probably only minutes when a knock came at the door. King placed his index finger over his lips. He slowly moved toward the curtains, peeling back the thick fabric and peering out the streaky window. Satisfied with what he saw, he removed the safety latch and unlocked the door. He opened it only a few inches and stepped aside to let whoever it was in the room.

What I saw standing there was not what I expected.

It was not who I expected.

What I was expecting was another burley biker. Someone who looked mean and was draped in skull and cross-bone tattoos. What I didn’t expect was the blonde petite thing standing before me.

I certainly never expected a girl.

“This place is a dump,” she said bluntly, pushing past King. She looked around the room as King shut the door, latched it, and took another peek out the window.

“Any possibility you were followed?” King asked. She ignored him, flitting about the room like a fly trying to find an open window.

“Do you know how many people a year contract diseases from places like this?” she asked, eyeing the bathroom with a look of pure disgust. “Statistically, given the age of the motel and approximate patronage—based, of course, on available parking spaces and number of maid carts in the hallway—there is essentially not a single spot of this room, or any of the other rooms in this building, that hasn’t at one time or another been defiled by semen or fecal matter.” It’s like she didn’t breathe between sentences.

She walked around the room, appraising everything from the chord leading up to the lamp to the base boards. She wasn’t much older than I was. “Did you know that two thirds of all cases of food poisoning aren’t actually food poisoning at all, but just the side effect of some little murderous, single-celled, bullshit organism waiting on your hands to jump onto your food and then into your mouth and digestive track to cause you, if you’re lucky, hours of indigestion and spastic colon problems, and if you’re not lucky, your sudden and untimely demise?” She shook her head. “Death by diarrhea.”

I was getting a headache.

Country-slow was a term I was sure was invented in Jessep, where life moved along slower than a tractor driving down the main road. This girl was motoring around the room at such a high rate of speed that she looked and sounded like she was stuck in fast forward.

“Rage!” King snapped. The girl spun around from where she was inspecting the doorframe of the bathroom. “Do you think you were followed?” he repeated.

The girl scoffed as if what King was suggesting was impossible. “If I were being followed, I would have thrown them off. If I were being followed, I wouldn’t be standing in this disgusting motel room right now wondering what microbial being is going to do me in.” She rested her hands on the strap of the bright blue duffle bag slung across her shoulder, that read LEE COUNTY HIGH SCHOOL across it in big white block lettering. She looked up at the old popcorn ceiling. “You know me better than that.”

“Your name is Rage?” I asked, trying not sound as surprised and confused as I was. She was barely over five feet tall. She wore a pink fitted T-shirt that said something about wearing pink on Wednesdays, cutoff white shorts, and white Keds. “Are you a friend of Bear’s?” I asked, trying to put together what the fuck was going on.

The girl turned her attentions from King to me like she was just realizing I was in the room. She looked me over and smiled sweetly. It wasn’t the kind of smile that screamed friendly or outgoing as her casual attire and perky personality would suggest. This was a pageant smile. A rehearsed smile.

Badly rehearsed.

She looked as if she were in pain.

Rage moved back to the door and opened it. I thought at first that she was leaving but she unhooked the plastic do-not-disturb sign hanging from the inside of the door and moved it to the outside, before closing it again and turning back toward us. “Yes, my name is Rage, and no I’m not a friend of Bear’s. I’m a friend of whoever pays me the most, which right now is King and Bear.” She pointed her thumb to King. “And by the way, Rage is short for Ragina.”

“No, it’s not,” King said, calling her out.

“Okay, it’s not,” she said, dropping the fake smile. “The truth is that my name might or might not have something to do with a possible minor-to-major extreme anger management issue I may or may not have had at one point, or possibly still have now.”

I looked at her but didn’t say a thing. I couldn’t. I was stunned into silence.

“We aren’t staying here are we? I’m not a fucking gross biker. I can’t just snuggle up and sleep in a bed that I know is breeding living and breathing organisms and is full of crusted leftovers of failed impregnations.” She shuddered. “Don’t even get me started on the fucking towels.