“Shit, Shirlene. Lower your voice.” I glance around the diner, but it’s mostly empty at this point in the afternoon.
“Relax, city girl. This is still a concealed carry state.”
“I don’t need a gun.” Probably. Maybe. “But I’ll take the job.”
“All right. But if you change your mind, ask. End of the day, a woman has to rely on herself.”
She digs back into her rice pudding, ignoring me, and I take the opportunity to soak her in. Unlike Boots, she looks older. Her silver hair doesn’t have the shine it used to, and she has age spots on her cheeks. Her elbows seem like the bones are wearing through the skin.
She’s still a tough broad, but there’s a carefulness to her movements that’s new.
Who’s been making sure that Shirlene takes care of herself?
“I’ll do the driving tomorrow, okay?”
Shirlene narrows her eyes. “You got a problem with my driving?”
“Not at all. I love a leisurely drive in the country with Grandma.”
She flips me the bird and then waves the waitress over to wrap up her leftover sandwich. She makes sure to do five miles over the speed limit all the way back to her house.
She makes me take half a frozen banana bread home to Lou. I have to admit, I’m feeling kind of lonely as I head for Barrow Road. The day was nearly perfect. It’s easy being with people from the club. It sucks so hard most of them dropped me like a hot potato. I’m taking the long way home, rocking out to outlaw country, feeling sorry for myself, when I get a call from Fay-Lee.
“Girl! Up for round two?”
A second ago, before she called, I’d been planning on drowning my sorrows in salt and vinegar potato chips, so round two sounds pretty good. I love Fay-Lee. She’s beanpole skinny with the thickest hick accent I’ve ever heard and the devil in her eyes. She speaks to me on a deep, deep level.
“Hell, yes,” I say, no hesitation. “What do you have in mind?”
“Last night did not go quite as planned.”
“Are you okay? You didn’t get in trouble for bringing me around the clubhouse, did you?”
I don’t think that was what was going on, but Dizzy sure did yank her up as soon as he saw us waltz in. I know him from back in the day, and he was never violent. More of a downtrodden, sad dad type than a wife beater. It sure looked like he was gonna wail on her ass, though.
“Just a little. And just the kind of trouble I like. No worries.”
“Is this a kink thing?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Cool.” I don’t judge. Variety is the spice of life.
“So what happened after I left?” she asks.
“You mean after your man threw you over his shoulder and started tanning your hide?”
She snickers. “You saw that, did you?”
“Everyone saw that.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time. So, quit stalling. Did Forty see you? Were there fireworks?”
“He wasn’t there. Three chicks jumped me, and then Heavy broke it up and kicked me out.”
“Well, that sucks.”
“Yeah. But Forty came by my place later.”
She squeals. “Fireworks?”
“He honked his horn a lot. And told me to stay away.”
“But in a hot, smoldering, filled-with-longing kind of way?”
A picture flashes in my mind—Forty standing on the front walk, ramrod straight, shoulders squared and chest raised, his eyes eating me up. Devouring me. My pussy spasms.
“Yeah. Pretty much.”
Fay-Lee screeches so loud I snatch the phone from my ear. “This is gonna be epic. I’m gonna pull off the greatest shenanigans Steel Bones has ever seen. Harper Ruth thinks she’s the puppet master. She ain’t nothin’!”
I disagree. Besides being a lawyer, Harper Ruth is a perfect ten and a next-level evil bitch. She was off at college when I was with Forty, but whenever she came back on break, she’d sow chaos and gnaw on the bones of unsuspecting sweetbutts. She’s legend.
“What are you even talking about?” If Harper’s involved, I’m out.
“Okay. Let me back up. You know Crista Holt, right?”
Of course. Crista is Shirlene’s niece and the daughter of Pig Iron, the club treasurer, and Deb, the woman who actually manages the money. Crista’s younger than me by a few years. Her older sister Annie was one of the reasons I left town. Annie’s not afraid to go for your eyes, and she wears inch-long acrylics.
Anyway, not long after I skipped out, Crista was attacked by the Rebel Raiders MC. Retaliation for something. What they did to Crista…it was brutal. Lou told me about it, and he was shaken up. Crista almost died.
“Sure. What about her?”
“We’re taking her dancing tonight. To Sawdust on the Floor.” Sawdust is a honkytonk with five-dollar pitchers of beer and an extremely lax carding policy. Every Petty’s Mill high schooler’s first drink at a bar is at Sawdust, whether you’re into country music or not.
“Okay. And how does this count as shenanigans?”
“Because Crista never goes out. Scrap Allenbach is gonna hear about it, he’ll show up, and boom! Fireworks!”
Scrap is the one who killed the Rebel Raider who attacked Crista. He recently finished his sentence. According to Lou, it’s been awkward. It was supposed to be this romantic reunion, but Crista wasn’t having it.
“Okay. I’m down. But this does not seem like Harper Ruth-caliber shenanigans.”
Back in the day, during the first wave of clubhouse renovations, Harper finagled it so the brothers demolished a wall at the exact moment Creech was getting a blowjob from Pam, Cue’s grandmother. The logistics alone boggle the mind.
“Keep up, Nevaeh. Scrap is gonna show up with his boys. No one’ll want to miss this show. Forty’ll be there, and he’ll see you, and boom! More fireworks!”
“Won’t Dizzy get pissed at you?”
“Yup, and boom! Orgasms!”
There are a lot of ways this could end in disaster.
“You’re in, right?” she asks.
“Oh, yeah.”
I haven’t been in a bar brawl in a few years. And I haven’t been country line dancing since I was seventeen and polishing off five-dollar pitchers at Sawdust.
A few hours later, I’ve learned a few things. First, Crista’s dog Frances is ah-flippin’-dorable. He’s a bloodhound with ears like an elephant. I want to snack on him at midnight.
Second, Crista’s in a bad way. She’s even twitchier than I am, always looking over her shoulder. I can identify. I’m fairly sure Carlo and the Renellis are in my rearview—if they were seriously looking, with their resources, they would have found me by now—but I’ve still been waking up in a cold sweat. I kind of wish I didn’t get a new number when I left town. As it is, I don’t know if they’re looking for me or not.
I deleted my social media, the whole shebang. I know they can find me if they want to, but I wanted to send a message that I’m gone, and I’ve got no intention of being a problem.
And the final thing I’ve learned in the past hour or so? When push comes to shove, after all this time? I haven’t learned a thing.