Page 15

Lynette

“I s it weird that I feel like we’re coming back home now that we’re here?”

I get what Willa is saying. Pulling up to the little character house in Hart feels right in a way I wouldn’t have guessed it ever could. Going home to Seattle for the weekend was like stepping into a vacation home. We’d only been gone for just over three weeks, but the place had a closed-up smell and a deserted feel.

“I don’t think it’s weird at all.”

We were allowed to check on the house in Seattle because the Harold threat has been neutralized. The club abducted Donny and forced him to talk, which got Harold’s attention, as they’d planned.

Wizard and Raiden then asked for my help. I went under and didn’t surface for two days, but at the end of that time, I’d drafted several ironclad legal documents for the club, covering and protecting them from Harold. I’d never had to draft things like a confession before, but I did that too.

After everything was signed, the club let both of them go.

An hour after leaving the clubhouse, they were on a plane to Mexico.

The club didn’t like just letting them walk away, but short of putting them in the ground, what other option did Tyrant have? The paperwork they signed ensured they couldn’t come back and fuck with the club. Tyrant made it clear to Harold that the club was going to make restitution for Donny’s crimes, but that they’d do it anonymously. Harold and Donny were still on the hook for the amount they needed to pay, another reason they won’t be able to come back to the States for a very long time.

Though they’ll no doubt procure fake IDs down there, Wizard will be tracking their movements as far as he can. If they try to disappear off the club’s radar entirely, Tyrant has already promised he’ll hire as many PIs as it takes to track them down.

Though Harold and Donny are gone, there’s still not a sense of finality. The club is still vigilant and cautious, though I was able to talk Bullet into letting me drive to Seattle to check on the house alone.

I pull up into the driveway and park beside Willa’s pink wagon. As soon as I turn off the ignition, she gives me her sad puppy-dog eyes.

“What is it?” I sigh. “You can tell me without prepping me first. I thought we’d established that I’m not the big baddie you thought I was.”

“I never thought you were a baddie. Just strict.” Still, she hesitates.

Neither of us want to talk about what happened to those poor girls, but now that Willa knows, she’s been more cautious. This is what I’ve tried to shield her from with all my rules, my insistence that she tells me where she’s going and that she checks in, that she goes with people who will have her back, no matter what.

“I’m thankful for that. I can’t imagine… I get it. I’ll never hold one single rule against you ever again.”

I reach across the console and put my hand on her thigh, right over the mandala design she acid-washed into a pair of bellbottom jeans.

“What is it? You can talk to me. I promise I’m not going to be offended.”

Her hair is in a high ponytail, but she undoes it and scratches at her scalp to ease the ache. “I know you want to go back to Seattle now that we’re going to have the choice to go back to living a regular life, but I was thinking that maybe we could stay here until the end of December, when I’m done with school?”

I figured she was going to ask. I’ve been struggling to make my peace with the fact that if I leave Hart, this is it. Willa will have officially moved out. The club will rent her the house until she can create an apartment in the building that will soon house her business. She’s making a life here. It’s everything I wanted for her, but it’s hard to think of no longer living together.

I’m thirty years old, and it’s the first time I’ll ever be without her. Some people might bask in the glow of their freedom, but I know the bungalow will be quiet and too neat without Willa leaving coffee cups and plates, discarded clothes, books and hair ties all over the place. All the shoes will be neat and tidy on the rack, my coats will always be hung up, the bathroom will be spotless and free of clothes, and the washing machine won’t be a mountain of dirty laundry.

I squeeze her thigh and remove my hand. “I’ll stay until January, and maybe a short time after, but I’ll still have to go back home and check on the house for a few days at a time.”

“That’s fair.” She scrunches up her nose suddenly. “Because you love me, because it’s convenient while you’re working on signing on with the club, or because Bullet is here?”

“Because I love you, silly.”

“Just admit that you’ve missed him staying the night. He hasn’t been at the house in five days, and I think you’re going into muscle man withdrawal.”

I throw open my door and pop the trunk, grabbing my weekend bag and backpack. I grab Willa’s too.

“Your active avoidance speaks volumes,” she taunts, hooking a hand through the neon-pink straps. “He’s not your client anymore. There’s nothing legally stopping you. It’s all you.” She thrusts her finger into my forehead annoyingly. “Stop using this and start using…” She sweeps it down, making a whistling motion, indicating things far south of my face, but then lands on my chest and presses her palm flat there, laughing. “And start using this.”

I roll my eyes and brush past her, which only causes her to laugh the whole way into the house.

Inside, on the middle of the kitchen table, is a large blue glass bowl full of fresh fruit. The fridge has been freshly stocked, and there’s a container filled with homemade cinnamon buns on the counter.

“See!” Willa drops her bag in the middle of the kitchen floor. “He freaking wants you, Linny, but that’s not just it. He’s a sweetheart. He looks like a guy who wouldn’t have any feelings, let alone be able to show them, but he clearly brought us groceries, even though we’re supposed to be on our own now. Looking after people is his love language.”

“Oh my god. Love ?”

“Relax. It’s just a saying.” She picks up a Granny Smith apple and bites into it. “Mmm. No one likes these except me, and he knows that somehow. These things are wasted on pie.” She tosses me a Honeycrisp. “And he knows these are your favorite. Eat it. You need some sweetening up.”

“I do fucking not.”

“You do fucking so.” She takes another bite, chewing noisily. “I know you don’t believe in fate, but that night at the club, Donny was just supposed to cause a distraction with anyone, but it happened to be me. That douchebag Harold never counted on the club getting a smart, talented new lawyer out of the bargain. If the universe wasn’t looking after you and the club, bringing you both together in a match that you didn’t even know you needed, I don’t know what it was.”

I set the apple back in the bowl and cross my arms, needing a barrier against Willa’s endless optimism. Not that I want to crush it, but it’s a lot coming at me and the surge of emotions that I can usually control is starting to become overwhelming.

“You should take some time for yourself,” Willa insists. “Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling you that. You’re happier now. I’ve definitely noticed and I’m sure you can feel the difference too. In what should have been the most stressful time of our lives, we’ve found this unexpected goodness.”

“It’s not that easy,” I protest, but Willa unfolds my arms and takes my hand.

“Bullet’s had a hard time with this. What happened hit the club brutally. There wasn’t a single person who didn’t feel for those women. They donated a massive amount of money even though they had nothing to do with what happened.”

She’s right. Once the club found out who was blackmailing Donny, they made sure the money went there and was distributed directly to the victims.

“Haven’t you noticed how withdrawn Bullet’s been this past week? I swear he’s lost weight, and he doesn’t look well. Is he sleeping? Is he eating? Is he sick? He’s still sweet and efficient, but he’s been so quiet. Even if you’re not going to date him, you should talk to him.”

She’s right about that too.

“Lynette. Seriously. It’s not like you have to get married and be with him forever.”

“That’s exactly it,’ I groan. “Bullet’s serious. He’s older and he has feelings about this and about me. I don’t think it could ever just be sex. It wouldn’t be enough.” For either of us.

Willa swallows hard. She picks the apple back up and thrusts it into my hands, folding them around it. “That’s heavy. And ominous. I do think he’s serious, but he’s also respectful. He values your friendship, and right now, he needs a friend more than anything.”

“If I—if we… if we were together, there’d be consequences.”

Willa scoffs. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m a grown woman. I’m about to have my own place and my own business.”

“I was thinking about my job and how it would be awkward with the club if we dated and then it didn’t work.”

I can’t pretend that this hasn’t been on my mind, jumbled up in the horrible mix of everything that’s had to do with Harold, the club, our house in Seattle, how we’re going to move on with our lives, and what taking the job with the club is going to look like.

“Maybe, but they wouldn’t fire you, and people move on. You’re going to be in Seattle anyway, so you could just hide there and do their lawyering stuff from a distance.” She unfolds her hands from around mine. “Just go for that ride, Lynette. Stop overthinking it. Talk to the man. Be there for him and let him be there for you. You have to take a chance sometime, and even if you end up alone, you’re never going to be truly alone. You’ll always have me.”

Willa might have more experience in matters of dating, even if most of her relationships have been short term and not serious, or not a relationship at all, but when did she become the bigger sister, looking out for me and giving advice?

“If you want to do that tonight,” Willa reiterates, determined to get her way, even if that way has nothing to do with her and everything to do with my love life, “I’m going to be sleeping out at the shop. Since I was away all weekend, I want to hit the renos hard. I want the apartment above to be ready by the time it’s January.”

“Atlas is going to be helping you?”

“Yup.”

I give her the big sister hairy-eye and she stares me down right back, daring me to ask her if there’s anything going on when she’s already promised there’s not. It takes all my control, but I manage not to give her a lecture.

She breaks the stare down first. “I’m going to have a shower here, pack my bag again, and go there. I’ll be going directly to class in the morning, and then I’ll be there until late after that. I won’t be back until tomorrow, probably around nine or ten, but I’ll text and check in so that you don’t worry. If you don’t text me back right away, I’ll know that you’ve found your lady balls and you’re thinking with them instead of your overworked brain.”

She picks up her bag and skips out of the kitchen, buzzing and alive with her plans. I sink down at the table. Overnight, it seems she’s gone from a rebellious teenager to a woman as driven as I’ve ever been.

As if the universe really is providing the cues, my phone rings. It’s in my purse, which means I have to do a deep dig to find it. It’s Bullet, but I already knew it would be. I answer, cutting into my voicemail message.

“You’re back.”

His deep voice rolls through me, mixing with Willa’s earlier words, creating a drugging heat stronger than anything I’ve allowed to creep into me for the past few weeks. I’ve held it off, but, admittedly, I’ve lowered my shields ever since the charges against Bullet were dropped.

“We’re back,” I agree, at an uncharacteristic loss for words.

“I’m sorry I let myself in. I wanted to make sure you had groceries for the week.”

“Yes, I—thank you.”

“I asked Wizard to let me know the second you got back. I shouldn’t be messing with your privacy like that. It’s just hard to go from bodyguard mode to… to nothing, really, I suppose.”

My skin warms, especially my face. Half of it is a creeping indignation, and half is a wicked blush. “You’re not nothing, Bullet.” Let me show you. Teach me what you like. Guide me so that I can pleasure you the way you pleasured yourself that night. I’ve died a million fucking deaths wanting you. I’m still dying. Come for me. I need you, and it’s frightening. I don’t want to need anyone. “I thought that you might like to go for a ride. On your bike. Later.” I’m stumbling over words. It’s new for me. I hate the lack of eloquence that makes me appear completely transparent. “Around eight, maybe.”

The silence is like a taunt that my brain picks up, pressing on every doubt that I’ve ever had. I know what riding on the back of a bike means in his world. Maybe I read the situation wrong and he’s not after a relationship, just sex? Okay, it’s not like I proposed or anything, but why the fuck didn’t I just ask him if he wanted to go for a coffee or —

“I’d like that, Lynette. Can I take you outside of Hart? There are a few backroads that end up in nothing but open land or a few forested areas. The stars are incredible out there.”

I can’t even pretend that I have a solid foundation to stand on anymore. Bullet isn’t an acquired taste. It took me half a minute to get used to him and to come around to the idea that I was wrong about the club. I didn’t have to lay my morals down. This isn’t a conflict of interest. My armor is rusted clean through, cracked and broken. There’s nothing left to keep him and his quiet confidence, the magnitude of everything he is, and his pervasive kindness out.

My heart stutters and sputters like an old engine. The hours that I have to wait for him feel like an eternity. Restlessness courses through my blood.

“Yes. That would be nice.” The growing wild feeling that’s been taking root and slowly spreading bursts over me. I don’t recognize the unbridled sensation. I clutch the phone a little bit tighter against the volley of tingles that make my teeth want to knock together.

“Good. I’ll be there at eight, then. Do you have sturdy boots? If not, I can get you a pair. I’ll bring an extra helmet.”

“I don’t have a pair.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got it. See you then.”

“Sounds good.”

I keep the phone at my ear long after I know he’s hung up.

A ride isn’t just a ride. It’s the start of something. It’s an official statement, not just to us, but to the club, and to all of Hart.

Can I embrace that part of myself that I’ve kept locked away for so long? Can I stand beside a man like Bullet?

The doubts are wicked and shred through me like jagged teeth, but it’s a little late for them. I have six hours to figure out how to transform myself from a professional, suit-wearing, career-driven, ambitious, upstanding lawyer into a badass who wears ripped jeans and leather.

I actually chuckle at myself. Bullet liked me before I was any of that. He wanted me exactly as I was. He saw the parts of me I couldn’t even see. I don’t have to be a badass for him. I don’t have to go out and make myself look like a biker babe, imitating the outfits the club’s women wear.

Tyrant’s old lady, Lark, still wears her floral dresses and looks like a bohemian goddess.

I do own a few pairs of jeans and they’ll be good enough. Anything else, I can learn with the same drive I’ve applied all my life. I can be me, even if that means learning who I really am as a woman and a person, not just as a caregiver and a lawyer.

Bullet will show me. He’ll help me. I trust him.