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I scrubbed my hands over my face. This was never supposed to happen. All I wanted to do was apologize, over and over, because Gideon didn’t deserve this. The Blackjacks didn’t deserve this.
Guilt pushed me into action. I grabbed my few scattered belongings, stuffing them into my backpack. After tugging my boots on, I did a brief search of the room. It was like I’d never been here in the first place.
I couldn’t walk out the front door. Not now. I’d have to bypass too many bikers.
So, I shoved the window open. The glass wasn’t broken, but it was scarred by three bullet holes. More damage because of me.
I kicked the screen out and tossed my backpack to the ground. After I climbed through, I dusted myself off, waiting to see if anyone had heard me escape.
The flare of a lighter glowed in the dark. I startled and took a step back.
“Had a feeling you’d bolt,” Gatling said.
Leaning against a tree, half of his face was hidden in shadow. The other half was illuminated by the red stub of his cigarette as he lit it. He gestured to Gideon’s house and the bullet holes embedded in the facade.
“This has something to do with you, doesn’t it? Big G has his fair share of enemies, but the fact that you’re scuttling out the window suggests you’re guilty as fuck.”
I hooked my backpack over my shoulder, uneasy.
“Don’t worry. I’m leaving, and I’ll take all of this with me.”
Gatling released a slow stream of smoke thoughtfully and tapped ash onto the ground.
“Doubt it. This problem of yours—whatever it is—won’t go away by running.”
I poked my tongue in my cheek, frustrated. Running was the only option I had. If I didn’t run, my brother would drag me home, making sure I never even considered leaving him again.
“Then what do you suggest?” I shot back. “Call the cops? You know they won’t make a damn bit of difference until it’s too late.”
“Didn’t say anything about cops, did I? We’ll handle it ourselves. This ain’t our first rodeo.”
“You’re already too involved,” I protested.
Gatling hummed and used his shoulder to push away from the tree. He was a tall, lean son of a bitch, with stormy gray eyes and measured movements that reminded me of a snake slowly coiling up in preparation to strike.
“That’s the pot calling the kettle black, isn’t it, sweetheart? It’s pretty obvious the way you and Big G eye fuck each other every chance you get. If you didn’t want us involved, it’s too late for that.”
My stomach sank to my toes. Gatling was right.
“See, if you skip town now,” he continued. “Big G won’t rest until he knows what happened to you. That’s just the kind of man he is.”
I clenched my teeth. Of course Gideon wouldn’t sit back and let me disappear. Not now. He took a bullet for me. He bled for me.
I spun on my heel and started in the opposite direction. Away from Gatling. Away from Gideon.
“You won’t get far that way either,” Gatling called. “Vlad is keeping watch on the west side of the house. Hot Shot is around here somewhere, too, but he’s sneaky. Good luck giving him the slip. So, you might as well go back inside and get settled for the night.”
I faltered, at a loss for what to do next.
“Do you want a piece of friendly advice?” he ventured.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re going to tell me no matter what my answer is?”
Gatling flicked his cigarette into the dirt, grinding the red cinder beneath his boot heel.
“Aim that pissy little attitude at those who deserve it. Not Big G. Not us. We’re all sinners here, Liss. We have blood on our hands and we’ve done things we’re not proud of. The rest of the world would spit on our bodies in the gutter if given half the chance because we’re fucking garbage to them. But when you belong to this club, we fight for each other, no matter what.”
“I’m not part of your club,” I pointed out.
