Page 44 of Bram

“You think I’m broken,” she said, flat and direct.

I didn’t answer.

“Maybe I am,” she said. “But I’ll kill him before I let him touch Emma again. You understand me?”

I looked at her. She wasn’t bluffing.

“Yeah,” I said. “I do.”

She didn’t blink, didn’t soften. “Then let’s finish this.”

Behind us, a new sound—engine, rough, old, coming fast. We all turned to the gate just in time to see a battered red pickup, frame two inches lower on the driver’s side, blast through the opening like the brakes had been ripped out years ago. It fishtailed once, corrected, then skidded to a perfect stop ten feet from the porch.

The kid on gate duty had been too green or too terrified to block it, but I made a note to break his balls later. If you can’t stop a pickup, you can’t stop anything.

The door of the truck opened, and Sally Sparta slid out. She wore a denim shirt buttoned to the wrist and black jeans, her short silver hair combed straight back, eyes shielded by aviators. She closed the door with more force than needed, then stood there for a second, taking in the compound, the clubhouse, the two of us.

Then she walked. Not rushed, not slow, just a straight and level line from truck to porch. She walked past Julie, past Rusty, and stopped directly in front of me.

She peeled off her sunglasses and tucked them into her pocket. Her eyes were as gray as wet cement, and you could feel her weighing everything in the yard—me, the house, the sky, maybe the past forty years of decisions.

“You got a minute?” she said.

“Take it,” I said.

She jerked her chin at the door. “Inside.”

I led the way, feeling Julie’s stare hot on my back.

“I told you,” she whispered over my shoulder. “Just like the fucking Jaws movie.”

“I can handle her.”

Julie giggled.

In the entryway, Sally waited for the door to shut. She didn’t waste time.

“He’s going to hit tonight,” she said. “He’s got shooters coming from L.A., six of them, maybe eight. They’ll go for the main building first, then the outbuildings.”

I nodded, already filing away the details. “How do you know?”

“I know,” she said, and there was no space for argument.

“How the fuck did you get away from the Desert Scorpions?” Rusty said.

Sally smirked. “Show a man your pussy and tits, and he’ll make a dozen mistakes before he realizes he ain’t getting squat.” She smiled and moved her hand against Julie’s cheek. “I’m sorry.”

I could see Julie fighting the temptation to let her Mom know how fucked up she’d made her daughters. But she took a deep breath and nodded.

“Is Emma safe?” she said, softer.

“For now,” I said. “But she’ll be safer in the storm shelter. We’ll move her.”

“Good,” Sally said. She looked at me, really looked, and for a second the lines on her face deepened, like she was adding up everything I was and finding the total just short of what she needed.

“You ever done this before?” she asked. Now she was just being an asshole. Rusty smirked behind her, and I wanted to tell him to fuck off.

“Defend a compound? Only three or four times.”