Page 127 of Thug

“We done?” Panzer asked.

Price looked around the room. “Looks like it.”

“Be right back,” Panzer said.

In a moment he returned. He sauntered across the room and handed me a flat powder blue velvet box. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“Housewarming gift.”

I looked at Price.

“Don’t look at me,” he said, nodding toward the box. “Open it.”

Giddy with excitement, I opened the box. A gorgeous silver chain bracelet with a round charm on it was centered in the box. On the box’s lid, the Tiffany and Co. was imprinted, in silver.

I stared at the bracelet for a moment, nearly in tears. It was too much. I looked at Panzer. “I don’t know what—”

“It’s from the club,” he said. “We all talked about it, and had it engraved. I volunteered to give it to you.”

I lifted the bracelet and looked at the charm. The name “Sis” was engraved in ornate script. My eyes welled with tears.

“Here,” Price said. “Let me help you.”

He clasped the bracelet to my wrist. “There you go.”

I wiped my eyes with the heel of my palm and glanced at each of the men in the room. Thank you. This means…”

I couldn’t continue. I pursed my lips and nodded while mouthing the words thank you.

Panzer walked to my side, patted me in the shoulder, and then gave me a hug. “Welcome to the family, Sis.”

The Hard Eights consisted of over thirty different men, all of which were different in their looks and demeanor.

Some, like Gunny, were downright scary to be in the same room with. A former Marine who exercised his right to “open carry” a firearm at all times, I couldn’t help but wonder what his limitations were when it came time to protect the club or its members. Others, like Swag, were fiercely loyal, but presented themselves as somewhat of a goofball.

Panzer was mean-looking, but he had the biggest heart of the bunch, short of Price.

Regardless of their differences, I saw one common denominator in all the men. They were caring of the men—and women—who comprised their close-knit family, the club.

We cooked burgers and brats on the grille and stayed up until midnight telling stories and drinking beer. One by one the men disappeared. The sound of their exhaust pipes faded in the night as they rode to their various destinations.

In the end, it was Brisco, Price, and me, sitting on the back deck. Seeing Brisco and Price get along once again was rewarding. Seeing Brisco was also a reminder that to have him back in our lives, I had to release the hostages.

I missed them dearly.

After Price recovered from the shock of me moving in, I planned on seeing if I could negotiate a new cat into our family. Considering the obscene prices of a registered Bengal the new addition would likely be a rescue kitten, but a rescue kitten was better than no kitten at all.

Price stretched his arms over his head and yawned. “I’m fucking beat.”

“Makes two of us,” Brisco said.

“Three,” I chimed.

Brisco picked up a few empty beer bottles and tossed them in the garbage can. “We good for tomorrow?”

“Yep,” Price said.