“Not unless he pisses me off between now and then,” she said brightly. “But if he does, all bets are off. So, dinner?”
“How about you come here,” I said. “I don’t want to leave Dad alone. You can bring Darren and the girls.”
“Twist my arm,” she replied. “You’re a way better cook than me. But the girls probably won’t come. They’re far too fabulous and adult to have dinner with us old people. I think they’ve got something planned with their friends. Just as well—they’d probably get creeped out watching us throw darts at a picture.”
“You’re the best friend ever, you know that, right?”
“Pretty much,” she said. “And I promise you—we’ll get through this. He caught you at a vulnerable time, but this guy is not a big deal. You’ll bounce right back.”
“And you promise this?”
“Money-back guarantee, baby. I got your back.”
GAGE
It was a tense ride out to the clubhouse.
The Nighthawks knew we were in town—they had to know. You couldn’t bring that many bikes into a place as small as Hallies Falls without people noticing, and the arrests down in Ellensburg the day before just added to the gossip.
A fresh wildfire had broken out that day, and while it was more than fifty miles away, even more smoke filled the air and tiny white ashes had started falling on everything. I’d never seen a summer like this for fires. If we’d been on a TV show, I’d have taken it for a sign that they were going to ambush and kill us all—it’d be a good show, too.
Seeing as we weren’t on TV, I’d be just as happy without the ambush.
Pulling up to the clubhouse, I spotted eight bikes. Not bad odds. Cord’s faction had four, and the others might be prospects or hangarounds friendly to his cause. Or not. What the hell did I know, anyway? Cody—one of the prospects, and not a particularly promising one—watched over them, his face paling as we pulled up, backing our bikes into line carefully.
Picnic strode toward him, followed closely by Hunter, and I watched Cody swallow.
“Prospect?” Pic asked, looking him over. “Gage, you know this one?”
I joined them, studying the kid.
“He’s one of Marsh’s,” I said. “Bought his first bike a few weeks ago.”
Pic sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“Kid, you have no fucking idea what you’ve gotten yourself into here,” he said, and his voice wasn’t unkind. “Here’s the best offer you’ll get tonight—hand over your colors, get on your bike, and leave. Your president and his friends are locked up and they’re gonna stay that way for a while. The club you signed up for isn’t going to exist anymore after tonight, and you aren’t ready to prospect anyway. Learn to ride your bike, grow up a little, and give it another shot in a few years. We won’t hold this against you.”
Cody had never struck me as one of the brightest, although he seemed like a decent-enough kid. Now I could practically see the hamster running frantically on the wheel in his head, desperate for escape.
Get on the bike, kid. Get out of here.
“I’m not giving up my colors, sir,” he said, and while his voice trembled, he didn’t blink. “I’ve been told to stay out here and watch these bikes, and that’s what I’m gonna do. You’ll have to take them off me.”
Jesus. Christ.
“You’ve been watching Sons of Anarchy, haven’t you?” Pic asked, sighing heavily. Cody swallowed, then nodded. “Fucking show. Whole damned world thinks they’re Jax Teller. Pat him down and bring him inside.”
In an instant, Horse and Ruger had him up against the wall, checking him for weapons. I watched as they pulled off one small pocket knife, and I do mean small. Little red Swiss Army, with the tweezer and toothpick.
Pic and Hunter shot me incredulous looks, and I shrugged. Wasn’t like I hadn’t warned them.
The club had fallen to shit.
Pic nodded at me to lead the way into the clubhouse itself. Always fun being point, but it made sense, seeing as the men inside already knew me. I pushed the door open to find Cord and four others waiting for us. Cord took in my newly restored colors in one quick glance, and if he was surprised he kept it to himself. Pic and Hunter followed me in, as others surrounded the building.
“Welcome,” Cord said, nodding toward Picnic. “I’m Cord. We’ve met before—rally a few years back. I’m more familiar with Rance, the Bellingham president. Been expecting a