Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
“Now?”
I sigh and shift my gaze to the approaching highway sign. Our exit’s coming up. Can I finish this before we get to the clubhouse? This story might be giving Margot too much history.
Fuck it.
“Our old president was a little too busy enjoying the benefits of his position instead of actually running the club. Some bad apples slipped into Downstate’s barrel. Or they turned rotten over time. He paid a price for his laziness.” Sway got a fucking bullet to his head and somehow survived. But it opened his eyes to what a piece of shit his VP Shadow had been. “He’s retired now.”
“Did he have to cover his ink?”
“No. He didn’t betray the club and get kicked out…it’s complicated and not really important. Our national prez strongly encouraged the retirement and appointed Z to take over.”
She nods slowly. “How political.”
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. “Yeah, we’re a regular outlaw democracy.”
“You’d die for your brothers?” she asks.
“Yes.” I flip my blinker on and slide into the exit lane.
“Would they die for you?”
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. “They’d die for you too, Margot. Because you’re mine.”
Her laughter’s lighter than before. Teasing. “Not because I have the keys to the oven?”
“That doesn’t hurt,” I answer honestly. “But it’s not important enough to take a bullet.”
Margot
Betrayal. Punishments. Cash. Blood.
The words repeat over and over in my mind. A grim reminder of the world I’m about to visit. I wish I hadn’t asked Jigsaw so many questions about the club. Now I’m even more nervous that I won’t fit in.
As he steers the truck through back roads of Empire County I never knew existed, a dark weight of disappointment or regret hovers over me. Except for college, I haven’t ventured far from Pine Hollow in my life. Jigsaw has lived in different states and traveled all over the country, seeing places I’ve only read about or visited through YouTube videos.
So much of my life has been consumed by death instead of actually living.
“How many states have you visited?” I ask.
He’s quiet for a few seconds. “Probably all of them? Except Alaska and Hawaii. And the ones in the middle.” He swerves one hand between us like an airplane. “Nebraska, Kansas, Oklahoma. No desire to see them. But I only traveled through a lot of those places to get to the next stop. Like when I’ve been on one of Shelby’s tours. Didn’t always have a chance to see a lot of stuff.”
“Still, that sounds like fun.”
“It’s a blast. When I’m traveling with the club, we usually rough it. Sleep in tents and stuff.” He laughs. “The older brothers started putting a stop to that. Wrath says he’s too big to be sleeping on the ground.”
“Yeah, that doesn’t sound appealing.”
“You have somewhere you want to go?” he asks.
“Everywhere.” I glance out the window again. “Somewhere.”
He clears his throat. “We can do that. Not roughing it on the bike,” he hurries to add. “Fly somewhere, I mean.”
Why does that simple promise cut through my doubts so easily? “I’d like that.”
The roads look more familiar now. Jigsaw must’ve gone some back way I’ve never used. After a few more miles, I recognize the big rooster mailbox at the end of Teller’s driveway.
“That’s Teller’s house, right?” I ask.
“Yup. In case you couldn’t tell, Rooster got him the mailbox.”
That must’ve been a moment. “It’s cute.”
Not too much farther down the road, Jigsaw flips his turn signal on. The anxiety growing in my stomach expands like a balloon. He turns onto a road that stretches into the trees, but then he makes another sharp left and approaches an open gate. The truck bounces slightly as it moves from the dirt to the paved driveway.
Straight ahead, a golden Buddha statue seems to greet us with a serene expression that seems odd for a motorcycle club whose emblem is a grinning skull wearing a crown.
“Oh my gosh, that’s huge!” I laugh as we pass it, the vehicle following the driveway’s gentle curve to the right. The truck lurches as it climbs the steep hill. A huge building that almost looks like a log cabin but is the size of a boutique hotel comes into view.
“My goodness,” I breathe out. “That’s your motorcycle club’s clubhouse?”
“Were you picturing a shack in the woods?”
“No, but I wasn’t expecting this either.”
“Legend has it that it used to be a spiritual retreat center or something before Upstate bought it.”
“I believe it.”
“Don’t, um, get too excited. Downstate’s clubhouse isn’t this nice.”
I open my mouth to ask why, what’s the difference, but he already mentioned their last president wasn’t as dedicated.
“Under our old president, Upstate and Downstate didn’t mix that much. I hardly ever came up here, but since Z took over as president, the two clubs mingle a lot more.” He lets out a short laugh. “I think we’ve finally moved past that awkward blended family stage.”