But I can’t change the past, just like I can’t shake the one thought that scares me more than anything: if what the Stags say is true and Matthew has been groomed by the Young Herons for months, then Matthew chose not to tell me.
And if he really does love me, then why the hell didn’t he?
7
Mako takes me to the range every day. By the end of a week, my shoulders are sore as hell—which isn’t helped by the hours of workouts that Jax has me doing. Whether it’s hazing or him wanting me whipped into shape, I don’t know. But he still makes me do it.
Mako yawns and pinches the bridge of his nose as he waits for me to take my shot. The Stags never seem to go a night without drinking. I’m sleep-deprived myself, but I downed a ton of water before going to bed so the hangover’s minimal—even in the Wars, I can’t shake my responsible side. Mako didn’t have the foresight. I think his headache would have kept him in bed all day if Jax hadn’t gone into his room and personally shoved him out of it.
I’m glad my head is clear, at least. I want to be ready for tonight.
Jax agreed to meet with Ty at midnight. They can each bring up to ten of their people. For the Boars, that’s about a tenth of their number. For us, that’s everyone.
We’re meeting at Mission Dolores. It’s not neutral territory, as far as I can tell, but Jax was adamant about no violence because it’s sacred ground. Mission Dolores is the oldest building in the city and an actual church. Doesn’t get more sacred than that, I think.
My apprehension about meeting the Boars has only just beat out my thoughts about Matthew. I didn’t realize how badly I’d want to talk to him until I wasn’t allowed to. We didn’t talk for a while after we broke up, but that had been my choice. This—not even having the option—has been torture.
At least I can call home. Every time I do I weigh the pros and cons of it—hearing Mom’s voice versus causing her pain because of my calling. She never wants to hang up, and then there’s a painful song and dance of when I’ll call next.
I remind myself that I’m doing this for us, for our family. It won’t be long now. I’ll earn Jax’s trust, he’ll tell me who the Boar is, and I …
I’ll have to take the shot. It’s no longer scary to me—well, at least not like it was before. Having been to the range now, I’ve learned the rhythm: picking up the gun and loading it myself as if it were a sword I am taking into battle, or a spear sharpened by stone and so polished that it gleams as it flies, catching the sunlight before meeting its deadly mark. Guns are tools, bullets are tools. I have to remember that.
We wrap up our practice and get back in the car to head home. Mako and I are still a ways away from Holloway House when I ask, “Do you know what the meeting’s about?”
“If I’m guessing, I’d say it’s about the Herons. There’s a developer trying to buy a chunk of businesses near Twentieth. That’s Boar territory. I’m betting Ty’s going to ask us to team up against them.”
The prickliness of his words sticks in my gut like a tangle of thorns. Matthew is my oldest and best friend. I love him. He loves me. He can’t be my enemy.
He already is, I remind myself.
“I thought the Stags stayed out of the other gangs’ business.”
“We used to, yeah. But times are a-changin’.” He flicks the blinker on. “Mind if we stop for gas?”
“Not at all,” I reply.
While Mako fills up the tank, I dash into the Walgreens across the street and buy a bag of peach rings and a bottle of Pedialyte. Mako’s cleaning the windshield when I get back. I offer him the bottle.
“Here,” I say. “My friend’s sister swore this was a hangover cure.”
He sets the squeegee down and takes the bottle, frowning at the bright pink drink. “Isn’t this for kids?”
“Technically. I tried it one of the few times I got drunk.” I shrug. “Works pretty well. Want a peach ring instead?”
He takes both, and we get back in the car. Mako sips his drink. “Damn this stuff is sweet. Thanks, V.”
Back on the road, I sink my teeth into another peach ring and think, As long as Mako’s in a good mood, I might as well capitalize on it.
“So how long has Ty been leader?”
“Uh, two years,” he replies after taking a second to think. “I don’t think anyone’s stepping up to take it from him. Boars don’t have a clear line of succession.”
My shoulders sink. “But the Herons do.”
“I guess, kinda. Camille seems pretty comfy where she is. I don’t know if she’ll want out once Weston has a year under his belt.”
“Is that how long it usually takes to change leaders?”
“I would think, at least. Right?” he says as we approach a stoplight. “Gotta prove yourself before an old leader would pass off the reins.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I reply, but I’m reeling. So Mako thinks Matthew will be the next Heron leader. I got that sense from Nianna, too. Have they all known about this, as total strangers? It makes me feel so stupid. How could I have not known as his friend, and as someone he says he loves? There must have been signs.
We come to a red light, and Mako shifts to grab his wallet from his pocket. He stuffs some loose bills into it and asks, “You buy anything with your cash yet?”
“Well, this,” I reply, lifting the bag of peach rings. “Not much else, really. Maybe I’ll get a new mattress or something.”
He laughs. “Yeah, that one you have is a piece of shit. Cash is nice though, right? Took me a long-ass time to get used to having cash I could just throw around.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
He shrugs. “Beats cleaning floors, I’ll tell you that.”
“You cleaned floors?” I ask, chewing slowly.
“That’s what my mom and grandma did for a while. They’d bring me along to help. Wasn’t until I was older that I realized it was just because they couldn’t afford day care.”
“Oh.”
“Hey, it’s fine. Now I’m here,” he says, patting his pocket. “Now I can send them cash. It’s all good.”
We get back to Holloway House, and I head to the bathroom to clean my tattoo. I hold up a compact to the mirror and pivot so I can see the back of my neck. My fingers run down the feather, across the stag’s eyes, and up the wild, twisting antler. Micah snags the back of my collar to check on it at least once a day. I don’t want to disappoint him by mucking up the healing.
Kate doesn’t register me as I go back into the kitchen and drink a glass of water. Her painted nails grip a small, square-shaped paper.
Kate, as I’ve learned, likes origami—cranes, elephants, foxes, cats, butterflies. I find them on the bathroom counter, crumpled between the couch cushions, or placed lovingly atop the apples on the fridge. There are a fair number of stags amongst the collection, which was only surprising given how difficult the folds are.
“I like doing stuff with my hands,” she told me when I asked. There was the beginning of an elephant between her fingers. “It clears my head.”
Keep the hands busy, keep the mind clear. It’s the same reason I bake.
I check the clock—I have a few hours before we’re supposed to meet the Boars. And I could use some time to think.
While the oven preheats, I fall into a routine. Flour and baking soda and salt. Shortening and eggs. Combinations that just go together. The dough forms, and I try to remember the last time I made this recipe. Too long.
Leo loved snickerdoodles. He liked to shape the cookies into balls and roll them in cinnamon sugar. Every batch he’d pick one cookie to roll again and again, until the dough was so saturated it crumbled.
“Don’t eat it!” he’d shout when I set the baked cookies on the cooling rack. “Don’t eat the Leo cookie!”
I smile—that was a happy memory, but they weren’t all like that. If I’m being honest, some days I didn’t like Leo. It’s horrible to think, now, after everything, but it’s true.
It was exciting at firs
t. My friends would come over, and Mom would let them touch the growing globe of her belly, but I knew my baby brother would only kick for me.
Then came the day, in the middle of Spanish class, when Señora Gomez pulled me aside to tell me my hermano was coming, and I needed to go to the front office right away.
Then he got older, and things got worse. Seven years is a big gap. I was tugging on training bras as he graduated from pull-ups. He and his snotty friends would yank down their pants and moon me during their campouts in the yard. He’d steal my iPod and make fun of my makeup. He was a pest.
Other days, I felt like I was raising him, what with Mom’s fundraisers and Dad out of town a lot. Leo was my brother, but in some ways he was my kid. He cried in front of me. He told me about the kid in his class, Jake, who ran faster than he did but Leo was catching up. More than once, I forged Mom’s signature on his field trip forms.
My nose tingles, and I pinch it to fight the tears.
Throwing myself back into the task at hand, I knead the dough again and again, until it’s well past blended.
I slide the cookies into the oven and set a timer for eight minutes. They don’t take long, and if you’re not careful the bottoms will burn.
“Can you come grab me when this goes off?” I ask Kate.
She shrugs. “Sure.”
Not quite the cheery answer I expected, but okay. I leave Kate to her menagerie and go to the basement to change into something warmer. Inhaling a lungful of musty air, I flick on the light and gasp. Jax is on my bed next to a pile of unfolded laundry. In his hands is a bundle of red lace.
Underwear.
My underwear.
Embarrassment and shock slice through me. I dash over and snatch them from his hand.
“What the fuck,” I shout. This place is getting to me—I never swore so much at home. “Why are you going through my stuff?”
He laughs, his grin pulling to one side. “Calm down, Valentine. Jeez.”
I stuff the underwear back in the drawer, my cheeks turning the same color as the lace. I can’t stand this guy sometimes. It’s like living with an earthquake—throwing me off balance whenever he pleases. “What do you want?”
“Just wanted to make sure you aren’t nervous about tonight.” Jax sits up. “It’ll be your first time meeting another gang.”
“I’m not. Nervous,” I mutter. “You wouldn’t let anything happen to me.” My tone is light, but as I turn, I see something catch in Jax’s eyes.
“I protect my own,” he says, as if that answer suffices. He tugs at the collar of his leather jacket. “Wear black.”
I frown, taking in the color and the clean, masculine smell of the leather. “Is that new?”
“Yeah,” he replies. “Theresa sent it after I mentioned I needed a new one. What do you think?”
He does a slow turn, only breaking eye contact for a moment as he pivots. The jacket is beautiful. The back is detailed with a kind of sunburst design—five rings of concentric circles, each painstakingly embroidered with a bronze-colored thread that shines ever so slightly when he moves.
“It’s really … nice.”
“Nice? That’s it?”
“No, really. It’s just not something I’d expect from you.”
“How so?”
“Like, the design. It’s fancy. Your other jacket was more … simple. It’s not something I’d expect of you.”
“Unexpected is my favorite thing to be,” he says, grinning. He goes up the stairs and slams the garage door behind him. That guy.
It takes an annoyingly long time for my heart rate to go down.
I distract myself by calling home. Mom doesn’t answer—and I’m relieved she doesn’t. I leave a message.
“Hey, Mom. It’s me. Just checking in. I’m okay. I hope things are going okay. I know Dad’s there now. Tell him I say hi. I love you. I’ll call again soon. Bye.”
I hang up with a sigh. A short, uninspired message somehow seems worse than forgetting to call.
A moment later, Mako opens the upstairs door and peeks down. “Hey, Val? I think something’s burning.”
“Shit!” I sprint back up the stairs, but I’m too late. The bottoms are definitely burned. Where did Kate go? Mako helps me dump the burnt ones in the garbage as I pull the second half of the dough from the fridge.
“Redemption round,” he says, smiling, as I roll the fresh dough into balls and place them on the tray.
“Here’s hoping,” I reply. I reset the timer as we wait. Mako grabs a frozen burrito from the fridge and sets it in the microwave, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter as he waits. Nothing ever seems to really bother Mako, which I like—and admire. If only I had his easygoing nature, I wouldn’t still be thinking about what happened downstairs with Jax. Inhaling and exhaling carefully to fight the blush I’m sure is still evident on my face, I clear my throat.
“Hey, Mako?” I say quietly. “Can I ask you something?”
He nods. “Shoot.”
“Do you…” I start. “Do you trust Jax?”
“Yeah.”
“That was quick.”
He bobs his head from side to side, weighing his thoughts in his mind. “When it comes to Stags, yes. This is his life.”
“Yeah, I guess. But he’s so…”
“I know.” Mako laughs. “But he doesn’t mess around on Stag business. At least he hasn’t before. Why do you ask? Did something happen?”
“Just curious.” I shrug. “Thanks.”
Minutes later, Mako’s burning his tongue on the burrito as I’m eyeing the bottoms of the second batch of cookies. Golden brown—perfect.
Mako takes a cookie from the tray and I barely have time to say “They’re still hot” before he pops the whole thing in his mouth.
“Ow,” he says, exhaling and cupping his hand in front of his mouth. “Too hot.”
“I told you!” I reply, laughing. “Good though?”
“Soooo good.” He gets up and dumps his plate in the sink. Once all the cookies are off the tray, he takes that too and starts scrubbing. “Almost showtime. Go get dressed.”
“Okay,” I reply. “Thanks, dude.”
“No problemo.”
Back downstairs, I find a long-sleeved black shirt and pull on my fleece-lined running jacket over it. I pull my hair into a French braid and slip on a pair of boots.
First time meeting a new gang. If all goes like Jax and Mako say it will, then it should be pretty calm. Still, from the way Nianna reacted, I know it’s not common for these meetings to happen. Taking my knife from under the bed, I clip it to my jeans and hide it under my shirt. Better safe than sorry.
The upstairs door opens and Mako leans down. “First, these cookies are insane and I might eat them all.”
“And second?” I ask, hopping onto the stairs myself.
“Second is we’re about ready to go.”
I rejoin the others in the kitchen. Jax is on the couch lacing up a pair of black combat boots, and waves me over when he sees me.
“I had a weird dream last night,” he says, voice hushed. Reverent.
“What was the dream?”
He tilts his chin toward the others. “We were all on a beach. It was dark, no stars. No moon. Then these two fires started burning—your eyes—and you were walking into the water. Those guys followed you.”
“You didn’t?”
“Nah, I wanted to turn the other way. I screamed and screamed at you. All of you. Then the lights went out, and I woke up. What do you think it means?”
“I don’t know.” It’s a weird thing to share—dreams rarely make sense even to the dreamer. Jax doesn’t respond right away. He takes my hand and stands, pulling me with him as Nianna strides in from the kitchen.
“Let’s go,” she says.
Nianna opens the front door. A gush of chilly night air slides in, graceful and dark as a panther. The van is parked in the driveway. Jaws waits for us behind the wheel. As I pass the wilting hydrang
eas and take a seat in the van, I find myself smiling. I feel like a part of something. We have a purpose. A name to protect. Allegiance runs like a magnetic pull between the Stags and me. I’m scared. I miss home and Matthew. But I am also free. I am free and ready to atone for what I did.
This is for you, Leo.
We are wild, neon-blooded devils as we go into the night.
* * *
We get to the rendezvous point just before midnight. The air is laden with hushed reverence and the itch for bloodshed.
Mission Dolores isn’t even “Mission Dolores.” It’s Mission San Francisco de Asís. There are two buildings, the original mission and the basilica. The former is made of four-foot-thick adobe and it’s a survivor of some of the city’s worst earthquakes, including the one in 1906 and Loma Prieta in 1989.
I came here a long time ago on a class field trip. The air inside the mission was calm. It felt like a church.
The basilica, on the other hand, took me somewhere I don’t even know. I remember the shining mosaics that race up the walls and along the arching ribs of the ceiling. The fiery glow from the honeycombs of orange stained glass. Mom chaperoned that day. I remember her saying that being inside the basilica is the closest you can get to Heaven while still alive.
But that was before Leo. I’m not sure what she believes now. I’m even less sure of what I believe.
There isn’t much cover for us to take. Jaws stays in the car, which is odd, given his intimidating presence—but I don’t question it. Jax assigns Mako and me a place behind a mailbox and a recycling bin on the opposite street.
Before we separate, Kate and Mako kiss each other once on the cheek, in what must be some ritual of theirs. She and Nianna are stationed a bit farther down Dolores Street, where the adobe wall turns toward the cemetery. I bet Mako would rather be stationed with his girlfriend, but I can’t help but be grateful for his bulk.
Micah is the most exposed. Peering around the mailbox, I can see him leaning against the dark wood of a palm tree across from where Jax sits on the steps of the mission.
A Thousand Fires Page 9
