He reached out and took my hand.
“I hope not,” he said.
“What’s been going on with you?” I asked. “Why have you been avoiding me?”
He ran his fingers through his hair.
“I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve been busy. Really busy. I didn’t think you’d wanna hear about it, but there’s been some problems with a gang,” he said.
“I want to hear,” I said, squeezing his hand gently.
“Someone’s been messing with our supply,” he said. “There’s always been a source of dope in the area that we haven’t been able to track, because these guys moved so quickly and weirdly. And - they killed one of my sellers. Man, he may have been a low-life scumbag, but he was our low-life scumbag, you know?”
I nodded. There was territory, pride, and ownership in everything I’d learned about the Night Horses.
“It’s gotta be a small operation, but they move a lot of shit,” he went on. “That’s one thing. Competition is okay, it’s good, it can be healthy - but killing one of my guys for no goddamn reason? Shit’s fucked up.”
“I can’t even imagine,” I said.
He gave me a small smile. “I hope not,” he said. “I want you to steer clear of men like that.”
He sighed.
“So, that’s why I’ve been so out of touch lately. I’ve been putting out fires and trying to keep my men under control,” he said.
“I can believe it,” I said.
He asked me what was wrong then, what had happened, and I almost told him, but the words froze in my throat.
“I want to go home,” I finally said.
I didn’t expect him to look that hurt. He started up the car and drove - back towards where we came from.
“No,” I said. I put my hand on his leg. “I want to go home. To your place. Or to my apartment. Whichever.”
Relief broke across his face.
We passed a quiet drive back to the Night Horses compound, but, although I was nervous about how to handle telling him about Chad and William, it wasn’t a bad silence.
It wasn’t as awkward as the silence I’d shared with my parents, and that almost broke my heart.
I was such a bad daughter.
Wasn’t I supposed to love them best, to want to be with them, to do what they wanted me to?
I didn’t even know any more.
Merle thought I should be my own person and do what I wanted, but he didn’t really know what it was like to have parents who loved you and were involved in your life, and he admitted it.
My father clearly wanted me to obey like I always had.
My mother… my mother said I was an adult now.
Fuck me, but I didn’t feel like an adult.
I said as much to Merle, who laughed.
“No one does, sweetheart,” he said, his black eyes crinkled at the corners with amusement. “Haven’t you heard that before? Not one person I know thinks they’re really cut out to be an adult, even the ones with grey goddamn hair.”
He paused.
“Well, Alex probably does, actually, and maybe Jackson, but those assholes are weird,” he said.
“They’re your best friends,” I objected.
“They are, and I’m probably weird for spending so much time with those weird sons of bitches,” he said, with as much cheer as I’d ever seen him.
We got back to Merle’s place. Walked between the old cabins and weird-ass buildings that you can make if you don’t give a damn about codes.
We nodded and smiled to the people we walked past.
It wasn’t until we got to Merle’s place, Merle’s room, and shut the door that I could really calm down enough to tell him what happened.
We sat on the bed together, like my mother and I had done, and I told him.
I didn’t look at his face.
I told him what Chad and ied to do.
I told him what I did. How I had gotten away.
He didn’t say anything for a long few minutes.
I chanced a look at his face and he was almost white with rage.
“Are you angry at me?” I asked.
He looked up, shocked.
“You did an amazing job,” he said. “You got away from them. You did everything right. I’m so proud of you.”
I cried, then.
He held me in his arms and stroked my hair and murmured to me that I was wonderful and he was so proud of me and he was going to kill those fucking preppy cocksuckers.
The usual sweet nothings.
“Don’t kill them,” I said, pulling away to look him in the eyes when I was a little calmer.
His eyes were hard.
I repeated myself. “Don’t you fucking dare kill them, you hear me?”
“Why not?” he asked.
“If you kill them, fuck, if you even beat them up, and you get caught, and you go to jail, how the fuck do you think I’d feel?” I demanded. “They’re gonna have shitty lives and get what’s coming to them, okay? Don’t you dare give it to them. It’s not your job.”
“It is,” he insisted. “It’s my job to take care of you.”
I met his gaze.
“It’s your job to respect me,” I said. “Please listen to what I say.”
He nodded, slowly.
“Can I at least threaten them?” he asked.
I shook my head.
There was a pounding on the door.
We both sat bolt upright.
Merle got up and slid the bolt free and opened the door.
It was Jackson. Holding a rifle.
Dried blood stood out in a harsh line down his pale face. His hair was matted with more blood.
“We’re fucked,” he said.
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