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Soon, the five of us sat out back and enjoyed grilled steaks and Goldie’s loaded potatoes and coleslaw. The conversation lingered on typical crap like lawn care and the weather.

As we enjoyed a pitcher of Sangria after dinner, Alabama zeroed in on Goldie. I instantly knew she was about to say something I wouldn’t like.

“I ran into Leslie the other day,” Alabama announced, making me frown. “She whined about you living in Baton Rouge. Bitch tried to get me to agree with her pity party.”

“Who is Leslie?” Goldie asked me.

“Aaron’s mom.”

Goldie’s gaze darkened. She reached down and stroked Junior’s golden coat. Alabama totally missed the shift in mood as she told her story. However, Stamp sensed Goldie’s reluctance to talk about the families of the men who tried to kill her.

“Leslie claims she can’t be expected to live her life in the same town as the woman who killed her boy. Well, I said, ‘Bitch, move out of Baton Rouge, then.’ Leslie ought to be ashamed about having such a sick son,” Alabama ranted and nudged Stamp. “We love our boys. We’d give our lives to save theirs. But if they grabbed a young woman with evil intentions, Stamp and I would hand them over in a heartbeat. The boys know we would, too.”

My fingers swept Goldie’s hair from her shoulder and stroked her throat. She glanced at me, hiding none of her angst.

“Leslie is all talk,” Stamp told Goldie and me. “She has other kids. Her man isn’t doing well health-wise. Their family won’t cause trouble.”

“Did anyone think those assholes would attack the Sorority House?” Goldie mumbled as she picked up Mochi and cuddled the dog. “Who can know what stupid people will do?”

“Wrecker is enjoying his retirement,” I said, stroking Goldie’s back as she stared at her drink. “If their people stir up any trouble, even something minor, Zodiac warned we would treat them all as guilty. Wrecker’s ass is on the line, and he isn’t a man willing to suffer for others. He won’t be happy to know Leslie is stirring up drama, and I plan to let him know.”

Despite Goldie nodding at my words, I felt her pulling within herself. For weeks, no one had brought up the attack. We told Jessica that Goldie had been in a motorcycle accident. When we visited a local orthopedic surgeon, we hadn’t said more than she’d crashed her ride.

Now, Alabama had inadvertently torn open a barely healed wound. With Goldie spiraling, I recalled Blackjack’s warning about his daughter’s unprocessed panic and rage. At the time, I felt ready to face whatever emotions Goldie threw at me. Now, I hoped I could shake my old loner habits and be the man she needed.

GOLDIE

Alabama was a cool chick. Normally, I’d want to shoot the shit with a woman sporting a lady boner for the biker lifestyle. Except once she mentioned Aaron’s mom, I lost all interest in talking. His name stirred up dread inside me. My confidence disappeared, replaced by fear and panic. For the rest of dinner, my head was filled with bad memories.

I didn’t want to view Aaron as a person with a family that loved him. That way, his death felt like an easy choice. He attacked me! I was the victim! I fought for my life! Why should I feel guilty?

Despite how he showed me no pity, I felt shame over leaving him bleeding out as I crawled away. I had also fired the gun without thinking at Vinny. Their lives meant nothing. I only wanted to survive.

All night, even after I was alone with York, I heard those men’s voices in my mind. They followed me into my dreams. I woke up feeling as if I were on trial.

York went about his usual routine by leaving me for a few hours in the morning. I probably should have asked Boone and Nova to visit. Instead, I sat in the house and replayed that painful night.

Leslie had been one of the voices on the phone. They had all spoken so casually about killing me and sticking my body somewhere no one would find it. Would this woman and her family cause me trouble? Was I safe in Baton Rouge?

The house started feeling too small and exposed. I missed the Sorority House and my friends. I didn’t feel safe in Baton Rouge. If someone busted through the door, I couldn’t run away or fight back. I could barely put weight on my foot. York’s guns were hidden too high for me to reach. Though he wanted to protect Skylar and Lyric, he’d left me defenseless.

Around ten, someone knocked on the door. On the security feed, I found a salesperson. He knocked again, winning a barking fit from Mochi. The guy laughed and knocked again. When Mochi barked, I thought to use the speaker to tell the guy to fuck off. But I was scared that he might lash out. In the past, I was ready to throw down with strangers. Now, I felt like a stupid kid in need of saving.

After five minutes of knocking and listening for the dog’s reaction, the asshole walked off. Despite how he hadn’t been a threat, I remained filled with terror. Baton Rouge was too big and violent. I needed to hide somewhere safe.

By the time York returned for lunch, I had started blaming him for my current panic. He was so calm and casual as he unwrapped the sandwich he bought for us to share. Didn’t he understand how he’d asked too much of me?

“I feel trapped here,” I said once York set my plate and glass on the family room table.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Home,” I mumbled, stuck between sad pouting and angry tears. When I smacked his hand away as he reached for me, I added, “I don’t want to live in Baton Rouge.”

Instantly irritated, York rested his hands on his hips and lowered his head. “I can’t move to Little Memphis and ride with my club. If I live there, I need to give up the Black Rainbow here.”

“Exile does it.”

“He’s here half the time.”