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  “Your friend, what is his name?”

  “Remy.” I nearly choked on his name.

  “Was his last name Daniels?” The priest asked.

  “How did you know that?” I turned skeptically. There was a loaded duffel bag at the feet of the winded priest.

  “After we spoke I called Father Jameson to inquire about the woman 'Grace'. He asked if the person looking had gone into the confessional. I told him that you had then he told me there was a bag in his personal closet and that I was meant to give it to you.”

  I looked at the bag. Grace was stitched into the handle. I zipped a corner of the bag open a sliver to see what was inside. Banded, green stacks of paper. It was Remy's salvation. I was speechless.

  “Why wasn't this in the bench? It had the name carved in it and everything. Did you—,” I blurted out at length.

  “No, no. I trust Father Jameson's judgment. The contents of the bag are none of my concern.” He waved away the notion, emphatically. “Apparently I was mistaken about the renovations being finished. Father Jameson had planned to have a new confessional booth built and installed but fell ill just after the project was started. Knowing he wouldn't be present during its completion, he moved the bag so that no one would stumble across it accidentally.”

  “I understand.” Even if it did give me a fucking heart attack.

  “He also told me to offer any assistance you might need. Is there anything you need?”

  “Uh yeah, I need to get back to Santa Fe by six.” The priest handed me a set of car keys. No way, seriously?

  “It's the station wagon.” The priest pointed to the parking lot. I was dumbfounded. “Come,” he said gently and helped me up. “Let's get you out of the street. Most truckers around here drive far too quickly to be able stop. Even for women as handsome as yourself.” The priest smiled and winked at me.

  It reminded me of when my grandfather would wink at me after he'd sneak me an extra piece of candy right before dinner when my parent's weren't looking. The corners of my mouth creased into a distant smile with warm remembrance.

  “Thank you for this, Father.” I tossed the bag onto the passenger's seat and kissed the priest's cheek. He blushed. It was sweet. His goodness reminded me of Gloria back at Muse's place. I hoped she was doing alright.

  “Oh, Father Jameson would like you to thank Mr. Daniels for breathing new life into the old bones of Our Lady of Resurrection. If ever he'd like to rejoin the choir the doors are always open for him. Father Jameson tells me he had a lovely singing voice as a child.”

  “I'll let him know.” I couldn't contain my beaming smile. It was hard to imagine Remy belting out the Catholic hits with the other boys but I did love the thought of it.

  “There is a map in the glove compartment. Go with God, my child.”

  I waved to the retreating priest and quickly plotted the course on the map. There was no time to spare but I needed a peek. Just before I took off, I checked to make sure no one was in the area and unzipped the bag. The bag was full of money but it also had a couple guns, a knife, a change of clothes, a half a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of whiskey and a frayed copy of The Catcher in the Rye. I zipped it back up, smiled again and took off for Santa Fe.

  I found your bag of tricks, Remy. Hold on, I'm on my way!

  * * * * *

  Five thirty. With a half hour to spare, I turned down the side road that led to the taxidermy shop. A bike and a sedan whipped by me, heading in the opposite direction. I could tell by the riders vest that they were Lobos. Were the Lobos Doc's six PM appointment? If so, then what happened to Remy?

  Now I getting nervous. This Doc guy was obviously unhinged. Who knows if he's the type of person to honor a verbal agreement. The grisly thought of Doc chopping Remy up and mounting his head to the wall was completely ridiculous but it scared the shit out of me nonetheless. The sooner I could pay this psychopath and get Remy out of there the better. He'd better still be alive.

  I wasn't going to take any chances. I tucked the pistol that I found in Remy's bag into the back of my jeans and slung the bag itself over my shoulder. The pressure of the gun was tight to my back and it dawned on me that I really didn't know how the hell to use this thing. I'd only ever fired a gun once, when I shot Rio. And that was almost completely luck. I had no idea where the safety was or how it worked or even how to activate it. If we ever got a damn moment to breathe Remy was going to have to teach me how to handle a gun. It seems to be a necessary skill to have in the MC lifestyle.

  The buzzer noise sounded when I pushed open the door. The store was empty but I could feel Doc's beady eyes on me through the camera. Dusk had begun stretching across the horizon and Hall's Taxidermy had entered that lighting limbo where it was still slightly too bright to merit turning the house lights on but slightly too dark to feel like you were in a retail store and not a condemned house waiting to be torn down.

  Every wall in the showroom was covered in dead animals, even more so than the basement. The shadows thrown by the dying light filtering into the room was just enough to rob the animals of that cheap, still-just-a-statue quality. Everything was cast in an eerie state of terrifying realism. Reflected light made dozens of hate-filled, glassy eyes flash from the recesses of dark sockets. Monstrous predators of all types were poised, muscles taut, just waiting for the right moment to pounce and rip me apart.

  I gingerly picked up my pace.

  The unmistakable sound of a hacksaw cutting through bone greeted me as I opened the bulkhead door. The sense of growing dread that, despite it all, I still hadn't made it to Remy in time, made my ribs feel like they'd halved in size and were strangling me from inside out. The gun found its way into my clammy hands.

  Doc was hunched over the metal table with his back to me, he was vigorously cutting through the torso of a body. Oh my god, I was too late. He had killed Remy!

  I felt myself raising the pistol. I wasn't in control any longer. I was now just a horrified passenger in my own body. I watched as grief, fear and rage took over my faculties. This man had to die.

  A familiar, roughly calloused hand slowly grabbed and lowered my arm. I was wound so tight that I wouldn't have been surprised if my scream had shattered glass.

  “It's OK, Star. I'm OK.” It was Remy! He was alive!

  “Keep the woman silent while I work,” Doc barked. He never broke concentration from his work.

  “But... But I thought—” I dragged both of our gazes back to the body being sawed in half.

  “Just an unlucky bastard that the Lobos needed disappeared.”

  “Where the hell were you?” My adrenaline finally faded but I was still mad at him for startling me so I punched him in the shoulder then immediately realized how shitty that was. My hands sprang out in front of me automatically but I was afraid that if I touched him again I'd hurt him so they just hung in the air awkwardly. I felt so bad but Remy didn't recoil as much as a man who was shot five times should've. His eyes narrowed and his jaw set, he grimaced through the pain. “Ohmygod! I'm so sorry!”

  Remy breathed for a moment and worked through it. He touched his shoulder to make sure nothing had reopened then his face slowly unscrewed into a genuine smile. A smile that, despite my stupidity, was glad to see me. He pulled me in for a hug. It was the best feeling in the world.

  “I couldn't let them see me when they brought the body in so I hid behind some boxes.” Remy favored his left arms and ribs and was struggling just to stand. Still he was a lot less fucked up than when I left him. I honestly didn't expect to find him standing up at all, let alone moving around.

  “Do you have my money?” Doc finally turned toward us. His head cocked down, he looked at us over his thick glasses. “Well?”

  “Yes, give me a sec. Jesus.” I'd almost just shot this man in the back of the head because I thought he killed my... whatever Remy was to me. I needed a moment to switch gears.

  I fished out ten thousand and slapped it down on the table. He snatched it up right a
way and began counting and checking the money to make sure it was the right amount and that it wasn't counterfeit.

  “Yes, yes. You may leave,” Doc abruptly stated when he'd finished verifying the money. Then he put it all in a safe embedded into the floor and went right back to work like we weren't still there.

  Fine by me, I was eager to put this freak show behind us. I helped Remy up the stairs and into the car. It was a very slow process. He was still in rough shape. Feeling his weight on me as I helped him along felt really good. I don't know if it was selfishness but I liked knowing that he'd truly need me for at least the next few weeks. He'd have a long road to recovery ahead but I'd be there every step of the way.

  Chapter 2

  Remy

  The asphalt was damp with early morning dew. After a few weeks of being bedridden, it felt damn good to be outside again. I was sitting on the ground, under the overhang, against the wall of our room, just watching occasional tail lights speed by the sleepy main road and blink out as they turned the corner. It was quiet aside from the ambient hum of the city. I put my fingers on the concrete slab walkway and felt the vibrations of big things moving in the distance. I felt connected again.

  We'd holed up at the Cottonwood Castle. A shitty one level, white and teal, U-shaped motel. A small room with a lumpy bed, stained carpet and barred windows. Low-man's Paradise. It was the cheapest place with weekly rates that Star could find. I didn't fault her for it. It was the best of a bad situation.

  It was two-thirty in the morning and I needed to be outside for awhile. To get my bearings. The chill in the air necessitated more than just the T-shirt I was wearing but I just couldn't force myself to put on the scratchy, yellow-green Christmas sweater that Star got me. It made me look like a lit up pine tree.

  I almost wasn't able to get out of bed to come outside. Not just because of the constant pain that radiated through all my fixed-up, ventilation holes but because Star was laying next to me. I'd forgotten how warm and comfortable it was to sleep next to the same person, in an actual bed, for more than one night.

  I'd been so tired from the recovery that my sleep schedule was all fucked. Sometimes I'd lay awake in the middle of the night just to feel her next to me. Her arm always wrapped around my chest while she was asleep, like she was afraid she might lose me. It hurt of course, but I didn't mind the pain. It was better that it did hurt because I didn't know love in any other way. She cared about me more than anyone I'd ever met. It was intimidating but amazing. A sensation I honestly thought I'd never get again.

  It'd been years since I was able to let my guard down enough to sleep without having to worry about what might've been gone in the morning. Not that I had a lot of stuff to begin with but I did typically carry a lot of cash on me.

  My philosophy was always: If someone could take it from me then they deserved it more than I did.

  I lit a smoke. First one I'd had since before I was shot. Once the smoke hit my lungs a familiar calm washed over me. The clicking of the lighter, taking a few minutes out of my day to reflect or to focus on what needed to be done. Smoking was a ritual for me. I hadn't even realized I missed it until I had it again.

  There was a scooter parked next to one of the motel room doors. It was chained to one of the windows. It needed to be. I was even half tempted to throw that tiny, joke of a bike over my shoulder and pawn it. It did make me miss my Ninja though. If Rocks had lived, I'd have killed him for what he did to my beautiful bike.

  When I first got that bike, Top would always bust my balls about it. Whenever we had local club bullshit that needed doing, he'd ask me if I'd be riding my Butterfly today. I painted it all black a short time later but it didn't help. He dubbed it black beauty. But that was just around the club though. Anyone outside had the balls to say shit about my bike around him, he'd bust their fucking nose.

  Top did some horrible shit, and not that I forgive him for it, but I do understand why he did it. Idle rage and grief can make a man do some serious shit. Top was lashing out at Muse's place over Bren's death. Top saw me disconnecting from the club for a long time but Star was his catalyst to finally act. With Todd dead, he had no one else to blame for our brother's killing than her. He tried to rape her when I brought her to Muse's so I'd see her as just another whore and lose interest, then he tried to have her killed because she was the only witness to me murdering Todd. If Star escaped she could've sent me to prison for a long, long time.

  I knew all that and I'd always love Top, he's my last remaining blood brother, but what he attempted to do to Star, regardless of the reasons, was inexcusable. And he'd have to pay for that somehow before things could ever be right between us.

  I missed Tee and the other guys too. It hadn't been that long since I'd seen them. What? A few weeks, maybe. Even before all this with Star, I'd been distant for a long time. Ever since Maria was killed. I'd taken some time away from the club after that but this was different. I'd never been this far outside before. The guys gave me some space then but I was still a member and they were always just a phone call away. Not anymore.

  I looked back at our room door. It was slightly ajar. The image of Star sprawled out asleep on the bed, comfortable and safe after all she'd been through these last few weeks warmed me to the core. I was broke and broken with no civilian skills or future. I didn't deserve her. But there she was, by my side with nothing to gain. How could I not trust her completely. She was the Bonnie to my Clyde, as she loved to say.

  I'd do it all again if I had to. Leaving the club, getting shot, all of it. Star was worth it.

  Now I was dead, at least that's what both the Lobos and the Veins thought. It was a fucking miracle that either of us survived that mess. We were free to start over. To have a normal life.

  Star asked me once why we didn't just leave all this. I still felt obligated to my brothers and to the Veins that I remembered growing up with. I told her that she gave me the strength to be the scalpel, to remove the cancer that had grown in my club. After the meet with Bones went tits up, I started to realize that maybe I had it all twisted. Star was right. I'd always love my club but maybe I wasn't the man to fix things. They did try to have me killed, granted it was for a good reason. I did kill the national president's shithead son, after all.

  Still, what was the point? The club could take care of itself. And if I was being honest, I was scared. Even having Star, I was scared to give up the club fully, the only thing I'd ever been any good at. I used Star as both an excuse to get out and a reason to stay in. It was spineless and deep down I knew it but couldn't accept it.

  And look at what that got me— a chest full of lead at the Beaner Hotel.

  All the shit I was trying to do was for the club, fighting Lorenzo's kill team, starting a war, meeting with Bones. It was all for the wrong reasons. Waking up on that steel table at Doc Mengele's put a lot of things in perspective for me. Cut open, half alive, all my sins were laid bare. I finally understood and I prayed for death. It would be easier to die than face my own cowardice.

  Star told me how it all went down, she was amazingly resourceful. Star was the reason I was alive. Not just because she dragged me out of the the Lobos clubhouse but because she gave me a reason to live. Through the drugs, I caught most of her conversation with Doc. She was willing to do whatever it took to help me.

  How could I possibly give up knowing someone loved me as much as she did? It wasn't often that I got a second chance and this was even better. This was a completely clean slate with a girl who meant everything to me. I would do whatever it took to do right by her. Even if that meant leaving the Steel Veins behind. We were alive and had one another. This was our happily ever after.

  Four drunks burst out of O'Malley's, the motel bar. One stumbled to his knees and threw up all over his friend's pants. This was Disneyland all right.

  “Remy?” Came the tired voice as the door cracked open. The parking lot lights lit her beautifully, disheveled form. She'd picked us up some clothes from a Goodwil
l in the area but still kept that goofy cartoon cat shirt to sleep in. She said it was her lucky shirt. Who was I to argue? “Are you OK?” She asked.

  I just looked at her. How did I ever get this lucky? I owed it to her to at least try the normal life. She'd had enough danger for one lifetime. I smiled at her. “Better than OK, now.”

  Star drowsily dumped herself next to me and carefully rested her half-asleep head on my good shoulder. The ground was rough and filthy, the wall was uncomfortable, chipped stone that reeked of piss but I hadn't been as happy as I was right then in as long as I could remember. Just having her next to me made everything a little brighter. It also helped with the smell.

  Which was why I was annoyed to have to tell her to leave.

  The drunks that had been thrown out of the bar saw us and were heading over. Nothing good was going to come from having her out here with me and I didn't think she could help me up and get me back inside fast enough. She protested at first but reluctantly went inside when I told her I'd be fine.

  “Hey, buddy, got a smoke?” The drunk with his friends vomit drying on his pants wore a button up red flame shirt.

  I handed him a smoke. These guys were hammered.

  “That bitch at the bar was all over my nuts, bro. I'mma see if I can get back in. You guys, you guys think...” said the guy who did the vomiting. It sounded like he'd lost interest in what he was saying or just altogether forgot.

  “Fuckin' douchebags kickin' us out? What? What? Our money aint good there? I thought this was fuckin' Merica.” After several muttering attempts, Flame shirt finally lit his cigarette. He then remembered something extremely important. The cigarette fell out of his mouth as he whipped back toward the bar to scream with all his might, “Fuckin'! Nazis! Go back to fuckin'... Fuck you! Fuckin' a-holes!”

  “Why ya ain't got... no shoes, friend?” Another drunk asked me.

  I stayed quiet. These boys were a powder keg and with Star so close, and me out here without my gun or knife, I wouldn't be throwing around any matches. I could barely stand without help. Hell, between being thrown into that school bus and Bones' parting gift, just breathing hurt. I didn't survive all that shit just to be kicked to death by drunks.