Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
"What are you saying, Ma?" Chris asked, raising her well-shaped brows. "That my life is worth more? That Ferryn's life is worth more? Because you know us? Than the dozens or hundreds of others who we have saved? Before Ferryn saved me, I had nobody. Just like these women and girls have nobody," Chris declared, voice raising, hitching ever-so-slightly. She wouldn't break down. I'd known her to have grown a little too hardened for that. At least in public. But she was struggling with holding it together. "They were crammed in ships and in basements and men were holding them down in beds and forcing themselves on them and they had no hope, no one to come for them. You can't stand here and tell me that saving them wasn't worth some dark marks on our souls. Wasn't worth a little heartbreak due to the separation. It was worth it. I would do it again a thousand times over. Because not everyone has someone like you. They don't have people like this club. They don't have heroes and heroines to rush in and get them out. So, they have us. You don't have to like that. You don't even have to accept that. But that is how it is. We do this for them. And if that means we sacrifice our relationships with you, then that is something we have to live with."
"That's the thing, though, Chris," Aunt Lo said, voice losing its edge, getting softer, shaking her head at her daughter. "We wouldn't have made you choose."
"Yes," Chris corrected, voice softer too, "you would have. You know you would have."
"That's where you were last night," my mother's voice broke into the silence following Chris's words, no one able to contradict her convincingly. "That is why you have a black eye," she added, eyes moving to mine.
"That makeup was a waste of money," I told Vance, shaking my head.
To that, my mother snorted. "Oh, honey. You know what town this is, right? I've seen more black eyes covered with tattoo concealer than you could count over the years. You could have told me," she insisted, then looked at my father, "and you should have told me."
"Mom..."
"No. Don't Mom me in that condescending 'you wouldn't understand' way, Ferr. Because, in case you don't know this story—and that was my bad for not being more open about it—I was a girl in a basement with men threatening to rape me, beating me, slicing open my back, burning a brand into my skin. I was that girl. If there is anyone here aside from you and Chris and your Aunt Janie who understands this reality, it is me. So you don't get to pull that childish 'you don't understand' crap with me. I understand. I get it. So I am going to repeat myself—you could have told me."
Sometimes, my mom was just, well, Mom. It was hard at times to remember that she was more than bedtime stories and late-night chats and baking parties and great dinners.
She was the daughter of a drug dealer and a trafficker. She was the wife of an outlaw biker. She was best friends with killers and enforcers. She'd been through a war with the club. She'd seen her father gunned down right in front of her eyes.
She'd known hell on earth.
Forgetting that, thinking of her only as a mom instead of a person, was a disservice to her.
"I'm sorry," I told her, meaning it, actually feeling tears flood my eyes with the words, making me close them tight, fight them away.
"Good," she told me, voice firm before she wrapped her arms around me, squeezing me tight. "Your father would like to claim all your badassness as coming from him, but I think we both know it is me in there," she added, clearly trying to lighten the mood, trying to defuse a tense situation.
"Definitely you. And Dad. And everyone here," I added, pulling away, knowing I owed my life to every single person in that room who had spent time with me, trained me, educated me, taught me about life. It was their voices in my head in low times. It was them pushing me on when my body and mind and soul were screaming for it all to end.
"And?" Aunt Lo asked, eyes keen, arms crossing over her chest.
"And?" I repeated.
"And who else? Clearly, you've been training. Who with?" she asked, making me wonder if she wanted to know if it was someone she knew, someone she had likely reached out to when I had gone missing to tell them I was out on my own, to call her if they saw me.
"34691." There was no reason not to tell them. They'd already tried to get him. They learned their lesson. He had nothing to fear from them. "Holden."