Page 96 of Forty

“Well, folks. This reconciliation promises to be emotional and all, but I’ve got a date with destiny.” She tugs up her black bandeau top. It’s made to look like a bow. I’m one hundred percent into Forty, and I hate her, but I’d untie her given half a chance.

Heavy’s chair screeches, and a hush falls. He is truly a freakishly-sized individual. I don’t know what the exact qualifications are for a giant, but he’s got to be close.

“You don’t have to be the one who goes.”

Harper glances around at all us listening and raises her eyebrows. There’s a definite sense that these two are speaking out of school. “We decided.”

“Are you packing?”

“Where would I fit a gun in this outfit?” She smooths her hands over her round hips. She’s wearing her trademark palazzo pants. You could totally fit an ankle holster under them.

“Harper.” It’s one word, and it’s the most vulnerable I’ve ever heard Heavy Ruth sound. “I’ll go.”

“You don’t send a man to do a woman’s work.” Harper pops her bright red lips. “And this is woman’s work.”

“If you don’t call in twenty-four hours, we move in.”

“If I don’t call in twenty-four hours, tell Hobs I love him. And burn everything in my beside table drawer before anyone gets a look at what’s in there.” She winks, turns, and sashays away.

Heavy balls his fists.

“Where’s she going?” I whisper to Forty.

“She’s going to have a conversation with Knocker Johnson.”

I blink. I’m not sure what surprises me more—Harper has apparently volunteered for a suicide mission or Forty told me club business like it was nothing.

“She’s our Mata Hari,” he adds.

We watch Harper disappear into the crowd.

“You know they shot Mata Hari, right?” I whisper under my breath.

“You. Nevaeh,” Heavy barks. I startle. I was wondering what Harper Ruth keeps in her bedside table. “Come on. I got to show you something.”

He’s beckons me to follow him and ambles off toward a back room, the one where they hold church. I’ve never been in there. Back in the day, I never would have dared. That’s where Slip and his officers did club business. They were terrifying guys, very old school. Except for Boots, I don’t think one of them knew my name. And I’m not sure about Boots.

Forty follows me. The room is dominated by a granite or marble conference table and fancy leather office chairs. The furniture makes the room look like a high-class law office on TV, but the walls totally ruin the effect.

It’s so much; I can’t take it all in. There are flags. American, POW-MIA, Army, Marine Corp. There are dozens of framed pictures. None of the frames match. Police blotter clippings and mug shots. There’s Cue, the flash reflecting off his bald head. There’s a whole row of Charge. His beard and hair get longer and shorter and longer again, but his ridiculously gorgeous smile remains the same.

Then there’s the pictures of bikes. And naked women on bikes. Is that Shirlene? That’s Shirlene. Whoa, she had perky tits.

There are engine parts mounted like in a faux-country restaurant, vintage motorcycle license plates, a display with old striped medals and patches. Maybe war medals from Vietnam and Korea? A lot of brothers have served.

I’m getting a high from these walls. I’m already touching, running my fingers along the smooth edge of frames. My eyes skate to Forty every so often. Does he see what I’m seeing? His lips curve. His body’s tense; it always is when we leave home, but even so, it’s clear he’s proud of this place. That it’s home to him.

My heart plinks. I don’t want Forty to be torn between this home and ours.

Oh, wow. There’s a funeral card next to a blurry photo of a shaggy haired man on a bike, arms high on his ape hangers. It’s Twitch. He’s my age in the picture and handsome as hell. The arms wrapped around him must be Shirlene’s.

This is amazing. I almost forget Heavy’s looming in the doorway. I startle when he speaks.

“Look over the head of the table. On the far wall.”

Holy crap. There’s a human bone hanging there. Whoa. That’s a whole leg from the knee down. Tibia. Fibula. Toe bones.

“Is that Boots’ amputated leg?”

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