Page 104 of The Grief We Hold

Wraith starts to thrust upward to fuck my mouth.

“Ah, fuck, yeah,” he says quietly, somewhere between a moan and a sigh.

I grab his balls and tug on them.

“Gonna come soon, Blue,” he manages to say, the words punctuated by grunts.

I move off and keep stroking. Wraith’s hand clasps over mine, forcing me to squeeze him tighter. I suck one of his balls into my mouth and feel it jerk as Wraith starts to come in heavy spurts.

And I realize, as I listen and feel this man come apart beneath my hands, that I haven’t thought about Marco once.

33

WRAITH

The easiest way to let our enemies know we’re coming is to move on our bikes.

It would be hard to miss a convoy of over twenty patched-in members and prospects and the gutsy rumble of our Harleys. But nondescript vans are our friends.

We all have our priorities.

Grudge and I are going to lead teams in the front and rear, respectively.

Smoke is going to rig the place to blow when we finish.

And Butcher is on surveillance, watching the building using a drone, something Vex encouraged us to learn how to operate.

But for the first time in a while, despite how clear my plan is, my main thought is about what will happen to someone else if I die.

I’ve got an out-of-date will that Hallie had me write before Lottie was born, naming the two of them as beneficiaries.

Now I find myself worrying.

Catfish is driving, so I grab my phone and type a message to Smoke in the other van.

Me:Anything happens to me, give everything to Raven and Fen.

It takes a second for him to respond.

Smoke:Don’t make me come over there and smack you about the head.

I laugh at that.

Me:I’m serious. My will’s out of date. Give everything to Raven except the bikes. Keep them working and give them to Fen when he’s old enough.

Smoke:This isn’t the time for this conversation.

Me:Be even harder to have if I’m dead. Just wanted this to be a record of my wishes. Everything to Raven and Fen.

Smoke:Tomorrow, you can get a better will written so I don’t have to deal with this fucking shit. Because you are NOT going to die tonight.

Me:From your lips to God’s ears.

Smoke:And next time, you get to drive with the new prospect because his breath is so bad, it’s burning my eyebrows off when he speaks.

I send a vomit emoji in response, then tuck my phone away in my cut.

As I watch the roads become more populated and the city go from a speck in the distance to something tall and glowering, I should be thinking about what we’re supposed to do when we arrive at our destination.

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