Page 9 of The Oath We Take

Quinn and I are pushing for rent stabilization for Main Street stores, better parking options for the south end of town, and major campaigns for Christmas tourism and trade.

Last week, Quinn was told she was too woke. I’ve often been told I’m an instigator. We are equally proud of our titles.

“Where have you been, stranger?” I ask in jest. She hasn’t been in for four days.

Quinn grins. “Avoiding men.”

I drop onto the chair opposite her. “There’s a Norwegian saying that basically translates to something like ‘I feel this on my skin.’”

Dawn laughs. She’s a member of Quinn’s very small and private book club and teaches at the high school we all attended. We were all in the same school at the same time. Just different classes and years. I remember when Quinn’s older sister went missing. Eighteen years old, and there were signs of a struggle. Made everyone look at each other in this small town and wonder if they’d done it. I remember my dad, who was sergeant at arms back then, organizing a massive search through the town. Because her parents were terrified the same would happen to her, Quinn was out of school for so long, she had to redo a year. It always makes me feel a little sick inside that they never found her sister. “I feel like Raven got the last of the good ones.”

I smile when I think of Wraith and Raven. “Never seen two people love each other as much as they do.”

I got to stay with them for a while when Raven got out of the hospital after her and Wraith were injured escaping enemies of the club, to help her care for herself and her son, Fen. It’s been amazing seeing Wraith start living his life again.

As if on autopilot, I seek out Atom by the bar and wonder if he is capable of the same metamorphosis into husband and father. But as I see him bend his head so the girl hooked around him can talk to him, I see the slightly bored look in his eyes.

Quinn takes a sip of her drink. “It’s almost nauseating, and I’d tell her that if she weren’t my friend.”

“Well, there are slim pickings in the bar tonight, but if you happen to find a half-decent one with basic hygiene who listens when you talk, then I commend you. You girls need anything? Kitchen closes in fifteen.”

Quinn shakes her head. “We’d just decided we’re gonna head out when we’re done with these drinks.”

“Okay. Take care walking home. Text me when you’re there.” I smile as I stand and scoop up the empty glasses from their table.

Grabbing more glasses as I go, I catch up with old school friends and local business owners. Personal connection is vital. They could go to any other bar, but they are choosing to come to mine. I make a profit after paying everyone fairly, so they don’t have to rely on tips, and I don’t want that to change.

When I get to the bar, I drop the glassware into the trays laid out to go straight to the dishwasher. When I lift it, I see Atom and Catfish leaving the bar with the two girls.

My heart squeezes a little to see him go.

Though I realize how pathetic I am to even care about a man who obviously doesn’t care for me.

3

ATOM

“Gonna get the hands to move the cattle to the upper pasture,” Dad says as he walks into the large ranch house, not a speck of dirt or dust on his denim. It’s a sign he’s done nothing today beyond walk from his air-conditioned home to the main house.

My grandpa lives here, but generations have always gathered in this kitchen to eat together when they want to.

“Before Sturgis?” I ask, diving into the huge huevos rancheros skillet Linda, the ranch cook, just made me. It’s her take on it: charred corn tortillas, fried eggs, seasoned beans and tomatoes, and garlic. It’s topped with avocado and jalapeños and cheese.

I was all out of anything to eat at my own place, and while I knew I could get some greasy food at the clubhouse, I also knew Linda would rustle me up my favorite. I’m starved. Even through my raging hangover and lack of sleep, I’ve been up since before dawn and have checked in on the calves, booked the combine in for a service, and ridden out to the grow-op to check in on security after the Bratva raid on it.

My time off can’t come soon enough. Our annual trip to the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally, one of my favorite bike events of the year, is just around the corner.

It’s a nice straight ride north that takes about five hours. Ten days in South Dakota with almost every motorcycle club across the country. It’s a time to meet up with riders from the other Iron Outlaws chapters. King, the Iron Outlaws national president, organizes meetups between similar patches. All the presidents get together and talk strategy and shit.

The enforcers? We get together and have a round robin fight competition. I’ve won several years in a row. But I’m getting older now, although not the oldest by a long stretch.

Still can hold my own, though.

“Before the end of the day,” Dad says. “You able to oversee it?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“What the hell do you have to do today that’s more important?”

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