Page 12 of Gather the Storm

“Yeah,” I said.

He pulled at the drop cloth and my BMW S1000 was revealed. It was a sport bike, its profile sleek, red and black paint sexy as fuck. It wasn’t the bike I rode with the club — that would be my dad’s Fat Boy, a Harley Cruiser with wide tires built to eat pavement — but it was fast, and after five years in the clink, fast was just what the doctor ordered.

“What if she needs us?” Otis asked, still on the subject of Daisy.

“Don’t. Fucking. Care.”

I saw the skepticism in Wolf’s eyes, could almost hear him calling me a fucking liar even though he didn’t say a word.

“We’ll vote on it,” Otis said.

It was the way Otis always handled our disputes, because it didn’t need to be said that whatever we did, we did together.

“I vote we go,” Wolf said. “See what Daisy wants.”

“Me too.” Otis grinned, like he’d won an argument about what kind of pizza to order instead of whether or not we weregoing to open the one door that should stay the fuck closed. “Guess we’re going.”

I swore. What could I do? Majority ruled. “Fine. But we keep our distance.”

Wolf nodded slowly. “We keep our distance.”

I didn’t like that Otis stayed quiet. Of all of us, he was the one I was least confident would keep his distance from Daisy fucking Hammond.

“Just remember, this is on you.” I looked from Otis to Wolf. “Both of you.”

It felt important to say it, because I was getting the distinct fucking impression we were in abeforemoment: one of those times in life where everything else would become definable by whether it had occurred before or after.

Like what had happened the night of the party.

Like when Wolf, Otis, and I had voted to confess to Blake’s murder.

And now, when we were going to see Daisy, even though it was the last fucking thing we should do.

Chapter 5

Daisy

Ilooked at the fire burning in the fireplace of the room that had once been the parlor, then walked over to adjust the logs with the iron poker.

It didn’t need it — the fire was already raging — but I was fidgety and nervous. One of the logs fell a notch and the fire slowed down as oxygen was cut off to the underside of the wood.

Dammit.

I set the poker aside and looked at the antique clock over the mantel, the only clock in the house I bothered to wind when I was here.

8:56.

Maybe they weren’t coming.

My stomach twitched with nerves and I felt vaguely nauseous even though I hadn’t eaten since lunch.

I took a deep breath and walked to the mirror that hung in a grouping of portraits on the wall. The wallpaper was peeling behind them, but the portraits stood in the same configuration they’d been in when the house had been occupied by my grandfather.

My ancestors, stern and serious, looked disapproving and I wondered if it was because we hadn’t taken care of their house or because I’d invited the three guys who’d killed Blake to it.

Probably both.

The old mirror was desilvering — something that happened when the silver backing oxidized over time — but I could still make out my reflection.

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