Page 90 of Ruger's Rage

Ellie considers this. "I suppose technically I'd be your step-mother, considering I’m still married to the old bastard. I really need to do something about that. Tildie, when this is over don’t let me forget I’m in dire need of a divorce."

"You got it. It’s been long enough."

"Yes." Ellie's voice hardens slightly. "For far too long."

An awkward silence falls, broken only when the door opens again to reveal a woman I recognize as Porter's ol’ lady, Sarah.

I guess our apartment is turning into the club women's watering hole.

She's in her early-thirties, with streaks of copper in her dark hair.

"Thought I'd find you all huddled together," she says, closing the door behind her. "Any word?"

Ellie shakes her head. "Nothing yet."

Sarah nods, unsurprised. "Porter always says the waiting's the hardest part." She glances at Kinsey. "So you're Striker's girl. Got more of your grandmother's look about you than his, thank God."

"You knew my grandmother?" Kinsey asks.

"Met her once, years back. Fierce woman. She'd have knocked some sense into her son if she'd lived longer."

Sarah settles into an armchair like it’s natural to her, but she’s been with the club for a while now.

I realize I know almost nothing about her, even though I see her at Sunday dinner.

She’s the only ol’ lady in the club, besides Bloodhound’s—but that feels more like a rumor. I’ve never seen his woman here at all.

"How long have you been with the club?" I ask her.

"Thirteen years." Pride colors her voice. "Since Porter was a prospect. We were young lovers, everyone told me to leave him, and I never did."

"You must have seen a lot of changes," Kinsey observes.

"More than most." Sarah's eyes find mine. "Two different Presidents. A lot of women going in and out of the door, a lot of changes. Ruger’s the best change the club has had in a long time."

"How so?" I find myself genuinely curious about how others see my man.

She isn’t careful about her choice of words, even with Striker's daughter present. "He rebuilt this club from the ground up after Striker nearly destroyed it."

"Our home," Ellie adds softly.

Sarah nods. "This land has been Saint's Outlaws territory since the beginning. These buildings, this compound—it's all built on the blood and sweat of coal miners who formed the first charter."

"Miners?" My interest piques. "I thought motorcycle clubs started with veterans."

"Eh, not all of them," Sarah acknowledges. "Ours began with miners who'd returned from war and found their only employment option was going back into the ground they'd fought so hard to leave. They formed the club as much for protection as for brotherhood."

"Protection from what?" Kinsey asks.

"Mine owners. Company men. Anyone who'd exploit them," Sarah explains. "These hills have a long history of labor disputes that turned bloody. Having a brotherhood at your back meant you weren't fighting alone. I guess kind of like a union if you think about it, before they were a thing."

As she speaks, I find myself drawn into the history of this place that's becoming my home. I'd never considered the club's roots beyond the typical outlaw stereotype.

"The founding members were smart men," Sarah continues. "Knew these mountains better than anyone. Used that knowledge to their advantage."

"Is that why they built this compound so far from town?" I ask.

A small smile plays at Sarah's lips. "Partly. But they had other insurance policies too."

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