Page 97 of When the Smoke Clears

All of a sudden, a familiar hip-hop song begins blasting from the truck. Leah screeches something I don’t understand and the four women pile into the bed of my truck. The tailgate is down and their bodies sway and bounce to the music. They’re definitely going to be feeling this in the morning.

Chapter 35

Maci

WhenIshowupto the clubhouse this time, Hawk lets me through the gates right away. He takes a long puff of his cigarette, chatting with another member.

The same parking spot from before is open, and I leave everything in my Jeep aside from my phone, which I shove into my back pocket. Something tells me I don’t need any of it inside, nor do I think anyone is going to be rummaging through my stuff. Judging based on James’ behavior at the funeral, heads may roll if something like that were to occur.

I still haven’t figured out the purpose of the club. They’re organized enough, and there’s an apparent level of respect, but is that normal in a social club? They don’t really come across as hardened criminals.

Then again, I fucked my stepbrother without knowing, and my stepfather apparently has had a secret life for as long as I’ve known him, so what do I know?

“He’s upstairs. You good?” Hawk steps away from his conversation to meet me at the main door as I enter.

“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.” I smile at the man next to him. I hope they don’t expect me to learn all their names quickly.

“Maci!” Pete jumps up from a table and makes his way across the room as the door closes behind me. “How are you?”

Pete is such a nice guy. Maybe he let Leah get a little too drunk once, but I can’t really fault him since she’s grown, too. Still, I don’t know why he’s so attentive. If it’s only because he wants me to put in a good word with her, I need to let him know it’s not going to happen.

“Hey Pete, how are you?” I ask as an easy smile forms on my face. He’s like sunshine.

“Good. You?”

My tolerance for small talk is limited these days. Everything tends to set me on edge. I miss the Maci of before. “Getting by.”

He nods like he understands. He doesn’t. Whether or not this group is criminal in nature, I can look into Pete’s eyes and see that he’s never taken a life. I couldn’t say that before, but now I just know.

My jaw slackens. I hadn’t considered this about anyone until now.

Movement in my peripheral catches my attention, and my eyes shoot over to the bar where Ginger stares at me in annoyance. McCoy sits at the bar again, nursing a beer, his back to us.

“Prez is upstairs.” Pete’s voice breaks through my thoughts.

“Thanks.” I touch his wrist as I pass, heading directly for the stairs. I bypass the second floor as instructed and head straight for the third. James approaches the top of the steps as I reach them, likely hearing my huffing and heavy footsteps on the solid planks.

“Gracie.” His eyes sparkle and he opens his arms again, but today I see something new. Something I didn’t pay attention to before. I hug him briefly and take in the space, in an effort to organize my thoughts.

It’s a rustic industrial studio, much like the rest of the building. Leather couches, more charred wood tables and chairs, dark pendulum lights, and an open floor plan. Two barn doors rest on a rolling rack on the far side of the room. How unexpected.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

My eyes return to his. It’s there. That hint of something darker. “Have you killed someone before?” I already know the answer, seeing that same thing reflected in my own eyes now. It’s like peeking behind the curtain, or visualizing a new color you can’t name. It’s just a somethingelsethat’s there.

His eyebrows soften, but it’s the only hint that I’ve surprised him. Instead of redirecting the question, or offering for me to sit, he dips his chin once. “Aye. I have.”

He gives no additional explanation.

Do I want to know?

I wet my lips and nod.

He arches an eyebrow in question.

I only shake my head. I’m not ready for the details. Maybe he was a soldier at some point. Unlikely, because I suspect Stephanie would’ve said as much, but once again I’m confronted with the knowledge that she’s kept so much from me and knows even less. However, I’m not prepared to shatter what we’re building if he’s truly a criminal.

And yet, it doesn’t seem that simple. I can be labeled a criminal for my choices.

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