Page 89 of Prodigal Son

“Yeah.” His stomach felt as if he’d been the one to drink too much, the panic flaring again, wanting out, wanting purchase in his veins. “Would you…?”

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Axelle said.

He waited for a follow-up:Not like I have anything else to do. Where am I gonna go?But none came.

He nodded. “Thank you.” Then he cupped her elbow and steered her gently out into the hall, empty for the moment.

He looked down that fraction of an inch that separated their near-equal heights, and paused. Just studied her a moment.

She’d been softening toward him gradually; he’d seen her trust that afternoon, when he’d turned up the window, and her panic had turned to relief, quick, in the heat of the moment, but complete.

Now, though, it looked like a transformation; like maybe she’d finally stopped fighting with herself, and dropped her façade. An openness she hadn’t shown before, an ease he couldn’t quite believe. Maybe it was just exhaustion, or maybe she’d picked the lesser of two evils in this battle, and would turn and flee the moment the dragon was slayed.

Albie didn’t really care. “Charlie and Eden will be back here soon. We’ll need them to pull off the rescue. I’ve got some contacts to talk to, stones to turn over. I’ll be back by morning.” Hopefully.

“Be careful.”

“Really?”

“I’m not a monster.”

“No, I never thought you were.” He squeezed her shoulder, which felt lame, but he didn’t really dare kiss her again. “Thanks for looking after my sister.”

“You already said that.”

“It deserves saying twice.”

One more tight smile, another squeeze, and then he left.

Twenty-Five

No MC clubhouse ever really slept. Too many bodies moving back and forth, bikes and cars cranking up; beer to drink, and hash to smoke, and women to fuck, and illicit deals to bang out over cigarettes, good whiskey, and the threat of violence.

Raven had counted on the noise, in fact. And that booth. She wondered, idly, how much vodka it took to kill a potted fern. She said a silent sorry to the poor plant and sat up on the bed where Albie had carefully arranged her, stone cold sober. She’d downed the first shot for real – to calm her shaking nerves, ease her throbbing tension headache, but not enough to dull her senses. The rest she’d sneakily dumped over her shoulder, in the dirt potted around the fern. Put on a bit of a show, played up being drunk; she wasn’t sure whether she should laugh at Albie’s gentle worry, or save the memories for blackmail purposes later.

Probably the latter.

Eyes shut, pretending to be good and passed out, Raven had heard some interesting things: Axelle offering to “keep an eye on her.” Albie thanking her. Some long pauses that had felt loaded…and looked that way, when she’d dared to crack her eyes open, Albie’s hand resting on Axelle’s shoulder.Careful there, Albert. You wouldn’t want to be too forward touching the girl’sshoulder. They’d eased her door shut, and she’d heard Axelle go across the hall, to the room where she was staying.

The boys downstairs she could handle, and she even had a plan for transportation, but getting past Axelle would be the tricky part.

She waited until half-past-eleven, when any mere mortal who’d had the kind of day they’d had would have long since grown sleepy and lax. She herself twitched all over with nerves. She’d been tempted, at the outset of Clive’s interrogation, to actually get smashed, as she’d claimed she was going to. But then the first edges of a plan had teased into view, and she’d grabbed onto it with both hands, digging in with her nails. The way she felt about Cass’s kidnapping had the ability to drown her. All that panic, that fear, that anguish – anticipated grief, more terrifying than the real thing – could render her immobile. A hostage to her own emotions. She couldn’t sit and think; she had to act. And fuck anyone who didn’t like what she was about to do. She wasn’t a member of this club; they couldn’t control her. And her little sister was in danger.

She got to her feet at a glacial pace, trying to keep the bed from creaking, wincing when it did anyway. She made sure her phone was in her back pocket, then crept to the door barefoot. Turned the knob slow, slow, slow. Peeked out. The hall was empty. Axelle’s door stood ajar across the way; Raven glimpsed her socked feet at the end of the bed and watched them a long moment. When they didn’t move, not ever a toe twitch, she eased her own door open and tip-toed out into the hall.

Each step sent a chill down her spine, until it was one rippling shiver, over and over. She held her breath, straining to hear. The dull roar of a crowd downstairs traveled up through the floorboards. Phillip would leave the pub open all night to keep the place from looking suspicious.

She kept going, skin prickling, but Axelle never popped out into the hall and called after her.

The hall hooked a right at the end, and Raven hastened her pace, walking normally now. Her destination loomed on the left, one polished hardwood door among many. The knob stuck a little when she turned it; no one ever used Michelle’s old room for guests, not ever, Phil had put his foot down about it.

She fumbled the light switch, then turned on the softer table lamp and flicked the overheads back off, not wanting to draw attention.

The room looked like Michelle had just skipped out of it on her way to breakfast. The soft blue quilt she’d had since babyhood, its lace edge stitched by her mum. A series of baseball caps stacked on the bedpost: University of Tennessee, Atlanta Braves, Harley-Davidson, all gifts from Uncle King. Raven made a mental note to box them up later and ship them to her niece; it was hot and sunny in Texas, and she could use the caps to shade her fair face. There was the dressing table, and a collection of perfumes – all evaporated, their scent still lingering along with whiffs of detergent and furniture polish – old makeup, a few mementos: AC/DC concert tickets, old Polaroids of her with her uncles, bikes and cars that had struck her fancy. The closet door had never hung right, and it gapped now. All of it the same; someone kept the place clean and dust-free, but it was still every inch Chelle’s, and the sight and smell of it hit Raven full-in the face.

No time for that.

In the closet, she rooted out some clothes. Michelle was smaller than her in every dimension, but had always been fond of oversized hoodies and leggings. Raven found both in black and quickly traded her own now-rumpled chic clothes for them. Thick socks. They were thankfully the same shoe size, and she tugged on an old, battered pair of harness boots. Michelle lived in boots, and she’d no doubt taken her good ones to the States. This old pair might fall apart before the night was through, but they were better than pumps.

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