Page 43 of The Fates We Tame
I release Sophia and tug him to me. “Thank you. I always get signs before shit happens in my head. I promise I’ll drive slowly and pull over at the first inkling.”
Niro tugs a hand through his hair. “This might just eclipse all the wild shit I’ve done.”
“One last thing,” I say. “Promise you’ll keep it to yourself. Who she is.”
Niro frowns. “Don’t make me start lying for you.”
“I’m not asking you to lie. Just…if no one asks. Don’t tell them, yeah?”
“This has ‘bad idea’ written all over it,” Catalina says.
Niro throws an arm over her shoulder. “Fine. Don’t make me regret it though.”
Sophia’s cheeks turn a delicious shade of pink when she asks if I’ll help her get in the truck. Despite the imminent danger, I take the opportunity to help her and steal another kiss.
Part of it is for show…to get Niro and Cat to buy into this fake relationship. Part of it is for myself, testing the waters of whether I’m just selling the schtick or I am dipping my toes into something that’s starting to feel real.
We navigate our way out of New York and cross the river into Jersey. I already feel better on our own turf. It’s sunny and cool, but the seasons have turned, and I feel like I missed it.
“We don’t have to do this,” Sophia says finally. “Just getting me out of there for the time being is enough.”
I head southwest on the 95.
But as we pass the Twin Rivers on-ramp an hour later, I see chrome.
Lots of it.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
Sophia looks in the side mirror.
Mixed emotions hit me as the Iron Outlaws, in official formation, pour onto the road behind us. Niro drops back into his position, and King takes up the lead in the front with Clutch to his left.
Cat or Niro must have called them.
King salutes me, then focuses on the ride.
“Are they mad?” Sophia asks.
“Don’t know what they are, Sparrow. But we’ll be in DC before we find out what they have to say.”
“I don’t want you to get in trouble with your club because of me.” She reaches her hand across the console and places it on my thigh. I place my palm on top of her hand. It’s warm to the touch. I’m not sure who initiates sliding our fingers together, only that someone does.
And that Sophia doesn’t mention the slight tremor in my hand I can’t seem to control.
I’m relying on old knowledge and the hope that nothing has changed with the loyalty among brothers in the club.
I pray they’ll have my back, but as I rub my thumb over Sophia’s knuckles, I know I’ll do this on my own if I have to.
12
SOPHIA
Agroup of people steps ahead of us. The woman is wearing a pretty ivory cocktail dress and carrying a little posy of flowers. I don’t know how I imagined my wedding was going to go before, but I’m pretty sure I wasn’t wearing hiking boots, jeans, and a gray sweater.
I look over to the road, where Niro’s truck and all the chrome-and-steel motorbikes are lined up beneath a No Parking sign. Two younger men wearing cuts that sayProspecton the back stand by them. I pity the person who tries to get the men to move.
And I try to ignore the argument happening to my right.
