Page 3 of Queen of Anarchy (Dirty Broken Savages 2)

“That’s kinda the point,” Knox puts in unhelpfully. “We don’t know. And not knowing is dangerous.”

“You might not care what happens, but we helped you,” Gage goes on, his voice turning even harder, if that’s possible. “And if someone knows what you did, then they’ll know we were there too. It’s bad for business if we get dragged into your mess.”

“I didn’t ask you to get dragged into ‘my mess.’” I make heavy air quotes around those words. “You could have stayed out of it. You could’ve walked away from all of this at the very beginning.”

He sighs, looking like he wishes he could go back in time and do just that. “What’s done is done, River. And like it or not, we’re in this together. So you’re coming with us, even if I have to have Knox throw you over his shoulder and drag you out.”

The burly, tattooed man looks like he’d enjoy the hell out of that, the weirdo. He waggles an eyebrow at me, and I try to set him on fire with the heat of my glare.

Ignoring our exchange, Gage gives the three other Kings of Chaos a meaningful look, and they all nod. As if they share a goddamn brain, they split up, moving through my small apartment like they own the place. Priest finds the bag I brought back from their house, still on the floor next to the bed, halfway unpacked.

He picks it up and starts rummaging through it like he’s taking note of what’s inside.

Knox goes to my drawers, yanking them open and pulling out clothes and underwear with that same grin, clearly enjoying himself even though this shit is serious.

And Gage just stands there in the middle of it, clearly not planning on taking no for an answer. I want to punch him in his stupid face. I hate how he thinks he can just barge into my life and start making demands, and I hate even more that he might have a point about all of it.

I’m clearly not going to get them to leave without me, and I can’t fight the four of them. Watching them paw through my shit just makes my blood pressure rise, so I let out a frustrated growl and give in, if only to keep them from manhandling my stuff.

“Get the fuck out of there,” I snap at Knox, elbowing him out of the way. I snatch the bra he’s holding out of his hands and shove it into the bag. “I can pack for my damn self.”

“Then do it,” Gage says curtly from behind me.

I don’t respond with words, clenching my jaw and flipping him off over my shoulder.

They all stand there, watching me while I finish packing, and I have the weirdest feeling of déjà vu from when Knox was here the first time, watching me pack up my shit so he could drive me back to their house.

This time, the stray dog I somehow picked up is inside, curled up on the floor with his scruffy brown tail thumping against it every time I walk past him to get something else.

Gage looks like he’s barely fighting the urge to check his watch and tap his foot on the scuffed wooden floor, wanting me to hurry up. Usually, I’d take my sweet time just to fuck with him and get a rise out of him, but I’m tired and ready to be done with all of this.

Once everything is packed—my bag stuffed with more clothes and shit than the last time, since this time there’s no real timeline for when I’ll be done with them—I push past the four men and heft the bag over my shoulder.

I head for the door, wrenching it open and leaving them all to follow me.

“Come on, Toto,” Knox calls, giving the dog a new name like he does almost every time he talks to the mutt. He jerks his head with a whistle. “Back to Kansas.”

Ash snorts at that. “I’m pretty surethisis Kansas, and we’re taking him back to Oz. That makes more sense.”

“What does that make us? Munchkins?” Knox shoots back.

The dog doesn’t care about the metaphor at all and just trots after them happily, following me down the stairs with the rest of them.

They look at me expectantly when we get outside, as if they think I’m getting in their car to go with them, but instead, I head to my own car in the crappy lot next to the building. The thing might be a piece of shit, but it’smypiece of shit, and if I’m going to be stuck with them for the next who-knows-how-long, I’m not doing it without my own way to get around.

I open the back door, and Dog hops in eagerly. I scowl at him one more time and then throw my bags in after him. It’s a reverse of how we left the Kings’ place just a few days ago, and I don’t like the way it feels like history is repeating itself. I don’t even give the guys another look as I get in the car, cranking it up before peeling out of the parking lot.

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