Page 74 of Dancin' with Demons

“Raylynn, let’s calm down and talk about this, okay,” Catacomb says as he steps from behind me.

“No,” I snap, “the time to talk was five minutes ago. Now, I’m pissed.”

“I’m ready, Mommy,” a little voice says, and I turn to find Savior standing with a little duffle bag at her feet and her Pua plushie in her arm.

“I packed a bag for you, too,” Sandra says softly, holding my duffel bag out to me.

“Thank you,” I say taking in and bending to grab Savior’s. “Baby, say bye to Daddy and that you’ll see him when we get back.”

Savior moves around me, and I turn around in time for Renegade to sink to one knee and wrap him arms around her. The moment he pulls her close, I realize there’s a tear running down his face, and guilt hits me like a fucking tidal wave.

Shit.

As he lets her go and stands, I step right up to him and put my palm against his cheek, quickly wiping the moisture from his face. Renegade closes his eyes and leans into my touch.

“Stop that, babe,” I say, pushing onto my tiptoes to softly kiss him.

“This feels like you walkin’ out on me all over again,” he says, his voice breaking.

“Makoa,” I say sternly, meeting his gaze as he opens his eyes. “I’m not walking out on you. I’m not leaving you. This isn’t a breakup. Yeah, right now, I’m angry and confused, and just, I don’t even know. I’d like to punch Catacomb in the face. But fights happen. Families fight. Sometimes, bad. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t a family. I just need a night or two to get over being pissed about this.”

“You’re welcome to try if it’ll make you feel better,” Catacomb quips from behind me.

“Prez,” Renegade says in a tone that I’ve never heard from him, almost like he’s begging. “Not now, please.”

“I love you,” I whisper, kissing him again.

“Take the SUV,” Renegade says with a defeated sigh. “And please tell me where you’re goin’.”

“Irene’s,” I say, and finally, Renegade almost looks relieved. “We won’t leave her house. Here to there, no stops. Okay?”

Renegade grabs either side of my face gently and kisses me hard. When he pulls back, I try to give him a reassuring smile as I hold my hand out for Savior.

As she and I open the door, Catacomb’s voice reaches my ears. “Reaper, protect ‘em.”

# # #

Two hours at Irene’s and we haven’t really talked about why Savior and I popped in, or the fact Reaper is camped out in the driveway, reading a damn book. After peeking out her front window at him yet again, I huff before heading back to the living room. Miss Irene is sitting on her new sectional sofa while Savior is laying in an oversized bean bag chair in front of the big screen television the club bought for her as a gift, watching Moana . . . Again.

“You gonna tell me what’s bothering you,” she finally says as she picks up her coffee mug and takes a small sip. “Or you want to pretend like it isn’t bothering you?”

Before I can say anything, the unmistakable whoosh from her front door opening makes me tense for a second before Reaper’s voice flows down the hall. “Sandra’s comin’ in, Ray. I’m stayin’ on the porch.”

The door closes a moment later, and after a few seconds, Sandra comes into the living room, her eyes filled with understanding. She walks over and sits next to me, wrapping me in a hug.

“I get it,” she finally says, “and I’ve fought with Cat over the same stuff since becoming part of this club.”

Sitting back so I can see both her and Irene, I let Sandra explain the issue that happened earlier to Miss Irene. I’m surprised that Miss Irene doesn’t flinch or even twitch as Sandra is talking, as if she isn’t remotely bothered by the subject matter. Once Sandra is done, Miss Irene turns her eyes on me.

“Raylynn,” she says in a firm tone, “I’m going to be completely honest with you. I understand why you’re angry, and why this situation bothers you. But I also think you need to look at this from the boys perspective.”

My brows pull together. “Will that make it better?”

“No,” Miss Irene says, resting her hand on my leg, “but it might bring you understanding. These women, they did things that could have cost not only you, but Savior, your lives. If Phoenix or Makoa, or whoever makes that call, were to let them go, and they are working for someone, what’s to say they won’t run right to them and continue to help them try to get to you or Savior?”

“They could,” I say, shrugging. “But they might not just the same.”

“Right,” she says, “but if they did, and something bad happened to you or that little girl, whoever made that call to let them go would have to live with the consequences. If Phoenix made that call for example, and then you got killed.” I flinch, and Miss Irene gently squeezes my leg. “Then he has to live with not only your death on his conscious, but he has to live with the guilt that his choice cost Makoa his soulmate and Savior her mother.”

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