She doesn’t step foot inside the cabin. She just dumps everything at her feet, blowing her bright pink hair back out of her face. I can barely keep track of what color her hair is from week to week normally, but the fluoro pink seems to be sticking. Propping a hand on one hip, she casts a disgusted look at all of the bags at her feet and sighs. “You realize, this is probably very, very unhealthy, boss.”

“What is?’

“You, hoarding women’s clothing. I knew you were kinky, but I never knew you were balls-out weird.”

“They’re not for me, Shay.”

She lifts her eyebrows, nodding slowly. “Uh-huh. That’s what my Uncle Donald used to say. He likes to be called Princess now. He’s married to some guy down in the Florida Keys. Left his wife and kids. The works.”

“Shay?”

“Yeah?”

“Leave.”

She eyes the bags one more time. “None of that shit’s my style, y’know. If it ain’t right, you can’t blame me.” She saunters off the cabin porch and starts to climb the ridge back over to the compound, hips swinging as she goes. I’m pretty sure she knows I have a girl in here. She just doesn’t want confirmation. We had a thing once. A thing where I fucked her and she decided she wanted to be my old lady. That’s not how Widowers work out, though. I don’t need an old lady. I need an equal who will still shoot someone in the face for me if I need them to.

Shay was feisty from the moment I inked her into the club to the moment I sunk my dick into her on top of the pool table, but the moment she fell asleep on me I knew I’d made a horrible fucking mistake. She changed in a heartbeat. The fire I’d seen in her went out. She wanted to spoon and shit. She wanted to be subservient in all things, and while I do like that in the bedroom, I don’t wanna have an empty fucking vessel following me around, day in, day out, waiting for me to tell them what to fucking do.

I gather up the bags Shay left behind and carry them inside the cabin, tipping out the contents one by one. Winter in Alabama isn’t that cold. I told Shay to pick up thin sweaters and jeans. T-shirts and dressy tops. Some boots and some lighter shoes. I leave the last bag zipped up—a garment bag, presumably containing the eveningwear I told Shay to get. I shove everything into the duffel bag I’ve already packed with my stuff, folding the garment bag neatly on top, and then I wait for Sophia to come out of the bathroom.

I’m getting seriously fucking impatient by the time she eventually creeps out, wrapped in a towel. She stares at me, defiance written all over her face, and says, “I don’t have anything else to—” She sees the underwear, pair of jeans, light shirt and Chuck Taylors I’ve left out for her on the bed and shuts up. I pick up the duffel and sling it over my shoulder.

“I’ll be outside.” I’m feeling pretty damn smug as I sit on the steps outside the cabin, waiting for her. I don’t know why I’m taking such perverse, intense pleasure in one-upping her, but I am. It might have something to do with the fact that no one ever questions me. No one ever challenges me, and it feels fucking awesome.

I feel less awesome when my cell phone starts ringing and I find Maria Rosa’s name on the caller display, though. “Fuck!” I should have called her already to tell her which of her options we were going with. I definitely should not have left it so long that she is now calling me.

“Maria Rosa,” I say. “Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“I assume you know how much I like waiting, uh?” She sounds bored, but she must be fuming. She’s about to get even madder. “What have you decided, my love? What are you offering in return for my help?”

I take a deep breath. “Nothing.”

The line goes utterly silent. I hold my tongue, waiting for her to say something. To acknowledge that she’s even still there, let alone that she heard what I said.

Eventually, I hear a sharp scraping sound on the other end of the line—sounds like fingernails down a chalkboard. “So you expect me to help you for free? Is that what you mean to say?”

“No, Mother. I’m saying we can’t afford to start fucking around with a federal agency. And we won’t hand over the Widowers for your personal use, either. That’s what you want from us, and it’s not possible. So we’ll go without your help if we have to.”

“You’re an arrogant motherfucker, Rebel. You think I couldn’t smash your little club into the dirt if I wanted to? You’re pathetic.”

This is not going well. “Oh, Mother. Of course you could, but I’m hoping you won’t. If you do that, we won’t be friends anymore. I’d have to retaliate, and you’d do the same. It would be the start of a vicious cycle. And let me tell you, you may think my club is small, but it can be really fucking vicious.”

“Pssshh. You’re threatening me?”

“No. I’m just politely retracting my request for assistance.”

“You couldn’t be polite if your life depended on it, motherfucker.” The tone of her voice changes, then, softening. “But I understand. You don’t need my help, anymore? Fine. I’ll let you handle Hector on your own. But I’m a business woman, my love. When you’re up to your balls in hot water and you can’t fucking see a way out—that’s when you’ll call me again. And my prices will be a hell of a lot higher than they are now, I swear that to you.”

I smile, even though I have absolutely no reason to. “I won’t call, Mother. I never do. It’s kind of my thing.” I don’t know if she hangs up first or I do. All I know is my phone is in my hands and I’m staring down at the blank screen, wondering what just happened. Maria Rosa is a complete psycho. She could either take severe offence at what’s just gone down or she could have forgotten about it by next week. A person can never tell with her. This whole situation is one gigantic motherfucking head fuck.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind me has me reaching for my damn gun again. Sophia backs into the closed door when she sees the look on my face. “I’m sorry. You said you’d be waiting, so I came out.”

I stand, cracking my knuckles one at a time. I’ve been doing that since I was a teenager—a coping mechanism, a ritual I complete when I’m on the verge of flying off the handle. Saved me from kicking Dad’s ass about twenty or thirty times, that’s for sure. “Come on, let’s go.” I snatch up the bag and heft it onto my shoulder, setting off to the right, toward the flat, graveled area where we park cars and motorcycles that won’t fit into the compound. I don’t check to see if she’s following. She better fucking had be, though. I’ve just given Maria Rosa the flick, so now Sophia’s our only option. I will pick her up and toss her the fuck over my shoulder if I have to. My boots skid down the loose shale slope that drops away in front of the cabin. I’m almost at the bottom when I hear the cautious, sliding steps of someone coming down after me.

Good. She’s doing as she’s told. I wait for her, no more than ten seconds, and then I’m walking again, around the buttress of a tessellated rock formation that shields the parking area from view. The Humvee’s right where Cade left it when he got back from our little road trip. Alongside the gleaming black beast, a not-so-shit-hot Dodge Charger—blue, rusting wheel arches, a total bomb—has been up on blocks for the past eight weeks. Carnie keeps saying he’s going to fix her up, but so far all he’s done is sit in the driver’s seat and smoke pot for hours on end. If the fucking thing isn’t either souped-up and ready to roll or completely gone by the time we get back, I’m towing it out into the desert and firebombing the fucking thing. I throw the bag into the back of the Hummer, growling under my breath.

“Am I allowed to sit back there?” Sophia asks. Her arms are folded across her body, but she’s not defensive. She’s unsure. I don’t have time to be arguing over stupid shit with her right now, so I just shrug.