Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
I will die for it.
For them.
For Badlands.
I sigh. "You know what I meant."
"All of this is your fault. You didn't take care of the goddamn wound. You didn't take care of Mercy. You didn't take care of shit, Legion. And everyone is about done with your drama. Maybe you're more trouble than your silence was worth?"
Then, without even lookin' back, he walks out.
The door remains open after Brick leaves, hanging there like an accusation. Diesel fills the frame moments later, his massive shoulders nearly touching both sides, face set in that solemn expression I've seen a hundred times before—usually right before someone gets their teeth kicked in.
But there's no violence in his movements as he enters the room, just careful, measured steps that barely make a sound on the linoleum floor.
He places my leather wallet on the bedside table without ceremony, then stands at the foot of my bed, arms crossed over his chest.
"We drove eight hundred miles to check on you," he says, not waiting for me to speak first. "We're heading back today, so I guess that probably sends some signals you might be overthinkin'. But let me say it again, we drove eight-hundred fucking miles to check on you."
No small talk. No how you feeling bullshit.
Just… you owe us. Which is fine. I guess. But a little fucking sympathy would be appreciated.
"Sheriff's been sniffing around the clubhouse since you went down," Diesel continues. "Asking questions about your condition. How you got that brand. Who performed the ritual. They're looking for something, Demon. They don't like you."
"No shit," I sneer. "They don't like any of us."
"No." Diesel shakes his head. "There's something brewing with the Ashby people. I mean…" He sighs. "It's not a surprise, right? I understand you've known each other for decades. I get that the two of you were high school whatevers—"
"That's a joke. She went to prep-school in the Pacific Northwest, Diesel. I quit Drybone High School in the eleventh grade."
"You know what I'm gettin' at," Diesel says. "The two of you have history. Which only makes this worse, Legion."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Her. Savannah Ashby. She's not yours. She's never been yours. She's never gonna be yours because Cash Ashby is gonna make sure of it. And if you fuck with him for too long by fucking with his sister, he's gonna cause trouble. And then…" Diesel shakes his head. "Then… I'll have to take care of it."
"I'm not quite sure what you're sayin' here, Diesel. You're gonna take care of me? Or you're gonna take care of him?"
His response is to place a burner phone on the bedside table next to my wallet. "It's charged, you've got two-hundred minutes and no data. No numbers, either. Brick said—"
But he stops.
Brick said. Brick said, what? Let's brand Legion, give him a false sense of family and security, then cut him out when his life spirals? Fuck Brick."
"Right." Diesel moves toward the door and all I can do is watch him leave. He pauses at the threshold, lookin' back at me. Then he points. "Your head's not in the game. You're my best friend, that's never gonna change. But your head's not in the game. It's always been us or them for you, Demon. Always." He narrows his eyes at me. "And you always chose them.”
“Funny,” I scoff. “That’s not how I see it. I never did time for them.”
He scoffs back at me, louder. “I never said nothin’ before. Mostly because I didn’t care. I believed in you. I trusted you. And fuck it, it just wasn’t my secret to share. But I need you to know Legion, that I know why it took you so long to patch in."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
But he just glares back at me. "I know why, Legion. Why you used to disappear when you were a prospect. I know where you went. And I know who you were with. Because I followed you once."
“What—” But I choke the words off when I realize what he’s saying.
I followed you once. His chin tips up. Daring me to contradict him.
He doesn't say anything else.
Doesn't have to.
He made his point.
I followed you once.
The door closing softly behind him feels more final than any slam.
I know three phone numbers by heart.
My landline to the new trailer because it's the same number as the old one.
The clubhouse. Been calling it for over a decade now from sketchy places doing even sketchier things. Burned into my brain from nights when I needed backup, mornings when I needed alibis, afternoons when I just needed someone who understood what the world looks like when you live outside its rules.
And the Ashby residence. Not because I ever called Savannah over there, but because I used to want to, so bad as a teenager, I'd dial the number and hang up before the first ring. Used to practice what I'd say if Eleanor or Cash answered. Used to wonder if Savannah would be allowed to talk to me if I actually let it ring.