“It was used in a murder,” Snag said.

Oh no.

“And the guy who was murdered was a cop.”

Oh no!

My gaze cut again to Mag, but he was now scowling over my head at Boone.

“Names,” Hawk barked.

“Man, you are signing my death sentence if you make me—”

“Names!” Hawk roared, I jumped, and Boone slid an arm around my belly and pulled me back into his body.

“Cop was Tony Crowley. Who done him was,” he seemed to be breathing funny before he pushed out, “Cisco.”

“Shit, fuck,” Auggie clipped.

I had a feeling Cisco was even worse than being a cop killer and that was pretty damned high up on the bad guy scale.

“Jorge, Axl, Aug, deal with this asshole,” Hawk ordered. “Boone, Mo, take care of Evie and Mag. Communicate. I want a huddle in the office as soon as this current shit is sorted.”

And with that, Hawk turned and strolled away.

Chapter Fourteen

Do Right

Evie

I sat on Mag’s couch, staring at Mag’s view, thinking about Mag.

As well as Mag and me.

And what Mag meeting me meant to Mag.

My father was a drug dealer.

My brother was a drug dealer.

And Mick’s bullshit got Mag shot.

Shot!

Got him shot and his friends spending their Saturday afternoon throwing smoke grenades (or whatever those were) and tackling people.

Against my wishes not to be separated, but with Mag assuring me he’d be okay and sharing he wanted me at his place, where he knew I was safe, Boone had taken Mag to someone called Dr. Baldwin.

And Mo had taken me to Mag’s place, on which descended Lottie, Ryn, Hattie, Pepper, and Tex. That last for protection seeing as Mo had stayed long enough to have a conversation with Tex in the hallway and grab a new shirt for Mag before he took off.

Not long after, a new addition to the cadre of hotness that seemed ever-growing showed.

His name was Dutch.

He wore a leather jacket with the Chaos MC patch on the back.

And Mag’s friends were commando-hot, but Dutch was rough-biker-boy hot.

Such was the situation, however, regardless of this new hot guy in our midst, Ryn, Hattie and Pepper were all about me.

Getting ice for my face.

Cleaning and slathering Neosporin on the scrapes on my cheek.

Pouring me shots of Mag’s Fireball.

And alternately bitching out loud or fretting quietly about the fact I’d been kidnapped at gunpoint and they’d run out to find Mag recovering from being unconscious with a bullet wound to his shoulder and a spray of his blood on the wall.

All courtesy of Mick Gardiner.

All courtesy of me because I didn’t do what was right.

Needing the love of a family so badly, a family that didn’t love me, I’d done what was weak.

I needed to go.

The first available moment I had, I needed to stuff what I had left in as many Trader Joe’s bags as I could find, grab the money the girls gave me, empty my bank accounts, write a variety of notes that would never come close to sharing all the feelings I had for a variety of people, especially Mag.

And get the hell out of Dodge.

Get these people safe.

And escape my dysfunction.

I didn’t know where I would go, but I was thinking Canada.

They said people were super friendly up there and I could do with some friendly.

Amid melancholy daydreams of moving to Canada, Lottie plopped down on the couch in front of where I was twisted toward the window.

She was staring at me intently.

I liked her, a lot.

But I’d never let her in.

I’d never really let anyone in.

I was too busy trying to win my fucking family.

What I’d done was drag her and her man into a mess where their friend got shot.

Shot!

And I owed it to her to give her what it was clear she wanted to do in that moment.

I just didn’t have it in me.

“Lottie—”

I should have known that she’d be stronger than me and not easily put off.

“I’ve seen this before,” she declared.

“I really can’t—”

“You’re at a place where your primary instinct is to let them win because that’s been your go-to all your life.”

I shut my mouth.

She kept talking.

“You’re at a place where you’re gonna let them continue to control the thoughts in your head and the decisions you make for your life. And this next is gonna be harsh, but I’m not gonna apologize for that because I’m sensing this is a crucial moment where you’re gonna make a decision that’s gonna define the rest of your life and you need to make the right one. So here it is. From the time you became an independent adult, all that is on you.”

I sat completely still, struck, even stung, but deep down I sensed it was a hurt I had to feel, and I let myself feel it as I stared at her.

“I’ve been watching you and how you hold yourself apart,” she went on. “You’re interested in people. You’re the first to offer if someone needs something. But they drilled it in your head for so long that you’re unworthy, and it hurt so bad, you protected yourself from maybe finding out what they convinced you is true out in a world without them. And I get it. That kind of conditioning is hard to shake. But if you think for even a second on it, you scared the piss out of them.”

I did?

“What?” I whispered.

“You’re pretty and you’re sweet and you’re funny and you explained what a transistor was to your dad when you were six. You were better than him when you were six. And he didn’t see that as something to be proud of. He didn’t see that as something to nurture. He didn’t stop at nothing to forge the path for you to find the you that you were born to be. Your mother failed at the same thing and did worse. Your brother fuckin’ hated all you were because he was already small, and you made him feel smaller. And they all made moves to hold you down. They made moves to make sure you didn’t understand your gifts and how beautiful they are. They made sure to minimize you so you wouldn’t reach your full potential, because if you did, you might see what wastes of space they all allow themselves to be. And as a kid, you got no defense. But Evan, as an adult, that’s a different story.”

When she stopped talking, I realized how heavily I was breathing.

She started talking again.

“Now I see you sitting here, letting them twist shit in your head. Talking yourself into seeing all that’s going down as on you. When you did one thing. You made a tough decision. Look after your brother and get mired in shit or don’t look after your brother and mire someone you love in shit. There was no right decision to that, Evan. You didn’t make the wrong one. You just made a decision. And you’d be in a place right now, beating yourself up, no matter which way that swung, and he put you there. You should not have had to make any decision at all. Do not take that on. Do not let him take away any more of what you fought to have.”

She reached out and took my hand in a firm grip.

And she kept going.

“I know you were sitting here, planning to bolt. Planning that, when I heard you today, gabbing with your girls in your bedroom about shoes. I saw a man who digs you sorting through your vinyl, smiling at himself because you like Metallica. I saw the Evan and the life she had that was meant to be. Not a single fucking soul in this room, or out of it, outside members of your family, are pissed at you about what’s going down. What we’d be pissed about is if you bolt.”