Vice(80)

“Laura?”

She goes still in my arms.

“Laura, look at me,” he says.

Slowly, she releases her death grip on my shirt and lifts her head. Her eyes are swimming with tears. I give her a quick squeeze before I let her go. “It’s going to be okay. It’s all going to be okay now. I promise.”

She nods, giving me a weak smile. “I just feel like I’m in a dream.”

She moves like her limbs are made of lead as she turns to face Jamie. His expression is a mixture of joy and concern as he takes in her appearance. Just like the rest of us, she’s covered in blood and dirt. She’s still Laura, though. She’s still my blood.

“Hey,” she says softly. “Good to see you.”

Jamie swallows, looking from Laura to me, as if he doesn’t quite know how to conduct himself in this unexpected, surprising situation. “Good to see me?” he says, repeating her words. “Are you f*cking kidding me?” In a heartbeat he’s striding toward her, throwing his arms around her, pulling her fiercely to his chest. “You have no idea,” he says. “We turned the world upside down looking for you,” he rasps.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Laura’s crying, her shoulders shaking as she weeps. She must be running on fumes, but she somehow manages to stand upright as Jamie rubs his hand up and down her back, whispering soothingly to her.

“God, don’t apologize,” he tells her. “Do not f*cking apologize. None of this is your fault.”

“If I hadn’t left the house that night, sulking like a f*cking child, none of this would have ever happened.”

“And if I hadn’t given you cause to go running? There are too many ifs, Laura. You are not to blame.”

She’s heard this from me already, more than once, but I think she will believe it now. Only Jamie can relieve her of her absurd guilt. It’s as though she visibly relaxes as he holds her, the weight of her remorse finally falling from her shoulders, and I know it: she’s going to be okay. She’s really going to be okay.





EPILOGUE





The Widow Makers have their fingers in many pies. In order to fund the work we’ve been doing to find Laura, alongside helping other victims of sex trafficking, we’ve had to become resourceful. We do run guns occasionally. We do transport weed every once in a while, though we don’t sell it ourselves. And we also have a tattoo shop in New Mexico—the Dead Man’s Ink Bar. Above the tattoo shop is an apartment I’ve been using as a base for a while now. Separate, away from the compound, I’ve always found I can think better here. Breathe better.

As I show Natalia into the apartment, I’m wondering what she’s thinking. She’s used to luxury. She’s used to having people around her, twenty-four seven, to wait on her hand and foot. And now, she’s going to be living in a two-bedroom apartment full of guy stuff. Old plastic tubs filled with my military gear. Toolboxes, grease-covered towels, and a small mountain of shoes discarded in a heap beside the front door. At least there aren’t dirty plates and cooking utensils all over the place. She walks around the apartment, lifting up random items—a photo of Jamie and me out in the desert, arms slung around each other’s shoulders; the scratched and scuffed silver pocket watch that belonged to my grandfather; my cut—Widow Makers Vice President, New Mexico emblazoned on the back.

I’ve never thought what another person might think of the place where I live. I’m barely here, really. I often end up sleeping at the clubhouse when shit is going down, so my bed remains unslept-in a lot of the time.

“It smells like you,” Natalia says.

“Ha. Sorry.”

She shakes her head. “You smell good, Cade. You always smell good. I like it.”

“Well I guess that’s okay then.”

She smiles, her eyes curving into half crescents. “So what do I do here?” she asks matter of factly. “What is my role here, Cade? How do I fit into this life of yours, here in New Mexico?”

This is the conversation I’ve been dreading. “I don’t know. I guess the first question we need to answer is, do you want to fit in here? Do you want to have a life in New Mexico?”

“Are you staying here?” She hangs my cut over the back of the sofa, turning to face me. Her expression is open, her eyes inquisitive and clear.

“Yes. I’m going to stay. My parents still live in Alabama, but my real family is here. Jamie. The club. I don’t want to move on any time soon.”

“Then yes, I do want to stay here, too. I want to be where you are, Cade. I want to be with you, wherever that is. Is that all right with you?”

I try not to smile too wide. I don’t want her thinking I’m f*cking soft in the head or something. “Yeah, Natalia. That’s all right with me.” It’s more than all right. It’s f*cking perfect. It’s exactly what I hoped she would decide. She smiles too, and for a moment we just watch each other—two grinning idiots, happy for the first time in a long time.

“You can always help out in the shop,” I tell her. Her expression falters. “I mean, I know it’s not the most glamorous work. Not the most mentally challenging. But the pay is decent, and it would mean you’d be close by all the time. I know booking in appointments and doing admin stuff probably sounds really f*cking boring, but it’s not too bad.” From the look on her face, I think she’s going to tell me to go f*ck myself. But then she rushes me, throwing her arms around her neck.