Then I think of Amelia hearing it.
Shock first. Then relief. Then horror that relief came. Then guilt because women trained by men like Jeremy blame themselves for weather, traffic, and the fact that the sun has the nerve to rise after they cried all night.
Then fear.
Because if the Queens took him out, Amelia is tied to them now.
Maybe by blood through Caroline.
Maybe by debt through Lottie.
I wanted to kill Jeremy myself.
But if I had, Amelia would have had to carry that too.
Maybe somebody stole the blood from my hands before I could stain her with it.
That thought makes me want to thank them and burn their world down for taking the choice.
Hypocrite.
Fine.
I own that.
I start Widowmaker.
The engine roars, and the road shakes under me.
“Come on, girl,” I mutter. “Let’s go meet the women who murdered fate.”
The ride into Lonerock feels like entering a place that doesn’t care for outsiders and has buried enough of them to prove the point.
The town is small, rough-edged, and watching. Old storefronts, faded signs, dusty trucks, a bar with too many bikes out front, pine trees standing behind everything like witnesses. The air smells like dirt, cold sap, and wood smoke. I follow the route Wildcat printed until pavement turns narrower and the road begins climbing through trees.
Then I see the sign.
QUEENS OF ANARCHY MC
Under it, another board with rules.
I slow without meaning to.
No man enters without invitation.
I stare at that last one.
“Well,” I mutter, “I’m ugly in several ways.”
Widowmaker rumbles beneath me.
The road past the sign curves through trees. I don’t get fifty yards before two women on motorcycles block the path.
Not prospects.
Not decoration.
Patched Queens.