“I know enough.”
Her hand lifts toward her hair, then drops back into her lap. “It means I survived.”
“It means they marked you.”
“They didn’t brand me.”
“Didn’t say they did.”
“You sound like you think they did.”
My fingers tighten around the wheel.
The SUV is too damn quiet. Widowmaker would make this easier. On the bike, the engine eats half the words before they can get tender. In here, every breath has room.
“Saw the way Hot Mama looked at yours. That ain’t a vacation tattoo.”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
She looks out the window at the road unspooling ahead of us. “A reminder.”
“Of what?”
“That I have a head. A spine. A son watching. Women at my back if I call.” Her voice goes quieter. “And a road that opened when I needed one.”
I feel my jaw lock.
“A road don’t open for free.”
“She said I owed nothing for surviving.”
“She may even mean that.”
Amelia turns toward me. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means outlaws are real good at telling one truth while standing on another.”
“That sounds like something you’d know.”
“I do.”
Her eyes flash.
Good.
Anger suits her better than the pale quiet she wore when Jeremy was alive and still reaching.
“The Queens saved me,” she says.
“I know.”
“They took August somewhere safe when your club couldn’t.”
That hits.
Hard.