The humor helps.
Not because the danger is gone. It’s not. Jeremy Vale is still out there. Oregon still hangs over us. Legend is fixin’ to question Lottie on what she knows about that. Pearly Gates may be tied to the money. Royal’s sister showing up still makes the air feel charged with a pattern we can’t see fully.
But this is how women make shelter inside chaos.
A list.
Clean clothes.
Snacks.
Toothbrushes.
Dinosaurs.
Proof that tomorrow exists.
Legend watches the women gather supplies, and I can see the realization move through him. This isn’t only his decision anymore. The club has already begun to absorb Amelia and August into its machinery. Quietly. Practically. Without waiting for blood results or permission from the dead.
That’s family here.
Messy. Intrusive. Armed.
But family.
The front door opens and Oaks steps in, rain glistening on his cut. He looks from Legend to me, then to the photo on the table.
“Gate’s quiet,” he says. “Road’s clear for now.”
“For now,” Legend repeats.
Oaks nods. “Prospects are posted. Wildcat’s got the truck tucked behind the garage. Derby upstairs?”
“Guarding,” I say.
Oaks gives a grunt that sounds too knowing.
Legend catches it. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Oaks.”
Oaks looks toward the stairs. “Just saying Derby hasn’t guarded a hallway that seriously since somebody brought that stripper here with a jealous boyfriend and a purse full of stolen casino chips.”
Lottie perks up. “I remember her.”
Brittany says, “She had excellent boots.”
Legend pinches the bridge of his nose. “Focus.”
“We are focused,” Lottie says. “On boots and family emergencies.”
His VP steps closer to the table. “She really Mike’s?”
The room stills again.
Legend looks at the photograph.