“Nothing.”
“Try again.”
“No.”
I look at the boxes scattered across the road. “You don’t pack like that unless you’re leaving fast.”
Her face pales.
There it is.
I hate being right.
“Did he hit you?”
Her whole body goes rigid. “That’s none of your business.”
“Means yes.”
“It means you’re rude.”
“I’m also right.”
She steps closer, anger finally giving her more spine than fear. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“No,” I say. “But I know a woman running with a kid, a missing ring, and a truck full of boxes on Hell Road ain’t out here because life got too sweet.”
Her mouth opens.
Closes.
August whispers, “Mama?”
Everything in her folds toward him. That answers more than she wants to give.
I exhale and look away because if I keep looking at her, I’m going to start wanting to kill a man whose name I don’t know yet, and tonight is already crowded with bad ideas.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I say.
Her eyes flash. “No man I just met gets to tell me what’s going to happen.”
“Fine. Here’s your options. You can stay on Hell Road with a flat tire, boxes everywhere, and a kid in the back while every drunk, sinner, preacher, and bastard with headlights gets a chance to stop. Or I can call my brothers, get your truck moved, and take you and August to the Kings’ clubhouse so you can talk to Legend Welles about his dead daddy.”
She swallows.
“Legend?”
“Mike’s son.”
Her hand goes to her throat.
There it is. The thing she didn’t know. Or maybe the thing she feared.
“Mike had a son?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s alive?”