3. Vex

3

VEX

I follow Switch's truck as he pulls into the brain rehabilitation unit and I park my truck up alongside. Saint's in my passenger seat.

King's orders are that they have an escort when Switch and Sophia leave Asbury Park.

Sophia, as the sister to the current leader of the New York Cosa Nostra, is likely going to be a target for the rest of her life. And Switch will be by association, as if being a member of the Iron Outlaws weren't enough of an issue.

None of us like being caged, but the snow this morning meant the ride would be treacherous enough as it is without using our bikes.

Winter as a biker is treacherous, but I happen to like the quiet that dusts the city when heavy snow falls.

I grab my thick, lined leather jacket and throw it on over the million other layers I'm wearing. Clumsily, I attempt to put it on without smacking Saint in the face, then pull my gloves on while he adjusts his beanie.

"Any more layers, you're gonna look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man," Saint says as we step out of the truck.

"Better than becoming a walking icicle."

We reach Switch's truck just as they are getting out of their vehicle.

"How long do you two need?" Saint asks.

"Two hours," Sophia says as she climbs out of the truck, snowflakes clinging to her hair.

"You made that look easy," I say, tipping my chin towards the step down from the truck. "The exercises are working."

Sophia smiles at that, and when she does, I see what Switch sees in her. She's a pretty thing, and all her physio is paying off as her mobility improves. She told me yesterday that she's probably never going to fully recover, but her dedication shows. Getting thrown through the windshield of a high-speed car will mess you up, but if there were a medal for fucking grade-A effort, Sophia would deserve it.

"It's progress," she agrees. "More than I thought I would make."

Switch takes her hand. "Really fucking proud of her. She works out and does her physio like a trooper. What are you two gonna do?"

I shrug. New York is not my city. I need a bit more space around me than all these high-rises provide. "To be honest, napping in the truck was high up on my list of priorities." I haven't slept in twenty-eight hours.

Insomnia is a bitch. My eyes burn, but when I try to close them, my thoughts race like a runaway freight train.

Saint slaps my shoulder. "Nah, we got business."

I look at him. "We do?"

He nods. "We do."

"Guess I got business," I say to Switch. Not sure a nap was gonna work anyway. They rarely do. And I'm used to pulling all-nighters. Especially when there's a threat and I need to keep tabs on everyone. "Call us if you get out earlier."

We watch the two of them go inside, and then I turn to Saint. "What business have we got?"

I expect him to say King has given us a job we need to do on the down low, so I'm surprised to see a shit-eating grin on his face. "We're going to buy an engagement ring."

"You're proposing to Briar?"

"Well, as cute as you fucking are, I'm not proposing to you."

I hug the man I once thought was my enemy. "Congratulations. You want to take the truck?"

"Let's walk. Says it's about twenty minutes on my phone." Saint looks happier, more carefree than I've seen him in a while as we start walking. "I've paid back the club, so I'm finally getting a full cut of the pay from this month."

Fuck, I'd forgotten that had been a penalty for Saint's treacherous, yet brave, joining of the club. It was one of the terms Prez laid out when we voted that Saint could remain a member.

I guess that's something the two of us have in common. We didn't initially join the club by choice, but over time chose to stay.

"No shit. Congratulations, brother." I remember when we found out Saint was an undercover agent. Thought King was gonna kill the fucker. "That kinda cash is going to make a difference."

"We just finished renovating the house from top to bottom too. But Briar's been patient as fuck. Never asked when her ring's coming, even as she's watched other old ladies get one. But I didn't want to buy her one while I was broke. Some tiny chip of a thing."

I think about the small engagement ring my mom has loved and treasured all these years. "It's not the size of the rock—it's the size of the heart that goes along with it. You know that, right?"

Saint stuffs his hands in his pockets as we walk. "Yeah. But I wanted her rock to say something. Wanted it to show how much I love her. How much she means to me. That the toughest part of our lives is over with."

I look up at the flurries as they swirl to the ground. "Tribulation finds each and every one of us all through our lives. Maybe that rock should speak to endurance. Of what happens to a bit of carbon when it's put under intense pressure. How it somehow comes out sparkling."

Saint stops walking, and it takes me a moment before I realize it. "What?" I ask when he turns around.

"Wow, the geek has a poetic soul."

I flip him the bird and start walking again.

"No, I'm serious," Saint says, jogging to catch up with me. "I'm totally going to make that part of my proposal."

"When are you thinking of doing it?"

"I'm gonna book us a trip. She's always wanted to see Las Vegas. Thought I would do it there…if I can wait that long."

We walk for another twenty minutes, past shoppers bundled up against the cold. Scarves are pulled high, and thick boots ensure warm feet. The streets have been plowed, the sidewalks are a hit-and-miss maze of snow piles.

"Shit, we need to cross the street," Saint says. He points to the store, spots a gap in traffic, and hustles across.

I only realize five seconds later, and by then the lights have changed and I missed the gap in traffic Saint caught. "Shit," I mutter, looking around to see if it would be better to find a crosswalk.

Suddenly, I hear a squeal and see a woman struggling to keep her balance on a patch of ice. Without thinking, I hustle and catch her just as both legs go out from underneath her.

A whisper tells me I should have just let her fall. It's tough to know what scares white people most about me, the fact I'm a biker or the fact I'm Black. But I couldn't just stand there and watch her hit the ground.

"Impractical shoe choice," I say as I put her feet on the floor. "You might wanna?—"

Fuck.

Calista Moray has grown into a beauty. Like one of those movies where the nerdy girl gets the makeover. Her skin looks so luminous and soft.

"Tiberius," she says.

For a moment, we forget who we are, who we were, and what we now mean to each other. Connection crackles. Familiar hazel eyes ringed with gold look up at me. She has more of a tan now than she ever used to. And the hair that used to frizz in damp weather is smooth as silk, yet still the color of spun gold. But Momma said she'd been living out West where the sun shines a lot more than it does in Jersey.

"You're a long way from California." It takes all I have to not draw my knuckle down her cheek, to see if she'll turn her face into my touch. Which is wild, because I never had the urge to caress my former best friend's face when we were in high school.

She bites down on her lip, but her eyes follow my tongue as I run it over my own lower lip. The traffic slows, the chatter of people quiets, and snow falls in between us.

Finally, her eyes shift to my cut, to my patch with the road name Vex, and she flinches. I see a flicker of something akin to fear or disgust dust her expression. "If there were a state farther away from you that wasn't north of the forty-second parallel, I would have moved there."

The barb stings. My heart thuds heavily in my chest at the sight of Calista. I still have my hands on her; she hasn't moved. "Hawaii no longer a state?"

"Fine. If there were a state farther away from you that wasn't north of the forty-second parallel or an island, I would have moved there."

"What are you doing in New York?" I ask.

"We're not doing this," she says. "We aren't friends. I have nothing to say to you."

"Are you okay, miss?" It's the security guard from inside the building. His hand drops to his Taser.

I shift, ready to defend myself if I have to.

Sensing my movement, Calista steps out of my arms and raises them in surrender to the guard. "I'm fine. He's a friend."

The guard stares at me. Hard.

I stare back because I'm a mean motherfucker who doesn't like the idea that I was about to be Tased for stopping a woman from falling.

When he steps back inside, Calista turns to me. Her cheeks are pink, but her eyes are hardened.

"You said we weren't friends," I say. "Then, you told the guard we are. So, what are we, Cal?"

"Don't call me that. We're nothing. Old history, at best."

I huff, a small puff of white escaping with my breath. I hold her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes. "You can keep telling yourself that."

"I'm headed to Mom's. It's inevitable we'll see each other again, but let's just…pretend we don't know each other."

I take her in. Properly. For the first time since I caught her. Angular gold hoops. Clothes that reek of money. And shoes so fucking impractical, I want to carry her to the car.

Bet they make her long legs look amazing.

But not as good as that sweater makes her tits look.

They say change is good. And change has certainly been good to Calista.

She probably wouldn't like the idea my dick is stirring in my jeans.

Hell, I don't like the idea. I made a huge fucking sacrifice for this woman, and she threw it all back in my face.

I take her by the shoulders and move her out of the way of the pedestrians. "But we do know each other, Cal. Isn't it time we stopped pretending that we don't?"

I'm sure I'm not mistaken when I see a flicker of hurt still there in her eyes. "You let me down," she says. "I'm sorry. I have to go."

She walks the ten feet to the curb and climbs into a car that pulls in as if by magic.

I rub my hand over my face.

There have been times over the last fifteen years when I've wondered to myself if I could do it all over again, would I?

Could I have done a better job of trying to talk Calista out of hacking the biker organization? Could I have found her another target? Could I have come up with a different challenge for her?

Back then, my danger radar was more rigid. I mean, I was no saint. We hacked shit and stole shit. But not from people who could kill us for even contemplating the idea.

I had no idea of my place in the world. Momma was so worried I was gonna end up shot by a cop that she was teaching me to put my palms on the dash of the car when I was eight years old. But she didn't tell me shit about how to handle my best friend making reckless decisions that required my cleanup.

Calista has no idea just what it took to walk into that clubhouse and ask for the president. To tell him I saw some chat on the dark web that someone was gonna try and hack the club for kicks. I played it down. Said that it wasn't a robbery, it was a game. A hackathon, of sorts.

She'll never know how nervous I felt in the face of the club.

How I worried that Calista was smarter than me and I wouldn't be able to stop her.

That she'd figure out it was me trying to block her.

That the club would kill me for not being able to stop it. Or worse, assume I was the one doing the hacking.

She has no concept of the sacrifices I made for her.

As her car pulls away, I realize Calista is still carrying a bit of my heart with her that I never realized she took. She was my first real friend. Her imprint is on every part of my childhood. But I loop back to my original question.

If I could do it all over again, would I?

And the truth is, I don't know.

While Camelot didn't really give me a choice about joining, I'm proud of the man I've become.

My reward was four times the money I was making hacking to become a brother and use my skills in a different way. Camelot backed me up, lawyered me up, and killed to save my life.

And Calista no longer deserves the little piece of my heart she's carrying. So, I seal up what's left and decide that she no longer deserves a moment of my time.

Saint is waving at me, with a dramatic shrug and a loud, "What the fuck are you waiting for?"

Family is family.

Brothers are brothers.

And Calista Moray is just a girl I once knew.