6. Arianne

Halo's home is neat as a pin except for three areas.

The first is a corner of the living room, where an overflowing chest of toys dominates the decor. The second is the kitchen, where stacks of little cups and cutlery for little hands sit in a pile. And the third is the bathroom, where little ducks and colorful containers line the side of the tub.

This is clearly a man's house with a little interloper.

There are no photographs on the walls. No pretty cushions on the sofa. No plants that make a place feel alive.

Except for Lola's things, it barely looks lived in.

We'd just gotten through the door when Halo got a call that he had to go. He pointed out the basics, asked me to look after Lola, and disappeared.

So, I took him at his word that I was safe and gave Lola some of the pasta he'd told me was in the fridge and some broccoli I steamed. Halo wasn't lying when he said she loved it. Lola had two-fisted it, chewing the top of one before chomping down on the other.

Now she's passed out in a crib upstairs with enough security cameras and screens that I can watch her sleep wherever I am.

My phone is full of messages. I try not to think about them or my responses. Both my mom and Patrick want to know where I am. But I can't face talking to either of them right now. Instead, I responded with brief messages. I told Patrick I had come to the funeral and that I'd left him. I shared with Mom that Mercy had died and that I'd attended the funeral. After that, I turned my phone to silent.

When the doorbell rings, I jump. As a security measure, I put the chain on before I open it.

"Hello?"

Two women stand on the porch, one my height with wild curly hair and her hand on the lead of a dog with a harness that labels it a service dog, and one a little taller with her brunette hair pulled back in a ponytail. Both are wearing the leather cuts Halo wears, only with fewer patches.

"Hey, I'm Iris, Spark's old lady, and this is Briar. She's Saint's old lady. Halo asked if we could come over, bring you some food, and see if you needed anything."

I push the door closed, remove the chain, and then open it again. "Hey, I'm Arianne. Mercy's sister."

Briar pulls me in for an unexpected hug, which I return.

Iris smiles. "Are you actually a hugger?"

I shake my head. "Not really."

"I'll just say hi," Iris says. "I always ask the kids in my class how they want to be greeted in the morning. Gives them some bodily autonomy."

Briar shrugs. "I'm a hugger. What can I say? But sorry for that."

"We brought Italian." Iris holds up the bag she's carrying. "Didn't know what you'd like."

My stomach rumbles on cue. "Let's set it up at the kitchen table."

Once everything is open and we're seated with full plates, the delicious scent of garlic and tomato and cream fills the air. There's chicken and various pastas and garlic focaccias. Definitely more food than we need.

And more food than I've eaten recently.

Iris's dog, Mac, lies by her feet.

"I never understood why Chinese and Indian food seem to be the only foods you order and then all share," Briar says. "Saint is such a stickler when we get Italian. He gets what he likes, and I get what I like and never the twain shall meet. Even pizza."

"Mercy used to be the same. She hated sharing pizza. Did the two of you know her?" I ask.

They share a glance, as if deciding who will answer.

"The motorcycle club world is a tricky hierarchy for women," Iris says finally. "So not really."

"What does that mean? Halo told me Mercy was basically some kind of prostitute."

Briar nearly chokes on her pasta. "Shit. Halo really has no filter sometimes."

I top up her water glass and hand it to her. "He said she was a sweet butt. Explain it to me."

Iris twirls some fettuccine on her fork. "There are all kinds of classifications of women in club life. There's a house mouse, who'll live with a biker mainly to take care of his shit. Rarely does it involve sex. And there's a sweet butt. They're usually girls who want to become a biker's old lady. And they tend to be more available for…sex. There are citizen wives. Some bikers are married to women who want absolutely nothing to do with the club. They keep a totally legal home separate from it all. And there are old ladies. Not necessarily married, although many are. But it's like the cherry-on-top position."

"But Mercy was living with Wrinkle. Was she his old lady?"

Briar shakes her head. "I don't know for sure, but I don't think so. I don't think Wrinkle took it to the club to claim her. But he also never refuted that Lola was his. And I think he wanted his kid and the kid's mother to live somewhere safe. I think that's why they lived together."

I take a sip of water. "So, she wasn't a sweet butt?"

Iris sighs. "She was. She had slept with many of the bikers before she ended up pregnant."

"Did she sleep with Halo?" I ask. The question pops into my head before I have time to process it.

"Not that I know of. He has a thing about not sharing girls with his dad."

I screw up my nose. "This all sounds a little…" I don't say the word I'm thinking because I don't want to appear judgmental.

"I'll say what we're avoiding saying," Briar says. "Old ladies don't usually hang around with club girls because there's a real chance that, at some point, your man has slept with one of them, and no one wants to be reminded of that."

"That's why there were no old ladies at Mercy's funeral?"

Iris nods. "Thinking of who was getting buried stood in the way of being there to support you. I'm sorry. Truly. For your loss and for not being there today. But we're here to help you if we can. It looks like you might need it."

I touch my fingers to my face. I guess my own life choices don't make any more sense than my sister's.

"I was kidnapped by a sex trafficking organization, and Saint rescued me," Briar says. "And Iris was kidnapped by them in revenge for something that happened with the club. We've been scared, abused, and at a loss for how to recover. It's why Iris has Mac and why the two of us are friends. Halo thought we might be the kind of company you needed tonight."

Tears sting my eyes at Halo's thoughtfulness. I'm safe in his home. I'm fed because he asked someone to get food. And Halo asked these two specifically because they know what it feels like to have a man's hands on you in violence.

"Does the feeling of being worthless ever pass?" I ask. Tears choke out the words.

Two hands grip my wrists as both women reach out to me in unison.

"You aren't worthless. You're fucking precious," Briar says.

"You're safe now. It's okay, Mac," she says when he whines quietly beneath her feet. She strokes the top of his head. "I'm okay. He gets upset if I get upset."

It dawns on me that I have two new friends. Patrick didn't like me having friends over to the house. Said they'd be a bad influence. Said it cost money to host them. Money we never had. "Oh," I say suddenly. "I should pay you for the food."

Briar waves my offer away. "Don't sweat it. Saint gave me his credit card."

"Thank you," I say. "Does either of you know what happened to my sister? Halo hasn't told me much beyond that she was murdered. Is there a police investigation or anything? Do you know if there are any leads?"

Iris looks to Briar, and they both shake their heads.

"I have a feeling they'll call it a cold case and just leave it lingering," Briar says.

"Why?" I ask.

"Because Wrinkle was an Iron Outlaw, and law enforcement doesn't give a shit about bikers," Iris says.

"I'm going to go and talk to the police. My sister was a civilian, right? She isn't a member of the Outlaws."

"It's worth a try, though I'm pretty sure you'll come up against a dead end," Iris says. "But rest assured Halo and his brothers are trying to figure it out."

"Wrinkle had more sons?"

Briar takes a sip of water. "Within the club, all the members call each other brothers. They'll try and figure it out together."

Iris nods. "And in the meantime, we'll be here for you. Guess Halo will be too. It was sweet of him to make sure Mercy had a funeral service."

"Halo covered Mercy's funeral costs?" He told me he'd ask around to find out who paid.

"That's what Saint told me," Briar adds. "Kind of him given he didn't have to."

There's a snuffling sound from the monitor, and I get up to check on Lola. It gives me a moment's breathing room to process everything I just learned. She's still asleep when I reach her, and a run my fingertips gently over her hair.

I have a niece.

Who is part of a world that is as intimidating as it has been friendly and welcoming to me.

Maybe my sister found a level of peace and comfort here being a mother. I can only hope she did.

I return downstairs where Briar and Iris are laughing about something. Given their experiences, they seem happy enough.

"How dangerous is it? Being around the motorcycle club?"

"That feels like a question we should ease in to," Briar says.

Iris shakes her head softly. "It's no more dangerous than being outside the life. Only the club has better defenses. Was Lola still sleeping?" she asks in a way that is clearly meant to change the subject.

So, with that, we eat and share and talk. They tell me about the other old ladies, and I begin to relax until eventually I hear the front door slam and jump to my feet. My heart rate escalates, and I start clearing the table, grabbing foil packets and plates.

"Arianne, it's okay," Iris says.

"No. Patrick never liked the house to be a mess when he got home. I'm just staying here as a guest. I have nowhere to go if…"

Footsteps sound down the hallway as I grab the water glasses. The remains of Briar's drink spill down me just as Halo arrives in the kitchen.

"I'm sorry they're still here. They'll be gone in a minute. And I'll clean everything up, I promise. It'll just?—"

"Arianne. Stop."

I drop the glass in fear, and it shatters around my feet.

"For fuck's sake," Halo says as he sweeps me into his arms and places me on the kitchen island.

"I'm sorry. I'll replace it. If you tell me where you got them from, I'll?—"

"Girls, Spark is outside in his truck to take you both home." His eyes never leave me the entire time he speaks. "Thank you for coming to sit with Ari."

Chairs scratch across the floor. Kind words are said, of it being nice to meet me, but I glance at Halo's unreadable face.

And now I'm alone with a man I barely know. I look down at the shards that glisten under the kitchen lights.

Glass crunches beneath Halo's feet when he finally moves to the sink. He grabs a handful of paper towels and runs it under the tap before coming to stand back in front of me.

"Arianne. Look at me," he says.

I don't. I've fallen for this trick before. If you look down, men don't feel threatened. If you look up, they think you're defiant.

Seconds tick by. They turn into minutes. Carefully, he begins to pick shards of glass from my feet. Drops of water splat on the floor from the wet paper towels he holds.

Unable to bear the wait for whatever punishment he's about to hand out, I raise my eyes to his.

"Good girl," he says, touching my chin. He's so very gentle, but I flinch out of habit. "I'm not going to talk to you while you're looking at the ground. Now. Me telling you that you're safe won't do an ounce of good. But I swear on Lola's life that I have never hit a woman. And I don't intend to start now. So, I'm gonna clean up your feet, and you're going to tell me why you just freaked out. Don't make me ask twice."

My heart rate continues to pound, but the reason shifts. I thought he was going to be mad. But he's tender and gentle as he dabs at the small nicks caused by the shattering glass.

"My husband didn't like me having friends. And he didn't like the house to be a mess when he got home from work."

Halo moves his gaze from my feet to my face. "I sent the girls over to you. Didn't they tell you?"

"They did."

"Did they tell you I asked them to get food?"

I nod.

"So why would I be mad that you were sitting with the people I sent, eating the food I asked them to bring?" He opens a cupboard and pulls out a first aid kit, placing it next to me. As I think about what he says, Halo begins to apply little dots of antiseptic and Band-Aids to the three cuts that need it.

"When you say it like that, it sounds logical. But in the moment when I heard the door close, it…"

"PTSD is a thing. You're gonna need a therapist to unpack all that." Halo holds my feet, massaging them gently.

"Well, first I need to fix my car, get a job, find somewhere to live. And when I've got a place, I'll need some furniture. And when I've done all that, if I have a few spare hundred dollars, I'll find someone." My words are snippier than he deserves. "I'm sorry."

Halo lifts me off the counter, carries me to the doorway, and places my feet on the ground away from the glass. "Go to bed." His palms hold either side of my face as he presses his lips to my forehead. "Get some sleep, and we'll figure everything else out in the morning."