Breathing.

Living.

“Told me,” he continued. “We talked about it all the time, you told me you were all about family. Worked your ass off to finish school early so we could start. And I know you got no kids. So that was a lie too. Like your love. Like your commitment to us. Like everything that had shit to do with you.”

“I made a mistake back then,” I forced out, the words weak, pained.

“You sure as fuck did,” he returned, and threw out a hand. “Payin’ for it, in your perfect house with your fancy-ass pajamas and killer investment portfolio.”

Killer investment portfolio?

Shit, he’d looked into me.

“Got money, babe,” he sneered. “And you think you got it all. Worked your ass off to get it. Gave me up to get it all. That’s what you wanted, not a life with a biker who had no future. You wanted it all.”

He took a step toward me, his eyes locked to mine, and it took all I had left (which wasn’t much) not to shrink from him.

And then he kept at me, inflicting his last wound.

A mortal wound.

Slaying me.

“But I’ll tell you, bitch, what you don’t got, what you won’t ever get, what you lost when you lost me, is the most beautiful thing you can have. Your kid sayin’ your name. Every fuckin’ time Cleo or Zadie say the word ‘Daddy,’ even if they’re whinin’ or pissed about somethin’, it lights up my world. So keep warm in this fuckin’ joint.” He threw out a hand again, then used it to indicate me. “In your sexy threads. But you’ll never get warm to the bone, knowin’ you changed the world, created a miracle, bringing beauty from between your legs that’s got fuck-all to do with an orgasm.”

On that, he grabbed his cut and walked right out of my house, slamming the door behind him.

And I stood still, staring at the door, the curtain over the window still swaying with the power of his slam, eviscerated, the life force flowing out of me, streaming across my gleaming wood floors, evaporating into nothing.

It took some time, a good deal of it, before I moved. Got myself a cup of coffee. Cleaned up the mess Logan left of his. Went to my bathroom to take a shower and get ready for the day.

But I did it knowing I was back to going through the motions.

Oh, I’d pretend.

For Dot.

And Mom and Dad. Justine. Kellie. Claire.

And I’d breathe until there was no breath left.

But that was all life would be for me.

I knew it because it had happened twenty years earlier, my life leaking away as Logan walked out of it. Then I went through the motions.

Now I’d do it again. But with practice, I’d do it better so those left who cared about me didn’t worry.

That’s all I’d give.

That’s all I’d get.

Until the day I died.

And I was good with that because once I had it all with the promise of even more.

So I’d take that because I knew that was all I’d ever get.

And because I also knew I had no choice.

Elvira

“Yo.”

Elvira looked up and saw the commando standing in her office door. His name was Mo.

“Shirleen Jackson just walked in the building,” Mo told her. “Checked his schedule. Hawk’s not got her on it and anyway, he’s out. She here for you?”

Elvira wasn’t expecting her but knew Shirleen must be there for her.

“Yep,” she answered.

He jerked up his chin commando style, which meant Elvira had no idea how he didn’t dislocate something while doing it. He then prowled off into command central, Hawk’s theater-style space with workstations that were wired to take over NATO or the United Nations or Cheyenne Mountain or whatever struck his fancy to play with on any given day.

She took the time it took Shirleen to make the office to clear her desk of anything sensitive and she stood when Mo showed Shirleen to her door.

“Gotta talk,” Shirleen said as greeting.

Elvira nodded, indicated the two seats opposite her desk with a hand, and invited, “Sit your ass down.”

Shirleen sat her ass down.

Mo gave Elvira a look, then took off again and Elvira turned her eyes to her wall of windows that showed command central. It also showed none of the four boys out there manning stations were paying them any mind.

But she still knew they were paying attention.

She looked back to Shirleen, a woman she’d known a long time, a woman she’d worked jobs with, a colleague and also a friend.

“This is a surprise,” she noted.

“You’re lookin’ into Millie Cross,” Shirleen announced.

Another surprise.

Elvira said nothing.

But she’d been doing her homework and that included the enjoyable task of pumping information from her man, Malik.

Malik was a Denver cop. He’d been a cop for fifteen years, worked vice the last eight. Malik knew everything about the street.

So when Elvira and the girls instigated Operation MAC (Millicent Anna Cross), she’d gone to a source she knew would be a font of information.

This meant she knew about Logan “High” Judd and Shirleen Jackson. Primarily, she knew about their bond.

“Don’t know how that shit began,” Malik had told her after the good stuff was done, he was mellow, and they had entered the pillow talk stage that Elvira used for more than one purpose on more than one occasion.

Not that Malik minded. Her man was not stupid. He knew she always had a reason. He also knew she had a certain kind of job. So he filtered as necessary. Which was irritating as hell but it went with the territory when you had the po-po in your bed.

“Just know they’re tight,” Malik had gone on. “Word was, back when they were both dirty, if Shirleen had a mess she didn’t wanna call Darius in to handle, pile more filth on her nephew than he already had, she’d call Judd. And Judd would do cleanup. She called. He came. Not in a way she had something on him and not in a way they were partners. So I don’t get it. No one ever did. But it happened. She left the life. The Club got clean. And through all that, whatever they had did not die.”

In other words, although this was a surprise visit, Shirleen being up in High’s business, business that was getting interesting lately, was no surprise.

“We’re joinin’ forces,” Shirleen announced. “And our first move is Kellie Cliffe.”

Kellie Cliffe.

One of Millie’s two besties.

The one who was up for anything.

“Joinin’ forces with what?” Elvira asked, not playing dumb... exactly.

It was just that Tyra had put the kibosh on further maneuvers. After their last play went south, they’d decided they had to bide their time and find the right in to instigate their next one.

“On reunitin’ a love gone bad,” Shirleen replied.

“Listen, girl—” Elvira started, leaning across her desk, but she stopped talking when Shirleen’s face changed.

Elvira could read faces and Shirleen’s face stated loudly that the woman was serious and she was not about to waste any time.

“High would lose his mind, but he said I could put Brody on it, and I did. He did not say I could put Vance on it, but I did that too,” she shared. “My boys at work, look at ’em, you’d say badass motherfucker. But I know how they are. They’ll go the distance for true love, proved that again and again. Gave Vance what I knew, he ran with it. Boy has his ways and what he learned, High likes it or not on the road he’s gonna be travelin’, I know he’ll like it when he gets to his destination. If I gotta club the man and put him on the train, I’m doin’ it. And the game you and your girls are playin’ that Vance shared with me with that King’s Shelter business, I know you’re with me. So we’re joinin’ forces.”

Another non-surprise. Vance Crowe was one of Lee Nightingale’s boys. He was good at what he did, finding information and fast with little to no muss and fuss.

But also, Vance’s wife, Jules, was a social worker who worked at King’s Shelter. So he probably knew, or suspected, before Shirleen asked that Tyra, Lanie, and Elvira were up to something.