Our server arrived, and Jed ordered the ribeye while I got the salmon.
Unencumbered by the obligation to make any further decisions, we settled, and Jed took the lead in steering our conversation.
“You got family outside of your twin?”
“I do. My mom, my younger sister, and my sister’s daughter—she’s six.”
“Here in town?”
“Yeah. My parents moved to Gillette before Alejo and I were born. We grew up here.”
“You close?”
“We are,” I replied. Then I frowned and added, “I mean, I don’t intend to tell them about what happened. I’d rather spare them. There’s no point in worrying about it now. I’d like to think last night was a wakeup call for Alejandro, but who knows. The trouble he finds is half the reason my mom, my sister and I are so close.”
“Father out of the picture?”
“Oh, uh, essentially,” I murmured, dropping my gaze to stare into my drink.
I never liked talking about my dad. He wasn’t dead, but the hole he left in my life felt no different than if he had died. Growing up without him had been hard, and he did that to us. He took the easy way out of our problems, leaving his family to deal with them. Prison then twisted and molded him into a man I didn’t want to know.
When I realized Jed had gone quiet, I glanced over at him and found him studying me. Wishing to move on, I admitted, “He’s in prison. Armed robbery. He’s been in there most of my life. Anyway—that’s depressing. Let’s talk aboutyourfamily. Do you have siblings?”
“Two brothers. One older, one younger. Older one still lives in Jackson, near my folks. Married with a couple kids. Younger lives in Utah. He’s the brainiac workin’ in software.”
“You’rethe middle child?”
It didn’t seem possible. He was the kind of man who entered a room and filled it to capacity with his masculinity and prowess. He struck me as the type who didn’t take orders from anyone. His Wild Stallions vest identified him asWrangler,and he held the title ofEnforcer. I didn’t know what that meant in the context of the club; but given his size and overall demeanor, I could wager a guess.
He flashed a crooked smile and replied, “More like the wild child or the black sheep. Got nothin’ against my blood, but we’re not close. Left home when I was eighteen and found where I belonged here.”
“You never go back?”
“Every now and again. Thanksgivin’ or Christmas if I’ve got the kids. Mom’s a little nuts, dad lets her get away with it, and it’s a bit of a circus—but I don’t want Marlowe and Axel to be strangers in their own family.”
I nodded then took a sip from my cosmo, thinking back on all I knew about him. The vest he wore wasn’t the only thing identifying him as a Stallion. He also had the club’s logo tattooed on the outer part of his right bicep—the skeletal head of a horse depicted as if made from metal, with a mane of fiery flames. I knew he considered the men who rode with him his brothers. Last night, they helped him get to me.
“Tell me about the Stallions. Did you find them when you were eighteen?”
He propped both forearms on the table and casually leaned against them. I glanced down at his right arm and the black and gray mountain-scape that wrapped around the space below his elbow. Underneath it were two, thick, solid black bands.
“No, that took a little time. I got to Gillette, accepted the first job I could find and hated it. I stuck it out, though. Put myself through trade school so I could become a mechanic. I was twenty-three when I started full-time at Stallion Motors. I was a probie a few months later, and voted in as a fully patched member a year after that.”
“So, how does it work? How do you even become a member of the club?”
“Most of us find our way to the brotherhood through the garage. Doesn’t have to be that way, but Stallions are mechanics. If the guys like someone enough, he becomes a prospect. We wear three patches on our kuttes—a prospect earns them one at a time.”
Kutte.That was a new term I was sure to stow in my memory bank.
“How long he’s a prospect is dependent on how long it takes to prove his worth and commitment to the club,” Jed continued. “If it takes longer than a year, he usually doesn’t make the cut. Otherwise, in order to get the last patch, it goes to a vote. Everyone has to agree.”
“Everyone in the club has to agree?” I asked, eyebrows lifted in surprise.
“Just the ranked members. In Gillette, there are seven of us.”
Us. I glanced at his vest again.
“I’m guessing you had to earn that Enforcer patch along with all the others?”
