Pulling out my cell phone, I dial Highway.
His voice, rough as sandpaper, cuts through the silence, “Where the fuck are you?”
Cringing, I rush my words. “Sorry! I’m at the clubhouse. I printed the photographs and wanted to get them to you as soon as possible.”
“You were told to wait.”
His tone brings an involuntary roll of my eyes, causing Winchester to laugh. “Jesus, you and Winchester sound the same. I’m here.”
Silence greets me on the other end of the line.
“Highway?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry. I’ll do as I’m told next time.”
“You’re damn straight you will.”
The line goes dead, and I look at Winchester. “He’s upset.”
“He’ll get over it.” Winchester picks up his drink and swirls the liquid around in his glass. “Let’s play a game. Memorize the faces in this room. Who comes, who goes.”
I nod, taking mental snapshots of the MC. A burly man with a serpent tattoo strides in, and I commit his face to memory. A couple of men at the bar are standing together, whispering.
“If we weren’t on friendly ground, I’d tell you to keep your back to the wall,” Winchester continues, his gaze never wavering from the entrance. “Always see the exit. The key to not being seen is to blend in.” He glances around the room. “For you, that would be jeans and a leather jacket. In this instance, it would be your camouflage.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
Winchester ignores my comment and says, “Your eyes, they’re your best weapon. Learn to listen with them.”
“Listen with my eyes?” I question, skepticism edging my tone.
“See the twitch before the fist. The glance before the gun.”
“Got it,” I reply as I understand his meaning.
“Good.” He gives a short nod, satisfied. “Now, let’s get you closer to the fire.”
Standing, I pick up the envelope, and Winchester guides me through the clubhouse and out to a bonfire, his hand firm on my back. We sidle up to a group of brothers, close enough to eavesdrop, far enough to remain unseen.
“Observe their hands, their feet,” he directs. “Details, Gwen. Details tell stories.”
I hone in on a group in the corner, rough voices spilling tales of turf and trouble. My heart hammers as I soak up every word, every gesture.
“Who they fear, who they respect,” Winchester murmurs, reading my focus. “It’s all there if you know how to look.”
“Like a game of chess,” I say, catching on.
“Exactly,” he confirms, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “Remember, it’s not just rival MCs or cartels. It’s a world where every shadow could be an enemy.”
“Or an ally,” I counter, thinking of the alliances I’ve started to forge.
“True,” he concedes, and there’s a flicker of respect in his eyes. “You learn fast.”
“Yo, Winchester!” Turning, a man and a woman are moving toward us. “How’s Creed?”
“He’s fine… it’s not like he hasn’t been shot before.” Winchester points at me. “This is Gwen, she’s Lucy’s sister. Gwen, this is Dutch and Una from the UK.”
