I smile at her and Highway. After years of being separated, Lucy and I are back to being the close sisters we once were, and now, with the MC, I think I’ve found the true meaning of family.
Highway nods. “Stick together,” he growls out.
“Got it,” I reply, feeling the weight of his reluctance like a second skin.
“Let’s roll,” Lucy says, her voice all business as she stands.
***
The drive to the first bar takes us to the beach. It’s one of those touristy places with lots of people and overpriced drinks.
“Do you really think she’ll be in here?”
Lucy shrugs. “She used to come here, and the tourists would buy her drinks. Missy is always looking for what she can get for free or for a quick fuck.” Lucy’s lips turn down. “Can you imagine fucking someone for a drink?”
We hit the pavement, our boots clicking in unison. The sun dips low, bleeding orange across a bruising sky. Entering the bar, Lucy does a quick scout around and comes back to me.
“She’s not here. Let’s try the next place.”
Bar after bar, we search—eyes sharp, backs straight. Each place is another dead end, another shot of something strong to keep the edge honed.
“Nothing,” Lucy mutters, her frustration a live wire.
“Next,” I say, the word tasting of dust and determination.
The world dims, streetlights flickering to life as we push on. Finally, we spot her. She’s sitting in the back of the bar, alone, with a beer in front of her.
“Found her,” I whisper, victory and venom swirling in my chest.
“Time to work,” Lucy replies, her eyes narrowing to slits.
Missy doesn’t look up or move. She just sits there, a statue carved from regret and cheap whiskey. Missy’s gaze doesn’t shift or waver—just meets ours and stays, heavy with something that looks a lot like surrender. No fight left in her, no fire. Just defeat, hanging on her like a shroud.
“Missy,” Lucy’s voice slices through the smoky air, sharp as a blade. “How could you do it? Betray the MC?”
The words hang there between us, thick with accusation. I can almost see them, black against the haze, waiting for an answer. We both pull out chairs and sit opposite her.
She shrugs—a small, tired lift of her shoulders—and there’s this hollow look in her eyes as if she’s been emptied from within. “Crimson Wheelers said they’d think about making me an Ol’ Lady,” she confesses, her voice flat like she’s reading from a script written by someone else.
I can feel the lie she’s telling herself, bitter on my tongue. She knows it’s crap, and yet she clings to it so desperately.
“Thought I wanted… someone, something, just for me… my own slice of life.” Her voice trembles.
Lucy scoffs, disbelief and anger laced tight in her tone. “And for that, you sold us out?”
Missy doesn’t answer or need to. It’s all there, written in the slump of her body and the way her hands fidget with the frayed edge of a coaster—a story of longing gone wrong, twisted into betrayal.
I watch her. A part of me understands that raw need to beseen and belong. But understanding doesn’t mean forgiving. Not in this world. Not for this.
“You here to give me a beating?”
Lucy shakes her head. “No, not that you don’t deserve one.” Lucy’s top lip curls up in disgust. “You were one of us, and as much as I want to blame you, I was worried and wanted to check on you.”
Missy’s head snaps up, and she stares Lucy in the eyes. “For real?”
“Yeah.” Lucy glances at me then back to Missy. “Also Creed wanted me to give you a message. You’re dead to us. Banished. There’s no coming back.”
Shaking my head at Missy, I tug on Lucy’s hand. “We’ve gotta go. You’ve checked on her, but we can’t be late.”
