She tries to suppress a snicker of laughter, and fails. That snort sets Tatiana to giggling, and soon everyone is laughing except Rev and Fonz.
Sophia, having changed into clean clothes, leans against the doorpost, watching the merriment with a small smile.
Fonz, with partially-painted toenails, stops laughing, eying Sophia. Shimmying awkwardly off the bed, he limps toward Sophia. Brazen as you please, he takes her hand and pulls her into the room.
Stunned by the unexpected move, Sophia lets him pull her toward the bed, the smile vanishing. After a few steps, she halts. "I'm fine where I was."
Fonz gestures at the bed, at Myka and Tatiana. "Boss, just get over there."
Moving stiffly, hesitantly, Sophia shuffles closer to the bed, looks around the room as if for guidance, and then perches on the very edge of the bed, back ramrod stiff, hands on her thighs. "There." She arches a wry eyebrow at Fonz. "Does that make you feel better?"
Myka shifts to sit beside her. Looks at her intently. "Is it over?"
Sophia drops her head, gaze on her hands. "Yes." A pause. "Well, mostly. Pugli is still out there, and last I heard from Jakob, Pugli's men—or at least I assume Pugli's men—have put him on the defensive. He claims to not want or need our assistance yet, however. So, there may be work on that front to do, still, but Rafael is dead."
Tatiana moves to her other side. "Which means you are free, does it not?"
Sophia blinks. "I…yes, I suppose it does." A clearing of her throat. "Free. What a strange feeling." She looks at Lash—Nicolai. "Pugli seems to have shifted his attention to Jakob. Until that is resolved, however, I would still exercise caution."
Nicolai nods. "I will not feel free until I have seen that man's corpse. I'm sure you understand."
A nod. "I very much do, my friend. Jakob was clear, however. He does not want our interference."
"I have questions," Solomon says.
Sophia glances at him. "I know. But I have very few answers for you. I truly do not know much more than you. His name is Jakob—spelled with a K rather than C. I believe he is of European origin, but I don't know for certain. I know nothing of his past. I don't know where, when, or how he acquired his fortune, only that he is very, very wealthy, and a skilled, cunning, and creative businessman. He has contacts in very high places in government—here in the States as well as abroad. He has a sort of…" she trails off, sighing. "Obsession is the only word I can come up with—he has an obsession with redemption. It's what drove him to create the Broken Arrows, and Club Sin."
"So, uh, which came first," Rev asks. "The club, or us?"
Sophia shrugs. "That's a chicken-or-egg question, Rev. The Club was built for you. The two are inextricably linked."
This leaves a ringing silence in the room.
"So he wants redemption for himself, and his way of getting it is…us?" Silas asks.
Sophia shrugs. "Something along those lines, yes. As I said, Jakob has not shared his past with me. I believe he…" She pauses. "I think he fled something terrible in his past. Something bad enough that he faked his own death. That is merely conjecture based on something he said to me recently—'the dead cannot die.' I do not know what that means, except to think that the world at large believes Jakob, whoever he really is, is dead."
"So, lemme get this straight," Saxon says. “You've worked directly with the man for, what, at least three or four years? And you knownothingabout him?"
Sophia arches an eyebrow. "More like ten. And yes. I know his character. I know that he is used to being in command. He is private, secretive. I know he harbors some deep emotional trauma, like the rest of us. I know that he has great wealth, but spends little of it on himself—he dresses well but simply, keeps to himself, does not own a fleet of supercars or mansions across the world. Is he hiding? I don't know. What could he be hiding from? Again, I don't know. But I know that he cares about each of you. He knows your pasts. He and I…well, I chose you. He gave me a list of candidates and you seven are the ones I chose. Your stories…spoke to me, I suppose. And to him.
"He is…well, kind is not the word. He has no softness. He is all sharp edges, like me. But deep down, there is goodness in him. But it's…how do I put it? A goodness that I believe comes from knowing all too intimately the cost of being…bad. I don't think he was always the man he is now. I think the past he fled was a nightmare at least partially of his own making. But again, that is conjecture."
"We ever gonna meet him?" Chance asks.
She shrugs. "I don't know. Perhaps?"
Silence, then.
"So…now what?" This is from Annika. "Your asshole ex is dead, and I assume that means his goons are gonna be too busy fighting over who's gonna fill the void to worry about his personal vendetta. Jakob doesn't want our help. Pugli is in the wind and seems to have lost interest in us—hopefully, at least, now that he has Jakob as his quarry. The Club got blown up. So…now what?"
Scarlett, leaning her back against Solomon's chest, clears her throat to get everyone’s attention. "I know what I want to donext." Everyone looks at her expectantly, and she grabs Sol's arm, lifts it and turns it out so his tattooed brand shows. "I want the brand. I know I'm a girl, but I want to be part of the brotherhood. Whatever that means. Not just because Sol is my man, but because this group of people—" she halts, clears her throat, blinking hard. "You…you're all…ew, fuck, Ihategetting all fucking weepy. Dammit." She scrubs at her face, and she blows out a sharp breath. “I…I’ve never belonged. I could never—I never fit. I was never one of the guys. I was respected, feared even, but…" she blinks around at the girls. "You ladies are the first women I’ve ever been friends with. And you guys—Sol's brothers, blood brothers and brand brothers. You're my crew. My team. My family. So I want the brand."
Sophia lets out a soft sigh. "Scarlett…I hope you know you don't need a brand to belong."
Scarlett nods. "I know. But I want what the brand represents."
"And what is that?" Sophia asks.
