Murph: Meeting tonight?

Logan is the first to respond.

Logan: Have appointments all night. After 2?

Then, Rafe chimes in after a few moments.

Rafe: On duty all night. I can meet. What’s up?

I let out a frustrated sigh.

Murph: Fuck it. Nevermind.

Rafe: Everything alright?

Logan: I can cancel my appointment.

Murph: No cancelling. We need the business. I just need to get drunk.

Logan: You can ride bitch on the back of my bike if you need a ride.

Murph: Fuck you, Logan.

Logan: You wish, brother. If you need to come over, Sierra’s home.

Murph: thx

Talking to the guys settles my worries a little. It’s only the three of us right now, but it’s always been the three of us. Before it was Logan, it was his brother, Theo—one of my oldest, closest friends. Theo and I were in the same foster house when we were little, not even ten. They separated him and Logan, and he was pretty fucked up over it, always throwing fits, getting into trouble. Once he and I bonded over sneaking out to cross the busy street to the gas station where we would lift junk food and soda, he mellowed out a lot. Only a few months later, he was relocated to be with his brother, but the bond between us never faded.

Once we aged out, we stuck together. Formed our own little motorcycle club, which was a fucking joke at first. We were just kids, but then when shit got heavy, the club was the only thing to keep us going.

Then, out of nowhere, Theo was dead. Just like that. Rafe found him in the bedroom of the house we shared, overdosed.

The club died with him.

Until this spring when Logan revived it, pushing us to bring the brotherhood back, knowing full well that we all needed it, this family, more than we were willing to admit.

Now I’m glad we did. Because the fact that I have them, in some sappy fucking way, it settles me. It reminds me that someone has my back. No matter what.

I look back down at the letters and the name signed under the ordinance makes me want to rip the paper to shreds.

Colin McAffery.

Fucking Colin McAffery.

His piece-of-shit mom was one of my foster parents for a short stint in my teen years, and Colin was a real fucking tool then just as he is now. I was fully convinced that taking foster kids was just a way for that family to assert their dominance over something more pathetic than them. They didn’t hesitate to remind me what a piece of shit I was, and never made me feel at home.

Now I only run into Colin when the rich kids come out to play during the touristy season. Because here on Wicked, when the rich kids come out to play, they play dirty. There are no consequences for their actions, and they can behave with abandon, no matter what it costs. When one of my foster sisters accused Colin of being too rough with her at a party after high school, he denied it.