Page 53 of Devil's Due: Sarge

Sarge orders his steak and eggs with hash browns, smothered and covered. Good choice.

“You never struck me as a Waffle House girl,” Sarge says to engage me in conversation after the waitress went to turn in our food orders.

“My mother likes to pretend we never ate at places like this before she met Drew. Though, Vegas doesn’t have any Waffle Houses… I ate at my first one when I found myself in Texas, after I stashed the art. It reminded me of times with my dad.”

This kind of food is meant to be comfort food, but they have no idea how comforting I find it. Filling me with the warmth and fuel to take me back to people who love me.

We finish and it’s all very normal. For once, I don’t feel like a woman in hiding, but I feel free. I’m done with Drew and Patrick and Stephen. I’m done with fake families. Pinecrest. All of it.

Yes.Freedom.

Through Georgia.

South Carolina.

The tip of North Carolina.

Tennessee.

The more miles we put between us and Miami, the freer I feel. It’s dark by the time we cross over from Tennessee into Kentucky. It’s a shame because the mountains we’re traveling are gorgeous and I miss seeing them. But home is in the mountains, so I’ll get my fill.

By the time we reach Bentley, I’m ready to not be back in a car for a while. I slow down, winding through the mountain roads toward the compound. It wouldn’t do us any good to die this close to home because a deer or other animal jumps out of the tree line before I can see it to stop.

I look over to Sarge. “How are you doing?” I ask.

“Ready to find my fucking bed,” he replies.

“You don’t think they’ll try to throw a party for your return, do you?”

“Chances are good with the other brothers back that there’ll be a party going on. But frankly, I’m wiped and just want to lie down in bed and maybe watch some television until I pass out.”

“Need more pain meds?”

“Fuck yeah… apparently, I’m getting soft in my old age.”

“Sarge, you’re like thirty. That’s hardly old.”

“It ain’t twenty, either. How are you hanging in there?”

“I’m not the one who was beaten, stabbed, then shot.”

“But you’re the one who probably won’t get to see her mother for a long time.”

I shrug, but the cab is dark, so I don’t know if he sees me. “She made her choice. Drew and money over her daughter…” I pause to take a breath and get my thoughts straight in my head. It only takes a moment to know exactly how I feel and how to express it. “Does it sting that she chose a lifestyle over her child?Yes… but I’m not going to let it control or shape the rest of my life. You’re alive. I’m alive. We’re almost back to the clubhouse. There are worse things in life.”

“There sure are, baby,” he says, reaching his hand over to squeeze my knee. He leaves his hands there the rest of the trip along the twisty, turn-y pavement.

They’ve got Jinx on the gate tonight. His smile is a welcome sight. “How you doing?” he asks Sarge. The brothers must have decided that he’s worth letting prospect in our absence. And to have him on the gate already, I wonder what went down while we were away. Talk about fast tracking a man.

“Fucking glad to be home,” he answers. Jinx opens the gate, allowing us through. The way the clubhouse is lit up, I’m pretty sure there’s a party raging inside. When I turn off the truck and open the door, assaulted by the music coming at me loud enough to sing along with the lyrics, there’s no doubt.

“We should’ve stopped for takeout back in Bentley. You have to be hungry and I don’t really feel like cooking tonight,” I tell him once we meet at the front of the truck. He drapes an arm around my shoulder. Damn man. I know he’s in pain, but he doesn’t want his brothers to know that he’s as injured as he is. It’s written all over his face. Scary how well I can read him now.

“We’ll send a prospect out for food.”

When we open the door and step inside, there’s a collective, “Sarge,” shouted from the rest of the brothers. Nic is waiting to hug me and from the look on her face, scold me. She deserves an explanation. Just not tonight. The men race over to give Sarge manly hugs, arm slaps, and back pats. I’m weirdly protective of him, pushing myself in front of him to keep the well-meaning men from getting too close to his wounds.

“We’re heading to bed,” I announce to the ones closest to us as I commandeer a beer someone tries to shove in his hand. “Not with those pain meds.”

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