Page 61 of Devil's Work: Dark

“She could, but we need our own space.”

“So you’re officially living with her now?”

“Sorry, man, but my personal life has nothing to do with the story you’re writing about The Horde. You want to say that with cleaning up the club, we’ve got families and shit now, that’s fine. But I don’t want our business put out there for the masses to read about. Crazy sons of bitches sending freaky emails and letters and shit. Nah, we’ll pass.”

“Not a problem. But I’m here to write an article and the more pertinent story”—he gestures behind him to the police tape—“is off-limits for the time being. I’ve been warned by both the police and FBI. The last thing I need is to end up in prison for leaking a story.” He laughs rather humorlessly.

“Thatwouldsuck.”

Vlad orders us all back to the clubhouse to discuss all we’ve learned and decide what our next moves should be.

I won’t be heading home for a while.

16

RAE

When I woke up, I found Winky lying on the sofa making himself at home eating a bowl of Ty’s Count Chocula, but he did have coffee brewed. No Dark. He left a note for me taped to the refrigerator, a place he knew I’d find it.

I love that Dark is honest with me. He doesn’t try to shield me from things that I actually need to know, and I needed to know this, but god—I’m shocked. I didn’t much care for the woman, given that she tried to break Dark and me up, but Jayleen didn’t deserve to end up dead.

I get Ty up for school and let Lacy sleep a little longer. She doesn’t need to get up until it’s time to leave the house because I decided that since I had to turn down the position at the eye center that there really isn’t a need to send Baby Girl to daycare just yet.

He walks out of his room still sleepy with a messy bed head, yawning. I turn on a kids’ show that he likes with lots of singing. Then I set about getting his clothes that he’ll wear today, laying them on his bed. When I come out of his room, he’s more alert.

“What do you want for breakfast, bud?” I ask.

“Peanut butter toast,” he answers cheerily.

“Peanut butter toast? Not Count Chocula?”

He shakes his head vehemently. “Peanut butter toast—with raspberry jam!” Only a little kid would get that enthused over toast and jam. I can’t help laughing as I walk into the kitchen.

“Winky, need a warmup?” I ask.

“That’d be great, Rae, thanks.”

First, I get the bread from the pantry and pop it in the toaster before I head out with the pot of coffee to refill Winky’s mug. But as I’m pouring, I hear what sounds like a car coming up the drive. It’s not a bike and it doesn’t sound like Dark’s truck. It’s faint, soft, like a newer car. Living so far out in the sticks, you get to know the sounds. I walk over to the window, peeling back the curtain to look out.

Winky’s at my side in an instant. “What is it?”

“Did you hear that?” I ask.

“No. Hear what?”

“I think it might have been a car.”

“One of your neighbors?” he asks.

I keep searching the woods beyond the yard. “Not unless they got a new one. It was too quiet.”

“Right. Stay inside. Lock the door. I’m going out to check.”

“Thanks, Winky.”

“It’s what I’m here for.”

He pulls his gun from the holster he wears under his jacket. As a prospect, he doesn’t get a leather cut like the patched-in brothers. That comes when he gets his patch. Winky slips out the front door and I lock it behind him. Something feels off.

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