Page 150 of Jagger's Remorse
"What the fuck?—"
"Baby shower!" Mel announces, beaming like she's won the lottery. "Every baby needs a proper welcome, even a future crime princess."
I stare at the decorations they're rapidly putting up. Black and silver streamers. Balloons that say things like "Future Enforcer" and "Daddy's Little Weapon."
A banner reading "BULLETS OR BOTTLES?" with little gun and baby bottle graphics.
"You’re throwing me a baby shower," I say flatly.
"We’re throwing you an Iron Veins baby shower," Raven corrects, hanging a mobile made of tiny motorcycles and brass knuckles. "There's a difference."
"I have three more calls?—"
"Which can wait." Mel physically pushes my laptop closed. "The cartel won't collapse because you take two hours to celebrate your daughter."
That stops me. "How did you know it's a girl?"
"Jagger can't keep a secret for shit when he's drunk," Baylee—a nineteen year old girl we found being abused at a truck stop last month says. "He told Hammer, who told everyone."
"Of course he did." But I'm smiling despite myself. "Fine. Two hours. But if anyone tries to make me play those stupid shower games?—"
"Would we do that to you?" Raven asks innocently, then pulls out a gun. "Although we are playing 'Pin the Trigger on the Glock.'"
The common room fills up fast.
Every old lady in the club, plus everyone in the Iron Veins, and a few friends we’ve made along the way.
They eye me with a mixture of fear and fascination—the girl who went from prisoner to cartel boss in less than a year.
"Present time!" Mel announces, bouncing with excitement at the fact she's carrying a gift wrapped in ammunition-print paper.
"Do I have to?"
"Yes," they all say.
I unwrap Mel's gift first—a beautiful handmade blanket, soft as sin, with an intricate pattern that takes me a moment to understand.
Woven into the design are tiny daggers, brass knuckles, and motorcycles, so subtle you'd miss them if you weren't looking.
"Mel, this is..." I run my fingers over the craftsmanship. "This must have taken months."
She blushes. "Started it the day you announced. Figured the baby should have something soft in her life, even if it's decorated with weapons."
"Thank you," I say, meaning it.
This woman who I saved, who could have hated me for bringing violence into her life, spent months making something beautiful for my child.
Raven's gift is next—a tiny leather jacket with "Property of Iron Veins MC" on the back and a patch that reads "Princess" where a rider's name would go.
"Can't have the kid showing up naked to her first church meeting," Raven says gruffly, but I catch the softness in her eyes.
Baylee—who I'm learning has a wicked sense of humor—gives me what appears to be a baby's first holster. "For her pacifier," she explains with a straight face. "Never too early to practice quick draws."
The gifts continue.
Tiny combat boots. A onesie that says "If you think I'm cute, you should see my mommy's rap sheet." Board books about motorcycles. A stuffed crow that looks suspiciously like Jagger's tattoo.
I'm laughing—actually laughing—when Jagger comes walking in.
