Griffin and Natasha spent the next few days laying low at Zachariah’ place. It was definitely a boon to have such a powerful and respected member of the Lost Disciples on their side, given the fact that they could be kept secret almost indefinitely. Even Damon didn’t want to risk losing Zachariah’ surgical skills, and although Griffin knew that some of the guys had gotten injured during the raid, he was almost relieved to see that they hadn’t been so injured that they would need to show up at the trailer unannounced.

 

It wasn’t customary for people to go to Zachariah. Often times, he would show up at the Disciples’ clubhouse as needed, or the occasional hangouts that each charter favored. He was a man who liked his privacy, and it was a testimony to how close he was to Griffin that he would even allow such a thing to happen. Then again Griffin had been pretty messed up at the time. Zachariah had told them that he was worried that Griffin was going to end up needing a blood transfusion, which although relatively simple in a hospital, was a bit harder for Zachariah to get himself.

 

Natasha actually enjoyed the down time. Griffin was too injured for them to have sex, so instead they just enjoyed the time that they had together when they weren’t planning their next move. It was a strange time, given the high-octane week they had faced earlier, and when Griffin was well enough to move to the couch, Natasha moved with him. They lay close together, basking in each other’s warmth, and Natasha knew that the times they were sharing would definitely end up being something she remembered fondly for years to come, even if she ended up going back to her own life.

 

Her own life… what was that anymore? She had managed to get her finals deferred, but she knew she was going to have to make a decision sooner or later. Shelly, her roommate from college, had tried to call her again, but she didn’t have the energy to pick up the phone. Everything seemed completely crazy, and there was Griffin in the middle of it. Griffin, with his shaggy dark hair and piercing blue eyes. His tattoos. Part of her wanted to run in the other direction, but a bigger part of her wanted to wrap her arms around him. She wanted to know what each tattoo on his body meant. She wanted to mean something to him, and that scared her.

 

Julian had checked to see if Griffin was still alive, and Natasha could hear the intense relief—even as a tinny voice over the phone. Griffin hadn’t told him exactly where they were just in case, and Julian was laying low for the time being at what turned out to be his girlfriend’s house.

 

Griffin’s eyebrows had shot up in a pleasant surprise when he heard the news, and he later confessed that Julian, although a good guy, had never had much luck with women. Natasha remembered that large, disheveled man who had stumbled into the parking lot and smiled. Although their meeting had been brief, he still seemed like a nice guy who deserved happiness. Griffin had told him to lay low, and that he would get in touch with him the moment he knew what to do next. Julian seemed on board, which was a start.

 

Zachariah ended up making a terrific host, regaling the two lovers with hilarious stories about Emanuel when he was just coming up in the Lost Disciples. Natasha had never heard stories like this about her father, and it helped her understand him so much more. It wasn’t as though her father had been a stranger; it was only that she had never really been allowed to view this world like this. It was pretty incredible to see, and for the first time in a few days, she felt the ache of his loss once again.

 

After two days, Griffin was well enough to walk around, and they ended up having a shockingly nice barbecue in front of Zachariah’ trailer. It seemed as though this was his favorite method of cooking. While ribs was on the menu more often than not, on this particular evening he had simply made some burgers and hot dogs and plied everyone with bottles of beer, as they sat in front of a small fire he had lit in a pit in front of the trailer.

 

Natasha held her bottle of beer loosely in her hand, as she felt the muscles in her shoulders start to relax. She didn’t realize how hectic things had been and how tense things had made her until she finally had a moment to relax. This was the sort of thing she never could have pictured her father doing. For some reason, in her mind, bikers were all too badass to sit around and tell warmhearted stories. Yet, there the three of them were, sitting and enjoying each other’s company, knowing that it might be the last peace they had for some time.

 

Zachariah leaned forward, allowing the crags of his face to almost glow in the fire’s light. He was an animated talker, full of passion for his story, and this one was no different.

 

“So your pa finds this vintage motorcycle in the local junkyard and says that he’s going to fix it up and that it was going to be his main bike and everyone would be jealous—given how awesome it was. Now I told him that he’s full of crap—there’s no way that bike’s gonna run and there’s definitely no way that it will carry that lard ass, but he takes it back and works on it. I mean, every night he’s going back to his garage and working on this thing. I couldn’t believe it! Finally, the day comes and he goes, ‘Owen, you need to see this. I did it!’ Of course I don’t believe him, but I’ll be damned if he didn’t wheel that bike out and it’s the best restoration I’ve ever seen. I remember telling him that I was pretty relieved that he hadn’t made a bet about it— because if we had, my balls probably would have been dragged across Highway 1!”

 

They all laughed, and Natasha wiped some tears out of her eyes. “Did he make it his main bike?” she asked him. Zachariah let out a deep belly laugh at this.

 

“Hell no, little girl! That damn thing fell apart during its first ride! He spent so much time making it look better that he forgot to make it run better!”

 

For some reason, this was the funniest thing Natasha had ever heard about her father, and she gave into the laughter with complete abandon. It felt so good to laugh, and even more to laugh in a way where it wasn’t at anyone’s expense. It probably wasn’t the funniest story, but it was what she needed to hear at the time.

 

“It’s good to hear stuff like this,” Natasha said. “I never saw the motorcycle club as much beyond a place where men got together to ride motorcycles and be mean to each other.”

 

Griffin looked offended at the thought, but Zachariah just grinned. “Aw, nah, it’s not like that at all. You get what you put in, that’s all. Look at this guy over here.” He nodded his head in Griffin’s direction. “He was just some punk, probably started bumming around us when he was twelve.”

 

“Thirteen, if I remember correctly.”

 

“Now him, usually people like him are chewed up and spit out by the very fabric of the club. First, he started off drinking a little, then he’s working his way up the drug ladder, and soon he’s not trafficking because he’s the kind of guy who knows he can get his best deal, he’s trafficking because the guy holding the heroin tells him to. It’s not right, sometimes, what happens to these boys, but this one!” Zachariah pointed his finger at Griffin, who tried to hide his embarrassment by focusing on the fire. “This guy, he knew what he was doing. He was a player from day one.”

 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Griffin told Natasha. “Your father had to give me the guidance.”

 

Natasha couldn’t explain it, but every time Griffin mentioned how close he was to Natasha’s father, her stomach would turn in jealousy. She hated that about herself, but that’s where she was, wishing that the man she was sleeping with didn’t have a closer relationship to her dad than she had. How terrible was that? Griffin had never said it exactly, but she was pretty sure that he did not have a father, and there she was resenting him for finding a figure of his own. Who cared if it was supposed to be hers?

 

Supposed to be…as though her father hadn’t been there for her for all of those years. She felt embarrassed to even think that way, and the truth was that her father had actually been there for her, in spite of the distance and the difference between their worlds.

 

“Did you ever meet my mom, Zachariah?” Natasha asked before she even knew what she was saying. Zachariah nodded.

 

“She was some kind of woman, I’ll admit it,” he said, as he threw a crumpled wad of newspaper in the fire. “Never let your dad get away with anything, especially after you were born.”

 

Natasha’s eyes widen. “Did I know you when I was a baby?”

 

Zachariah shook his head. “No, your momma never let you around the likes of us, and she changed a bit once you came around. Not to say you made anything happen. She looked like she was headed in that direction for a couple of years leading up to it. If anything, you gave her the strength to get out.”

 

“You make it sound like she was trapped or something.”

 

“No, no, nothing like that. It just wasn’t her way. When she was young and happy, she was okay with it—because for the most part, a man’s old lady usually sits on the bike and looks nice. She loved doing that, but when things started to go deeper, she didn’t want any of it.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I just mean that the deeper parts of being the old lady to the boss weren’t really her style. Not all women are cut out for it. Not all men either.”

 

It was then that she realized that Griffin was staring at her from across the fire, his eyes unreadable but intense all the same. It gave her a chill to see him look at her like that, and she could pretty much guess what he was thinking then and there. Her mother hadn’t been the kind of person who could hold her own when shit hit the fan with the Disciples, but Natasha was. She hated to admit it, but she could handle it just fine. There was a certain triumph in Griffin’s gaze, a certain “I told you so” that she could read perfectly. The only thing she could do was stare back at him, unafraid.

 

“We should figure out a plan,” Natasha said, wanting to change the subject for the time being. “Griffin’s gotten better and we need to finish this, don’t we?”

 

“We sure as hell do,” Griffin replied. “But what should we do?”

 

“Well, it’s good that they think you’re dead, or thought that you were. I don’t think that Damon is so arrogant that he won’t go back and check.”

 

“So he might be out there looking for me.”

 

Zachariah shrugged. “Yeah, or he has bigger fish to fry at the moment. You know…trying to get all the charters on his side.”

 

“Yeah, but that won’t be an issue. He can just say that the Los Diablos took everyone out,” Natasha chimed in. It was Griffin’s turn to shake his head.

 

“I don’t think so,” he said. “Before he shot me, he told me that he was going to combine the two gangs under his leadership.”

 

Natasha rolled her eyes. “You really think so? I don’t. I bet he just said that in order to keep the Los Diablos on his side for the raid, and now he has the perfect scapegoat. Sure, the Los Diablos might protest, maybe even say that he had a hand in it, but who is going to believe a bunch of guys who have been openly declaring war on the Disciples lately? Worst case scenario is that the thought is rejected outright; best case scenario is that the idea that they would even try to mess with their leader will piss off the right guys, and then you have a united front.”

 

Griffin and Zachariah looked at Natasha with looks that were so surprised she wondered if she should be offended. What did they think? That every woman is some sort of dumb arm candy? She knew that Griffin knew better than to believe that, and instead, she just smiled sweetly at them.

 

“She’s right, you know,” Zachariah said finally.

 

“I know she is,” Griffin replied.

 

“Damon would be a damn hero to the guys who didn’t see it with their own eyes.”

 

“That’s because most of the guys who did are dead.”

 

“Exactly!” Natasha exclaimed. “But you lived and so did Julian, and if the two of you go and tell what happened, I bet you’ll be easier to believe than the Los Diablos, if that’s the angle he’s going to work, and if he’s not, they’ll still hear about how he’s a treacherous asshole, so why would they follow him?”

 

“Yeah, but then who would they follow?”

 

The looks on Zachariah and Natasha’s face told Griffin all he needed to know about who they thought the Disciples should follow next. Griffin wasn’t sure how he felt about that… it wasn’t as though he didn’t ever think about running the Lost Disciples someday. Yet, “someday” was the key word. He figured that the Disciples would be run by someone at least in their forties, and Griffin had quite a few years before that sort of thing happened.

 

Yet, things were completely shaken up at this point. Most of the inner circle, the guys who would be able to take over, were in Damon’ pocket. Even if Damon didn’t survive what was to come—and Griffin desperately did not want Damon to survive—wouldn’t another one just like him rise to take his place?

 

“What about you?” Griffin asked Zachariah. The older medic just laughed.

 

“Shit, I have my position here. I know what I’m about. I fix people; I support. I’m not going to take center stage when I’m happy to be in the wings, helping people out.”

 

It wasn’t as though Griffin didn’t know what his answer was going to be. Zachariah had been a pretty steadfast edition to the Lost Disciples for many years, but even Griffin knew that he wasn’t exactly leadership material.

 

The weight of this on Griffin felt almost crushing, and yet, deep inside somewhere, he knew it was right. If Damon won, everything would go straight to hell, and more people would probably die. He finished the last of his beer and accepted a new bottle from Natasha, staring into the fire in front of them as he thought of what to do next.

 

“So we tell people, huh?”

 

“Yeah,” Natasha replied. “I think that’s the best way to go about it, and soon, too, before Damon settles down too much.”

 

It made a certain amount of sense.

 

“That won’t end in a discussion, I’ll tell you that much,” Griffin replied, looking over at Zachariah as he said it. “Damon is going to fight, probably even harder now that he knows that he didn’t kill me the first time.”

 

“Sounds like Damon should be scared,” Zachariah replied. “Especially if we get the other charters to back us up.”

 

Natasha stared into the fire, lost in her own thoughts. It was the best plan, she knew that. They would have to visit the other charters, the ones spread across West Texas, and try to get them on Griffin’s side. She didn’t know anything about the other charters; she didn’t know what they had to do with the charter that operated in Brazos. Yet, what little she did know, it made it sound as though this was probably going to be one of the most important coups to ever happen to them.

 

She knew that if the Disciples were a snake, Brazos was the head. While the other charters operated pretty much on their own, any big decisions they made went to the president of the Lost Disciples, given the fact that they were founded first. The other charters had their own presidents, but every president was beholden to the one that currently ran in Brazos, and that person at the moment was the asshole Damon Stokes. The same man who wanted her dead. She knew it was a long shot, but maybe they could get enough guys to actually stand up and do something. The thought of it excited her in a way that she didn’t expect. She could imagine going from charter to charter, acting as a diplomat, helping Griffin as he did this.

 

“Clear me for active duty, sir?” Griffin asked Zachariah, grinning a grin that still held a little pain but not enough pain to slow him down. Zachariah gave a deep chuckle.

 

“Griffin, I know that I couldn’t stop you if I tried, so I’m not going to stop you. Yeah, you still have that wound, but just keep it clean and it shouldn’t give you much trouble. You were a lucky man with that bullet.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Just don’t get shot again.”

 

“I’m not planning on it,” Griffin replied.

 

Natasha smiled at him. “You better not,” she said.

 

“And what about you?” Griffin replied, those blue eyes darting up to look into hers. It was as though they were staring into the very heart of her, desperately trying to figure out where she was finally landing. Natasha’s stomach turned. She knew that it was coming up on that time, so she put her empty beer bottle down and stood up.

 

“I need to take a walk,” she said.

 

“Alright, just watch out for coyotes around these parts, and don’t go too far.”

 

Griffin moved to stand, but she shook her head slightly, trying to convey without saying it aloud that she needed to do this on her own. He took the hint and relaxed in his chair, understanding what she had to do.

 

With the gun tucked down the front of her jeans, Natasha walked out of the comforting glow of the fire and into the darkness.

 

The darkness would help her think.