“What do you mean you are probably not coming back this semester?” Shelly’s voice was hundreds of miles away and yet Natasha could still hear the judgement. She sighed deeply at her friend’s dismay, wishing she could tell her everything that was going on but knowing that she could not.

 

“Something’s just come up,” Natasha decided to say instead. “Something with my father’s estate.”

 

“Finals are in two weeks,” Shelly said in horror. “You are going to miss finals!?”

 

“My father died,” Natasha replied defensively. “I think I am allowed to take a little time to myself.”

 

“You barely even mentioned your father!” She could hear Shelly pacing in the two-bedroom, off-campus apartment they shared. She was probably in her silly University of Texas sweatshirt and sweatpants, already getting ready to study and graduate.

 

All of that seemed so distant to Natasha now, but thinking about it on a deeper level, she realized that most of her life she had really just been playing the part she thought that others expected her to play. Her mother had been terrified from the moment Natasha had become a teenager that she might run off and join the motorcycle club in order to be more like her daddy, or worse, her mother feared that she would fall in love with some biker outlaw and run off by herself. Natasha had thought that it was ridiculous at the time. She could still remember the haggard look on that woman’s face the day Natasha stood in her father’s kitchen after running away to see him. She never wanted to look that broken.

 

Of course everything had gone and complicated itself when Griffin had walked into her life, could she admit that to Shelly?

 

“Well,” she whispered into the phone, “I also kind of met someone.”

 

There was a long pause on the other end as Shelly digested the information. It was clear that she was incredibly shocked, and Natasha felt compelled to continue to say something, anything, in the hope of getting Shelly to respond. Instead, she sat there, listening to the stunned silence on the other line, and held her breath.

 

“Wow, you work fast,” Shelly said finally.

 

It was not as though Shelly had not seen Natasha with a man before. She had had a rather annoying and yet completely well-meaning boyfriend during their junior year, until Natasha had broken up with him because she simply could not see them together after graduation, so she didn’t see the need to keep going. He had been upset, of course, but since their connection had never really been that tight in the first place, they had managed to move on with very little heartbreak. Maybe Shelly could hear the difference between that old boyfriend and her new lover just by the tremor in Natasha’s voice. She did not know. All she knew was that she could not stop herself from smiling as she mentioned Griffin’s name. It was definitely a big problem, given the fact that he was out somewhere right at that moment getting revenge for Natasha’s father’s murder.

 

“I mean, it just happened.”

 

“What is he, a local boy?”

 

Natasha mouthed the word “local boy” with an internal eye roll. “He’s from my hometown, yes, but I did not know him when I lived here.”

 

“Oooh, so what’s his name?”

 

Even though Natasha had brought it up herself, she did not really want to talk about Griffin anymore, suddenly feeling possessive about her strange and exciting new thing.

 

“Griffin.”

 

“Griffin?”

 

“Yes, Griffin.”

 

“That’s not even a name; that’s an animal. What’s his last name?”

 

Natasha’s mouth went dry. “Um.”

 

“Oh my god, you don’t know it?”

 

Natasha laughed a little bit, “No, I never got around to asking.”

 

“Oh my God, Natasha!”

 

When faced with her college roommate’s horror, the situation did seem to come into terrible focus just then. Then again, it was not as though she was telling Shelly the entire truth, and she knew that she could not, just in case Shelly called the police and ruined everything. Instead, Natasha put on a girlish giggle at the scandal of her love affair in order to hide the rather unsettling truth.

 

“I know, but he’s so hot.”

 

“Girl, I need details.”

 

So Natasha gave them, obviously doctored of course, but she found that she liked having the opportunity to gab about a boy that she was sort of seeing, even if she had to leave out the fact that he saved her life the first day that they had met, that he was an incredibly dangerous outlaw biker currently out on a mission to avenge her own father’s death, and also that little bit of knowledge that he desperately wanted her to join the club and therefore declare herself his permanent property. Those things she kept to herself, mostly because they seemed so hard to believe.

 

Shelly listened happily, oohing and ahhing at all the right points, but Natasha knew that she could not stay on the phone forever. She liked the distraction; she liked the lie. However, she heard Shelly yawn theatrically and explain that she had to get back to studying. Almost tearfully, Natasha said her good-byes.

 

“Promise me that you’ll come back to school soon?” Shelly asked as they were about to hang out.

 

“I’ll try my best, but I can’t promise anything,” Natasha replied, and she meant it.

 

Now alone, she tried to watch TV, but nothing really seemed to catch her attention for long. She could feel the fear in her chest and was surprised at how insistent it was. She could not help but think about all the ways things could go wrong; it plagued her. She thought briefly about ordering food, but the idea of drawing attention to herself made her change her mind. Instead, she paced back and forth throughout her tiny motel room, trying to ignore the gun that sat on her nightstand. She could not stop thinking about Griffin.

 

She could picture him busting in through the door of the Los Diablos’ clubhouse, guns blazing and looking so very strong. She could not help but picture something going wrong, him tripping or taking a bullet to the knee. She could imagine so very clearly in her head him falling to the ground, a man coming up behind him to press a gun to his head.

 

She could not bring herself to imagine the rest of that scenario.

 

What if the cops somehow showed up? What if they were tipped off somehow, and the Disciples were caught in the middle of the raid? What if Griffin ended up in prison for a long time, but the Los Diablos still went free? They would be apart, and yet, Natasha would most likely still be in danger. She could picture Griffin’s face lit with red and blue lights. It terrified her almost worse than his death did.

 

After that, her mind became a carnival of horrors, picturing one horrible scenario after the other. What if they captured him and tortured him for some sort of information, or just for the hell of it? What if he was shot, survived, but was paralyzed for the rest of his life? Could Griffin handle that sort of thing? It was terrible to think about, but Natasha was not so sure. She kept pacing, the scenarios kept coming, and soon she was half-tempted to walk out and find this clubhouse on her own, fully ready to save Griffin herself.

 

As brave as she felt, she knew that she could never actually do it. She may have been decent on a motorcycle and knew how to point and shoot a gun, but she was definitely not a professional.

 

It was strange to her how easily she had accepted Griffin’s life as an outlaw. Perhaps her father’s influence ran deeper than she had originally thought, but either way, she leaned into it so readily that it scared her. What happened to her plans to become a social worker? Already she was thinking just like them, part of her felt completely comfortable doing it, the other part of her was terrified by what it all meant.

 

She heard the roar of an engine stop in the parking lot below. Peeking out of the window, she only saw a flash of dark hair, a muscular build. Maybe it was not for her, maybe she should just calm down. However, her heart began to race, as she heard footsteps heading towards her door.

 

“Griffin?” she called, knowing that the walls were thin enough that her voice would carry. It was an idiotic thing to do, because what if the intruder was not Griffin? She just gave her position away. Cursing to herself, she ran to the nightstand and grabbed the gun. It felt heavy and alien in her hands, but holding it at least made her feel a little safer. There was a distinct possibility that it was Griffin, that the job had already been run, or maybe he just did not want to do it after all given how ridiculous the plan was, but dread began to blossom in her heart as the figure stopped at her door. There was the distinct picking sound that made Natasha realize that the lock was being picked, and the fact that it was not Griffin was becoming clearer and clearer.

 

Suddenly, the gun did not feel so alien to her anymore. Suddenly, it felt more like a lifesaver than anything else at that moment. She could feel the fear gum up the back of her throat, and she swallowed loudly against it, trying so hard not to be afraid. Would her father want her to be afraid, her mother? Would Griffin? No. They would all expect her to stand up and take this bastard down, and that’s exactly what she was planning to do.

 

With hands that were only shaking a little bit, she cocked the gun. In reality, it was a small, almost timid sound, but it exploded in her eardrums to the point where she was convinced that he could hear it through the thin walls. He was almost done picking the lock, and she was surprised that he just did not kick the door in, but as she stood there and waited for this man to break into her motel room, her greater instincts finally kicked in. This was ridiculous. What was she going to do to this Los Diablos biker? She knew how to shoot a target, not a man.

 

Thinking as quickly as she could, she ran into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. It was a silly thing to do; it was a girly thing to do, and yet, all she knew was that she wanted as many doors between her and the intruder as possible.

 

Pulling her hair into a ponytail and tying it with an elastic that she found on the sink, she paced back and forth trying to figure out exactly what to do next. Her heart was beating frantically in her chest, but she knew that she had the gun, and as long as she had the gun she could keep herself safe. She did not want to kill, but she could always figure out how, and it was justified knowing that it was self-defense.

 

She would rather not do so, of course. She held her breath, as she heard the door to her motel room swing open.