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I slammed my car door, feeling more determined than the last time I’d parked in the same spot at the Laundromat. There was fuel in my blood, urging me to carry out my mission. It was strange how much more energy I had compared to earlier. I knew exactly what —or who— was causing it; I just didn’t want to think about it.
Lisbeth was at the counter. Her face lit up when she saw me walk in. Good. At least she was in a better mood, now. That was going to make things easier for me.
“How’s business?” I asked, resigning to act like our last conversation had never happened.
“It’s poppin’. I barely have time to sit down,” Lisbeth said. She gestured to the empty room.
I indulged myself in a small laugh as I began unloading my damp clothes. Lisbeth walked over to help me pass them into the dryer across the aisle.
“You got a new tattoo,” I said lightly.
“Oh. This one? Um, yeah, I guess this one’s pretty new.”
“Does it mean something?”
Lisbeth turned her face away from me as she started the dryer. The machine whirred to life, drowning out her mumbled words.
“What was that?” I half-yelled.
“It’s just something I got with some friends.”
I eyed her carefully. The sweat beading on her forehead seemed suspect. She yanked at her shirtsleeve, as if she could drag it all the way down her arm to hide her tattoo. Her eyes kept flashing back to the door. They were wide, dark pools of fear. Suddenly, I didn’t care about the favor Logan asked of me. All I knew was that something was scaring Lisbeth, and it was related to that tattoo.
“Lizzie,” I said, taking her hand. “Remember when your sisters had to get jobs after your mom left you guys? Remember how I always took care of you so you wouldn’t be alone?”
Lisbeth stared at her tattered sneakers. She nodded.
I squeezed her fingers. “You were like a sister to me, too. I’ll always take care of you, even now. You’re not alone, okay?”
I watched as she bit her lip. Her eyes were still cast downward, her black eyelashes contrasted starkly against her pale cheeks, but I thought I could see the glint of a tear.
“I get the feeling there’s a little more to that tattoo than what you’re letting on.”
Suddenly, Lisbeth jerked her hand out of my grasp. She took a step backward, regarding me with her shimmering eyes. “Carmen. You can’t tell anyone. Promise.”
I felt my mouth turn downward. Technically, I’d made a promise to Logan first. But Lisbeth was right in front of me, right now, and she needed somebody to talk to. Hell would’ve frozen over before she could ever be convinced to tell Liam. Somebody had to know, though. I could tell. Whatever had Lisbeth that scared was too big of a secret for a young girl to handle on her own.
It was a promise I couldn’t keep, but at that moment, I had to do what was best for her.
“Okay,” I said, nodding quickly. “I promise.”
* * *
Logan was still in my bed when I got home.
“Put a shirt on,” I said. I spotted the black lump of his shirt on the ground and kicked it into my hand.
After I tossed it to him, Logan pulled it on over his head without hesitation. He raised his eyebrows, speaking in a carefully measured tone. “So? How’d it go?”
I sank onto the bed next to him. My purse landed with a heavy thud between my feet. I’d been shaking on my entire drive over, the sound of Lisbeth’s voice lingering hauntingly in my ears.
“I don’t know if I should tell you,” I said.
The sheets rustled as Logan scrambled to my side. His warm, dry hand pressed into my arm. “Tell me.”
“She made me promise not to tell anyone,” I said, hearing the fear in my own voice, “and honestly, I’m not sure if you can help her, anyway.”
“Don’t you want to know what I was doing outside of her work?”
I shook my head. “Not worth it anymore.”
“Carmen.” The playful edge of his tone was gone. He turned my face toward his. “What if I told you I could help?”
“I highly doubt that.”
Logan blinked a few times. “Okay, fine. How about we take baby steps? Tell me why you think I won’t be able to help Lisbeth. You wouldn’t be spilling the beans if you did that, right?”
“Well...no, I guess not.”
Logan leaned back, gazing at me patiently.
I didn’t know where to begin. “There’s a bad guy.”
“Okay? And?”
“He’s really bad. Really powerful. Lisbeth got mixed up with him somehow, and she doesn’t want anybody, her brother, the MC, anybody else to get mixed up with him, too.”
“He’s that scary, huh?” Logan said.
I resisted the urge to punch him. “I’m serious! It’s safer if nobody knows.”
“And who decided that? Lisbeth? The girl who’s famous for making the best decisions in town?”
I shoved him off of the bed.
“Shit!” he yelped as he hit the floor.
I stood up, towering over him. If I wanted to, I could’ve kicked him in the spine. “Yes, Lisbeth is the one who decided that, and I agree with her. Sorry, but there’s some things outside of Canyon City and your little biker world that you wouldn’t be able to understand.”
Logan pushed himself up and clambered onto his feet. “Like the gang, right? Because this bad guy, he’s probably the head honcho of some gang?”
I pressed my lips together. He could interpret my silence however he wanted.
“And the tattoo. The compass is probably the gang’s symbol. The rose is for whatever Lisbeth’s role was in the gang.”
I felt my eyes grow wide.
“Let’s say the rose is a symbol for prostitution. Hypothetically, her pimp must’ve been a member of this compass gang.”
“How did you—”
“So is that why I can’t help her, Carmen? Because I’m just a simple biker living the small town life, and she’s running away from a big bad gang?”
I wanted to say yes. “Logan.” I shook my head. “I just want everybody to be safe. So does Lisbeth.”
Logan raised his chin. “So, if I can’t help her, if her brother or the MC can’t help her, then who can?”
I threw my head back, exasperated. “I don’t know! The FBI, maybe? Oh, but wait. Do you have the Federal Bureau of Investigation on speed dial?” I said sarcastically.
Logan’s expression didn’t waver. “Carmen,” he said, creeping forward. He took my hands and brought them up to his chest. “I do, actually.”
“What?”
“This isn’t the real me. I’m not just some small town biker. I was born in Brooklyn and I played football in high school.”
“So?” My lips pursed. “What does that have anything to do with Lisbeth?”
There were flames of excitement burning in Logan’s eyes, but he spoke in a low hiss, as if he feared us being overheard. “I’m an undercover field agent, Carmen. I was recruited about five years ago.”
The words froze in my ears. It was like listening to a foreign language. “What?” I whispered.
Logan began speaking faster, recounting his awkward first months trying to learn how to ride a motorcycle, schlepping around as the Skull Kings’ newest prospect, and various run-ins with the rival Scorpions, but his words merely buzzed around my mind. His story was like a web, one thread crossing over another and impossible to follow. The only thing that really stuck was the very first thing he’d said:
This isn’t the real me.
My hands fell away from his chest, and I backed away.
“Carmen?” Logan stepped forward, concerned. “What’s wrong?”
There was a chill inside of my ribs. I felt hollow, empty. I continued backing away from him, ignoring the sting of hurt that radiated from the pit of my stomach. I swallowed it down, forced it back, and imagined that I wasn’t human, that my face was an emotionless rock.
“I have to go pick up my son,” I said. I bent to retrieve my purse. “You should probably go.”