I turned over the car, flicking on the heat and the seat warmers, watching as she brought up the directions, placing her phone in the cradle attached to one of the vents.
And as I looked over at it, catching a glance at her while I did so, I was pretty sure that I was finally starting not to regret being stolen from.
Despite the cut on my arm that was both burning and itching, like it was somehow infected but healing at the same time.
Despite losing the respect of Reign.
Despite the never-ending shit I would likely get from all my brothers from here until eternity.
Despite this wild goose chase that might not end up solving anything.
I was not regretting it.
Because I likely never would have come in contact with them.
With her.
And that would have been a damn shame.SIXLiviannaRoad trips were one of two things in my experience.
They were long, tedious, exhausting endeavors. Or they were fun, junk-food and karaoke-packed adventures.
With Cam and Astrid, they were the latter. Sure, Cam didn't sing, but when we would put on something that he deemed good enough - meaning no pop or stadium country or singer-songwriter - he would tap his fingers on the wheel along to the beat while Astrid and I belted it out. We ate things that only came from drive-thru windows. We slept all in one room like a bunch of teenagers. We made a good time out of a bad situation.
A road trip with Roderick, this man I barely knew, yeah, unfortunately, it was the former.
Mind-numbingly boring.
By the hour mark, after shifting in my seat about two-thousand times, I decided it would be mildly less tortuous if I knew the man a little better.
"So, when did you join up with The Henchmen MC?" I asked, half turning in my seat to watch him as he drove.
"Couple years back. Just so happened to hear they were having a party, looking for new members. Went in to be surrounded by lifer bikers and cage fighters and various other badasses. Never thought there was a chance in hell they'd take me. But they did."
"Not from a badass enough background?" I asked.
"I was no saint. I did some shit. But I knew nothing about being a biker. I'd never even seen a biker TV show, to be perfectly honest. It was a shock when I was told I could go speak with the prez. And then he told me I could prospect."
"From what I hear, Reign is particularly choosy about his crew."
"I think after shit went down and he lost his men, he decided to build it up with exactly the type of men he wanted on the crew."
"You mean no more scraggily-bearded, racist, misogynistic old men who think the purpose of life is to do as many devil's triangles as humanly possible?"
"Now that is a great visual," Roderick grumbled, nose scrunched up.
"Is he progressive enough to have any chicks on the team?"
"He let Maze prospect years back."
"But didn't let her join in the end," I guessed.
"Something like that. It was before my time, so I can't say for sure how it all went down. How long have you been an arms dealer?"
"About seven years."
"Is that how you met Camden?"
"Yeah. I met him on my third big gig. This was from then," I told him as we pulled up to a red light, reaching up to drag down the neck of my sweater to reveal an ugly, puckered scar.
"He shot you?" Roderick exploded, angry for that young, naive me that no longer really existed.
My smile went a little warm at that. "No. His friend did. He picked me up off the ground, got me out of the fire fight, brought me back to his place. I was losing blood so fast I was barely conscious by the time he got my shirt off, doused me in whiskey - along with his fingers - and then dug inside my body to fish the damn thing out."
"Shit," Roderick grumbled, shifting in his seat.
"I screamed so loud my throat bled," I admitted, not caring that it didn't make me sound like some badass. Even years later, just thinking about his fingers digging inside my body, pulling something out, then stitching me back together as best he could made a shudder rack through me. "I've had a lot of close calls in my day, but I don't think anything has ever hurt quite like Camden's ministrations."
"Did you realize right away that he didn't speak?"
"Within about a few hours of demanding he tell me basic things. Like where we were. What his name was."
"How do you know his name?"
"I don't," I admitted, shaking my head. It was probably the thing that irked me most in my life - not knowing the actual name of the man who meant so much to me. "I call him Camden because that was where we met. In the streets of Camden."