CHAPTER 10 – THE MAPPING
801 Words
LAYLA'S POV
I walk into the common room in the morning feeling much different that I did yesterday because of the decisions I made last night. I'm done being the sad girl in the clubhouse. Done absorbing pity looks from people who watched me get denied my own seat and decided that was the end of the story.
It's not the end. It's the beginning, and they just don't know it yet.
I start spending mornings at the bar with Nina. Just sitting and asking questions wrapped in small talk while she wipes down glasses and talks freely – because talking is what Nina does.
"So what's the deal with the new shipment routes?"
"Oh, they've been running smooth. Megan restructured them a few months back." Nina shrugs. "No complaints so far."
A chill runs down my spine.
"And who are all the new faces I keep seeing around?"
"Transfers. Megan's been recruiting from smaller packs up north. Loyal types." Nina leans closer. "Between you and me though, half of them answer to Redbone before they answer to the council."
I file that along with everything else Nina gives me, and she gives me a lot because she likes me and doesn't realize she's being debriefed by the rightful heir to the presidency.
Through Nina, I start mapping the power structure in my head.
Redbone – loyal to Megan, loudly and without apology.
Sawyer – following her out of calculated fear.
Vanessa – aggressively loyal for reasons I haven't figured out yet.
Then the neutrals – the ones who'll follow whoever holds the gavel.
And the ones who might remember what Iron Howl looked like before Megan – Bishop, Pearl, a handful of old-timers who rode with my father in his prime.
I commit none of it to paper. I keep it all in my head, along with the fact that my body thing is getting stronger.
When it happened once in a long while, it was ignorable, but once it started showing up constantly, I decided to start testing it to understand it better.
I asked Brandon if he ate the last of the cereal. He said yes. Nothing. No taste, no chill.
I asked Colt what he thought of Megan running things. He said, "I think she's a snake in a leather jacket" without hesitation, and the sensation stayed completely silent.
"That's very diplomatic of you, Colt."
"I'm a diplomat, Rowan." He grinned. "Wanna find out how diplomatic I can be?"
My stomach did something that had nothing to do with morning sickness and I found my way away from him immediately.
Then I asked Vanessa – one of Megan's closest friends, who always seems to be wherever Rafe is – casually, while we were both getting coffee, whether she and Rafe were close.
She smiled. "We're just friends."
The metallic taste was so strong my eyes watered and I had to turn away and pretend I was coughing.
I don't understand what's happening to me. The pregnancy is probably making my body hypervigilant and I’m reading micro-expressions subconsciously in a way that physically repulses me when it’s negative. That's the only explanation that makes sense. But whatever it is, it's never been wrong. Not once. And I'm starting to trust it more than I trust anything anyone says to me.
The encounters with the triplets have also gotten louder since that night with Rafe.
I notice his wrist flexing when he grips his coffee mug – the same wrist he keeps pulling his sleeve over. I notice Colt's forearms when he leans in doorframes, and the specific lazy grin he gives me when I walk into a room like he's been waiting for exactly that. I notice Eli's hands – the way his pencil moves, and the way he handles everything like they are delicate.
I hate every single observation. But my body doesn't care.
***
Rafe corners me near the back hallway after breakfast. He steps into my path with that particular movement that means he's been watching and waiting for the right moment.
"Whatever you're doing," he says, low and steady, "don't do it alone."
I want to deny everything, but the look in his eyes tells me he knows too much already for me to deny anything.
Don't do it alone.
I stare at him and he holds my gaze for a moment before turning and walking away like he didn't just crack my chest open with those seven words.
I turn back to my coffee. My hands are shaking, and I'm not entirely sure whether it's from the warning or from the two seconds of direct eye contact or from the fact that he saw me – actually saw me – and his response wasn't to stop me.
It was to stand beside me.
- Writer
