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In her absence, Ghost and Ronnie regarded one another with contempt on one side, terror on the other. “Right, then,” Maggie said, sliding out her chair. “Some weather we’re having, huh?”
And some real scary motherfucker told me nobody was to ‘touch a hair on your head,’
“Which scary motherfucker?” “That’d be Mercy, ma’am.”
“It wasn’t one of the Dogs, was it?” Vince pressed, stubbornly. He had this sudden worry that his guy was pulling double duty, reporting to the feds as well.
An hour later, she rode out of Knoxville on the back of a bike as Ava Lécuyer.
Thirty-Nine Fourteen Years Ago
“Sometimes, the best thing you can do is wait,” Maggie had advised her once. “Everyone can talk. But waiting’s an art.”
“A girl like you isn’t ever in danger of changing. The influence is the other way; you’re good for him. You make him better. There’s not anyone in the world who could make you less than what you are.”
“Speaking of food,” Ghost said. “How much have you eaten today, Ava?” She lifted her chin in mild defiance. “I had yogurt with berries at the cafeteria this morning.” “Wow. Call Weight Watchers,” he muttered.
“That poor thing,” Hound said, “is going to have to give birth to your giant offspring.”
