Chapter Nine
Sadie
I’m so doing something stupid. Idiotic. Suicidally foolish.
James said they need more information. They need a spy among the Fivers. And rather than waiting for them to sniff around on the off chance they find someone willing to risk everything to help a motorcycle club they’re not even a part of, I can do something now.
Amber had more information than I shared with James. Not a lot but enough to put together a feasible plan.
Bowie showed up at every single meeting with a pastry from a little Mexican bakery in South Tucson. She also heard Gray mention that he needed to go pick up an empanada for “the boss” on his way home because he wasn’t going to be able to make it for his daily pick-me-up.
Which is why I’m sitting outside the little bakery, watching the door to see if Bowie walks inside. I’ve seen a picture of him but none of the other Fivers, so if someone else goes to pick up his pastries or he skips today, I’m shit out of luck.
And I am. Shit out of luck. I sit there for three hours and see no one I recognize. The next day, I take a long lunch break at the bakery. This time, I go inside and actually order a few tamales. They’re surprisingly good. But no Bowie.
No one on Tuesday or Wednesday, either.
Thursday is when I hit the jackpot. I’m sitting in my car, nearly dozing off, when a fancy-looking SUV pulls up and a tall guy steps out. His hair is black and curly, and though I can’t quite see it from here, I know he has a large burn scar on his neck.
I scramble out of my car, my stomach rumbling at the thought of more tamales.
As I walk inside, I keep my eyes on my phone, hoping to appear aloof.
Through my periphery, I note there are three other customers inside.
One is an older woman speaking rapid Spanish into her phone.
The second is a teenager with long, blonde hair.
The last is Bowie. He’s laughing, talking to one of the workers behind the counter.
“Papito is still insisting he’s vegan,” the woman says. Bowie responds, but I’m too busy psyching myself up to listen. Creating a meet-cute is harder than I would’ve thought. I don’t know how girls do it in TV shows.
Amber told me that Bowie seemed to hate her.
There are several possible reasons why, the most likely being her ties to the Saints or her personality, which was probably colored by her addiction and fear.
The more I thought about my conversation with Amber and everything I know about Bowie’s interactions with June and the Saints, I’ve made the assumption that he likes strong, confident, decisive women.
So, I channel my inner Elle Woods and wait for my moment.
The woman behind the counter leaves and Bowie glances around, his attention lingering on me.
Clearly, he appreciates the effort I put into my appearance.
I’m wearing tight black jeans, a black crop top, a plaid jacket, and a suede hat.
My stomach is on display, showing off my belly button hoop piercing, and my makeup is perfect.
As much as my inner feminist rebels at the idea, I look hot as fuck, and it’s all for this man in front of me.
Giving him an inviting smile, I say, “The tamales and empanadas here are the best in the city. You should try them if you haven’t.”
His lips tilt up. “Oh?” I can tell he’s intrigued, pretending not to know about his favorite bakery. “What else here is good?”
“It’s all great,” I say. “But I’m partial to the chamucos.”
His smile grows. “I’ll have to try those. Thank you, bella.” He turns around and orders two empanadas then, glancing back at me, adds, “And two chamucos, por favor.”
A little firework of excitement and triumph explodes in my stomach with the realization that he’s taken the bait. After he pays, Bowie steps to the side but doesn’t walk away.
“Two tamales, please,” I say. While waiting for my food, I step back, closer to Bowie.
“What’s your name, bella?”
“Rosalie,” I say, giving him my middle name, just in case he figures out who June is and makes the connection to me, her best friend.
“Rosalie.” He holds out his free hand, which I dutifully take. “Bowie. Care for a chamuco?”
I smile. “I’d love one.”
~
It takes close to no effort to get Bowie to ask for my number.
Part of me expects him to wait the traditional three days before texting, but he doesn’t even wait three hours.
I’m working in the back room of my shop when my phone buzzes.
I pull the gloves off and wash my hands before retrieving it from my back pocket.
UNKNOWN
Hello, bella. I hope you’re having a beautiful day.
I smirk, typing out a reply, then re-read it several times, despite how simple the text is. Finally, I send it, chewing on the inside of my cheek.
ME
Bowie, I presume? My day would be even better with another chamuco.
Thus begins a text flirtation that I carefully cultivate so I look interested and available but not too desperate.
Bowie often takes hours to respond, and he’s far more interested in telling me how sexy I am than asking me any personal questions.
By the next night, I have secured a date with the leader of the most ruthless gang in Tucson on Wednesday.
For several minutes after agreeing to the date, anxiety squirms in my stomach. Not my Indiana Jones boulder. Something less oppressive and more distracting. Like someone let a tiny feral cat loose inside my intestines. I’m simultaneously terrified that the date will fail and that it’ll go well.
If Bowie decides he’s not into me, this will all be pointless.
If he gets a whiff of who I am, who my friends are, I’m dead. The more I date him, the more likely he is to learn the truth.
And he’s the type of guy who expects women to put out on the first date.
I’m no stranger to sex, and I’ll fuck him if I have to, but I decided a long time ago that I’d only ever have sex on my terms when I want to for my pleasure.
Never out of fear or insecurity or a pathetic attempt at keeping a man from leaving me.
I’m worth more than that. I deserve someone who wants me whether I give him my body or not. And when I do give it to him, I deserve to actually feel good.
But this is my way in. I’ve been called a slut plenty of times. What’s one more dick?
The anxiety about my plan with Bowie doesn’t lessen overnight.
As much as I want to suck it up and attempt dating him in secret, I have a partner in this.
Plus, I know the South Five are dangerous.
It’d be prudent to be as prepared as possible.
So, I text James, requesting to talk. After a long morning shower and a stop at my shop to check on the plants, I head to his house.
Luna opens the door when I arrive, sipping a Red Bull and giving me a wink.
“I don’t know what it is, but they just taste better here,” she says, shaking the can in my direction.
“It’s because they’re free.”
“Could be. Want one?”
“No thanks. Where’s James?”
She frowns, jumping onto the kitchen counter. “In his room. Killer and Theo are at the bike shop, but they should be here soon.”
I stop at the front of the hallway that heads to James’s room and shout, “I’m here, Weasley!”
“What’s this about?” Luna asks.
I hesitate, which gives James time to arrive and say, “I’d like to know the same thing.”
My little feral cat of uncertainty starts clawing at my stomach lining. When this idea was in my head, I could focus on the positives. But as soon as it’s out in the open, James will undoubtedly give voice to all the negatives.
A memory of June’s beaten face flashes into my mind, and I straighten my spine, mentally filling my bones with confidence, no matter if it's false or real.
“You need more information about the South Five,” I say, feeling Luna’s eyes on me. I pace, heading toward the living room. “A way to see inside their gang.”
James’s jaw clicks. “I told you, I’m working on it.”
“So am I.”
“What does that mean?” His voice lowers to a decibel that screams danger.
“Look, I’m not a Saint, but I care about you guys. Obviously, June the most, but I like all… well, most of you. And most of you like me.”
“Where are you going with this?”
Steeling myself, I spin to face them. I’m standing in the center of the sunken living room now, and both James and Luna have followed me to the space. “I have a plan.”
“Sadie.”
“Hear me out. This is a good plan. Or, at least, the only plan we have.” The more I talk, the more the confidence starts to feel real.
This was my idea, and I’ve made it this far. They need this. They need me. And I’ll be exactly who they need.
I can do this. But only if I’m all in.
“I’m going to be your eyes inside the South Five.”