Chapter 39 Sloane
Sloane
Frankie's place always smells of sage first.
The real kind. Sharp, green, thick enough to make my sinuses flare and my shoulders drop at once.
It clings to the corners, threaded through disinfectant from her workstations, the metallic ghost of ink that never quite leaves a tattoo shop.
Lamps glow instead of the overheads, leaving corners soft and faces golden.
Frankie has her hair up and sleeves rolled, black nails tapping against a glass bottle of sparkling water.
Maggie moves around the kitchen as though she owns it.
Dish towel over one shoulder, a tray of something sweet cooling on the counter.
Ruby is perched on the edge of a barstool, eyes bright, grin already dangerous.
Candace sits with her posture casual, but her gaze tracks everyone.
Darla rummages through Frankie's snack stash with the concentration of someone defusing a bomb.
I'm at the edge, palms on the counter, letting the warmth of the wood and the steady noise of them keep my mind from doing what it does when things go quiet.
Ruby's grin widens until it looks as though it's a threat. "Ladies. We are getting them back."
Candace folds her arms. "We're not losing."
"We're winning," Ruby agrees, insulted by the implication.
Darla comes up with crackers and gummy candy. She doesn't meet my eyes when she tears the packet open, but her mouth twitches.
"Still," Darla says, chewing with concentration, "it's a principle thing."
"Exactly." Ruby points at her. "It's not about winning. It's about making sure they never, ever feel comfortable again."
Frankie twists the cap off her water and lets it hiss. "I still can't believe they had the audacity."
Candace shakes her head. "They really thought you wouldn't notice."
Frankie's mouth tightens. "They put live, laugh, love signage in my shop."
Maggie stills. "In your tattoo shop."
"In my tattoo shop."
Ruby presses a fist to her mouth, trying not to laugh and failing. Darla makes a noise that could be a cough or pure delight.
"I just want to know what part of me made them think I wouldn't immediately know."
Candace's mouth twitches. "Maybe they were hoping the universe would bless you with a sense of irony."
Frankie's stare could cut glass. "Say that again and I'm piercing your nose while you sleep."
Darla laughs, bright and quick, pops another gummy.
Candace's gaze shifts to Darla's hand. "Okay. What is your deal lately?"
Darla's chewing slows. "My deal?"
"You're eating as though you're training for a competitive sport. And you flinched when Frankie lit a cinnamon stick."
"It was aggressive."
Frankie snorts. "Cinnamon doesn't have intent."
Darla catches herself as every eye narrows. She glances at me, then Frankie. A silent question. My mouth curves. Frankie's expression stays neutral, eyes softening.
"They know," Darla says, nodding at us. "Obviously."
Ruby sits straighter. "Know what?"
Candace's gaze sharpens, tracking the three of us. "Wait."
Darla's hand drifts to her stomach. Protective, claiming. "Sloane confirmed it two weeks ago. And Frankie..." She glances at her best friend. "Frankie knew before I did."
Frankie's mouth twitches. "You ordered coffee and didn't drink it. Dead giveaway."
Understanding blooms across Maggie's face. "Oh."
Ruby's eyes go wide. "OH."
Candace leans forward, her jaw setting. "You're pregnant."
Darla nods, exhaling as though she's been holding it. "Yeah."
There's a beat of silence as the weight of this new information settles. Ruby launches forward, half-gasp, half-laugh, arms opening.
"Oh my God. Darla."
Maggie's hand goes to her mouth, eyes glossy. "Sweet girl."
Candace asks, "How far?"
Darla smiles. "Not far. But far enough that Sloane already yelled at me about lifting heavy boxes."
Frankie's laugh breaks out. "That tracks."
"Congratulations," Candace says, and it lands as a hand on Darla's shoulder would.
Ruby wipes her face. "Does East know you're telling us first?"
Darla's grin turns wicked. "He knows I wanted to tell you. He doesn't know I'm telling everyone else at the shop tomorrow."
I catch Frankie's eye. Her smile is small, private. She already knew this moment was coming, same as me.
Frankie raises her water. "To strategic reveals and emotional ambushes."
"Amen," Darla says, and the laughter is bright, sharp, exactly what we needed. Darla's shoulders drop. "Okay. Now we plan how we ruin our men."
Ruby claps. "Living room. Whiteboard. I need space to plot."
Frankie points her bottle. "You're not writing on my walls again."
"That was one time."
"Three times."
We migrate. Frankie's couch is beat up and loved hard. Ink smudges on one arm, a blanket tossed over the back as though whoever left it there was already laughing on the way out. The throw pillows smell of sage and detergent. Plants everywhere, walls covered in flash sheets and photographs.
Ruby hauls out the whiteboard, wheels squeaking. Same one as before. Corners chipped, marker stains ghosting old sins.
Candace drops into the armchair. Maggie takes the couch, setting brownies on the coffee table. Frankie leans against the wall. Darla curls onto the rug with snacks gathered around her.
I take the couch. The room hums.
Ruby uncaps a marker with her teeth. "Ground rules."
Frankie goes first. "No fire."
"I wasn't going to—"
"That's not reassuring, Ruby."
I tick off the rest. "No permanent damage. No hurting anyone. No getting the club shut down."
Candace's mouth twitches. "Victor would audit you."
"He already did once," Frankie mutters. "Glitter trail."
"No glitter," Candace says firmly.
Ruby's grin turns feral. "We don't need glitter to ruin them."
Darla lifts a gummy bear in a toast. "We need chaos."
Maggie gestures with her brownie. "We need variety."
Ruby writes five names in thick marker. MALACHI EAST KNOX NASH JAMES. She adds in smaller script: KYLE + RIDER?
Frankie makes a noise. "You're going after the kids now?"
Ruby scoffs. "They're not kids. And Rider has been quietly judging us since day one." She turns to the board. "Malachi."
Maggie sits forward. "You can't scare him. You can't embarrass him."
Frankie's smile turns measured. "You can inconvenience him."
"You can invade his control," Candace suggests.
Ruby points at her. "Yes. We don't touch his woman. Or his people. We touch his environment."
Darla's nose wrinkles. "Make the war room… girly."
The word lands, a struck match.
Frankie pushes off the wall. "No glitter."
Candace nods. "We can do it without glitter."
Maggie's grin turns wicked. "We can do it with lace."
Ruby writes under MALACHI: WAR ROOM MAKEOVER—Pastel tablecloths, fake flowers, tea lights, "Boss Babe" mug, vision board supplies.
Frankie makes a choking sound. "A vision board?"
"Psychological warfare," Ruby says reverently.
Candace chimes in. "Execution. It has to happen when they're all called to the war room. Trapped."
Ruby's eyes gleam. "Trapped. In the feminine divine."
Darla laughs. "He's going to look as though he's about to commit murder."
Maggie lifts her brownie in a toast. "With a 'Boss Babe' mug in his hand."
Ruby points at the next name. "East."
Frankie sits forward. "We don't touch his bike. We touch his kingdom." She smiles. "The shop. We give it a rebrand."
Ruby writes under EAST: GRAND REOPENING! EAST'S BIKE BOUTIQUE—Balloons on handlebars, ribbon across door, ceremonial scissors, fake five-star reviews.
"Fake reviews," Candace reads.
Ruby nods. "My favorite: 'Manager was professional, kind, and emotionally available.'"
Darla makes a strangled sound. "He's going to combust."
"Laminate them," Frankie says.
Darla's hand drifts to her stomach, smile wavering then steadying. "He'll hate it," she says warmly, already picturing his face.
Ruby slaps the marker. "Knox."
"We can't mess with his bike," Candace says.
Ruby's grin turns measured. "Wrong. We do exactly that."
"Knox loves his bike," I say.
"Exactly. We don't damage it. We decorate it."
I raise an eyebrow. "Decorate how?"
Ruby lifts her hands. "Full princess."
"Define princess," I say, fighting a smile.
Ruby lists on her fingers. "Tassels on the handlebars. Pink streamers. Rhinestone decals. A tiny basket."
Darla gasps. "A basket."
Frankie makes a pained sound. "A basket on Knox Turner's bike."
Ruby nods solemnly. "A wicker basket."
Candace stares. "He's going to kill you."
"He's going to want to," Ruby corrects.
My mouth twitches. I can already see his face. Jaw tight, eyes sharp, restraint turning dangerous.
Ruby writes under KNOX: BIKE BEDAZZLEMENT—"PRINCESS" plate frame, rhinestone "TURNER" decal, sparkly helmet cover, bell that jingles.
"A bell," Candace says, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"A bell!" Darla bounces.
Maggie taps a finger against her chin. "We leave a note in the basket."
"What should it say?" Ruby asks.
Maggie smiles sweetly. "Ride safe, queen."
Darla wheezes. I laugh again, easier this time.
"Nash." Ruby's mouth curves when she says his name. "We make him a dad," she says, pleased.
Darla jumps in. "Yes! Goat dad."
Ruby's evil smile widens. "A baby shower. For his goat."
Candace's gaze slides to Ruby. "You're flirting."
"I am committing to the bit."
Ruby writes under NASH: GOAT DAD BABY SHOWER—Pastel balloon arch, "IT'S A KID!" banner, gift table (baby bottles, tiny onesies modified for goat), games.
"We do it at the clubhouse so he can't hide," Ruby says. "Wholesome. Ridiculous. Half the room cooing at him as though he's a suburban dad."
"And you," Candace says mildly, "are going to hand him the gift."
Ruby's eyes gleam. "Correct."
I wipe my eyes, and for a second the room feels as though it's the safest place I've been all week.
Ruby caps the marker. "James."
The room shifts. James is safe in a way the others aren't. Steady hands, quiet eyes.
Frankie taps her nails. "We can't be cruel."
Ruby nods. "We're going to be confusing."
"He loves to be the one who knows," Candace says.