Back in Austin, Joe had taught Devin how to stand to look intimidating. His size was an advantage, Joe had told him, use it. Devin squared his shoulders and widened his stance and wished he’d brought his rifle.
Beside him, Joe sucked in a breath. “Aria,” he whispered. “That’s her next to Sanders.”
“Liliana’s sister? The one who hurt Navarro?” Devin had told Joe everything Sadie had said the other day in his bedroom. He squinted and tried to bring the woman into sharper focus.
She wore vision shields, and her hair was either pulled back or cut short. Unlike the others, she carried her rifle at the ready and wasn’t playing around. She removed her vision shields and focused on a spot near Devin. A frown marred her lips.
“José and the white man,” Sanders said. He reached out a hand to Joe, then let it drop when Joe didn’t reciprocate.
“My name isn’t José.” Joe’s clipped voice sounded loud in the quiet that had descended after he’d refused Sanders’s handshake. He jerked his thumb toward Devin. “He’s Devin.”
Sanders smiled and nodded. “Aria, you know these boys?”
Aria’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes flitted to Devin before returning to Joe. “I’ve seen them. Worked with my sister.”
Someone wolf-whistled. Laughter broke out again and grew in intensity.
Sanders stepped closer and smirked. “My, my, why doesn’t that surprise me, José?” He gestured to Joe’s face and hair. “You’re so...plastic.”
“Fuck off,” Devin snapped. He’d been in Purcell long enough to know what plastic meant.
“You’re a surprise, though, white man. I bet plenty of bastards got a kick out of bringing a big man like you to your knees. Did they make you beg for it? Gag for it?”
Devin opened and closed his mouth. He tried never to think about the things he’d done, the things he’d been forced to do, but now they rose to his consciousness, suffocating him just like they had when he’d lived them. He swallowed hard and forced air into his lungs. He couldn’t give this prick the satisfaction.
“Leave him alone.” Joe stepped between Devin and Sanders.
Every rifle trained to his movement.
Sanders laughed, but a nervous edge had crept in. “What’re you gonna do, plastic boy? I ain’t afraid of you.”
“Are you a good man, Sanders? You take care of the town, right?”
Sanders grinned, slick lips over those ratty teeth. “We’re doing God’s work, taking care of our people, fighting the good fight.”
“Amen, brother,” someone shouted from the back of the pack. Other Sons nodded and grunted their agreement. Whatever bullshit line Sanders fed them about what they did, they clearly believed it.
“That’s good. Good to hear.” Joe cocked his head and huffed out a heavy breath. “When we traveled from Texas, we came across a man and woman in a house. They’d been killed. Looked like it’d been a surprise attack. Bastards who did it weren’t even starving; the dead people had a whole garden and all the vegetables had been left to rot. Makes a man wonder who would do something like that. Not a person like you, obviously.”
Cadia stepped forward. “And just what sort of man are you, Mr. Fancy?”
In another situation, with no guns trained on him, Devin would have snorted. Navarro had told them all about Cadia’s weird fixation on Joe’s appearance, how she’d seemed appalled and fascinated at the same time by his existence.
“I’m just a guy trying to survive to the next day, take care of my family.” Joe jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward Devin. “Him, too. Whoring out your body might be degrading, but there are worse things a man can do.”
Sanders’s eyes never strayed from Joe, and his lip curled in a sneer. The people behind him, though, they weren’t looking at anyone. They shuffled on their feet. Only a few rifles, including Cadia’s and Aria’s, stayed fixed on Joe.
Aria yawned.
Sanders threw his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “You tired, baby?”
Aria whispered in Sanders’s ear as her hand trailed from his chest to his waist. Sanders kissed her temple.
“We’ll be seeing you around, boys.” Sanders circled his finger in the air, and the rest of the Sons followed him toward town.
The Sons stayed quiet; whatever had made them laugh and shout before had died on the night air. A few looked back, steps slow, shoulders hunched, until they were too far away for Devin to tell what they were doing, and then the darkness swallowed them up.
Devin tugged Joe back against his chest and held him. The comforting nighttime sounds had faded away, too, and all Devin was left with was the sound of his own ragged breathing banging his chest against Joe’s back. That could have been so bad. So much for staying out of the Sons’ way. Joe shouldn’t have done that, challenged some asshole being an asshole. Devin’s breath rattled, and his hands shook on Joe’s waist.
“I don’t know if Victor was brave or stupid, what he did for me,” Joe whispered, his voice rough, “and I don’t ever want to be in a position like that again, but if I were in his shoes and it was you in mine...”
Joe turned, and tears shone in his eyes.
Devin kissed Joe’s cheek and thought about Victor. Victor’s smug-ass smirk. His blood on the floor. The way Joe was alive and Victor wasn’t. Devin traced the V on Joe’s elbow. The scar was already fading to white. It hadn’t taken long at all.
Joe laid his forehead on Devin’s chest. He breathed deep and slow, and Devin didn’t know what to say. He’d loved Tanner and had to watch him die. Nothing in his life had hurt worse. Joe had hated Victor. But Victor had sacrificed everything for Joe, in the end. Devin couldn’t fathom the ways that had to mess with Joe’s head.
Joe pulled away. Took a step. Another. Walked across the border of New America.
With his back to Devin, he
