Through a Glass, Darkly (Assassins of Youth MC #1) by Layla Wolfe Page A

was a desire for a past forgotten joy.”
    Bronson frowned. “Who’s St. Augustine? Which past joy?”
    “The joy he knew before he was born into this world, when he was in the cradle of a heavenly bliss. Now this is our current longing, a longing to return to that blissful memory. This is why anyone seeks God, or spiritualism—they are trying to return to that euphoric, beatific state where our souls were at one with the wisdom of the ages.”
    Bronson tried to chuckle. “Jeez. I sure wish I’d ever been at one with the wisdom of the ages. Maybe I’d be richer now. I’d certainly be smarter. I’d have a house in Costa Rica, probably. Now, about these guns—”
    “Well, I certainly can’t recall any happy moments in my life, unless you count when I was married before, and I can barely remember that anymore. Mr. Carradine, I want to return to that sense of happiness, and I know I never can while living in Cornucopia. What do you suggest? How do I run away?”
    “Well, I haven’t figured it out that far yet. The wheels of justice move very slowly on our end, being the feds and all. If you turn state’s witness we can set you up with a safe house. In the meantime, don’t tell a soul about our conversation today.”
    “Oh, of course not.” Was I suicidal? That was the only way I could see telling anyone. And I didn’t want a safe house. I didn’t want to be cut off from everyone I’d ever known, loved, or sat next to, unable to even text my own sisters in Provo.
    “We’ll come up with a sort of a sting op, but we’ll warn you beforehand, of course. Get you out of there in time, but quietly, so it doesn’t look suspicious.”
    “And how long will that take?”
    Bronson waved a loose hand. “Oh, these things take months , years, even. We’ve got to get all of our ducks in a row. Marrying a few teenaged girls off to horny old men usually doesn’t light any fires under anyone. We tend to leave that stuff alone, if you know what I mean. It’s so ingrained in polygs, how are we supposed to stop it, with a few arrests? No, it’d be more like the gun thing that would nail him. Do you have any delivery dates, or can you get that information for me?”
    “ Mr. Carradine! ” I tossed my balled-up napkin onto the table and stood so suddenly I nearly knocked my chair over. “I don’t have time like that to waste! My daughter is going to be married off within the month!”
    Bronson didn’t even stand. That’s how I knew he wasn’t my friend. He didn’t care enough to stand, to try and calm me down. To give me reassurance of any kind. He held his hands out in a helpless gesture. “But that’s how things work, my dear. Believe me. I’ve been doing this for twenty years. Not to sound like I work for a callous organization, but guns get people’s attention far more quickly than sexual issues do.”
    I was incensed. I could feel my eyes bulging out of their sockets. Someone was coming in the front door, but I didn’t care. “This is not a sexual issue, sir! It’s an issue of misguided power, of using that power to control people, and that’s an issue I won’t stand for!”
    I flounced out then, imagining I looked all dramatic like in a movie. Those touring club bikers playing pool all stopped to stare at me, and I nearly smashed frontally into the brick wall of a man at the front door. He grabbed me by my shoulders to steady me, although I didn’t want to be steadied.
    “Hey, little lady. What’re you doing out here, outside of your little prison?”
    How did this giant peckerhead know who I was? Well, my dress, probably. That was usually a dead giveaway. I tried to squirm back out of his clutches and noticed his breast pocket patch said “Veep.” He was Vice President of Gideon’s club—Gideon’s superior, no doubt! “Unhand me.” Now I really sounded like I was in a movie.
    He didn’t unhand me, though. His eyebrows furrowed and his tone became more commanding. “You in here talking to