by Nicole James
I press my hands to my heated cheeks. Michaela! Stop it right now! How can I feel this way? What if he was involved in Da’s death, maybe not directly, but maybe if it really was suicide, perhaps he and his club drove him to it. For years and years they were shaking him down. When I think of all the money they took from our family, I want to scream. Oh, what couldn’t we have done with that money?
Oh, how brazen he was, standing there in my da’s office—no, I have to correct myself, my office now—demanding my attention in a way a man has never done before, swooping me in his arms like he had a right to touch me, like I shouldn’t fight it. Then, he has the nerve to laugh and say I’ll never last a month. I’ll show him. I know it goes against all my plans, but God, I’d love to prove him wrong.
Nine
Michaela—
It being Sunday, I’m exhausted and lay around all morning until my cell goes off. I reach for it on the nightstand and see it’s Bethany. “Hey girl.”
“How are you holding up?” she asks.
“It’s so much harder than I thought it would be.”
“Meet me down the street at the diner in an hour for lunch and we can talk.”
I yawn, wondering if I can pull myself together by then. I haven’t even had a shower yet. “An hour?”
“Yes. See you there. Don’t be late.” She disconnects, and I grumble while tossing the phone on the table, “Ugh, fine.”
I throw off the covers and walk over to the window; it’s sunny and supposed to be warm today.
An hour later, I’m showered, my hair is dried, and I’ve thrown on a simple sundress and a pair of sandals. I pop small gold hoops in my ears and slip a delicate gold chain around my neck that holds my initial pendant and birthstone charm.
Then I weave my hair into a single French braid down the back. After a final check in the mirror, I decide to at least add a swipe of mascara and some lipgloss, and I’m ready to go.
Ten minutes later, I’ve walked down the block to the diner. The bell rings as I pull open the door. I spot Bethany in a booth along the window and slide in across from her. The red Formica table already holds water glasses for each of us, and there’s a glass of sweet tea in front of me as well.
Bethany jabs at her glass with her straw, chopping at the crushed ice in her cola. “I got you a tea.”
“Thanks.” I take a sip and then study the plastic-coated menu on the table in front of me. I haven’t eaten here in three years, but the menu still looks the same. “What are you having?”
Bethany picks up hers. “Burger and fries.”
“They still as good as they used to be?” I ask.
“Yup.”
The waitress comes over. “You ladies decide yet?”
“I’ll have the roadhouse burger and steak fries, please. Medium rare,” Bethany answers.
I pass the waitress my menu. “Same. Thanks.”
After she leaves, Bethany leans forward. “So how did last night go? I heard you were pretty busy.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Brian drove past on his way home from work. He gets off at nine, so it was close to ten by the time he came through town. I wish he didn’t have to drive all the way to Stockbridge, but since he took over for Pete’s route, he’s been working weekends over there.”
I nod. Bethany married her high school sweetheart right after graduation. “Well, yes, we were busy. And some jerk had the nerve to pinch me. Can you believe it?”
Her brows rise. “What’d you do?”
“I threatened to take a baseball bat to him if he ever tried it again.”
“Wow.” She looks at me funny, like she knows a secret.
“What?” I ask, playing with my straw.
“Rita Carlisle called me this morning. Said she was up there last night. You remember her, she was in our English lit class, always wore her hair in a bun?”
I shake my head.
“She wore those red glasses and those funky nineteen-forties outfits.”
“Oh, right.” I frown. “I don’t remember seeing her last night.”
“She doesn’t look like that anymore. She’s, like, normal now. Anyway, she said one of the Kings of Carnage was up there last night. Is it true?”
“It’s true.”
The waitress returns with our food, and I can see Bethany is practically ready to burst with questions, but she waits until the girl walks away. Then, she leans forward. “So, spill. What happened?”
I squirt some ketchup on my plate, then dip a fry in the big blob and eat it, making her wait. I try to decide just how much to tell her. “He came in toward closing and asked Phil if there was a Michael Mooney working.”
Her mouth drops open. “Oh, God. First, even if he thought you were a guy, how did he know your name? Second, what did he want?”
“I don’t know where he got my name. He never said.”
Her eyes get big. “You talked to him?”
I nod. “We talked in my da’s old office.”
“You what? Are you insane? This guy could be a cold-blooded killer.”
“Oh, my God. Don’t be so dramatic.”
“Still. Why would you let him in the office?”
“Because I didn’t want to talk in front of the entire bar.” I lift a brow. “Obviously, there are busybodies everywhere. Your friend Rita would have blabbed it all over town.”
“Drawback of a small town, Michaela. You know that. Everybody knows everything.”
“I don’t know how you stand it. That’s what I like about Atlanta. No one knows who I am.”
“Yeah, but that can be a drawback too. Doesn’t that ever get lonely? I kind of like running into people I know around town.”
I take a bite of my burger, refusing to admit she’s right about the loneliness.
“So, you didn’t tell me what happened. Spill, girl.”
“He said he knew my father, respected him. Did you happen to notice that motorcycle at the cemetery?”
She shakes her head.
“He was parked outside the fence by the road. Said he was there to pay his respects.”
She frowns. “Is that why he came by Mooney’s? To give his condolences?”
“Not really.”
“Then why?”
Before I answer, we both hear a rumbling sound and turn to look out the window. Two motorcycles pull up and back to the curb, the patches on the back of their vests clearly visible.
Bethany leans forward. “Rita told me one of them is involved with a waitress here, though I don’t think she’s working today.” She glances around the diner. “I don’t see her. What do you think they want?”
“Food,” I say. I recognize Sly immediately as one of the bikers when he pulls his helmet off and turns. “Oh, crap.” I avert my head, playing with my earring and trying to cover my face.
“What is it?”
“That’s him. The one who came in last night.”
She strains to see. “Which one?”
“The one on the red motorcycle.”
“Oh, my God. He’s cute. So is the other one.”
“Are they looking this way?” I hiss.
She shakes her head and I dare to peek. Just as I do, Sly looks over his buddy’s shoulder and spots me. Our eyes connect and a grin forms on his face and he winks at me. His buddy glances back to see what he’s looking at and then says something to Sly, laughing and slugging him in the shoulder. They both head toward the door.
I’m panicking inside. “Let’s go,” I blurt.
“But we haven’t even paid the check yet, and I still have most of my burger.”
“We can get to-go boxes.”
I hear the bell over the door tinkle and then it’s too late. Shit. Shit. Shit. I say a prayer, hoping they’ll take a seat at the counter and we can slip out. Hell, I’m even thinking of leaving Bethany to pay the check and dashing for the door.
Suddenly there’s a looming shadow before us, and as Bethany stares upward, her eyes ge
t big. I can smell the leather before I even turn to look.
Sly is standing next to my side of the booth, grinning down at me while his friend is looking over at Bethany.
“Hello, ladies. Mind if we join you?” Sly asks.
Before I can answer, he’s sliding in and moving me over. I scoot across the vinyl seat, trying to create as much space as possible that I’m practically pressed against the window.
His friend does the same with Bethany.
Sly puts his hand along the back of the seat, invading my space as he snags a fry from my plate.
“Hey, those are mine,” I object.
He chews, grinning. “You’ve got a plateful. Didn’t your momma teach you to share?”
“We were just about to leave, if you’ll excuse us.” I glare at him.
“Introduce me to your friend,” he says, lifting his chin at Bethany.
I arch a brow and nod to his friend. “You first.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Always gotta be obstinate, huh? Okay, sure. Ladies, this is my club brother. You can call him Bouncer.”
“Bouncer?” Bethany repeats, staring at him.
He grins at her. “That’s right, beautiful. And what’s your name?”
“Bethany.”
“Beautiful Bethany. I’ll remember that.”
“Hey, Bethany, I’m Sly.”
She looks at both of them, then at me like she wants me to do something about this. I tried to tell her we needed to leave and shrug my shoulders to give her a See! Told you so look.
Sly reaches up and tucks a wisp of hair behind my ear. “I like the braid.” He toys with my hoop earring. “Gold looks good on you; real pretty with your hair color. I love the shade. It’s like a pale fire.”
I try to pull back an inch. “Stop touching me.”
“I barely did anything, babe.”
Bouncer grins down at Bethany and jerks a chin at Sly and me. “I can’t tell. Is this going well?”
She snorts out a laugh, trying hard to hold it back. My eyes get big as I give her a death glare, then she grins, almost to spite me, and replies, “They make a cute couple, don’t they?”
“Cute. Riiight,” Bouncer replies, grinning at Sly. Then he nods to the untouched half of Bethany’s burger she cut with a knife. “You gonna eat that, darlin’?”
She shoves her plate toward him, like she wants him to move back. “Help yourself.”
He picks up the uneaten half and takes a big bite.
I slide my plate across the table away from Sly. “I’m not sharing. Get your own.”
He looks over his shoulder toward the counter. “You got my order ready, doll?”
The older waitress purses her lips and goes back in the kitchen.
Sly turns back to me. “Sorry, we can’t stay. Got a to-go order to bring back to the clubhouse. You want to tag along, babe?”
“I’m not your babe, and no, we do not want to tag along.”
Bethany looks out the window. “On your bikes?”
Oh my God! Like she’s considering it.
Bouncer grins. “Sorry, only broad who rides on the back of my bike is my old lady, darlin’.” He lifts his chin at Sly. “But Sly would love to give you a ride.” He kicks him under the table. “Wouldn’t you, brother?”
“Order up!” the gray-haired waitress calls out, glaring at Sly.
He smiles at Bethany. “Sorry, Beth. Maybe another time.” Then he grins at me as he stands, like he wants me to be jealous he might give my married girlfriend a ride on his motorcycle.
“I’m sure her husband would have something to say about that,” I reply in a snarky voice, and Bethany gives me a glare, not happy that I’m ruining her fun.
Sly winks at me. “Good to see you again, Michaela.”
Bouncer stands, chucking Bethany on the cheek softly. “Thanks for the burger, kid.”
They retreat to the counter, and Sly pulls out a wallet attached to his jeans by a chain. He passes over some bills, and leans forward to speak to the waitress. Her eyes flick to us, and she takes the money. The men grab up the several bags and head out the door. I watch them through the plate-glass window as they shove the food in their saddlebags and mount up, then buckle their helmets and slip on dark glasses.
Sly glances back at me as he twists his throttle, and the bike thunders to life. He roars off, Bouncer right after him.
“Oh my God!” Bethany whispers. “He was totally hitting on you!”
It’s an accusation, like I somehow had something to do with it. I really don’t want to tell her about the money he wants to collect from me.
The waitress comes over with a pitcher of tea and refills my glass. She turns to Bethany. “You want another cola, sweetie?”
“No, just the check, please,” she replies.
The waitress nods out the window. “They already took care of it. The one who paid for the takeout order.”
She moves off and Bethany’s eyes get big. “Oh, you are in so much trouble, girl. He likes you.”
“Bethany, he’s practically a criminal.”
She leans closer and hisses. “You don’t know that. Maybe he’s a nice guy. I mean, oh, my God, they were so cute. And if I were single, I’d love to at least get a ride on one of their bikes. I don’t even care which one, they both were cute.”
“Well, sounds like the one that sat with you has an a girlfriend.”
“Old lady. That’s what he called her.”
I roll my eyes. She’s right about more than that. I’m in so much trouble.
Ten
Michaela—
Three days later, it’s six p.m. and I’m behind the bar, running a report to see how the day’s business is going when I hear the door open. I glance up in the mirror and see Arthur Stanfield walk in. I’m surprised to see him in here, and turn around.
“Good evening, Michaela. How are you?”
I frown, approaching him. “Fine. What brings you here, Mr. Stanfield?”
He takes a seat at the bar. “Please call me Arthur.”
“All right. Arthur.”
“I thought by now perhaps I’d hear from you regarding your father’s estate. I assumed your mother would be putting this place up for sale.” He glances around and then to me. “I never imagined they’d drag you back home to take over.”
“Yes, well, here I am. Can I get you a drink?”
“Sure. A vodka and tonic.”
I move to make his drink and bring it back.
He passes me a twenty, smiling. “Keep the change.”
I ring him up and drop the change in the tip jar for all the staff to split at the end of the night.
“Are things going well, then?” he asks.
“Yes, business has been very good.”
He takes a sip of his drink. I’ve no idea if I made it well. I half expect him to make a face, but he doesn’t.
“Do you get a break?” he asks, surprising me again. “Perhaps I could buy you dinner? I was going to swing by Martinelli’s, but I hate to eat alone. I’d love it if you could join me.”
His invitation throws me. Why is he so interested in my family and me? Is there something I’m missing?
“Dinner?”
“Yes, if you can get away.” His eyes take in the mostly non-existent Tuesday-night crowd. There are a couple guys playing pool, two men at the bar, and a group of six at a table.
I consider making an excuse, but that would seem rude, and I know he has power and connections in our small town. I don’t want to get on his bad side. “Sure. I suppose I could swing a short break.” I glance down at my jeans and t-shirt. “Do you mind waiting while I change my clothes?”
“Of course. Take as long as you need.”
I pause next to Kevin to tell him I’m taking a break and should be back in an hour, then I dash upstairs and clean up a bit.
I brush my hair up in a French twist, swipe on some eye shadow and liner, then change into a flowing skirt with a flounce and an off-the-shoulder peasa
nt top.
After slipping into a wedge sandal, I grab my purse and head back downstairs.
Arthur stands as I approach, his eyes sweeping over me.
“You look lovely. Shall we go?” He holds his arm out for me to precede him.
He’s got a car parked in front of the bar, a black Mercedes. He opens the door like a gentleman and I slip in the seat. As he walks around to his side, I sink into the supple tan leather. I’ve never been in a car like this, and I can’t help but smile.
He gets in and starts it up. The engine purrs to life and smooth jazz comes through the expensive sound system, then he presses a button and the moonroof is revealed.
He backs out and the car almost floats down the road. I barely even feel the railroad tracks as we cross over.
Martinelli’s is an Italian place on the edge of town, right off Highway 42. It overlooks our local golf course—our town’s one draw. People drive out from Atlanta to play there. Now that I think about it, the Stanfields were responsible for its development.
We chat about the weather, and before I know it, we’re there. He pulls in the small lot and parks.
“Wait here,” he tells me and climbs out, then comes around and opens my door, extending his hand to help me out. I’ve never had a man treat me with such manners.
As I climb from the car, I hear a motorcycle approach. I look up to see a red Harley. My skirt blows up with a gust of wind, and as I push it back down, I notice the rider’s head swivel in my direction. As he passes, he slows, his hand dropping from one grip as he twists his body to look back at me.
It’s Sly. I recognize the patch on his back and that red bike of his.
Arthur’s eyes lift and follow mine. “That bunch is a menace to this town. Something really should be done to run them out.”
I smile, but say nothing. I wonder just how much power he has to actually do something about them and would he be of any help if he knew about the payments my father owed them—a debt I’ve apparently inherited.
He leads me inside and we’re immediately seated at a table. I’ve never been here before. It’s a lovely place with white tablecloths and crystal wine glasses. Huge windows offer an expansive view of the golf course.