Owen: The Lost Breed MC #9

by Parker, Ali

  She’d told me she was up for coffee, but I had to find her first.

  I was sure her address would be impossible to find online, but I gave it a go anyway. Nothing came up. So I used the resources I had and called Dani, who was conveniently at work at the police department.

  She scolded me for using her for such frivolous matters, and I assured her it was not frivolous at all. Evangeline was important. She put up a bit of a fight, and I pleaded with her until she finally caved and told me to sit tight while she got the information I was after.

  Within another six minutes, I had Evangeline’s address at a posh fifty-story apartment building in downtown Manhattan.

  I was there just before noon.

  The place was luxurious and a hell of a lot fancier than I’d expected. I left my bike parked out on the street a couple of blocks away after seeing the valet service at the roundabout driveway outside the building. I wasn’t trusting someone with my baby, and I also didn’t feel like paying an arm and a leg for something I could do on my own.

  I took the stairs up to the front doors of the lobby two at a time, and a doorman opened the door for me and greeted me with a polite nod and a very formal, “How do you do, sir?”

  I nodded at him before stepping inside and feeling immediately out of place.

  The floors were glistening white marble and were probably polished every night. The ceiling was two-stories high, so every step I took echoed, and the people mingling around in the lounge off to the right cast uneasy glances in my direction.

  I was not dressed in a suit or a business dress like them, but rather jeans and a black T-shirt with my leather Lost Breed jacket on top. In retrospect, that might not have been the best decision. I probably looked like I was here on unsavory business in their eyes.

  I strode right up to the concierge desk. It, too, was white marble, and above hung a dazzling crystal chandelier that caught the sunlight streaming in through the two-story floor-to-ceiling windows all around the lobby.

  Behind the desk was a wiry young man in a gray suit with thick-framed black glasses. He had a stylish haircut that was slicked back, and not a strand of his light blond hair was out of place. When I stopped at the desk, he looked up from his computer screen and blinked at me.

  “Oh, good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for Evangeline Snow.”

  The concierge, whose nametag read “Barry”, narrowed his eyes at me. “Apologies, sir, but I am not authorized to give you any personal information on residents at this property unless specifically directed to by the resident themselves.”

  I shrugged, leaned forward, and crossed my arms on the counter of his fancy desk. “I’ve got all day, Barry. If you don’t call up to her, you and I can hang out. What do you say?”

  Barry became clearly frazzled. He straightened out several items on his desk compulsively: keyboard, mouse, notepad, pen, cell phone. Then he pushed his glasses farther up his nose and stammered, “I’m very busy, sir. Perhaps you can come back later?”

  “Nah. I’ll wait.”

  Barry frowned. “Sir. Please. I’m not permitted to—”

  “She’ll want to hear from me. She and I go way back.”

  Barry licked his lips and looked at my jacket and then my hands. My knuckles were a bit bruised from my fight back at the bar the other night. “This feels like a mistake,” he said nervously.

  “Why don’t you just call her and tell her Owen is here to see her? She won’t be pissed. I swear.”

  Barry made a nervous sound in the back of his throat.

  I leaned forward, and he recoiled. “Come on, Barry. Do a guy a favor. Call her up and pass me the phone. I’ll talk to her.”

  Barry, bless his little soul, hung his head in defeat, picked up the phone, and dialed Evangeline’s number. He looked from me to my knuckles while the phone rang, and when she answered, he said, “Hello, Ms. Snow. Sorry to bother you. But there is a gentleman down in the lobby asking for you. He says his name is Owen. Would you like to speak to him?” He paused as she answered. Then his shoulders slumped. “Yes. Yes of course. Here he is.”

  He handed me the phone.

  I took it from him with a smug smile. “Hey, Angel. Barry here runs a tight ship. He put me through the wringer.”

  Her soft laughter filled the phone. “He takes his job very seriously.”

  “Listen, I just busted my ass tracking you down. Please tell me you’re free for lunch.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or I’ll come up there and get you myself.”

  Barry shook his head frantically. “No, sir. You are not permitted up—”

  I held up my hand. “Shut up, Barry.”

  Barry hung his head.

  Evangeline giggled into the line. “Give me fifteen minutes. I’ll meet you down there.”

  “Wear pants,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “Because I brought my hog.”

  Barry, who probably didn’t know the term “hog” for motorcycles and thought I was saying something completely inappropriate to one of his residents, looked like he was going to pass out.

  I flashed him a grin and waggled my eyebrows.

  Chapter 8

  Evangeline

  I got ready in a whirlwind, spurred on by anxiety and excitement and giddiness.

  Owen McCully was downstairs waiting on me.

  It had been a long time since I’d felt this sort of rush about spending time with someone. My cheeks were hot, and my hands were shaky, and there were butterflies fluttering around in my stomach, hellbent on freedom.

  Owen’s warning to wear pants was appreciated because I’d almost gone down in a maxi dress and a loose cardigan. I swapped it out for a pair of high-rise jeans—which I rolled up at the ankles—booties, a crop tee, and a black leather jacket. My hair was already in a long braid down the middle of my back, which would do, and I hurried out of my penthouse to get on the elevator and ride it down to the lobby.

  As promised, Owen was waiting for me.

  He had his back toward me, and the Lost Breed emblem was on display on his jacket while he spoke to Barry, who was pale and expressionless and a little wide-eyed.

  The poor thing was terrified.

  I would have to fix that.

  Owen’s ass looked pretty good in his jeans, and I checked him out from behind before tapping him on the shoulder. He turned around and smiled. It was the best thing I’d seen today.

  “That’s criminal,” Owen said, looking me over.

  “But bike appropriate,” I said.

  He shrugged one shoulder. “I suppose so. Are you ready? I think Barry is going to shit himself if I don’t clear out of here soon.”

  I giggled and shook my head before moving around Owen to put my hands on the concierge desk. “Barry, I’m sorry you had to deal with him. But thank you for keeping him entertained while he waited for me. He’s just a goof, okay? He won’t hurt you or anyone in here. His bark is worse than his bite.”

  Barry laughed nervously. “Yes, Ms. Snow. Thank you.”

  I gave him a reassuring smile. “I appreciate you breaking protocol and phoning me. Owen is a dear friend. Whenever he comes by, you have my permission to let him up, okay?”

  Barry nodded, despite looking horrified that I would be comfortable letting a man like Owen up to my penthouse. “Yes, Ms. Snow.”

  I flipped my braid over my shoulder and turned back toward Owen. “I’m famished. Where are we going to eat?”

  “I’m craving something greasy.”

  “Burger and fries?” I suggested.

  Owen flashed me a smile. “You always know the right things to say to a man, Angel.”

  I followed him out the front doors, down the steps, and across the looping driveway and valet service. We walked two blocks down the road to where his bike was parked, and as soon as I saw it, my heart fluttered in my chest.

  “You still have her,” I said softly, reaching out and resting a han
d on the worn leather seat. I’d spent hundreds of hours on the back of this bike with my arms wrapped around Owen.

  “Of course I do,” he said, plucking two helmets off the handlebars. He handed me the smaller of the two. “Do you still know how to put these on?”

  I scoffed at him. “How much do you think I’ve changed in seven years?”

  “I don’t know. I’m a bit worried to find out.”

  I shook my head at him. “You have nothing to be worried about. I’m the same girl.” I pulled the helmet on and threaded the strap through the metal rings, working the end of it back through and then tugging down to tighten it. I made sure the helmet wasn’t too loose before flipping the tinted visor up. “If you ride like a pussy just because I’m on the back, I’ll kick your ass, Owen.”

  He threw his head back with laughter before putting his own helmet on. Then he swung a long leg over the seat of the bike, put the key in the ignition, and revved the engine.

  The sound made my knees ache.

  It had been so fucking long since I’d been on the back of a bike.

  There was something about the rush of wind over my knees and the way a bike leaned in the corners that made you feel like you were invincible. Having a strong man calling all the shots and keeping you safe all the while wasn’t so bad, either.

  Owen nodded for me to get on.

  I kicked down one of the metal spokes behind his heel, planted the ball of my foot on it, and then stepped up, bracing myself with a hand on each of Owen’s shoulders as I swung my other leg over the seat and sat down. I kicked the other peg down, found a comfortable position, and leaned forward to wrap my arms around Owen.

  He was thicker than he used to be.

  I wondered what sort of masterpiece lay beneath his T-shirt now.

  Owen kicked up the kickstand and pulled away from the curb. The engine roared as he opened up the throttle, and I quickly flipped my visor back down as the wind hit my face and we wove through traffic.

  When we stopped at a red light, Owen put his hand on my knee and turned his head to the side. “You all right back there, Angel?”

  I nodded and squeezed him with my arms. “I’m great! See that red awning up ahead? They serve great burgers. Let’s stop in there.”

  He nodded.

  We pulled into the parking lot of the burger shack and parked the bike. I got off first, then Owen did, and we took off our helmets and brought them into the restaurant with us.

  The place was busy, with only two open tables. The waitress, a short, curvy little thing, brought us to a booth by the window. We placed our helmets on the seats beside us before ordering a glass of water each. She bustled off and left us to scan the menus.

  I already knew I was getting the Tropical Hawaiian Burger. A concoction of barbeque sauce, grilled pineapple, sweet relish, hot peppers, and chipotle mayo.

  Owen was still poring over his menu, long after I’d closed mine and tucked it off to the side.

  I arched an eyebrow at him. “What’s taking you so long? You and I both know you’re going to order the one with the most bacon on it.”

  “It’s been seven years, Angel,” he said without looking up at me. “Maybe I’ve changed.”

  “Oh please. No amount of time could ever disenchant you from your love of bacon.”

  With a chuckle, he closed the menu. “Who am I kidding? You’re right.”

  “Aren’t I always?”

  “Not always,” he said.

  “Oh? Name a time?”

  He pursed his lips, lips I had kissed a thousand times and dreamt of kissing again in the past seven years, and he gazed out the window thoughtfully. Then his brows drew together.

  “Can’t think of anything, can you?” I teased.

  He shook his head. “No. Not off the cuff like that.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Excuses. Excuses.”

  He grinned. “It’s really fucking good to see you, Angel. Seriously. It’s like…”

  “Nothing has changed?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I feel that way too.”

  Our moment was interrupted when our waitress came back with two glasses of iced water. She set them down in front of us and plucked a small notebook from her belt. She flipped it open, clicked her pen, and poised it over the page. Then she looked up at us. “What can I get you?”

  Owen ordered his bacon burger. “Add extra bacon.”

  She scribbled it down and turned toward me.

  “I’ll have the Tropical Hawaiian Burger.” I folded up my menu, took Owen’s, and stacked them together before passing them to her.

  She read our orders off to us to make sure they were right. “Are both of those with fries?”

  Owen and I nodded.

  “All right. Anything else to drink, or are you good with your waters?”

  We told her we were fine with our waters, and she took her leave, taking orders from a couple of other tables around us before reporting back to the kitchen.

  I turned to Owen, whose eyes I could feel on me as I watched her. I smiled and sipped my water. “So. What’s new with you?”

  He raked his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know where to start. A lot of shit has changed since I saw you last, Angel. A lot of shit.”

  I leaned forward to rest my arms on the table. From here I could get a couple of whiffs of his cologne, bergamot and cedar wood. I inhaled and hoped he didn’t catch me smelling the air around us. “How about you start by telling me how you ended up here in New York City?” I suggested.

  His expression fell.

  I sat up a little straighter. “Owen? Did I say something wrong?”

  He shook his head. “No. No, not at all. It’s just… well, it’s not a very good story.”

  “I’m not looking for a good story.”

  He met my gaze and nodded. “Right.”

  I licked my lips. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

  For a minute, I thought he might take me up on that offer, and I tried to think of something else to ask him that didn’t elicit such a reaction. I’d never seen him go all stiff like this. It was clearly something he didn’t want to talk about.

  But there had never been any secrets between us.

  “Where’s your old jacket?” I whispered.

  He looked down at his leather jacket, his Lost Breed jacket. “Yeah. That’s the thing, Angel. The Red Rogues are no more.”

  I swallowed past the sudden tightness in my throat. “What happened?”

  He sighed and slumped back against his seat. “Your father was right. I got us in trouble. And most of us didn’t make it out alive.”

  “Owen,” I said, reaching for his hand resting on the edge of the table. He let me graze his knuckles, which I noticed were bruised but I didn’t say anything, and then he pulled away and let his hand fall to his lap.

  He met my eye. “We met a bad guy. A real bad guy. In a bar. He was there looking for a fight, and he picked me out of the crowd, and when he made a point to knock my shoulder, I pushed back. You know how I used to be.”

  I nodded. I did. He was a fighter. No, a scrapper. He was the guy you wanted on your team when shit went sideways.

  “He nearly killed me.”

  “Who was he?” I asked.

  “Isaac Reed.”

  I’d never heard of him, so I stayed quiet.

  “Rhys and Max were there to save my ass. If they hadn’t, my skull would have been crushed by that angry bastard. I’m sure of it.”

  This explained his scarred eyebrow and busted nose. I licked my lips. “What happened after?” I knew there was an after. I could see it in his eyes. He’d lost something.

  “Reed came after the whole club. He was a psychopath, Angel. He wrought havoc on us. Tailed us when we were alone. Made sure we knew someone was after us. And then he started picking us off one by one. There are only four of us left. Me, Rhys, Liam, and Aiden.”

  “What?” I breathed.

  He nodded.
“He killed eight of us. Max included.”

  “Jesus. Owen. I’m so sorry. You could have called me. You could have—”

  He shook his head sharply. “No. It was best that you and I were done before Reed came along.”

  I chewed the inside of my cheek to stop myself from crying.

  Seven years ago, there had been two things in this world that made Owen happy. One of those things had been his club. The other had been me, and I’d had to walk away from him when the fighting wouldn’t stop, and my father’s stress was going to give him a heart attack.

  He’d lost us both.

  Just like that.

  I looked down at the table and willed the tears not to come.

  “Angel,” Owen said softly, reaching for me. “It’s all right. Things are better now. We came out the other side in one piece.”

  “Not all of you,” I whispered.

  “No. Not all of us. But we put the bastard in the ground who slaughtered our brothers and we’re doing their memory justice. Please. Don’t cry.”

  I sniffled and shook my head. “I should have been there for you.”

  “No offense,” Owen said, chuckling softly. “But I’m glad you weren’t. It was really fucking messy. And had you seen me when it all went down, you might have hated me.”

  “I could never hate you,” I said, lifting my gaze back to him.

  He smiled, but it was a sad, twisted, broken sort of smile.

  It was clear to me that he still hadn’t managed to put himself back together in the aftermath of his loss and grief.

  Owen McCully could fight himself out of any situation. He was the guy who would come to your rescue no matter what the odds were. He’d stand by your side with his fists raised until the bitter end.

  But he’d never been very good at the healing part.

  Chapter 9

  Owen

  Evangeline dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her thumbs when the waitress came back with our plates of food. She set them down on the table, spun them toward us, and then stood back with her hands on her hips.