by Ashley Lane
She seems to calm slightly after that and turns her attention to Shelly instead. “Hey, Shell, do you still have the room for rent? My brother just got kicked out by his girlfriend…” She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Huge drama. Anyway, he’s looking for a place to stay, he’s a neat freak so you’ll never have to clean—”
Shelly raises her hand and cuts Tasha off with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Tash, but I’m not renting to a guy at all. No offense to your brother, but I’m really only comfortable with a woman renting. You know Logan can be kinda wary around men.”
Tasha’s shoulders drop a little, but she smiles warmly. “I get it. Logan comes first. It’s not a problem at all.” She gives Shelly a hug and heads over to one of the stools and begins removing the hairpins from her messy updo.
“Oakley’s looking for a place to rent… she’s at Angel’s Cove right now,” Angel buts in and Shelly’s smile is damn near blinding.
“Well if you’re interested, it’s all yours. We can work out all the details with rent later.”
“That sounds great,” I say to Shelly, and without turning around, I see Angel smiling beside me—dimples and all.
CHAPTER 10
OAKLEY
A sniffle pulls my attention away from my small bag that I’m stuffing my few measly belongings into, to Clarise. She’s seated on Agnes’ bed, their wet eyes trained on me.
I roll my eyes. Dramatic. They look like they just watched Jack freeze to death in the frigid Atlantic Ocean while Rose’s bitch ass took up the entire door, sentencing him to an icy death.
“You both realize I’m not actually moving away, right?” I droll.
Agnes glares. “Excuse me if I’m a little emotional. My neighbor before you smelled of cheese and fed the roach family that lives in the corner—”
“We do not have roaches!” Clarise gasps with mock outrage and jumps to her feet to inspect said roach infested corner.
“Anyway, I’m not sad you’re leaving, more I’m already dreading my next neighbor,” Agnes finishes on a huff as if the very thought of her being sad over me leaving is enough to put her in a tiffy.
Clarise is still on the hunt for a roach condominium when I drop my things to my bed and walk the five steps separating my bunk area from Agnes’. She stiffens when I plop onto her bed with a bounce and wrap her tightly in my arms. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had,” I tell her with all the honesty I possess. It takes three breaths for her tough exterior to crack.
“What am I gonna do without you?” She sniffles.
“First, you’re going to welcome the new girl that takes my place. You’re going to help her get through what brought her here and give her what she needs to heal and move on, Agnes.” I take her hands in mine and rub my thumbs over the back of them. “You’re going to give her all of that and more—and I know that—because it’s exactly what you gave and did for me.”
A choked sob sounds behind us a split second before the bed sinks further. I have a flash of fear the old metal frame is going to give way under the weight before Agnes and I are both enveloped in Clarise’s motherly arms. “We’re all going to miss you around here, Oakley. Don’t forget you always have a place here,” she reassures me for what must be the twentieth time. I nod into her embrace and pull them tighter against me before I stand and resume packing my bag.
I never went to college, but thirty minutes later, after saying goodbye to everyone at Angel’s Cove, I stand on the front steps wrapped in Agnes and Clarise’s arms and get the closest thing to a collegiate sendoff that I’ll ever get.
More tears are shed as we say our last goodbyes and I climb into the Uber that Clarise arranged to take me to Shelly’s house. I rest my head against the seat and an overwhelming rush of excitement and fear threatens to drown me. Excitement for the unknown, fear of the same.
Fifteen minutes later the car pulls to a stop at the curb of a quaint sunshine yellow shotgun home that’s totally Shelly all over. A wide smile stretches my face. I open the Uber door, bag in hand.
At the same time, the front door to Shelly’s house opens and she runs out with Logan on her heels.
“Howdy there pretty lady! We were wonderin’ what time you’d be here,” she says once she reaches me and grabs my measly bag from my shoulder. My cheeks heat with embarrassment as I wait for Shelly to take notice of my meagre belongings. She doesn’t bat an eye, instead, she throws the bag over her own shoulder and pulls me in for a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Inside, Shelly takes her time to show me around their modest, but well loved home. I can tell from the decor that Shelly took the time to make the small space as homely—bright—and comfortable as it could be.
The tour veers off course when Logan takes nearly twenty minutes to show me his room and all his things, but it eventually ends in a small bedroom at the opposite end of the house. “I know it’s not much—” Shelly starts before she even opens the door.
I put my hand on her arm. “It’s everything, Shell.”
She’s momentarily stunned by the bleeding sincerity in my voice but recovers quickly and pushes into my new bedroom. Like the rest of the house, it’s modest in size, but that’s where all modesty ends. A full-sized bed covered in a fluffy comforter and decorated in a mirage of rainbow polka dots is wedged into the corner, leaving the rest of the floor open.
“I was going through a DIY-slash-repurpose stage when I did this room.” Shelly laughs as we both take in the 6 drawer dresser that looks like it would be perfectly at home in a Skittles factory.
“I love it,” I tell her honestly. “I could use a little brightness in my life.”
“Well, I’ll let you get settled in. If you need anything just holler. I grabbed the stuff for homemade pizza when I was at the store earlier. You can find us in the kitchen when you’re ready.”
It takes a laughable five minutes to unpack and settle my things. Inside the quaint bathroom, there’s a white pedestal sink, a toilet, and a combined shower and tub. Hanging on the pale yellow wall are wicker baskets in various sizes, each one holding towels, wash cloths, and linens. On the opposite side, Shelly’s added a beautiful, ornate mirror with a delicate filigree pattern around the outside. The antique frame that surrounds it adds to the flair.
Once I’ve spun around in circles a few times—Sound of Music style—in my new bedroom, I smile and make my way to the kitchen. Logan’s giggles and Shelly’s laughter makes me truly thankful to be here, and excited to finally have a place to call home.
At the kitchen counter, Logan’s piling on pizza toppings while Shelly watches on.
“This looks amazing,” I say, and Logan looks up, grinning.
“Do you want to help?” he asks. “You’re allowed to make your own.”
Shelly pats Logan’s head while shaking her own and grimacing. “You know what, Logan? I think Oakley would love to make her own pizza. Wouldn’t you?” She winks a few times, urging me to go with her option, which I’m positive means there will be no hidden extras—AKA mystery ingredients—on my pizza.
“I would really love that,” I say. Logan frowns and his little shoulders drop. “But,” I add quickly, “Logan, would you be able to tell me what to put on it. I’ve never made homemade pizza before.”
He puffs out his chest and nods, then begins to slide bowls from one side of the counter to the other while explaining the order of the ingredients—which according to Logan is a rule that cannot be altered or broken.
By the time we sit at the kitchen table to eat, I’ve learned almost everything there is to know about the finer details of homemade pizza making. While I eat, I watch Logan and Shelly interact. They’ve welcomed me into their tiny family with open arms, giving me a new sense of worth, and the feeling of happiness I’ve been searching for, for years.
I smile, knowing this is the beginning of my new life.
***
When you have a face like mine, you instantly become the least judgmental person on the p
lanet. I know better than to judge a book by its cover. My own cover only shows a small part of my story and leaves out the crucial details. Just like these amazing women I now work with.
In my first few days at Corrupt, I learned that Tasha, the bright and bubbly jar of happiness that I met on my first day, was near death and exchanging sexual favors for cash for her next hit of heroin when she was found by one of the men from the Heaven’s Guardians who saved her life by helping her get clean.
Which brings me to my first holy guacamole moment. Apparently, Corrupt is owned by a motorcycle gang… group… er—club. And holy guacamole numero dos? Angel—my boss, is a member. Whattt? Yeah. As if the man couldn’t get any hotter. One thought of those thick, muscular thighs straddling a metal beast is enough to send me into a damn near tizzy.
I’m pretty sure Tasha could open up one of those tourist traps where you follow a map and the person tells you the history at each stop. Only Tasha’s would be learning about people because damn, the woman knows literally everything.
According to her, the Heaven’s Guardians are the silent protectors of the town. Rumor has it they do bad things to bad people for a good reason. Now, Christian me says that two wrongs don’t make a right. Scarred me (and probably a little of Christian, too) says not to judge because that’s the Lord’s job. Vindictive me wishes I’d had someone like that when I was hurt. Sane me is screaming to run balls to the wall in the other direction. (Though I have to admit sane me’s voice is the quietest.) In the end, scarred me wins out.
“So anyway, they’re all really good guys. Demon is mega scary, but he’d never hurt a hair on a woman’s head.”
The words “mega scary” are all it takes to push away what I’m sure is the glazed look in my eyes, and focus back on Tasha who’s taking the time to explain everyone’s story to me, including her own.
“I’m sorry, Demon?” I question, and she nods.
“Yeah, he’s actually the one that started all this.” She extends her arms as though referencing the entire club. “It’s a really sad story and we only know bits and pieces—” she lowers her voice and tosses a quick glance around the room before turning back to me. “His sister was killed by some cartel guy while Demon was deployed. He tried to get home but didn’t make it here in time. From what the guys say, he’s nothing like he was—you know, before—but we only know him how he is now.”
I gulp. “And how is he now?”
Tasha chews on her lip as she searches for a word before she finally comes up with, “Diabolical,” she whispers.
I’m sure my eyes are as big as my face. “Erm…”
“What are y’all over here yappin’ about?” Shelly asks as she bounds into the dressing room where I’ve been—unfortunately yes—gossiping during my first break.
“Oh nothing. Just filling in our newest Corrupted in on the history of the club and all the current gals,” Tasha answers, and I tense, wondering if Shelly is going to be mad. Because like everyone else, Tasha shared Shelly’s story as well.
Before I have too much time to worry, Shelly gives me a kind smile and a reassuring nod and I relax into my seat. Like Tasha, Shelly was saved from the streets, only instead of heroin, cocaine was her demon. But the most unfortunate thing about her story is that she was pregnant with Logan at the time. Tasha also informed me it’s why Logan is so small for his age. They worried he would be academically challenged as well, but the little boy is smart as a whip.
A succession of three knocks sound from the other side of the door, then a voice, “Everyone decent?”
“Come in,” Tasha calls out. “We’re always decent… well, usually.”
The door opens. In walks Angel and out walks my sanity. Stopping just inside the doorway, Angel talks to a couple other dancers while Tasha and Shelly ogle him and whisper back and forth about how hot he is.
Me? I just sit and stare. My eyes somehow permanently fixed on Angel’s… everything. Damn, he’s beautiful.
“Mmm, girl. I see you have the taste for the delectable.” Tasha nods with approval, and a rush of heat hits me as I pry my eyes away from where they’re glued to Angel.
Shelly groans quietly. “Sister, I feel you. When God sends an Angel after me at the end of my life, I sure as hell hope he looks like him.”
Tasha and I burst out laughing, and it’s only when Shelly jabs her elbow into my side that I realise Angel is looking at us. He winks, then turns his attention back to the other girls.
“Well hell, now I gotta change my panties,” Tasha mutters.
More laughter ensues before Shelly asks, “Hey, Tash, have you seen Jax around lately?”
Tash shakes her head, and I narrow my eyes in confusion. The name sounds familiar. Where would I know a Jax from?
Tasha frowns. “Rumor has it they broke up, but you know how tight lipped he is about stuff like that.”
“Damn,” Shell whispers.
The confusion must still be clear on my face because Tasha fills me in on yet another tidbit of gossip. “Boss man over there is gay,” Tasha says, and Shelly smacks her arm.
“For Christ’s sake, Tash—have a little couth.” She glares at her friend before turning to me. “Excuse Miss No Filter over here, she was raised by monkeys.” Tasha grumbles something under her breath about not even liking bananas, but Shelly ignores her and continues. “I believe the politically correct term for Angel is bisexual. For as long as most of us have known him, he’s been in a serious but on-again, off-again relationship with his boyfriend Jax who works at the club’s garage, Wicked Wrench.” Shelly gives me a serious but wicked grin. “But we do know that kitties can definitely make his—and Jax’s engine purr. They’ve been known to share a girl or two throughout the years.”
Tasha is still rambling about not being raised by monkeys and informs Shelly that wolves would be a much better description for her family. While they continue their petty squabble, I’m busy picturing myself as the woman lucky enough to be sandwiched between the Godlike Angel and a faceless mystery man—who in my imagination is also incredibly Godlike—as he’d have to be to gain the attention of a morsel like Angel.
The longer I play the scene over in my mind, the more I need a face for my mystery man.
Who is Jax? And why is his name so familiar?
CHAPTER 11
ANGEL
It’s nearing 3 A.M. but finally, the night is over and the club is closed. All that’s left to do is clean the last few areas and close out the till. Back when I had someone waiting for me, I sometimes hated the late hours my job required, rushing through tasks to get home to him. Now I’m thankful for the escape from the empty bed that waits for me at home.
The monotonous task of clearing the pints from the empty tables to the bar where they’ll be washed is beginning to bore me. Instead of doing the sensible thing and placing them on a tray to move them, I decide to stick one finger into each glass and pick up five at once.
All at once, five pints slip from my fingers and fall to the floor, shattering on impact. “Fuck!” I shout.
There’s a quiet gasp and I look up, remembering it was Oakley’s night to stay late on cleanup. Shit. She stares at me, her eyes wide as she mouths “You okay?” I’m so pissed off about the glasses—and yeah, losing Jax—that I scowl, causing Oakley to close her mouth and turn away quickly. Fuck, I’m an asshole. I know I need to apologize, but it’ll have to wait until after I clean up the glass.
I bend down to pick up the larger pieces when one of the shards slices through my palm. “Goddamnit!” I drop it all on the floor again and kick the shattered glass out of my way, while wishing this shit show of a night was over.
I raise my hand and look down at the gash, it’s not too deep, but it’s long, it stings, and it’s pouring. With a glance around the bar area, I search for a clean towel or napkin, but before I find something, Oakley is wrapping a clean towel around my hand.
I hang my head in shame, not daring to look at her after the way I acted. Always fuc
king up. Oakley tugs on my hand, leading me toward the bartender’s sink. When the cold water is running from the faucet, she removes the towel and pushes my hand under the stream of water. Her small, delicate hands close around my larger one, and with one finger she feels around the wound.
Not a word is spoken between us as I relish in the sensation of touch. Not just hers, but gentle, human touch. I never realized how much I craved touch until Jax left. I took it for granted, thinking he’d always be there for me. That his hands would find me when I needed a safe place to land. He was always there. The problem was that I wasn’t.
“You should have waited and let me grab the broom and dustpan, you could’ve seriously hurt yourself.” Oakley says. There’s a bite to her words that’s more forward than I’ve heard from her before. She’s usually quiet and rarely comments on anything unless a question is directed at her. Her focus is on my hand but mine is on her. The way her eyes are creased in worry as her fingers play along my tender flesh. It’s then I realize the bite I heard before was a cover for her true feelings.
“Think it goes against at least twenty-seven rules in the Alpha Male handbook for me to use a broom and dustpan to clean up glass.” I give her a cheeky grin that’s returned with a small, but genuine smile.
“The Alpha Male handbook?” she teases with a raised brow.
I nod, a serious expression on my face. “That’s the one.”
Oakley hums under her breath. “And what does it say about first aid? Because this is borderline in need of stitches.”
I glance at my palm again to make sure. There’s no need for stitches, but if she wants to play nurse and fret over my boo-boo, I’m all for it.
“Rule six hundred and ninety-three states we can only get stitches when it’s a life or death situation,” I inform her.
She laughs, but her cheeks heat and she averts her gaze as though she doesn’t want to bring attention to herself. I’ve seen her with the girls, especially Shelly and Tasha, and she’s so carefree with them. Hopefully with time she’ll continue to emerge until she leaves her shell behind for good.