One Taste of Angel

by Violetta Rand

  “Well?” she presses.

  “Coffee first?” I beg, inching toward the table.

  “What happened, ’Fina?”

  “That bachelor party was everything I thought it would be. Trouble.” I fill her in on the basics.

  “Sonofabitch,” she swears, pulling my drink out of the paper bag. “Here. Maybe you need a couple shots of Kahlua in it.”

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  She pulls out one of the chairs and sits, looking agitated. “You need to tell Ben to go fuck himself. No more stripping.”

  I suck down a mouthful of coffee. “I can’t just quit my job. I need the money.” Although I have some savings, the money I used to reestablish myself is all gone, so I’m like most people—living paycheck to paycheck.

  “You can wait tables at the café with me. The owner is salivating to get you on payroll.”

  “Yeah, and in bed.”

  She laughs. “Michael is a little hot for you.”

  “And way too old. He’s sixty, right?”

  “Forty-seven.”

  “Close enough,” I say, wrinkling my nose. The guy has spent way too much time in a tanning booth and he chews tobacco, so his teeth are permanently stained yellow. “Ben won’t cancel my contract. I have two more years of school and work left.”

  Asia empties the second bag, placing my favorite jelly doughnuts in front of me on a napkin. “Eat.”

  “Two?”

  “I splurged,” she jokes, biting into her chocolate éclair—a hint of mischief in her pretty eyes. “You met somebody, didn’t you?”

  I freeze, wondering how in the hell she knows that. Yeah, I met someone. Someone I already love. “No.”

  “Liar.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “’Fina . . . I accept you for what you are. I know you’re hiding from someone. I figured that out the day you showed up in the restaurant lost and unsure of yourself. I accept the fact that you’re the only person I know without family or a single photograph of someone you know in your house.” She looks around the expanse of my dining room and living room. “I don’t probe because I respect your privacy. But when I ask a direct question and you lie to me for no reason . . .”

  Tears fill my eyes. I’m on edge, have been since the moment I saw Eagle. My hands start shaking. “I can’t tell you anything, Asia. I’m sorry.”

  She sets her drink aside and takes my hand. “That bad?”

  I sniffle, so close to completely breaking down. But I’ve come too far to give up now. “Yeah. I did meet someone. He protected me from the cartel asshole. We kissed a couple times and talked for hours. That’s it. Nothing will ever come of it.”

  “I want you to be happy, Serafina.”

  “I am.”

  “To share your life with a great guy.”

  “Like you and Desmond?” There’s a relationship I don’t fully understand. Asia is so beautiful and vibrant—dark haired with crystal blue eyes. She has a gregarious personality while Desmond is quiet and reserved. I think their bedroom chemistry is what keeps Asia around.

  “Why not?”

  “I just can’t.”

  “Secrets can’t stay hidden forever. Someday you’ll want a family. A career. People will ask questions and expect honest answers.”

  “I’ll move if I have to.”

  “And do what?” She pauses and squeezes my fingers. “Keep running until there’s nowhere left to go? My father can help you. Remember? He’s a judge now. Whoever hurt you in the past can’t get to you now if you ask for help. I promise.”

  We were raised in different worlds. Asia has a big family, three brothers and two sisters. Professional parents who adore her. Money. Roots. A real life. I’m like a skeleton, all my flesh stripped away, the bare bones showing.

  “Please trust me.” She hugs me.

  I rest my chin on her shoulder, welcoming her compassion and warmth. I do trust her. It’s myself I can’t trust. How many times have I almost slipped up and spilled all my secrets? The Dead Dogs don’t care about connections and money. If they knew Asia had information that could harm a member, they’d hunt her down. Never mind if her daddy is a judge. First rule of any MC, no snitching. Call the cops and you die.

  I sit back. “Thank you for being here.”

  “Of course.” She looks so disappointed.

  “These jellies are to die for.”

  “Marcus makes them fresh every morning. Imagine stuffing your face three or four days a week with these babies.” She takes a big bite of her indulgence and chews extra loud.

  I laugh. “No thank you. Once a week is enough for me.”

  “At least tell me if your mysterious savior was hot or not.”

  I nod enthusiastically. “Everything we dream of. A tattooed bad boy with attitude to spare.”

  She rests her chin on her fist. “Tall?”

  “Very.”

  “Muscled?”

  “Better than a Hemsworth.”

  She grins. “Blond?”

  “No. Raven-black hair.”

  She sucks in a breath. “Big blue eyes?”

  “Scary eyes.”

  “Mind if I stalk him for a couple months? You can borrow Desmond.”

  I’m glad the mood has lightened between us. We never argue and rarely disagree. But when we do . . .

  Last year she tried to set me up with her brother, Liam. A staged accidental meeting in the grocery store. I saw right through it. Liam is a professional football player in Houston and never shops for himself. Asia’s mother goes to Houston once a month and takes care of everything for him.

  As if she’s reading my mind, she says, “Liam is still single. He likes you, ’Fina. A lot.”

  If I were another girl in another dimension, I’d be all over him. Happy to date a superstar. But I’m not. My heart has been held captive for seven years. From the first time I met Caleb until now. Pretty sure no man can change it. And even if he could, I wouldn’t let anyone get that close. I believe in true love, that it lasts forever.

  “Tell him hello. Did he successfully renegotiate his contract?”

  She snorts. “His agent did, for an extra three percent.”

  “Really?”

  “What’s eighteen percent of twenty million dollars?”

  I do the math in my head. “Three point six million.”

  “See . . . that little asshole in Los Angeles is constantly taking advantage of my big brother.”

  “Forget the agent. That’s wonderful news, Asia.”

  “I know.” She shows me her pearly whites again. “So, are we good?”

  “Always.”

  “Then get dressed and let’s go to the mall.”

  Not really in the mood, I agree. “Okay.” I finish off my second doughnut, wipe my hands on my napkin, then head for my bedroom. I need to get out of here for a bit and do something girly for once. Maybe pick out some new lingerie?

  I showered before bed, so I slip on jeans and a cute T-shirt that says live for the moment. I check myself in the mirror, comb my long hair out, and apply some black mascara and really pink lipstick. Satisfied, I grab my purse from on top of the dresser and return to the dining room.

  Asia cleared and wiped the table down. She’s waiting in the hallway by the door. “That pink lipstick really looks good with your skin tone. I’d kill for your skin.”

  “I’d kill for your natural tan.”

  We both laugh. As I open the door, I’m surprised to find a long white box with a red ribbon tied around it on my porch.

  “What’s that?” Asia asks, gazing over my shoulder.

  “I-I don’t know.” I’m stunned. No one sends me anything, ever.

  “Move over, girlfriend.” Asia gently pushes me aside and grabs the box. She carries it to the table and I close the door and follow her.

  “Want me to open it?”

  “Go ahead,” I say, afraid to touch it.

  She unties the ribbon and lifts the lid, revealing two dozen long-s
temmed white roses. The card reads:

  You’re impossible to forget. Eagle

  “Is there something you’re not telling me, Serafina?”

  I’m crushed and overjoyed at the same time. How did he find out where I lived? I lied to the driver and had him drop me off at an apartment complex half a mile from my own. So there’s no way . . . Then I remember who Eagle is. What kind of connections he has. He could find anyone.

  “Eagle is the guy from Friday night.”

  “I gathered that.” She admires the flowers. “Sure you didn’t do more than kiss him?”

  “Promise.”

  “Well, pretty girl, it’s about time someone appreciated you. Grab a vase, the blossoms need water or they’ll wilt.”

  I rush into the kitchen and look in several cabinets. I don’t own a vase. “I can’t find one.”

  “Only you,” Asia says. “How about one of those plastic pitchers you make iced tea in?”

  “Sure.” I grab the clean one from the dishwasher and fill it with cool water.

  When I return to the dining room, Asia just stares at me. “’Fina has a boyfriend,” she teases, singsong, like a little sister would.

  No, I think. I have a death wish. Because that’s what will happen if I let Eagle invade my world. One of us, or both, will die.

  Chapter Twelve

  Eagle

  “I don’t like the idea of you going to that memorial service, Eagle.” Tonsils is pacing back and forth in the conference room where we hold church. “Wait.” He holds up a hand to stop me from talking before he’s done complaining. “Even if we’re with you, it only takes one bullet to kill someone.”

  “I do it out of obligation, out of respect for Angel’s memory,” I remind him.

  “I get it.” He sits across from me and folds his hands on the table. “We all loved that girl. Let Belle organize something here. We’ll invite anyone you want. Even her mother. We’ll party all night and then ride to the cemetery in the morning.”

  Fuck that. Give Bear an excuse to question my bravery? My loyalty to his little sister? “I attend every year, so no matter what you say, Tonsils, I’m going.”

  He shakes his head. “Things are different now. We’re growing, squeezing the Dead Dogs out. The only way you’re attending is with a ten-man escort packing heat.”

  “Fine.”

  “Me included.”

  “No.” I shoot up from my chair. “Check the bylaws, brother. A president and his vice can’t attend any function together if there’s a risk of both of them getting hurt. One of us needs to be here. If something happens to me, you take over.”

  “You can’t expect me to stay behind.”

  “I do.”

  “Goddamnit, Caleb. This isn’t a pissing match. Bear wants you dead. Remember? You left his big brother lying in a pool of blood in a warehouse. That shit never goes away. Neutral territory or not.”

  “My first loyalty is to this club. You stay.”

  “I call for a vote.”

  The only way to override a decision I make is to veto it with a majority vote by patched members. I’ve known Tonsils since I was twelve. He’s ten years older than I am. He used to visit me at home when my mother and father were in Baton Rouge for the state legislative season. The bonds run deep, but occasionally, I pull rank.

  “This is personal, Tonsils. Give it a rest.”

  “That’s the problem. I’m afraid the Dead Dogs are gonna give you a seaside gravesite. You’re not thinking straight. And because of it, I’m calling for a vote.”

  I can’t remember the last time a brother has opposed one of my decisions. But as an officer of the charter, Tonsils has the right to demand a vote if he thinks one of the members or the club is in jeopardy. At this point, I’m too wrapped up in my own thoughts to really give a shit. Regardless of the outcome of the vote, I’m going to the memorial service. “Do whatever you think is right. Vote your conscience.” I stomp to the double doors and open them in a huff. “Jack.” I gesture to the closest brother in the living room. He looks up from the pool table. “Roll call. Five minutes.”

  “Got it.” He drops his cue stick on the table and hurries away to let the other brothers know it’s time for church.

  Minutes later, twenty of our members file into the spacious room and grab a seat at the long table. I wait patiently while everyone settles down.

  “This meeting is officially open,” I announce, knocking my knuckles on the tabletop a couple of times. I’m in no mood to sit down, so I stand in the corner, waiting for Tonsils to make his point.

  “Not sure how many of you are aware of where our prez is heading on Saturday.” He pauses for effect and glances at me. There’s some mumbling among the members. “Yeah, that’s right, Sam. To a memorial service sponsored by the Dead Dogs.”

  Several brothers look at me like I’m a fucking lunatic. I don’t owe anyone an explanation. I’ve struggled to let the memories of Angel fade. Making it through a day without thinking about her, well, it hasn’t happened yet. How are you supposed to ever forget someone like her? The love we shared? The immense respect I felt for her? No girl has ever earned that much admiration from me.

  It took nearly three years after her death for me to pull my head out of my ass long enough to stay sober for a day. Before that, I left a trail of bitterness in my wake. Once I sobered up, the real pain set in. The loneliness you feel late at night in bed is one thing, it’s expected. What struck me the most was that I could be surrounded by my brothers and friends and still feel like I was the only man standing.

  “For Angel,” I say. Let them protest that.

  “She’s been gone a long time,” Sam observes.

  “Not long enough to forget,” I say.

  “We don’t want you to forget, Eagle. Just think clearly before you dive into something head first,” my vice says. “I told you how I feel. The Dead Dogs want you dead.”

  “And I want Bear’s ass,” I fume. “He played a big role in Angel’s death. That motherfucker needs to die.” I punch the wall and ignore the pain that follows. “There’s no reason to drag this out. You know where I stand. I’ll give you a few minutes to discuss it. Let me know when you’re ready to take a vote.”

  I storm out of the meeting, ready for a drink. My aunt owns one of the two bars in Holly Beach. I could go across the street and visit with her for a few minutes or make myself a drink at our well-stocked bar in here. I gaze around the empty space. Even the old ladies are gone.

  It’s a no-brainer. I step outside and cross the street.

  My Aunt Birdie is fifty-two and single. She’s owned The Cajun since I can remember. There’s a couple regulars sitting at the bar. They nod at me as I grab a stool on the opposite end. Birdie turns around from the register and smiles.

  “Eagle.”

  “Auntie.”

  She gives me a sideways look. “What are you doing here in the middle of the afternoon?”

  “Same old shit, different day.”

  “Ah.” She reaches for a shot glass from the hanger above, then sets it on the wood bartop. It’s quickly filled with my favorite whiskey and pushed in front of me. “Tell me a story.”

  “Once upon a time,” I start.

  She pops me in the chest with the end of her bar towel. “Seriously?”

  “I could start it with a tale of two houses . . .”

  “Right. The Laramies and the Bakers. Your wealthy and connected father and your beautiful and born-on-the-wrong-side-of-the-bayou mother.”

  “Wrong story, wrong couple,” I say. “I fucked up.”

  “How, sweetie?”

  “Fell in love with a girl I knew didn’t have a chance in hell at a good life.”

  She pats my hand, knowing who this is about. “Angel had a great life with you.”

  “Two years,” I say, rage boiling inside me.

  “Think what would have happened if she didn’t get those two happy years, Eagle. She would’ve been sold off to some piece of
shit Dead Dog who raped and beat her. The two of you were meant to be together. Even if it was for a short time.”

  I suck down the shot and gesture for a refill. “All the while, Mom and Dad stay away.”

  “Come on, Caleb. Your father has no reason to come back to Holly Beach. Baton Rouge is home now. We didn’t exactly give them a reason to stay.”

  Dad offered to buy Birdie’s bar so she could retire in comfort. He didn’t like his only sister-in-law tending bar. As for me, he gave me a choice. Quit the club or lose my family. I chose the better of the two.

  “There’s a memorial service next Saturday at the cemetery. I want you to be there to honor Angel.”

  “Of course.” She refills my glass, then gives my hand a squeeze. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

  “Reading my mind again?”

  “I can see it in your eyes.”

  I suck in a breath. “I met a girl.”

  Stunned by the unexpected news, Birdie just stares at me.

  “Not sure if it will go anywhere.”

  “Don’t force it.”

  “I’m sick of being alone.”

  “We weren’t meant to be alone,” she says. “I miss your uncle every day.”

  I know she does. Several men have proposed over the years, but my aunt doesn’t want that kind of commitment again. You can only say “I do” once, she tells me often. But she dates.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Serafina.”

  “Italian?”

  I nod. “Just like Angel.”

  “Be careful. You can’t relive the past.”

  “I wasn’t looking, Auntie.” I finish off the second shot, slap a ten-dollar bill on the bar, and blow her a kiss. “See you tomorrow.”

  It’s been a good fifteen minutes since I left the clubhouse. If they haven’t made up their minds yet, I’ll make the decision for them. I return to the meeting room. Everyone quiets down as I claim my seat at the head of the table.

  “Go ahead,” I direct our treasurer. “Count the votes.”

  “All in favor of Eagle attending the memorial service, say aye,” Koma says. When he’s done scrawling a note on his pad of paper, he looks up. “All those opposed?”