Half of my brothers are standing outside Iron Mechanical when I turn into the lot. We’re closed on the weekends, the time reserved for working on our own motorcycles and vehicles. I toss my keys to one of the prospects and tell him to wash my ride. I need a drink. I need someone to beat the shit out of. I need an excuse to grab my .45 and go shoot Bear in the head point-blank.
Tonsils follows me to my office in the rear of the shop. “What happened?”
I throw myself into the chair behind my desk. “Close the door.”
He does.
“Miranda Orani showed up at the cemetery early.”
“What the fuck?”
“Acted like she’s grieving Angel.”
My vice shakes his head. “Sorry.”
“For what? Giving me sound advice? The only mistake you made was worrying about my safety. If I were you, I’d direct the security detail to guard the Dead Dogs. I’m out for blood. I want to settle this shit about Angel and then move on with my life. Serafina is my first chance at doing that.”
Tonsils sits in the guest chair across from me and leans over my desk. “You’re serious about the girl?”
I fold my hands under my chin, considering everything. “Yeah. If I can get her to talk to me again.”
Forget the service. I’ll go in your place so we don’t lose face with anyone.”
“Too late,” I say. “That bitch is going to report everything I said to Bear. If I don’t show up, he’ll think I’m afraid of retaliation. Everything I told that woman is true.” I scrub my face with both hands, my heart pounding.
“You visited Angel already, right? Said what you needed to. Let this go, Eagle. Like you said, get on with your life.”
If I’m going to start over, I need closure. I want to look the man in the eyes who is equally responsible for Angel’s death. I want to hear his lies, see his face when he honors the sister he never loved. “This one is for Angel.”
“That’s what we’re all afraid of, Eagle. You’re not thinking clearly. None of us blame you.”
“Us?”
“A few of the brothers.”
“Is that what you’ve wasted the morning over? Gossiping like the old ladies in the kitchen? Trying to find a way to keep me away from the service?” I open my desk drawer and retrieve the silver flask I keep stashed in case I ever need a drink. I open it and take a swallow. “Well?”
“We’re so close to jump starting the new chapter in Shreveport. To finalizing the deal with Lazaro. We need you alive to do it, Eagle.”
I narrow my gaze, angry at his constant disagreement. “Last time I checked that patch on your chest says vice.”
“What the fuck, Eagle?”
“Lazaro and I already shook hands. Whether I’m here or not, the Iron Norsemen are going to funnel his money into the Mexican bank accounts in Veracruz. The first deposit happens next Wednesday. As for the new chapter . . .”
“Gangrene called earlier. The nomad is on his way.”
“Already?” In order to ensure our hold as the dominant club in Shreveport, I called in a favor to another Iron Norsemen prez in Philadelphia and asked him to send me the best enforcer he had.
“Left the city last week.”
I drum my fingers on the desktop. “Attending the service doesn’t change anything. It reinforces how I feel about things in general. Angel belonged to me—to this club. We can’t just leave it, Tonsils. It’s a matter of honor, what’s right.”
“She’s dead, Caleb.”
‘No shit, Brother. That doesn’t mean I just forget about everything. Remember, Bear wants me dead—all of us gone.” He shrugs and sighs as he stands up. “I’ll be here at five forty-five to escort you to the park.”
The hours pass in silence. I’m close to being drunk when someone knocks on my office door. “What?”
“It’s time, Eagle,” Sunny calls.
“Be right out.” I cross the office and check myself in the mirror on the back of my door.
I’m wearing a black ribbed T-shirt under my vest and dark jeans. The gold Thor’s hammer Angel gave me for my twenty-second birthday is hanging around my neck, fully visible. I cleaned my boots yesterday. I smile down at the steel-toed Dead Dog stompers I’ve always worn.
I leave my office, calm and steady. My brothers are waiting, their Harleys in a two-column formation, organized by rank. My Pan Head is at the front, the chrome freshly shined and the engine running. I climb on, signal my brothers, and merge into oncoming traffic, which comes to a complete stop.
Most of the residents in Holly Beach know us. We’re given every consideration, like the fire department. People honk their horns out of respect as we ride by. Angel meant something to this small town.
As we near the cemetery, forty Dead Dogs on their bikes turn onto the street leading into the park. We wait for them to go by before we continue.
After another twenty minutes, we park a block down from the Dead Dogs’ motorcycles and get ready to walk to the columbarium. One of the prospects and a patched member will stay with our bikes. I gave Tonsils permission to come, it was the best way to keep the peace between us. Twelve other brothers will join me.
I open the glass door and step inside the building. There’s an abundance of white rose wreaths on stands throughout the space. Everyone turns as I walk toward Angel’s spot. Bear and his mother are standing at the front of the room, waiting for me.
“Eagle,” Bear says. He offers his hand, but I refuse to shake it.
“Is it my time to talk?”
Our gazes lock. His coal-colored eyes remind me of Angel’s. However, his are dull and void of happiness. Angel’s eyes were always expressive, full of life and innocence.
“After the violinist plays,” he informs me, pointing to the other side of the room.
I grit my teeth and lower my head, accepting the delay. The musician plays an eerie rendition of Amazing Grace that seems to drag on forever. Once she finishes, I’m ready to speak and get the fuck out of here.
“We’re gathered to remember and celebrate the life of my sister, Angelique Orani. Taken too soon from us, we often talk about the life she wanted to live. The places she wanted to visit. The people she loved unconditionally.” Bear pauses and stares at me. “Angel didn’t care about where someone came from or who they associated with. Like stray animals, she often dragged home whoever needed a helping hand.”
The crowd of about seventy-five people claps.
“Angel wanted to be a wife and mother . . .”
Fucking liar.
“She wanted to have a big family.”
I close my eyes and fight the urge to destroy him.
“She loved her family and the Dead Dogs.”
I fist my hands at my sides.
“She was engaged to Brian Dresher . . .”
I can’t fucking do it. With a guttural growl, I tackle Bear and roll him onto his back. I punch him in the face repeatedly, until I hear cartilage snap.
He tries to kick me off, but the effort only enrages me more. The next blow is to his chest. That’s when I hear Tonsils scream at me and try to lift me off Bear.
“Come on, Eagle.”
I shrug his arm off my shoulder and squeeze Bear’s face. I stare into his fear-laced eyes, his blood all over my fingers. “She hated you, motherfucker. Hated your club. Mourned the loss of her beloved father. Despised you for turning her mother into an addict.” I dig a thumb into his left eye socket, applying just enough pressure to make him writhe in pain. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right here in front of everyone.” My free hand grips his throat. “Why I shouldn’t strangle the fuck out of you. At least you get to look your killer in the face. That’s more consideration than you ever gave Angel. She died afraid and alone. Burned alive by you and your worthless club.”
“Eagle!” Tonsil’s voice is frantic.
I let go of Bear’s face and throat, but stay straddled over his chest. “Answer me.”
He coughs and sputters, fight
ing for a full breath.
“Why shouldn’t I kill you?”
“B-because there’s a gun aimed at the back of your fucking head.”
Whoever is holding it chambers a round.
“Get up, slowly,” someone says.
I look to my left. Six of my brothers are standing there, the rest to my right. I nod and their pistols come out of hiding. As I stand up, all I see are guns aimed at various members of both clubs. But the one that interests me the most is in the hands of the man standing behind me. I turn and find Derelict waiting.
“Do it,” I challenge him, waiting. “Need me to show you how?”
“Please,” Angel’s mother cries out. She inserts herself between me and Derelict, then grips the barrel of his gun with both hands. “This isn’t supposed to happen. Let Eagle go.”
She scans the crowd for support.
“L-listen to my mother.” Bear staggers to his feet, his face a swollen, bloody mess. “There’s a time and place for vengeance,” he says.
No one moves.
“This isn’t over,” I say to him. I’m not afraid to die for the right cause. Yeah, I’m moving on with my life, but I’ll be damned if the Dead Dogs are going to get away with lying about their part in Angel’s death.
Chapter Twenty-two
Serafina
After spending Saturday night crying myself to sleep, I woke up Sunday morning with a clear conscience. Why should I lament the time I spent with Eagle? I went to him out of love. Even if he doesn’t know it, I’ll carry the memory for both of us. He’ll move on soon and find a girl to settle down with. The bond we share can’t be broken. That much I know.
As for my lost virginity . . . it’s not as big of a deal as Asia makes it out to be. I’m not a teenager. I’ve experienced more than most fifty-year-old women do. Felt more pain, cried more tears, smiled more, laughed more, and sure as hell sacrificed more than anyone I know. I gave up my family and name—and the man I love—so Eagle could live. And he is. Thriving as the president of the Iron Norsemen.
I turn up the volume on my iPod, the sound of John Legend’s voice singing “All of Me” fills my apartment. I’ve always listened more to the lyrics than the music. Words move me. Caleb was just the opposite. Primal sounds drove him. Violent drum beats and edgy guitars. “California Dreaming” starts and I dance across the apartment, loving the classic song—my father’s favorite tune.
I grab my cell and order a pepperoni and sausage pizza from the place down the street. I’m pretty friendly with the delivery guy. Alex is a senior in high school scrimping and saving for college next year.
I run to the bathroom to put my contacts in but change my mind as soon as I look in the mirror. I like my brown eyes, especially when I’m wearing the T-shirt Eagle gave me all those years ago when he asked me to be his old lady. It says “property of Eagle” on it. Tonight I want to be Angel Orani, not Serafina. The shirt is one of the only things I managed to grab before I fled Holly Beach. It and some pictures I keep stashed in a lockbox under my bed. Feeling overly nostalgic, I head to the bedroom and slide under the bed.
I unlock the box and start shuffling through the memorabilia. There’s a shot of me and my dad when I was six. One with Mom at the beach. Several from high school, even a picture of me and my brothers before everything changed. But I’m only interested in the stack containing Eagle.
The first one is from the day he received his patch from the Iron Norsemen. He’s wearing his usual dark T-shirt and jeans. The next one is of the two of us at the clubhouse eating barbeque on the patio. Tonsils and his old lady, Belle, are standing behind us making funny faces. I laugh and swipe the tear from the corner of my eye. I miss everything about the MC. The brothers and old ladies, the camaraderie, the life in general. I miss sitting on the back of Eagle’s Harley and the respect that went with it. Back then I’m sure he never expected to become the president.
I’m so proud of him.
There was always something special about him. He possesses natural leadership skills that most men never display, part of that twenty percent of people who jump into action during a crisis. The other eighty percent freeze and only respond to commands.
I take the box into the living room and choose another song—“Desperado” by the Eagles. Another favorite we shared. He’d sing it to me all the time, begging me to trust him with my heart. We both love classic music.
Someone knocks on the door. I gaze at the clock in the kitchen. Thirty minutes since I ordered—Alex is on time. I grab the twenty-dollar bill off the breakfast bar and hurry to the front door, my tummy growling. As soon as I open the door my world shatters.
It’s not Alex.
“Serafina?”
Before I can close the door, Eagle jams his foot between the frame and door and forces his way inside.
I back away, covering my mouth with both hands.
“Who the fuck are you?” he roars, coming at me, his angry blue gaze fixed on my shirt. He looks into my eyes. “Where did you get that shirt?”
We’re only a few feet apart. A dozen lies are spinning through my head. If I don’t get this right the first time, he’ll kill me. My secret life won’t matter anymore.
“Tell me. Now!”
I cringe at the rage in his voice and on his face. I’ve never seen him so angry before.
“Who are you? Don’t make me beat it out of you. Do you work for Bear? Is that a trophy from the day he killed Angel?” He backs me against the wall and I struggle not to look him directly in the eyes.
The shadows in the living room might keep me safe—keep him from noticing my brown eyes. The plastic surgeon’s knife couldn’t alter my eye color or the deep-seated love that shines in them every time I’m around Caleb. Nothing can hide it. But I’m too afraid to tell him the truth. A coward.
“I don’t know Bear. I picked this shirt up at a secondhand store a few years ago.”
“Where?” he demands.
“I-I don’t remember”
“Bullshit.”
“In Beaumont, I think.”
“Beaumont? And it just happens to have the Iron Norsemen patch and my name on it? Jesus Christ, Serafina. Look at me.” He forces my chin upward.
“I think you should leave, Eagle. I don’t like surprises, especially unannounced guests.” I shake my chin free but he still has me caged in.
“You don’t like surprises?” he laughs angrily. “What about that bloody sheet you left me as a good morning gift at the cabin?”
I can’t do this. Then I remember the box of pictures. Fuck. My gaze darts to the coffee table where several are laid out. Please God. Please help me. “Leave.” I push him away, but he doesn’t budge.
“Explain this.” He grabs a fistful of the shirt and gives me a shake. “Tell me who you really are.”
All I can think about are the photos. They’re much more damning than the T-shirt.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” He lets me go and turns around.
I run for the table, managing to grab the photos and stuff them in the box before he gets to me.
“Give me the box,” he demands.
I hide it behind my back. “Get out!”
“Don’t make me take it from you.”
“Get out,” I scream again, hoping my neighbor will hear me through the partially open door.
Eagle notices it, too, and stalks down the short hallway, slams it shut, and then throws the deadbolt and sets the chain. Before he turns back, I slip the box under the sofa.
“Why is it so fucking dark in here?” He flips on the overhead light in the dining room. “Come here, Serafina,” he says dubiously, like it’s not my real name.
“Get out of my apartment and my life, Eagle. Find another girl to stalk.” It kills me inside to be so mean, to send the man I love away without the truth. I never expected him to show up here. Never.
“I’m not leaving, Serafina. So either you can fish that box out from underneath the sofa or I will.”
<
br /> I start to shake all over. This is my fault. I let my heart rule my brain. I begged Ben not to send me to Holly Beach. I knew Caleb and Lazaro were best friends. Though I’d never met Lazaro before, I knew the chances were high that Eagle would be at that party. I wanted to see him. I wanted to dance for him. I wanted to seduce him. And then Eagle saved me again, and my sick and twisted dream turned into a nightmare. We’re forever doomed to repeat our history together. I stare at him from across the room, trying to breathe and stay on my feet. I feel lightheaded and sick to my stomach.
“You’re pale,” he comments as he closes the distance between us. For a brief moment his anger turns into genuine concern and he reaches for my face.
I look away. “Don’t touch me.”
“Goddamnit, Serafina.” He kneels in front of the sofa. “If you won’t give me the answers I need, perhaps the contents of that box will.”
When he pulls it out I gasp in fear of what’s to come.
“Please, go away. Pretend we never met.”
He gazes up at me. “That’s never going to happen.”
Eagle
Whatever is going on here needs to be settled. She’s wearing the shirt I gave Angel. Only a couple explanations exist. She knows Bear or she found the T-shirt at a secondhand store like she said and purposely sought me out, wanting to become my old lady.
I study the outside of the metal lock box. There’s nothing remarkable about it. But I’m sure what’s hidden inside will provide some of the answers I need. As I open the lid, she screams again. All I see are pictures. I turn a few over. My heart stops. Heat courses through me. Serafina has pictures of me, Angel’s family, my MC. What the fuck? Who is she? Why does she have these photos? I throw the box across the room, blinded by rage and disappointment. I wanted this girl. I drove for hours to get here, to show her how much I cared—that I was willing to give her whatever she needed to be with me. To tell her everything about my past and then finally leave it behind. As I approach her, she retreats.
“Did you help the Dead Dogs kill Angel Orani?” I’m in her face now, shoving her against the wall. “Or is this evidence? Did they pay you to hide it? Are you some kind of sick fuck who gets off on other people’s pain?” She’s starting to hyperventilate, but I don’t give a shit. “Answer me, woman.” I stare at the shirt again—the words Property of Eagle driving me into a rage. Without thinking, I fist the material in my hands and rip it off her body. “I should kill you . . .”
One Taste of Angel Page 13