I know better. Eagle belongs to the brotherhood first.
In the mood to do some shopping in town, I quietly get out of bed and leave the bedroom, letting Eagle sleep. Shreveport is safe to walk around in. No one knows me here. Eagle didn’t order any bodyguards and told me I was free to explore. After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I braid my hair and put on jeans and a Led Zeppelin concert T-shirt that’s older than me. I check myself in the mirror and apply some mascara and red lipstick, liking my new hair color and the deeper colors of makeup I can wear again.
Sneaking down the hallway to the kitchen, I grab my purse and the keys to the old Chevy pickup parked in the garage, and leave the house. It’s afternoon already, and I put on my sunglasses and smile at how good the sunshine feels. I can’t believe I ever left Louisiana. This place is as much a part of me as my soul.
I climb in the driver’s side of the truck and start it. AC blasts from the vents and the radio volume is set way too high. Heavy rock music booms from the speakers and I turn it down while I back out of the garage. Some things never change. Eagle always liked listening to loud music. When he’s older, I’m sure he’ll need hearing aids. I smile at the thought of growing old together—wondering how many grandchildren we’ll have by the time we hit sixty.
It’s a short drive into Shreveport proper. The traffic is light and I head to a popular shopping area. Not a mall, but a place where all the local artisans sell their handmade artwork. I’m in the mood to buy something meaningful for our home. Maybe a painting or sculpture, a keepsake I can put on the mantle.
I park in a designated lot, pay for two-hour parking and place the ticket on the windshield, then lock the truck. I cross the street, noticing the crowd of tourists wandering around. Then a heavenly aroma stops me. Fresh bread. There’s a bakery on the corner and a line down the street. Unable to resist, I rush to join the people waiting to get inside the shop.
A woman with two kids smiles at me as I get behind her.
“Is this a popular place?” I ask her.
She nods. “The Debix family has been here for three generations. They put out fresh bread twice a day, seven days a week. Sells out within a half hour usually.” She glances at the front of the line. “If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to claim a loaf.”
The idea of living in a small town where everyone knows each other is appealing. I spent six years hiding in my apartment. Yes, college kept me from going crazy, but this, being able to stand in line at a bakery, is something foreign. It feels right, though.
I study my wedding ring then, still basking in the happiness of being a bride.
“Are you a newlywed?” the woman asks.
I look up and grin. “Married a few days ago.”
“Let me see your ring.”
I proudly hold my hand out.
“That’s a beautiful setting, an antique if I know anything about jewelry.”
“Thank you,” I say.
We move up a few feet.
“I wish you all the happiness in the world,” she says, digging in her purse. “Here.” She offers me a business card. “My name is Debbie. This is Justin and Rachel—my kids.”
I take the card. She’s a jeweler. “Hi, Justin and Rachel. I’m Serafina.” I shake Debbie’s hand and the kids smile.
Twenty minutes later, I’m holding a paper bag with a loaf of asiago cheese bread and a loaf of white chocolate cherry bread that weighs three pounds. I open the plastic bag containing the cheese bread and tear off a hunk and shove it in my mouth. Dear God, it’s so good. I wander aimlessly down the street, pausing at storefronts and checking out the galleries.
One in particular catches my attention the most—Lori’s Lazy Lane Boutique. There’s paintings and glasswork. Just the kind of place I’m looking for. I go inside, immediately assailed by the smell of jasmine-scented incense. There’s classical music playing from somewhere, and the proprietor, Lori, greets me. She’s as bohemian as anyone can get.
“Welcome,” Lori says.
“Hello.” I disappear down one of the aisles filled with shelves of colorful vases.
I like anything different. And that’s what I find. A large vase decorated with shards of sea glass and pink and black marbles melded into the glass itself. I pick it up and examine the quality workmanship. Three hundred dollars. Is it worth it? I place it back on the shelf and consider it. Eagle told me to spend whatever I wanted to. Everything he has is mine now. That will take some getting used to.
After my father was murdered, Mom spent the life insurance money fairly quick. From that point on, we lived frugally, sometimes not having enough money to buy the groceries we needed. That impacted me in a big way. I’m used to getting by with the bare essentials. I tap my chin and stare at the vase again. So pretty.
Why not? I pick it up again and carry it to the register. Lori nods her approval.
“That’s a personal favorite of mine,” she says, as she cuts the price tag off and starts to roll it in layers of bubble wrap and tissue paper.
“I love it so much. Did you make it?”
“Believe it or not,” she pauses, “I made everything in this place.”
We chat for a few more seconds and I pay with cash and then leave the store, feeling better than I have in years.
I sneak another piece of tasty bread and walk to the end of the street and turn right. There’s another block to explore.
That’s when I see him across the street with a camera, staring at me—snapping shots of me.
That wonderful feeling disappears immediately and my fight or flight instinct kicks in. Sheer panic really, because there’s no one around now. Not within calling distance. I fumble with my purse, desperate to dig my cell phone out while keeping my eyes on the bastard who assaulted me at Lazaro’s bachelor party.
Why did I let my guard down? How could I have been so careless?
Where is my damn phone? I look down for a split second, and when I check across the street again, he’s gone. That’s when I start running in the opposite direction, toward the truck. I don’t get far. He’s waiting for me in the shadows of an empty storefront, the end of a pistol aimed right at me.
“Mamacita,” he says, in that voice that makes my skin crawl. “Nice to see you again.”
I swallow the lump of terror in my throat, trying to remain calm. “What do you want?”
He flashes a lewd grin, his gaze travelling down my body. “Your absolute cooperation and perhaps that table dance you never finished.”
I take a step back, the memory of his hands all over me flashing through my mind like a movie in slow motion. I taste bile and fear. “Fuck you,” I say, regretting it immediately.
“Didn’t Laramie teach you manners yet?”
“Laramie?” I ask like I don’t know who he’s talking about.
“Don’t play stupid, mamacita. That rock on your finger confirms everything. You married Eagle.”
How in God’s name does he know? Our wedding was so unexpected and unplanned. None of our guests . . .
“Look at what that bastard did to me.” He shoves his maimed hand in my face.
I gag at the sight of the missing finger—the scar tissue is still swollen and probably infected. “I had nothing to do with that.”
His smile turns into an angry scowl and he waves the gun. “You had everything to do with it. And now it’s time to pay for it.”
Several people pass by, but I don’t move or ask for help. I’m not the kind of person to endanger innocent people. This is my problem to deal with until we’re safely away from this very public place.
“W-what do you want me to do?”
“Walk away with me. Do it and I promise I won’t hurt you. But if you make a fucking sound, bitch, I’ll slit your throat while I shove this pistola up that pretty pussy.”
Frantic and feeling so alone, I weigh my options. He’s obviously a lunatic with nothing to lose. All I can think about is how children get caught in the crossfire of gang shootings
all the time. I picture one of Debbie’s children lying on the ground bleeding to death . . . “Where are we going?”
“You don’t get to ask the questions.” He reaches out and I flinch, thinking he’s going to hit me. Instead, he tugs my bags from my arms.
The bread and vase hit the sidewalk with a thud. My purse is still hanging on my arm.
“Walk.” He points south.
I do as he commands, turn and take a first step. He jams the barrel of the pistol in my back, wrapping his arm around my waist from behind. “Good girl,” he says, the smell of cheap whiskey on his breath.
Chapter Thirty-three
Eagle
The house is too quiet. I scramble out of bed when I realize Angel isn’t lying next to me. I stagger to the chair and grab my boxers and put them on. I rub the sleep from my eyes, still a little foggy from all the drinks I had last night.
“Angel?” I call, wandering into the hallway. I stop in the bathroom to take a piss, wash my hands and face, and run my hand over my hair before I continue to the kitchen.
I smell fresh coffee and grab a mug from the cabinet and pour a cup for myself. After I take a couple sips, I go to the front door and open it, hoping to find my wife sitting on the porch. It’s become one of her favorite spots. As I stare out into the expanse of the front yard, a couple birds fly by, playing in the trees that ring the property. She’s not here.
Maybe by the river?
I trudge back to the bedroom and get dressed, then make my way outside, wishing she’d stayed in bed so we could make love again. I can’t seem to get enough of her. The initial disappointment and anger I felt after I found out who she really was has turned into desperation. A driving force that makes me unwilling to let her get too far out of reach. I need to know where she is at all times. I need to know she’s safe. Happy. Here with me.
I check all the places I guess she might be, but no luck in finding her. That’s when I rush to the garage and find the truck missing. I smile, remembering I told her to feel free to drive into town if she wanted to do some exploring. Shreveport is the one place where I know she’s safe. The Iron Norsemen have kept a low profile even though we’re opening another chapter here soon. I’ve made some solid contacts through buying supplies to fix up the cabin and property after I purchased it from my father. Yeah, the people in town know I’m the president of the MC, but no one has questioned me.
Deciding to surprise my wife in town, I lock the house and climb on my bike, looking forward to a quick ride. I know where she probably went. Though there’s a couple hundred thousand people in Shreveport, it has that small-town feel. The shopping district is just the sort of place she’d go. Whether she knows it or not, Angel has already started nesting.
The joy of knowing she has a home now and the chance to start her own family has transformed her into the woman I always knew she’d become if given a chance. I’m happier than I ever thought I could be.
I find a parking space on the side of the road and shove a couple quarters in the meter. My cell vibrates and I fish it out of my vest pocket.
“Hello?”
“Good afternoon,” a woman says. “Is this Serafina Scala’s phone?”
“I’m her husband.”
“I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Scala . . .”
“Laramie,” I correct her.
“Pardon me,” she continues. “Your wife visited my shop two hours ago and purchased a vase. She seemed quite excited with the piece. A pedestrian found her bag down the street from my shop and returned the item. I’m not sure what happened, Mr. Laramie, but if you’d like to stop by and pick it up . . .”
Jesus Christ. Every hair on my body stands on end. “How did you get this number?”
“Your wife signed up to receive my biannual catalog.”
“Where’s your shop located?”
She gives me the address and I disconnect, running the couple of blocks to the store.
I step inside and the woman behind the counter seems to recognize me without needing to confirm my identity. “My name is Lori,” she says, sliding a medium-sized plastic bag my way. “Have you reached your wife yet?”
“No,” I growl, fear and rage growing inside me. “Was she with anyone when she came here?”
Lori eyes my cut, her gaze lingering on my patches. “No.”
“Did she seem distraught?”
“Just the opposite—happy and really interested in my work.”
“Fuck . . .”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asks.
“Take care of her package for a while,” I say as I leave the store, convinced Angel’s life is in danger.
I curse myself a hundred times on the way back to my bike, knowing how foolish I was to suggest Angel explore Shreveport without an escort. I dial Tonsils as I start my bike.
“Didn’t expect to hear from you so soon,” he says.
“Listen to me,” I say. “Angel is gone. Someone found her shopping bag down the street from a store she visited. Send six of the brothers to Shreveport. Get word out she’s missing. And double her friend’s security detail.” Finished, I lower the phone from my ear.
“Eagle!”
“What?”
“Don’t do anything crazy. Wait until we know what’s going on.”
I disconnect. Fuck Tonsils’ advice. I need to find her now. Realizing I haven’t called her cell phone yet, I dial her number. It goes right to voicemail. I try again and again, leaving five messages, each one a little more urgent than the one before it. My gut tells me the Dead Dogs have something to do with this. That someone on the inside betrayed the club and told Bear who Serafina really is.
If that’s the case, if her brother has her—I’ll fucking kill him.
Serafina
Gagged, blindfolded, and with my hands tied behind my back, all I can do is struggle as I’m dragged from Tito’s van and pushed through what I guess is a doorway. I hear the loud humming of an industrial-sized cooling compressor and then several male voices.
“Is this the bitch?” someone asks.
“Eagle Laramie’s old lady,” Tito confirms, sounding proud of himself.
I hear someone step closer.
“You were right, she has nice tits and a tight little ass.”
Someone grabs two handfuls of my backside and I squirm to get away, kicking blindly at whoever is in front of me.
Male laughter sounds and my blindfold is removed.
I squint, trying to adjust to the bright light in the room. We’re standing in a warehouse of some sort. There’s countless crates stacked everywhere, a cement floor, high, narrow windows covered in mesh wire, swinging industrial lamps overhead, and aluminum pipes running along the ceiling.
“What’s her name?”
“Serafina,” Tito answers, turning me around.
That’s when I see my brother, Bear. My heart nearly stops. Like Tito, his filthy intentions are revealed in his smile. I back away, praying he won’t touch me, hoping for divine intervention. However, my prayers are denied. He grabs my arm and gives me a violent shake. I cry out in pain, but the tight gag muffles my voice.
“Do you know how long I’ve waited to get my hands on you?” he asks.
I shake my head.
He shakes me again. “I’m gonna give Eagle what he deserves by fucking you and then putting a bullet in your head.”
Bear reaches into his vest and pulls out an overstuffed envelope and hands it to Tito. “Count it.”
Tito weighs the package in his palm. “I trust you. Ten thousand, right?”
Bear nods and focuses on me again. “Welcome to your new home, baby,” he says as he roughly hauls me across the expanse of the room and stops at a steel door. “I’ve waited a long time to take something precious away from Eagle.”
He kicks the door open to a windowless cell with a single light overhead. There’s a dirty twin mattress on the floor, a bucket, roll of toilet paper, and a six-pack of bottled water. I fight him eve
ry step of the way as he forces me to my knees onto the pallet and then picks up a chain with a pair of handcuffs attached to the end.
“This can go two ways,” he warns. “You let me untie you without a struggle and I put these handcuffs on you. Or I do it the fun way, and beat and fuck the shit out of you until you understand who has the power here.”
Tears sting my eyes as I let his words sink in. Of course he doesn’t recognize me or my great grandmother’s name. I want to scream out my real name, let him know who I am. But I’m gagged, and if I reveal the truth, it might push him over the edge.
“Which is it? Option number one?”
I nod vigorously.
“Wise choice.”
I stand helplessly as he unties my hands and then brings them to my front.
“Fold your hands over your stomach,” he commands.
I do.
The handcuffs are snapped into place and I await his next order.
“Scream all you want,” he offers. “No one will hear you. You get two meals a day. If you need anything, bang the bucket on the floor. Someone will hear you, eventually.”
I watch as he starts to walk away, but then he turns around and eyes me like a ravenous dog would.
It makes me so sick I want to vomit.
He comes at me then, tearing my T-shirt off, revealing the sexy lace bra I’d hoped to seduce Eagle with.
“Fuck!” He stares at my breasts and licks his lips. “Tito didn’t lie.”
All I can do is close my eyes and try to maintain control as he paws my stomach and squeezes my breasts together. When he licks my neck, and tries to unfasten my bra, I can’t take any more and kick him in the shin.
Expecting a slap, I brace for the violence. It never comes. Instead, he grins and backs off. “I like ’em feisty,” he says as he leaves the room and slams the door shut.
I count to thirty before I allow myself to sink to the ground and weep. I yank the gag off eventually, giving voice to my sobs.
One Taste of Angel Page 19