Seasons of Change (Bleeding Angels MC Book 1)

by Stephens, Olivia

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The first thing I notice when I wake up is the smell. I take a few breaths, and although there’s no light in the sky I know instinctively that something is wrong. All of the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I tiptoe towards the door, and that’s when I recognize what it is that I’m smelling. A plume of black smoke makes its way up the stairs. Everything seems to happen in the space of only a few seconds.

  I run back into the bedroom, shaking Jake. “Fire,” I say breathlessly when he opens his eyes, and he’s out of bed without me having to say it again.

  We both throw our clothes on and run downstairs. I can’t figure out where the smoke is coming from. “My mom,” I shout over to Jake, who nods and heads straight to the couch where she’s slept for the last six years. But she’s not there. She’s nowhere to be found.

  “Mom!” I shout, knowing it’s useless, she won’t answer me. “Mom!” I scream and cough as the smoke starts to choke me. That’s when it occurs to me—I know where she is. I turn and start to head back up the stairs but Jake catches hold of my hand, not letting me go up.

  “Aimee, what the hell are you doing?” he asks, his face grey from the soot but his eyes as clear as day. “We have to get out of here,” he pleads.

  “We will. You get out and call 911, I need to go and get my mom,” I tell him. But Jake tries to pull me back. “I’m not leaving her here!” I exclaim, and the determination on my face tells him all that he needs to see.

  “Goddammit,” Jake says under his breath. “You go get your mom. I’ll try and find where the hell the fire is coming from. Aimee, don’t do anything stupid,” he tells me, looking like he’s trying commit my face to memory.

  “Me? Never!” I reply, giving him the bravest smile I can manage before I race up the stairs to the bedroom my parents shared.

  The smoke is getting thicker and thicker, but I can still see her lying on the bed that she used to sleep in with my father, not moving. Please God, don’t let it be too late, I pray.

  “Mom, we have to go,” I shout at her as I grab her by the shoulders and start to pull her up.

  “Leave me alone.” The voice comes out dry and cracked from lack of use, but there it is. It’s the voice of my mother.

  I don’t have the luxury of being in shock or asking what brought her back. All I know is that I need to get her out of this house before anyone gets hurt. “Mom, you have to come with me. There’s a fire,” I explain to her as calmly as I can while I try not to breathe in any more of the smoky air.

  “Leave me here, Aimee, leave me here, I want to see your father again,” she says dreamily, and I realize what she’s saying. She wants me to let her die in this house so that she can be reunited with my dad.

  “Dad isn’t here,” I tell her, “And he sure as shit wouldn’t approve of what you’re doing, curling up, waiting to die, and leaving your daughter all alone in the world!” I yell at her. “I’ve only just got you back, and I’m not going to let go of you again that easily.”

  I take hold of her shoulders again. But she’s too determined to stay where she is. I know that we’ve been up here too long.

  The smoke is getting thicker and my head is starting to feel light from the lack of oxygen in the air. “Momma, don’t do this,” I ask her, feeling suddenly weak and wondering how long it’ll take the fire department to get here.

  “Aimee!” Jake’s voice booms out from downstairs.

  “Up here!” I shout, coughing and spluttering.

  Jake runs into the room and seems to take in the situation in an instant. He’s about to lift me up but I shake my head, “Take her.” I tell him. “I can’t.”

  Jake nods once and, ever so gently, lifts my mother off of the bed as if she doesn’t weigh any more than a bag of feathers. She tries to resist but her muscles are weak after years of neglect, and Jake is far too strong for her. I scramble after them down the stairs, coughing harder and harder as the smoke seems to be getting denser. Jake and my mom are the first out of the door and I follow quickly behind them until I remember the bag of money.

  It’s everything I have in this world, and I’ll be damned if I lose it like this. I have time to run back in and grab it before I see the floor of the sitting room collapse as if it’s been swallowed up by a huge beast. I stand in shock, and it’s only because Jake pulls me out of the door that I’m able to move. I hear the creaking and hissing of wood, and the entire downstairs floor seems to give way.

  “Are you alright?” Jake asks, holding his hands on either side of my face.

  I nod quickly, coughing lightly but grateful for the fresh air that I’m breathing in. My mother is collapsed in a pile on the ground, crying softly and rocking herself. She looks hysterical. I remember this from the first days after my dad died—this is what she had looked like then, too. I rush over to her, making sure that she’s alright and unhurt.

  “It’s going to be okay, Momma,” I say to her soothingly, crouching down and holding onto her shoulders. “It’s going to be okay. I just need you to stay here for me,” I tell her, hoping that she’s not going to try anything stupid like running back into the building that we’ve just had to drag her out of.

  But I can’t focus my attention on her for long, as I realize that we are not the only people standing outside of my house. I look around to see that we’re surrounded by members of the Bleeding Angels MC, and Scar has the best seat. He looks comfortable, front and center, watching as my house burns down.

  “Well hello, Aimee,” he says, acting like we’ve just met each other in the park on a sunny day rather than in the middle of the night outside of a burning building. “It’s been a long time,” he adds, looking up at the sky as if he’s trying to figure out exactly how many years it’s been.

  “Not long enough,” I reply to him, sounding stronger than I’m actually feeling.

  “Sorry about the house. Always like this building,” he says, shaking his head at the waste. “But it had to be done.” He shrugs as if it was out of his hands.

  “You burn my house down and then you say it had to be done?” I ask, taking a step towards Scar. But Jake is faster than me. He throws his arm out, holding me back as we both hear the sound of guns being cocked. The bikers are ready to protect their lord and master.

  “You’ve got yourself a feisty one there, Summers,” Scar says with what sounds like pride. But Jake doesn’t respond—he doesn’t make any move to even show that he’s heard. “You’re a lot like your mother. Full of spunk.” Scar continues, turning his attention back to me. “Or at least that’s how she was before,” he corrects himself as he glances at her with a vaguely nostalgic look on his face, watching her rock back and forth on the sidewalk, talking quietly to herself.

  “Before you killed my father, you mean? In cold blood and in front of half the town?” I spit the words out, wishing that I had the gun that was probably still lying on my dresser where Jake had left it.

  “Enough, Miss Winters,” he replies. “I understand what my son sees in you.” He nods in appreciation, and I catch the leer of Ryan’s face sitting on one of the bikes behind his father and I feel my stomach roll. “But don’t think that I won’t cut you down if you sass me like that again, you hear me?” Scar asks, his voice so sharp it could cut you in two.

  “You’re here for me, so let’s just get this over with,” Jake sighs, like he’s had enough of it all.

  “Jake! No!” I yell, catching him on the arm and forcing him to look at me. “Not like this,” I plead with him, but I can see in his eyes that he doesn’t know what else to do.

  “Why are you coming for him early?” I demand of Scar. “You usually take new patches the day after their birthday, so what gives?” I keep my hold on Jake, his hand in mine, deriving some strength from the warmth between us.

  “Well, your friend Suzie—I have to say she does have her uses.” Scar nods towards the end of one row of bikes and I recognize Elvis, the bastard that claimed Suzie and then pum
ped her full of drugs. “This was all her idea, actually."

  I feel the blood drain out of me all at once at his words and it’s only when I feel Jake’s arm snake around my shoulder that I realize how weak my legs have gone.

  My reaction is clearly exactly what Scar was looking for, because he gives a small smile of satisfaction and I have to resist the urge to slap the expression off of his face. “She wanted to help us out, knew that the best way to get to Jake was to get to you. It looks like she was right. Misinformation is what they call it, I think—you thought we were coming for Jake on the night of his birthday, but in fact, we were always coming for him now. Surprise is really one of the most powerful tools in any army’s arsenal.”

  He shakes his head, impressed with his little plan and how things have all worked out exactly as he had hoped.

  “I’m happy for you,” I say to Scar sarcastically. “I’m glad you’re so proud of yourself—getting a young, vulnerable girl addicted to junk and then using her to do your dirty work. What a man you are, Travis.” My voice is bitter and I use his real name intentionally, knowing how much it’ll bother him.

  “Aimee.” Jake’s voice is a warning and I know he’s worried I’ve gone too far.

  “Don’t test me, little girl.” Scar’s voice is low and full of menace. “I would have thought you’d be smarter about the way you use that mouth after what happened to your daddy,” he says, leaning over the handlebars of his bike.

  “Don’t you dare talk about my father,” I spit. “You don’t deserve to say his name; you’re nothing but a murderer.” I’m yelling now, ignoring the look of concern that Jake is giving to the crowd of bikers and the way he puts himself between me and them.

  “Are you still sore about that?” Scar asks, and there’s a chuckle amongst the men behind him. “The best man won that night; you need to move on with your life now, sugar. It’s about time,” he suggests in a low voice, as if he’s offering me some kind of counselling.

  “Right, because shooting an unarmed man who was just trying to talk to you really makes you the better man. Just like setting fire to an ill woman’s house in the middle of the night—that’s really impressive.” I laugh at him, and the “brain to mouth” filter fails yet again.

  “Don’t push me, Winters.” His voice comes out in a growl.

  “What are you going to do? Burn my house down? Try to kill my family? Oh, guess you’ve already done that,” I say, slapping my forehead as if I’d forgotten. I’m vaguely aware that I’m getting a little hysterical, but it’s funny what happens to you when your back’s against the wall and someone’s set fire to your home.

  “No, we’re going to take Jake,” Scar replies without missing a beat, and my mouth works wordlessly trying to come up with a response. “It’s time, Jake. Enough messing around. You belong with us now. You know the rules,” he says, looking at my friend with an intensity that makes me want to take a step back.

  Jake seems to think for a moment, looks at me, and kisses me softly on the lips, smiling sadly. Then he takes a step forward and my world starts to fall apart.

  “Jake, no,” I say, reaching out my hand to hold onto his arm, but he shakes me off gently.

  “Aimee, I have to do this,” he tells me quietly. “I don’t have a choice anymore. Look at what they’ve done to your house. Think about what could have happened to you, to your mom. There’s no way I can let anything like this happen again.”

  He shakes his head. “And it will, if I keep resisting. They’re never going to stop, they’re never going to let me go,” he says, his eyes full of love and sadness. “They’re not going to let me go, so you have to,” he tells me finally, freeing himself from my grip that’s gone slack.

  I stand stock still, reeling from the words that he’s just said to me, but before he can take another step towards the men that want to ruin him, I speak out, my voice strangely steady despite what’s going on around me. “Let’s make a deal,” I say, staring straight ahead at Scar and ignoring the look that Jake throws back to me over his shoulder.

  “A deal?” Scar laughs, looking at me like I’m just the pathetic little girl that he seems to think I am. “What kind of deal do you think we could make? What could you possibly have that would interest me? Your Care Bear collection?”

  There’s a low rumble of laughter from the men behind him. I catch a look between Ryan and his father and a slow smile starts to spread across the older man’s face. It’s a smile that holds no warmth and it makes me want to turn around and run for the hills, but I stand firm, not letting him see how much he’s intimidating me.

  “Well you may have something that could be of interest to us,” he says slowly. “Or at least to one of us,” he adds, looking pointedly over at Ryan.

  My skin crawls as I realize what he’s saying, and I actually feel physically sick. I hear Jake shouting above the hoots of laughter from the Bleeding Angels.

  “That is never going to happen!” Jake bellows. “If you so much as touch Aimee, I will end you.” He’s barely containing the anger in his voice. Ryan makes a move to get off his bike, but his father holds up his hand and he stops dead in his tracks.

  “It’s the best deal you’re going to get, Winters. I would really think about it before you let lover boy here ruin it for you,” Scar suggests.

  “Like Jake said, that’s never going to happen, Travis. Your creepy little son can keep his hands and his eyes to himself,” I say, holding my head high, and I can’t help but feel a little triumphant when I hear some of the Bleeding Angels laughing and Ryan’s face turns red either with anger or embarrassment— perhaps a little bit of both.

  “So what are you offering me, sugar? Let’s just get down to it—this little dance has been going on for long enough and I’m getting a little tired. What do you have that you think I might want?” Scar asks, sounding like I’m boring him.

  “Money,” I reply instantly. “I have money.”

  “No Aimee, don’t do this,” Jake tells me as he spins around, closing the distance between us. “That’s your ticket out of here,” he whispers to me forcefully, his stare intense. “Don't do it. Not for me.”

  “It’s not up to you, Jake,” I tell him, shaking my head. “And like I said, I’m not going anywhere without you. I’ll do whatever I have to for you, whatever it takes,” I say, lifting my hand up to touch his stubbly cheek.

  “We have money already,” Scar replies dismissively, but there’s something in his eyes that tells me he’s not as disinterested as he’s trying to seem.

  “But you guys are running a little low, am I right?” I ask, playing the only card I have left. “The businesses in Painted Rock aren’t making as much, are they? So your cut is getting less and less.” I say, sounding like I know more than I do, thinking back to the night at the diner when Blondie and Baldy refused to believe that we were short on their monthly fee.

  “Y’all could do with a little bit of a float, something to keep you all living in the style you’ve become accustomed to,” I joke. “I’m guessing the smack you’re getting isn’t free.”

  I raise my voice to make sure all the bikers can hear me, and there’s a low murmur that rumbles through them as it becomes clear that I’ve hit on something that speaks to them: their addiction.

  “We do alright,” Scar says, his voice sounding suddenly less certain after hearing the reaction of his crew to my offer.

  “Maybe.” I shrug. “Maybe not,” I say, folding my arms to keep them from seeing how my hands are trembling.

  The silence stretches out between us and a silent communication seems to pass between Scar and his son before eventually he asks, “How much you got?”

  “Enough to keep you all high and dry, if you take my meaning, for the next month,” I say, hoping that I’m right about that.

  Scar nods slowly, looking at his crew behind him and he seems to make a decision. “Let me see it,” he says, holding out his hand.

  “Not until you agree to leave Jake alo
ne,” I reply, wondering why Scar would think I’m stupid enough to hand over the cash before we’ve even agreed the terms. He’s not known for being the most honorable of men after all.

  “You’re not really in the best position to negotiate here, Winters,” Scar reminds me, looking around at the men facing us and I have to admit that he’s not wrong.

  “Aimee, don’t,” Jake’s voice is low in my ear but I just look up at him and smile with a confidence that I don’t really feel.

  I walk behind me, back towards the house where I’d dropped the bag of cash on the front lawn. I pick it up, feeling the weight of it, and take a deep breath before I turn around and start walking towards Scar.

  “Don’t give it to me,” he says suddenly and I look at him in confusion. “Give it to Ryan,” he clarifies nodding towards his son, who grins like a Cheshire cat. I steel myself for the exchange.

  Ryan hops off of his bike and approaches me. Before I get too close to him, I hold up the bag for him to take. He looks at me with that leering expression of his and the thin nightdress I’m wearing feels even thinner, standing in front of him. Our hands touch as I hand over the bag and I have to stop myself from physical recoiling at the sensation.