by Ivy Fox
My thoughts are interrupted by Michael as he places a black helmet on my head, also custom-designed with silver wings on it, similar to the menacing bike on our left.
“There you go,” he says tenderly, so unlike the hard man he usually tries to be. He straps on his bike, bringing it to life with a thunderous roar.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” he says, his blue eyes crinkling at their edges in amusement. “Hop on,” he orders teasingly, and I follow his command. This chopper, as I heard my hosts call their bikes fondly, really is a monstrosity. I was half joking about feeling the power of such a vehicle between my legs, but now that I’m on it, I’m starting to see the true appeal. Being strapped on the back of this bike, holding onto Michael’s waist without him being able to see my face, is strangely empowering and liberating.
“Hold on tight, sweetheart. Fair warning, I’m not one to drive slow,” he adds, holding both my hands in his in a firm grip over his stomach, which is hard as stone.
“Understood,” I grin behind him, secretly loving having him wrapped up nice and tight to my front.
The second we take off, my heart jumps out from my chest with the spike of adrenaline. I watch the passing trees on the side of us in awe, as I establish how truly secluded we are in our little house in the forest. It takes miles and miles of lush greenery before we make it onto a paved road that will lead us into Warren. The May sun and cool wind kiss my face, and I hug Michael further to me, as I lay my head on his shoulder, loving the feel of both on my skin. Michael continues to have one hand placed protectively over both my clasped hands, and I feel his frustration every time he needs to let go to use both hands on the handlebars to control the bike’s direction. I smile at that, too, glad he’s unable to see the exhilaration on my face by both the thrill of this small adventurous ride, as well as his untamed protectiveness of my well-being.
Twenty minutes later, we stumble upon the main street of Warren, and I feel the eyes of its habitants on my back. Their curious attention is most likely brought on by the leather-wearing man in front of me. The chopper comes to a stop at a mom-and-pop diner, and I wonder if, with all the excitement of coming into town with me, Michael forgot to eat anything for breakfast back home. I jump off the bike, taking my helmet off, and Michael quickly follows. He stows my helmet away and then grabs my hand to lead me to the diner as if it was the most normal thing to do. Something inside me tells me I shouldn’t feed into this type of familiarity, but the second I feel his thumb gently sweep over my skin, I push that thought away from my mind. The small caress eases my nerves as we walk into the crowded coffee shop.
It’s a standard diner, housing a big counter along the side with high stools for the customers who would rather have their food and go, than to sit at any of the ten to twelve tables in the center of the room, covered by the traditional white-and-red checkered tablecloths.
A robust dark-skinned woman waves us over to the end of the counter, so Michael leads us toward her, who is slowly appraising me from top to bottom. Instinctively, I grip Michael’s hand tighter, and he gives me yet another comforting squeeze.
“Well, well, well. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? Haven’t seen you much these past few weeks. Thought you boys might be out of town or something. Guess you came back with a souvenir this time, huh?” she says with a Cheshire Cat smile. Michael leans over the counter and gives her a kiss on the cheek. It’s difficult to pinpoint the heavy-set woman’s age since the grin on her face would challenge any teenage girl, but if I needed to venture a guess, I would think close to her mid-fifties. She pats his shoulder lightly and continues her blatant stare at all of my features.
“Hi, Mabel. Is George around?” he says, not making any introduction, which unnerves me somewhat.
“Yep, out back in the kitchen,” she replies, keeping an amused smirk on her fluorescent pink lips.
“Okay, just need a quick chat with him. You good to stay here for a minute?” he asks me.
“She’ll be fine, won’t you, honey? Go do what you have to do out back, and I’ll entertain your friend here,” Mabel replies for me with a beam in her eyes. I feel his uncertainty vibrate through him, so I nod and nudge his shoulder with my own for him to go on already.
“Fine. Try not to get into too much trouble here with Mabel, sweetheart,” he smiles, leaning in and kissing my forehead. I roll my eyes at his silly command. Michael is so used to giving orders, he thinks he can dole them out with me, and I’ll abide by them like everyone else. He’s got a lot to learn. Still, the gentle kiss on my forehead was a nice touch—as if he knows damned well the gentle touch would make me keep my mouth shut, instead of giving him my usual sarcastic remark in front of his friend. He walks behind the counter like he’s done it a million times before, and walks through a beaded curtain, which hides what I assume is the kitchen inside.
Once he’s vanished, I look back at Mabel, who’s still wearing the same amused grin.
“What it’ll be, honey?” she asks in a caring tone.
I am hungry, and a slice of apple pie would hit the spot right about now. I take a seat on one of the high stools and look over at the display behind Mabel, peering at all of the delicious goods it contains.
“Decaf, please, and a slice of your apple pie. Thanks.”
“Sure thing, honey,” she answers back, swiftly getting my order in front of me in record time. She hands me my plate and mug, continuing to give me a warm smile right along with my order.
“So you got a name, honey? Angel in there was in too much of a rush to make the proper introductions.”
“Hope,” I reply, and it takes me aback somewhat, how easy the name flew from my lips.
“What a lovely name,” she goes on, and I just nod, taking a sip of my coffee, trying not to focus too much on my response. I look to the beaded curtain, hoping to get a little peek at Michael. When I told him I needed a job, I didn’t think he would take me on errands first.
“That blond Viking sure is a piece of heavenly angel cake, huh?” Mabel says, mistaking my anxious stare to where Michael went for longing. I lower my eyes to my pie, and take a full forkful bite, instead of answering her question.
“But I always preferred the dark one that follows him around, myself—the one with the big scar on his brow; now that is a whole lot of devils’ pound cake!” She laughs, and although I agree that Gabriel is a brooding Adonis, I’m feeling very territorial about the ways she’s going on and on about both men. Silly, really, when the woman before me probably knows each one of my hosts a great deal better than I.
“Of course that Cam is just as tempting. Good girls like you should be careful around that one. His mama raised a heartbreaker, no doubt about it,” she continues her rambling, and I shift from side to side, uncomfortable with her small talk. I feel her eyes on me, dissecting every little reaction to her taunting tone, and I just hope my focus on the food dismays her enough that she has to switch to a new topic.
“So, where are you from, honey?” she asks, and I almost choke on a small piece of pie. I chug the coffee down until I regain some composure and see that the inquisitive woman hasn’t moved one inch from her spot. The diner is full, and yet, she insists on giving me her full attention, instead of serving the customers who must be in desperate need of being tended to.
“Around,” I tell her finally since she refuses to budge, but her stare softens a bit, probably sensing that the topic of where I’m from isn’t any safer than the one she was on.
“Aren’t we all, honey?” she says, patting my hand, apparently satisfied, even though I’ve hardly said two words to her. At this point, Michael comes out of the kitchen, followed by what I can only think is some sort of ebony king, wearing a semi-white apron around his waist. Michael walks over to me, placing a hand on the hollow of my back.
“George, this is Hope, the friend I was talking about,” he says, and Mabel lets out a small giggle. My brows go up, surprised when I see her wrap her arms around the intimidating,
tattooed man and whisper something in his ear. He nods at whatever she hushed to him, in total accordance. It takes me but a second to see familiar wings engraved on his bicep as he takes a few steps over to me to hold out his hand for me to shake.
“Michael here tells me you need a job? That you got a youngling coming your way?” George states without ceremony. I see Mabel’s eyes widen at his remark, as well as her surprised grin. Her obvious enthusiastic demeanor is really starting to pinch a nerve. I shake my annoyance away from the well-meant woman and fix my sight on the man before me.
“Yes, sir, on both accounts.”
“Well, my wife here isn’t the proper role model to teach you how to serve our clientele. She’s more inclined to chat folks up, instead of feeding them. Still, don’t have anyone else, so you’re more than welcome to stay on and give us a hand,” he says smoothly.
“You’re offering me a job?” I asked, surprised, not expecting it to be this easy.
“You need one, don’t ya?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then it’s settled. You good to start now?” I nod erratically, too excited for words.
“Good. Mabel, love, you show Hope around and teach her where things are and whatnot. I got a bunch of breakfast orders to fill. Try to get them on the tables before the food goes cold, will ya?” he chuckles, not one bit annoyed with Mabel’s poor waitressing skills. She kisses her husband lovingly and grabs two plates that were on the counter next to a square window with a perfect view to the grilling area behind.
“Sure thing, boss man. Hope, dear, I’ll be with you in two seconds,” she winks at me, before moving away from the counter. Michael gently tugs my elbow, and I see stars twinkling in his midnight blue eyes.
“Can you come outside with me for a quick second?” he asks, already sliding his arm behind my back, ushering me out of the diner.
We get outside and walk to his bike, where he straddles it immediately, while I look down on him, feeling a wave of gratitude.
“Thank you, Michael. For getting me this job and not trying to put any obstacles in my way.”
“I doubt very much anything I’d say would change your mind either way. I know when to pick my battles, Hope. This wasn’t one I needed to argue with you about. But now you’ll have to do something for me,” he says, pulling out his wallet from inside his leather jacket.
“Now, I know you won’t like it much, but think of it as a loan if you must. Here,” he says, placing a whole bunch of hundred dollar bills in my hand.
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
“After your shift, I want you to go and buy some clothes for yourself. There are plenty of clothing stores up and down this street, and I think a maternity one, too. Get what you need, and buy a cell phone while you’re at it. Get my number from George and call me once you’re done. I’ll be here to pick you up as soon as you do.”
I want to be annoyed at his request, but lucky for him, I’m still running on the high that I got a job. My independence is more important than my pride, so I let it go. Well, I try at least.
“This is a loan, Michael. Once I’m able to, you’re going to get every dime back. You’ve done enough for me as it is.”
“Just take the damn money, Hope,” he grunts, so I stash the bills inside my jean pocket just to cool him down. Michael’s not the only one who knows when to pick his battles. He grabs his helmet, but thinks better of it and places it between his jean-covered thighs.
“I need to say something that I didn’t before,” he starts, appearing to struggle to get the right words out.
“What is it?” I ask, coming in closer so the people passing by don’t accidentally overhear whatever Michael is struggling with.
“I want you to know I heard you this morning. I understand where your head’s at, and I applaud your resolve. I can tell you from experience that conceiving a child doesn’t automatically make a person a parent. Yet here you are, already kicking ass as a mother. Putting your child’s future and his well-being first. That’s admirable, Hope,” he says softly, showing me, yet again, his hidden vulnerability.
“I’ve never heard you talk about your mother,” I remark, thinking maybe I’m not the only one affected by my impending motherhood.
“Well, that’s because there is nothing to say. She was a Club pass-around and got knocked up with me by my pops. My old man wanted to marry her and do right by her, but as soon as she had me, she bailed. Said she wasn’t cut out to be a ma or an ol’ lady. No one’s heard from her since,” he confesses, looking down at our feet, so unlike the confident man I’m used to.
“I’m sorry, Michael. That must have been very difficult for you growing up,” I say softly, touched he would share this type of personal pain with me. He’s been such a rock with my own, that I forget he’s just as human as I am. Lived a life with his own hardships and experiences and the urge to know them all by heart is staggering, but I keep still, willing him to share with me whatever he’s comfortable with and nothing more. Just as he does with me.
“No, not really. I had my father. I never thought I was missing out on anything.”
“But then your father died when you were young, too. Who took care of you?” I ask, wondering if maybe I’m not the only one who’s felt alone and powerless.
“Mostly Uri and Aurora, and of course, my club. Then I met Gabriel and Cam. They became my family,” he confesses, his blue eyes now fixed on mine, and I see how clearly he means it. How his brothers are the only true family he has left in this ugly world we live in.
“They’re important to you,” I state. It wasn’t a question. Just by watching all three interact with one another, I knew their bond was strong as iron. The rotten part inside me envies it, wishing that their bond could somehow be flexible enough to welcome a new member, to bring me into the fold as well. What a foolish notion to have at a time like this. I woke up this morning thinking of ways that I could rely only on myself, without having to lean on anyone, and here I am now, wishing I could be a permanent fixture in their lives just so I can be a part of this loyal bond they have for each other.
“You’re right. They are important to me. They’re my brothers. I’d do anything for them.” A shy smile rises on his lips, and it warms my insides further.
“But that’s not what I wanted to tell you,” he says, holding my brown eyes hostage with his own fixed expression.
“You were wrong earlier,” he continues.
“How so?”
“You do have a home—and a name.”
Chapter 15
Gabriel
“You got her a job?! What the fuck, Michael?” Cam howls out, grabbing the attention of every brother in the clubhouse with his stormy entrance. I see Uri’s back stiffen in his seat, not liking one bit of Cam’s blatant insolence toward his nephew and VP. I feel the eyes of every Archangel in this room focused on the man sitting next to me, waiting for his move. Cam is an idiot for walking in here all guns blazing. Whatever his beef is with Michael, he should have waited until we were all home—alone. This type of disrespect toward our club’s vice president will not go unpunished. Uri will make sure of that.
Michael stands up stoically, not even looking at Cam, or any other angel for that matter, and walks out the door to have it out with my foul-tempered brother, away from prying eyes. I shake my head, disappointed, since Michael should have made an example of Cam in front of everyone, instead of protecting him by hashing out whatever nonsense Cam is upset about. I don’t even dare look at Uri, knowing full well his black eyes must be the size of saucers, too enraged to contain his displeasure with Michael’s approach. I stand up from my own seat and walk behind them protectively, sensing both Michael’s sudden pissed-off mood and Cam’s sulky one. One of us has to have a clear head and looks like I’m the only one here thinking straight.
“The fuck were you thinking?” Cam howls when we’re at a safe distance from curious ears.
“Lower your fucking voice, Cam, before you
say something that will make me lower it for you,” Michael hisses in a deadly tone, but Cam is too worked up to pay heed to his warning.
“Just calm the fuck down,” Michael grunts, side-eyeing the front door, probably hoping Prez won’t come out to see for himself how he handles Cam’s tantrum.
“Calm, you want me calm? Well, explain to me why I just came over from George’s, and surprise surprise, I see Hope serving tables and whatnot. What the hell were you thinking, brother? She shouldn’t be doing shit like that. She should be home resting and shit. She is pregnant, you know?” Cam belts out, and I look between both men to get the story straight.
Little bird is working at George’s? When did that happen?
“She wanted a job, Cam, so I got her one. Would you have preferred if I let her wander off somewhere and found something on her own? Maybe a job where we wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on her? She’s safe at George’s. He’ll keep her protected, and won’t give her any task that can put her or the baby at risk,” Michael informs calmly, pinching the crown of his nose between his fingers, trying to cool his temper. Cam, however, is still raging.
“What the fuck would she need a job for anyway?”
“Why do you think, genius? Weren’t you the one who, not two seconds ago, said that she was pregnant, after all? Well, I think she got the memo, too, asshole. Said she needed to start living her life, needed to start somewhere, and a job felt like the first thing she needed to cross off her list.”
“Well, fuck me sideways,” Cam exhales, running his hand through his hair, exasperated.
“I’ll pass, thanks,” Michael says, lightening up the previously tense atmosphere.
“She didn’t say anything to me. I mean, not that she willingly tells me everything that’s rummaging through that head of hers, but I thought she would confide in me such an important decision,” Cam confesses, looking uncharacteristically sullen.