by Ivy Fox
“So you know what I’ve been up to. What about you?” I ask, wagging my eyebrows at her, hoping it’ll make the cool-as-a-cucumber woman break some form of sweat.
“What about me?” she asks, not even blinking. I give her my own annoyed look. I call it my “Aurora look.”
“Hope, sweetheart, I practically live at the hospital, and when I’m not there, then I’m probably sleeping the few hours I can after a forty-eight-hour shift. Or if I’m in the mood, at the clubhouse getting some,” she says as if she’s checking off her grocery list.
“Didn’t see you with any guy at the picnic earlier this month. Only Joe,” I counter, calling bullshit on her last statement.
“Well, that’s because I don’t get to spend a lot of time with the kid. And I knew he’d be nervous at the clubhouse. Didn’t want to leave him stranded there,” she smirks as if this piece of information should have been more than obvious to me.
“Is that all?” I badger.
“Yes,” she affirms, but then scrutinizes my own nervous reaction every time her younger sibling comes up.
“You didn’t take a liking to Joe, huh?” she deadpans, going straight to the heart of it.
“Don’t like the colors he wears, I guess,” I shrug non-defiantly.
Aurora tilts her head back and laughs.
“I promise, he’s not going to be a problem to your men. Joe’s an Archangel through and through. He might have strayed and followed his own path in life, but blood is thicker than water. And the club is family, which means his loyalties will always be shadowed by halos.”
“Hmm,” I mumble, deep in thought. Sensing that I want to move to another topic, Aurora places her hand on my swollen belly. It’s grown these past few weeks, and a small smile finally reaches my lips, knowing he’s growing strong with every tick of the clock.
“You still hell-bent on not getting tested to know the sex of this kid?” she asks, carefully caressing the little bump.
“I told you. I already know he’s a boy. I don’t need a test to tell me that. I got the picture, that’s all I wanted,” I say, pointing at the ultrasound I got of my little baby just last week, pinned to the fridge.
“Okay, if you say so. But don’t go picking only boy’s names in your head. If she comes out a girl and you name her Henry, there’s no way she’s ain’t going to resent you for the rest of her life,” she teases. “But look at this little guy. Five months pregnant and you look like you just had a big lunch. You’re an embarrassment to all pregnant women, you know that, don’t you?”
“Stop teasing me, Aurora. Trust me, I’m big. Huge, even! My ass can’t fit in any jeans I bought two weeks ago, and the only thing I can wear now are flip flops since my feet are so swollen, I swear I look like a sasquatch. Don’t even get me started on my boobs. No bra in the world can strap these babies in,” I lament, holding said breasts in my hands, which also feel like they weigh a ton.
“Oh, poor you and your big titties. Cry me a river, why don’t you,” she jests, and I know she’s doing it to get a rise or maybe to make me laugh, but suddenly my heart is just not in it. Her constant teasing reminds me too much of a hazel-eyed man who does everything in his power to get a smile out of me, even if it comes at my expense.
“You seem off, Hope,” Aurora softly says, placing her hand on top of mine on the table.
“Sorry, it’s nothing,” I reply, shaking my head at how silly my mood swings hit me out of left field like this lately.
“Boys been away for a long time now,” she says, understanding in her tone.
“Three weeks and counting,” I say.
“And I bet you are. Counting, I mean.”
“Hmmm,” I mumble, not wanting to admit to it, but not having the courage to deny it, either.
“So is there a favorite?” she asks out of the blue.
“What do you mean?” I asked, stunned. The sudden question baffles me because I probably should have expected it sooner or later. Hell, I should have been asking myself the same question, yet the thought never once crossed my mind, and now here it was slapping me across the face, making me feel incredibly naïve for not having considered it before.
“I mean, is there one of my boys your leaning on more? One that has you batting those big brown irises at longer than the others?” She persists, but I just shrug, feigning ignorance. This is dangerous territory we’ve stumbled upon, and until I understand my own feelings, as fond as I am of Aurora, I’m not willing to share them. At least not yet, anyway.
“Well, you better sort it out before they get back. Uri didn’t send those boys away just because he only trusted them to do the job. Nor did he do it out of his big heart so Cam could go and see his mama, no matter what song and dance my boys gave you. I know my brother. He’s a prick when he wants to be, especially where Michael is concerned. And you coming along, messing up his well-laid-out plans, well, let’s just say he will not take it lightly. Keep those eyes open, girl.” Her warning comes out loud and clear, even though I feel lightheaded all of a sudden, thinking Michael’s uncle intentionally sent them out on a crusade just so he could get all three men as far away from me as possible. Could Aurora be right? What would Uri win in doing such a thing?
“If I were you, I’d keep to the initial plan we have discussed. Find a house for you and that baby that’s coming, and leave them boys alone. Of course, nothing wrong with getting them out of your system with a good hard fuck. Christen every newly decorated room in this house. But then be done with it. You ain’t fit to be a pass-around or a mama. You’re better than that. My boys know it. And so does Uri, making you enemy number one in my brother’s eyes.”
“God, I hate those names. Doesn’t it bother you? I mean, isn’t it a bit degrading?” I burst out, miffed how easily such insulting words could come out of Aurora’s mouth. A woman who is the epitome of knowing her self-worth saying such vulgar names to define other women is just wrong.
“Degrading?” she asks, genuinely puzzled.
“Yes! I’ve heard Michael and Cam call the women at the club sheep or pass-arounds on numerous occasions, and I find it insulting and distasteful, don’t you? I mean, doesn’t it bother you that maybe the men there view you in the same light?” I spin, trying to get her to see reason this way.
“If there were any man with a big enough ball sack to even suggest such a thing, I would cut it off with my knife and make an example of him. No, those men know better than to even try anything with me,” she states matter-of-factly. “You forget something—respect is earned, not given. You think those women mind being called sheep? Or pass-arounds? They don’t mind, because the truth is mighty hard to deny. If they believe that they only hold value because God gave them a pussy, then they’re fools anyway, and the men who take advantage are just as stupid. Lord knows, most of them think with the head they have in their pants rather than the one on their shoulders, most of the time anyway, so who is taking advantage of who in this scenario? The women who go to the clubhouse go with the sole intent of landing an Archangel, and don’t be fooled, they will play damn dirty to keep them at their side, too.”
“I don’t believe that,” I stutter.
“Believe what you will. It’s your prerogative. But I was born into this club. I’ve lived this life the minute I opened my eyes to the world around me. I’m all for empowerment. Look at me, Hope. I’m the motherfucking poster child of feminist empowerment. But I’m not a fool, and I’m not blind. Those women love the life. The thrill of dating, or screwing, or whatever you want to call it, a one-winged angel, is all they care about. This town has been blessed with their protection for decades, and everyone in town knows there is no better man to protect them should they need it. An Archangel on their arm and in their bed is their own trophy, and they’ll shout that shit to the very next county for all to hear.”
“I still think its misogynistic thinking.”
“Again, you’re entitled to it. I probably have more reasons than most to agree with you. M
aybe you didn’t know this, but when my Danny died, Michael’s father, Uri wasn’t the next one in line to take the gavel,” Aurora recounts, her expression looking far more pensive than I’m accustomed to.
“He wasn’t?”
“No, he was not. I’m older than Uri by two years, so if I were a man, I’d be the one up in church telling those boys what needs to be done,” she confesses, and there is a little hint of bitterness in her voice.
“So doesn’t that bother you? That you were passed over just because of your gender?” I ask, truly outraged on my friend’s behalf at the injustice of it all.
“It did at first. Like I said, I grew up in this life. Being an archangel is all I know, but still, the weight of the gavel is something I knew wasn’t for me. I couldn’t have gone to medical school if it was. I’d have to abandon my dreams of being a doctor in pursuit of fulfilling a family legacy. So yeah, it pissed me right off that my younger brother took that right, but I was also relieved at the same time. Sitting on a throne like that doesn’t come without its downsides. As much as I love my club, I couldn’t imagine not being a doctor. Uri didn’t have the same privilege of following his dreams. Michael was just too young at the time, and well, Joe had other ideas.”
“I gathered as much,” I hush out, looking down at my feet.
“Stop looking like someone pissed on your Cheerios or something. I’m not complaining. I got to have my job and got to have my club in my own way. It’s enough for me.”
“Still sounds lonely, though. You work so hard and are always helping with everyone else’s problems. I don’t see you doing much for you. Is that your plan? You destined to be on your own?”
“Why not? Haven’t met a man who can handle me in any way, and sure as hell haven’t met a woman I can tolerate, present company excluded,” she winks at me, her smile spread wide from ear to ear.
“Woman?” I ask, my eyes almost popping out of their sockets.
“Honey, I am an enigma. Quit trying to figure me out; you’ll only hurt that pretty little head of yours,” she quips.
“I hate it when you’re condescending,” I exhale with a growl, rolling my eyes at her and rubbing my belly.
“Ahh, but I love it when you get your claws out. Means there’s fire in you, girl. And fire is good. Keep breathing that stuff into your veins. Make yourself strong. You don’t need anyone but yourself to feed you that fire, but if you need reminding, I’m more than happy to knock you in the head for you to get your scratch on,” she smirks, and the twinkle in her eyes reminds me of her clever-mouthed nephew who always has his best game face on and never backs down from any dig I lay on him.
I grin back at her and realize just how blessed I’ve been. I’ve got a job that I enjoy, with two bosses who genuinely care enough for me that they’ve given me a new kitchen to come home to. I’m healthy and feel stronger than I’ve ever felt, even though I really can’t say how long that’s been since I can only recall my life starting earlier this spring. A life that started the day three Archangels took me into their home and decided they would mend my wounds, never realizing they were mending much more than that. They were piecing back a life. And in this life, I have a best friend. Someone who will have my back, whether we agree with each other or not. Who will always tell it to me straight, and never cease to worry for my well-being. In her, I found a warrior. A Valkyrie. An Amazonian princess, if you will. Another Archangel in her own right.
I’ve found a sister.
“Aurora, you are something else.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Chapter 21
Gabriel
I look into the horizon and see a seedy-looking bar on the left of this long paved road. It stands out like a sore thumb, but unfortunately, it isn’t too surprising a sight. Too many truck drivers and other lonely travelers on this road need some form of entertainment to make their journey a little more tolerable, and any bar, even one that looks like you might need some type of vaccine to even step foot inside the place, like the one ahead of us, will do. I wave my brothers to follow my lead, and three minutes later we’re parked under a neon sign with too many x’s to count.
“Why the hell are we stopping?” Cam yells out, throwing his helmet on the leather seat of his customized chopper with blue flames, which resemble a Hade’s realm type of scenario, rather than any angel domain you would expect to see painted on the side of an Archangel’s bike.
“Gabe needs a minute,” Michael answers him before I have a chance to, which I’m grateful for. I’m too much on edge to curb my calm, and Cam’s antsy demeanor isn’t helping me any.
“But we’re almost home,” he counters, pissed we made this unexpected pit stop.
“And that’s precisely why he needs a minute,” Michael reinforces, placing a hand on Cam’s shoulder, shutting him up for good this time. I bow my head down, not wanting to look at either of them since it’s bad enough I’m stalling to go home, but admitting to them the reason behind it is another torment altogether.
Four weeks.
It’s been four weeks without putting my eyes on little bird.
At first, I thought Uri sending us to Florida was for the best. Distance was exactly what we needed to get our heads back in the game. We had no business messing with a woman like Hope. I knew with every intake of breath Hope deserved better than either I, or Cam, or even Michael could offer her. Going to Florida so she could figure that out for herself and see she didn’t need us was a good thing. And maybe, just maybe, my brothers would also lose any infatuation they might have with her in the process.
But I’m a fool.
Distance did no such thing.
Distance brought only hurt, heartache, and misery.
So much pain that, at night, I would almost beg Michael to cut me with his razor-like knife so I could feel anything else but her loss. So much hurt that at every possible scenario where I could use my fists to wreak havoc and chaos, I did so, with a smile on my face. I bled just so I didn’t bleed for her. I got bruised and banged up just so I didn’t feel broken because of her. And at one misguided breaking point, I almost took a life just so I wouldn’t feel dead inside.
Shame is as powerful a sentiment as guilt. And I know she would have been ashamed of my actions if I had condemned a man to meet the Dark Angel, no matter how foul and deserving he might have been, just because I was hurting inside. Hurting because I missed my little bird. This is why I know she deserves better, but what I’m discovering is the fact that I might be a selfish man underneath, after all.
Every day, she talked to Cam on the phone. Every single day. The man could not go more than a couple of hours without bugging her. I know that at night, Michael would always step out of our room wherever we were holing up and called her, too. But I never did. It’s not that I didn’t want to. I must have looked at my phone a million times a day and maybe dialed her number another million, but I never had the nerve to actually press the dial button.
What would I say? What could a man like me ever say to a woman like her? What could I ever give her? My little bird.
It made me feel self-conscious, a sentiment I had forgotten, or never even conceived I could still remember having. But this woman confused my mind as well as the organ in my chest. Even though I never got the courage, or perhaps the right words in my mind to give her the call she merited, my beloved little bird, like clockwork, would leave me a voice message wishing me goodnight. Every single night. As if knowing I needed a little part of her to go on to the next day, even if I wasn’t brave enough to reach out to her myself. Knowing I needed more than a text message on a screen, and needed to hear her velvet voice in my ear at least once, to cope with living without her.
We walk into the shady bar, and the August sun so high in the sky, scorching our backs, is now hidden from this air-conditioned dank space. There is a large bar on the left side with high stools, only occupied by two patrons who are too interested in the topless dancer on the stage in the center of the roo
m—a dancer who looks like she’s seen better days and far better nights, but still needs to shake her ass to pay the bills, so this place is as good as any. There are also some tables off to the side, giving a more intimate vibe, but I walk over to one of the stools instead, the one with a clear view of the big-screen TV, preferring that type of entertainment to the striptease behind me. Michael and Cam both take their seats, each one on either side of me.
“What’ll it be, gentlemen?” the bartender asks, looking like he doesn’t really care one way or the other if we are consuming customers, or just here to watch the show.
“I’ll have a beer,” Michael replies.
“A shot of Patron for me,” Cam orders.
“Water,” I grunt.
“Water?” The bartender raises his eyebrows in question as if I’d stuttered the word.
“Ice water,” I enunciate clearly, and the look in my eyes, or maybe just his acknowledgment of my size, make him take a step back and rethink his perplexed look and walk away to get our beverages.
I take off my dirty leather jacket and throw it on the counter, daring the man to say anything about it.
“It’s a bar, Gabe. It’s normal for bar staff to find peculiar you asking for water instead of alcohol,” Michael says, trying to soothe my current irked mood against the bartender.
“Hum,” I murmur. “People shouldn’t assume things.”
“You’re right about that, brother,” he pats me on the back, trying to calm my temper.
The bartender comes back and puts our order on the counter, and wisely walks to the other side of the bar, not making any eye contact whatsoever.
“So, is this what we’re going to do? Sit here while we could be making good time home? I mean, we are like two hours away from Warren as it is. Two fucking hours away,” Cam says, not hiding his eagerness.
“We know that, Cam,” Michael answers him, cleaning his beer bottleneck with a napkin.
Cam huffs out and looks at his shot like it holds all the answers in the world.