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I’m anxious to get back to Uncle Jack’s and see Raven. My heart and body aches to see her even though I only left her a few hours ago. I need to win her back and know that I have a long road to go until I completely have her where I want her … in my arms, my bed, on the back of my bike where she always belongs. The problem is, I’ve never been able to keep her there.
My stomach clenches with regret and guilt. Will I ever be able to keep her after she finds out the reasons I left?
That question still gives me indigestion as I pull into the parking lot of Jack’s bike shop and I find it empty. The lights inside are all off, and when I check the door it’s locked. Uncle Jack must have finished early and taken Raven with him. Grimacing, I turn my bike in the direction of Hannigan’s.
Raven
I’m still going through the last week’s invoices when Uncle Jack appears in the doorway of the back room. Raising my head, I give him a tired smile as I look him over.
If I had a favorite “uncle” it was Uncle Jack. He’d been my dad’s best friend, his vice president when Max Hannigan was the President. After my father had died, he could have just as easily taken over the club. Instead, he was the first to suggest turning of the club over to a younger generation, my brother and now Bash.
Uncle Jack is still handsome for his age, which I’m not even sure of. His shoulders are still wide and the muscles aren’t too flabby, unlike some of the Originals’. Red brown hair is streaked with gray, and his eyes are nearly the same startling blue as Bash’s. He has no family that he spoke of. Jet told me that Uncle Jack’s only daughter had run off with a rich boy from the local university and never looked back. Uncle Jack hasn’t tried to get her to come home and says she’s better off away from the club. When I was born, he doted on me just as much as my father had, and I’ll always consider him my surrogate dad.
“Hey,” I say when he stands there leaning against the doorjamb. “What’s up?”
“Going to head out early.” He nods to the account books in front of me. “Save that for next week. I’m sure I won’t go bankrupt before then.”
I snort. “Yeah, I’m sure.” I’m not stupid. I know that like most clubs, Angel’s Halo is into illegal shit. No one ever talks to me about the runs they make, but I can imagine what takes place when the guys return from Mexico, or when there’s news that a rival club member suddenly bites the bullet—yeah, that’s usually a literal term. Normally there’s a celebration at the warehouse just outside of town. Something I’m never allowed to go to, but I know what was going on. Those mamas and sheep can’t keep their mouths shut after all.
But all that illegal stuff is okay with me. I take care of the legit as well as the not-so-legit books for all of the Originals. It’s my job to cook the books. Just because I don’t know what they’re doing, doesn’t mean I’m not aware of how much their secret runs bring to the bank.
Uncle Jack grins, making him look a few decades younger. “Grab your things. I’ll drop you off at the bar before I head home.”
Closing the top book, I stick it into a secret drawer under my desk and lock it before pocketing the key. Flipping the light off in the office, I follow him into the silent garage and out the side door where Uncle Jack’s hog is parked. He gets on and I slip on behind him. I love being on the back of a bike and have been riding with my father and brothers since before I can remember.
Like expected, the bar is crowded. There’s hardly any place for Uncle Jack to park, so he just lets me off at the front door and waits until I’m inside before heading home. I try to talk him into coming in to have a beer, but he doesn’t care for Saturday nights here, just as most of the Originals don’t. While there isn’t a female within a mile of the bar on Fridays, Saturdays the place overflows with them. Mamas, sheep, or sweetbutts, women that are considered property of all club members, are there to whore themselves out for the night. Saturday nights are also when some of the braver college girls come in needing some adventure in their boring lives. What better an adventure than to get a biker to take you home for the night.
Besides the mamas and sheep, there are a few ol’ ladies that come in on Saturday nights too. I smile at the two sitting at the bar while their husbands play pool in the back. Tying an apron around my waist, I put a fresh bowl of pretzels in front of them. “Hey, Cory, Jen. What’s up?”
Cory is a forty-something mother of four, all of which are going into the family business. She’s lived a hard life, evidence of which is on her wrinkled yet still pretty face. Jen, who’s been her best friend for as long as I’ve known them, is the mother of two recently patched members of the club and one daughter that’s soon to give birth to another future biker. It doesn’t seem to matter to anyone that Jen’s daughter is only sixteen, or that the baby’s father could very well be just about anyone in the club.
Jen gives me a long knowing look. “So Bash is back.”
My smile slips a little. “Yeah. He is.” And I know what she’s going to ask next before it even comes out of her mouth. How am I handling that? If she’d been around to ask that question earlier this morning, I’d have told her that I’m not sure. Now, even though I’m still struggling to figure out how to handle the reappearance of the man that’s crushed my heart and soul, I’ll tell her that I’m close to giving in.
But Cory smacks her friend on the arm—hard—and sends her a glare. “Leave the girl alone. She doesn’t need you putting your pointy nose in her business. So what if Bash is back. The girl has backbone and isn’t going to give in. Why would she when we both know that that boy is only back to find a mother for that kid of his …”
Cory’s still bitching at her friend w
hile I just stand there frozen. Heart stopped. Breath trapped in my lungs. Brain—no that’s still working.
Kid. Kid. Kid. Kid.
Kid?
What the fuck does she mean, kid? Bash doesn’t have a kid. I would have known if he did. Right? Right?
RIGHT?!?
“Bash doesn’t have a kid,” I choke out, not sure if I’m defending him or begging her to tell me it’s not true.
Cory stops mid bitch and turns her greenish hazel eyes on me. She takes in my pale face, hands clenching on top of the bar so hard my knuckles turn white. My heart goes from being completely stopped to racing a million miles an hour. And my breathing—yeah, that’s rapid and shallow. It’s a joke. It has to be.
“She didn’t know, bitch,” Jen snaps at her friend. “I told you that just because your man tells you shit, doesn’t mean you need to go around telling everyone else.”
“Raven …” Cory looks regretful, her eyes full of pity. “Honey, I’m sorry. I assumed you knew. I mean … He … Fuck! Me and my mouth.”
I switch my gaze to Jen. “He doesn’t have a kid!”
