Page 41 of Property of Quake

“And that means Zombie’s going to feed Pilot to lions?”

“Of course not,” he counters. “He’s just trying to make a point. Although…”

“What?” I ask when he doesn’t continue.

Quake rubs his jaw, hesitating to answer. “Okay, so, just how much truth do you want here? Because I don’t want to scare you away, but I also don’t want to lie to you.”

“Don’t ever lie to me,” I snap, and his eyes widen. “Sorry. I, um… I’m a big girl, Quake. You won’t offend me by being truthful.”

“Right. So, we joke around about the lions, but they have served a certain purpose for the club.”

Before I can question him further, Melissa stirs awake. She looks disoriented, but as soon as her eyes land on me, she seems to relax. The sadness from last night is there, though, in her expression.

“Breakfast?” Quake asks, and she nods. “C’mon, ladies.”

We scramble out of bed to follow him. It doesn’t even occur to me to change out of my simple nightgown or have Melissa put on something other than her torn shirt and pajama bottoms. At least, not until we enter the large common area and are met with stares.

Every biker seems focused on Melissa. Not in a creepy way, but their faces are hard, like they want to find who ripped her shirt and feed them to lions. For reasons I don’t understand, they all seem to just… understand.

Nobody comments or asks any questions, and for that, I’m grateful.

A large man with tattoo-covered arms stands and pulls out two chairs at the table he’s occupying. “Here ya go, ladies,” he says.

Quake ushers us to the table, and Melissa and I sit. He takes the last empty seat and seconds later, glasses of orange juice are placed in front of us. Then two large plates of pancakes appear. Glitz rushes over with two platters… one with bacon and sausage, and the other with sliced fruit.

“I wasn’t sure what you guys liked, so I had them make a little of everything,” Quake says, his tone odd, nervous.

“That’s the understatement of the century,” the man who pulled our chairs out. “You stormed in here, demanding that the whores cook every single breakfast food they could think of. You also sent a prospect to the store for cereal and milk, just in case.” He chuckles before snapping his fingers. “Oh, and PopTarts. You also ordered the prospect to get those. I’m guessing he’s gonna need help carrying shit in if he ever gets here because he probably bought out the damn breakfast aisle, thinking you’d take him out if he fucked up.”

“Jesus, Pastor,” Quake grumbles. “You sure know how to run your mouth.”

“Pastor?” I ask, eyeing the man.

“Yep,” he confirms. “Might not look like it, but I’m all ordained and shit. Someone’s gotta keep these yahoos in line.”

“Stop filling the pretty lady’s head with lies,” the woman sitting next to him says. “Hi, I’m Marlene, his old lady.”

“I’m Whitney, and this is Melissa,” I return.

“Welcome to Kings of Anarchy,” she says. “I swear, it’s not a bad place to be. We’re just a loud bunch, is all.”

“I live in a children’s home,” I begin. “I can handle loud.”

Everyone laughs, and that seemingly ends all conversation as they all dig into their food. Melissa tentatively fills her plate, and I’m surprised to see how much she takes because she doesn’t eat all that much back at Sacred Haven.

“Is this normal?” Quake whispers, nodding at her plate.

“No.” I shrug. “She feels safe. Might not be normal, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t good.”

He nods his understanding. Several minutes pass in companionable silence before anyone tries to engage with her.

Melissa is quiet at first, barely speaking as the bikers slowly try to draw her into conversation. One asks about her favorite animal, another about cartoons, and gradually, she begins to relax. Before long, she's talking freely, and the conversation turns to the subject that's never far from her mind.

"My dog would've liked this place,” she says, looking around.

Several heads turn, and when someone asks what kind of dog she has, Melissa immediately brightens. She launches into a familiar description of Stella, her beloved beagle mix with white paws, painted nails, floppy ears, and a collar with cherries on it.

Halfway through her explanation, one of the younger bikers jumps up from his seat at a table a few feet away.