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“Aw, shit,” she heard Cole whisper. She followed his gaze, turning to see the two cops walking toward them. They stopped at the table.
“Morning,” the first one said.
“Morning,” Cole replied, leaning back and resting his arm across the back of his seat. The cop looked them both over. He leaned down on the table and looked at Cole.
“This isn’t your side of town, is it?”
“Just havin’ breakfast, Officer.” Cole stared back at him.
The cop nodded, then he looked down at Angel. He ran a finger over her wrist. “Those are some bad bruises, ma’am.”
She pulled her hand away.
“Did he do that?” he asked, nodding toward Cole.
She looked at Cole. His body language said he was relaxed, unconcerned, but his eyes said something different. She could tell he was trying to hold his temper. “No. He didn’t,” she snapped.
“What caused them?”
“Police handcuffs,” she replied flippantly.
“You want something?” Cole asked, diverting the officer’s attention from Angel. She could tell that he didn’t like the way the man was looking at her. The cop turned to him.
“When you’re done with your breakfast, you should get back to your side of town.”
Cole stared him down. The cop straightened up, and they both headed for the door.
Angel turned to watch them leave. When they were gone, she turned back to Cole.
He took a sip of coffee. “Assholes.”
“Does that happen often?” she asked.
“Once in a while,” he admitted.
Mona came back to the table. She looked out the window at the cruiser pulling out. “Jerks.”
Cole smiled at her. “It’s no big deal, Mona.”
“You ready to order, Cole?”
“Blueberry pancakes, darlin’,” he replied with a smile.
She turned to Angel. “You, honey?”
“Same.”
After she walked off, Angel drank her coffee and studied Cole over the rim of the mug. He was looking out of the window. He must have felt her eyes on him, for he turned and looked back at her. He reached for the carafe and topped off both their mugs.
“How old were you when you joined the club?”
“About your age,” he replied, setting the carafe down.
“Why did you join?”
“Is this twenty questions?”
She looked down at her mug and stopped talking.
Cole shrugged as if he was sorry he’d snapped at her. “My dad was a trucker. Long haul. Wasn’t around much when I was growing up. To make up for it he got me a dirt bike for my twelfth birthday. When I turned sixteen and most of my buddies were saving up for muscle cars, I wanted a bike. Started hanging around with other guys who liked to ride. Met some club members when I was old enough to hit the bars. I liked their lifestyle, the brotherhood. One of them agreed to sponsor me. Did my time as a prospect and a year later I was in.”
Angel studied him for a moment, wondering if he wanted to talk about it. “Is it everything you expected?”
He looked at her, and then looked out the window. “Yeah. Pretty much.”
She nodded. “And you’re happy?”
“Sure.”
She looked out the window.
“What about you?” He raised his chin toward her. “What’s your story?”
“My story? I don’t really have one.” She looked down, running her finger around the rim of the mug.
“Sure you do. How’d you end up in California?”
She sighed at the window. “I don’t know. I guess I’m too old to call it running away. Escaping, maybe.”
“Escaping?” he scoffed. “From what?”
