A Dream of Summer (Bleeding Angels MC Book 3) (6 page)

“Speaking of your girlfriend’s pussy...” Scar jokes as he catches sight of Ryan. I want to blast the smile off of his face.

“Hey, Summers!” Ryan greets me like we’re long lost friends, holding out his hand for a shake. He looks up at me through his greasy platinum fringe, smiling like an innocent kid. “No hard feelings; we’re brothers now after all.”

I can see out of the corner of my eye that Scar is watching and judging the exchange.

“We are not and we never will be
brothers
.” I spit the last word out and leave Ryan with his hand in mid-air.

That crazy look that Ryan gets before he’s about to flip his shit starts to build, and I wonder how long I have before he pulls a knife on me.

“Have it your way, Summers,” Ryan says eventually, withdrawing his hand and sounding calmer than I thought possible. “Just remember that I own you now. You’re a new Patch, so your ass is mine.” The joy with which he says the words makes me wonder just how long he’s been waiting to have this opportunity. Probably too long.

“Ryan,” Scar warns, “That’s not how we treat our new recruits.” He folds his arms and gives his son a pointed look that speaks volumes.

I can see Ryan’s nostrils flaring out like a horse as he tries to get his emotions in check. He obviously hadn’t expected his father to discipline him in front of someone who, up to a day ago, was the enemy.

“You’ll have to excuse him, Jake. Sometimes he just gets a little excitable.” Scar speaks low, confiding in me as if Ryan wasn’t even there. “Now, it’s time for you both to get a move on. Why don’t the two of you take the opportunity to get to know each other?” He makes the suggestion all too casually.

“What opportunity? Where are we going?” I ask, eyeing Scar and still doing my best to ignore Ryan. Whenever I look at him I can’t help but think about him with Aimee and it just kills me. Or, I guess it would be more accurate to say, it makes me want to kill
him
.

“You’re becoming an Angel, so it’s time you got your first tat.” Scar sounds almost excited as he says the words, and I can’t help but wonder why he seems to be taking my particular patching so personally.

“So all that crap about taking control of my own life and doing what I want to do, that was all bull? I have to be tatted just like every other Patch?” I know that I’m challenging Scar, but I feel a little more confident in my position than I did. He’s made it clear that there’s something I have, or something that I am, which interests him. I figure that gives me some power, no matter how small.

A toothy smile spreads across Scar’s face and he waggles his finger at me. “I know what you’re trying to do. Like I said, you’re a smart kid, Jake.” His voice is appreciative as he comes towards me and throws a companionable arm around my shoulder as if we were buddies. “It’s a nice try, but just remember you came here of your own free will. We didn’t force you. You decided that being an Angel was a better option than whatever you had waiting for you out there.” For the first time I can’t hold his gaze, and instead I look down at the floor, knowing that what he’s saying is true and feeling a little ashamed that I had been so reckless. “So don’t be so resistant to everything. Your tattoo is a symbol that you’re with us—that’s it.”

The sincerity in his eyes encourages me to believe him, but the lighthearted words and the amiable way that he’s behaving completely disagree with all that I’ve heard and believed about the bikers.

“So what’s the symbol? What am I getting tattooed onto me?” Scar and I are focused on each other, as if Ryan isn’t even there.

“Well, like I said, the Bleeding Angels is a brotherhood.” Scar walks over to stand between Ryan and me and puts a hand on each of our shoulders. “So your brothers have chosen your tattoo.”

Now I understand why Ryan had been more or less content to keep quiet during the entire exchange. This was the carrot that he’d been given before this whole conversation even started. He’d been able to decide what permanent mark I put on my body. This must have been a dream come true for him.

“Do you know what it is?” I try to convince myself that if everything Scar had been saying to me was true, then he wouldn’t allow Ryan’s own petty sense of vengeance to interfere with me becoming an Angel.

Scar nods slowly, looking between Ryan and me. “I think it’s pretty fitting. You’ve finally found your way home. You know where you belong now. That’s what your tattoo is going to be about.” He looks satisfied with himself, and nods at the both of us dismissively before beginning to walk away. But then he suddenly turns around and snaps his fingers, having just recalled an important detail. “I didn’t talk about your Patch initiation. We’d got so carried away with everything we’ve been talking about I totally forgot.” He shakes his head as if he’s giving himself a hard time over having forgotten something so important. “Once you’ve had your tattoo drawn, you’re halfway to becoming a member of the Angels. You have to pass your initiation to become a full member.”

I know this much from all the stories I’ve heard and the initiations that I’ve seen. They could be anything from breaking into someone’s house to stealing a car. Whatever it was, if you planned on being able to walk out of the complex again, you had to do it. “No” is never an option.

“So what do I have to do?” I ask, readying myself for whatever they might have in store.

“Tonight, you go out to Sunny Side Up, that god-awful diner where your little girlfriend works, and you take everything out of the till they’ve got. And if the Winters girl is there and you need to slap her around a little to get what you need, that’s okay too.” Scar smiles encouragingly at me, but the idea makes me sick to my stomach.

“That little slut of yours, you’re done with her. Am I right?” Scar asks, ducking his head down and looking into my eyes. When he sees my hesitation he brings out the big guns again. “After the way she humiliated you and came running over here to Ryan like a bitch in heat. You still want to tap that? What was it she said to you, Ryan?”

“Said I was the best she ever had,” Ryan confirms, shrugging like he can’t help his sexual powers of persuasion. “Told me how she’d never had it so good, especially when I put it in that sweet little ass of hers.” Ryan smiles as he sees the expression on my face change. I want to scream and punch and vomit all at the same time as his words sink in. “You never had her there, did you, Summers? You missed out, I’m telling you man. Maybe you can have another go-round if you don’t mind me having had her first. I’m a pretty democratic guy; I don’t mind sharing.” He smiles leeringly, enjoying the abuse.

“That’s what I’m saying, Jake.” Scar tightens his hold around my shoulders, leaning closer to me. “She’s nothing—just a goddam whore. And you’re an Angel. You’re the shit, so she should consider herself lucky to lick your boots.” Scar’s voice is low and his eyes are clouded with something that looks a little like nostalgia. I’m not so sure that he’s talking about me and Aimee anymore. I wonder who the woman is in his past that’s made him so jaded.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say to Ryan, and I see Scar’s expression of delight at my change attitude.

“Like I said, you’re a smart guy, Jake. I knew you’d see sense.” The leader of the Bleeding Angels claps me on the back and nods for Ryan to lead me away.

As Ryan takes me towards a bank of motorbikes that look like they’ve been recently buffed and shined, I think about everything that Scar has said to me and I wonder how things have spiraled so far out of control so quickly.

In the store-room with Crystal I can barely keep it together as I tell her everything that’s happened in the last day. I have to keep reminding myself that I’m not allowed to cry, that I’m strong. It works. I don’t spill one tear, no matter how many are fighting to come out.

“But why would Jake believe you would do something like that?” Crystal’s eyes are wide as saucers and she looks like she may be about to lose it.

“He found out I wasn’t at the diner, where I said I would be. After that, I guess it was pretty easy to convince him that if I was lying about that then I must have been lying about a whole lot of other stuff too.” I shrug as I grab the crate of orange juice that Crystal had been fruitlessly trying to lift when I’d arrived.

“Oh, Aimee, I’m so sorry.” Crystal’s voice is full of sadness and I pray that she isn’t about to cry on me, because I just can’t take that right now.

“It’s not your fault, Crys,” I grunt the words out as I lift the crate, enjoying the feeling of the muscles burning in my arms. Feeling anything else is better than just feeling this empty ache inside of me.

“It is my fault.” Crystal’s words make me turn around, almost dropping the crate that I’ve finally managed to stabilize.

“What are you talking about?” I ask warily. I pray that Crystal isn’t going to be another Suzie, someone else that is going to let me down.

“Jake called yesterday and asked to speak to you, but I told him you weren’t here, that it was your day off.” Crystal covers her mouth and looks at me as if she’s just done something unforgivable. “I didn’t know, I’m so sorry!” she wails.

I start to make the connections of the chronology in my head. It makes sense, and I curse myself for not having let Crystal in on the secret. I’d made it so easy for the Angels to pit Jake against me. Then I curse myself again for wishing that I’d kept the secret. I know what I should have done—I
should
have told Jake everything, regardless of the consequences. That’s the only right decision that there was to make. It’s that simple.

“Crystal, it’s not your fault, okay? I did this, not you.” I start hobbling towards the door, shifting the weight of the crate. I’m almost knocked over as Crystal rushes at me to give me a hug from behind.

“Really? You’re not mad?” The relief and plaintiveness in her voice are endearing. I berate myself for thinking that she could be anything like Suzie. Crystal was a good egg. I don’t think she has one malicious bone in her body.

“No, Crys, I’m not mad. But I will be if you make me drop this crate on the floor!” I warn jokingly.

Crystal releases me instantly. “Right, sorry. But could you let it go for a sec, anyway? You should really leave the makeup to the professionals.” She looks pointedly at my cheek and the shoddy makeup job I’m sure I’ve done on it.

I actually manage to crack a smile and it feels like it’s the first one in about a hundred years. “I guess I was in a little bit of a rush,” I admit sheepishly and do as Crystal asked, setting the crate down on the floor.

“Well, if the idea was that people wouldn’t notice that bruise and just see the terrible makeup job then—mission accomplished!” She nods for me to take a seat on the crate and whips out the various bottles and brushes that she somehow manages to keep in her uniform at all times. She dabs and blends and I only flinch once as she goes over a particularly sensitive spot at the corner of my lip. “Sorry,” she mumbles. “Jake got you good. I never thought he was that kind of guy.” Crystal sounds more than a little disappointed.

“Jake? Why would you think that Jake did this?” I jerk my head back so that I can look at Crystal properly.

“Well, I figured, he found out about you lying and that he, you know…” Crystal trails off as she realizes how wrong she was.

“Jake would never hurt me.” My voice is firm and I don’t allow myself to wonder if I can still be so sure of that. “It was that piece of crap, Ryan, that did this. Only a coward hits a woman, and that’s exactly what he is.” I have to clasp my hands together to stop them from shaking as I utter his name, and I resolve not to say it again until I can do so without freaking out.

“Well, either way, he got you good.” Crystal goes back to concentrating on my cheek, but without even mentioning it, she grabs hold of my shaking hands and just holds them until the trembling stops. “Well, you’re all done. It’s not the Mona Lisa but it’s pretty darn close,” she says, sounding pleased as punch with her handiwork.

“Thanks, Crystal,” I reply, and we both know that I’m talking about more than just the makeover.

“That’s what friends are for, right?” She smiles and winks at me, motioning for me to lift one end of the crate while she takes the other. “Sometimes four hands are better than two. Or something like that.” She briefly looks confused.

“Or something like that.” I smile at her—that’s two smiles in the last ten minutes. Crystal’s on a roll.

I walk into the diner, and I know I’m probably only imagining it, but it feels like all eyes turn directly to me and look at me with pity. “Poor girl,” they’re probably thinking. She’s lost her young man and now she doesn’t know what to do. Poor little slut. I look up quickly, surveying the customers at their tables, digging into their breakfasts. No one is looking at me. No one cares. I bet no one even knows yet what happened.
They will do soon enough though
, I think to myself.

“Aimee, that you?” Big George’s voice comes booming out from the kitchen. I wonder how he knows when I haven’t even said anything yet.

“Yeah, I’m here,” I yell back, nudging Crystal awake as a customer signals for a refill.

“Come on through here for a second.” It’s clear in George’s tone that his words aren’t a request.

I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror behind the counter and lock eyes with myself. I know that George isn’t going to miss the makeup on my cheek or the look in my eyes. I prepare myself for the questions I know he’s going to have.

I walk briskly into the kitchen and stand at enough of a distance that I think I may have a chance of George not seeing what it is that I’m trying to hide.

“What can I do you for, Big G?” I ask, trying to affect a breeziness that I don’t feel.

George doesn’t turn his attention away from the grill, as per usual. “Why’d you come in through the back door?” He gets straight to the point, no pussy-footing around, once again as per usual.

“No reason.” I shrug although he can’t see me, and wince at how bad I seem to be at lying.
It’s a shame you couldn’t have been as bad at this yesterday
, the little voice in my head pipes up, and I try to squish her under my heel.

“I called you; where were you? It was important.” George sounds put out, irritated even. It’s not a tone that I’m used to hearing in his voice.

My mind rushes back to my cell phone, which is sitting in my pocket, full of any number of calls and messages that I’ve missed. I’ve only looked at it to see if there was a message from the one person that I was hoping to hear from—Jake. So far there was nothing. I hadn’t even noticed the calls from George, but I guess last night I’d had bigger things to worry about.

“Sorry, I was… busy.” I cross my arms, wondering why I’ve been brought in here like a naughty school kid. “What was so important?”

Finally, George turns around from the grill and holds up a card with a few words scrawled on it. “The Feds came in last night. They were asking after you. I tried to call you to come down here. They were real keen to talk to you and— What the hell happened to your face?” George takes a few steps towards me and before I can stop him he’s lifting my chin with his big hand, inspecting my cheek.

“Umm, George, this is kind of uncomfortable,” I tell him as he stretches my neck up as far as it’ll go while he continues to look over the bruise.

“What happened?” His voice doesn’t brook any opposition and I know for a fact that he’s not going to let me get away with not telling him the full story.

“If I tell you, will you let go of my face?” I ask, and the big man gives me a look to show that he’s not amused, not even a little bit. “Can I see what the Feds left or are you going to make me beg?” I hold out my hand for the card that George is still holding in his.

“It’s all yours, Aimee. No begging required.” He passes me the card, and on it are just three words scribbled down in handwriting that’s bad enough to belong to a doctor.

The Truck Drivers

I turn the card over in my hands to see if there’s anything else, but that’s it—three words that don’t tell me anything.

“That’s it?” I ask, holding up the card as if it were a piece of trash, which is essentially what it is. “Are you kidding me?” My frustration levels are rising quickly and the fact that the Feds would leave such a ridiculous coded calling card is enough to make me want to punch something.

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.” Big George holds his hands up like I’m sticking him up, using the offending card as a pistol.

“No phone number, no email address, no freakin’ Facebook page, nothing?” My voice is getting louder and higher and I know I have to calm myself down if I don’t want the entire diner to hear our conversation.

“I’m guessing, being the Feds, they prefer to keep things on the down-low.” George nods wisely as if he’s explaining something earth-shattering to me. “They probably try to avoid giving out business cards with the FBI logo and their real names, email addresses, and Twitter names when they’re undercover.”

“Thanks, Big G, your sarcasm is really appreciated right now. Well, did they say anything?” I ask desperately. The only plan that I’d had was to find the Feds and to get them to help me. Now I find out that not only have I missed them, but I’m also back to square one with no way of getting in touch with them. What if they don’t show for another month? Then what do I do?

“They told me to make damn sure you were here for the graveyard shift tonight.” George smiles at me as he sees my eyes widen.

“They’re going to be here tonight? They’re coming back?” I could jump for joy if all the muscles in my body weren’t still screaming from the physical and emotional exertions of the day before. “You couldn’t have started off with that little pearl of information?” I almost shriek, feeling a sense of relief flood through me.

“You know I like to watch you squirm, Aimee. Everything you think is plastered across your face; you’re just too easy to wind up.” George smiles gently, but then his expression hardens as he catches sight of my camouflaged face. “I thought you and your young man were getting busy, which is why you never called me back, so I thought I’d give you a bit of a hard time. But now I see that’s not the case.”

Automatically, I look down as if that’s going to hide what he’s already seen.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened if you don’t want to. But if you want to tell me, I’d be more than happy to knock the son of a bitch that hit you into next week.” George’s hands have worked themselves into fists. I can almost picture angry, cartoonish steam coming out of his nose.

“Thanks, Big G. But that’s alright, I’m okay,” I assure him. “And don’t worry—that son of a bitch is mine. I want to be the one that teaches him that it’s not polite to hit a lady.”

“Aimee, don’t take this the wrong way. You’re a pretty girl and Crystal’s done a great job on that shiner of yours, but you’re not looking so good. Are you sure you don’t want to tell me what’s going on? Does Jake know what you’ve been getting yourself into?” The smell of burning fills the air and I look over to the grill—George has burned the waffles for the first time since I’ve known him. “Hot damn,” he grumbles under his breath as he scrapes them off the heat.

It may sound bizarre, but that was the biggest indication of how much George cares. Taking his mind off of the grill and having something burn is pretty much a cardinal sin for him. I keep my face composed as George lets out any number of expletives while he fans away the smoke he’s created and puts on two fresh waffles.

“I’m listening, Aimee. Don’t avoid the question. Does Jake know about whatever it is that you’re doing?” George sounds like a disapproving father and I suppose that he’s the closest thing that I have to a father figure. I think that my dad would approve of Big G. I reckon he’s the kind of guy my father might have kicked back and had a beer with.