I Will Revel in Glory

by Stunich, C. M.

  Some people seem to make the mistake of equating our friendship to weakness.

  In reality, it makes us stronger than ever.

  I head to the usual spot in downtown Ashbury, parking along the sidewalk while the guys do the same.

  “After this, you want to have lunch or something?” I ask, turning around and walking backward so that I can see all four of them, dressed in leather and denim and ink. Women flick their eyes our way, but there must be something about me that screams fuck off or I’ll kick you in the ovaries because they always, always, always give us a wide berth.

  “Don’t you eat at these things?” Sin queries, reaching up to ruffle his hair. He glances over at Grainger who’s already scowling.

  “Yeah, whatever. Just make it quick.” Cade moves up to open the door for me before Beast gets a chance to do it.

  “Actually, the food is gross. Do you even know what the fuck a watercress sandwich is?” I lift a brow in question as Beast snorts and shakes his head.

  “We’ll be waitin’ for ya, wife, as always.” He presses a kiss to my temple before assuming his usual post just outside the front door.

  “Okay, yeah, lunch,” Sin agrees, offering up a wave as he moves down the alley to the right of the building to take his spot next to the back door. Grainger goes with him, still grumbling and cursing because he fucking hates getting up early.

  Crown follows me inside, and, before I can even slip past the door of the Pilates studio to the small staircase in the back of the building, he puts his hands on my hips and breathes in the scent of my hair.

  “Stay safe,” he whispers, and I roll my eyes. He knows that I will; he’s just being extra protective because … well.

  “I promise,” I agree, turning and throwing my arms around his neck for another searing kiss. We get carried away sometimes like this, enough that we’ve actually fucked in the janitor’s supply closet more than once. But not today. I’m already running late.

  I pull back from DBD’s president before I get lost in him, turning and pounding up the steps to the private restaurant that sits on the second floor of this building. It isn’t advertised. It has no sign. It’s just here, and you either know about it or you don’t.

  I ring the bell and wait to be let in. The hostess greets me with a nod—she sees me once a month so we’re familiar with each other—and then slip past her to take my usual table near the window. The glass is frosted enough that I can see a hint of downtown Ashbury, but not enough that anyone can see me through the other side. Also, it’s ballistic glass. Not bulletproof, no, but close.

  “Gidge,” Grey greets, standing up from his seat and offering me a proprietary kiss on either cheek. He takes my hands in both of his and then looks down at my still-flat stomach. “I see this one’s coming along nicely.” It’s a bit of shade thrown at me in a dry but somehow still cocky tone of voice.

  “Grey, go fuck yourself,” I tell him with a grin, turning to Reba as she rises out of her chair next and throws her arms around me in a shameless hug. “Sister Keller.”

  “Oh, stop that,” she drawls, slapping playfully at my arm as we pull apart from one another. “How are you feeling?”

  “Reba, I’m fine,” I reply with a roll of my eyes. “I’m only six weeks along; I’ve got a ways to go.”

  I take my seat as the waitress brings over a towering silver tray filled with … things. Mafia things, is what I call them. Really, it’s just fancy tea service shit. Finger sandwiches and whatever. It’s all gross, too. I never eat here. The tea’s nice though. Usually, we order oolong to go with our discussions of murder and mayhem. Sometimes, it’s green tea. Others, Earl Grey.

  “This one’s Grainger’s baby?” Grey queries, and I give him a death glare before picking up a brightly colored macaron and chucking it at his face. It hits him in the eyepatch, and he frowns prettily, plucking it off of his lap and wrapping it in a cloth napkin. “Oh, so it’s Beast’s?”

  “You know what?” I query, putting my elbows on the table—because I know he hates it—and leaning forward to narrow my eyes at him. “It isn’t too late for me to kill you and pretend like it was an accident.”

  Grey snorts as Reba sighs and fills her plate with several sandwiches. She loves them. Maybe it’s because she spends too much time trailing Grey around his stupid mafia palace and acting as his spiritual guide? They’re both a bit uppity, to be quite honest with you. Not that that’s any different than the way they’ve always been.

  “I could just as easily poison your tea,” he replies smoothly, smiling in such a wicked, awful way that I almost believe he’d do it. But no, not Grey. He really does give love sparingly, and I can see why. Once it’s out there in the world, he can’t take it back. I guess that’s why he’s still single?

  I ignore him. As frustrating as he can be sometimes, he and Reba are the only people I can just be myself with outside of the compound. Shit, even when it comes to people in the compound, I can never be fully honest.

  But here? Here I can be. Here I can talk about everything from my third pregnancy to worries about cartels from down south. I can discuss the way Grainger flips pancakes and makes Kat laugh to the way Sin sings with Avery while he works in the garage outside.

  Reba listens and nods, and sometimes she reminisces about her parents, or talks about the kindergarten class she teaches that’s full of mafia royalty brats. She and Grey are like fucking this, so they share a lot of the same drama: politicking amongst silken snakes inside the cathedral, trips to Italy, espresso beans.

  Grey is really, really obsessed with coffee.

  “You two are downright insufferable,” Reba drawls, and then, unsurprisingly, she quotes the Bible. “Hatred stirreth up strifes; But love covereth all transgressions.”

  Grey and I both grin at her, giving each other looks that promise we’ll be good for the rest of the luncheon.

  “I can’t stay long today,” I admit finally, leaning back in my chair and sighing as I look down at the teacup in front of me. “We’re picking up Cade’s little brother for the weekend. His mom is finally getting her shit together, and she has some training thing for her new job up in Portland.”

  I pick up my drink, letting the cup warm my hands, and then sipping it with a loud slurp for the sole purpose of irking Grey and Reba.

  “Mm,” Grey murmurs, giving Reba a look. That’s when I know there’s something going on, something that I probably won’t like. “We have a problem.”

  “Do we?” I query back, and he nods, reclining in his chair and entwining his fingers across his lower stomach. He always wears a suit to these things, a different one, every single month. “What is it?”

  “I need your help.” He glances to one side, and I wonder again what he looks like under the eyepatch; he’s never showed me what his father did to him that day. I will, however, never forget the sight of him appearing out of the smoke like a specter and slitting Alvise’s throat. It’s burned into my brain.

  There are other things there, too, but I try not to think about those. I only allow myself to think of my father when it’s a happy memory. Not for him, not to pretend he was a saint or anything, but for my own mental health.

  “You always need my help with something,” I say with a long sigh. “Alright.” I lean forward and put my teacup down as I look between Grey and Reba. “What’s next?”

  My first memory is of feeling protected, safe. Even now, the scent of leather and motor oil calms my nerves, the roar of an engine a siren song that I can’t resist. For years, I lived under the weight of so many lies, knowing that there were people out there who would protect me, no matter what, who had my back. It made the world seem less scary, more manageable.

  Then one day—I can’t remember when—I woke up and realized it.

  I could be my own protector; my men could be my family—even if we were all monsters.

  I was born ruined. I soon found myself dressed in sin. But for my future? I choose to revel in my own glory.

>   Was, am, will.

  Past, present, future.

  The darkness can choose you, but it doesn’t have to define you.

  You are the master of your own fate and me, I’ve got control of mine.

  Forever, always a Daybreaker.

  The End…

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  About the Author

  C.M. Stunich is a self-admitted bibliophile with a love for exotic teas and a whole host of characters who live full time inside the strange, swirling vortex of her thoughts. Some folks might call this crazy, but Caitlin Morgan doesn't mind - especially considering she has to write biographies in the third person. Oh, and half the host of characters in her head are searing hot bad boys with dirty mouths and skillful hands (among other things). If being crazy means hanging out with them everyday, C.M. has decided to have herself committed.

  She hates tapioca pudding, loves to binge on cheesy horror movies, and is a slave to many cats. When she's not vacuuming fur off of her couch, C.M. can be found with her nose buried in a book or her eyes glued to a computer screen. She's the author of over a hundred novels - romance, new adult, fantasy, and young adult included. Please, come and join her inside her crazy. There's a heck of a lot to do there.

  Oh, and Caitlin loves to chat (incessantly), so feel free to e-mail her, send her a Facebook message, or put up smoke signals. She's already looking forward to it.