“Man, you’re really all over the place. You want me to brew some coffee?” Rebel rises, going over to the kitchen before I even have a chance to respond.
“I was going to say no, but what the hell. A good cup of coffee could really liven me up.”
“Say no more, Rebel’s famous kickers are coming.”
“I thought you said you were making coffee, not alcohol.” I joke.
She turns back and peeks over her shoulder, “You’re a bit much you know, even when you’re exhausted. That sassy attitude of yours never goes away.”
“It’s a signature trait. Not going anywhere, honey.” I giggle, leaning back into the chair while Rebel goes through the cabinets and grabs the coffee grounds and filter. After she finishes prepping the coffee pot I decide to speak up, wanting her to pay attention. “Why’d you go and tell Damon? It wasn’t that big of a deal, Rebel. I’m a big girl and I can handle myself.”
“I know you can, but there wasn’t any way I was going to let Chaz get away with that type of behavior. It was inexcusable, Crina.” Rebel scrunches up her nose in absolute disgust.
Okay, I need to nip this in the bud right now. Rising from the sectional I walk over to the concrete bar in the center of the kitchen and lean over it, trying to appear relaxed even though I’m about to delicately stick up for myself. “Rebel, I appreciate what you’re trying to do . . . but I can handle myself. If I can handle my family, I can handle Tiny Charles Chaz Beaumont.” I snicker, hoping it will come off light-hearted.
“Crina, I—”
The doorbell to the apartment suddenly rings and I’m a bit startled. Tildi, Bea, and Fern all have keys to get in. They wouldn’t need to ring the bell.
I narrow my eyes in on the door and walk over. “Are you expecting someone?” Rebel asks.
Immediately I answer, “Nope.”
Then it hits me. It could be Gia . . . but I haven’t seen her in a couple of days and I was hopeful we wouldn’t have to run into each other very often. When we do it feels like nails are being hammered into my heart and pulled out, over and over again— pain and relief.
Preparing for the worst, I unlock the door and open it. Shockingly, it’s not Gia. “Chaz?” I say his name in a surprised manner.
“Chaz?! What the hell do you think you’re doing here?! Haven’t you done enough already?!” Rebel snarls, darting over to the door. If I didn’t have my hand holding it open, I’m sure she would slam it in his face.
He’s holding a small lavender box in his hand with a deep violet bow around it. “I came here to make a peace offering.” Chaz dips his left hand in the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a white bandana, waving it. “I surrender, ceasefire, and all that.”
I’m not sure if he’s being serious or not. So, I do the only natural thing. I stare blankly at him while I try to assess the situation. Although, Rebel doesn’t give a shit. She tears the cute box from Chaz’s hand, trying to open it.
“Now, let’s see how the dog chose to grovel.” She snickers, pulling the lid off, she slides it under her arm and takes away the gold tissue paper, revealing pink and white chocolate covered strawberries. They have glitter and little candy letters on them, so I peek in a bit closer.
Rebel starts laughing, “Oh wow, maybe you’re being legit right now.”
Small little balls in a pearly white and baby pink are on the pink colored strawberries, while gold glitter and letters are on the white strawberries. There are nine in total, and on the strawberries, it spells out a message. Literally saying Chaz is a dick and he’s sorry.
“I never took you as the kind of man who apologizes, Tiny.” I smirk, feeling like this is more of a genuine offering. From the way his hands slightly shake, it makes me think he isn’t happy to be here, groveling, and hoping it works. At first, I didn’t like the way Rebel said she told Damon everything, but maybe it wasn’t a bad idea after all.
“Yeah, well, when I’m wrong, I own up to shit. I made you suffer because I was angry at my dad, so for that I’m sorry.”
If only he knew just what that suffering led to.
“Peace offering accepted. Want to come in for some coffee? Rebel just started brewing a pot.”
He runs a hand through his hair and scratches the back of his head, “I don’t know, I mean—” Chaz starts to say.
“Don’t even start. Rebel was just leaving and I’ll make some Papanași while we wait for the coffee to finish brewing. Plus, you can tell me more of what I need to know about the club lifestyle and whatnot.”
“Um, was I just leaving?” Rebel snidely remarks.
“Yeah, ‘cause you’re only going to stir up trouble. Pregnancy has just made your attitude so much more unpredictable.”
“Dammit, fine, but give me the chocolate strawberries. That’s the price you’ll pay.”
“Whoa. I bought those for Crina, and that shit wasn’t cheap either.” Chaz grumbles, glaring at Rebel.
“You either give me the box, or I’m with y’all for at least a couple more hours.”
I swipe a strawberry and shove it in my mouth before I hand her the box. Breaking through the hard shell I’m met with a soft and slightly sweet interior, and then something else hits my taste buds . . . I think it’s fudge. Good god, these are amazing.
Rebel waves and makes her way out of the apartment while Chaz steps in, and I shut the door behind him. Hopefully inviting him inside wasn’t a huge mistake, but only time will tell.
Chapter Twenty-One
Your apology needs to be as loud as your disrespect was
~ Quotes ‘Nd Notes
Chaz
A deep smoky aroma fills the air as soon as I venture further into Crina’s apartment. There’s nothing like the fresh scent of coffee. I could drink this shit in the middle of the night and it still wouldn’t keep me up.
“It was nice of you to bring the peace offering. Thank you.” Crina speaks clearly while she walks around the thick concrete island to the coffee pot. Opening a cabinet, she pulls out two coffee mugs and begins to pour the coffee.
“It was no problem.” I murmur, not sure what else to say.
“How do you take it, black?”
“You got it.” I reply, smirking I decide to take a seat on the barstool. Crina brings me my coffee and hands it over, then goes to the fridge and pours some of that almond milk crap. At the sight of the carton I almost want to gag.
“I actually made some headway on the manuscript. Not that you care or anything, but what I’ve learned has helped me a good bit.” Crina says, grabbing some mixing bowls and a few things from the cabinets. I know she said she was making something, but I have no idea what it is.
Taking a sip of the bitter coffee, I almost choke. Fuck. Who knew a girl like her would make coffee this way? “That’s good, progress is progress. You know? Uh, how much grounds did you put in there?” I ask, clearing my throat.
“I didn’t. Rebel did. It okay?” Crina asks, turning to look at me.
Shit. Well, that explains it. “A bit bitter.”
“Knowing her she probably dumped half the container in. She calls them kickers.”
“She could raise the dead with this shit,” I belt, looking down at the black sludge. And for the first time since knowing her, Crina breaks into laughter. For the first time since being around her, I don’t see a nuisance. I see a woman who has tons of spirit, good looks and might even be a little bit charming.
“So, Tiny, let me ask you some questions since you’re here, alright?” Okay, now she’s already knocked herself down a few bars with this Tiny shit.
“Shoot,” I mutter, leaning back against the cushioned barstool. Though, I’m careful not to topple myself over.
“I’ve been doing a lot of reading over the past couple of days. They’re fictional clubs and all that, but is there always some sort of criminal aspect to a club, or are there good ones too?” She begins pouring flour into the bowl and starts mixing away, throwing in lord knows what.
“Uh, it
depends, I guess. I mean there are plenty of clubs who don’t cross the criminal line, though they operate much differently than we do. I wouldn’t even know what to say about those. Then there are clubs like the Reapers, where their people mean more to them than anything else. We’re family, in a way. Sometimes we’re the only family people have, and there’s always gonna be people who make bad choices . . . so why not it be us who monetizes it?”
“Makes sense. So, I saw a lot where people are heavily into the drug trade, prostitution, sometimes they’re in human trafficking . . . but I have this idea, to do things differently. I want the President of the club to have a kid sister who was trafficked. I’m hoping to make his mission to save girls from the pain his sister went through.”
“Sounds like a good idea, making him kinda like a superhero and whatever.” I comment, deciding to take another sip of the sludge. I gag this time as soon as I swallow, making Crina giggle yet again.
“I’m not trying to make their club noble or anything, but I do want them to be well liked by people. The goal is to sell loads of copies, so hopefully I get something done right here. My boss, Victoria, she told me today I need to pick a pen name.”
“A pen name?” What the fuck is that?
“Yeah, it’s like an alias. Authors apparently use them for privacy and safety issues. Victoria said my last name isn’t exactly . . . striking, so I need to come up with something else.”
Alright. Now she’s piqued my interest. “What’s your last name?”
“Lazar,”
As she says it, I narrow my eyes because it rings a bell. I’ve heard this name before and I can’t figure out from where. “Hmm, sounds striking enough for me. Where’s your name come from?”
She releases a soft chuckle while she grabs a pan and puts oil in it. I watch as she turns the heat on medium-high. “Romania. My parents are Romanian.”
Romanian. I know this woman can’t be associated with the Clans. If she was, I would’ve instantly recognized her name. Though, I know of a Romanian businessman that lives at the North end of Las Vegas. My father had told me to steer clear of him and his sons. I know the chance is slim, but I ask anyway.
“Are you of any relation to Mircea?”
Crina drops the bowl straight onto the oven and turns to look back at me, with widened eyes. Mircea Lazar is a ruthless man and so is his father. I’ve never met the patriarch of his family, though Mircea came to Boulder City once when I was in town visiting my father. Essentially, he threatened to tell the new boss of the French mafia where he was. My father paid him a million dollars to keep quiet, therefore I have a bone to pick with that motherfucker if I ever come across his path.
“W-why would . . . how do you know him?” Crina questions with a shaky voice. Her eyes are wide like she’s terrified.
“So, you are related then?” Go figure.
“He’s my fucking half-brother. We don’t get along.”
“Who do you get along with?” I retort with a bit of attitude.
“Not many people,” She grits, clenching her jaw. “Now, tell me how you know him.”
“I don’t owe you shit, Crina. Let’s just say I’m not a fan of your brother.”
“Join the fucking club,” She seethes, turning back to what she was doing. I spot her putting some sort of dough into the pot and hear the bubbling noise as it hits the oil. After she’s done putting the dough in the pan, she turns to face me. “Does this have something to do with whatever you left behind in France?”
Motherfucker. This is why I don’t like it when my dad talks about our family business. “It might,” I shrug. I’m not going to give her an inch because she’s a woman, and she’s the type to take a fucking mile.
Crina scoffs, grabbing the dish towel from beside her oven and wipes her hands off with it. She quickly goes back to ignoring me and goes back to the dish she’s making. Regardless of her attitude, I’m not going to tell her something that’s none of her business.
I watch as she pulls out the fried dough and puts them onto two plates, then scoops out a white thick substance from a plastic tub, and then does the same with what looks like jelly. She drizzles some powdered sugar on top and plops a fork on each plate before she walks over to me.
“Smells nice.”
“Yeah, well I’m a good cook.”
“It’s great you’re making some progress on the book,” Right about now it’s better I change the subject. “Any ideas for that name?”
She lifts her shoulders, “I’m thinking Knight, Black, maybe Fox. I kind of like Crina Fox. It flows well.”
“Yeah, it does.” I confirm, agreeing with her.
Jesus. How small does the world have to be? I’m having some sort of pastry dessert with the sister of the man who blackmailed my family.
“What did he do?” Crina’s question shocks me. I look into her eyes and see the way she draws her brows together. “You can deny he did anything, but I can see it. When you figured out, I shared blood with him . . . you looked at me like I was the enemy.”
I cock a brow, going for the humorous route. “You’ve been my enemy since the moment I set eyes on you.”
Her mouth drops open and a glimmer shines in her eyes. She whips up her hand and the next thing I know, I’ve been slapped in the face with this creamy, flaky, warm . . . jelly thing? I think it’s jelly. Dragging my tongue out across my lip I’m met with the sensation of sweet and sour.
“Game on, girl.” I grumble, smearing my hand in mine I grab her by the hair with one hand and rub it all over her face, laughing when I notice it’s gone up her nose.
“Oh. My. God!” She screams, looking like a damn purple ghost.
I hop off the barstool and break out into laughter. Though, I only poked the bear. Crina grabs the bit that’s left on her plate and throws it straight at my face. It hits me in the nose and cream spreads across my nose and right eye. “Shit!”
“You’re gonna get it!” I hiss, half laughing.
She breaks out into the same smile I was met with earlier tonight when I hear laughter coming from behind me. I turn and see a woman with fire engine red hair in the foyer, struggling to hide her amusement. “Do I even want to know?”
“Chaz, this is Bea. She’s one of my roommates.” Crina introduces us, so I walk forward and extend a hand.
Bea looks down and shakes her head, “No thanks. I don’t want whatever that is smeared all over me. Nice to meet you though,”
“Likewise.”
Bea walks off toward what I’m assuming is her room and I turn around to face Crina. Licking my lips again, I’m hit with the flavorful combination. “This is good, even as foundation.” I snicker, getting another laugh from her . . . and for the first time since speaking to Dixon, maybe he’s right.
Maybe I can get along with her enough to get out some of my pent-up anger and frustrations . . . but then there comes the issue of who she’s related to. Fuck. Nothing in life is ever easy.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Family is supposed to be our safe haven. Very often it’s the place where we find the deepest heartache.
~ Iyanla Vanzant
Crina
It’s been almost a week since the food fight in my apartment with Chaz, who is slowly becoming more tolerable. I’ve witnessed him being quite a jokester. He’s funny when I’m interviewing him, asking questions about the biker lifestyle and whatnot . . . but when we’re both at the club and the other guys chime in with what they think about the club life, Chaz turns into a totally different guy. While he might’ve seemed like a complete ass in the beginning, I’m learning he’s the king of sarcasm. And I mean, he can be a total dick at times so I’ll continue calling him Tiny.
That being said, spending more time with him . . . I’ve begun to really fester about what he knew, and even more than that, what he never told me.
I still don’t know what Mircea did to him, but tonight things will change. I’m at Sorin’s apartment, sitting on the modern, black leather cou
ch looking out through the window. Las Vegas is the most beautiful city on earth from the deserts, to the casinos, to the people.
“He’s going to be here in five minutes. Will you tell me what this is about?” Sorin questions, coming into view with a glass of scotch on the rocks in his hand. He leans up against one of the metal beams and takes a sip, cocking a brow at my silence.
I don’t mean to be so quiet. I’m only trying to think of what to say. Do I tell him about where I’m working? About being Gia’s employee and then have to get pulled into that long, dragged out conversation on how it’s a horrible idea. Do I say I work for a publishing company and I’m writing biker romance, and then go into how I’m interviewing bikers to have authenticity? Regardless, my options are limited. So, I say the only thing I can.
“He did something to a friend of mine . . . and I don’t know what it was . . . but my friend said Mircea’s name.” I keep my gaze focused on the city, not daring to look at Sorin. He’s always been the one to cut through me like I’m ice and I can’t handle the questions right now. Because, maybe Chaz is slowly becoming more important to me than I thought, and after speaking to Victoria earlier today, she questioned on why I’d keep doing the interviews if I had what I needed.
Her question plagued me, like a monster coming out from under a child’s bed.
She’s right and there’s no doubt about it. Why would I waste time when I could be doing other things? Because the reality is, I don’t need to continue spending days on end at the club. Though, it’s become a fun part of my new normal since gaining my independence from my family.
I’ve been told numerous times from Dixon, Chaz, Cobra, and even Boog how the club became their family. Little did I realize until today how they’ve already sunken their way into my heart. They’re becoming my family and I understand what they all meant when in the beginning all I could do was imagine and empathize.
Mayhem: A Reapers MC Boxset Page 66
