“This is my MC, you got that? Mine. No one is going to take it away from me.” The intensity in Ryan’s words and his eyes makes me wonder how far he would go to get what he thinks is his. I already know the answer—he’d go all the way. He’d do whatever needed to be done.
“Got it. It’s yours. You don’t have anything to worry about, man, not from me.” If anything, it’s going to be Ryan’s own father that makes sure he doesn’t inherit the leadership of the Angels. If what Scar told me was true, then he wouldn’t trust his beloved MC to his unhinged son.
Ryan grunts a sound of satisfaction and abruptly gets up from the table, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.
“Now that’s all settled, it’s time to get you initiated!” The last word is a shout and it raises whistles and noises of appreciation throughout Wheels.
As I follow Ryan’s lead through the crowd I get slapped on the back and words of encouragement flow as easily as the beer.
“Go get ‘em, Summers!”
“One step away from being an Angel!”
“Yeah, brother, yeah!”
The shouts from the bikers follow us out into the dark night. It’s not hard to understand the attraction of the MC, the feeling of belonging to something, the feeling of family. I have to remind myself it’s this so-called family that has been terrorizing Painted Rock for the past decade. I had never appreciated how easy it would be to get sucked in to the life.
I’d been allocated a bike when we headed to the tattoo place and I had to admit that there was something exciting about racing around on it. It was a feeling of danger mixed with a sense of freedom--a combination I’d never really experienced before. I liked it, but I knew that was dangerous—it was one of the ways that they pulled you in and convinced you this is what you wanted.
“After this, there’s no going back. You’ll officially be an Angel.” Ryan seems inordinately pleased, like the entire conversation we’d had back in the bar hadn’t even happened.
“Looks that way,” I agree, trying to come up with the most neutral response that I can muster. Right now, I don’t know where I belong. I feel more lost than I ever have.
I swing my leg over the bike and gun the engine, following Ryan towards the diner. I have that feeling of nervous excitement that I used to get whenever I knew I was going to see Aimee. It’s strange for me. I want to see her, want to see her so bad it hurts, but at the same time I know that seeing her might hurt even more—especially with Ryan there. It’ll bring everything between us back into plain sight.
It would be easier if she weren’t at the diner tonight. That way she wouldn’t see what it is I have to do. She’ll think that I’m one of them, one of the people that she hates. And wouldn’t she be right?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The moment the Feds walk in, I’m on high alert. My body feels like it’s been flooded with adrenaline and I have to stop myself from running straight over to them and blurting out everything that’s happened since we last spoke.
Agent Warner and the man that I still only know as Mr. Tall head straight to the booth they’d sat at the last time and act as if they haven’t even seen me.
George hands me two menus and nods in their direction. “Go get ‘em, girl,” he mutters before disappearing back inside the kitchen to give us some privacy.
As I approach the men, the conversation they’d been having dies down. I hand them their menus and although they still don’t make eye contact with me, I get straight down to business.
“I got your message,” I tell them, not even bothering to lower my voice as we’re the only ones in the place.
“I’ll have the cheese omelet, mixed salad on the side.” Agent Warner, still dressed in his trucker’s outfit orders first. He hands me back the menu, still not looking at me.
“I’ll have the same,” Mr.Tall mimics his boss’s movements.
I can feel the anger start to boil up in my blood. After all, they’re the ones that left me a message to meet them here and now they were playing secret squirrels.
“That’s great, but why don’t we stop wasting time and talk about what you came here for? The Bleeding Angels.” I look from one man to the other, waiting for them to say something, and the longer they remain in silence, the angrier I can feel myself getting.
“You shouldn’t be looking directly at us, Ms. Winters,” Warner points out, focusing on re-arranging his napkin and cutlery on the table. “When we think it’s safe for us to talk we’ll let you know.” His words don’t brook any kind of opposition, but I’m not in the mood for games.
“Bullshit.” The word sounds even harsher in the empty diner and both men look up at me in shock. “We talk now or we don’t talk at all.” I cross my arms and stare the men down. My last shred of patience has officially just been used up.
“Ms. Winters, you have to understand that this is a delicate situation and we’re trying to keep a low profile while we conduct our investigations.” Mr. Tall is making soothing motions with his hands as he tries to placate me.
“Don’t you ‘Ms. Winters’ me. And in terms of keeping a low profile, you guys couldn’t stick out anymore if you tried. Don’t they teach you how to blend in at Spy School?” I shake my head in despair and count to ten, trying to calm myself down. “We don’t have any time to be playing, and you guys have already come late to the party—the Angels have been running this town for the better part of the last ten years and you’ve only just arrived. We need to move forward with whatever you’re working on against them now. There isn’t any time to waste. So if you’re serious about wanting to get things done then we talk now, and if not, then I guess I’ll just have to give the Angels what they’ve got coming to them on my own.”
The two men look back at each other and something passes between them in silence. Agent Warner turns to me with a blank expression on his face. “What’s got you all worked up? Something’s changed since the last time we saw you.”
I take a deep breath. There’s no point in lying to them, because they need to know how seriously invested I am in this. “They’ve taken someone that’s important to me. The most important person to me.” I almost manage to keep my voice from wavering, but no cigar.
“Pull up a chair, Ms. Winters.” It’s an order, not a request, and I have to stop myself from sighing in relief.
“Let me just ring your orders up and I’ll be right with you both.” My legs feel like jelly but I’m proud of myself for being able to walk straight and tall back to the kitchen. I don’t answer George’s questioning gaze—I just drop off the ticket and head straight back out again. I grab the coffee pot as I walk back and pour each of us a drink before I take them up on their offer and pull up a chair so I’m sitting with each man to my side.
“Tell us what you know.” Agent Warner folds his fingers into a steeple position, fixing me with an intense gaze.
It’s funny—you spend so long thinking everyone knows what’s going on in Painted Rock that when someone actually asks you to tell your story, it feels like it’s harder than it should be. There’s so much to say that I don’t even know where to start. It takes me a few moments to arrange my thoughts.
Then it all comes pouring out.
I start talking about my father and how he was one of the only people that stood up to the Angels. That he and Scar had been friends before they’d found themselves on opposite sides of a war. I tell them about how my dear dad was gunned down in the street like a dog by that very man. I talk about the protection money that they demand from each business in the town and the measures they take to make sure no one shorts them or tries to get out of paying their dues. I talk about how the law in this town was bought off by the bikers, one cop at a time, and now no one dares to stand up to them. I tell them about the initiations that the Angels make their Patches go through and how they’ve become more and more violent as time has gone on.
Finally, I get to the exchange that I’d heard that night in the diner between the two bike
rs who I’d nicknamed Blondie and Baldy. I tell the agents about their conversation surrounding the army truck and how they’d openly talked about ripping it off. The men make notes at some points and at others they just listen quietly, sometimes looking at each other to communicate some quiet, private signal
“…And I think that pretty much brings us right up to date.” I finish and take a sip of my coffee, which is now stone cold. I figure I’ve been talking for over an hour and my mouth feels drier than the Nevada desert.
The two men remain in silence, swapping notebooks presumably so that they can verify they’ve recorded the information correctly.
“So...what happens now?” I ask when it becomes clear that I’m not going to get a response.
“Now we take this information back to base and we take things from there,” Agent Warner explains as he closes his notebook firmly and slips it into the back pocket of his jeans.
I stare at them in mute rage. “So you’re telling me that after everything I’ve just told you, you’re still planning on waiting around until the Angels just drop into your lap all wrapped and tied in a bow?” My voice is getting louder again but I don’t care—the diner is empty, and I’m so far past worrying what people might be thinking about me that it wouldn’t have made a difference if the place had been full. “What is it that you need? You’re the Feds. Aren’t you supposed to be doing something instead of just sitting here with your dicks in your hands?” I look between the two men, who shift uncomfortably in their seats.
“We need someone on the inside to give us information about the drug trafficking and dealing that you mentioned. We need testimony that’s more than just rumors and hearsay. We need facts.” Agent Warner keeps his voice level, but it’s clear that I haven’t endeared myself to him by essentially calling him and his partner useless.
Before I’ve even really considered the ramifications of what it is that I’m saying I open my mouth. “I can do that. I can get you what you need.” I have no idea how I’m going to deliver on that promise. But I’m convinced that I will find a way and I’m hoping I look as serious about what I’m saying as I sound.
“You have someone on the inside?” Agent Warner’s attention is immediately piqued.
“I’ll get you whatever it is that you need. You let me worry about the how and the when.” As I say the words I have something close to an out-of-body experience. I look down at myself and wonder at the person that I’ve become, sitting here talking to, even challenging, the Feds like I’ve got a pair of steel balls.
“We need proof that these guys are engaging in illegal activity and that they’re dangerous. How are you going to do that?” The way that Mr. Tall looks at me makes it plain that he doesn’t have any faith that I’m able to deliver on what I’ve just promised them.
“By any means necessary. I’m prepared to take this as far as I have to.” My voice is as cold as my stare, and Mr. Tall seems to shrink into his seat. “Are you able to say the same?” He doesn’t have to respond—the point I’m making is clear. “Taking the Bleeding Angels down is more important for me than it ever will be to you. You want a pat on the back from your superiors and nice corner office, but I want my town back and my life back. You don’t have to worry about me being able to deliver on what I’m saying, you just have to worry about being ready to make your move when the time comes.”
“We can’t just take you at your word,” Mr. Tall insists. “You may have the best of intentions but you’re not experienced—”
“We’ll arrange for a wire to be delivered to the body shop in the next twenty-four hours. Keep it in a safe place until you need it.” Agent Warner rides rough-shod over whatever it is that Mr. Tall is trying to say.
“But, sir, she’s had no training. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.” I wonder if Mr. Tall’s protests sound as whiny to him as they clearly do to both Warner and me.
Warner doesn’t even look at his colleague and instead focuses his attentions on me. “If you don’t want to get involved, if you’re having any second thoughts, then now is the moment to speak up. Once you’re in, there’s no getting out.” His words are ominous but they don’t scare me. I think it would take a hell of a lot to scare me any more than I already am. Next to the Bleeding Angels and everything they’ve thrown at me in the past few months, the Feds are puppy dogs.
“I don’t have any plans to get out. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.” I make eye contact with Warner and hope that he sees how serious I am.
Then, right on cue, the very reason that I couldn’t possibly back out walks through the door. It couldn’t have been any more perfectly-timed if we’d planned it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The welcome bell has stopped ringing, but I still feel like I can hear it echoing in my ears. Jake has only taken a second or so longer to see me than it took for me to see him. I watch as his expression changes from the flash of what I think was happiness at first sight to a hardness that I never thought I would see directed at me.
“Excuse me,” I breathe as I get up from my seat and head towards the entrance where Jake is still standing completely still as if he’s been frozen in place.
He looks anywhere but at me as I walk towards him. In spite of that, I feel like I’m drinking in the sight of him. I take everything from the soles of his booted feet, up his perfectly fitting jeans to his tantalizingly fitted t-shirt that shows his muscular frame underneath to his stubbly chin and cheeks that just adds to the sexiness that oozes from him naturally.
“Hey.” I say the word quietly, almost under my breath, as I reach him. We’re still a couple of feet apart but the distance between us seems so much more than that.
As if realizing he can’t ignore that I’m in front of him anymore, he lifts his dark brown eyes from the floor and locks gazes with me. I can feel my stomach do back-flips like it always does when I’m this close to Jake. The only difference this time is that it doesn’t look like the feeling is mutual.
“Hi.” The word is curt, and he doesn’t make any move to step towards me. If anything, he looks like he’d like to turn around and head straight back out of the door that he came through.
We stand like this, staring at each other, at an impasse. Ideas of what Jake must be thinking of me whirl around my head. Slut. Whore. The words that he said to me in my dream rain down on me and I have to take a deep breath to push them away and remind myself that he didn’t really say them. But seeing the way he looks at me and the aloofness in his eyes I wonder if I was wrong.
“Did you get my message?” It’s the most pathetic thing I could have asked. It makes me sound like a moony school kid. Why out of all the times in my life am I now finding it so hard to say what it is that I mean?
“They took my phone as soon as I walked onto the compound.” Jake’s response is as bland and uninterested as his expression is.
When he doesn’t offer anything further, I figure that he’s here to give me a chance to explain and to tell him what I’ve been wishing I’d said days ago
“Jake, I’m so sorry.” I take another step towards him and he instantly takes a step back. I swallow back the sadness that I feel at knowing he wants to get away from me. I know I probably deserve whatever it is that he plans to throw at me. “I can explain everything. It’s not what you think. I would never hurt you.” I know how earnest I sound, but Jake remains unmoved.
“Did you go to Wheels to sleep with Ryan?” It’s the only question Jake has asked so far and it’s also the only one that’s impossible for me to answer without making everything worse.
“Jake, why are you being like this? I know you have reason to be mad, but if you’d just let me explain…” I bite my bottom lip when he holds his hand up to stop me from talking.
“Just a yes or no answer, Aimee. Did you or did you not go to Wheels to sleep with Ryan?” Jake looks me in the eye and I don’t see any of the tenderness or the love that I was so used to seeing. It’s like he’s a different person.
“It’s not that simple,” I protest, and then berate myself for being so defensive. I know that I’m not helping myself.
“Yes or no.” He’s raised his voice and the hardness seems to fill the almost-empty diner.
I cover my face with my hands because I know that my answer is going to make him hate me. But I promised myself that I wouldn’t lie; it was the time to tell the truth and he deserved that. I just wish that he’d given me the chance to defend myself, to explain. But maybe that’s not what I deserved. “Yes.” The word comes out in a whisper and as I take my hands away from my face I see Jake’s shoulders sag.
“That’s all I need to know, then.” Jake seems to be talking to himself rather than to me. He turns around, cutting me out of his field of vision completely as he heads towards the cash register. He’s right in front of me, but at the same time he’s never been so far away.
A Dream of Summer (Bleeding Angels MC Book 3) Page 8
