Chaz (Reapers MC Book 14)

by Elizabeth Knox

Crina had no problem pushing her way into the restaurant, disappearing from my view. Taking in a deep breath, I head over to the eight-foot cedar door and push it open. The hostess station is directly in front of me, and one of my dad’s oldest employees, Desiree, greets me with a huge smile.

  “Charles!”

  “Charles?!” Crina’s reaction causes me to stifle a chuckle.

  Desiree comes from around the station in her button up white shirt and black slacks, pulls me into a hug and presses a kiss on both cheeks. I do the same to her, looking into her bright emerald eyes. “It’s been far too long my friend,” I tell her.

  “I’ll say. What has it been, six months? Your dad has been so upset you haven’t paid him a visit, being so close and all.” She grimaces, chastising me with a wiggling finger.

  “Yes, well, things have been busy.”

  Desiree rolls her eyes, “No child is ever too busy for their parents. Remember that, Charles, before yours pass away too. If I could see mine just one more time . . . I would . . . just kill for it.” Desiree sucks her bottom lip into her mouth before going back behind her workstation. “A date?”

  “No!” Crina answers.

  “God, no. She’s incorrigible.” I grit, glaring at Crina.

  Desiree giggles lightly, “Okay . . . so your usual table then after you get changed?”

  “I’m not getting changed, Desiree. He can either see me dressed like this, or we can eat somewhere else.”

  “God. You Beaumont men have to be so difficult. Don’t you?” She throws a hand up in the air, starting to go off toward the back. I follow her and glance back to make sure Crina’s behind me. She is, so we pass through the main dining area, getting stares from the judgmental older folk who normally dine here. Eventually, we’re back in a booth in the furthest corner, tucked away from prying eyes and eavesdroppers.

  “I’ll go fetch your waiter. Would you like wine?”

  “A bottle of dry white would be perfect. Merci.” All the employees here speak French, though I’m a bit rusty on my native language.

  “Of course. I’ll be back in a few moments.” Desiree replies, walking off through the main part of the dining area, she disappears from view.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The only real elegance is the mind; If you’ve got that, the rest really comes from it

  ~ Diana Vreeland

  Crina

  Concrete walls, wooden beams, ivory tablecloths, and elegant light fixtures.

  Everything about this place has me curious why we’re here. Why a man like Chaz, also known as Tiny, and apparently Charles . . . is here. “Why did you bring me to this place?”

  Chaz lifts his chin and puffs out his chest a bit, “I simply wanted to debunk your assumptions about bikers.”

  “Huh?”

  “Not all of us come from poverty, or rough backgrounds. I happen to be one of the exceptions, so, here we are.”

  From the corner of my eye I spot a man heading in our direction. He too is in a buttoned-up white shirt and black slacks. Only, he has some sort of towel laying across his arm. As he gets closer, I realize it isn’t a towel, but something to help him open the bottle of wine. “Charles, what a pleasure to have you here tonight. Shall I pour a glass for your father? Naturally I’m assuming he’ll be joining you this evening.”

  Chaz nods, “Certainly. I anticipate he’ll be down in a matter of minutes.”

  The waiter pours myself and Chaz a glass of wine, then fetches a stray glass from a nearby table. After he pours it, he sets the bottle in the center of the table. “Would you prefer any hors d’oeuvres?”

  “What’s on this evening’s menu?” Chaz questions.

  “Well, the usual. Your father prefers to stick to the best sellers. However, we have a pork rillette topped with apricots. Our classic cheese fondue, reblochon tarts with bacon and fingerling potatoes. They’re a new personal favorite of mine, and lastly we have a frothy lettuce soup with onion custard to top it off.”

  I don’t know half of what this guy just said.

  “One of each, please.”

  “Certainly. Will you wait for your father before you order entrees?”

  “Yes, of course. Thank you, Gaston.” Chaz nods, saying what I believe is the man’s name. He walks away and disappears out of view while Chaz lifts up his wine and takes a sip. It’s crazy to me a biker is this classy . . . but then again, he obviously knows French. Maybe I do have quite a bit to learn.

  “What’s with the stare?” Chaz asks, returning his glass back to the table.

  “I just . . . never expected you to be so fancy. You don’t look the type.”

  “Looks can be deceiving.” He snickers, and just as he does, I’m reminded about my phone still being on recording mode in my purse. Luckily for me it didn’t go flying in the wind when he rode us out here, so I unzip it and grab my phone, only to find it’s dead.

  “Shit.” I curse under my breath, beyond frustrated with myself. If I had just turned it off while we were riding, I would have a way to remember everything.

  “Everything alright?” For the first time since meeting him, he seems somewhat genuine. I slide my phone back into my purse, zip it up, and then meet his eyes.

  “Yeah, phone’s dead though. I was recording my conversations so I could remember everything.”

  Chaz appears to be taken aback with the way he’s narrowing his eyes at me. “I didn’t think you’d be so invested in this to record conversations.”

  “Why do you say that? This is my job, and without it, I’d be homeless.” Now I’m the one picking up my wine, taking a sip.

  “You don’t strike me as the type of woman who’d be homeless, Crina.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t go making assumptions.” I mutter, not liking the way he’s speaking to me. It’s getting to a personal level, and I’m only here to do one thing— a job. “You brought me here to prove I was making assumptions anyway, right? So, tell me what I have wrong.” Okay, that was the perfect way to change the subject. Yes!

  “Well, my road name is Chaz, which I’m surprised you didn’t ask about yet. I already know you don’t have any idea what it means, so I’ll fill you in. A road name is a name the club either gives, or a nickname a biker is known by. So, Chaz is my road name, while my legal name is Charles Beaumont.” He says his real name in a completely French accent, making me forget just who it is I’m having dinner with. Jesus. That was kinda hot . . . okay, get your shit together Crina.

  “Damon, your Prez. Is that his road name?” I ask, changing the subject so hopefully he doesn’t notice how I became flustered for a split second.

  He shakes his head, “No. Damon is his birth name, though he uses it as his road name too. Sometimes that happens, but very rarely.”

  “Well, look who the cat dragged in.” An older man’s voice belts, quickly getting closer. “How long has it been my dear boy, almost a year?”

  “Six months, Dad. But leave it to you to be dramatic.” Chaz replies, rolling his eyes as he stands to greet his father. They pull each other into a quick hug, kissing one another on each cheek. He keeps an arm around his father’s shoulder turning to face me. “Dad, this is Crina. She’s a friend of the club.”

  “We will discuss the club in a moment, but your friend is ravishing. Come child, let me see you!” His father smiles widely, offering me his hands, so I rise and he twirls me around. “Magnificent woman my son! Goodness. If only I were twenty years younger, I’d be chasing you without a doubt, kitten.”

  “Jesus, Dad. Stop with that shit. I said she was a friend of the club, not my friend.” Chaz speaks up, glaring at me.

  Well, it looks like we haven’t made any progress this evening.

  “Sit, sit. Gaston! Where are you?!” Chaz’s father yells for his employee, and I sit as he’s requested.

  “Okay, I was starting to introduce you, but—” Chaz begins, though his father cuts him off.

  “I am Timothée, my dear. It is lovely to make your acquaintance.
” His father runs his hand through his light brunette hair, smiling devilishly at me.

  “Likewise,” I smirk, liking his father more than Chaz.

  Gaston shuffles his way over with a tray of food, placing it down on the table. One dish in particular smells like an absolute delight. It’s a toasted bread with some sort of thick paste, and orange fruit. Wait. It’s the apricot dish he was talking about earlier.

  Timothée takes a seat closely beside me, presses his lips together and stares across the table at Chaz. “I don’t understand why you need this club so much, boy. We left Paris for a reason, our homeland, and yet you want to be involved in the middle of trouble again. It makes no sense to me, but what bothers me even more is how your birth-father was killed for the affiliations our family had, and yet . . . you must meddle with danger.”

  What? Chaz is adopted?

  Chaz flares his nostrils at his father . . . or adoptive-father’s words. With a clenching jaw, he responds calmer than I thought he would. “This is neither the time, nor the place for this discussion.” Chaz addresses Timothée, yet his eyes are fixated on me. Obviously, he doesn’t want me privy to this discussion.

  “Pfft, there is never the time for this. It’s what you always say, you can’t talk about it, it isn’t a good time, you have things to do. This life will get you killed, Charles, the same way my dear brother died. I don’t want this for you. I wish for you to live a long, long life my son.” Timothée grabs the glass of wine in front of him and takes a sip, while I chow down on the crunchy apricot thing.

  Oh, well, it’s meaty. I wasn’t expecting that.

  Chaz cracks his knuckles rather loudly, “Dad, cut it out. This really isn’t the time. Crina is—”

  “Your girlfriend of course. I see the way you look at her. I bet one night together stuck in a dark room and you’d be at each other’s throats . . . the best type of lovemaking.” Timothée sighs, looking at me. “Oh, how I wish I was younger. You and I could’ve been something amazing, my sweet girl.”

  “She isn’t my fucking girlfriend. Crina is a know it all bitch who pushes all my buttons. The only reason she’s even here is because Damon ordered me to hold her hand while she does research for her stupid fucking book. So, how about we stop with this shit, huh?”

  Timothée claps his hands together, applauding Chaz. “Ah, there it is, the Beaumont temper. Although, it’s interesting how it now spikes from you . . . when you bring such a beautiful woman here. Is it not?”

  “I’ve always known you to be the type of bastard who thinks he knows everything, but, this isn’t . . . this is not what you think it is. Get that through your thick fucking head. Will you?” Chaz snaps in a nasty tone, causing his father to be quiet for a moment.

  I feel like one of those people watching a dramatic show on MTV, while shoving food down their throat. “Fuck this, seriously. Fuck this.” Chaz rises, slides out from the booth and looks down to his father. “You can take Crina home since you’re so fucking infatuated with her. Maybe you’ll be a match made in heaven.”

  “Back to the club, I assume?” Timothée looks up to his son, further poking the bear.

  “Yeah, something like that.” He grumbles, walking away.

  I don’t know what the hell this was really about, but it feels like there are a lot of issues between these two. Although, since I come from a family who I’d say has high class . . . I understand it more than I’ll ever admit to Chaz.

  For some reason, calling him Tiny right now doesn’t seem right.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I avoid shit because I’m afraid of me, not you. Temper goes from zero to prison real fast

  ~ Fuckology

  Chaz

  I’m not much of a runner, but I knew more than anything else I had to get out of there. He shouldn’t have said any of what he did, because it’s none of her damn business. Fuck. I should’ve known better. I was simply stupid for even bringing her here to prove my point. But damn, my ego got in the way and I know it.

  Even now, walking up the streets of Boulder City I sense my back tensing up, proving how I feel betrayed.

  I made it clear as day Crina isn’t my friend, that she was a friend of the club. Shit. I even said it, just like that. He poked the bear once and I let him get away with it, stating again how she wasn’t my girlfriend. I thought I made it crystal fucking clear but leave it to my dad to continue his nonsense. He was nineteen when my father was murdered, the only person able to care for me at the ripe age of five. I had other family, but my biological father didn’t trust them. At least, that’s what my dads told me. Truth be told, I don’t remember much about my biological father. I recall the way his face was an oval shape and he had brown hair just like me. Otherwise, I can’t remember jack shit. I was only a little kid though.

  Fuck, part of me thinks I don’t remember anything because it’s a subconscious response, not wanting to have any tragedy lingering around in the back of my mind or whatever. I don’t remember the car accident, but what I’ve always been told is that he was sitting beside me in the backseat when our car came under attack. How the men shot him numerous times, and the driver. I managed to unbuckle myself and hide under a blanket on the floor . . . which was the only thing that saved my life. I don’t remember any of it, but it’s what the police back in France concluded. However, I do vaguely recall being taken out of the car by an officer. Other than that— nothing.

  A bench near the street is empty, so I go over and take a seat. If one thing’s for certain, I’ll never understand the way my dad is. He’s always been a joker, but I suppose it’s his personality. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I breathe in and out deeply.

  Why did he have to poke the bear tonight?

  Why couldn’t he give it a damn rest?

  Fuck. And he wonders why I don’t come around very often. If he were to look in the mirror a bit more, he might understand.

  “Charles?” Her voice startles me, forcing me to look up and see where Clementine is. She’s walking down the street, walking her agonizingly annoying little dog, Pepper. It’s this French Bulldog mix who yaps at every fucking way the wind blows. “I had no idea you were coming for a visit,” She states in a peppy voice, walking right over to me. Her eyes shine brightly in the moonlight and her smile grows. She might technically be my cousin, though she’s my adopted sister.

  “Hey, Clem,” I say, wrapping my arms around her. I hold her tight a little longer than I normally do, and in doing so, she knows something’s up.

  “What’s got you so flustered?” She peers up to me with worrisome eyes, takes ahold of my forearm and pulls us both down to the bench behind me. Even Pepper joins us.

  “Hey, rat.” I speak to the little dog, scratching her head. She’s black with rusty orange spots throughout her fur.

  “I hate to break it to you, but she knows you love her.” Clem says with a smile pulling at her lips.

  “No, I don’t. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t even be dealing with her ratty ass.” I comment, pulling my hand away from Pepper.

  “Mhm, sure.” She replies to me, then looks over to Pepper. “Pep, lay down.”

  Pepper immediately lays down on the other side of Clem. Of course, Clem now shifts her attention back to me, “First of all, you never come out here on a whim so I know something’s up. You’re being quiet as hell, and haven’t once made a joke . . . so, wanna tell me, or will I have to pry it out of you?”

  “Try to pry it out, kid. You’re as terrifying as the rat.” I mutter.

  “I’ll have you know this little dog has very sharp teeth.” Clem giggles, leaning against me. She sighs heavily, “I know I don’t say it much, but I’ve really missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you too.” Clem and I fight like cats and dogs, but at the end of the day we’re always here for one another. She’s one year younger than me and has pretty much the same sort of situation with our moms. Shit, I can’t even use that term. They were one-night stands that resulted in heirs as our
dad tells us. We never had a mother in our lives, but it wasn’t too bad. Even though he’s a dick sometimes, I don’t doubt the amount of love he has for us.

  “So, what’re you doing out here?”

  “Eh, nothing much.” I shrug.

  “Come on, that’s such bull.”

  “I let my attitude get the best of me and brought this chick out here to prove a point, only it backfired.”

  “Girl? Oooo, tell me more!” Clem claps her hand excitedly.

  “No, don’t do that. She isn’t important to me at all. She’s just a girl the club is helping do some research on her book, and she had this idea that all bikers are either poor or had some sort of traumatic shit going on in their lives.”

  “And you brought her here for what exactly?” Clem draws her brows together, not understanding.

  “‘Cause, she thought all of us had bad relationships with our parents . . . I guess. I don’t know. I just didn’t like the way she was insinuating we all had some fucked-up shit happen to us.”

  “Charles . . . you’ve been through some rough stuff. Don’t even deny it. Do you ever think for a second like it might’ve contributed to being more involved in the MC? I mean, I know why you joined. Or at least I think I know.”

  “The fuck is that supposed to mean?” I ball my fists up, feeling the need to get defensive.

  “You make me want to rip my hair out sometimes. Don’t play coy, though. We both know what being a Beaumont means, or what it meant at least. When your bio dad was killed . . . it altered everything for our family. Dad took you in, scooped me up and fled here to America. It was more important to keep us alive then to stay at the head of the mafia . . . for fuck’s sake, Charles, we would’ve died in Paris. It’s only natural for you to feel a pull toward that life, because I feel it too. Of course, I’ll never admit it to Dad . . . but I do wonder what life would’ve been like if we never left.”