One Taste of Angel

by Violetta Rand

  He raises an eyebrow, looking surprised. “Seriously?”

  “Just give it to me, please.”

  He shrugs and pours another shot in my glass.

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet, sweetheart. We have a long night ahead of us.”

  Chapter Seven

  Eagle

  “Truth or dare?” I ask Serafina after successfully bouncing the quarter into a shot glass I found on a shelf near the hot tub. She convinced me to play the ridiculous high school game, but I don’t regret it because her aim sucks. I’ve learned more about her over the last twenty minutes than I had all night.

  She grabs the glass and swallows the Jack. “Truth,” she answers, staying as far away from the dares as she can.

  I grin. “Favorite sex position.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Why not?”

  Gorgeous blue eyes hit me with a nervous look. “Maybe doggie style?”

  “Is that a question?”

  “No. I don’t know. It all feels the same.”

  “Not with me,” I assure her, gauging her demeanor. It all feels the same? “Don’t tell me you’ve never had great sex.”

  She shakes her head. “You’re such an arrogant bastard.” She refills the glass. “My turn.” She aims carefully, and the quarter hits the tabletop just right. She squeals with delight. “Finally!”

  “Lucky.” I snatch the shooter and drink it down. “Well?”

  “Truth or dare, Eagle?”

  “Truth.”

  “Have you ever been in love?”

  My turn to be caught off guard. “Yeah,” I confess begrudgingly. “Completely.”

  She cocks her head. “And?”

  “You get one question, no follow-ups.”

  I pour more whiskey and take another drink. The topic of conversation needs to change, now. Every day I struggle to get Angelique out of my head, to separate myself from a life I never got to live. It’s taken five agonizing years to recover as much as I have. To believe I could meet someone and possibly move on. I fucked my way into oblivion for the first three years and drank myself stupid until I was so numb I almost lost my patches. I gaze at Serafina. She reminds me of Angel a little. The attitude and sass. But this girl is older and wiser. More damaged, and more resilient in ways she shouldn’t have to be.

  She reaches for the glass and I grab her hand and give it a squeeze.

  “You okay?” she asks.

  “I don’t like this game anymore.”

  “Did I dredge up a painful memory?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I lost someone I loved, too,” she says, then immediately shuts her mouth, like she’s revealed something that should remain a secret.

  “Let’s just agree to stick with dares,” I offer.

  She considers it. “And what would you dare me to do, if given the chance?”

  I’d rather show her. So I walk around the table, stopping beside her. Our gazes meet and I swear we could cut the tension in the air with a butter knife. It’s thick and sweet. The first time I’ve felt so turned on since Angel. Maybe that’s why I want to help this girl—to fuck her and keep her for a little while. I tuck a stray hair behind her ear, forcing myself to smile.

  “Get up, Serafina.”

  “If I didn’t say it the right way before,” she starts, “thank you for showing up in the guest house when you did.”

  “You’re welcome,” I say. “I’d do it for anyone, sweetheart. Where I come from, we treat women a certain way.”

  She nods. “I know.”

  I help her up from the chair, hoping she’ll let me touch her. With her back to me, I help her lose the T-shirt and then hug her from behind. She leans into me, her head resting on my chest as I move her long hair aside and nibble on her neck, cupping her breasts at the same time. She moans, digging her long fingernails into my thighs. My thumbs circle over her hard nipples and the little diamond studs I like so much. Fuck. She’s beyond beautiful. Her tits spill out of my hands, firm and all natural.

  As I pinch her nipples, her whole body tightens up and she lets out a pleasure-filled cry. I do it again, testing out what makes her tick.

  She throws her head back, breathing hard. Her hands are warm, I can feel the heat through my clothes. I want those little hands all over my body. Then I spin her around in my arms, finding that fuck-me mouth, claiming her tongue again. Her taste and scent flood my senses. This night started out a certain way. I surely didn’t expect to connect with a girl like this. But I am, feeling overly protective and territorial, like I’m not supposed to let her go.

  I break the kiss and hold her away from me so I can get a better look. The soft lighting in the room compliments her skin tone and dark hair. And those eyes . . . I keep getting lost in them. “Do you want this?” I growl.

  “I-I don’t know yet.” She might say one thing, but her body tells me something different. Even now, she slides her palms up my chest, a hint of approval in her eyes.

  “Let me help you make up your mind.” I sweep her off her feet and carry her to the closest bed. I gently deposit her on the end of the mattress, my hungry gaze sweeping down her nearly naked body. Boxer shorts never looked so good on anyone. But I want them off her. I need to taste that pussy, to lick her head to toe so she knows just how serious I am about giving her a new perspective on sex.

  The rumble of multiple motorcycles breaks the silence outside. My brothers are here. I’ve been so wrapped up in the activities of the night I forgot to check in. Shit. “Wait here for me, sweetheart.”

  Serafina blinks up at me. “Maybe it’s better this way,” she says. “A sign that we were about to make a mistake.” She stares at the alarm clock on the nightstand. “Three-thirty in the morning, Eagle. I’m exhausted, and you must be, too.”

  I’m more than disappointed at what she’s saying. It’s not my style to grovel. But this is the closest I’ve ever come to it. “Are you sure, Serafina?”

  “Regretfully, yes.”

  “All right.” This isn’t over yet. “A car will be here to take you home in the morning.”

  “Y-you?”

  “No. Someone I trust though.”

  “I could catch the bus.”

  I laugh, imagining the chaos she’d cause at the terminal. “It’s not negotiable. Be ready by ten, okay?”

  She nods and yawns. A genuine yawn this time.

  I lean across the bed and fist my hand in her soft hair, tugging her close. “I’ll see you soon.” I give her a parting kiss—demanding and full of dark promise.

  I leave her curled up on the bed and turn off the lights as I walk out the door. Before heading outside, I wait by the door to see if she’s going to stay put. After about five minutes I’m satisfied.

  I want the girl. And I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, I’ll have her in my bed soon enough.

  Chapter Eight

  Serafina

  My morning starts with an unexpected wakeup call in the form of a heavy knock on the door. Before I respond, it opens and a woman in a uniform carries a breakfast tray into the suite. She sets it on the table and then turns to the double windows, covered by heavy drapes.

  I sink further under the covers, waiting for her to leave.

  Instead, she opens the curtains and bright sunshine floods the room. I groan.

  “Good morning, Ms. Scala,” she says. “Mr. Mendoza asked me to serve you breakfast and make sure you have everything you need. A town car will be here to pick you up at ten.”

  “Ten?” I’m still in a Jack Daniels fog, having taken more shots last night than I ever remember doing before. The fact I can form complete sentences is a small victory. “What time is it now?”

  “Eight.”

  “Thank you.” I slowly sit up, remembering Eagle confiscated my suitcase last night. “I’m not sure where Eagle hid my bag. I have a change of clothes in it.”

  The middle-aged woman smiles. “Don’t worry, ma’am. It’s in the hallway.�
�� She leaves the room for a moment, then returns with my bag. “Anything else?”

  “No.”

  “If you need me, there’s an intercom over there.” She points to a spot near the second bed.

  As soon as she’s gone, I scramble out of bed and rush to the table. I’m starving. I uncover the dish and practically salivate at the sight of fried eggs, buttered toast, and a slice of ham. There’s coffee and orange juice, too. I’m not usually a breakfast eater, but I sit and indulge. The coffee warms my insides, the caffeine hitting me hard. Now, instead of an alcohol-induced stupor, I’m wired.

  That’s when everything that happened last tonight becomes clear. The general feel of the bachelor party. The violent asshole in the guest house. The gun he shoved in my face. How Eagle appeared and took control of the situation. The shock and fear I felt being so close to the man I loved—will always love—again. Our kisses and intimate conversation.

  I drop my fork on the plate and cover my face with both hands. A little ashamed . . . and excited.

  When I decided to go underground five years ago, the man who helped me establish a new identity warned me never to return to Holly Beach. I managed to steal enough money from my brother to pay for my relocation and surgery. Though the plastic surgery I underwent was a success, a general reconstructive procedure doesn’t completely alter your face. At first glance maybe. But if I spent too much time around Eagle, he might figure out who I am. And there was that one moment when he asked if we’d met before.

  I take a deep breath, feeling a bit like Cinderella. Unfortunately, the ball is over and it’s time to return to reality—the life I have in Texarkana. Though it’s not the future I planned for when I was younger,I’m in college part time, I have a nice apartment, a best friend, and some savings. More than some people ever get. I take a last bite of toast, then wander across the room to my bag. I unzip it and fish around for my jeans and T-shirt. Finding what I need, I head to the bathroom for a hot shower.

  An hour later, I’m dying to get out of this house. The only reason I cooperated with Eagle last night was to spend some time with him. The memory of his hungry kisses will have to last a lifetime. Under no circumstances can I ever see him again. I had a couple weak moments—too close for comfort really. Selfishly driven by a need to reconnect with my old life. Angelique is dead. I have to keep reminding myself of that dreary fact.

  I walk to the windows and stare across the vast front lawn. The Gulf of Mexico is yards away. The water sparkles in the sunlight, a beacon of lost hope. A bitter reminder of what I miss most. The beach, the smell of salt water, and that hometown feeling only somewhere as small and insignificant as Holly Beach can offer. I’m a damn fool. I step back from the windows, forcing the sentimental side of me to shut down.

  This town nearly cost me my life. And I gave it up for Eagle, too. That man doesn’t know when to stop. He’d have fought the devil if he knew it meant I’d survive. I didn’t, though. Not in the eyes of the local police and coroner. My death was ruled a homicide. According to the death certificate, I was burned beyond recognition in a house fire. The arsonist was never caught.

  I’m a walking and talking cold case. Never mind the grave robbery that happened a day before my death in the next county over. The police would have no reason to link the two crimes together. That’s all I know. My friend didn’t provide more details than necessary. Just a chance to escape and the best fake passport and driver’s license I’ve ever seen.

  I hear a car pull into the circular driveway and assume it’s my ride. Thank God. I grab my bag and purse, so ready. As soon as I open the bedroom door, Diaz appears.

  “Ms. Scala.”

  “Diaz.”

  “Are you ready to go?”

  “Yes, thank you.” There’s no reason not to be polite.

  “If you’ll wait a moment, let me check the suite before I escort you outside.” He passes me in the hallway and enters the bedroom. Back seconds later, he says, “It seems you forgot something important.”

  Shit, the envelope.

  “Take it,” he urges.

  “I can’t.”

  “I must insist. Mr. Mendoza will take it as a personal insult if you don’t.”

  Nothing will change my mind, not even a cartel kingpin.

  “Just take it.” Diaz shoves it into my hand. “Once you get home, donate the money to your favorite charity.”

  Something I never thought of. I’ve been too wrapped up in Eagle to think of using the blood money for something positive. How can I refuse? “Okay.” I stash the envelope in my purse.

  He nods with approval and walks me outside. The waiting town car is sleek and black, a Lincoln. The driver is dressed in the traditional chauffeur’s suit and hat. He opens the door for me and I smile, grateful for the ride.

  “We’re going to Texarkana?” he asks Diaz.

  “Yes. Of course, if the lady wants to stop anywhere on the way, please do so.”

  The driver shuts my door and then climbs into the front seat. He adjusts the rearview mirror so he can see me. “My name is Percy. Let me know if you need anything. There’s a stocked mini fridge to your left. Help yourself to whatever you want.”

  “I appreciate it,” I say. “If you don’t mind, can we stop by the Holly Beach Cemetery on the way out?”

  “Yes.” He doesn’t question my request. Instead, he fixes his mirror and connects his seatbelt.

  The engine purrs to life and we pull out of the driveway. I heave a sigh of relief as we hit the highway. My nightmare is almost over. Almost. Ten minutes later, Percy drives under the welcoming arch of the cemetery where my ashes are interred. This is another one of those moments no one should have to experience. I’m here to mourn my own loss. As twisted and sick as it sounds, I need to do this. Not only do I want to see where I was laid to rest, a part of me wants to say goodbye to Angel. None of it would make any sense to a sane person. Living between two worlds comes with a heavy psychological cost. The experts say closure is the first step to recovery. I hope this helps.

  Chapter Nine

  Eagle

  Serafina’s name has been rolling around in my head all night. I didn’t get any sleep. The cold shower didn’t work and throwing myself into fixing the transmission on this goddamned classic truck isn’t either. The Iron Norsemen own three blocks of property in Holly Beach. After Katrina, we purchased several lots in our neighborhood and expanded our two businesses. Iron Specialty Bikes and Iron Mechanical are the life’s blood of my charter.

  I drop a wrench on the mat on the floor and gaze up at Sunny. “I can’t wrap my mind around this shit. Take over for me.”

  He grunts and wipes his hands on his pants, waiting for me to move out of the way. “What happened last night? Why’d the boys have to go looking for you?”

  “I ran into a little problem.”

  “How little?” Sunny stares at me, expecting details.

  “Maybe five-three and wears a G-string.”

  He laughs. “That’s more than a little problem.”

  I strip off my blue overalls and hang them on the peg on the wall behind me. “Finest pussy I’ve seen in a long time.”

  What else can I say?

  Serafina Scala isn’t the kind of girl you just forget about. She’s worth a second try. Maybe a third. For now, that’s all the information Sunny is going to get from me. “How’s Annie?” I ask about his old lady.

  “That’s fucked up,” he says, sticking his head under the hood of the ’67 Chevy. “Pussy and Annie shouldn’t be mentioned in the same sentence.”

  “No? Your four kids say you’ve been hitting it regularly.”

  “Eagle?” a prospect says from across the shop. “You have a phone call.”

  “See you at the meeting tonight, Sunny.” I head to my office and close the door.

  Line one is blinking on the multi-line phone. I pick up the receiver and press the appropriate button. “This is Eagle.”

  “Motherfucker . . .” a familiar
voice says.

  Recognizing Bear’s tone immediately, my defenses turn on. “What the hell are you calling me for?”

  Bear is the only relative left of Angelique’s in Holly Beach. He’s the vice president of our biggest rival, the Dead Dogs. Every so often he calls to gloat. To remind me of the mistake I made by not slicing his throat the way I did his brother’s the night he tried to kill me. Maybe its good timing, I need a sharp reminder of why I distance myself from women.

  “Angelique’s five-year anniversary is next week.”

  I lean back in my swivel chair and kick my feet up on the desk, disgusted by his audacity. Every year it’s the same goddamned thing. I attend Angel’s memorial, usually keeping to the shadows where no one can see me. “You’re going to celebrate her death—again?”

  “It’s a club tradition.”

  “A fucking sick one.”

  “Thought you’d want to attend the service.”

  I laugh bitterly. “Have I ever forgotten to show up before?”

  “No.”

  “Then why would I now?”

  He sighs. “Five years . . .”

  I hear the sorrow in his voice and for a split second I understand where he’s coming from. It’s not sympathy . . . but it’s something. Then reality slams into my chest and I remember his part in making Angel suffer. I remember why I hate him.

  “The Crows are trying to open a clubhouse in Lake Charles,” he says.

  More bullshit to try and make me react. “Good. Lake Charles needs a little diversity.”

  “This could affect your business, too.”

  “How? I don’t peddle heroin and meth. That’s your specialty.”

  “The last time the Crows moved into new territory, they flooded the town with counterfeit money. Thousands of hundred-dollar bills. The cops showed up everywhere. Judges issued warrants for dozens of businesses, seizing so-called evidence to build a case against them. It included fifty thousand in untraceable bills for the Hangmen. Legal tender they’ve never gotten back.”

  The Crows have been on my radar for over a year. My charter is the dominant MC in southern Louisiana, so if anyone tries to establish a new club or move into our territory, they have to get my blessing first. “Old news,” I say. “I’m losing interest in this conversation.” I lower the headset, ready to slam it down.