One Taste of Angel

by Violetta Rand

  “Eagle, please.” She falls to her knees, tears streaming down her face. “Forgive me.”

  I kneel in front of her. “There’s no going back, Serafina. No forgiveness. Only pain and suffering. I thought you were real—pure. I came here tonight to offer you a chance at something I never thought I’d have again.”

  “What?” she begs for an answer. “Tell me.” She reaches for my face so tenderly I’m stunned.

  “Get your fucking hands off me.” That’s when I notice her eyes. Big brown eyes, not green. Eyes like Angel’s. I wrap my hand around her throat, ready to squeeze the life out of her. I hate this woman as much as I hate the Oranis. “Who are you?” I apply some pressure, just enough to frighten her.

  She clutches my wrists, trying to free herself from my chokehold. “Stop it.”

  I watch in sick fascination as her face starts to turn red. “You have the power to make this stop, Serafina. Who are you and what are you doing with Angel’s shirt and pictures?”

  Our gazes lock for a dreaded moment, every emotion imaginable washes across her beautiful face. Those perfect lips arch downward and the bottom one trembles. “It’s me, Caleb.”

  Her answer throws me off. “Who?”

  “Angel,” she says, over and over again. “It’s me. I swear it.”

  I give her a sideways look, searching the depths of her eyes. She’s a fucking liar. Angel has been dead for six years. I raise my hand . . .

  “It is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken,” she whispers. “Never shaken,” she repeats in a voice I haven’t heard in forever. Shakespeare. Angel’s first love in literature. That specific sonnet. Those special words, the ones carved on the bottom of her memorial bench.

  I want to destroy her.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Eagle

  The face doesn’t match the voice. But the eyes do. How could I ever forget those penetrating eyes? I lower my hand, shocked I even raised it to strike her. That’s how strong my connection with Angel was . . . is. I’d still kill for her. “You’re Angel?” I can’t believe it. I don’t want to. But the more I look around the apartment, the more I realize there’s pieces of me everywhere. Including the exact red leather sofa we always wanted to buy. Even the Eagles are playing in the background.

  Unsure what to do next, I stand up, staring down at her. She’s overcome with emotions and weeping, hugging her middle. A part of me wants to rip her heart out. Because if she’s truly Angel, she broke mine six years ago when she died. “Why?” I ask.

  “If I tell you, will you listen? At least try to understand?”

  I don’t have any answers for her yet. I’m standing in two worlds right now—one foot in the present, the other in the past—haunted by memories of the real Angel, not this imposter. “Where did we meet?”

  “At the beach.”

  “What happened?”

  “I tripped over your legs.” She gazes up at me, her eyes bloodshot and swollen from crying so much. “Stop quizzing me, Caleb. I’m Angel Orani. Serafina Scala was my great-grandmother’s name.”

  “The dead can’t talk.”

  “I never died.”

  Fuck . . . “What did we do at the beach a few minutes after we met?”

  “Danced,” she says.

  After that nothing feels real. My eyes flick over her body. She’s wearing a white lace bra and shorts. A few days ago I was all over her, pumping inside her, fucking Serafina Scala. Today I’m on the verge of losing my mind. I nearly hit Angel. I’ve never struck a woman in my life.

  “Get up, Serafina.”

  She slowly climbs to her feet and stands in front of me—head hanging.

  “Look at me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Look at me,” I demand again.

  She does.

  I take in every detail of her face. There’s traces of Angel—the shape of her lips, the catlike slant of her eyes, her curly hair, and maybe those dimples. “Smile.”

  “What?”

  “Smile, goddamnit.”

  “I’m not a dog, Eagle. I don’t respond well to commands. And I sure as hell can’t smile on demand.”

  I have to see if she’s really Angel. I can’t wait. I’m fucking dying inside. If it’s her . . . “Smile, Angel.”

  The corner of her mouth kicks up and I see the faint indentation. Fuck. She’s telling the truth. My throat gets tight all of a sudden. I’m drowning in a quagmire of rage and joy. Angel Orani is alive. The girl I’ve mourned for six years—the woman I wanted to marry. The girl I’ve always loved. The virgin I fucked. That thought unleashes the beast inside me and I’m all over her then, capturing her mouth with mine, yanking her down to the floor.

  Our tongues swirl together violently, our hands probing and ripping at each other’s clothes. I press her flat on the floor and tug her shorts and panties off. She moans and closes her eyes, arching her back. I don’t have time to take my pants off—I need to be inside her now. I unzip my fly and position myself between her thighs. Her little body is shaking.

  “Angel,” I growl her name and her eyes pop open. “This is what you do to me.” I thrust inside her and she screams out my name.

  “Eagle. Please.” She locks her ankles behind my back and I power drive deeper.

  I pull her bra down. Her nipples are hard and pink, begging to be sucked. My tongue circles around one, and I pinch the other. She snaps her hips, silently begging me to go faster. I do—close to coming already.

  I stretch out on top of her, shoving one hand underneath her, grabbing a handful of her luscious ass. I bury my other hand in her thick hair, forcing her head back so I can see that face. We’re hopelessly intertwined. I felt it the night I thought I was making love to Serafina. A magnetic pull. Fate. I didn’t need Angel anymore, not after Serafina opened up the way she did, sharing her laughter and body, making me feel like a man again, alive. No matter where this goes, Serafina isn’t real—she’s a made up person I fell hard for. It’s like experiencing death again, and I’m not sure I can handle it.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Because I love you.”

  I don’t want to hear it. Not now. I kiss her violently, taking back what she stole—what’s always been mine. I wish I could crawl inside her body and stay there forever. Then it starts, a distant pulse at first that turns into an explosive orgasm. Her muscles squeeze my cock, milking me—stealing my fucking soul.

  We’re both panting as I roll off of her. No matter what her reasoning is, Angel betrayed me. She walked out of my life leaving a trail of destruction in her wake. I almost drank myself to death. I nearly let her goddamn brother blow my brains out.

  I stand up and zip my pants. She’s still sprawled on the floor, looking like a goddess. My very much alive Angel. “I can’t do this right now,” I say. “I just fucked a ghost.”

  She sits up, tears falling down her cheeks. “Please, Eagle. I know it doesn’t make sense right now. I know you wanted Serafina . . .”

  “Damn right I did.” I glare at her. “But you took her from me, too.”

  “Too?”

  I fist my hands. “Do you really need me to spell it out for you? I thought you were dead, Angel. That alone cost me six years. Now Serafina is gone. That leaves me with nothing.” I start for the door.

  “Wait!”

  “What?” I feel like a dead man walking, stripped of any hope.

  “Serafina is me. Don’t you understand that? I’ve changed. I’m not the girl you remember, the one you fought so hard to save.”

  I spin around. “You’re not Serafina. And you’re sure as hell not the Angel I remember. That girl would never have lied to me, stolen six years of my life.” I look her up and down, critical of anything she has to say, unwilling to listen. “Frankenstein,” I say. “Some sick, twisted creation that took the place of the girl I used to love and the woman I was falling for.”

  I walk across the room, scoop the remains of the shredded T-shirt I gave he
r off the floor, and head back to the door. “Stay here—I don’t even know what the fuck to call you.” I step outside, caring little about anything else but getting away from her.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Serafina

  I don’t know how long it’s been since Eagle left, or how long I’ve been lying on the floor. The Eagles are still playing on my iPod and I’ve lost count of how many times “Desperado” came on. I’m drenched in Caleb’s scent, the evidence of our sexual encounter still sticky between my legs. When he announced he couldn’t do this right now and walked out on me, I rolled into a little ball and gave up.

  I love him. Somehow, Eagle needs to understand that I left to protect him. My brothers wanted me to marry Derelict. His father was a member of the Dead Dogs, a wealthy asshole who bankrolled a lot of the club’s activities. It would have been the perfect union, a way to guarantee that the money stayed in the charter.

  I dry heave and then cough. Derelict had those psychotic Manson eyes. And a habit of killing things. I escaped that future through my love for Eagle.

  Finding the strength to finally get up, I end up in the kitchen guzzling water. It’s five o’clock in the morning. I’ve been in a trance on that floor for at least nine hours. Good Lord. My world just imploded and I’m not even sure what to do. Where to go. Who to talk to. If I can stay here. Will Eagle ever speak to me again? I know he would never reveal my true identity; I trust him implicitly. But there’s a question of retaliation. Even Caleb has limits. And I don’t want to be his enemy. I’ve seen what happens to people he hates.

  With my couple thousand dollars in savings, I might have enough money to start over somewhere else. Maybe Boston or Seattle. Far away from the south, far away from Eagle.

  Then I consider Asia. How would she feel if I just disappeared? She’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a sister. Always willing to listen, endlessly offering to make me an official member of her family. She has my back. I find my cell on the dining room table and dial her number. I know it’s early in the morning, but she deserves to know the truth. My confession will remove half of the weight I’ve been carrying around on my weary shoulders for the last six years.

  Misery doesn’t love company; she just wants to share her burden.

  Asia picks up on the second ring. “’Fina?”

  “I’m sorry to call so early.”

  “Don’t apologize. Are you okay?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Now?”

  “Please . . .”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” She disconnects.

  I have coffee ready by the time she arrives. She walks in wearing her pajamas and slippers, hair in a messy bun.

  “Did that biker break your heart?” she asks.

  “I broke his.”

  She accepts the steaming mug and follows me into the living room. “How’d you manage that?” She sits on the edge of the sofa, watching me pace.

  Where do I start? How do I explain the lie I’ve been living? “My real name isn’t Serafina Scala.”

  “Wait!” she says and takes a sip of coffee. “Are you a Russian operative? Because I could get into the Bond thing.”

  Asia never fails to make me laugh. “Nothing that exciting, no espionage. I’m not Russian, just a boring Italian girl who borrowed her great-grandmother’s name to survive.” I explain everything in detail.

  When I finally finish, she’s silent, gripping that mug so tight I’m afraid it’s going to burst.

  “Fuck,” she says, blinking her eyes rapidly. “You’re biker royalty?”

  “Don’t romanticize it, Asia. I’m in hiding.”

  “No. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just. Wow. I’m completely blown away. How did a sixteen-year-old girl manage to give the Dead Dogs the slip?”

  “I had help. From one of the best in the business. I think he was in love with me.”

  “You mean a professional cleaner?”

  “You watch too many movies.”

  “Whatever you call him.” She hops up and throws herself at me, giving me the healing hug I need. “I love you, girl. Nothing will ever change that.” She pulls back and looks at me. “You have a second chance here, Sera . . . I mean, Angel.”

  “A second chance at what? Eagle hates me.”

  She shakes her head. “Impossible. You waited for him all these years. Gave up your virginity to spend one night with him. Shit. You accuse me of watching too many movies. Your story has Lifetime feature movie written all over it. Trust me.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. I’m going to leave Texarkana tomorrow.”

  “What?” Her smile fades. “No. You can’t keep running.”

  “I can’t stay here. If my brother finds out I’m alive . . . it’s not safe for me or Eagle. Maybe even you. Bear is dangerous. ”

  “Just stay, Serafina. No one needs to know anything.”

  Tears fill my eyes again. “Eagle knows.”

  “He’ll come crawling back, ’Fina. I promise.”

  “I don’t want him to crawl.”

  We both startle when we hear a noise outside.

  “Are you expecting someone?” Asia asks, eyeing the front door.

  “N-no.”

  We rush to the kitchen window and look out. My heart skips a beat when I make eye contact with a man wearing Iron Norsemen patches on his leather jacket. I close the curtain and fist my hands.

  “Who is he?” she asks.

  “I don’t recognize him. But the patches . . .” I run to the door and whip it open. “Why are you here?”

  “Following orders. You’re not allowed to go anywhere. Your friend is welcome to stay or go. No men.” He reaches inside his front pocket, pulls out a pack of cigarettes, taps one out, places it in his mouth, and then lights it.

  “Do I get a name?”

  He ignores me, returns the pack to his pocket, and then leans against the brick wall.

  “Great.” I close and lock the front door. “Now I’m a prisoner in my own home.”

  Eagle

  The ride back to Holly Beach was long and treacherous, speed the only release for my lasting rage. Before I left Arkansas, I made a call to Tonsils and had him send someone to guard Angel’s apartment. I don’t want her going anywhere until I decide what to do with her.

  I also called for a mandatory meeting for all patched members. The fact that Angel is alive changes everything. I wait inside the clubhouse where we hold church. Tonsils is sitting next to me, eager to hear the news, looking at me like he knows I’m about to explode.

  “What happened, Eagle?”

  I suck in a ragged breath, so close to breaking. “Can’t you wait?”

  “I’m your second-in-command.”

  “Goddamnit.” I pull the tattered T-shirt out of my pocket and slam it on the table. “That happened.”

  Tonsils stares at me, then looks at the shirt. He picks it up and examines it. “Angel’s shirt? Where in the fuck did you find this?”

  “On Angel.”

  “You’re losing it, Brother. She’s dead.”

  “No,” I say, looking him square in the eyes. “She’s alive and well. Just fucked her on her living room floor.”

  Before he can respond, the other members start filing into the room. Ten minutes later, the double doors are closed and locked.

  Awkward silence falls as I stand and start walking around the room, searching for the right words. How can I accuse the woman I love of destroying my life? Of setting my MC up for a war against another club we already hated? We’ve lost members over it, buried four who were shot or stabbed by Dead Dogs—and practically sainted the girl. Her fucking portrait hangs in the clubhouse like she’s the pope. I shoot a frustrated look to Tonsils, who just nods. I can see his pain. He loved Angel. We all did. I still do.

  “I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a lunatic. In time, the details will come out—we’ll understand things better. But last night I found out Angel Orani is al
ive.” I snatch the shirt off the table and throw it to the other end so my brothers can see it. “I ripped this from her body.”

  Slowly, the shirt is passed around. There’s grumbling and quite a few stunned glances sent my way.

  “Where is she?” Sunny asks.

  “How did you find her?” Sam shakes his head and tosses the evidence away, looking disgusted.

  “I met her at Lazaro’s bachelor party ten days ago. She’s undergone a complete transformation—plastic surgery, everything else to hide her true identity. Her new name is Serafina Scala. She lives in Texarkana. We spent Thursday night at my cabin. For a moment there, I thought I was ready to move on. Ready to claim an old lady. So I showed up at her apartment unannounced. I found her in this shirt, looking at photographs of us and her family.”

  “Holy shit,” Sam says.

  “Why did she hide?” Tonsils asks. “That girl loved you—us.”

  I glance out the window on the other side of the room. The weather matches my mood. It’s unusually cool outside, storm clouds rolling in. “To tell you the truth, I didn’t ask.”

  “Where is she now?” Blue asks.

  “At her apartment. I sent Cannon there to keep watch.”

  “The Dead Dogs would pay a hefty price to get her back,” Sunny comments.

  I growl my disapproval. Bear would beat her savagely and then turn her into a passaround. No matter her transgressions, I won’t let her suffer like that. I’d rather shoot her in the head myself.

  “She deserves a chance to defend herself,” Blue says. “And we have the right to question her—inquisition style if necessary.”

  I couldn’t agree more. “What do you suggest?” Blue is one of our officers.

  “Bring Angel here.”

  “No one, not even the old ladies, can know about this. If the Dead Dogs find out she’s alive, it’ll start a war. Like nothing we’ve ever seen,” I warn.