by Tara Oakes
I close my eyes and hold my breath as I turn the key, silently praying the car will cooperate with me. Every once in a while she gets finicky and stubborn and in need of a jump-start.
It’s bad enough to have nearby drivers looking on in pity as I claim the car as my own by getting in it; it’s a whole other thing to have to ask one of them to jump to start the thing.
It must be my lucky day as the engine only sputters once or twice before coming to life.
Thank God.
I open my eyes and take a deep breath, thankful for the strike of good luck. The gauges and dials come to life on the dashboard with the check engine light blinking as always and the gas gauge dangerously low.
I rub the top of the steering wheel gently. “There we go girl.”
It’s not a long drive to the pawnshop, and I should be able to get there coasting on fumes if I have to.
~*~
The scruffy-looking man behind the counter holds up a magnifying device to the ring, inspecting and scrutinizing it closely.
“I can give you one fifty for it, darlin’.”
I eye the round band, saddened to have to part with it. It’s one of the only things of my grandmother’s that I have and I wouldn’t do this unless I were as desperate as I am.
I have to look away as I nod my head. “Thank you.”
I can hear the cash register open with a gentle bell as the man counts out the bills. I don’t know him from Adam but I take the folded bills from him without counting them.
This shop has a decent enough reputation and I’m pretty sure he’s not ripping me off, even though I had foolishly hoped to get a little more money for the family keepsake.
“I’ll keep it for thirty days, darlin’. You come back and buy it when you can before I put it in the jewelry case.” I’m sure he’s seen people like me pawning much more valuable things than a simple ring and he must give the same speech to all of them.
I wonder how many actually manage to buy their things back.
“Thank you, sir, I’ll do that.” I shake his hand politely and hold the cash tight as I leave the small store behind, passing the jewelry case he’s mentioned on my way out.
I see dozens of sparkly rings with shiny stones and polished gold glimmering in the light. There are tiny little white tags attached, dangling off them, and naming the price of each of the little pieces.
I wonder what number will be written on the tag for grandma’s ring?
Regardless of the digits that are scrawled on the little white tag, I know it won’t change anything for me. He might as well charge a million dollars for it since I’ll never scrap together the cash to buy it back, anyway.
Once out in the sunlight, I separate the bills, putting most of them in my pocket to finally be able to pay mom’s monthly nursing bill in full while taking twenty for myself to put gas in the old Honda.
I have one last stop for the day before I make it back home to Sasha. I had hoped to pass the ring down to her one day, to have her great-grandmother’s jewelry, but if Sasha’s taught me anything it’s that all those things don’t really matter. The only thing that means anything at the end of the day is that I have her and she has me.
Her love is worth more than any amount of gold or money. It’s priceless.
CHAPTER TWO
DAWSON
“Hey, D!”
The prospect, Esè, knocks once before letting himself in. You’d think he’d have learned by now. Last time he opened that door without waiting for a reply he walked in on Candy blowing me.
“What did I tell you about knocking, kid?” I ask out, looking over the two ledgers I’ve got sprawled out on the desk in front of me.
He looks around on the floor for signs of a woman. “Gryff said you were in here alone.”
I shake my head; he’s about as bright as a ten watt light bulb. “What the fuck do you want?”
“There’s some chick out here who says she needs to see you. Says she’s got something of yours.” That gets my attention.
Barely giving him a glance, I ask, “She knocked up?”
The last time some broad showed up here saying she had something of mine, it was a random chick who was about ready to pop, claiming I was the lucky dad-to-be.
She looked vaguely familiar and it was entirely possible I’d banged her even though I couldn’t be sure. Two weeks, one paternity test, and a few sleepless nights later, the truth came out.
Sure, I had slept with her, but I most definitely was not the father. It was like a bad episode of Jerry Springer.
“Nah, boss. It’s that stripper from the other night. The one that changed her mind about dancing.”
His words catch me off guard, and I drop my pen. “No shit.”
The caramel-skinned kid shrugs his shoulders, before leaving the door slightly ajar on his way out. I roll my eyes while slamming the two leather-bound books shut. That prospect was raised in a fucking barn. It’s time we go over how to use a door. Again.
I turn the swivel seat to work the dial of the heavy, old-fashioned, wall safe behind me and shove the ledgers back in before slamming it shut again, locking them up.
It’s been two days since that woman walked out of here and I haven’t been able to get her out of my head, even though I seriously thought I’d never see her again. I hadn’t gotten her name. I know nothing about her.
Yet, I still remember exactly what she looks like. I remember the softness to her voice. I remember the tight little ass on her. But the thing I remember the most, are her eyes.
The deep, almost hollow, look to them. That’s what struck me the most about her. That’s what I can’t forget. I’ve seen that look hundreds of times when I was locked up in the pen. I’ve seen it in the strung-out whores that come around. I’ve never seen it in someone as young or as innocent as Angel though.
I don’t know her real name. I don’t know anything about her to back up calling her innocent. It’s just a feeling I have. To see someone like her with a look of hopelessness in her eyes pains me. It’s not fucking right. Someone like her should never feel the things that bring on the kind of silent sorrow that was in her eyes.
My heavy boots echo in the long hallway leading to the front of the club, loud and clear, as it’s too early in the day to blast the music that usually fills these rooms. The only people that hit us up this early in the day are the hard drinkers, the deliverymen, and the brothers that have nothing better to do with their time than hang around and throw back some beers waiting on an assignment for the club.
As soon as I turn the corner near the bar I spot the pretty little thing talking with Gryff, my VP, my right-hand man. I only see the back of her, her shiny, dirty blonde hair falling around her shoulders, dark blue jeans and a black jacket. I was too wrapped up in her eyes the last time I saw her to fully appreciate the rest of her but now that I have a chance to, I make the most of it.
She’s tiny, smaller than most, but not scrawny, not by a long shot. Her legs have just a touch of meat on them to make me lick my lips as my eyes follow the curves they make in the denim up to the tight, round, little ass I most certainly do remember. I’ve got bigger hands than most and I imagine how perfectly her ass cheeks would fit in each of my palms.
Gryff, one of my oldest friends, spots me walking up behind the woman and nods his chin. “Here’s the sick bastard now.”
“Shut up and grab me a drink, asshole,” I blow him off.
He laughs, amused at himself while following direction and reaching into the cooler hidden from sight under the bar. I can hear the tell tale hissing of the cap being taken off the longneck imported bottle before it’s handed over.
“You’re gettin’ real good at this, brother. Maybe I’ll keep you back there for a while,” I accept the beer and take the first sip.
He closes the cooler lid hard, not liking the possibility. “You know this shit is for prospects. I’m not stayin’ back here.”
Angel seems lost in our conversation. “Uhm,
I’m sorry. This looks like a bad time. I just need a minute?”
And there they are.
Those dark brown eyes that haunt me.
The beer at the back of my throat nearly chokes me as I see her eyes again, but I hide it, coughing instead. Gryff notices and rolls his eyes.
“I’m grabbing the first prospect I see, and I’m dragging his ass back here, D. I swear. I ain’t got time to work the bar.”
“Fine,” I tell him. “Baby should be back to work tomorrow night anyway.”
I take Angel’s elbow and steer her away from my brooding and sulking second in command as he gripes some more about his temporary assignment. We’ve been short staffed for the past couple of days and everyone needs to pitch in. I won’t lie though. I got a little satisfaction sticking him back behind the bar to grab beers for the last couple of hours.
“I got a message you wanted to see me?” I turn my attention to the small woman next to me.
Her eyes cast down as her tiny little fingers reach into her pocket. “I wanted to give this back to you.”
I can hear the crumpling of cash and know exactly what’s in her hands without bothering to look. I keep my eyes on hers, although she won’t meet them, trying like hell to figure this chick out. First, she looks like a choirgirl compared to almost every broad that walks in here. Second, she takes a job as a dancer but changes her mind before her first shift, and actually seems pissed at herself for not being able to follow through. Now, she’s giving back the cash I can tell she desperately needs.
Instead of taking the bills from her, I take another sip of the cold beer. I use the minutes that pass by silently to study her. The top of her head comes up just below my chin, shorter than most chicks I’m used to dealing with. She’s petite for sure, but all woman with the crazy curves that I’m now a fan of. Last time I saw her, I couldn’t quite tell if her tits were real or not. Being this close, though, I’m thinking they’re definitely the real deal, not too big, not too small. Just one more thing to add to the pile of things that don’t fit in. The chicks that hang around these parts have enough silicone in their bodies to float like a goddamned raft.
“Please take it,” she whispers.
I think on it. “No.”
She finally looks up, her gorgeous brown eyes wide, for once showing me something other than sadness. They’re full of shock. “No?”
I nod my head. “Nope. I gave it to you, it’s yours, Angel.”
She moves to speak, but seems unsure what to say. “My name’s not Angel, and I don’t take charity.”
Just when I think she’s gotten me as baffled as can be, she manages to up the ante. The cash in her hand is put down hastily with a heavy thud on the nearby wooden bar table. “Thanks again, but no thanks. I’ll manage.”
The room grows quiet, with heads turning instinctively at the scene. Nobody talks to me like that. Nobody. Not my men, and especially not some broad, no matter how hard she makes my cock jump.
We’re in a delicate spot, this little lady and me. I can’t let her get away with pulling something like this, especially in front of my people, yet the fading bruise on her face reminds me of how she was treated the last time she was in this building though definitely not by my hand. I don’t want to do something rash that will add to her pile of misgivings about the patches that most of us wear here.
“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” I let my beer bottle fall with a thud to the table. “You’re gonna pick that cash up and make sure I never see it again, Angel.” She swallows hard at my change of tone. “Then,” I add, “you’re gonna tell me what the fuck your story is.”
The energy in the room’s changed. I feel it. She feels it. We’re having a standoff, the two of us. The pretty little angel and the big bad biker.
I can see her chest rise and fall as she realizes just how serious this shit is. She’s come into my place, insulted me by trying to give back something I gave to her and has the nerve to stand up to me.
Doesn’t she know who the fuck I am?
Everyone watches to see the outcome, but all I do is watch her as she weighs her options. It takes a minute or so, but her fingers finally reach out to the pile of money and take it back.
I get a rush of adrenaline, knowing she’s given in. Something about this chick tells me it doesn’t happen too often.
“Good choice,” I pick up my beer and wave it to Gryff who’ watching nearby with the rest of them. “Two beers, bro. Send them to my office.”
She doesn’t say anything about the drink order. I step aside and point my hand to the back hallway.
“After you, Angel.”
~*~
“So?” I’m losing patience.
I lean back and kick my feet up to rest on the desk, causing the wood to creek under the weight of my heavy riding boots.
She may have been somewhat obedient to take the seat across from me but that’s where the buck stops. Her lips are closed tighter than the fingers on a death punch.
“Alright then.” I balance myself while reaching down to pull the smooth metal handle on the bottom drawer to my left, grabbing the expensive glass bottle and two shot glasses from my stash.
I clumsily pour both of the small, clear glasses to the brim, pushing one closer to her. She eyes it, confused.
“This should help you relax, Angel.” She looks wound tighter than a screw right now.
She doesn’t even look at it, let alone take it. “No. Thanks.”
I laugh to myself. “Don’t drink?”
No need to waste perfectly good booze. I toss my shot back and hiss while the cheap whiskey stings its way down.
Angel crosses her arms, picking up on my sarcasm and obviously not liking it. “I drink. Just not when I have to drive.”
Listening, I stretch out to take her unclaimed drink and put it to good use.
“I get it. You’re a good girl, right?” Letting the warm booze swirl around in my mouth, I wait for her reaction.
Her chin twitches, her lower lip moves the slightest bit. I can tell she’s biting her tongue, just itching to prove me wrong. “I’m sure you would see me that way.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong, Angel. I can usually peg people pretty quick. But you … you I can’t figure out.”
That seems to catch her off guard. “Why would you try to figure me out?”
I don’t have an answer for her. Hell, I don’t even have an answer for myself.
“You come in here looking to dance up on my stage, then can’t bring yourself to do it and actually get pissed at yourself for not being able to. Then, you come back to give me back the cash I gave you that I’m pretty sure you need a hell of a lot more than I do. So, I got to know. What’s your story, Angel?”
“Stop calling me that! I’m no angel.”
We’re finally getting somewhere. “Then tell me. What are you?”
She swallows, knowing I’ve backed her into a corner.
“I’m just a girl with a shit load of student loan debt, a degree that can’t seem to get me a job, and a family that relies on me to pay the bills that keep piling up. Not to mention a hospital that is just itching to kick my mom out because her insurance has lapsed. But it doesn’t matter. It’s not your problem. I’ll figure it out. I always do.”
What the fuck?
This chick can’t be older than twenty-four. How the hell does she have this much shit on her shoulders?
I don’t normally give a flying crap about other people’s shit. They sure as hell don’t care about mine. Why am I even giving this as much thought as I am?
“What did you go to school for?” Why the fuck did I just ask that?
I try to picture her as a nurse, giving me some sexy bedside care, or a teacher in a tight skirt and heels. Neither seems right though. I don’t know how I know it, but I do. She’s smart … like, really smart. I can see it in her eyes.
“What did you go to school for?” She mimics me, dodging the question.
I arch an
eyebrow as she’s quick to get sassy, not showing any concern for how I’ll receive it. That’s good. She’s got a backbone.
“Graduated valedictorian of the School of Hard Knocks, baby. Now it’s your turn.” I never even graduated high school, but I’ll bet she graduated with honors.
She bites the corner of her lip, debating whether to tell me or not. “Numerical theory.”
Bingo! With one small piece of her puzzle in place, I imagine her furiously writing some long, drawn-out equation with her sexy hair falling loose from a pencil used to pin it in place, biting on her lip while she tries to figure out the answer.
“You good with numbers?” I wonder aloud, roughly putting together an idea.
She looks at me like I’m an idiot. “What do you think?”
If she only had a clue what I’m thinking right now. She’d slap me across the face, call me a sick perverted bastard and hightail it out of here.
“I think you need money. I think you need a job. I think you’re hired.” I seal the deal although she obviously has no idea what I’m talking about.
“Excuse me?”
“Can you start tonight?” With Baby out, we’ve been shorthanded; hence why my boys are performing menial tasks like tending bar. Not to mention that I sacked Tommy, the old manager, the other night after the crap he pulled with Angel.
When it comes to the ledgers, no one else touches them except me, but I need a second set of hands around here to manage everything else. She seems like she has a good head on her shoulders.
“Wha—what do you mean? I can’t work here. I already told you that the other night. I tried, and I couldn’t do it, remember?” she’s quick to reply.
As if I could forget.
“I’m not talking about on the stage, Angel. I’m talking about behind the bar, working the register. Keep track of the cash during the shows.” The more in-depth I reveal my plan, the more I like it.
