There are reminders all over this town—families without fathers, men carrying a haunted look around with them, looking ten years older than they are. That’s how the Angels work. They take away the most important things to you, the things you need the most, so you don’t have any option other than to give them power over you. They’ve been doing it for so long they really have got it down to a fine art.
A fine, bloody art.
“It’s not going to happen,” I tell him sternly. “I have enough to get us as far as Vegas,” I tell him. “They won’t be able to find us there.”
“Until they do,” Jake says hopelessly. “We’re not the only ones that have thought about running, Aimee,” he reminds me. “And we both know how it always ends.”
“But it doesn’t have to be like that,” I tell him as we repeat the same conversation that we’ve been having over the past year.
“Okay, so maybe we get lucky, maybe they don’t find us. What happens to your mom? What happens to my parents? To Jonah? You think the Angels are just going to stand for us getting away? You know as well as I do what will happen to our families, and you know that I can’t be responsible for that. There’s no way I could live with that hanging over me,” Jake says, shaking his head, and the determination on his face is an expression that I know all too well.
“Why do you think Suzie has anything to do with you getting patched?” I ask, trying to steer the conversation away from the dead end that we always seem to reach.
“I don’t think it’s about me,” Jake says slowly. “I think it’s about you.” His voice is full of concern and I feel the fear in the pit of my stomach clench my insides into a ball as he says the words that I hadn’t wanted to admit to myself.
CHAPTER FIVE
On my way home to check on my mom and take a shower before my evening shift starts at the diner, I go over the conversation that Jake and I had become stuck in. I’m sweltering under the intense heat of the Nevada sun, but the walk home isn’t long and I’d refused Jake’s offer of a ride. I was too angry with him to sit together in a car without saying something that I might regret later.
If my dad was here he would have told me that I should quit being so stubborn, that I didn’t always have to do things the hard way, but he isn’t here and doing things the hard way had become part of my MO.
I hadn’t responded immediately to Jake’s comment about the Angels being after me. I didn’t know what to say.
The leader of the Bleeding Angels MC, Scar—named for the long pink, ragged mark running down his cheek—is an elusive figure. Despite being the leader of the bikers, he’s hardly ever seen; I haven’t seen him since I was a scared thirteen–year-old kid.
Scar has a son—Ryan—who’s a little older than Jake and I. We’d known each other for a long time, but we’d never been friends. Ryan was the kind of kid that would like to spend sunny days setting fire to ant’s nests and who shot at the neighborhood cats and dogs with BB guns.
Basically, he was a horrible little shit with a nasty sadistic streak that he had never grown out of. It had followed him into adulthood, and instead of just being an annoyance, he had become a danger. A very real danger to the people of Painted Rock.
All the kids at school would joke about how Ryan had a crush on me when we were little. He would follow Jake and me around, always hanging back, never being a part of things, always an observer—and a creepy one at that.
He didn’t seem to have any of his own friends, at least not until after his dad became the most powerful person in the town. After that, Ryan had been elevated to princely status in Painted Rock. The other bikers wanted to be around him to get closer to Scar and the residents of the town would fall over themselves to accommodate him simply because they were afraid. He seemed to enjoy it.
Ryan had asked me out not long before my dad had died, and my father had said something along the lines of “over his dead body” about his little girl going to go out on a date with the son of the leader of the Bleeding Angels.
After my dad died, Ryan seemed to have taken him at his word. He started coming by my house, hanging around and just waiting—waiting for what, I’m not sure, but something that I felt certain I was never going to give him. Not if he were the last man on the planet and the continuation of the human race depended on us. There is no way that I would spend a minute more in his company than I had to.
Now, my opinion hasn’t changed. I don’t want to see Ryan or to have anything to do with the Bleeding Angels after everything that has happened. But he isn’t used to taking no for an answer. After all, now he’s the one that people look away from in the street, he’s the one that people give whatever he asks. But not me. I won’t give him what he wants, not ever.
***
“You’re talking about Ryan,” I’d said to Jake in the shop after the silence between us had become uncomfortable, something that didn’t happen very often.
Jake had nodded slowly, looking down at the floor. “He wants you, he always has,” he stated simply, “and the Bleeding Angels always get what they want.” His shoulders sagged a little and I wonder if I had only imagined the bitterness in his voice.
“But why does it always have to be that way?” I asked miserably.
“Because that’s just the way it is.” Jake shrugged.
“Well if you feel that way then why the hell have we been talking about getting out of this place for so long? About what we would do if we could go away and leave this all behind us?” I asked him. “If you’re too scared to try to do something about the life that’s all set out for you, then fine, but I can tell you one thing—I’m not going to just sit around and rot in this town while I watch them take everything away from me.” The anger in my voice wasn’t directed at Jake, it was for the Bleeding Angels—he just happened to be within firing range.
“You done?” Jake had asked after a beat, looking up at me from underneath his dark hair. The wry smile spreading across his lips had sent a jolt of heat through me and when my eyes met his there was a connection that I couldn’t deny.
“I guess so,” I had replied sullenly, sitting back down on the stool.
“Feel any better?” he asked, taking a few steps towards me until I felt his closeness as if it were an actual force.
“Not really,” I admitted, trying to figure out why Jake’s proximity to me was making me feel so confused.
Jake put his index finger underneath my chin and raised it up so that our eyes met, and I felt myself starting to fall into the darkness of his eyes. “I can’t leave, but that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t,” he said to me. This is where all of our conversations ended up.
“Why do you keep saying that?” I asked him, trying to keep the anger out of my voice. “Why would you think that I’d leave without you?”
“Because you should, because you have to,” he had said, his finger still underneath my chin, his eyes still trained on mine. “You should get out of here, go to college—you’re too smart to waste away in this place,” he added.
“Right, go to college with what? I don’t think they take IOUs at Harvard.” I laughed harshly. “And what about my mom? You get to be the heroic one and look after your family, but I’m supposed to just leave without a backward glance?” I asked him, trying to make him see what he was asking of me.
“You know you’d get a scholarship at any college you applied to. Your SAT scores are basically a free pass to anywhere you want to go,” he reminded me without a hint of jealousy or bitterness.
Jake was just stating the facts and it didn’t help at all that I knew he was right. I must be one of the only people in America whose teacher just shook her head in disappointment when she saw my amazing scores, because she knew that they were as Jake described: a free pass.
But she also knew they were a pass I was never going to get to use, not unless things changed pretty seriously in our little town.
No one leaves. Not without the Angel’s say-so, at least.
“And I’ll look
out for your mom,” Jake said, bringing me back to the problem at hand. “You know that. I wouldn’t let anything happen to her,” he assured me, and I knew that he was telling the truth. “You’ve paid your dues. More than,” he added hastily, “If she was, you know…” he trailed off awkwardly clearly not knowing how to continue.
“If she was what? Sane? Not virtually catatonic? Able to hold a conversation? Not a shell of her former self?” I asked, and my voice sounded harsher than I had meant for it to. Whenever talk turned to my mom I felt the anger bubbling up inside of me. For all intents and purposes, I’d lost two parents the day that my dad died.
“Hey, Aimee, come here,” Jake had said as he had seen the tears threatening to spill over my cheeks and he’d pulled me close to him. He’d held me, his strong arms around me, and I’d laid my head against his chest, listening to the sound of him breathing and the vibrations of his heart as it beat deep inside of him.
We stayed like that for a while, but it wasn’t long enough. I felt the heat coursing through me, the heat that had become synonymous with Jake in recent months, and I let my arms fall from around his waist and stepped back out of his embrace.
A look had passed across his face—it has looked a little like disappointment, but that wouldn’t have made any sense, would it?
“Don’t go getting all soft on me now, Summers,” I had said jokily to break the tension that I was feeling stretching out between us like a string. “Or were you just trying to cop a feel?” I laughed and wondered at what point our easy banter had made me feel like blushing.
“Well it’s been a slow few months,” Jake had shot right back, shrugging as if to say what can I do?
“So, Don Jake hasn’t been having much luck with the ladies? What happened? You lose your touch?” I asked, playing along with him and trying to ignore the way that the idea of Jake having any luck with the ladies made my stomach turn.
Ever since we’d hit high school and Jake had filled out and grown into his body, he’d been in high demand with all the local girls and he’d pretty much managed to work his way through all the girls our age, some younger and some quite a bit older.
I had always been his confidant, his best friend, the one that he would talk to about his dates, about the girls he liked, and it had never bothered me before, not even a little bit—at least I don’t think it had. But now it definitely did. Something had changed and I didn’t want to dwell too much on what that was or what it meant for our relationship.
“Just had other things on my mind,” Jake replied enigmatically, and I had the feeling that he was talking about more than having to do his time with the Angels.
“So what are you going to do?” I asked him, for what felt like the umpteenth time over the past year.
He didn’t have long to make up his mind, whatever he was deciding. He was going to have to make up his mind soon—either he took his chances and got out of town, or he stayed and accepted his fate to become a patched and tattooed member of the Bleeding Angels MC.
The third option was unthinkable and all I could do was hope that he wasn’t going to consider anything as stupid as that. Staying and fighting was what had got my dad killed. I wasn’t about to let the same thing happen to Jake.
“I’m going to do whatever I have to do,” is all that Jake had replied, and the words made my heart sink like a stone inside of my chest.
“Jake,” I said, my voice a warning, my eyes trying to communicate to him all the heartache that he would cause if he went through with that statement.
“Don’t give me that look, Aimee. Aren’t you the one that said that even if it’s always been this way, it doesn’t mean that it always has to be?” he asked, busying himself under the bonnet of the car again so he wouldn’t have to meet my gaze. “I’m just trying to do the right thing.”
“Don’t use my own words against me,” I said to him angrily. “Trying to do the right thing is what got my dad killed, so you can’t just say that and then act like it’s no big deal!” I could feel the tears coming as I thought about the enormity of Jake’s words, and the idea of losing him only made the ache in my heart even more severe.
“I’m not acting like it’s no big deal, Aimee.” Jake had rounded on me then, frustrated, his dark eyes full of sincerity. “I’m scared half to death,” he admitted, “But I’m not going to make it easy for them, I’m not just going to let them think they own me like they think they own this town and everyone and everything in it.”
“But they do own it all,” I had pointed out quietly. “That’s why you’ve been so cagey every time I’ve talked about us getting out of Painted Rock, because you’ve always known what it was that you were going to do when they come for you,” I said, finally connecting the dots.
Jake didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to. His silence said it all. “And you didn’t plan on sharing this with me in all the times that we’ve talked about it?” I asked angrily, wanting to understand why he let me think there was a chance that he would leave Painted Rock with me.
“There was never a right time,” Jake said lamely, and we both knew that the words were a lie.
“Sure, because we’ve only seen each other pretty much every day over the past year. We’ve only talked about it a million times, over and over, again and again. I could see how it would be so hard for you to find the ‘right time’ to tell me you were planning on getting yourself killed,” I snapped at him, my voice threatening to break at any moment.
“You think this is easy for me?” Jake asked, walking towards me until we were close enough to touch, close enough for me to feel the charge of energy that passed between us. “We’re not all strong like you, Aimee,” he said helplessly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. “The last thing I am is strong. I can’t even think about something that happened six years ago without wanting to curl up in a ball and cry myself to sleep. Is that strong to you? My dad died a hero and all I do is wait tables,” I challenged, raking my fingers through my hair in frustration.
“Aimee, you’re the strongest person I know, whether you see it or not. You have more of your dad in you than you give yourself credit for,” Jake said softly, his hand on my face, stroking my cheek with his thumb as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
It was more than a comforting gesture—it was intimate. The heat of his hand on my face was burning me, burning through me, and all I was damned sure that I didn’t want him to stop touching me.
“Jake, how you getting on with that Dodge?” Bill’s voice came almost out of nowhere and Jake and I sprang apart as if we’d been caught doing something illegal.
I could feel myself blushing down to the roots of my hair as Jake began casually talking to his dad about the car he’d been working on, while I wondered how he’d managed to keep his cool. But I didn’t have to wonder for long— He doesn’t feel that way about you, the cruel little voice in my head reminded me, He was just being a good friend. I found the idea faintly depressing, but I couldn’t quite pin-point why.
“I should get going,” I said hurriedly, wanting to get out of such close proximity to Jake as quickly as possible.
“Aimee, hold up.” I had heard Jake start to hurry after me, but I couldn’t take looking at him again right now, not when he’d managed to turn my world upside down with what should just have been a simple touch between friends.
“Talk later, Summers,” I’d said jovially, throwing the words over my shoulder, pretending that nothing had changed. But in my world I felt like everything had.
***
I keep going over the events at the body shop as I walk home, trying to convince myself that I’m just reading too much into it, that I was just suffering from a lack of human contact. I hadn’t really ever had a proper boyfriend.
There had been a couple of boys in high school that I’d dated casually, but they had never kept me interested enough to find out what all the fuss was about over having sex. I wasn’t a social leper, but
I just didn’t see the point in going down that road with a guy before I knew if I really liked him.
It didn’t make any sense to me and it was something that my dad had always drilled into me. “Just make sure he’s worth it, honey,” he’d said to me, and I didn’t have any intention of letting him down.
So that brought me here: a nineteen-year-old virgin, working in a diner, desperate to get out of a town that was rapidly going to hell in a hand-basket, care of the Bleeding Angels MC.
How did we get to the point where a group of thieves and thugs were more powerful than the cops? I mull over this question as I reach the slightly-dilapidated wooden house on the outskirts of town. The place could do with a good paint job, but we didn’t have the money for that; dad’s pension wouldn’t remotely cover all the work we’d need to do on the house while also giving us enough to live on.
Trying to push the thoughts of my dad, of whatever’s going on between Jake and me, and of the Bleeding Angels, to the back of my mind, I unlock the door to my home, take a deep breath and, preparing myself for whatever might await me this afternoon, I walk inside.
Seasons of Change (Bleeding Angels MC Book 1) Page 3
