Rogue (Rogue Angels MC #1)

Chapter 8

8

Melody

We spent almost an hour trying to stabilize that poor kid whose family was plowed into by a Mack truck. I spent thirty of those minutes giving him CPR until my arms were on fire. He coded three times. And three times we brought him back. His grandma and his parents are hanging on by a thread. They all need surgery that they might not be strong enough to survive. The truck driver limped up and down the hall with a band aid on his forehead and a bruised knee.

“Who’s Ben?” Shelly asked as they wheeled the boy out of the trauma room on his way to Surgery.

Hearing the name felt like an icepick through the hurt, opening a wound that I’d fooled myself into thinking was closed.

“My little brother,” I told her.

“You called the kid we were working on that a few times,” Shelly said as she unfastened my gown. “Did he die?”

“Yeah,” I said, only vaguely remembering calling the victim by my brother’s name as I begged him to stay with me. “In a car crash a lot like this one.”

“Well, you saved this kid,” she said, smiling widely even though her eyes were very sad. “Good work.”

“Saved him for what? His whole family might be dead tomorrow.”

My knees almost buckled as she gave me a very familiar miserable and pitying look. The pity of strangers or near strangers is something I just can’t stand. Still, even a decade later. It’s why I’m really careful about who I share my story with. About eighty percent of that look is always happiness that they’re not the ones in my shoes. Seeing that look on the faces of everyone who knew me back then is the main reason I was so happy to run away from everything and everyone in my old life and join the Devils. They all knew my kind of pain there. Some better than others. But none of them pitied me. We were all in the same boat. And we had a lot of fun together.

After remembering all that, I rushed out of the trauma room in search of Rogue, my one last link to my old life.

Only to find him whispering something into the ear of a willowy redhead in the waiting room. She was covered in bruises, but the adoration in her eyes as she looked at him said one thing and one thing only. They’re together!

The creep had asked me out with his beat-up girlfriend sitting alone in the waiting room. Hell, he’s probably the one who beat her up.

And as my luck would have it, they called them in right as I was standing there gawking at the display, so I had no choice but to examine her.

Maybe I don’t think either of those things anymore now, after Rogue told me what happened to her. And after Lotus spent the last twenty minutes while I checked her over, extolling on what a great guy he is, and how much he’s done for her and how much he always does for everyone. If it weren’t for the childlike honesty in her big brown eyes as she told me all that—all about the abusive ex Rogue saved her from, and all about what a saint of a man Rogue is—I’d think she was coached to say all that. But she’s telling me the truth as she sees it. I don’t doubt it.

So after Shelly wheels her out to get x-rays, I don’t think too hard about anything. I just walk up to Rogue who’s leaning on the wall across from the exam room. The look in his eyes is such a perfect blend of fire and ice I feel like I’m looking at a raging forest fire as it meets the cool waters of a mountain lake.

“Lotus is gonna be fine,” I tell him. “I don’t think anything’s broken and she only has a very mild concussion, if that.”

“Good,” he says, the heat in his eyes intensifying.

I smile at him, which just an hour ago felt like something I wouldn’t be doing anytime soon.

“And I could really use that drink you were offering before,” I say and then he finally smiles too. “If you still want to…”

And now there’s just fire in his eyes. Blindingly bright and so hot I feel it against my skin.

“Oh, I want to,” he says.

“I get off in about three hours,” I tell him.

“Then I’ll run Lotus home and come back for you,” he says.

“And I can take a look at your stitches while we wait for her.”

He shakes his head and grins wider. “Nah, you can just do that later.”

And there’s no mistaking his meaning. The stitches are not the only thing he means to have me check over later.

And I finally stop fighting myself and admit that this fantasy of his has also been my fantasy since I saw him last. I wouldn’t mind taking another look at all those tats covering his body and seeing how well they fared with the new scar he now has. Or seeing all the rest that his clothes hide for that matter.

They’re calling my name from over by the waiting room door and the first gurneys are already being rolled in by the paramedics. But it’s almost impossible taking my eyes off the raging fire in Rogue’s.

If I’m not careful, it’ll suck me right in and make ash of all my plans of making a new and different life for myself here.

But I’ll be careful. I’ll just let myself have tonight with him.

Rogue left to take Lotus to the clubhouse about half an hour before the end of my shift and insisted he’ll be right back and made me promise I’ll wait.

I didn’t do that in the hospital though. The palm trees I saw from the first-floor windows were swaying and bending in the wind, and I mistakenly thought that the wind would be refreshing, and that it would blow some of the cobwebs from my mind. So, I came out to the sidewalk beyond the ambulance bay to wait.

But this wind is weird. It’s warm and hot at the same time and makes my skin itch on the inside where I can’t ever hope to scratch it.

I was hoping for the cool, clear wind that blows in Pleasantville, carrying the scent of redwoods. But that’s another thing that I had to leave behind. And right now, the thought of that—of wind, for Chrissakes—is getting harder and harder to bear.

The avenue leading past the hospital is still full of cars, the exhaust fumes somehow made thicker by the strange wind. Everything is moving so fast when I just want it slow. Like it would be in front of the hospital in Pleasantville at one AM. There, I could always leave all the traumas behind as soon as the sliding doors of the hospital closed behind me.

Here they’re multiplying in my mind, growing worse, blending with the carnage in San Diego, ending in vivid visions of Edge’s colorless face as he lay on the dirty floor while I could do nothing to save him.

Then the sound of a Harley grows louder, drowns out even the honking and screeching of the cars driving past. Rogue drives right up to me on the sidewalk and grins as he takes off his helmet, his thick dark hair dancing playfully in the wind. And just like that the sight of him dispels all my terrible visions, making even the weird wind bearable.

“You ready?” he asks.

I nod and smile at him. “But you can’t park here.”

He looks confused for a moment. “You wanna have dinner somewhere here? I bet we’ll get food poising anywhere we go, but whatever you say.”

“Actually, I just really wanna get out of this wind,” I say, rubbing my arms which does nothing for the itching. “It’s making me feel like someone’s breathing down my neck, and not in a good way.”

He nods, understanding in his eyes. “Devil winds will do that to you. But I know just the place. Hop on.”

He hands me his helmet and I take it automatically, just like I’ve done with every other biker who ever offered it. I don’t even think about telling him we both need to be wearing helmets for safety… he’ll just scoff like they all do. He’s the type of guy who does what he thinks is right, not what’s expected and proper. I have no idea how I can possibly know that. But I do.

I slip on the back of his bike in one fluid motion, settling in like the seat was made just for me.

But I keep my purse between my belly and his back. Just so I don’t get too many ideas. Just so I don’t start thinking other things about him were made just for me. I’m just about tired enough to do that. It’s why I don’t wrap my arms around his stomach, but only gently lay them on his sides.

“You’re gonna have to hold on tighter than that,” he says, grinning at me over his shoulder.

“I’m good,” I assure him and he doesn’t press it.

He just revs up his bike and backs it off the sidewalk slowly. But as soon as we’re on the road, he guns it, giving me just enough time to wrap my arms tightly around his waist and lean against his broad back before it’s too late.

I feel him looking at me through the side view mirror, and when I meet his eyes there, he grins, his eyes sparkling even in this darkness.

He has the most wonderful scent—leather mixed with a slightly nutty aroma I can’t quite name, but fits him perfectly. He showered before coming here so he smells of soap too, which just works to add that little cherry on top. Not to mention that his waist is just the perfect size for my arms to rest around comfortably, and his back just broad enough for me to lean against and relax.

Sometimes, when I ride on other men’s bikes, I fidget and wonder if I’m holding them too tight, if I’m leaning against them too hard, stuff like that, but there’s none of that now. It’s like we’ve ridden together like this countless times before, perfectly in sync, our bodies moving as one with the bike.

I’d blame my lack of sleep and general tiredness for feeling this way, but the truth is, my head is clear.

And it grows even clearer as we get to our destination— a small restaurant on the beach, with just a few tables covered in red and white checkered cloths and lined with mismatched wooden chairs sitting right in the sand.

In the distance, a pier going far into the ocean is all lit up and faint music is flowing our way, but the soft sounds of guitar coming from speakers I can’t see easily drown it out.

And the best thing, the weird wind isn’t blowing here. Instead, a soft cool breeze is coming from the sea, smelling of brine and freshness. Just what I craved.

He pulls out a chair for me then sits across the table as a bored looking waiter comes over and hands us the menus, which are just a single laminated page.

“To drink?” he asks with a heavy Mexican accent as he lights the candle in the vividly colored, hand-painted candle holder in the center of the table.

“A beer?” Rogue asks and I nod.

He orders in Spanish, and says bunch of things more than I don’t understand, speaking like a native.

“How long have you lived in LA?” I ask.

“Me?” he asks. “I was born and raised right here in the City of Angels.

“I’m thinking I’ll have to learn to speak Spanish fast working here,” I say and try to read the menu. “Half my patients today didn’t speak English and what little I can speak didn’t go a long way.”

“I can teach you, no problem,” he says, grinning at me and sounding like he’s answering a question I asked.

This guy. The charisma emanating off him is off the charts. But it’s pleasant and non-invasive, like a warm summer breeze. I wonder if he gets under everyone’s skin this fast or just mine. Add to that his easy smile and glimmering green eyes and I’m sure all women are goners. I’m thinking it’s the former.

“That’d be great. If I have any time. My job keeps me pretty busy,” I stammer off while focusing really hard on the menu I can’t read anyway.

Way to put on the brakes, Melody. I sounded like a shy school girl. The nerdy type. Kinda like who I was so long ago I don’t even remember her.

“They make the best chimichanga in the world here,” he says. “So, you might as well put down that menu.”

“The best in the world, is it?” I ask and do like he suggested.

“Well, no. My mom actually makes the best chimichangas in the world,” he says and grins again. “But she’s Italian so it doesn’t count.”

I laugh even though what he said wasn’t even that funny. But the smile he gives me when I do make his eyes look very sad.

He clears his throat as the waiter comes back with our beers, then orders the food for us, once again saying way more than he needs to, I’m sure.

His eyes are still sad when he looks at me.

“You were right, I can barely feel that wind here,” I say, as I rub my arms anyway.

“It seems like it stopped blowing altogether,” he says. “But yeah, the breeze from the sea usually cancels out the Santa Ana wind, at least a little. I hate it too. Most people do. It’s been known to drive men and women crazy.”

The toneless, gravelly quality in his voice and the way his eyes suddenly turned black and lost all sparkle tells me that’s no exaggeration.

Maybe that’s why I’m falling for him so fast—the wind. I’ve heard crazier things.

“So, what’s the craziest thing it’s made you do?” I ask, only partially kidding.

He shrugs. “The Devil winds were blowing hard on the day I buried my girlfriend, Angel. They made me promise that I would hunt down the man who killed her and then join her in death.”

He sounds both like he didn’t want to tell me all that, and like he really needed to.

“She meant a lot to you?” I ask automatically.

“She was my world,” he says quietly. “But I won’t be keeping my promise.”

Being the other woman for so long, the one not fit for marrying, someone men could come to without fear of being judged as they bare their souls, has made me an expert at making it easy for them to do it. I heard a lot of secrets, knew a lot weaknesses of men who’d never admit them to anyone else. For a while I liked it. Until I realized no one ever wanted to hear my secrets and no one knew my weaknesses. Because I was just the club girl.

“The air was perfectly still on the day I buried my family,” I hear myself say. “The hottest day of the year, they said on the radio. Not even a hint of a breeze. I thought I was gonna pass out and fall right in the hole with them. I wanted to.”

His eyes aren’t dark any more. But they’re not sparkling either. They’re brimming with understanding and compassion, but thankfully no pity. At least not the kind I can’t stand.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he says and I feel in my chest that he means it. “Was it recent?”

“Ten years ago, give or take,” I say. “They died in a car crash visiting me at university.”

“Like that family today at the ER?” he asks, his eyes very understanding and still only full of compassion. No pity.

“Almost exactly like that, yeah,” I say. “When did Angel die?”

“Also ten years ago.”

And the innocent school girl in me thinks that’s extremely significant. Both of us had our lives shattered at almost the same time. We couldn’t be there for each other then, but we’re here now. Together.

But the sensible woman I am, the one who’s been around, knows I’m here with a man who is still hung up on a lover he lost ten years ago. So hung up that he brings her up just minutes into a date with me. There’s no future in a thing like that.

I raise my beer and smile widely, “Here’s to life going on.”

He grins too, some sparkle returning to his eyes and he clinks his bottle against mine. “I’ll drink to that.”

And he does, but I don’t for a second believe his life actually went on.

Our food comes, the smell vividly reminding me I haven’t eaten in at least twelve hours.

I wolf down a third of my meal before I remember I’m not alone, stuffing my face in front of the TV.

“You weren’t kidding,” I say. “This is the best chimichanga I ever had. It might actually be the best anything I ever had.”

“Good,” he says, something very caring in his eyes. “But this is just the beginning of the places I’ll show you.”

“I can’t wait,” I say and hope I sound sincere. Because there’s no future here. I should just bow out while the getting’s good. Before the little voice inside my head, the one that belongs to the girl I was before I was a club girl, convinces me that I can compete with a dead woman.

I can’t even compete with living women of the biker world.

“So, what does your MC do, Rogue?” I ask, deciding I better steer this conversation to mundane topics. “If it’s not a secret, that is?”

“Not a secret,” he says and wipes his lips on a thin paper napkin. “We’re something between bounty hunters and private investigators these days.”

“Sounds interesting,” I say. “And dangerous. But I already knew that.”

He chuckles. “Helping your friends was the most action we’ve seen in years. Probably why I ended up getting shot. I’m not proud of that. Wouldn’t have happened back in the day.”

His eyes glaze over and he sounds like he really misses those days.

“From what I heard, you really held your own, even with the bullet wound,” I say. “The guys were really impressed with how your whole MC handled themselves.”

“I did it more for the women we freed than to impress Devil’s Nightmare MC, to be honest. Though praise coming from them is worth something too,” he says. “But yeah, it was good to find out I still had it in me. Used to be we’d get into fights like that whenever we could. Nowadays it’s just surveillance, recon and hacking.”

“You sound like that’s not what you wanna be doing,” I say. “But I say it’s safest that way.”

He shrugs and stays silent, and I take the time to eat some more of the excellent dish.

“I didn’t get into what we’re doing to stay safe,” he says in a hard, kinda edgy voice, like he’s not just replying to me, but to an accusation someone else has also made.

I grab a few of the thin napkins from the dispenser and wipe my lips. “All I know is that getting killed or almost killed is no sign of bravery or manliness. It’s just what it is. Getting killed. The end.”

He shrugs again and brings a piece of the fried burrito to his mouth, chewing purposefully, his eyes reminding me of an otherwise calm lake surface rippled by wind.

“I mean, what would your mother say?” I ask playfully, surprised how easy it is to speak to him. In any which way. Flirting. Admonishing. Baring my deepest hurts. It all just comes out smoothly.

I noticed this on that first night when I sewed him up and it’s only deepened somehow, even though I’ve hardly had three conversations with him since. I’m sure that means something. Or at least the girl I was does. As far as the woman is concerned, she knows men will always turn on all their available charm until they get me in bed. And Rogue here, he has enough charm to win over a stone statue if he wants to.

He finishes chewing, only his eyes smiling at me as he does.

“My mother wanted me to become a priest,” he says.

“Wow, a priest? Are you serious?” I say actually leaning back in my chair because that’s how blown away I am by it.

He nods and grins. “So, you see, I’d fail her whatever I was doing.”

I spend a few moments studying his face. Just sitting there in the near darkness, he’s more present and solid than at least half the people I meet. But those eyes of his. They seem to see more than other men do. Way more.

“What? Is there something on my face?” he asks when I don’t say anything for a while.

“Nah, I was just picturing you as a priest,” I say and finish my beer. “You’d make a good one.”

He scoffs and waves to the waiter to bring two more.

“I’m serious,” I say. “I’m not surprised you’re running your own MC at your age. You’re what, in your early thirties?”

“I’m thirty,” he says. “Almost the same age Jesus was when he died. Just like him, I sometimes think maybe I’ve already done all I could down here.”

I shake my head and resume eating. More to get out of the way his eyes seemed to just freeze over as he said it than anything else.

Neither of us speak for a while, we just eat. The soft breeze is caressing my skin, stirring my hair and making the candle flame dance, casting multicolored lights over the white parts of the table cloth. Perfect in its imperfectness. Just like tonight is. Sort of. Because as attractive as he is, and as much as I feel at ease talking to him, it won’t lead anywhere. He’s got his crusade and his dead girlfriend and I have a new life to find.

If nothing else, how would it look if I left one biker club to join another. The Devils were there for me when I needed them most. A lot of them don’t understand why I had to leave. And they probably wouldn’t understand me hooking up with another club any better. Though they do want what’s best for me. Always have.

I could sit here all night coming up with excuses why I should walk away from Rogue sooner rather than later.

But I like sitting here across from Rogue too much. Even if we’re not talking. Even if we’re just each thinking our own thoughts. Even if we’re totally wrong for each other and we have no future I can see.

“Was that too depressing?” he asks once we’re both done eating and are just sitting there, nursing our beers. “Catholic religion and dead exes usually are a huge conversation killer. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

I laugh. Can’t help it.

“Most people would say religion gives them hope,” I say ignoring the stuff about the ex.

“Sure, that’s what you have to say,” he says. “But I don’t know… I just always thought there were too many rules and not enough comforting going on. I used to drive my mom and the priests crazy talking like that.”

“I bet,” I say. “I disappointed my parents too. They wanted me to become an artist like them, but I chose medicine. My mom was a sculptor and my dad a painter.”

He chuckles. “No one ever disappoints their parents by becoming a doctor.”

“You’re probably right,” I say.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asks and waves the waiter over.

“Way to pivot the conversation and get straight to the point,” I say and laugh again.

He has the most innocent look in his eyes as he gazes into mine. “Actually, I was gonna ask if you wanted to take a moonlit stroll on the beach. Who do you take me for?”

He doesn’t fool me for a second. “A guy who knows what he wants.”

“You’re not wrong,” he says and grins. “But I’m also romantic as hell.”

He exchanges a few words with the waiter while he pays for our meal.

Truth is, I could use some romance in my life. It’s been a long time since any guy I’ve been with thought about offering me some of that. Not saying it wasn’t fun or that I regret any of it. But there’s things I missed out on.

Rogue offers me his arm as we get up to leave and I take it. Then he leads me onto the beach, the sound of waves licking the sand growing louder and louder.

Stars are twinkling overhead, the moon is making the wavy ocean glow silver. And I don’t know if Rogue is the guy with whom I should be looking for romance and all those things I missed out on, but I know I like the way holding him and being with him feels.

And maybe that’s enough.