Chapter 3
Nova
So far everything my uncle told me checks out. This guy really is an accountant. I’m relieved but not quite sold on this idea. I feel like I’m walking into some kind of trap. I feel bad thinking that my uncle would lead me down the wrong path. But who has an arranged marriage in this day and age?
We walk through the door with his name on it and are greeted by a receptionist. She has us sign in and lets her boss know we’re here.
I’m still thinking this might actually work out somehow, right up until the receptionist opens the door to his office and I see a man in a button-down shirt and tie behind the desk and men in cuts sitting on the other side.
The older of the three comes to his feet. “Cray, thanks for calling me first.”
“Thank you for entertaining the offer, Rock. I know your son’s an honorable man, one that I can trust with my grandniece.”
I recognize the patch and immediately take a step back.
I know all about the Sons of Rage MC because I’ve been looking at that name in my grandfather’s paperwork since I was old enough to understand what territory lines mean.
When I was little, maybe eight or nine, I remember my grandfather pointing to the map spread out on the kitchen table.
He said, “Smart leadership and big numbers are what makes them dangerous. They’ll come for the Vulture’s Pride one day, girl. You wait and see.”
And now here they are. A wave of revulsion rolls through me so strongly that I want to throw up. But I somehow manage to quell it.
The accountant must be linked to them, somehow. “Owen Jackson,” he says as he stands to greet me.
When I don’t respond to his outstretched hand, my uncle places his hand at the small of my back, and he tries to propel me forward. I don’t budge though because I’m still trying to work this all out in my head. “Nova,” my uncle says in a warning tone. “Come and sit down like civilized folk.”
The man behind the desk speaks up before I can. “I’d like a few minutes alone with her,” he says abruptly. His tone is all business, like I’m just another client.
The other two men glance at him. A look passes between them that I can’t fully understand. Taking in their faces I see the family resemblance, and I wonder if Owen is the older man’s son, or maybe a nephew.
When they don’t make a move to leave, he speaks again, more sternly this time. “Now.”
My uncle responds, “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.” I can tell he doesn’t like Owen’s tone.
Something in Owen’s tone makes me look again.
He might be wearing a shirt and tie, but his manner is more biker than accountant.
As my eyes drift to the walls of his office and alight on a photograph of a group of men in cuts with bikes in the background, I realize he’s one of them too.
I finally find my words and my courage at the same time.
“It’s fine,” I say, because talking to one biker without a cut is better than talking with a room full of them hanging on my every word.
The three of them reluctantly shuffle out of the room, leaving Owen standing behind his desk and me still standing right inside the door.
“Are you here because you want to be?” he asks.
“What?” I exclaim, surprised this is his first question.
“Your uncle requested this meeting. I want to know if you came because you chose to or because he forced you.”
“No man forces me to do anything. Get that in your head from the jump.”
He jerks his chin towards the chairs in front of his desk. “Then you want to be my wife, is that it?”
I edge forward and we sit down at the same time. “I don’t want to be any man’s wife. I came because I want my inheritance,” I tell him. “And apparently the only way to get it is to get married.”
“So, you’re okay about the marriage but not particularly set on me being the husband. Did you have someone else in mind?”
“No,” I say. “I didn’t even know that getting married was a requirement until yesterday. I don’t know anything about you.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“My uncle told me you were an accountant,” I say, unable to keep the suspicion out of my voice.
“I am an accountant.”
“He didn’t mention the part about you being in the Sons of Rage MC.”
Something disapproving flashes onto his face and is gone before I get a good look at it. “Well, he shouldn’t have left that out,” he says. “I’m the founder’s son and a club officer.”
“You’re their club treasurer, right?”
“Yeah, you must be the smart one in your family.”
I glare at him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Just that you’re smart to have worked that out. My family calls me the smart one and I’ve never thought of it as an insult.”
Some of my anger melts away but not much.
“I walked in here expecting to meet a mild-mannered numbers cruncher my uncle thought would make a good husband and instead I find a member of the Sons of Rage with his father and brother backing him up.”
“Yeah, I get that,” he says patiently. “A lie of omission is still a lie. But that’s between you and your uncle. I didn’t lie or mislead you in any way. And I’m not ashamed of being a biker. So, don’t expect an apology from me.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to apologize,” I stammer before snapping my mouth closed. It doesn’t take much for this handsome bastard to throw me off balance. I need to be careful what I say.
“Look, you grew up in the MC world,” he says. “You shouldn’t be so freaked out just by having a casual conversation with me.”
“I’m not freaked out,” I shoot back. “I’m pissed.
There’s a difference.” I lean forward. “I don’t have a problem with bikers.
I have a problem with the Sons, Savage Legion and Dark Slayers.
The three of you colluded to put the asshole who burned down my grandfather’s clubhouse in charge of his territory. ”
“Yeah, about that. We didn’t understand what was going on with Viper until it was too late. I do apologize for that.”
“Too damn late. When my grandfather realized that three of the largest clubs in Southern California were working with the asshole who destroyed his club it broke something in him. He had a heart attack and died within days of finding that out. He was sixty-four-years old, and I had to watch him lose the club he worked his whole life to build before he died. Do you have any idea what that was like?”
When he doesn’t answer, I continue, “And now those same bikers want to marry me to get to his legacy. So, please forgive me if I’m having trouble believing this as anything other than circling back around to finish the job.”
“I don’t want to get married either,” he says.
I blink. “You what? Are you joking with me right now? Is this some kind of prank where you agree to a meeting to talk about marriage knowing you’re not interested?”
“No, of course not. My family leveraged me into meeting with you.” He leans back in his chair.
His face is contorted into an annoyed expression.
“You just said something really out of pocket just now and I think we need to talk about it. I don’t know where you got the idea that we’re trying to take over Vulture’s businesses.
The Sons have more businesses than we can keep up with,” he says.
“We’re definitely not looking to add to our pile. ”
“Then what do you get out of marrying me?” I ask, my voice sounding more accusing than I intend.
One corner of his mouth lifts into a lopsided smile and he answers, “So far, nothing but a headache.”
“Be serious, Owen. My uncle already told me that you desperately want something that he can give you. It’s something he doesn’t value but you do.”
He states flatly, “My club name is Mica. Use it. And if you must know, we want Vulture’s territory.”
“I knew it,” I yell, incensed that he’s been playing me this whole time. “My grandfather always said that Sons of Rage would come for his territory one day. And right now, you’re proving him right.”
“Somebody’s gotta take it. This isn’t a situation where we’re taking anything from your family. That territory’s standing empty. It’s just gonna start drawing corrupt clubs and petty criminals of every stripe. Nobody wants that.”
“How do I know the Sons of Rage aren’t the corrupt club full of petty criminals you’re warning me about? This could very well be letting the fox guard the henhouse.”
He shoots me a dark look. “There is no goddamn henhouse to guard. Just empty territory, close enough to cause problems for our club if no one patrols it. Look, you’re running two fairly lucrative businesses in that town. You don’t want a bunch of clubs fighting for the territory.”
“I don’t know how to help you with that. I don’t own that territory. I can say take it with my blessing and those other clubs will fight you for it. Isn’t that how MCs work?”
“No, we don’t always fight for territory.
Sometimes the regional council assigns it to save us from fighting over it.
We need a reason for them to give it to us.
Me being married to Vulture’s granddaughter, the woman who grew up in that community, owns his property, and runs his businesses, might be enough.
” He pauses. “The council respects legacy. A Sons officer married to Vulture’s blood tells them the territory is in the hands of people who have a stake in keeping it stable. ”
“So this is about club politics,” I say flatly.
“You’re someone who needs to be married to get your inheritance.
You also need us to protect that territory so that trucking company can keep operating smoothly.
We want to expand our territory and keep supplies flowing.
The last time there was war this close to our territory, it spilled over onto our club and brothers died,” he says.
“This is a mutually beneficial arrangement. It’s at least worth a try.
Even if the council doesn’t see fit to give us the territory, you at least get your inheritance. ”