Chapter 4 #2
I stand there taking it all in, doing a little compare and contrast in my mind between the two clubs.
Vulture’s Pride prospects did all the cooking.
I was only allowed to come there during the day if my grandfather brought me at all—which was rare.
While I was respected as being Vulture’s granddaughter, I never felt entirely safe there.
Like if it hadn’t been for my grandfather, they’d be descending on me like a pack of wolves.
However, despite the club being rough and ready, my grandfather’s men were a force to be reckoned with.
The brothers loved each other and showed it by arguing and roughhousing constantly.
I think about the morning I drove past the lot and first saw the burned out, charred remains of the building that meant so much to him.
The Sons have everything and the Vultures have nothing.
The unfairness of the situation chafes me.
Mica puts his hand at the small of my back and asks, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I tell him. “Don’t worry about me. Let’s just get this over with.”
His jaw clenches and he guides me forward. He whispers, “You don’t look fine. You look like you saw a ghost.”
“This is just a lot to take in at one time,” I tell him quietly. “It’s very different from the clubhouse my grandfather built.”
“I know,” he says. “Different doesn’t mean better or worse. All the parts that make us an MC are present, and that’s what counts.”
I immediately notice the other men at the table are filling plates for their old ladies, while the old ladies tend to the children. Since there isn’t a chance in hell these men are subservient, I’m assuming it’s another example of how things are done here.
Mica pulls out a chair and says, “Please sit, Nova.” His tone isn’t exactly commanding, but he’s not asking either.
He wanders off to fix my plate without so much as asking what I want.
That irritates me a bit, but I tamp it down.
Now isn’t the time to make a scene, I tell myself.
I fold my hands in my lap and try to stop all the negative thoughts circling in my head about this family.
That’s when I notice a small presence at my elbow.
When I look down, a little girl is standing beside my chair, staring up at me.
She’s maybe seven or eight and has dark hair.
“Mica called you Nova,” she says.
“Yes. That’s my name,” I tell her. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Katie.” She says it with a small lift of her chin.
I smile at her. “Good morning, Katie.”
She asks excitedly, “Are you going to live here with us?”
Shaking my head, I tell her, “I’m afraid not. I have my own house.”
“Well, you’ll have to come visit a lot.”
“I’ll try my best,” I tell her as cheerfully as I can manage.
She gives me a little wave with one hand and scurries away when she sees a large man—who I assume is her father—coming with a pile of bacon.
She climbs into the chair beside him and leans against his arm as he hands her a piece of crispy bacon.
He then reaches over to feed the woman sitting next to him a piece while she fusses with a baby.
There’s something about the simple family scene that squeezes at my heart.
My father died in a shootout with a rival club when I was two years old. I don’t have a single memory of him. Not one. I wish my life could have been different in so many ways.
Mica comes back with a plate piled high with more food than I can possibly eat. But more importantly, it has only things I like.
I glance up at him and watch as he settles down beside me with a plate of his own. “How did you do that?”
“Do what,” he asks, frowning.
“How did you know what food I like?”
He gives me another of those lopsided grins that I’m growing fond of and makes a little circular motion around my plate with his fork from the side. “You ordered breakfast at the restaurant after we left the attorney’s office,” he says. “You moved the eggs to the side without eating them.”
“You notice details, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I notice things,” he says casually, and goes back to his food. To him, it’s not a big deal.
I keep going back and forth about Mica in my mind.
He’s logical, reasonable, but also outspoken and a little bossy and demanding.
But he’s also nice in his own way. This would be so much easier if he were simply the villain that I need him to be.
Unfortunately, life’s always more complicated than we want it to be.
I butter my biscuit and take a nibble off the side as I stare down at my plate, still trying to process everything I’m seeing and hearing. My eyes go to Katie and her family.
“I see you met Katie,” he says.
I nod.
“I’ll introduce you properly to everyone afterwards. That’s my brother Slate, and his old lady, Christina.”
“They look good together. It must be nice for Katie growing up surrounded by all your family,” I say.
“It wasn’t always like that. Katie came to us late. She likes you,” Mica states quietly.
“She doesn’t really know me,” I respond. “Kids are innocent and open minded. They tend to like everyone until you give them a reason not to.”
“I noticed you didn’t,” he tells me, lowering his voice. “I appreciate that more than you know. Katie’s had a rough life. We don’t like to see her feelings get hurt, not when she’s just coming out of her shell and taking to strangers freely.”
My mouth drops open and I hiss, “I would never be rude to a child.” I nervously glance over and just watch the little girl tuck herself against her father’s side.
“I can tell you miss Vulture. If I could go back in time, I’d do things differently.”
I nod, “It’s just that being here reminds me of when I was a kid.
Vulture used to tuck me in at night and tell me stories.
They were filled with heroic bikers, evil outsiders, and even rival clubs all trying to take over his territory.
In those stories, he outsmarted them at every turn.
I can’t stand losing him and everything he spent his lifetime building all in one fell swoop. ”
Mica puts his arm around me and whispers, “I promise you that we won’t let his legacy die.”
And just for a second, I believe him. The moment gets interrupted by a loud female voice.
“Well where is she? Don’t tell me you left her standing in the parking lot, Mica, because I will not be happy.”
Mica raises his voice just enough to carry, “She’s at the table, Ma. Calm down. You didn’t raise the kind of man to leave his old lady outside.”
I respond with a joke, “He tried to, but the smell of bacon and coffee was too enticing for me to allow him to leave me behind.”
Several people laugh. Mica is not one of them.
His mother cackles, and it’s such a delightfully refreshing sound that I forget how much I dislike everything to do with the Sons of Rage.
Truth be told, Mica’s mother is not what I expected.
She’s bold, confident, and has personality plus.
She’s also absolutely gorgeous, with blue eyes and long blonde hair.
She’s wearing a T-shirt with a crown that says ex-club queen on it.
Her expression is warm and welcoming as she strides across the room straight towards me.
“You must be Nova. I’ve been eager to meet you.” She quickly pulls out the chair beside me and sits down in it. “I’m Queenie,” she says.
“I figured you were.” I hold out my hand and add, “I’m happy to meet you.”
She gives my hand a quick shake and leans in conspiratorially, lowering her voice. “You don’t have to do that. You know, be all polite and stuff. I already know about the arrangement. What I want to know is how are you holding up?” she asks. “And I really mean it, not as small talk.”
The question catches me off guard because this woman is being genuine. I can tell the difference between that and being fake.
“It’s been rough, but I’m managing,” I tell her because honesty deserves the same in return.
“Of course you are,” she says. “You’re Vulture’s granddaughter. He raised you to be strong and persevere. He was a good man,” she says quietly. “Rock respected him and so did I.”
Before I can stop myself, I say, “I’m surprised to hear you say that because Mica said he trafficked women.”
Queenie snorts a laugh. “That’s crazy talk. Where did you get that idea, Mica?”
“I heard him and Dog calculating how much they could earn from trafficking a woman at an auction.”
“I don’t believe that, not for a second,” Queenie states flatly.
“It’s bullshit.” We glance up to find Rock standing on the other side of the table with a plate in each hand.
He sighs, “I think Vulture cultivated a certain persona, one he thought would keep the wolves from his door. His VP was an ass, but I know if he tried any shady shit then Vulture would have put him in the ground.”
“Thank you,” I say, and my voice is more emotional than I intended. “That’s been on my mind a lot over the last few days.”
My mind is a jumbled mess. I hate this club, I truly do. But the people seem nice. How can that be?
Queenie puts her hand over mine on the table and gives it a tiny, reassuring squeeze. She leans forward and shoots Mica a stern look.
“You and I are gonna talk about this later.”
Then she picks up her coffee and takes a sip before asking,
“So,” she says. “Tell me about the trucking company. Mica says you’ve been running it since Vulture passed.”
“Yes. I’ve worked there since high school, but I’ve been pulling full-time hours the last three months,” I tell her.
“Well, you’re one of us now. If you need anything at all, you just speak up. This family pulls together during adversity. We won’t let you down.”
Breakfast continues pretty much like that, with Queenie holding court and everyone deferring to her.
She’s amazing, talkative, gregarious, and has an amazing personality.
I can’t fault her for anything. She even makes plans for us to meet up to go wedding dress shopping and I almost feel like I’m really going to be her daughter-in-law—until I remember it’s all for show.
When we are finished eating, we say our goodbyes and take our leave.
I walk out the front door, into the crisp morning air, and take a deep, cleansing breath.
Mica comes through the door behind me and comes to a stop beside me. He’s just kind of hovering there, like he’s thinking of what to say.
I turn to face him and say what’s on my mind.
“Your family seems really nice,” I say. “Your mother’s warm and friendly. Your father’s honest, and I appreciate him clarifying that my grandfather didn’t do what you thought he did. Your brothers clearly love their families. And little Katie is clearly going to grow up to be extraordinary.”
Taking a breath, I continue, “But I need you to understand something. My grandfather built everything we have all on his own. He didn’t have a huge family, a personal fortress, or tons of cash to fall back on.
It was just one man, building his simple little kingdom from the ground up pretty much by himself while he raised me.
He started out slowly and saved money for each new truck he bought.
His drivers showed up because he gave them a job worth showing up for.
Each and every contract we have was based on relationships he built in the community. ”
Mica’s face shifts into an increasingly confused expression until he interjects, “I don’t know why you’re telling me all this.”
“I’m telling you because I want you to understand that he carried all that responsibility and stress for thirty years.
Then in the end he was forced to watch while the clubs you were allied with violated his territory.
That’s what finally broke him. Watching his clubhouse get burned down and knowing there was no way to rebuild it gutted him. ”
I throw up one hand when he opens his mouth to speak. “And then I come here and I sit at your family’s table, and I watch all of you eat, drink, and be merry, while he’s rotting in the ground and I’m still grieving his death. That is a special kind of pain that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”
He just stares at me.
I continue, “And the cherry on top is that for you and your family, that’s ancient history.
It’s only been three months, and your club is already scheming and making deals to get your hands on Vulture’s territory.
That’s some cold-hearted shit, Mica. And your entire family seems totally oblivious about how unfair that is.
You’re so used to coming out on top that you don’t even see it. ”
Mica doesn’t shrink away, deny it, or refuse to justify it. He doesn’t try to make me feel like a raving lunatic for feeling this way. He just stands there and lets everything I just told him sink in.
When he finally responds, it’s with empathy. “You’re right,” he says finally. “Nothing about this situation is fair. We need to rethink what we’re doing here.”
“I don’t see a way to make this right because all I really want is my gramps back. I want to have my own family to spend time with.”
“We both know that I can’t give you back what you lost,” he states quietly.
“All I can do is make sure that what he built doesn’t get taken by someone who doesn’t understand what it cost him to build it.
” He pauses. “I know it’s not enough, but I’m willing to keep working towards a solution that makes this easier to bear for you. ”
I stand there in the Sons of Rage parking lot, wearing his property cut with his ring on my finger, and take a long, hard look at the man I’m about to marry.
The one who didn’t try to minimize my grief or tell me I’m wrong about any of it, and I think that maybe he’s not the villain in my story after all.
But unfortunately, that doesn’t necessarily make him a true-blue friend either.