4. Whitney
WHITNEY
The quiet click of the door shutting behind my mentor might as well be a detonated bomb with how it fills the space. It was hard enough to remain focused on the conversation when my superior was present, and I fear it will be darn near impossible now that she’s gone.
“Well,” I say absently.
Quake arches a brow. “Well.”
I move to the filing cabinet and open the top drawer where all of our donation and fundraising records for the past year are kept. Tucking the binder under my arm, I turn back to face the large man.
“Follow me,” I say, and I step around him to exit the office.
Quake does as instructed, his heavy boots thudding on the polished floor behind me. I lead him to the common area, desperate to be in a space where others may come and go.
He sits at one of the smaller tables that the children often use to do homework or play cards, and when I don’t immediately sit as well, he smirks.
“Nervous, Sister?”
I whip my gaze in his direction. “What? Why would I be nervous?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.” Words fail me, so I simply stare as he continues. “Look, it’s clear that neither of us wants to work together, but this isn’t about us. It’s about the kids.”
“The kids,” I repeat as if doing so will bolster me somehow.
“Jesus, just sit the hell down,” he barks, and I stiffen. “Fuck, sorry.”
“If we’re going to work together, I’d appreciate it if you’d refrain from that kind of language,” I say as I sit across from him.
“I’m not going to change who I am just because of what you are,” he scoffs.
“What I am?”
“A nun,” he clarifies. “I’m a biker, and you’re a nun. Those are just facts. I don’t expect you to change who you are, so don’t expect it of me.”
The vehemence in his tone is like a physical push, forcing me to fall back against the chair. I stare at him, my heart pounding against my ribs, and my brain conjures up an image of the only other person who spoke exactly what was on his mind.
“You remind me of someone,” I finally say.
He huffs out a laugh. “Oh yeah? I’m guessing it’s not God.”
The corners of my mouth tip into a grin, and I shake my head. “No, not God. A… He was a good friend.” Thoughts of Ryan always bring on a wave of sadness, and right now is no different. “He, um… he’s no longer with us.”
Quake’s gaze bores into mine. “You loved him.”
It’s not a question, but rather a statement that holds an incredible amount of certainty and… understanding?
“I did.”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “What happened to him?”
For a brief moment, I consider telling him. It’s not like Ryan is some secret I can’t share. The problem is, I don’t know this man, and telling him somehow feels like a betrayal.
I open the binder in front of me and flip to the most recent fundraiser. “We should really get to work. I’ve got a lot to do, and I’m sure you do as well.”
Quake chuckles. “Okay, Sister. We can get to work.”
We spend the next hour reviewing previous efforts to raise money and donations, and we even compile a list of ideas for events that we could host annually.
I’m about to suggest we wrap it up for the day and schedule another time to continue working on things when the door bursts open, and several boys come running in.
Quake bolts to his feet at the intrusion, his body tense, but as soon as he sees the kids, he visibly relaxes.
“Where’s the fire, boys?” he asks.
Jason, Ben, and Josh skid to a halt in front of Quake, looking up at him with awe in their eyes.
“Who are you?” Ben asks with all the curiosity of a six-year-old.
Quake kneels down to their level. “I’m Quake. Who’re you?”
Ben scrunches up his nose. “What kinda name is Quake?”
“Ben,” I scold, rushing over to stand behind the boys. “That’s not very nice.”
“No, it’s okay,” Quake says, keeping his attention on Ben. “Quake is my road name. I’m in a motorcycle club, and every brother is given a road name.”
Jason, the oldest of the group at twelve, grins. “That’s, like, a gang, right? You do drugs and kill people and shoot guns, right?”
My breath catches in my throat, and I realize I want to know the answer.
“We do a lot of things as a club,” Quake begins. “For example, we work with the zoo to make sure the animals have everything they need, and we do fundraisers for people who are less fortunate than we are.”
“Like us?” Josh, who’s nine, asks.
Quake ruffles his hair. “Yeah, bud, like you.”
It’s not lost on me that he doesn’t actually answer the boy’s question.
“Why don’t the three of you see if you can find Sister Mary Jane? She can get you a quick snack.”
The mention of food is all it takes for them to rush from the room. When we’re alone again, Quake stands and turns to face me.
“You didn’t answer Jason’s question,” I blurt.
He narrows his eyes. “How do you figure?”
“He asked about drugs, guns, and murder.”
“I know.”
“And all you told him was that you do charity work.”
Quake steps toward me, his expression hardening. “Why don’t you just spit it out, Sister?” he sneers.
“S-spit what out?”
He takes another step, then leans down so he’s inches from my face. His scent, leather and something dangerous, invades my senses. Not only is this man large and looming, he’s also the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, and he smells incredible.
Jesus help me.
“What you really think of me.”