12. Whitney #2
“Don’t ever lie to me,” I snap, and his eyes widen. “Sorry. I, um… I’m a big girl, Quake. You won’t offend me by being truthful.”
“Right. So, we joke around about the lions, but they have served a certain purpose for the club.”
Before I can question him further, Melissa stirs awake. She looks disoriented, but as soon as her eyes land on me, she seems to relax. The sadness from last night is there, though, in her expression.
“Breakfast?” Quake asks, and she nods. “C’mon, ladies.”
We scramble out of bed to follow him. It doesn’t even occur to me to change out of my simple nightgown or have Melissa put on something other than her torn shirt and pajama bottoms. At least, not until we enter the large common area and are met with stares.
Every biker seems focused on Melissa. Not in a creepy way, but their faces are hard, like they want to find who ripped her shirt and feed them to lions. For reasons I don’t understand, they all seem to just… understand.
Nobody comments or asks any questions, and for that, I’m grateful.
A large man with tattoo-covered arms stands and pulls out two chairs at the table he’s occupying. “Here ya go, ladies,” he says.
Quake ushers us to the table, and Melissa and I sit. He takes the last empty seat and seconds later, glasses of orange juice are placed in front of us. Then two large plates of pancakes appear. Glitz rushes over with two platters… one with bacon and sausage, and the other with sliced fruit.
“I wasn’t sure what you guys liked, so I had them make a little of everything,” Quake says, his tone odd, nervous.
“That’s the understatement of the century,” the man who pulled our chairs out.
“You stormed in here, demanding that the whores cook every single breakfast food they could think of. You also sent a prospect to the store for cereal and milk, just in case.” He chuckles before snapping his fingers.
“Oh, and PopTarts. You also ordered the prospect to get those. I’m guessing he’s gonna need help carrying shit in if he ever gets here because he probably bought out the damn breakfast aisle, thinking you’d take him out if he fucked up. ”
“Jesus, Pastor,” Quake grumbles. “You sure know how to run your mouth.”
“Pastor?” I ask, eyeing the man.
“Yep,” he confirms. “Might not look like it, but I’m all ordained and shit. Someone’s gotta keep these yahoos in line.”
“Stop filling the pretty lady’s head with lies,” the woman sitting next to him says. “Hi, I’m Marlene, his old lady.”
“I’m Whitney, and this is Melissa,” I return.
“Welcome to Kings of Anarchy,” she says. “I swear, it’s not a bad place to be. We’re just a loud bunch, is all.”
“I live in a children’s home,” I begin. “I can handle loud.”
Everyone laughs, and that seemingly ends all conversation as they all dig into their food. Melissa tentatively fills her plate, and I’m surprised to see how much she takes because she doesn’t eat all that much back at Sacred Haven.
“Is this normal?” Quake whispers, nodding at her plate.
“No.” I shrug. “She feels safe. Might not be normal, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t good.”
He nods his understanding. Several minutes pass in companionable silence before anyone tries to engage with her.
Melissa is quiet at first, barely speaking as the bikers slowly try to draw her into conversation.
One asks about her favorite animal, another about cartoons, and gradually, she begins to relax.
Before long, she's talking freely, and the conversation turns to the subject that's never far from her mind.
"My dog would've liked this place,” she says, looking around.
Several heads turn, and when someone asks what kind of dog she has, Melissa immediately brightens. She launches into a familiar description of Stella, her beloved beagle mix with white paws, painted nails, floppy ears, and a collar with cherries on it.
Halfway through her explanation, one of the younger bikers jumps up from his seat at a table a few feet away.
"Is the collar pink with cherries?" he asks.
Melissa nods, and the room falls silent as he pulls out his phone. He taps the screen a few times before walking toward Melissa and dropping to his knees. She glances at Quake, and he nods reassuringly.
“I’m Junior,” the young man says to Melissa.
“I’m Melissa,” she replies shyly.
“Well, Melissa, I have a cousin who works at one of the local animal shelters. About a week ago, she called me in a panic because her car broke down on her way to pick up a stray dog.”
“You never told me that,” Quake snaps. “I asked everyone here to reach out to their contacts about a missing dog.”
“You did,” Junior agrees. “But that was before her car broke down, and I didn’t think anything of it.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “Anyway, I went to help her and the dog.”
“That was nice of you,” Melissa says.
“Get to the point, prospect,” Quake bites out, clearly annoyed that this is the first he’s hearing about this.
“Right. Um, you said your dog is a beagle mix and that you painted her nails,” he says as he flips his phone around for her to see the screen. “Is this her?”
Melissa stares at the phone for so long that I wish I could see what she’s seeing, but then a miracle happens.
“That’s Stella!” she shouts, launching herself into Junior’s arms.
His eyes widen for a brief second before he wraps his arm around her. When she ends the hug, he excuses himself to call his cousin so that girl and dog can be reunited. It feels like years that we wait while he’s on the phone, but it’s only minutes before he returns with a giant grin on his face.
“Stella is on her way,” he announces proudly. “My cousin is going to have one of the shelter staff bring her here.”
The clubhouse explodes with cheers and laughter. Melissa bursts into tears, the first truly happy tears I've ever seen from her, and throws herself into my arms. I glance at Quake over her head, and he looks as relieved as she does.
The wait is torture for Melissa. She spends the next hour outside, peppering Junior and Quake with questions about Stella and where the dog will sleep and what it will eat.
They’re patient with her, and it warms my heart.
A van eventually pulls into the lot, the shelter’s logo plastered on the side.
She doesn't hesitate. The moment the shelter staff member opens the side door, a barking dog surges forward.
Melissa drops to her knees as Stella practically launches herself into her arms. The reunion is pure chaos: whining, crying, laughter, and absolute joy.
Melissa clings to her dog while Stella licks her face, and everyone nearby politely pretends not to be emotional about it.
Quake and I eventually drift toward the edge of the parking lot, watching from a distance. After a long moment, he lets out a breath.
"She needed that."
"Yes."
The smile fades as reality settles back in. Melissa is still frightened, still carrying secrets she can't bring herself to share.
"What do we do now?" I ask.
"We wait for Carrie to call back. I left her a voicemail last night when I went back out to get your bags and another one this morning. I left no room for doubt that I want her to call back ASAP."
"And if she doesn't?"
"Then we keep pushing."
I watch Melissa laugh through her tears as Stella nuzzles against her. She's far too young to be carrying this kind of fear.
"She won't tell us who it was."
"No."
"She's terrified."
Quake's jaw tightens. "Yeah."
The single word is loaded with anger, not at Melissa, but at whoever put that fear in her. I stare across the lot, unease settling heavily in my chest.
"I'm scared we're going to miss something."
"You won't."
When I glance at him, his focus remains fixed on Melissa.
"You care too much not to find the truth."
My throat tightens unexpectedly. For a moment, neither of us speaks. Then Quake finally looks at me.
"We'll figure out who hurt her," he says calmly, with a certainty that's almost unsettling. "And when we do, we'll make sure she's safe, and then I’ll make fuckers pay."
Something inside me settles at those words. I don’t condone violence, but I get it. And if I’m being honest, I think I could even get behind it if it means getting some sort of justice for Melissa.