5. Angel
ANGEL
Iwake up to the smell of coffee and the sound of someone moving around in my kitchen.
For a second, I don’t remember. Then it all comes flooding back—Rev’s hands, Rev’s mouth, Rev’s body over mine and inside mine and everywhere at once. The way he looked at me after, like I was something he’d been waiting for his whole life.
I sit up slowly, pulling the sheet around me. My body aches —muscles I forgot I had reminding me exactly what we did last night. What we did twice, actually, because sometime around two in the morning I woke up to his hands on me again and neither of us could stop.
I should get up. Should shower, get dressed, figure out how to have a normal conversation with the man who just turned my entire world inside out. But I sit there for another minute, listening to him move around my kitchen as if he belongs there.
Like he’s done this a hundred times before.
Like he’s going to do it a hundred times again.
I’m not supposed to want this. I’m not supposed to want him—a biker, a patched member of the club that took my brother from me. Every logical part of my brain is screaming that this is a mistake, that I’m setting myself up for the worst kind of heartbreak.
But logic doesn’t explain the way I feel when I hear him in my kitchen. Safe. Settled. Like I’ve been holding my breath for years and I’m finally allowed to exhale.
I get up. Pull on a t-shirt—his t-shirt, actually, the one he stripped off last night—and pad down the hall.
He’s standing at the counter, shirtless, pouring coffee into two mugs.
His back is to me, and I take a second to just look.
The ink covering his shoulders, the way his muscles move under his skin, the ease in his posture.
He heard me coming—I know he did—but he didn’t turn around until the coffee was poured.
“Morning.” His voice is rough. Sleep and something else.
“Morning.”
He holds out a mug. I take it, and our fingers brush, and even that small touch sends heat through me.
“You stayed,” I say.
“You asked me to.”
“I know. I just—” I wrap both hands around the mug, needing something to hold onto. “I wasn’t sure you’d still be here when I woke up.”
He sets down his own coffee. Steps closer. His hand comes up to cup my jaw, tilting my face so I have to look at him.
“I’m not going anywhere, Angel.”
The words hit me somewhere deep. I blink against the sudden sting in my eyes.
“This is crazy,” I whisper. “You know that, right? This whole thing—you and me—it’s insane.”
“Probably.”
“I spent five years staying away from everything that reminded me of Jonah. And now I’m standing in my kitchen with a Sons of Ruin brother making me coffee like it’s the most normal thing in the world.”
“Is that a problem?”
I think about it. Really think about it—the way I felt last night, wrapped up in him. The way I feel right now, standing in his t-shirt with his hand on my face. The way I’ve felt every morning this week, waiting for seven o’clock, listening for his bike.
“No,” I finally say. “That’s the crazy part. It’s not a problem. It should be, but it’s not.”
He kisses me. Soft, almost careful—so different from last night. When he pulls back, his thumb traces along my cheekbone.
“Jonah would want you happy,” he says. “He’d want you safe. That’s all he ever talked about—making sure his sister was okay.”
My throat tightens. “You talked about me?”
“Sometimes. When he’d had a few beers and got sentimental.” A ghost of a smile crosses his face. “He was proud of you. The way you handled yourself. He said you were the toughest person he knew.”
I have to look away. The grief is still there—it’s always there—but for the first time in years, it doesn’t feel like drowning. It feels like something I can hold without it crushing me.
“I miss him,” I say quietly.
“I know. Me too.”
We stand there for a moment, the grief and the warmth existing in the same space. It shouldn’t be possible. But it is.
“Come to the clubhouse today,” Rev says.
My stomach drops. “What?”
“The clubhouse. I want you to come with me.”
“Rev—”
“It’s been five years, Angel. And you’re with me now.” He holds my gaze. “The brothers should know. No one has forgotten Wheels. They remember you. Let them see you again.”
The thought makes me want to throw up. The clubhouse. The place I haven’t set foot in since Jonah’s wake, when I stood in the corner and watched his brothers drink to his memory and couldn’t breathe for the weight of all that leather and chrome.
But Rev is looking at me with those steady eyes, and I know he’s right. I can’t keep running forever. Sooner or later, I have to face it.
“Okay,” I hear myself say. “Okay. I’ll come.”
The clubhouse looks exactly the same.
That’s the first thing that hits me when we pull into the lot—nothing has changed.
Same building, same row of bikes out front, same hand-painted sign with the grinning reaper.
It’s like the last five years didn’t happen.
Like I could walk inside and find Jonah shooting pool in the corner, laughing at something Rogue said.
My chest hurts.
Rev’s hand finds mine. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.
We walk inside together.
The main room is half-full. A few guys at the bar, a couple more at the pool table. Conversations stop when they see me. I watch recognition flicker across faces—some I remember, some I don’t.
“Holy shit.” Rogue sets down his beer and grins. “Angel Medina. It’s been a minute.”
“Five years,” I manage.
“Way too long.” He comes over and pulls me into a hug before I can protest. He smells like leather and beer and something that makes my heart ache with familiarity. “Good to see you, sweetheart. Wheels would be glad you’re back.”
The name hits me like a fist. But I don’t fall apart. I hugged him back.
“Thanks, Rogue.”
King appears from somewhere—taller than I remember, harder around the edges, but with the same quiet authority. He nods at me.
“Angel.”
“King.”
“Glad you’re here.” That’s all he says. It’s enough.
For the first time since I walked away, being around the club doesn’t feel suffocating.
It feels like coming home.
And that’s the hardest part.
I leave the clubhouse around four to close up the cafe.
Rev offers to come with me, but I wave him off. “I’ll be fine. It’s just the afternoon cleanup. Come by at six, like usual, and walk me to my car if you must.”
He doesn’t look happy about it, but he lets me go.
The afternoon rush was light, and by the time I’ve cleaned up and counted the register, it’s nearly six.
I should wait inside for Rev. That’s the routine we’ve established—he shows up, walks me to my car, makes sure I get home safe.
But I’m feeling good for the first time in months.
The clubhouse, the way it felt to be folded back into that world—I’m riding that high, and I don’t want to hide inside like a scared rabbit.
I step out the front door to lock up.
“Angel.”
My blood turns to ice.
Niall is leaning against my car. Arms crossed, expression pleasant, like he has every right to be here. Like he’s been waiting.
“What do you want?” My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
“Just to talk.” He pushes off the car and walks toward me. I don’t back up. I refuse to back up. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I’ve been living my life. There’s a difference.”
“That biker.” His pleasant expression flickered. “You’re really doing this? Trading down to some greasy mechanic?”
“I’m not trading anything. And who I spend my time with is none of your business.”
“Everything about you is my business.” He’s closer now. Too close. “Don’t you get that? I’ve been watching you for months. I know your schedule, your routines, your favorite places. I know you better than anyone. That’s why we’d be perfect together.”
“You don’t know me at all.” I’m shaking—anger, not fear. Or maybe both. “You’re a customer who couldn’t take no for an answer. That’s it. That’s all you’ve ever been. We are not together.”
His hand shoots out and grabs my arm.
The grip is hard. Hard enough to hurt. Hard enough that I know there will be bruises tomorrow.
“Let go of me.”
“Not until you listen.” His voice is still calm, still pleasant, and that’s the scariest part. “You’re making a mistake with this biker. He’s going to get bored of you, or he’s going to get himself killed doing whatever illegal shit his club is into, and then where will you be? Alone. Again.”
“I said let go.”
“I’m the one who’s been here, Angel. I’m the one who’s been patient. I’m the one who—”
“Let. Go.”
Something in my voice must finally land, because his grip loosens. I yank my arm free and take three steps back.
“Don’t come near me again,” I say. “Don’t come to my café. Don’t come to my apartment. Don’t leave notes on my car or any of the other creepy shit you’ve been doing for four months. We’re done. This is done.”
His face changes. The pleasant mask cracks, and underneath it is something ugly.
“You’ll regret this,” he says quietly. “When he leaves you broken and alone, you’ll remember that I was the one who actually cared.”
Then he turns and walks to his truck and drives away.
I stand there shaking for a long moment. Then I unlock the door and go back inside the café.
I can’t drive like this. My hands are trembling too hard to grip the wheel. I sink into one of the booths and press my palms flat against the table, trying to breathe.
I should have waited. Should have stayed inside until Rev got here. This is my fault—I got cocky, got comfortable, and now—
The door opens.
I flinch hard, but it’s Rev. Of course it’s Rev. Six o’clock on the dot, just like always.
His eyes find me immediately. I watch his expression shift—confusion, then concern, then something darker as he takes in the way I’m sitting, the way I’m shaking.
“What happened?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
He crosses to the booth in three strides and slides in across from me. “You’re not fine. Talk to me.”
“It’s nothing. Niall was here, but he left. It’s over.”
“Niall was here.” His voice goes flat. Dangerous. “What did he do?”
“Rev—”
“Angel. What did he do?”