to absorb his words. Not fully understanding them, but wanting to so badly that it hurts. Wanting to and wishing to heck I didn’t.
Cap gets up, takes up his cane, leans on it, and squeezes my arm.
“It’ll come to you, Angel,” he says. “You’ll see.”
I’m only half aware of him leaving as I stare out the front door to where several men are dragging a battered-looking bike away. My thoughts spin, dark and frightening as the longing and the loneliness that weighs on them.
It’s as if Cap has given me a key to a hidden room, access to something I feel like I shouldn’t want, but do. He’s given me the key to a room, only I can’t find the door. I’m standing close to it, because I can feel something beyond it. It’s there, burning hot and brooding and terrible. I need it, I want it, and I hate it all at once.
Even if I found the door, would I be able to open it? And if I do, what if I can’t ever leave again?
I don’t know how long I’m sitting there before I realize Tequila’s calling for me to get back to work. I shake myself and get back to work, but I feel somehow on edge, unable to focus. Cap’s words should have made me feel better, but instead, they make me feel more uncertain than ever.
The back coffee table is littered with plates, beer mugs, ashtrays full of smokes and cigars. For once, the couches are unoccupied. I grab a bin from the bar and go back to the table, clearing off the dishes and dumping the ashtrays out into a tin.
Jules comes over and flops down on the couch, looking tired but happy. Her halter is askew, one breast almost spilling out. One of the guys smirks at her, and her face goes pink as she smiles.
I clear my throat, trying not to look at her shirt.
“Oh.” She looks down and rearranges her top. “Letting it all hang out there, aren’t I?”
I shrug awkwardly, still unsure how I feel about her. I’m still not entirely sure there isn’t something going on between her and Spider. It’s clear to me now what this woman’s role is in the club. Curiosity nags at me, sudden and sharp, and the thought of voicing any of the questions rolling through my head makes my cheeks flush hot.
Unable to look at her, I put the bin of dirty dishes on the bar for washing. Then I once more go back to the table and start gathering up the newspapers scattered atop it.
“Do you… er… want a drink or something? You look like you need it.”
There’s sweat on her brow, and her blond bangs stick to her forehead. There is also a large hickey on the side of her neck.
As soon as the words are out, my face heats even more, especially when her eyes gleam. I clear my throat.
“A water would be wonderful, thanks.”
I nod and turn to take the papers away and get her a drink.
“Wait. I wanna read that one.” When I look at her, she waves for the paper on top of the pile I’m holding.
“Oh.” I hand it to her, catching sight of the front headline: Man To Stand Trial For Attack On Wife.
The image below it is of a man in an orange jumpsuit in handcuffs. He’s being escorted up cement steps by police officers.
When I come back to wipe off the table, Jules tosses the paper down. I hand her a bottle of water.
“Urh.” She snarls. “They’ve whitewashed the whole thing. Figures.”
“Huh?” I look from her to the paper, then back to her again.
She shakes her head. “Oh, it’s just that they made what he did sound as if he broke in and slapped her across the face or something. It was so much worse. He should be in an electric chair for what he did to her.”
My brows shoot up, the rag stopping in the middle of scrubbing down the table. Hatred burns in her eyes as she glares at the man in the photo. “Do you know that man’s wife or something?”
“She’s my sister.”
My mouth drops.
Her sister. Penny. Ben’s mom, and Diesel’s ex-wife.
Ben had called Jules his aunt.
I lean over, looking at the photo. The man is glancing over his shoulder at the cameras behind him. He wears a smile that’s cold and smug and defiant. His hair is dark but streaked with grey at the sides. There’s a cold, remorseless