Hearts of Winter (Bleeding Angels MC Book 2) (6 page)

“It’s not right, Big G,” I say, hating that I feel like I’ve become complicit in what’s going to happen. 

“Right ain’t got nothing to do with it,” George admits.  “You need to keep your head down for a while,” he reminds me.  “Don’t throw away the time you have over this. No one’s going to die. Some big shot company is going to lose some TVs or whatever they’re transporting.  That’s all.”

I know he’s talking sense.  Although I hate that we have to choose between doing the right thing and doing the right thing for
us
.

“Now, we’ve got some customers to serve,” George notes, nodding towards the swing door.  I know that he’s not angry—just trying to get my mind off what’s about to happen.

“Sure thing, boss,” I say quietly, doing my best to summon a smile.

Apart from the bikers, there are just a couple of customers left. As soon as I walk out onto the floor, they signal me for the check.  After a few minutes it’s just the bikers and me in the front of house.  I try to keep busy, re-filling sugar bowls, wiping down tables, and generally just keeping out of their way.  I needn’t have bothered—both men are staring out onto the highway, their gazes trained on whatever it is that they’re waiting for.  I can see from here that they’ve managed to get through almost the entire bottle of whisky in the space of around twenty minutes. 

“It’s time,” Blondie says to his follicly challenged friend. 

Both men get up from the booth, looking a little unsteady on their feet as they head for the door.  “See you around, sweet thing,” Baldy throws over his shoulder before they disappear out of the door.

I release a breath that I hadn’t even realized I had been holding in and I steady myself, leaning over the counter.  My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out to find a message from Jake saying he’ll come pick me up from the diner when my shift ends. He doesn’t want me walking back to his place on my own.  I smile to myself as I read the message.  I wonder if I should tell him about the bikers in the diner, or if it’d just be worrying him without any real reason.  I message him back saying I’ll be done before 3am, and I get that excited feeling that never fails to surface when I know that I’m going to see him soon.

I finish cleaning the tables and re-filling the cutlery holders before taking off my apron and dividing the paltry tips between George and me.

“Anything else you need, Big G?” I ask, handing over the stacks of one dollar bills that make up George’s share. 

“No, I’m all set here.” He nods to let me know that I can go.  “It’s late,” he notes, unnecessarily.

“Jake’s coming to get me,” I say, unable to keep the smile out of my voice.

“Good.” George nods again, relieved I’m not walking home on my own on a night when something is clearly about to happen.

“You planning on getting any sleep, Big G?” I ask, wryly.  It was a running joke that Suzie and I had. We thought George must sleep in the diner.  When I think about Suzie, a wave of nausea rolls over me.  I try not to keep asking myself how someone that you’ve known all your life, someone you thought of as a friend, can sell you out as if you were nothing to them.  I push that memory away. Thinking about Suzie only makes me angry—angry and sad. 

I force myself to continue thinking about George and his dedication to this diner that isn’t even his.  He’s the only cook that Sunny Side Up has, and he’s there for every shift.  It’s a mystery to me how the man can work 18- or 20-hour days back to back with little—if any—sleep.  But he does it, 364 days out of the year.

“Sleep is for wimps,” George replies, smiling cheekily.  “I’ll lock up behind you,” he tells me, ushering me towards the door.

“Thanks again, G. I don’t think I could ever explain how much it means to me to have you on my side,” I call to him from the door.  He’s one of the few people in Painted Rock that hadn’t turned their backs on me, and for that I know I’ll be forever grateful.

George, typically, looks like he’s about to get seriously embarrassed and just waves away my thanks.  “You’re on the lunch shift,” he says gruffly.

I smile my gratitude to him and walk out. I see Jake making his way down the road, looking all sexy and rumpled in the darkness of the hour.  That’s precisely when the world seems to slow down.  There’s a bang that echoes through the silence of the night.  It sounds like the earth has been split apart.  Before I have time to figure out what I’ve just heard, I see a fireball spreading out towards the sky in the direction of the highway. 

It takes a little while for awareness to return after what I’ve just witnessed.  I slowly realize that I’m not standing anymore—in fact, I’m lying on the floor, face in the dirt. When I try to get up, I can’t.  A moment of panic comes over me as I ask myself why I can’t move.  Have I been hit by something?  I try to piece together the bits of information that I have and am calmed when I note that I don’t feel any pain.  There’s a groan above me and strong hands pull me up from the floor. 

“Aimee, are you okay?” Jake’s voice reaches me as if I were hearing him underwater.

I nod, slowly. “You?” I ask automatically.  I realize that he must have thrown himself on top of me and I feel a wave of love for him wash over me.

“I’m fine,” he responds, pulling me close to him and hugging me so tight it makes it a little difficult to breathe.  But I don’t care. I inhale his scent, feel the warmth of his body against mine, and I’m comforted just by his presence.

“What the hell just happened?” I ask.  Looking up at him, I can see the worry in his eyes.

“Kids, get inside,” comes George’s commanding voice from above us before Jake has time to reply to my question.

We hurry up the stairs and George slams the door shut, locking it behind us as we get inside the diner.

“Jake, how you doing?” Big G asks, shaking his hand.

“Doing alright, thanks George. You?” Jake replies, as if everything were completely normal and we hadn’t just witnessed—well, whatever it was that we’d just seen.

“Sorry to interrupt this little catch up,” I say, “But does someone want to tell me what in God’s name we all just saw?” I’m aware that becoming hysterical is not the most useful way to deal with the situation. But, bearing in mind recent events, fire was not one of my favorite things.

“An explosion,” Jake confirms, putting his arm around me and pulling me to his side as if trying to protect me from the blast again.

“It looks like it came from the highway, heading out of town,” George notes, and Jake nods in agreement. 

“You don’t think...?” I start, not able to finish the sentence as I look askance at George.

“What?” Jake asks, looking between George and me.

“A couple of Bleeding Angels came in here earlier,” I explain, taking hold of Jake’s hand to stop him from flying off the handle.  “They were talking about a truck they were looking out for.” I don’t need to say anything else for him to connect the dots.

“But that’s not their M.O.,” Jake notes.  “They don’t blow the trucks up. Draws too much attention, and people start asking questions.” He shakes his head like none of this makes any sense. Which it doesn’t.

“They were drinking,” I say, quietly.  “They were drinking a lot and they were already pretty well oiled before they came in here.”

The sound of sirens fills the air and I’m pulled back to the night that my home burned to the ground and all help arrived too late.  I’m vaguely aware of Jake gently shaking my arm. 

“Aimee, Aimee,” he repeats, until he’s satisfied that I’m back in the here and now.  “We need to get out of here.” He holds my face between his hands so that our eyes lock.

“Whatever just happened, you can bet that this wasn’t how shit was supposed to go down,” George notes, shaking his head.  “You two.” He turns to face us. “Go straight home, don’t talk to anyone, don’t do anything, just get off the street.” The concern in his face makes me even more nervous.

“George, what do you know that we don’t?” I ask him, searching his face for an answer.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head.  “I just know that someone made a mistake tonight and there’s going to be hell to pay. Now get out of here and remember what I said,” he tells us as he locks the door behind us, motioning for us to hurry down the street.

Despite the late hour, the streets are busy.  People have come out of their house, awakened by the huge bang that went off less than a mile away from the town center.  The sounds of fire engines and police sirens merge together and, with all the activity buzzing around, no one takes much notice of Jake and I walking fast in the opposite direction, heading to the body shop.

We don’t speak until we get inside.  I sit down heavily on the sofa and, absently, I hear Jake pouring water and then placing a glass in front of me.  He sits on the coffee table opposite of me, holding my legs between his, and looks into my face.  I’m struck yet again by how it had taken me so long to realize everything that Jake means to me.

“This is bad, isn’t it?” I ask, although it’s not really a question.

“Well, it’s not great.” Jake nods, confirming my suspicions.

Jake’s phone chimes, signaling an incoming message.  He looks at the display and grabs it off the table in one easy move, tapping a reply in faster than I thought he was capable of.

“My dad,” he explains, looking at me.  “He’s just checking that we’re both alright.” As soon as he puts the phone down, it chimes again and he breathes out in frustration.

“He’s just worried about you,” I tell Jake gently.  But my radar for trouble starts beeping when I see the expression on his face change.  “What? What is it?” I ask insistently.

“It’s Dad again,” he replies slowly.  “He still knows a few people on the force.” I wave him on—this is something I already know.  Bill and my dad were friends from way back and Bill used to spend a lot of time hanging around with the other cops in my dad’s unit.  Although now he probably couldn’t count on any one of them in a pinch, they weren’t too concerned about sharing information with him.  “Anyway, he says they think it was an army truck,” he finishes, catching my eye, and I’m surprised to see a ghost of a smile starting to appear on his lips.

“And that’s funny because...?” I ask, completely confused. 

“No, not funny,” Jake says, raking his fingers through his dark hair.  “It means they screwed up,” he confirms.  When he sees that I’m just as confused as I had been before, he carries on.  “Hitting an army truck is a big friggin’ deal, Aimee.  It’s not like one of their other corporate targets. They get some crappy electronics to sell.  This is government-owned property.” The significance of what he’s saying quickly dawns on me.

“They can’t cover this up!” I exclaim, feeling something close to excitement start to pulse through my body.  “The Feds will have to get involved to investigate what happened tonight. But how could they have been so stupid to try to knock off an army truck?  They must’ve known they’d get caught.” I shake my head, trying to figure this all out.

“I don’t know, Winters,” Jake replies.  “But you said the guys you saw were drinking?” I nod to confirm he’s right.  “Maybe they were drunk and something went wrong.”

“Whatever happened, Scar is going to be pissed,” I note, and can’t keep the gleefulness out of my voice.  We sit there grinning at each other like idiots, and then a thought occurs to me.  “This could be it, Jake—our way out,” I say.  “The Feds come down and investigate what went down tonight with the truck, they figure out that it’s the Bleeding Angels, and then everything that they’ve done starts to come out.  All the people that have disappeared or that have been hurt, the drugs, everything.  They’ll all be sent away for a long, long time,” I assure Jake, feeling lighter than I have in weeks, like a load has been lifted off of my shoulders.

“That all sounds great, Aimee.” Jake sighs as he stands up and starts to walk around the room.  “But you know that’s not going to happen within the next month, right?”

“No, but it doesn’t have to,” I point out, mimicking his pacing.  “We just need them to start looking into the Angels a little closer. Enough to spook them.  It’ll give Scar something bigger to worry about than you and me. And that’s when we leave. When they’re too busy looking in the other direction, watching their backs for the Feds.  That’s when we go,” I say, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice and failing.

Jake looks at me, assessing the situation.  “Do you think it’s possible?” he asks, not daring to hope.  I know how scary this is for him, how much what I’ve suggested leaves us in the hands of fate.

“Honestly? I think it’s the best chance we’ve got.  We just have to hope that the Feds aren’t as easily bought off as the cops around here,” I note wryly, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

For the first time in a long while, I feel hopeful. Like I can see a way out of this nightmare, this thing that we’ve been calling a life.

“What did they say to you?” Jake asks eventually.

I look at him with a questioning glance.  “Which they?” I ask, taking a sip of the water he had poured for me and realizing how thirsty I am.

“The Angels in the diner,” Jake continues, leaning against the wall in his customary faux-casual position.  “What did they say to you?” he repeats, clearly knowing that I’m trying to avoid the question.

“Nothing. They were just being jerks.” I try waving the question away to show how unimportant the whole scene had been.

Jake covers the space between us in only a couple of steps and holds onto my shoulders. Not hard, but not gently either.  “Aimee, no secrets.” He reminds me of the pact that we had made to be honest with each other.  “Tell me,” he urges. 

“They were just being jerks,” I repeat, because that really was the truth.  “Basically they told me I was on borrowed time and that I should keep my mouth shut.” I smile to cover how shaken I had been.  “Fat chance of that happening,” I laugh, but Jake doesn’t join in.

“Did they touch you?” he asks, his gaze intent on mine.  His expression is more than concerned—it tells me that he’s willing to go out in the middle of the night and, if Blondie and Baldy aren’t already dead, kill them.

“No,” I reply. I hate lying to the man I love—lying right to his face.  But it’s preferable to the alternative: having him go all vigilante because some idiot biker smacked my ass.

Jake doesn’t call me out on my lie. Instead his shoulders visibly relax and he drops his hands from my arms.  “Good.” He nods and between the light in the studio and the angle of his face I get a flash of another man. 

Travis.  Scar. 

In that moment, the similarity between them is undeniable.  It’s only a second, but it’s enough for Jake to notice that something is up.  “What?” he asks, grinning at me in a way that tells me I must have a pretty amusing expression on my face.

“Nothing,” I say, getting my breath back.  “Nothing, you just reminded me of someone, that’s all.” 

“Anyone I know?” Jake laughs as he gets closer to me, lifting my chin up so that our lips are only inches apart.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I tease, kissing him quickly on the lips to prevent any more questions being asked. 
That’s lie number two, Aimee
, I tell myself.  I reason that both lies have been for Jake’s own benefit, but that doesn’t do much to stop me from feeling like I’ve done something wrong.

“You tired?” he asks after our soft kiss.

“Dead tired,” I confirm, suddenly realizing that I really am.  Between not getting much sleep the night before, lunch with the Summers, working an 8-hour shift at the diner, and then being shocked half to death by the explosion, it’s been a busy day. 

“Me too,” Jake laughs.  “Look at us, we’re like an old married couple already.”

“Yeah, like all those old married couples that go to bed at 4 in the morning,” I reply dryly, bantering back. 

“I like the idea of that, though,” Jake says after a moment’s musing. 

“Well, I’m no night owl so if you want to go to bed at this time every night, you’ll be on your own,” I tell him in no uncertain terms as I make my way to the bathroom.  I strip off my clothes that smell a little of ash and let the cool material of my nightdress slip over me. 

I’m brushing my teeth when Jake walks in.  “No, that’s not what I meant,” he says, looking pointedly at me.  “I was talking about the married couple part.” He smiles at my reflection in the mirror as my jaw drops.  “You’re, um… drooling a little there, Winters,” he notes, dead-pan as he wanders out of the bathroom again like what he’s just said is no big deal.