Page 31 of Jake's Angel
Should I run? Will he tell Mack about me?
I stare at him with wide eyes, expectantly waiting for him to do something. Though I don’t know what I’m expecting exactly.
Jake fists his hands at his sides, glances between me and Jayde, then gives us his retreating back as he leaves the store.
What the hell was that all about? And what the hell am I supposed to do now?
CHAPTER TEN
JAKE
After leavingthe grocery store last night, I took a long ride to clear my head. Seeing the bruises on Avery’s arms had every protective instinct inside me begging to beat the shit out of the person responsible. I was furious to see a handprint on her. I was even more pissed she refused to tell me the fucker’s name so I could deal out his punishment.
This morning, I'm still seething about it.
What was worse, what had my head reeling, was hearing her name. I haven’t heard the name Avery in years.
Sixteen years, to be exact.
Sure, I know there had to be others who crossed my path, but I neverheardit. Maybe I learned to ignore it or tune it out. I don’t know.
You were busy trying to forget.
After Thomas and Nate disappeared, and Gabe’s family was murdered, those names were rarely ever mentioned again. It became club business, and not even the club spoke of it anymore.
Of course, some of the townsfolk mention Maggie from time to time. Hard not to when the restaurant we all frequent throughout the week is named after her. Her pictures are still up at Caleb and Liz’s house, though they’re kept in the guest bedroom, not in the front of the house. There are some in Gabe’s office and around the clubhouse too, but no one everspeaksabout them. Especially his daughter Avery.
She was two years old when she died. Maybe there weren’t enough memories to discuss. It’s odd to me for people to forget a child, but it’s what everyone seemed to do.
Everyone except me.
I couldn’t let go of the memories after hearing Avery’s name. I couldn’t be around the club either, without explaining why I was in such a foul fucking mood. Figuring a half a bottle of Jack and a good night’s sleep would help, I took off down the road for home.
I was wrong on both accounts.
The whiskey did jack shit to stave off the memories, and I tossed and turned all fucking night dreaming about my Angel named Avery with the bruises on her arm. Both did a fucking number on me.
It’s barely light outside. Too fucking early. Pulling into the clubhouse this morning, I’m still dragging after all the whiskey it took to finally knock my ass out. The hangover I’m sporting isn’t doing me any favors either.
I kept dreaming about the little girl in my arms and the woman I kissed at the diner. Their faces morphed into one another. My Angel kept calling me, asking me to save her one more time. I’d see the little girl in my arms resting. Someone suddenly appeared out of nowhere, dragging her away from me, screaming. It was all followed by my mother’s voice echoing, “She died. We didn’t help her fast enough.” Then we’re all standing at a gravesite with a picture of my Angel surrounded bya wreath. I woke up in a cold fucking sweat in the middle of my empty room.
But they aren’t the same person. It’s not possible. Yet I still felt the pang of guilt. Two different females, both calling to my possessive and protective nature.
I can’t fucking win.
Parking my bike, I crush my palms to my eyes and try to push back all my shitty thoughts. I need to focus. Pres called church and needs me on my game. I don’t know what’s happened since our last session, but seeing a familiar black dual cab truck pulling in through the gate tells me it isn’t good.Pop’s home.
He’s not due back until this weekend for Sadie’s graduation celebration. For him to be here now, after the last church session, means shit has officially hit the fan. The threats must’ve escalated.
His truck pulls into the spot right next to mine. He hops out, comes around the hood, and we throw our arms around each other in a firm hug.
“Hey Pop. Nice to see you out of that fancy suit and back into your real uniform,” I tease, pulling back. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him in his cut. I hate it when he wears a suit. It’s part of the persona he carries when he’s working to keep up appearances. It’s what most of the Garrison Security clients are looking for. They call in asking for a security detail, but their main intention is to appear important enough to need one.
Rich fucking snobs.
They get the occasional ex-boyfriend stalker or popstar needing extra coverage at a concert venue. It’s not all that uncommon, they get the mercenary jobs of rescue and retrieval, but those are classified missions the club doesn’t get involved in. A whole separate set of guys Pop has on payroll that we hardly ever see.
“Hey, son. It’s good to be home.”