Page 2 of Cruz

“Fuck.” He pulls away and I drop my hand. “Do you really think that my mom is at risk? Don’t answer that. I know you’re going to say that you have to prepare for and expect the worst.”

“I’m speaking as a friend and as a club brother.”

“You have a smart answer for everything,” Liam gripes, but with real affection.

He might be pissed off, concerned, guilty, and freaking out on the inside, but above all, we’re friends. That’s not going to change. We might be an odd bunch, but we truly are going to be club brothers. I respect that bond. I’m not going to let anything happen to Liam, to his mom, to this place, or anyone connected with it. Tyrant, Raiden, and the rest of the guys have worked hard to make Satan’s Angels into a family. We don’t rule Hart through fear and intimidation. We’re exactly the opposite. The people in this town know that we only want the best for our friends and family, and that means keeping Hart trouble free.

“We need to find Tyrant. Now,” I say.

Liam slow blinks at me and nods just as slowly. He knows that there isn’t any other option. “Before you use up your quota of words for a lifetime?” He finds enough humor to poke me in the ribs.

All I can do is nod. “Already have.”

Liam knocks my shoulder. He knows that I did it for him, and that I’d do pretty much anything for him and any of the other guys here, but for him especially. We haven’t known each other long. Four and a half months. He was at the club, prospecting, before I was, though barely. Since we were both new, we were thrown together often, and we got to know each other quickly. Maybe the age difference has got something to do with it. I don’t have kids, but I find myself looking out for him. Whatever it is, we get on. There are some people you meet, and you just mesh with them. If I didn’t get that feeling from the club, I would have continued on my way. Liam’s from Hart, but I found myself here by chance. I had virtually nothing to go back to, but that’s never a good enough reason to stay. I’m here because I truly want to be. Because I care and I want to build a life here. Nothing is going to change that, and I’m not about to let anyone or anything take it away either.

So. We’re going to see Tyrant immediately and get this shit dealt with.

Chapter 2

Sloane

I shouldn’t be on my phone looking at gorgeous sweaters while the hum of silence fills the café. The shop has its regular lull times. Tuesday morning after the early rush and the stragglers following that traffic, there’s always a few hours of nothingness before lunch. Generally, I use the time to clean, bake, and prep.

The sweaters might have started out as a weakness, or maybe they were a funky way to brighten up everyone’s day, but my customers started to remark on them, and then it was an expectation. I had to start out slow because I didn’t have much extra money as a single mom, but now I have a closet bursting full of bright sweaters with every theme and pattern imaginable.

Over the years, I’ve gone from being the funky barista working at the little corner coffeeshop downtown, to being the funky barista slash owner of the little corner coffeeshop. This place has been in my blood since I was sixteen. It’s shocking how quickly twenty-two years can just vanish. One minute you’re a scared, pregnant teenager, and the next, you have a grown son trying to make his own way in life.

Before I get teary eyed, I turn my attention back to my phone. This sweater happens to have a giant clown on the front. Oddly enough, it’s black and white. The clown looks sad and mopey, and a touch artsy. It’s a great price too. Do I really need another sweater, though? I should get off this app. It’s pretty much made to sucker people in with impulse buys. It’s great that it’s seller to buyer, and not some big corporation, and that most items are vintage. By buying on here, I’m helping recycle and save the planet.

I guess that’s one way to justify it.

If I need another justification, I could easily say that Hart’s small. There’s only one thrift store, plus an antique store that opened up a few years ago. Their hours aren’t that flexible, and when my days are consumed with the shop, I don’t get the luxury of going out and finding those amazing scores in the wild.

I shut my phone off, resisting the impulse to add to my collection.

I grab a cloth and my cleaning products from the back. I start out front. My shop is small, with a few tables lining the sides between shelves of bagged coffees, boxes of teas, teapots, and fancy coffee makers. I turned the front, by the gorgeous bay window, into a little reading nook. I have a take one, leave one system in place for books, but I do replenish them regularly with my own collection. Reading is another pleasure that I don’t find so guilty. There was a time when I couldn’t afford my own books and had to get everything from the library. When I treat myself to a new book, I still feel like it’s a special privilege to be able to buy it. When I venture to Seattle, which isn’t all that often, I make exceptionally great use of the second-hand bookstores and thrift stores to hunt for my favorite reads. Or next reads. Or all reads.

All the tables are inside, since it’s trending into winter and most days are gray and rainy. No one wants to sit outside and sip coffee and get doused. In the nicer months, I bring out the little bistro sets.

After I wipe down all the tables and chairs, I head to the back. I tackle the dishes, then think about prep, but there’s nothing that needs to be done. If I bake now, it might go to waste and there’s nothing I hate more.

I could catch up on some paperwork. I have a camera at the front of the store and one at the back, plus a loud bell for when anyone walks in.

I sit down in my office. It’s no bigger than a closet, tucked near the back door, right by the large fridge and freezer in the prep area. My book on Roman philosophy sits on my desk. I run my fingers over the hardcover. I never did go to college, but if I did, I’d love to study ancient history. Or maybe all history. It’s hard to choose.

I’ve been reading this book for a few months. It’s not something that can be devoured in a day. I need time to think about it. There are some parts that hit so hard, a sentence even, that I need to sit and marinate in it.

It’s hard to be into ancient philosophers and thinkers expounding on the virtues of poverty and simplicity when you lived a massive chunk of your life as a scared, harried, sleep deprived teenage single mother living paycheck to paycheck and always one step away from disaster. Though I do appreciate the sentiment. If you chop up the work, there are the inevitable great quotes that burrow under the skin—half because they’re so true, and half because they’re so damn unattainable.

For example, the great Seneca. “To be happy, you must eliminate two things: the fear of a bad future and the memory of a bad past.”

Easier said than done. Not that Seneca had it all figured out. Spoiler alert, he didn’t have a very happy ending.

And fuck it, I really need that clown sweater.

I take my phone out of my jeans pocket, open up the app, and get the sweater loaded into my cart. It’s a bit of a process to check out, and I’m going through the five million steps, when the front bell jangles.

I jam my phone into my pocket and leave the office without even looking at the camera feeds on the small monitor at the side of the desk. I’m ready with my usual greeting as I walk to the front, but as soon as I step behind the counter, the words die on my tongue.