Always (Cape Hill Book 3) Page 3

  After I’ve caught mine, I’m once again crying, reaching for my boyfriend. He picks me up, and we kiss while a happy chaos breaks loose around us. With his lips on mine, his arms around my waist, I’m free.

  Free to love.

  Free to live.

  Free from the confines of lust.

  When he sets me down, I see them—Absinthe, Deaftone, and my mamá. The shock must be written all over my face with how my boys smile back at me. It hits me though, that Sy isn’t there, and for a flicker of a moment, I feel the pain of disappointment but shrug it off almost as quickly.

  “Mi niña!” she cries, pleasure reflecting in her features. “Congratulations, baby girl.”

  Then we’re both crying and hugging.

  A throat clearing has me looking up at Uncle Sinthe. “Hey,” I slip out lamely.

  His towering frame hovers over me. “Princess,” he replies, while signing my name sign to Bird.

  When I was younger, I couldn’t say Deaftone’s name, hell, not his real name Falcon, either. I’ve always called him Bird.

  Sinthe engulfs me in his arms. He lifts me like he used to and then kisses my forehead. “I’m so proud of you. We all are. I love you, princess. I’m sorry I stayed away for so long.”

  The whisper is so soft and only for me to hear. The remorse in his voice has me crying for another reason entirely. While I shake in his arms, I realize how much it hurt for him to abandon Mamá and me. After a pause, he squeezes me once more, setting me on my feet.

  “Bird,” I sign with my pointer finger and thumb.

  His perpetual scowl morphs into a face of love, and it’s like I needed that reassurance that he didn’t hate me.

  Just like Sinthe, he lifts me and kisses my cheek. With his left hand, he makes the sign for I love you, and then a lone tear streaks down his face. “I’m proud of who you’re becoming.”

  Brax pulls me to him in almost a possessive way that has me giggling.

  Leaning into my ear, he whispers, “If I knew you had this many attractive men in your life, I’d never let you leave our home.”

  Our home.

  We live together. He’s my boyfriend, and we’re happy.

  Sinthe’s been more trusting lately. We spend a bit of time together when we can whether at the bar or when I visit Mamá at Cynosure, where he spends an unhealthy amount of time and money lately. I make sure that when I go, Sy isn’t there. Still, I haven’t crossed his path. It seems like Sinthe is always brooding. He needs to find a woman to love him and show him the softer side of life. He’s been bitter for years… since he disappeared. It makes me wonder what happened in that time gap of not seeing him.

  I remember the first time I saw him after he disappeared for a while. It was right after my sixteenth birthday. He changed. He wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t even hug me.

  Then he disappeared again until my graduation. He’s better now. He’s kinder and gentler, but there’s this darker note to his words. In his eyes, you can occasionally see the demon beneath the man I grew up knowing.

  Before stood a man of so much power his presence brought fear. Now, there’s that same man, but there’s a new madness in him that makes no sense to me. It’s unhinged. Deadly.

  As I wipe the bar counters, I watch Pilar pour drinks for the regulars. She’s not smiling. She’s almost not even here either. When I finally catch eye of what she’s staring at, I notice she’s eavesdropping on Bird and a girl. It’s easy to do that with Bird. He’s Deaf, so you just watch his signs. It’s rude to do that. It’s an unspoken rule not to watch people sign to one another, unless you let them know you’re aware of what they are saying. She knows better.

  I didn’t see it before, but Pilar is gripping a bottle of Jack in her tiny hand so hard her entire hand is whitening.

  “That could be you,” I interrupt her snooping.

  She shakes her head vehemently, relaxing her hand on the bottle but still refuses to look at me. Her gaze is still nestled on the big, brooding bear that everyone can’t help but love.

  I’m sure he’s flirting with the girl that has her hand on his chest, rubbing it up and down sensually.

  “Mind your own,” she chastises.

  Then she’s flinching when I see Bird sign, “Let’s get out of here.” It’s suggestive, not leaving anything to the imagination. He deserves happiness, and Pilar isn’t willing to give him that.

  The weirdest part is that he used to chase her, but when I came back, it’s like something big happened. They don’t talk and no longer flirt, and they both carry this flicker of both possessiveness and hatred for each other that confuses me.

  “He loves you,” I point out, not willing to see Bird run off with a ho-bag because Pilar won’t give him her heart.

  “Well, I don’t love him… not like that.”

  Sure, Jan.

  “You’re so full of shit,” I bark, throwing the rag in the bucket under the bar. Stepping closer to her, I get in her face. “Go fight for him. You will regret it when he stinks of her tomorrow. I’d know…”

  I didn’t mean to add that last bit, but the images of Sy coming home at night smelling like women hurts me all over again.

  That’s in the past.

  You’re with Brax now.

  And he comes home to you every night, sleeps in bed with you, and makes you feel beautiful.

  “I need a fucking smoke,” she snaps. “Keep an eye, will ya?”

  Instead of arguing because she’s avoiding her feelings, I nod.

  She practically stomps outside, and I’m at the bar alone. Legally, I’m not supposed to serve or even be here. I’m not twenty-one, but like with my mamá, Sinthe has me working under the table, and it’s not like the Vipers follow any law but their own.

  A man no older than Sinthe walks up to the bar, thrumming his fingers to his own tune against the wooded top. His gaze rakes up my frame surly, like he's seen all he needs to.

  “Aren’t you a little too young to be serving here, sweetheart?”

  It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes, but that’d only confirm the childishness he’s referencing.

  “Aren’t you a little too old to be hitting on a girl this young?” I respond in the most saccharine tone I can offer.

  He appears taken aback, his eyes filling with disgust. If I were a lesser person, I would be offended, but it just shows that he’s not a pervy dude. Good.

  “Not hitting on you. Just curious. I’m Sal,” he says, kinder than before, offering his hand.

  I don’t take it and don’t believe his name’s Sal either. I may be nice, even naïve at times, but I don’t consort with strangers, especially ones who bring up my age as their first comment.

  “I’m here for a reason…” He trails off, his gaze scanning the room. “Do you know an Absinthe Luther?”

  My body immediately stiffens, a chill that has nothing to do with the temperature snakes up my body and around my frame.

  “He sometimes goes by the name Venom.”

  Act cool.

  Play it off.

  Instead of freaking out, I smile sweetly. “Oh, my boss?”

  Acting as if he’s not practically my uncle is the safest route. He’s pretending that asking about Absinthe rather than Venom isn’t anything, but in reality, it’s a dead giveaway that this man is a foe, not a friend.

  Only Mamá, Pilar, and I, call him a version of Absinthe. Anyone else has to be up to no good. No one speaks that name in here, no one mentions his past, and no one dares to speak of a name they’re not honored in speaking.

  “Yes,” he states, almost like he forgot that this bar is owned by Sinthe.

  I take another gander at the man. His black hair is graying near his temples, and his chin is full of stubble. It’s long in the front, giving it an almost old-fashioned bad boy appearance. His soft, brown eyes are almost like liquid syrup, like he’s a kind man but hard around the edges, like he’s seen things. He immediately reminds me of Joe Manganiello. He’s dressed l
ike every other member of the club, but his jacket doesn’t have patches like I’m used to seeing.

  He also doesn’t immediately give me the vibe that he’s a criminal.

  “Do you know where he is?” he grouses, barely loud enough to be heard over the music, like he’s worried he’ll be noticed by others.

  “No, he hasn’t been in. Not for a few days,” I explain, lying out of my ass. He’s here. Sinthe is with Atticus, probably sitting in his office.

  “What about Silas Esparza?” he questions, his eyes turning darker, and it’s not the lighting in the bar, but almost like he believes I’ll break from that. What does he know? I pick up my discarded rag, and start rubbing the counters absently.

  “Nope, sorry. He important or something?” I play dumb, brushing this man off, hoping it comes across as absentminded rather than sketchy.

  He laughs bitterly, his head thrown back, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

  “Better question, Leia. Why the fuck are you lying?” he barks, his eyes landing on me. He’s scowling and challenging me to lie more.

  Leia? He can’t recognize me. I’m a nobody. But the way he dissects me with his stare, I’m sure he’s keeping a lot more under that jacket of his and is asking me questions to trap me.

  “Not sure what you’re talking about, bud,” I feign ignorance, but my voice shakes by the end. My back is sweating. Though I could brush it off that it’s from the sweltering air, it’s from nerves.

  “Don’t play stupid with me, sweetheart,” he snarks, his lip curling. “Tell me where they are.”

  “Why are you looking for them anyway?” I ignore his demands altogether. Playing coy is better than saying something from being frazzled.

  “That’s for me to know and for you to mind your business.”

  “That’s rich coming from a man asking questions about things that are, in fact, not his business,” I snap, wanting to reach over the counter to smack the smug look on his face.

  “Sounds like you need some help, princess,” I hear Atticus’s strong and sure voice, before spotting him in his normal masked attire. If he’s here, where’s Sinthe?

  Atticus’s always intrigued me. Even with being anonymous, he’s charming and drop dead gorgeous. It’s not even his appearance. It’s his words, his protectiveness, and his eyes that tell every story known to man. They’re his doorway, the definition of beginning and end, and endless in their wisdom.

  He’s part of the Vipers MC, but no one knows what he truly looks like or where he came from. They only know he’s deep and intelligent, and Sinthe takes his advice with merit.

  Since the day he walked into the Den, he’s always wore a mask, his arms and legs are always covered, and no skin ever shows. He’s a complete mystery. His attire wouldn’t be weird if Cape Hill wasn’t the hottest place in the state. It’s Hell’s Doorway, as Sinthe likes to say.

  I smile gratefully at him, thanking the gods for saving me. “He’s looking for Sinthe,” I explain.

  His vibrant, hazel eyes sparkle with a darkness I know too well, one that gets blood first and asks questions later. I’ve heard about this side of Atticus. No one claimed him to be a saint. He’s more like a grim reaper—a stealer of souls—a thief of joy—a keeper of happiness—the goddamn devil.

  “I’ve got this, kitty cat. Go find Pilar, and I’ll show…” He bends his head dangerously close to the man. “What’s your name?”

  “Roa,” he grunts.

  I knew his name wasn’t Sal.

  “I’m going to show Roa here where nosy people go. I’ll check in with you later.”

  I nod and run for Pilar.

  Venom called me in, asking me to head to the clubhouse. It’s something serious. He hasn’t used a voice like that since he caught me with my hands up Leia’s skirt last month. The way his eyes plotted my death was similar to the way his voice sounded not even five minutes ago. I lock up our shop, setting the alarm, and then ride out to the Den.

  The iridescent night welcomes me, the stars swallowing the sky like a meteor explosion suspended in space. It’s beautiful. There are no clouds, pollution, or dust for once. It’s just peaceful blackness that makes me feel at peace.

  Cape Hill isn’t exactly what one would call the best place to live, but on nights like these, just shy of winter when the heat finally breaks to a crisp coolness, it’s the best place.

  It’s home.

  When I make it to the clubhouse, I’m on high alert. There are loads of bikers here, more than the normal amount in the middle of the week. People line the warehouse. Deaftone, Atticus and Skinner stand nearest to the opening. I make my way there, hoping that the little ASL Leia has attempted to teach me is enough to not be embarrassing.

  Making what I hope is a “V,” I cross my wrists and tap them together twice. I try to recall Leia’s name sign for Venom but get lost thinking about when she showed me. She had been naked, and her crossing her wrists made her tits push together. No wonder I’m unable to really recall much.

  He starts gesturing with his hands, and my eyes fly all over the place, trying to decipher his signs. Next to him, Skinner and Atticus cackle, enjoying that I haven’t a fucking clue what he’s saying.

  I flip them off, and when I glance at Deaftone, he has his silent laugh and then smacks my shoulder.

  “By the way,” Atticus muses, “he said that you’re a gullible little shit.”

  I roll my eyes, wondering how I’ve found men who give me more shit than my football team back in high school.

  With that thought, he comes to my mind. Brady.

  His brown hair, the boyish grin with the dimple… his chest, the way I licked up it, teasing his nipples… I close my eyes, remembering the guy I refused to think about for the last six months. My cock thickens in my jeans, making a sordid ache I’ve scrubbed my mind clear of, one I nearly forgot starts to surface.

  When Deaftone smacks the back of my head, I erase Brady from my memories again. That’s where he’ll stay, the back of my mind, the chasm locked with an un-brandished key. Forever.

  Deaftone points to the warehouse, and I follow his lead. He doesn’t attempt to conversate with me, and I don’t even try to pretend I know how I would communicate anyway. When we get to the main area inside the building, I notice a large man chained to a metal beam. My throat swells, thickening, making it impossible to swallow back the heavy saliva in my mouth. The man’s hands are hanging from a higher crossbar, and he almost depicts a Christ sculpture. His face is matted with his curly dark brown hair and blood, sticking all around his chiseled jaw. Silver dusts his temples, and if I were a more secure man, I’d call him attractive.

  Yet, this isn’t the time or the place, and I’m not a secure man.

  Before I can take a step toward him to see if he’s alive, Venom’s whistling sharply. I freeze mid-stride, wondering if he could somehow see my temptation to check on the man.

  “Tonight, is your initiation, Braxton,” he vocalizes like he’s on the steps of an arena, and I’m way in the back of the theater. “It’s your test. To prove if you’re truly a Viper.”

  For a moment, my vision blurs, like I haven’t taken in enough oxygen, and it’s nearly depleted from my body. When I go to swallow, I can’t. The dryness and inability to remember how makes it impossible.

  Instead of cowering and being weak like Darryl always accused of me, I stand taller. Straightening my spine, I crack my neck and roll my shoulders back.

  “I’m ready,” I assure. And I am. “I was fucking born ready.”

  A smile encompasses his face as he brings me into a hug. “Then, let’s begin.”

  For the first time, I realize the acrid scent of booze, piss, and metal wafts in the air, infiltrating my senses. I’m not sure what it is about those three smells, but they put me on edge. My hackles rise with every breath, but Venom doesn’t seem affected. He meanders closer to the man. As he reaches him, he lifts the man’s head by his lion mane of hair.

  A grunt escapes, and my eyes connec
t with familiar green eyes. Tangaroa. My gut clenches uncomfortably, making the nauseating smell of metal and blood swim viciously through my system. It can’t be him.

  I try to avoid his lazy but dissecting stare and his blazing eyes that remind me so much of his son. Or rather stepson. Brady. Though they are related by blood, Brady isn’t his even if he treats Brady like he is.

  “Stop,” I command gruffly, throwing a hand up in signal. My emotions are getting the better of me. My connections to the boy who stole a sliver of me are causing me to fuck up my chance to be a part of something larger.

  A dark chuckle escapes Venom, and it has my spine stiffer than a solid wood table leg. It’s almost inhuman. Animalistic. Depraved. Diabolical.

  “Excuse me?” Venom asks.

  He drops Roa’s hair, letting his head fall forward harshly. Blood escapes his mouth, a drizzling carmine like wet paint on a white canvas splashes against the cement ground. Even if it’s not possible, the cynical scent of death wafts, swirling around my senses like a tightrope.

  “He’s innocent,” I offer, not knowing why he’s in here, not understanding how a man like Roa could possibly be tied up in this. He’s kind. He’s upstanding. He’s… normal.

  “Kid.” Venom places his palm behind his neck, rubbing, almost flabbergasted. “No one in this town is good, least of all this man.” He gestures to Roa before his boots make a loud tapping on the floor straight in my direction. The confidence in Venom’s stare reminds me that I’m on his turf. It’s his terms, his call.

  “What’d he do?” I ask, disinterestedly, trying to play it cool when I’m anything but.

  “Better question, kid. Who is he to you?” Venom stops a foot away, aiming a pistol at my jaw. In the smallest of moments of distraction, I didn’t even see him grab it.

  I close my eyes, knowing I can’t lie. Not about this. Especially if it’ll be what saves his life. Saves us both.

  “He’s my best friend’s dad,” I grit. Although most of that sentence is incorrect, it’s as true as it gets. It’s all I’ll offer. If it saves him, if it protects Brady… I’ll do any-fucking-thing.