Page 7 of Property of Azrael

I laugh as she disconnects the call. If there’s one thing about Eden, it’s that she’s the life of the party. For someone who manages a lab at one of the largest pharmaceutical companies, she’s far from the quiet and contemplative nerd that you see portrayed on television. If her pink hair doesn’t scream extrovert, I’m not sure what does.

I focus on the drive ahead of me, and let the miles pass by slowly after coming out of the highlands and into the lowlands of the southern part of Arkansas. I lose myself in the theatric audiobook I downloaded before I left until a sputtering noise jars me from the fictional world I had immersed myself in.

“Please tell me those are sound effects from my book. Please. Please. Please,” I mutter to myself as my dashboard lights up like the Fourth of July. Groaning, I carefully maneuver myself over to the side of the highway and park. I no sooner get stopped when the engine thunks and creaks loudly before going quiet.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Not now, Wanda. Please, not now,” I beg as I turn the ignition. The engine clicks once. Twice. Nothing. Not even a sputter. Crap! My head hits the steering wheel, causing the horn to beep. I try again. This time, the engine ignition is silent. No clicking noise of hope that Wanda will start again. I try it one last time before I give up. Wanda is dead in the water, and I’m in the middle of freaking nowhere Arkansas.

Of course, Wanda would decide that this is the place it wants to go to car heaven, taking my dreams of making Motorcycles, Mobsters, and Mayhem with her.

AZRAEL

Fuck,it feels great to be back on the open road again. The air wraps around my body like a lover’s embrace, warm and familiar. It’s been way too long since we got away like this as a club. The ride through Indiana, Kentucky, and Tennessee has been smooth. Though traffic was a bit of a bitch outside of Memphis, I rightly didn’t care that it had put us behind schedule. This trip isn’t about racing to the finish line in Tampico, but enjoying the ride as a club, which includes enjoying the sites, like the mom-and-pop roadside restaurant we’ve been parked at for the last hour, filling our bikes up and our bellies with a decent greasy spoon barbecue.

“This shit is awesome,” Fox mumbles around a mouthful of food. “Do you think it’s Carolina or KC sauce?” He shoves the fork of meat into Van’s face, who backs away from it.

“How the fuck would I know, Bobby Flay?” Van fires back at him. “If it’s edible, I eat it. I don’t need to know the specifics of what they did to make it that way.”

“Explains the last few girls he’s had hanging around,” Fox mutters under his breath, not even trying to hide it. He shoves another bite of the meat into his mouth, ignoring the sauce as it dribbles down his chin. “Seriously, though. Is there a website where you can find those kinds of girls?”

“Go fuck yourself, Fox,” Van growls.

“Sorry, sweetheart. The only thing I’m fucking this week is a hot Latina or a soccer mom on a girl’s weekend.”

“That’s oddly specific,” Ash mentions with an arched brow. “I figured you’d just go after anything that wouldn’t shake you off.”

Fox smiles before licking his fingers clean, then dives back into the second plate of pulled chicken he’d ordered.

“Chew, asshole, before you choke,” Orion sneers. “You don’t have to eat it like it’s your last meal. I’m pretty sure if you flash the server a smile, she’ll set you up with a doggie bag on the house.”

“Hey, there you go. You don’t even have to go to Mexico for your soccer mom.”

Fox’s eyes narrow. “I highly doubt she’s a soccer mom.”

The aging waitress has to be on the other side of sixty. Her gray hair is pulled back into one of those grandmas top knots. Her gingham apron and server uniform have seen much better days. If I had to guess, she’s worked here for quite a while.

“She’d do more than that,” I drawl, smirking. “Bet she gives the best granny gum jobs on this side of the Mississippi.”

Fox chokes on his food, his wide eyes tearing away from his plate to the server fast approaching our table.

“Really, Az?” my brother chides me from across the table. “She’s an old lady.”

My brother, the voice of reason for us all. Despite us being the same age, Asher is an old soul. He’s always been the quieter one out of the group. When I went out with friends to kayak or hike, Asher stayed home to read or study. Something that didn’t change, even in college. If you asked him what I majored in, he’d tell you it was drinking one-oh-one. It wasn’t until Kennedy that he started coming to party with us. She brought out a side in him I didn’t know existed. A side that I haven’t seen since she was taken from us.

“Hey, now. Fox may be into old ladies.”

“The fuck I am,” he immediately fires back.

“Can’t say that if you haven’t tried it, asshole.”

“And you have?”

“Fuck no.” I laugh. Though if this dry spell I’ve been having continues, I may reconsider my stance on that. Between the company and the club, chasing skirts has been the last thing on my mind. The clubs who hang around the club aren’t my speed, and bringing some new around is, well, impossible right now. Not with the shit we’ve been dealing with lately. Too hard to trust an outsider being around our clubhouse. You never know what they’d overhear.

“Don’t look now, Fox,” Van hums, “but your new old ol’ lady is headed this way.” Fox tries to shift in his seat, but Van doesn’t budge. “She could be your true love, and look at you, trying to run away like a little bitch.”

“Fuck off, asshole.”

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