Page 37 of Savior

If Mikey was using again, it meant there was no one to protect Lauren. I wondered if Bear was keeping an eye on my family, or if the rumors were true and he’d only ever been concerned with ruling.

“She’s pregnant,” Cobra carefully answered. “For now. How long it’ll last remains to be seen. She tends to search for danger, poking her nose where it doesn’t belong. It seems she’s even convinced your youngest to help.”

They were going to go after the Sons without the club backing them.

My heart beat unsteadily against my chest. There was only one person who knew the exact danger they were in and could warn them. Unfortunately, the Sons’ actions against her parents had all but guaranteed that Celia wouldn’t stop the girls.

If anything, she was going to join them.

Chapter Eight

Mike

“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

I looked around at the large group, loudly reciting the serenity prayer at entirely different paces like grade-schoolers who’d memorized the Preamble to the United States Constitution. A few even nodded after each word.

The coffee in my hand tasted like sludge, and I still wasn’t sure how I’d let the old man talk me into coming. It was clear that these people had real problems, not like me.

I’d made a mistake, one that had cost me everything I loved, but I wasn’t as bad as they were.

“Am I gonna have to get up and recite some bullshit about being an alcoholic and drug addict?” I leaned over to whisper to Angel.

He shook his head. “That ain’t a requirement, kid.”

A woman stood up and began reading from a pamphlet in a monotone, and I lost interest again, letting my eyes wander over the filled seats. One man, who couldn’t have been much older than twenty, picked obsessively at his fingernails while staring longingly at the door. Another woman bounced her legs up and down against the carpet, her exposed skin riddled with meth scars.

A man in a suit, not much older than me, sat in the middle of the semi-circle of chairs. He waited until the woman finished speaking before standing up and introducing himself. It was clear that almost every person belonged here, except him.

I found myself wondering if he was a member of the clergy who’d been unlucky enough to have gotten roped into leading a 12-step meeting in the fellowship hall.

“I’ve got fifty dollars that says he was forced to be here,” I whispered, earning myself a sharp look from Angel.

“Everybody here’s addicted to somethin’. If you’d sit back and keep your damn mouth shut, you might learn somethin’.”

“Are there any first-timers here tonight who’d like to introduce themselves by their first name?” The man asked.

I slid down in my chair and chugged the shitty coffee, reverting back to the scared eleven-year-old kid who hoped no one noticed him.

I tried to do what Angel had asked, but with every sob story, I found myself bored to tears and fighting the urge to nod off. It was a twisted show and tell of who had it worse.

They were either pressured into using by a boyfriend or had fallen into it as a way of rebelling against their parents. Not a single one had gotten their girlfriend’s mom killed or found out that their dad had faked his death for the second time.

If Angel had dragged my ass here hoping I’d relate to their stories, he was failing miserably.

I snuck a quick glance down at my watch, praying they were getting close to wrapping up. I didn’t know how much more of it I’d be able to take before I jumped up and told them all to go fuck themselves.

When Angel stood, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Thank fuck.

He was going to get us the hell out of here.

I leaned over and placed the mostly full cup of coffee under my chair. As I straightened, it became apparent that Angel wasn’t moving toward the door but preparing to speak.

“Hello, I’m Charlie, and I’m an alcoholic.”

There was a low murmur of, “Hello, Charlie,” from around the room.

---