Page 29 of O'Mega's Revenge
“She said we should apologize to you and Wolf.” Her hand flapped in a circle, and she made a face when she said Wolf’s name.
“I don’t think you want to say anything. I think you’re being asked to say something you don’t feel.”
Her fork landed on the plate with a clatter. She pushed it to the middle of the table.
“You’re right. Again. I don’t want to say I’m…”
“You can’t even say it.”Jesus.
“What you said.” She picked up her coffee mug again.
I stared out the big windows to the night beyond. Traffic was beginning to perk up as farmers and early workers got about their day. The hours I’d been awake caught up with me, and I wished more than anything that I could just hop on my bike, go home, and sleep. But I knew I would toss and turn all day long. Maybe not sleep at all. My home wasn’t my home anymore. The feeling of safety I thought I had was stripped away because of some stupid ritual of solidarity.
Going back to Pennsylvania to find Wolf wasn’t an option, either. I’d walked away. Tossed aside years of intimacy because I was too wounded to forgive. That was on me.
The whispers of doubt that swirled in the dark recesses of my brain made me look down at the sketch under my hand. The Destroyers were involved with my kidnapping. Peripherally, but involved. The circles had overlapped again, and I didn’t trust it.
“I’m sorry.” Missile spoke quickly as if ripping off a Band-Aid and braced for pain.
“For?”
“For fucking with your boyfriend.”
The waitress who filled Missile’s coffee, lifted an eyebrow, overhearing her admission. She shook her head.
I decided to play with that. “How can I forgive you? You know how much that hurts.”
She glanced at the stranger in our mix and gave me a bug-eyed scowl.
“You cut me deep.” I sipped on my tea.
“I didn’t mean to!” Missile held her hands in the air.
“You come in here and half-ass apologize, and then say you didn’t mean it? Fuck you. Apology not accepted.”
“Tits,” Missile started to protest.
“You broke the woman code. She shouldn’t forgive that.” The waitress cleaned up some of the mess from the table and huffed off.
“I fucking walked right into that. You bitch,” Missile hissed.
I started giggling. If you can’t fuck with a sister, who can you fuck with?
Chapter Seven
Along time ago, some biker had club business on a Sunday. Since no one was supposed to know, I’m sure he lied and said he was going to “church.”
The lie stuck. Decades, maybe even a century later it didn’t matter if it was Sunday or not, bikers held church. A sacred meeting where brothers decided the next historic change as one unit. Skilletsville gathered for a vote to make me vice president. Until that vote concluded, there was always the chance fortune wouldn’t favor me.
Nonno pulled Jackson aside right before we shut the doors for the vote. Since it was putting a hold on my future, I paid attention.
Their heads were close, voices too low to hear the words Nonno spoke into Jackson’s ear. During the one-sided conversation, Jackson looked up and locked eyes with mine. There was no reading his face. No smile, no assurance, no anger, no frustration. Just practiced blankness. That told me there was a problem.
Nonno let him go with a slap to the back.
I let Jackson enter before I shut the door. As I did, I glanced at the room outside. Nonno stared at me. He shook his head. Just a quick movement spelling my doom. In answer, I shut the door, blocking him out.
Jackson shifted to his affable self. He worked the room as he took the seat of power at the far end of the table. I mirrored his work but didn’t make him wait. We took our seats almost in sync. The rest of the club followed suit, and the friendly banter quieted down. He pounded on the table with his fist to start the meeting.
