Page 10 of The Vow

“Colt,” he answered brusquely.

“Carmelo, brother, tomorrow, you are needed.”

He sighed. “Tomorrow is my medal ceremony, in Sacramento-”

“What time?”

“11am.”

“Perfect, we are meeting Mayor Harris, Sacramento Grand Hotel, 1pm.”

“I’m not sure I can-”

“Yeah, it’s not really a request, brother.” Colt’s voice came matter of factly down the line before he hung up.

Carmelo lowered the phone from his ear, and slipped it into his jeans pocket, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the bathroom basin. He was naked, his chest rising and falling. He took a long hard look in the mirror, wincing at himself in the harsh light. He wasn’t sure he liked what he saw, but he saw himself, and he knew he was all he had.

And frankly, the call from Colt provided Carmelo with an excellent excuse for a swift exit that night.

It had been still fucking pitch black in her bedroom but he’d rather risk bumping into the fucking wall or stubbing his toe than another conversation about whether the light should be on or not. He tripped over his jeans on the way, but scooped them up and shrugged them on. He knew instantly what he had to do. He felt that sinking, sick feeling in his belly. He felt alone. He felt unsatisfied, ashamed, confused. Was he asking for too much? Was something wrong with him? He just wanted a good fuck, a good woman who could give him a good fuck. But that Italian girl out there wasn’t that woman. It didn’t feel right. Christ, he felt like a monster.

He ran a hand through his short, cropped hair, ensured his jeans were buttoned up, and cleared his throat. “Baby? I’m sorry but we gotta talk…”

Carmelo

“Hey, golden boy,” came the voice behind him.

Carmelo had just stepped into the lobby of the fancy hotel he’d been summoned to. It was all gold and marble, white leather seating that looked trendy but not comfortable. Some sweet, heavy smell pervaded the air.

“Er…” Carmelo whirled around to find himself face to face with Blue himself. Former President of the Black Coyotes MC, and head of the local Organized Gangs division of the FBI. Yes, that’s how Carmelo had earned his medal in the first place, coordinating between the FBI and the Black Coyotes MC. As the representative of the town’s local law enforcement, it was up to him to broker the peace sometimes between the notorious motorcycle club, who counted local gangs as their business partners, and the FBI who had basically signed the MC up to act as informants and undercover agents.

It wasn’t an easy line to walk, and Blue was not an easy character to talk to. The older man eyed Carmelo like an airport scanning device. Carmelo took in Blue’s pierced ear, his long, gray hair, his pot belly and his leather jacket. The tattoos and the big boots, and of course, his signature ice blue eyes. Carmelo tried not to gulp.

“Good afternoon, Sir,” he said, not knowing what else to say.

Blue snorted and pushed himself up from the wall he’d been leaning against. “Is it?”

“I-”

“I heard ‘golden boy’ got his shiny new golden medal today.” Blue nodded to the new award gleaming on Carmelo’s chest.

“Yes, I-”

“They’ve featured you in the local paper, did you know that?”

Carmelo couldn’t stop the flush from spreading. “I, er… heard that they were going to list it, yes-”

“Made the front page, pig,” Blue joked, tapping the rolled up paper that was shoved into one of the leather jacket’s pockets.

“Great,” Carmelo replied through gritted teeth, glancing at the paper. “So, who else are we meeting?”

Blue raised an eyebrow and smirked, but didn’t say anything.

Colt came bursting through into the lobby, bringing a gust of outside air with him, his helmet in his hand and full leathers on. He’d clearly just hopped off his bike.

“How nice of you to join us,” Blue jibed.

Colt ignored the comment and tone of Blue’s snide remark.

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