“Michael,” I said, trying not to make it obvious that I was watching them. “Who the hell are those people?”
“Let me guess,” he said. “Are they looking at me pissed off? Are they wearing black and gold jackets?”
I nodded. I knew the answer already.
“They’re Fallen Saints,” he said. “A rival club of ours. They don’t like us, but in general, we try and keep our distance.”
Except for when some of you get rushed to the hospital because of some sort of shootout. Let’s not pretend that wasn’t recent.
“This place is like the one place in town where we can share the same space and respect each other,” Michael continued. “However, outside of this place, they tend to be rabble-rousers. They cause problems. They make life hell on us. And that’s why having you in the club is so important.”
Here we go. Right when I have to face the killers of my sister, you bring this shit up.
At that moment, the two men rose. I motioned for Michael to not say anything, and instead, I turned my attention to one of the TV screens. Of course, I wasn’t really watching the screen, I was watching the two men.
Though they scowled at us, they didn’t do anything. They walked out the door, and though Michael watched the door very intently to see if anything would happen, nothing did.
For now, I could have a conversation. But Michael clearly didn’t appreciate or didn’t realize—likely the latter, since I hadn’t shared my sister’s story with him—how much the Fallen Saints affected me.
“Those guys will do everything they can to hurt us,” Michael said. “We have some help on staff now, but it’s not enough. We don’t want to be going to public hospitals whenever someone gets hurt. That leaves us vulnerable. We need someone like you, Kaitlyn.”
But the immediate thought of being surrounded by other bikers, almost all of whom would certainly not have the same morals and ethics that Michael did, was enough of a barrier. I didn’t need more Jasons in my life. Even if the Fallen Saints were more “Jason” than the Black Reapers, the Reapers had their fair share of assholes. I needed to only think of what had happened when LeCharles came to the hospital and tried to bribe me.
“Michael, you’re fun to hang out with, but I cannot help you guys. Not like that. No way.”
“Why?”
“Oh, where to start,” I said, trying to keep my cool. “The ethics of it. The job requires me to only work in my hospital, save for Good Samaritan acts, which this would most certainly not be. The—”
“Is that the real reason, or are you just saying that?”
Was it that obvious that there was something more to it than that? Was it that clear that I was hiding something about my family history with the club?
Even if Michael had only taken a lucky stab in the dark, I felt compelled to explain.
“If you knew my family’s history with bikers,” I said, taking a very long sip of my Yuengling at my pause. “You wouldn’t want to be with me. You certainly wouldn’t have taken me here.”
Michael took a deep breath, and I turned my attention to the TV screen. I fought to avoid the onslaught of memories with Kristina and Jason, but of course, that proved all but impossible. I could not forget her, nor, at least in the big picture, would I ever want to forget her.
But right now, on a night out that had been pleasant so far, I would have liked to have at least put the memory to the side.
“Do you want to elabor—”
“No,” I snapped immediately.
I took a breath.
“Not right now,” I said a little more calmly. “Not... no, not now.”
“You sure?”
“Michael!”
He finally got the point. He shut up, this time leaning back in his seat.
“Those kinds of questions are going to chase me away, and I’ll see you in the same light as the rest of your... group,” I said, fighting not to use a more pejorative term that I’d used with LeCharles. “If you want me to keep chatting with you, then wait. I’ll talk about you when the time is right. We’re nowhere near that time.”
Michael nodded, pursing his lips. I knew he wanted to say something, for he was too easygoing and extroverted a person to not have something to say, but he was wise to finally choose silence.
