Chapter Twenty-four
Serafina
I don’t know how long it’s been since Eagle left, or how long I’ve been lying on the floor. The Eagles are still playing on my iPod and I’ve lost count of how many times “Desperado” came on. I’m drenched in Caleb’s scent, the evidence of our sexual encounter still sticky between my legs. When he announced hecouldn’t do this right nowand walked out on me, I rolled into a little ball and gave up.
I love him. Somehow, Eagle needs to understand that I left to protect him. My brothers wanted me to marry Derelict. His father was a member of the Dead Dogs, a wealthy asshole who bankrolled a lot of the club’s activities. It would have been the perfect union, a way to guarantee that the money stayed in the charter.
I dry heave and then cough. Derelict had those psychotic Manson eyes. And a habit of killing things. I escaped that future through my love for Eagle.
Finding the strength to finally get up, I end up in the kitchen guzzling water. It’s five o’clock in the morning. I’ve been in a trance on that floor for at least nine hours. Good Lord. My world just imploded and I’m not even sure what to do. Where to go. Who to talk to. If I can stay here. Will Eagle ever speak to me again? I know he would never reveal my true identity; I trust him implicitly. But there’s a question of retaliation. Even Caleb has limits. And I don’t want to be his enemy. I’ve seen what happens to people he hates.
With my couple thousand dollars in savings, I might have enough money to start over somewhere else. Maybe Boston or Seattle. Far away from the south, far away from Eagle.
Then I consider Asia. How would she feel if I just disappeared? She’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a sister. Always willing to listen, endlessly offering to make me an official member of her family. She has my back. I find my cell on the dining room table and dial her number. I know it’s early in the morning, but she deserves to know the truth. My confession will remove half of the weight I’ve been carrying around on my weary shoulders for the last six years.
Misery doesn’t love company; she just wants to share her burden.
Asia picks up on the second ring. “’Fina?”
“I’m sorry to call so early.”
“Don’t apologize. Are you okay?”
“We need to talk.”
“Now?”
“Please . . .”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” She disconnects.
I have coffee ready by the time she arrives. She walks in wearing her pajamas and slippers, hair in a messy bun.
“Did that biker break your heart?” she asks.
“I broke his.”
She accepts the steaming mug and follows me into the living room. “How’d you manage that?” She sits on the edge of the sofa, watching me pace.
Where do I start? How do I explain the lie I’ve been living? “My real name isn’t Serafina Scala.”
“Wait!” she says and takes a sip of coffee. “Are you a Russian operative? Because I could get into the Bond thing.”
Asia never fails to make me laugh. “Nothing that exciting, no espionage. I’m not Russian, just a boring Italian girl who borrowed her great-grandmother’s name to survive.” I explain everything in detail.
When I finally finish, she’s silent, gripping that mug so tight I’m afraid it’s going to burst.
“Fuck,” she says, blinking her eyes rapidly. “You’re biker royalty?”
“Don’t romanticize it, Asia. I’m in hiding.”
“No. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just. Wow. I’m completely blown away. How did a sixteen-year-old girl manage to give the Dead Dogs the slip?”
“I had help. From one of the best in the business. I think he was in love with me.”
“You mean a professional cleaner?”
“You watch too many movies.”
