Chapter Thirty-three
Eagle
The house is too quiet. I scramble out of bed when I realize Angel isn’t lying next to me. I stagger to the chair and grab my boxers and put them on. I rub the sleep from my eyes, still a little foggy from all the drinks I had last night.
“Angel?” I call, wandering into the hallway. I stop in the bathroom to take a piss, wash my hands and face, and run my hand over my hair before I continue to the kitchen.
I smell fresh coffee and grab a mug from the cabinet and pour a cup for myself. After I take a couple sips, I go to the front door and open it, hoping to find my wife sitting on the porch. It’s become one of her favorite spots. As I stare out into the expanse of the front yard, a couple birds fly by, playing in the trees that ring the property. She’s not here.
Maybe by the river?
I trudge back to the bedroom and get dressed, then make my way outside, wishing she’d stayed in bed so we could make love again. I can’t seem to get enough of her. The initial disappointment and anger I felt after I found out who she really was has turned into desperation. A driving force that makes me unwilling to let her get too far out of reach. I need to know where she is at all times. I need to know she’s safe. Happy. Here with me.
I check all the places I guess she might be, but no luck in finding her. That’s when I rush to the garage and find the truck missing. I smile, remembering I told her to feel free to drive into town if she wanted to do some exploring. Shreveport is the one place where I know she’s safe. The Iron Norsemen have kept a low profile even though we’re opening another chapter here soon. I’ve made some solid contacts through buying supplies to fix up the cabin and property after I purchased it from my father. Yeah, the people in town know I’m the president of the MC, but no one has questioned me.
Deciding to surprise my wife in town, I lock the house and climb on my bike, looking forward to a quick ride. I know where she probably went. Though there’s a couple hundred thousand people in Shreveport, it has that small-town feel. The shopping district is just the sort of place she’d go. Whether she knows it or not, Angel has already started nesting.
The joy of knowing she has a home now and the chance to start her own family has transformed her into the woman I always knew she’d become if given a chance. I’m happier than I ever thought I could be.
I find a parking space on the side of the road and shove a couple quarters in the meter. My cell vibrates and I fish it out of my vest pocket.
“Hello?”
“Good afternoon,” a woman says. “Is this Serafina Scala’s phone?”
“I’m her husband.”
“I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Scala . . .”
“Laramie,” I correct her.
“Pardon me,” she continues. “Your wife visited my shop two hours ago and purchased a vase. She seemed quite excited with the piece. A pedestrian found her bag down the street from my shop and returned the item. I’m not sure what happened, Mr. Laramie, but if you’d like to stop by and pick it up . . .”
Jesus Christ.Every hair on my body stands on end. “How did you get this number?”
“Your wife signed up to receive my biannual catalog.”
“Where’s your shop located?”
She gives me the address and I disconnect, running the couple of blocks to the store.
I step inside and the woman behind the counter seems to recognize me without needing to confirm my identity. “My name is Lori,” she says, sliding a medium-sized plastic bag my way. “Have you reached your wife yet?”
“No,” I growl, fear and rage growing inside me. “Was she with anyone when she came here?”
Lori eyes my cut, her gaze lingering on my patches. “No.”
“Did she seem distraught?”
“Just the opposite—happy and really interested in my work.”
“Fuck . . .”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asks.
“Take care of her package for a while,” I say as I leave the store, convinced Angel’s life is in danger.
I curse myself a hundred times on the way back to my bike, knowing how foolish I was to suggest Angel explore Shreveport without an escort. I dial Tonsils as I start my bike.
