“I can tell you miss Vulture. If I could go back in time, I’d do things differently.”
I nod, “It’s just that being here reminds me of when I was a kid. Vulture used to tuck me in at night and tell me stories. They were filled with heroic bikers, evil outsiders, and even rival clubs all trying to take over his territory. In those stories, he outsmarted them at every turn. I can’t stand losing him and everything he spent his lifetime building all in one fell swoop.”
Mica puts his arm around me and whispers, “I promise you that we won’t let his legacy die.”
And just for a second, I believe him. The moment gets interrupted by a loud female voice.
“Well where is she? Don’t tell me you left her standing in the parking lot, Mica, because I will not be happy.”
Mica raises his voice just enough to carry, “She’s at the table, Ma. Calm down. You didn’t raise the kind of man to leave his old lady outside.”
I respond with a joke, “He tried to, but the smell of bacon and coffee was too enticing for me to allow him to leave me behind.”
Several people laugh. Mica is not one of them.
His mother cackles, and it’s such a delightfully refreshing sound that I forget how much I dislike everything to do with the Sons of Rage. Truth be told, Mica’s mother is not what I expected. She’s bold, confident, and has personality plus. She’s also absolutely gorgeous, with blue eyes and long blonde hair. She’s wearing a T-shirt with a crown that says ex-club queen on it. Her expression is warm and welcoming as she strides across the room straight towards me.
“You must be Nova. I’ve been eager to meet you.” She quickly pulls out the chair beside me and sits down in it. “I’m Queenie,” she says.
“I figured you were.” I hold out my hand and add, “I’m happy to meet you.”
She gives my hand a quick shake and leans in conspiratorially, lowering her voice. “You don’t have to do that. You know, be all polite and stuff. I already know about the arrangement. What I want to know is how are you holding up?” she asks. “And I really mean it, not as small talk.”
The question catches me off guard because this woman is being genuine. I can tell the difference between that and being fake.
“It’s been rough, but I’m managing,” I tell her because honesty deserves the same in return.
“Of course you are,” she says. “You’re Vulture’s granddaughter. He raised you to be strong and persevere. He was a good man,” she says quietly. “Rock respected him and so did I.”
Before I can stop myself, I say, “I’m surprised to hear you say that because Mica said he trafficked women.”
Queenie snorts a laugh. “That’s crazy talk. Where did you get that idea, Mica?”
“I heard him and Dog calculating how much they could earn from trafficking a woman at an auction.”
“I don’t believe that, not for a second,” Queenie states flatly.
“It’s bullshit.” We glance up to find Rock standing on the other side of the table with a plate in each hand. He sighs, “I think Vulture cultivated a certain persona, one he thought would keep the wolves from his door. His VP was an ass, but I know if he tried any shady shit then Vulture would have put him in the ground.”
“Thank you,” I say, and my voice is more emotional than I intended. “That’s been on my mind a lot over the last few days.”
My mind is a jumbled mess. I hate this club, I truly do. But the people seem nice. How can that be?
Queenie puts her hand over mine on the table and gives it a tiny, reassuring squeeze. She leans forward and shoots Mica a stern look.
“You and I are gonna talk about this later.”
Then she picks up her coffee and takes a sip before asking,
“So,” she says. “Tell me about the trucking company. Mica says you’ve been running it since Vulture passed.”
“Yes. I’ve worked there since high school, but I’ve been pulling full-time hours the last three months,” I tell her.
“Well, you’re one of us now. If you need anything at all, you just speak up. This family pulls together during adversity. We won’t let you down.”
Breakfast continues pretty much like that, with Queenie holding court and everyone deferring to her. She’s amazing, talkative, gregarious, and has an amazing personality. I can’t fault her for anything. She even makes plans for us to meet up to go wedding dress shopping and I almost feel like I’m really going to be her daughter-in-law—until I remember it’s all for show. When we are finished eating, we say our goodbyes and take our leave.
I walk out the front door, into the crisp morning air, and take a deep, cleansing breath.
