Angel Read online

  The Black Sentinels were a good MC. Strange to think like that, but they really were a brotherhood. Most of them had served together in the military and were still searching for that same brotherhood. Chopper, it seemed, was a bad egg, but still, I didn’t know all their business. They owned one of the most successful vintage car garages in the state as well as a few other bars in town. They were mostly old guys who I considered a family, with a smattering of younger, newer recruits who were into classic muscle cars in a serious way.

  This was where I had picked up my love of all things mechanical. I’d spent the rest of that first summer in the garage, sticking my skinny ass under hoods or ramps, looking at dirty engine parts and listening to the guys talking about cars like they were women—love objects. It was a dark day when JP and Vix enrolled me in school. I’d coasted through, though, doing enough to get by so I could head straight home and get a couple of hours in at the garage.

  The prospects put up with me because they had no choice. I was the prez’s angel, so I took advantage and made them teach me all kinds of stuff. It wasn’t like I had hordes of friends to hang around with or dates lining up to take me out. I’d gone from being a kid in a trailer park whose hygiene status was definitely questionable, to a biker’s daughter. I was still the most avoided kid in the yard.

  When I graduated from school, I made the decision that I was going to work in the garage full time. In my head, I had it all planned out, but what I didn’t factor in was that my dad would vehemently put his foot down. ‘No way in fucking hell is my angel gonna be a grease monkey.’ We came to an agreement in the end. I’d find a proper job, one fit for a girl, and still be allowed to ‘tinker’ with the motors, but it wasn’t open to me as a career option.

  It seemed, at thirty-years old, I still operated on the same routine. Go to my dull as shit day job and then race home to be in the garage with the Sentinels.

  Dad hated that. I think he was hoping I’d become a lady and fall out of love with the MC lifestyle, but that just didn’t happen. I’d never had a family before, one that cared about me, one that would die for me, and it pissed me off that I wasn’t allowed to be fully involved just because I didn’t have a dick swinging between my legs.

  My office job was completely boring. I was a PA for a business entrepreneur, who just seemed to borrow money from the bank that he didn’t intend to pay back, to buy shit he didn’t need and then spent a lot of time at lunch, or as he called it, ‘networking’. I’d have killed him five years ago if hadn’t been for the fact that I actually liked him. Davis Peters was smooth, my age, and self-made. He was also a complete man whore. I spent a lot of my time when I wasn’t typing or booking shit appointments, fending off his various women who had no idea they were not ‘the one’ in his life. I think we got on because I was a friend, an employee, and I’d made it clear it was never going to happen. The one life lesson I’d had drilled into me was that you do not shit where you live. Sleeping with my boss would be a disaster for me, and a conquest for him. He had an over active dick and I was more than an attractive challenge he couldn’t best that kept him on his toes.

  On my way to the job interview, I pulled up at a set of lights in my baby—that’s what I called my 1972, baby blue Corvette—and happened to glance to the side of me. The guy next to me was in some hyped up Bentley Continental GT convertible and was desperately trying to catch my eye. A lot of guys did that when they saw me. I was pretty, had a serious rack and long, wavy brown hair. It fell down my back and shoulders in natural curls, and Mom was convinced that the motor oil I inhaled every day was the secret reason it always looked salon groomed. Mom, dad and the guys gave me my baby when I turned seventeen and got my license. Anyway, this douche was so busy staring at me I floored it at the lights and left his ass behind. He then proceeded to shout at me as he had his roof down. He followed me all the way to the parking lot of Davis Holdings. “That’s a beautiful car. It matches your eyes.” Lame line.

  “I know.” I continued to ignore him as I checked my lipstick and hair in the mirror before getting out. His eyes were out on stalks when I climbed out of the car. It was always the same. Men were such fickle creatures. Tits and ass were the downfall of so many. “Why are you following me? After some driving tips?” I smirked as he raced to open the door to the main reception.

  “I could ask you the same question.”

  It didn’t take long for us to figure out that he was the one due to interview me, and there was this friendly connection built between us through my great car, his great car and the fact that I could actually detail what was going on under the hood of both. I was a change from the stereotype and that worked for him.

  Our house was on a massive plot of land next to the garage. Since I was a teen, I’d been racing across the big field separating the two as soon as I heard an engine rev, just to get inside the garage. The reverse trip was no less familiar, although today I was waddling like a penguin in a stupid ass tight skirt and bare feet, with my heels swinging from my fingers. If my life could get any sadder it was that I still lived at home at the age of thirty. I couldn’t complain that there were no men in my life. There were lots—the Sentinel brothers—but no special someone. When you were surrounded by the male species all the time, you knew what you wanted from a significant other and I hadn’t met someone with those qualities, only lots with check list items missing. Of course, my dad letting any get near me would also be a miracle because no one was good enough for his angel.

  I raced through the back door and up to my room, discarded the now oil damaged blouse, and grabbed for one of the many pairs of shorts and a t-shirt from where they were strewn across my bedroom floor. Racing to wash my hands with my secret stash of Swarfega, I knew dad would be home any minute. By the time I got to the kitchen, Mom was serving up our dinner. She’d also got used to working around the sound of his bike pipes. When I plonked myself in a dining room chair, she was shaking her head at me. “He don’t mind you working in there at the weekends, but you need to stop distracting Throttle during the week.”

  Throttle was the newest prospect for the club and was my age, we hit it off immediately. I found him ridiculously hot, so it was no hardship spending time with him. Of course, I was untouchable as the Prez’s daughter, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t get a kick out of making Throttle feel the heat from an attraction he couldn’t respond to. He wanted me as much as I wanted him.

  “Throttle don’t mind.”

  “Throttle don’t mind what?” I heard Dad rumble from the kitchen doorway. He was a huge guy, like a big bearded cuddly bear and there was something so honorable about him that I often felt guilty in his presence. He was giving me a life in return for something I didn’t do. I still had nightmares about them finding out the truth of my real part in Chopper’s death and it almost crippled me. There was so much more to lose now. “I thought we agreed you’d stay outta the garage in the week.”

  “I am,” I lied, not looking at him as the words tumbled out.

  “So, you didn’t leave this there then?” Looking up, he had the smile of a cynic on his face as he dangled my purse from his huge hands.

  “Dammit! Busted.”

  “You’ve got to leave him be. He’s a prospect and you shouldn’t abuse that.”

  “I don’t abuse him… much.” I smiled. Dad looked at me with raised eyebrows and burst out laughing as mom took his dinner from the oven and placed it in front of him.

  “He needs to work. Uninterrupted. I need the garage clear. I’ve got six old beat up ‘Stangs coming and we need to clear the decks for them. It’s a big job so I need the space and the men to get on top of it.”

  I stopped eating when he said those words. My jaw dropped open and I think some peas may have fallen from either my mouth or fork as the two didn’t meet in perfect food harmony. “Tell me you’re joking?”

  “Nope.”

  I was wide-eyed with excitement I had no hope of containing. I had to be allowed to work on thes
e cars. I just had to. “I can take a week off work and come help out,” I decided.

  “Nope,” he said again, this time really popping the P. “I don’t want you around the garage when they come in. This is a job for the Carnals and I don’t want them clapping eyes on you, Angel.”

  The Carnals were an MC from the next state over, and from the mumblings I heard in the garage, they were loose with their women, loose with their morals and loose with the law. I’d questioned Mom on this once; just because we were clean, it didn’t mean other MC’s were. Dad had fought hard to keep his club on the straight and narrow. The sentinels were a family who made enough money being the best at what they did under the hoods of cars. They didn’t need to bust the law to earn money. This was not the case for others who were more traditional in the Sons Of Anarchy sense. When the Carnals came around, Vix and I were respectful and attended cook out parties, but other than that we were on strict orders to steer clear.

  “How come you’re doing restos for criminals?”

  Dad choked on his beer at my blunt question. “I’ve checked the cars. They’re legit. The money they’re paying is good money and that’s as far as our dealings go. This is a business transaction. The brothers would kill me if I turned it down just because we walk a different line with the law.”

  I didn’t care, though. Old ‘Stangs were the stuff of dreams for me. If they were turning up at the garage then so was I. I’d just have to do it without getting caught.

  I was being the perfect angel… during daylight hours.

  When the truck full of rust-singed ‘Stangs arrived, I felt it burning deep in my soul. There was this magnetic pull between us and I knew there was no way I could leave this alone. The last time I’d felt this sucked in by emotion was when I’d felt Chopper’s congealing blood clotting at the back of his head and that was a long time ago. It was a feeling I couldn’t explain. Part of me wondered if I was wrong in the head and went willingly along with the bikers that night because what they stood for meant more violence, more death, and more blood, and it didn't scare me like it should. After a while I realized that I went because their sense of loyalty and family was something that no one should ever pass by. For me it was always more than having a warm bed, clean clothes, and a full stomach.

  I kept working for Davis during the day, typing his shit, booking his appointments and business meetings, and generally bitching at him whenever he passed my desk. He didn’t give a shit. He was used to me, and the insults we hurled through the open doorway made the days go quicker. When the time came, I rallied baby blue home and then rushed to help Mom and the other old ladies get the food ready for whatever celebration was taking place in the club house that night. I attended the cook out and that was the night the truck load of marvelous metal arrived. My excitement was palpable and dad sensed it as I rushed with the other Sentinels to go meet it. He knew I’d be like this and it didn’t take him long to shut me down.

  “You know to stay out of this, Angel. Don’t make me put Throttle on your ass to make sure. Babysitting you is not what I pay him to do.”

  I looked over at Throttle who was glaring at me as much as his prospect status would let him. He was like me—desperate to get his hands on them—and my life would be a living hell if I caused him to lose that chance because I was giving him the runaround instead.

  “No bother, Dad. You have to promise me a full run down of the progress at dinner, though.” That seemed to ease his mind, although I knew Throttle wouldn't be convinced as easily.

  It turned out that the Carnals were staying two nights. They were letting their hair down on the night of delivery and the following day, detailing what the requirements were for the six shells. All I had to do was wait until they were in full swing with some beer and a burger, and then I could start my night shift.

  I had it all planned out: tinker around during the twilight hours on the ‘Stangs, catch a few hours of sleep and then head into the office to take my tired, grumpiness out on Davis. It was a win-win for us all.

  By the following night, all the cars had been taken off the truck and the workshop cleared out so that they would all fit, including my Plymouth. That was my first issue. I’d planned to use that car as my excuse if I got caught. This meant I had to up my game and ensure I didn’t.

  I waited the obligatory hour after Dad had come home and then climbed out of my bedroom window. It overlooked a flat veranda, which was perfect for sun bathing, star gazing and escaping undetected. Mom, thanks to her love of flowers, had provided me with a perfect ladder to the ground in the form of a plant trellis. Dressed in demin shorts that would have looked more at home in a bimbo car wash fantasy, a hoodie and black motorcycle boots, I hot footed it across the field to the back of the workshop. The moon guided my way, as it had done many times since I’d come to live here, and I could feel the anticipation ratcheting up the closer I got. My fingers were literally tingling with the thought of what I was about to get my hands on.

  The backdoor was locked, which was unexpected. This was a sign of just how seriously Dad was taking the job. The party in the clubhouse went on without the president of the Black Sentinels. His party days were long past him and locking the workshop up said he didn’t want any unsuspecting drunks to stagger across what was surely going to be a huge pay day. That, or he was doubling up and making sure I understood I wasn’t welcome. My conscience kicked in for about a second, then I got over it, hauled my ass up on the dumpster and popped open the big swinging window in the upstairs office.

  Before I climbed through, I glanced at the adjacent clubhouse and could see there were definitely going to be some guys with sore heads in the morning. The glow of the fire pit illuminated the half-naked girls who were dancing and making out in the open for everyone to see. This was another reason why Dad always came home. What was usual behavior for other clubs wasn’t his way of life. He understood that the younger members needed to let their hair down and party, but he was loyal to his wife, his family life, and preferred her warm body at night, rather than cozying up with some nameless bimbo.

  With careful footsteps, I climbed into the messy office, being cautious not to slide on the paperwork mountain that was in serious need of filing. I froze when my feet finally hit the concrete floor, listening for any activity from the workshop below, but only hearing my own heavy breathing and nervous heartbeat. Making my way down the steel stairs by the light of the moon, I breathed in a deep and anticipatory breath, knowing the beautiful cars were only an arm's length away. I grabbed an inspection light and plugged it in, jumping at the fierce glow it beamed out. As it bounced off the dull, rusted metal, it made me feel so alive I had goosebumps from being so close to them.

  One of the cars was already on a ramp up high. It was an opportunity I’d never get again—to stand under one and see the working contour of the shell. I wandered over and it was magnificent. It was like a map you could follow with ridges in the bodywork that held the parts vital to its operation. The channels that had been grooved out with love and detailed attention were now pitted and bubbled with rust. Hanging the inspection light under the car, I tentatively touched the bodywork, placed my fingers into the grooves, and felt a surge of electricity ripple inside me. Slowly, feeling more connected than ever before, I dragged the very tips from one end of the car to the other and back again, focusing on every bump.

  “Seems you’ve strayed from the party.”

  The voice that broke through my silent concentration made me shriek in surprise.

  “Dammit! Shit, you nearly gave me a heart attack.” I placed a hand over my heart and stamped a booted foot on the ground in frustration.

  “There’s no party in here and the doors are locked. So, how’d you get in?”

  The light from the inspection lamp was only casting a glow on the Mustang and me. The rest of the workshop was in darkness. The voice was the only thing that reminded me I was no longer alone. It was deep and soulful, which seemed to contradict the hint of youth I
also heard.

  When I didn’t answer him, I heard his boots clomp slowly from the far corner of the workshop, getting louder as he progressed towards me.

  “You gonna answer me?” It was a stranger’s voice and I should have been worried that I’d been busted by what was probably a Carnal, but I wasn’t. Dad, however, he was not going to be happy that I’d defied him.

  “Nope.”

  The chuckle I heard made the hairs on the back on my neck prickle, and before long I could only see denim clad legs and boots en route. When he got to the front of the car, I could make out a leather motorcycle jacket before he proceeded to stand there with his legs solid, hip width apart. I’d lowered the ramp to my height, so whereas he got a full view of me on his way over, from his chest upwards was hidden from my sight. I continued to touch and prod parts of the car but was distracted when I heard the leather squeak as he folded his arms. “You shouldn’t mess with things you don’t know about.”

  That confirmed he was a stranger to our club. Every member and close friend knew I could work on a car as well as anyone else, dick or not.

  “Really?” I didn’t bother to hide my sarcasm.

  I took a few steps forward and was stood where the gearbox should have been as I lifted my arms to reach into the vacant hole.

  “That’s where the gearbox should be, but if you wanna handle a stick shift I’m sure I can find you a gearstick to play with. Something I reckon you’ll have no trouble handling.”

  Oh, he was one smooth bastard. Wiping the smile off his face was going to be a pleasure. “Do you have a name?”

  “Wolf.”

  “Is that because you’re a dog?”

  He laughed again, but this time I saw his folded arms move as I stepped back and reached for a screwdriver from a tool trolley. “Just saying, Wolf, you stick your shifter anywhere near me and I’ll make sure it miss-shifts forever and no amount of tinkering with the mech’ll sort it out.”