CHAPTER 1
“Don’t you have a place to be?” Saks’ cousin, John Rocco, bartender of the Red Bull, slid a beer toward him with his eyebrows arched.
Saks sat at the bar, which was a second home to him. Even the new clubhouse of the Hades’ Spawn didn’t hold the memories of the Red Bull. He flicked his eyes up to the rafters of the bar where brightly- colored bras hung, evidence of the watering hole’s rambunctious reputation.
“Yeah. Sunday dinner.”
“So?” said John.
Saks shrugged. “So?”
“Aren’t you going to be late?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, dinner is served 24/7 at my mom’s house.”
John gave him a you’re-not-getting-the-point glance and turned to another customer.
Of course, Saks got the point. It was about respect. Uncle Vits, head of the Rocco family, was going to be there. One did not disrespect the man by showing up late.
However, there was something about this day that put Saks on guard. Part of it was the way his mother insisted that he show up rather than hang around with that gang of bike boys. Another was how John made a big deal about Saks being at the bar instead of his parents’ house. He didn’t know what was going on. But something definitely was.
It’s not that he didn’t love his family. But the fact was he was more than wary of the organized crime aspect of it. He wasn’t drawn to their activities like so many of his other cousins, and he didn’t want to make his life around it either. He’d seen too many of his uncles or cousins incarcerated for family crimes taking their jail time as a badge of honor. He didn’t think it was either smart or honorable to be involved in illegal activities. His mother backed him on this against his uncle, or rather grand-uncle, and made sure that Saks’ father didn’t drag him into the family business.
As a result, Saks lived as an outsider in his own family. Conversations stopped when he entered the room. He didn’t hang out with his cousins.
Which was why the Hades’ Spawn MC had become so impor
tant to him. They were like family.
Well, that, and riding bikes.
Those two things, plus working for Luke Wade, owner of Central Valley Bike Repair, as a motorcycle mechanic made up his life. Unfortunately, his life didn’t include a steady girlfriend, which was why he was sitting here at noon on Sunday in a motorcycle hangout bar, killing time.
“Hello.”
A pretty brunette slid onto the stool next to him. Her too-tight tee that was cut at the midriff advertised what she was looking for.
“I haven’t seen you here before,” said the brunette with a flash of extra white teeth.
Saks almost chuckled. “Then you haven’t been here often enough.”
“Buy a girl a drink?”
She didn’t even wait to be offered one. Saks didn’t like brazen women, and he could guess what was going to happen next. And it did. She slid her hand onto his thigh, inching her way to his inner leg.
“Which bike out there is yours?” she purred. “I’d love to have a ride.”
Of course, she would. And she wasn’t thinking about riding his bike either.
“John, give the lady here what she wants. On me,” said Saks. He then twisted away on the stool.
“You’re leaving?” she said in bewilderment.
“Sorry, sweetie. Family thing. Another time. Maybe.” Like never. When he was younger and more impulsive, he would’ve taken the woman to bed in a heartbeat. But he was growing older, and bedding anonymous women had lost its shine. At Luke and Emily’s wedding, he got an inkling he wanted what they had. Seeing the looks they gave each other, and watching over these past two years how they stood together against every challenge, he came to realize he wanted that.
A lover. Partner. Best friend.
That would not be this woman, who could be had for the price of a beer and a motorcycle ride.
“See you around,” said the woman.
“Sure,” said Saks. Walking away from her eased the queasiness in his stomach she’d elicited. The rumble of his bike’s engine shook away the sleazy feeling that clung to him from the woman’s touch. Pushing out on the highway relaxed him. His engine sang, a serenade created from the precision action of pistons perfectly timed to send its life’s blood through the engine. Though he drove on blacktop, he felt connected to the earth, wheels on road, sliding seamlessly toward his destination. If it weren’t for his roiling thoughts about the family dinner, he would be perfectly at peace.
“Anthony!” shouted his mother as Saks entered the kitchen door. “Finally! Your Uncle Vits is going crazy thinking you weren’t going to show.”
Saks kissed his mother on the cheek and took in the familiar Italian food smells of his mother’s kitchen. Sauce bubbling on the stove, fresh baked Italian bread sat on the table, the scent of meat in the air. He reached for a slice of bread but his mother slapped his hand away. “Of course I’m here for Sunday dinner. I always am, aren’t I? Why does Uncle Vits care?”
“Here,” his mother said as she handed him a platter of fried calamari, “take this to the table.”
“Don’t you need some help?” he said, studying her face. Her bright brown eyes were more lined than usual, and her face seemed drained of color. “You’re looking tired, Ma. You should sit down.”
“Sush!” she said, waving him away. “Terri’s helping me.”
“Then where is my sister?”
“Here, Anthony,” said Terri. She stood at the top of the basement stairs with a long flat tray in her hands. On the tray were freshly made ravioli ready to be cooked.
Saks set the calamari on the kitchen table. “Let me help you.”