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against another cruiser, his arms crossed, body shaking.
    That’s why I didn’t trust those pricks. They were junkies. They were on the search for the next high. It was the only thing they knew. They couldn’t exist beyond it. And they had sold the fucking MC out big time. My name was thrown all over the place and since I was the first guy they grabbed, I was the one who got fucked.
    I had no reason to talk as Chief Richards walked me to his SUV. He took me to the box truck and tried to get me to sell out the rest of the club. One thing about the guys in the Reap: we never fucking sold each other out. No matter what.
    My lips were shut and stayed shut.
    Chief Richards introduced me to his baton half a dozen times and all I did was spit blood on the ground. His biggest deputy slammed my face off the side of the box truck, leaving a bloody smear.
    They had their fun.
    I would serve my time.
    And I would get my revenge.
     

six
     
    (belle)
     
    *NOW*
     
    It was a quiet little Italian restaurant. My father got me the job as a favor and I ended up staying way too long. I got too close to the family that owned the place and now I felt completely stuck there. The owner, Marco, had been through two divorces. His kids had grown up and moved on, while I was still there, working. His mother, Annie, had battled two types of cancer, beaten them both, only to fall, break her hip, and somehow end up with pneumonia, and that’s what took her precious life.
    The restaurant had seen hundreds of workers come and go but I was one of the few that stuck it out. I could handle the family drama, the crises, and everything else in between. I could handle Marco when he drank too much and talked to me about his future. I could handle the people, the drunks, the complaints, and I could handle decorating the place for each stupid holiday all on my own.
    The truth was that it wasn’t about comfort. It wasn’t about having a job. That part was nice. Thanks to my suggestions and Marco’s willingness to spend a little money, we took the restaurant from a small casual place into something a tad bit more upscale. Marco promoted me and I was able to make enough to survive and have plenty left over. Trust me, I wasn’t rich. I wasn’t retiring at forty or anything. I had a one bedroom apartment, a used car that needed an oil change, and the last time I bought myself something new at the mall was for the black dress I wore to Annie’s funeral. (And even then, Marco slipped me a hundred bucks to get something nice.)
    What it was… family.
    I felt like I was part of a family. The restaurant was home.
    A guy named Jake was like the drunk uncle. He’d sit at the end of the counter, drink fifteen cups of coffee, tell war stories for hours, watch the news and critique the country. He’d toss down five bucks, tip his cap, and leave. The Bollary brothers would come in for lunch every day. They owned a construction company. They ordered the same food, complained about their jobs, hated their wives, wished they never had kids. They’d tip and leave.
    My days and nights were all routine.
    I had once heard rumbling about Marco getting involved with the mob but that was just a rumor. There was part of the mob in town, but Hector - the head chef - told me that the Reaper’s Bastards MC took them on to keep the peace. Some of his stories were a little out there but fun to hear.
    My plan was to get to work at three, get all the orders and paperwork done by four, start my waitress shift at four-o-five, and then clock out around midnight and go home. I’d eat ice cream, pretend to be happy, watch a movie, touch myself, and go to sleep. In that exact damn order. Yeah, I had the whole virgin thing dangling over my head, but it wasn’t a halo. I had needs. So I took care of them when needed.
    My plan went to hell around five when Marco got into a fight over the phone with a vendor. As I tried to calm that storm, he and Hector ended up spatting over something