Eagle

I arrive at the cemetery hours before the memorial service is set to start. I place a bouquet of violets in the vase next to Angel’s plaque. I usually come here twice a week and put fresh flowers out. I step back and fold my hands over my stomach, contemplating what our lives would have been like if she’d lived. She shouldn’t have died an Orani. That last name represents everything I despise. It conjures my worst nature.

I sit on the memorial bench I commissioned for her. There’s roses carved into the four corners, her favorite flower. Only I know what’s inscribed on the underside of the seat. I’ve admired it twice before and find no need to look again. Words from her favorite Shakespeare sonnet—love is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken.

Those words hold a special place in my life. It was one of the last things she ever said to me, hours before she disappeared. Some couples say good morning and goodnight, Angel always quoted Shakespeare. One of the quirky personality traits I miss. The girl had brains. Spirit. Guts like a warrior. Most of all, she had my heart. My eyes sting with tears of regret and sadness, but I swallow the pain. Men don’t cry. Not in public.

“Caleb Laramie?”

I don’t appreciate being disturbed, but I look to the left and find Angel’s mother standing there in a black dress. I grimace, not wanting to see or talk to her.

“Why did you show up now? You didn’t give a shit about the funeral or coming back for any of the other memorial services.” I say.

“I’m here now.”

I frown. “Too little too late,” I say, bitter as hell.

“Is it?” she asks, edging closer to the row of plaques. “People make mistakes, Caleb.

“Don’t ever use my name, Miranda.”

She sighs. “All right, Eagle,” she corrects herself. “I’m here to make up for some lost time.”

“Fuck you,” I growl. “I buried her. Loved her. Where were you when your sons wanted to sell her like some goddamned farm animal?”

My harsh words don’t affect Angel’s mother in the slightest way. She touches the name plate, then kisses it before she faces me. “Living a life I’m very ashamed of.”

“You mean selling your pussy for your next fix? Passed out on some filthy mattress in a crack house with a needle hanging out of your arm? There’s a name for women like you, Miranda—and it’s not mother.”

Pain etches her face this time. She looks twenty years older than she should. Chewed up and spit out. “I should be in that box.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “You should be.” Uncontrollable rage is swirling just below the surface. I better leave before I say or do something I can’t take back.

“I forgive you for killing my son.”

“I don’t need your forgiveness. The State of Louisiana exonerated me, remember?”

“Self-defense,” she whispers.

“He was a weak sonofabitch. Couldn’t keep a steady finger on the trigger. Angel saved me that day, reached out from the grave and touched my heart in a way you’ll never know. That’s what you gave up for drugs, Miranda. The perfect daughter.”

I turn my back on her, unwilling to give her another moment of my time. Maybe Tonsils was right. I don’t belong here. I hate them all. The Dead Dogs are my archenemies. Angel’s family, something even more sinister.

I trudge to my bike, climb on, and peel out of the parking space.

What the fuck? I knew Angel’s mom was going to be there, but I didn’t plan on having a conversation with her. I didn’t plan on being alone with her, either.

Half of my brothers are standing outside Iron Mechanical when I turn into the lot. We’re closed on the weekends, the time reserved for working on our own motorcycles and vehicles. I toss my keys to one of the prospects and tell him to wash my ride. I need a drink. I need someone to beat the shit out of. I need an excuse to grab my .45 and go shoot Bear in the head point-blank.

Tonsils follows me to my office in the rear of the shop. “What happened?”

I throw myself into the chair behind my desk. “Close the door.”

He does.

“Miranda Orani showed up at the cemetery early.”

“What the fuck?”

“Acted like she’s grieving Angel.”

My vice shakes his head. “Sorry.”

“For what? Giving me sound advice? The only mistake you made was worrying about my safety. If I were you, I’d direct the security detail to guard the Dead Dogs. I’m out for blood. I want to settle this shit about Angel and then move on with my life. Serafina is my first chance at doing that.”

Tonsils sits in the guest chair across from me and leans over my desk. “You’re serious about the girl?”

I fold my hands under my chin, considering everything. “Yeah. If I can get her to talk to me again.”

Forget the service. I’ll go in your place so we don’t lose face with anyone.”

“Too late,” I say. “That bitch is going to report everything I said to Bear. If I don’t show up, he’ll think I’m afraid of retaliation. Everything I told that woman is true.” I scrub my face with both hands, my heart pounding.

“You visited Angel already, right? Said what you needed to. Let this go, Eagle. Like you said, get on with your life.”

If I’m going to start over, I need closure. I want to look the man in the eyes who is equally responsible for Angel’s death. I want to hear his lies, see his face when he honors the sister he never loved. “This one is for Angel.”

“That’s what we’re all afraid of, Eagle. You’re not thinking clearly. None of us blame you.”

“Us?”

“A few of the brothers.”

“Is that what you’ve wasted the morning over? Gossiping like the old ladies in the kitchen? Trying to find a way to keep me away from the service?” I open my desk drawer and retrieve the silver flask I keep stashed in case I ever need a drink. I open it and take a swallow. “Well?”

“We’re so close to jump starting the new chapter in Shreveport. To finalizing the deal with Lazaro. We need you alive to do it, Eagle.”

I narrow my gaze, angry at his constant disagreement. “Last time I checked that patch on your chest says vice.”

“What the fuck, Eagle?”

“Lazaro and I already shook hands. Whether I’m here or not, the Iron Norsemen are going to funnel his money into the Mexican bank accounts in Veracruz. The first deposit happens next Wednesday. As for the new chapter . . .”

“Gangrene called earlier. The nomad is on his way.”

“Already?” In order to ensure our hold as the dominant club in Shreveport, I called in a favor to another Iron Norsemen prez in Philadelphia and asked him to send me the best enforcer he had.

“Left the city last week.”

I drum my fingers on the desktop. “Attending the service doesn’t change anything. It reinforces how I feel about things in general. Angel belonged to me—to this club. We can’t just leave it, Tonsils. It’s a matter of honor, what’s right.”

“She’s dead, Caleb.”

‘No shit, Brother. That doesn’t mean I just forget about everything. Remember, Bear wants me dead—all of us gone.” He shrugs and sighs as he stands up. “I’ll be here at five forty-five to escort you to the park.”

The hours pass in silence. I’m close to being drunk when someone knocks on my office door. “What?”

“It’s time, Eagle,” Sunny calls.

“Be right out.” I cross the office and check myself in the mirror on the back of my door.

I’m wearing a black ribbed T-shirt under my vest and dark jeans. The gold Thor’s hammer Angel gave me for my twenty-second birthday is hanging around my neck, fully visible. I cleaned my boots yesterday. I smile down at the steel-toed Dead Dog stompers I’ve always worn.

I leave my office, calm and steady. My brothers are waiting, their Harleys in a two-column formation, organized by rank. My Pan Head is at the front, the chrome freshly shined and the engine running. I climb on, signal my brothers, and merge into oncoming traffic, which comes to a complete stop.

Most of the residents in Holly Beach know us. We’re given every consideration, like the fire department. People honk their horns out of respect as we ride by. Angel meant something to this small town.

As we near the cemetery, forty Dead Dogs on their bikes turn onto the street leading into the park. We wait for them to go by before we continue.

After another twenty minutes, we park a block down from the Dead Dogs’ motorcycles and get ready to walk to the columbarium. One of the prospects and a patched member will stay with our bikes. I gave Tonsils permission to come, it was the best way to keep the peace between us. Twelve other brothers will join me.

I open the glass door and step inside the building. There’s an abundance of white rose wreaths on stands throughout the space. Everyone turns as I walk toward Angel’s spot. Bear and his mother are standing at the front of the room, waiting for me.

“Eagle,” Bear says. He offers his hand, but I refuse to shake it.

“Is it my time to talk?”

Our gazes lock. His coal-colored eyes remind me of Angel’s. However, his are dull and void of happiness. Angel’s eyes were always expressive, full of life and innocence.

“After the violinist plays,” he informs me, pointing to the other side of the room.

I grit my teeth and lower my head, accepting the delay. The musician plays an eerie rendition of Amazing Grace that seems to drag on forever. Once she finishes, I’m ready to speak and get the fuck out of here.

“We’re gathered to remember and celebrate the life of my sister, Angelique Orani. Taken too soon from us, we often talk about the life she wanted to live. The places she wanted to visit. The people she loved unconditionally.” Bear pauses and stares at me. “Angel didn’t care about where someone came from or who they associated with. Like stray animals, she often dragged home whoever needed a helping hand.”

The crowd of about seventy-five people claps.

“Angel wanted to be a wife and mother . . .”

Fucking liar.

“She wanted to have a big family.”

I close my eyes and fight the urge to destroy him.

“She loved her family and the Dead Dogs.”

I fist my hands at my sides.

“She was engaged to Brian Dresher . . .”

I can’t fucking do it. With a guttural growl, I tackle Bear and roll him onto his back. I punch him in the face repeatedly, until I hear cartilage snap.

He tries to kick me off, but the effort only enrages me more. The next blow is to his chest. That’s when I hear Tonsils scream at me and try to lift me off Bear.

“Come on, Eagle.”

I shrug his arm off my shoulder and squeeze Bear’s face. I stare into his fear-laced eyes, his blood all over my fingers. “She hated you, motherfucker. Hated your club. Mourned the loss of her beloved father. Despised you for turning her mother into an addict.” I dig a thumb into his left eye socket, applying just enough pressure to make him writhe in pain. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right here in front of everyone.” My free hand grips his throat. “Why I shouldn’t strangle the fuck out of you. At least you get to look your killer in the face. That’s more consideration than you ever gave Angel. She died afraid and alone. Burned alive by you and your worthless club.”

“Eagle!” Tonsil’s voice is frantic.

I let go of Bear’s face and throat, but stay straddled over his chest. “Answer me.”

He coughs and sputters, fighting for a full breath.

“Why shouldn’t I kill you?”

“B-because there’s a gun aimed at the back of your fucking head.”

Whoever is holding it chambers a round.

“Get up, slowly,” someone says.

I look to my left. Six of my brothers are standing there, the rest to my right. I nod and their pistols come out of hiding. As I stand up, all I see are guns aimed at various members of both clubs. But the one that interests me the most is in the hands of the man standing behind me. I turn and find Derelict waiting.

“Do it,” I challenge him, waiting. “Need me to show you how?”

“Please,” Angel’s mother cries out. She inserts herself between me and Derelict, then grips the barrel of his gun with both hands. “This isn’t supposed to happen. Let Eagle go.”

She scans the crowd for support.

“L-listen to my mother.” Bear staggers to his feet, his face a swollen, bloody mess. “There’s a time and place for vengeance,” he says.

No one moves.

“This isn’t over,” I say to him. I’m not afraid to die for the right cause. Yeah, I’m moving on with my life, but I’ll be damned if the Dead Dogs are going to get away with lying about their part in Angel’s death.