Page 53 of The Sentinels

Emerson

I stood back and gave a critical look to the wall that I'd just painted. I'd received permission from the apartment complex office manager to paint an accent wall in my living room. I'd bought the paint a couple of months ago when it had been on sale, and being out of work was the perfect opportunity to get it done. I understood why apartments stuck with neutral colors in the white and beige family, but I'd always liked color. The Tuscany orange popped and gave life to my living room.

I poured a glass of wine and sat down on my sofa for a much-needed break. Not that painting the wall had been all that tiring, but lack of a good night's sleep was catching up to me. The incident at the boardwalk a few days earlier had spooked me. Since nothing more had occurred since then, I'd tried to convince myself that I had imagined the whole thing, but I also hadn't left my apartment.

Still, just the thought of my dad possibly being close was enough to keep me on alert, especially when a well-placed call had confirmed that he had indeed been released from prison. I'd immediately called my cousins to warn them, disappointed that I'd been forced to leave messages. I would have liked to talk to them.

I took a sip of wine, my thoughts drifting to Ace. I hadn't seen or heard from him since he’d walked out of my apartment a few days before. I knew that his modus operandi was to ‘hit it and quit it,’ but after what we'd shared, and the intensity of it, I had thought that it would be different for us, thatIwas different. His silence was loud and clear, though. No matter what he'd said to me, in the end I was no different from his other conquests.

It saddened me that he purposely controlled his emotions in order to remain detached, as if the only thing he deserved was the physical relief associated with the act of sex.

Well, at least I'd had him at least once. And maybe he had a good reason for not contacting me. I knew something was going on with the club, that there was another MC in town that was causing a lot of trouble. Several incidents had made the news. Then there had been that attack at the bar. Those men had been there to do as much destruction as they could. I shivered, recalling how close the girls and I had come to being raped.

All of a sudden there was a pounding at my door, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I did splash some of my wine onto the floor. Thank God it was white. My gaze shot to the door, thankful that I'd put the security lock on, although, if it were my father, I didn't imagine that he would announce himself so noisily. When the knocking continued I rose to my feet and walked to the door, recalling Ace's comment about my lack of a peephole. Whydidn'tI have one?

"Emerson! It's Mike!"

Relieved that it was a Sentinel on the other side of the door, I exhaled and opened it. His sharp gaze ran down the length of me before returning to my eyes. I imagined that I looked a mess. "Painting, honey?"

"Is it obvious?" I smiled, stepping back so he could come inside. "What's wrong?" None of the Sentinels aside from Ace had ever come to my apartment before.

He reached forward and tugged on a strand of my hair. "You have orange in your hair." His grin turned serious. "Listen, there was some club trouble the other day and Ace got hurt. Do you think you can come to his house for a few days and take care of him?"

Ace. Hurt? My heart thudded. "Is it bad?" Of course it was bad if he needed someone to take care of him.

Mike shrugged. "Bad enough that the fool should go to the hospital, but he won't."

I became alarmed. "What happened?"

Mike shook his head, a patient smile on his face. "You know I won't tell you that."

I rolled my eyes. "I'll come." I didn’t even have to think about it.

"Thanks, honey. Grab a few things and let's go."

I was actually glad that I was getting out of my apartment. Doyle had called the night before, wanting to meet up, but I'd declined. He was back with his ex and wanted us to meet each other. He'd sounded so happy, and I'd expressed my happiness for him, but I hadn't wanted to leave my apartment after dark. At the time I'd been pissed with myself for letting the fear of my dad get inside my head, and had decided then and there that I wouldn’t continue to let him keep me from doing what I wanted to do.

I wouldn't let him ruin my life a second time.

I rushed to my bedroom, grabbed a small carry bag from my closet, and stuffed some things into it--clothes, underwear, and a few toiletries from my bathroom. The mirror revealed my disheveled state. My messy bun was even messier than usual, and did have a few splotches of paint in it. I had some on my face, too, but I didn't take the time to scrub it off. I could get a shower once I got to Ace's place.

I re-entered the living room to find Mike exactly where I'd left him. "Are we going on your bike?" I'd never been on a bike before and was unsure about how that would work if I was wearing shorts.

"Got the truck," he said, opening my door.

He snatched the bag out of my hand. I grabbed my purse and locked my door on the way out. I giggled at the sight of the old truck that he led us to, but it ran surprisingly good.

Mike was a quiet man, so I knew that he wouldn't be open to any small talk. He was serious most of the time, and a listener. Once in a while I'd cast a sideways glance at him, taking in the concentration on his handsome face. He kind of reminded me of a younger version of George Clooney.

I'd been to Ace's house once before, years ago, when he'd hosted the end of bike week party, something the Sentinels did every year. Everyone had been invited to the day-long event, and I'd just begun working at After Hours. My infatuation with Ace had begun that day. Watching the huge, quiet biker with the long hair and war scars had fascinated me.

There was a long drive leading to Ace's house, and as it slowly came into view I thought that it probably hadn't changed much since his grandparents had lived there. It looked like something you might see in an old black and white photo. Huge, mature oaks draped in moss surrounded the large cracker-style house that sat feet away from an alligator-infested swamp.

Mike pulled the truck up in front of the house and then turned the engine off before turning to face me. "He's not going to be happy to see you. He's in pain and prickly as a wounded bear. Thinks he doesn't need any help."

I smiled. "I'm not afraid of Ace, Mike. So I take it that he doesn't know I'm coming?"

Mike confirmed it with a shake of his head. "There's something else you should know." I waited patiently for him to go on. "A couple of the girls from Tanner's bar came here to help him, but they couldn't deal with his ornery ass."

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