Page 1 of Crow

Chapter 1

Tarynn

My name means something along the lines of rocky hill.Some people believe that a name prepares a child for the rest of their life. If that’s true, then my parents must have had a sense of humor. I’m not bold or strong. It’s like the equivalent of being called something that means brave when you’re afraid of everything.

Maybe it’s not so ironic. Even the tallest mountains can’t withstand constant erosion. They can be beaten down by wind and rain and by time itself, until they’re nothing at all.

“Raiden, look out!” The tall, gorgeous woman with the sleek leather dress and fringed suede jacket, wraps her hand around her husband’s arm and pulls him to the right. Ella is just in time to avoid him wearing the tray of drinks I’m carrying.

She doesn’t bark at me to watch where the fuck I’m going, though I’d deserve it for being up in my head, as per usual. All she does is treat me to a huge smile that makes her already gorgeous face that much more beautiful.

“How’re you doing tonight, Tarynn?”

“I’m fine. Thanks.” I shift the heavy tray so the drinks don’t go sliding around and tipping it one way or the other. I focus on her jacket. The tan suede is out of place in a sea of black. “I love your jacket. It looks vintage.”

“It is! I found it at this great little place downtown.”

“It was a score.” I don’t feel jealous. Mostly, it’s sadness that bubbles up, making my throat tight.

Even if I found something as gorgeous as that jacket, there’s no way my parents would ever let me wear something like that.

When I got this job at Patterson’s, I used up my quota of rebellion for the next decade with them.

This place might be a cute little diner by day, but it’s a crowded, sweaty, bar by night. Everyone in Hart knows that while Satan’s Angels don’t outright own the place, it’s as good as theirs.

Located on the edge of town, the place is busy because it’s the last stop at the end of the line before Hart turns into the highway that leads to Seattle. During the day, we get a lot of random traffic, people passing through and stopping in for a homecooked meal, but at night, unless they have some kind of club affiliation or friendship, most folks don’t come out this way.

At least Hart is small and it’s the only biker club the town has. There’s no need to worry about rival clubs coming in here and causing problems. The police don’t venture out this way either. Probably because most of them are in the club’s pocket.

As far as bikers go, they’re the typical rough lot on the exterior, but not so typical is the fact that they’re nice enough. They don’t grope any women but their own old ladies or the club hangarounds. They might be crass and gruff, but they’re never rude to any of the staff. They’ve never started a fight in here that I’ve ever seen, though I haven’t been working here long. They take their violence elsewhere, I suppose. Their president is a younger man, in his early thirties. Everyone says Tyrant is good shit, and so is their VP.

I’m currently looking at Raiden right now.

He slips an arm around Ella’s hips and tugs her into him, placing a kiss on her temple. She beams back at him, her red lipstick standing out against her flawless skin.

My goodness, with her towering height and bone structure, she’s astoundingly beautiful. A blonde bombshell in the flesh. I understand now why models exist. I can barely tear my eyes away from her perfection. Unlike most gorgeous women, she’s not vain. She’s incredibly nice.

“I think the jacket’s lovely,” Raiden tells her. “But I’d prefer it better on the floor.”

She shoves her fist into his side playfully. “Right here? You’d prefer that now, would you?”

His eyes practically cross, but when she smiles up at him coyly, he grins right back. The look they share is so syrupy and full of each other that it makes my face redden. A woman only looks at her man like that when she’s well and truly pleased ineveryway, and a man only looks at a woman like that in return when he’s completely obsessed.

Love seems too trivial a word for the bond these two have. It’s so palpable that it makes me feel my loneliness even more keenly than I normally do.

“I think it was called ‘Old Again’,” she says, tucking a strand of that honey blonde hair behind her ear. One giant silver hoop earring glistens in the dim lighting. It’s mostly pot lights and stained glass over pool tables once the sun sets, though the jukebox in the corner and the pinball machines on the far side of the bar provide flashes of light on and off.

“New and Old Again,” Raiden corrects with a grin. He tucks a finger under Ella’s jaw, tilting her face up, and kisses her. Not gently either. He dives in like he’s starved.

Finally, Ella bats him away halfheartedly, cheeks flushed prettily, eyes glistening. “Raiden! Don’t be rude.”

He grins sheepishly at me. “I apologize for my poor behavior, Tarynn Nightengale.” He suddenly spins Ella in a dance, dipping her down low, then grasping her hips and hiking her up with no effort at all.

She’s freaking tall, plus she’s wearing stiletto heeled black boots that make her legs look endless. She wraps them around his waist, giggling like she’s sixteen and not over thirty, which I know she happens to be, only because Patti said something jealously about Ella only getting better with age. ‘It’s like when she hit thirty, the clock started counting down for her, but not the way it does for most women. She’s thirty-four, but then she’s thirty-three, and thirty-two. Ageless.’

“We’re going to have to leave for the night. Got a set of bikes out there, calling our names.”

“You better settle up first,” Ella protests, which makes Raiden dig his fingers into her perfect ass, kneading the leather of her dress.

---