Page 5 of Brood

Chapter Three

The day is long after the bustle of the leather-clad bikers come through the café. They seemed to come in spurts. Only a couple at a time, then all of a sudden, the place was full. The noise grew in the small building as they ate their fill then left. I met the first one I know for a fact I need to stay away from. And he just so happens to be the one fixing my car. More luck on my side.

Brood.

The scowl that was firmly fixed on his face was enough evidence that I didn’t even need to ask why people called him such a name. I found myself wanting to rub my thumb across the crease of his brow line just to see if it would smooth out the glower on his face. “Brood,” I say to myself in the slightest of a whisper.

“What was that, sweetheart?” Iris calls from the kitchen, where she is whipping up something that smells amazing.

“Nothing, just… talking to myself is all.” I shoot her a smile and go back to the three-month-old magazine that I found on the counter.

“You mind coming back here to help a sec? I could use an extra hand,” she asks, and instantly I’m up and going over to help her. She has one of the big ovens open wide and is pulling out a pan almost the same size as her. “Them boys eat a whole damn cow every night, have to make sure when I’m having them for dinner here that I have enough. Grab them potholders.” She gestures to two black mitts with her chin, and I quickly put them on my hands, reaching for the pan to help her pull it out of the oven. “Thank you. Now we need to bring it over to the sink to drain it.” The large pan is covered in a thick layer of foil. When we get to the sink she peels off a corner, and we tip the pan toward the sink where the hot steamy liquid pours out. Instantly my arm burns from the steam, but I force myself to breathe through it and hold the pan firm, knowing if I drop it she will most likely get burnt too. “There we go. Thank you. Usually, Eagle helps me, but he seems to be running late,” she explains, and we set the pan down. “Oh no child, you should have said something!” she all but screeches in my ear as she yanks my arm her way. I didn’t think it was so bad when it happened. Now it’s angry and red, starting to grow a sizable blister.

“Shoot. I didn’t think it got me that bad,” I say, looking over my arm now too.

“Come on, I have some burn ointment. Oh, forgive me, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m fine, really.” I try to convince her as she fusses over the burn, applying the cream with only a hiss from me, causing more sorry’s to fall from her mouth. In reality, this small burn is nothing. Not compared to the things I’ve lived through. She gets me bandaged up, and we go about getting the feast ready, as she calls it. Ribs— that were in the pan— and a gigantic pot of garlic mashed potatoes, along with some steamed vegetables

It isn’t long before we are done that the rumble of motorcycles flood the building like it had in the morning, and like this morning, I force myself to breathe deeply. To calm myself and convince my mind that I’m nowhere near South Carolina.

I quickly find a place to try and hide in the kitchen where they won’t see me and wait for the noise of chatter and laughter to fill the place.

It’s a thrum of activity, and they are all quick to pull the tables together, so they are lined up in one long row. Then the food is passed around while they all start eating. Like one big— really big— family. All clad in leather, wearing the same vests and completely intimidating. It’s when I catch sight of Brood that my face begins to heat again. Much like it did when I first saw him. I shake it off and decide to go outside and wait for the crowd to leave. Only I don’t make it out the door.

“Jordyn, you haven’t eaten yet. Come, sit down,” Iris calls out from her spot at the table. She is sitting to the right of the man she introduced this morning as her husband, Eagle. Who is sitting at the head of the make-shift long table. I want so much to tell her that I’m not hungry, but the other man I met, Roman, shouts my name and points to an empty chair right next to him.

“Come sit down,” Roman encourages. Accepting my fate, I walk over to the empty chair. Before I can pull it out, Roman has beaten me to it. “Iris said you helped with dinner. It’s good.”

“Oh. Barely, I only lifted things,” I deflect the praise.

“Don’t be modest, you took care of the potatoes while I was getting the cinnamon rolls ready for tomorrow,” Iris declares from down at the other end of the table.

“Cinnamon rolls! Hell yeah,” someone roars in excitement from the table as the laughter and talking continues on, thankfully taking the focus off me.

“Got your car in the shop.” My eyes dart up to the voice right across from me, and I realize I’m sitting across from Brood. “Your head gasket blew. Won’t get it fixed for at least a week,” he informs me before forking in a bite of mashed potatoes. The little boy who was with him this morning is here too, sitting next to him, eating his food with his fingers. They are almost a mirror image of each other, the little boy even has that same indent between his eyes as Brood.

“That long? Are you sure?” I ask, remembering that he said something about my car.

“Have to wait for a part to come in.”

“How far is the closest hotel?” My stomach drops, and the hunger I felt when I sat down is suddenly gone. Having to stay in one place for a whole week won’t work.

“Seventeen miles,” Roman answers this time. “You won’t need a hotel room. I’ve got a spare room,” he offers.

“No.” My head snaps from Roman to Brood, who just declined Roman’s offer for me.

“Oh come on brother—”

“No. She can stay with Iris,” Brood explains, putting an end to Roman’s complaint.

“Oh, that’s not necessary. If I could just get a ride to that town—”

“You’ll stay here,” Brood declares in a rough tone then clears his throat. “I might get your car done early, never know.” This time he sounds less authoritative as he shrugs his shoulders. I catch the look of curiosity that Roman directs toward Brood out of the corner of my eye but decide not to dwell on it.

The rest of the dinner is mostly quiet on my part, thankfully, and when I’m done, I’m able to quickly excuse myself before anyone can object, sneaking outside to grab some fresh air. It’s getting dark out, and the long row of bikes lined up in front of the diner all have the reflection of the moon shining on their gas tanks. It’s so beautiful that just for a moment I let myself feel the small piece of freedom I have.

“It’s Saturday,” a deep grumble says behind me, nearly making me choke on the scream that emerges from my throat. I jump probably ten feet in the air and grip at my chest to try and calm my racing heart.

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