Page 16 of Serendipity

“One of Cain’s old rescues. Found her turning tricks on the corner near the shop. Got her a job here, and she got herself a job over at Apocalypse. The strip joint,” he clarified. “Anyway, now she's more than a little in love with the big guy. They always end up in love with him, the broken dolls.

Never given any kindness, then Cain comes in, swoops them up from shitty situations and boom, he’s their saviour and sexual conquest all in one.”

I frowned. “He sleeps with them?” That seemed wrong. But Solomon was shaking his head.

“Never. He never gets attached. He just doesn't like to see women in danger. It's a trigger or some shit for him. He finds them somewhere safe, and sends them on their way. Some of the guys he’ll let patch in, and they tend to hang around the Clubhouse as prospects or apprentice mechanics or whatever. But never the girls. The Clubhouse is no place for a single woman.”

I frowned. Why was I different? “What about me?”

Solomon grinned, a full, wide smile that made Becky stop and stare during her conversation with Cain.

“Dippy, you are shaping up to be the exception to every fucking rule we’ve ever had over at Damnation,” he laughed. Cain quirked an eyebrow in my direction, but Solomon ordered before he could ask what we’d been talking about.

“I’ll have eggs and bacon, and Dippy here will probably have a giant stack of pancakes. What do you say?”

I wanted to say that I wanted scrambled eggs or something, just to make a point, but the fact was I really did want fucking pancakes. Even the idea of eggs made me want to vomit right across the table.

I narrowed my eyes at Solomon. “Pancakes would be great.”

Becky bustled away, though I was fairly sure if she could take her break and wrap herself around Cain like a cat in heat, she would have. She’d probably hiss in my direction too.

Cain pulled a small spiral bound notebook from his pocket, flicking past numbers and rough sketches of bikes and tattoos to a blank page.

“What are you going to need for the baby, Sera? I know Sweetie offered you some of her stuff, but honestly, Shot’s kids are like thirty now and I’m not convinced it isn’t all coated in lead paint and BPA.”

“What even is BPA?” Solomon asked, making a little gaspy noise after sipping his coffee. Sweet caffeine. God I missed it.

Cain shrugged. “Fucked if I know, but everything seems to be free of it these days, so better safe than sorry.”

Honestly, I had no idea what babies needed. In all my long, long years wandering the face of the

Earth, I’d never been able to conceive. Closest I’d ever come to rearing anything more complex than a kitten was in the thirteenth century when I adopted an orphan just after the fall of Constantinople. It was so long ago now, I barely remembered his face, or his name. My mind protected itself by forgetting, allowing me to adjust, renew myself for each Age of Man. But I remembered the happiness I felt in caring for someone else. I hoped that was how this would feel now, when this tiny, helpless thing burst forth from my body like an alien.

I was saved from admitting my ignorance by loud voices at the other end of the diner. Cain shifted his eyes over my shoulder, and I turned to see who was yelling.

Two boys, well they were probably in their early twenties, so not quite boys but not quite men yet either, were harassing their waitress. Not Becky, but a middle aged woman whose uniform strained across her love handles and her hair stuck up in a frizzy halo around her head. The waitress was trying to appease the situation, but apparently failing miserably.

One guy pushed his coffee cup off the formica table and it shattered on the floor, splashing up onto the waitress’ legs and leaving an angry red mark.

I was standing before I realized I was doing it, only noticing that Cain and Solomon had stood too when Solomon placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Sit. We’ve got this.”

Cain’s face was folded into a mask of rage. Yeah, they had this alright. I raised an eyebrow in his direction. He flashed me a quick smile before he was sliding out of the booth and strolling over to the group like he didn’t have a care in the world. Solomon swaggered behind him, stopping to whisper something to Becky, who was watching the situation with wary delight.

Cain cleared his throat. “You should tip your waitress,” he said quietly.

The guy who’d pushed his coffee on the ground swung around to look at Cain. For a split second, he looked ready to shit himself, but it was quickly covered with bravado when his eyes switched back to his buddies.

“You tip the fat bitch. That coffee was the worst thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

His buddies all laughed, and Solomon laughed along with them. “Well I’m sure that’s not true. Bet you had that fuckheads diseased dick in your mouth last night. That’s infinitely worse than Gloria’s coffee.”

Their eyes swung between Cain and Solomon, finally taking in their tattoos and cuts. The coffee douche started to look a little panicked. But apparently he was a douche with commitment because he doubled down on his dumbassery. “Why don’t you go fuck yourself and Gloria’s huge ass while you’re there.”

I didn’t even see Cain’s fist move. But in the blink of an eye, the guy was on the floor, blood pouring from his nose. He was yelling and his voice sounded wobbly as if he was going to cry. “What the fuck, man? What is wrong with you?”

Solomon grinned. “Ah shit. Looks like you got a real bad nosebleed there, kid. You should go get cleaned up. But first, tip your waitress.” He lifted his shirt in a real subtle movement, flashing the gun that I knew sat there. I hoped no one else saw it though.

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