Page 33 of Serendipity

Ineed to beat something. I needed to feel bones crack and flesh give way beneath my fists. I’d jumped on my bike and rode away from the Clubhouse like the actual Hounds of Hell were on my ass.

I rode around the borders of our territory, hoping for some of those Cartel fucks to be edging their way across the line. Then I could pulverize them into the ground again. But everyone seemed to have learned their lesson, or were at fucking Church or who knew fucking what. Not even the freedom of being on my bike, riding too fast was calming the turmoil inside my body.

Cain and Sol and the woman. Disrespecting Laura’s memory like that. Sol was wrong though. I didn’t love Laura. I fucking hated her. I hated her with every dead spot in my soul. Hated the thought of her, the sound of her name, the memories of her that used to haunt my dreams. But more than I hated Laura, I hated myself. Hated this monster that rode shotgun in my body. Hated that I hated everything and everyone.

What I really abhorred though, was that I actuallylikedhow the woman had felt in my arms last night when I’d caught her. That I’d liked her softness against my chest. Thoughts of Laura had been so far from my mind, that I realized I hadn’t thought about the woman who was meant to be my everything in years other than as a catalyst for my darkness.

I roared into the wind, revving my bike, pushing it harder and faster, weaving through traffic and splitting lanes down the freeway.

Cain should have left the woman where he found her. Told the other bitch no. So, I hadn’t been happy before she’d arrived, but I hadn’t been this fucking confused either. I didn’t have that ache in my chest before she arrived.

I drove past a strip mall, and a sign caught my eye. I flung my bike into the entrance of the car park, pulling into a bike spot. I left the keys in the bike. We were still in Damnation territory, and no thieves were stupid enough to steal bikes here. You couldn’t scrap them down fast enough before I’d find them, and then flay you alive for dishonoring my machine like that.

I pulled off my sunglasses and tucked them onto the collar of my shirt. The automatic doors in front of me slid open with a whoosh and I stepped into enemy territory.

The teenager by the door looked at me like she was about to shit herself. “Uh, hi. Welcome to Babyland Kingdom. Uh, do you, uh, need help or somethin’?”

I stared down hard at the girl. “I need maternity clothes.”

“Oh, yeah sure. This way. Um, follow me?” She looked like she was really hoping I’d leave. I wondered if she’d call the cops like the boutique lady had done on Solomon and Cain. Hopefully I

could get in and out before that happened.

“So, do you know what size you are after?” The girl squeaked out, and I huffed. I had no fucking idea.

“I don’t know,” I growled, making her jump. I clenched my fists and forced myself to be calm.

“Sorry,” I said softly. “I should have checked before I came. This is a waste of time.”

I spun, but the girl made a soft noise. “Wait! We can work it out. It’s okay,” she said gently, and walked to the racks. “Wrap dresses are good. When you get to the later stages, bending down to put your feet in pants is exhausting to even think about,” she winked. “Or so they tell me. Plus you can adjust wrap dresses to whatever you need, and it's a nice soft jersey, see?” She held out a black dress to me, and I obligingly felt the fabric between my fingers.

“I’ll take it. And like ten more things.” The woman needed more shit if I was ever going to get my shirt back.

The girl looked toward the counter. I narrowed my eyes at her. “Are you trying to signal someone to call the cops?” I growled.

The attendant, her name badge said Stephanie, whipped around to me, dropping the dress in her shock. “What? No? Why would I call the cops? Are you thinking about robbing the place? Coz, I gotta tell you, we’ve got like a hundred bucks in the till. Everyone uses card for transactions now.”

My lips curled up. “Nah, I don’t need your money. Sometimes people only see what they wanna see though.” I waved a hand at my tattoos, my cut, my general killer demeanor.

Now Stephanie was over her initial fear of my warm and fuzzy persona, she decided I was no threat. “Pshh. I have six older brothers. Takes more than a nasty scowl to scare me. Okay, well I think you should get one of these knit dresses too. Take a guess at what size your, uh, wife is?” She asked, her question lilting at the end, asking a question within a question. I didn’t bother correcting her. I didn’t think about the reasons for that too hard either.

“I don’t know. She's about your size, maybe a little bonier. She's got hips though, and tits.” I made a weird gesture with my hands to indicate the size, and Stephanie raised a brow. “I said I didn’t know. This is dumb.”

Stephanie rolled her eyes. “Don’t be such a whiner. I’m a twelve, so she’s probably a ten,” she said to herself, and then she fucked off into the racks and apparently I didn’t need to have anymore input. She was gone for fifteen fucking minutes before she came back, an armload of clothes.

“Okay, Mr Scary. I’ve got two pairs of maternity jeans, two pairs of leggings, four dresses and four t-shirts. I also put a pretty dress in there in case you wanna take your wife out for a nice dinner.

Just because she’s massive doesn’t mean she wants to be stuck at home forever, you know?” She handed them to me to add to the dress I was already holding. “Anything else?”

I just shook my head, feeling a bit overwhelmed, not that I would ever admit it. I could torture a man for hours and not even blink, but a teenage girl and a fucking baby store made me a fucking pussy.

Stephanie led me to the checkout and I ignored the worried looks of the grey haired lady behind the other checkout. Her name badge said Karen. I knew without a doubt Karen would definitely have called the cops. But not this kid. “How old are you, kid?”

Stephanie had the fucking gall to roll her eyes at me. I’d beaten the shit out of a prospect for that level of disrespect. “Nineteen. Baby face. Two hundred and thirty six dollars, Mr Scary.”

I handed the cheeky brat three Benjamins. “Keep the change.” On impulse, I pulled out my business card. It just had my name and phone number on it. I handed it to Stephanie.

“No offense, Mr Scary, you’re hot and all, but you're old as shit. I’m not going out with you.”

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