Page 100 of Price of Angels

“I’m with you so far.”

“Now all the boys vote, and they have offices, but it’s mostly a monarchy, with a president in power. Prospects have no civil rights within the club. The president is the absolute authority. The law is something to get around. It’s a way of life,” Ava explained. “Not a hobby. One that most gently-bred women with college backgrounds simply cannot wrap their heads around. Women don’t ride, you understand. They don’t vote, and they don’t make club decisions. Bitches ride bitch…and the old ladies have more power over their men than anybody can even begin to understand.”

Ava smiled. “My mom holds my father in the palm of her hand. She is the club queen. Every man in a cut shows her the utmost respect. She’s den mother and home front backbone, and Ghost Teague couldn’t live without her support.”

She sighed. “I guess this sounds very old fashioned and backward.”

Holly said, “It sounds like the men are men and the women are women.”

Ava’s eyes widened in pleased surprise. “Yes. Exactly.”

“And I think,” Holly said carefully, “that when men are really men, and men are strong, they don’t mind it when their women are even stronger.”

Ava’s smile was brilliant.

“I won’t lie to you: Mercy terrifies me. But he looks like a happy Labrador puppy when he’s around you.”

Ava laughed. “Oh, I’m so telling him that.” She sobered, still smiling softly. “I didn’t tell you all that to scare you; I wanted to prepare you, because Michael’s crazy about you and I think you ought to know what you’re getting into.”

Holly felt the sting of happy tears at the back of her eyes. “Ava, I want…I want very badly to have the chance to be a woman. That would be the best thing I’ve ever been. And Michael’s so good to me.”

Ava must have seen the wet sheen in her eyes, because her expression became fragile and sympathetic. “They love so ferociously,” she whispered. “No self-proclaimed feminist has ever made such a cherished queen of a woman as these boys will. I promise you that.”

The waiter arrived with their salads, jarring them back into the café. It was like the volume had been turned down, and suddenly the restaurant was full of the sounds of cutlery, china, and tangled voices.

“Thank you,” Holly said, dabbing at her eyes as her plate was set before her.

As they ate, they chatted about lighter things, namely Ava’s problems with getting the correct consistency in her oatmeal.

Ava paid the tab. “My treat,” she insisted. “This was fun. My best friend has this new boyfriend and I hardly ever see her anymore.”

And then, before they left the table, Ava said, “There’s a big New Year’s party the day after tomorrow at the clubhouse. Tell Michael to bring you. You ought to be there.”

“Hey, Mama.”

Ava tipped her head back for Mercy’s kiss, the slow, warm press of his lips lingering against hers. “Hi,” she said when he drew back and settled beside her on the couch. She sat leaning against one arm, reading by the lamplight as night fell beyond the window.

“Poe?” he asked, of the book in her hands.

“ ‘The Tell-Tale Heart,’ ” she said, smiling.

“How dark you are, Mrs. L.” He unwound the rawhide strip from the knot in his hair and shook out the dark lengths of it, flopping his head back against the sofa with a relieved sigh.

“More imports?” Ava set the book on the floor.

“God,” he said with a groan. “That’s all they’ll give me. I just want some American steel under my hands.” He waved them helplessly in the air to demonstrate and Ava snorted. “This is all your brother by the way.” He rolled his head toward her. “I had to take a little time off, and he’s gotten way too big-headed, thinking he runs the damn place.”

“Aidan’ll do that,” she agreed.

He sighed again, for dramatic effect, then said, “So what’d you do today?”

She smiled to herself, anticipating his reaction. “I had lunch with Holly.”

He stared at her. “With Holly?”

“Holly the waitress,” she explained, and his brows leapt. “Michael’s Holly.”

“Why the hell would you do that?”

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