Page 25 of Crow's Haven
Crow parks near the back and helps me off before unstrapping the carburetor from the saddlebag.
“Come on,” he says. “I’m gonna introduce you to a few of my club brothers.”
I follow him up the steps and through the front door, eager to learn more about this aspect of his life, heart thudding like I’ve just walked into someone else’s world. The inside isn’t what I expected either. There is no dim lighting, pool tables with torn felt, or overwhelming stench of beer or smoke. It’s well-lit and cleaner than I imagined. A long bar runs along one side of the main room. It’s clean and well-stocked. Since it’s still early morning, the bar is closed. A handful of men are lounging on leather couches or nursing coffee mugs. It looks like regular guys in cuts getting woke up to start their day.
Crow pauses just inside and tips his chin towards the guys. “Morning.”
“You’re up early, Crow,” one of them calls back. He’s got long dark hair and is talking to a prospect. When we get closer, I can see the name on his cut is Rigs. He’s wearing dark clothing and has a cross hanging around his neck. I’m surprised they have a minister in their club, because for all intents and purposes, he’s dressed just like I would expect a biker man of God to dress.
Crow jerks his chin at the pair. “Rigs, I’d like you to meet Sharon.”
“I heard you finally got yourself some help with those boys,” Rigs responds, eyeing me with a critical eye.
“Yeah, the boys have gotten attached fast,” Crow responds gamely.
“How about you? Are you getting attached as well?”
“You know that I am. How could I not?” Crow says warmly, draping one arm around my waist. Gesturing between Rigs and the prospect he was talking to, Crow asks, “You two looked thick as thieves when we walked in. What’s going on?”
Rigs stills for a second, glancing at me before lowering his voice. “Just club business.”
I’m guessing that means it’s secret biker business.
Crow’s head jerks up to look at Rigs and he offers, “If you need me to, I can drop everything to help you out.”
Rigs shakes his head, “Siege, Tank, Dutch, and Rider are meeting up later. If we need you, we’ll text you.”
Crow dips his head respectfully, “Thanks, brother.”
Rigs’ phone buzzes then. “Well, I hope you and Miss Sharon have a wonderful day, I’ve gotta go.”
When they head out the door, I say, “That’s Ghost leaning on the door of the garage, and Zen’s the quiet one pretending not to listen.”
“I’m not pretending,” Zen mutters from his spot on the couch, lifting his mug. He’s sitting there with his laptop open on his lap.
“Like I said before, this is Sharon.”
I shake Zen’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Crow gives me a little nudge towards the hallway. “Garage’s this way. Come on, I’ll drop this off and then we’ll grab a bite to eat.”
I follow him past a small office, a trophy case filled with patches and old photos, and into the attached garage. Ghost backs through the doorway as we enter. The moment the door swings open, the scent of grease and rubber hits me like a wave.
“Carb,” Crow says simply, as he lays the small part on the counter.
“Thanks brother,” Ghost grins, taking the part with obvious appreciation. “This saves me half a week of waiting for one to be shipped.”
“Glad to help,” Crow replies before we duck back into the main room. A few minutes later, we’re sitting at a high-top near the windows with a platter containing an assortment of breakfast-type food on it.
“This place is nice.” I glance around, letting my gaze wander over the leather couches, pool tables, and the photos and biker memorabilia on the walls. “It’s not what I expected.”
Crow chews for a moment before answering. “Most people expect it to look like a gang hideout or a biker bar.”
“Well…” I shrug. “That was kind of the mental image I had formed in my mind.”
He sighs. “Yeah. We get that a lot. But this isn’t an outlaw club.”
I gaze at him, trying to unpick that in my mind. “I remember you saying something about it before, but I couldn’t quite get my head around it.”
