“You don’t have to explain it to me,” I told him. “I’m the last person to judge on poor decisions.”
He nodded once more, thumping the counter with his hand. “Enjoy your meal, man.”
I headed for the table where Mari waited and set our food down in front of her.
“Thank you for lunch,” she said sweetly, sliding a napkin and utensils toward me.
“Thank you for telling me about shepherd’s pie.” I dug in with a fork, watching the steam rise from the piping hot filling.
“If you don’t mind me asking...” Mari licked a small piece of mashed potato from her fork. “What did you trade for the meal?”
“Tattoos,” I said, sneaking a glance toward the kitchen, then lowered my voice. “The chef has a swastika on his neck. I’m going to cover it up for him.”
“Oh.” Mari’s brows lifted in surprise. “I didn’t see that.”
“He’s hiding it under his jacket. I offered the cover-up on a hunch, glad he took it.”
Mari took another bite of her food thoughtfully. “I haven’t seen any tattoo shops here yet. You’d probably make a killing if you opened one. You’d have no competition.”
“Maybe.” I turned it over in my head as I chewed my food. Tattooing and drawing all day would be a dream career for me. My only hesitation was in having to deal with people I didn’t know. That part still made me uneasy. But I did gain a possible new client by offering my services to a complete stranger, and that hadn’t been so bad.
Mari and I talked lightly until we were scraping the bottoms of our bowls. Fuck, shepherd’s pie was good. Maybe I could talk Jandro into making it if we ever settled permanently.
Once finished, we returned our dishes to the serving counter. On the other side, the chef and his partner chopped potatoes, I assumed for more pie.
“Thank you, it was delicious!” Mari called through the window.
“Thanks for comin’ in,” the chef called. “And I’ll be seeing you soon, man!”
“Looking forward to it.” Taking Mari’s hand, we headed back out onto the street, the now-emerging sun making us squint. Freyja waited patiently for us just outside the front door, apparently having made friends with some doves.
“Can we walk off this food?” Mari rubbed her belly with one hand. “Or do you have to head back?”
“No, I don’t need to be anywhere.” I was actually relieved that she didn’t want to get back on the bike right away. Any opportunity to spend more time with her, I jumped at.
Fingers laced between us, we started a leisurely pace down the sidewalk. Freyja followed after us at her own pace, her doves in tow. The next block over was some kind of shopping district. Some shopkeepers worked out of established buildings, while others set up folding tables and canopies.
Mari released my hand to look through a rack of clothing, while I mused over an airbrush artist’s display. The artwork wasn’t bad, just no finess yet. Probably a young artist.
“Alright, mate.” Greeting me with a thick foreign accent, the kid nodded at me from his folding chair, dark sunglasses over his eyes and a fat blunt in his hand.
“How’s it goin’,” I mumbled noncommittally. “You do good work here. Keep it up.”
“Cheers, mate.”
I wandered over to the next table where Mari looked over jewelry and chatted with the vendor, an attractive older woman with green eyes and streaks of gray in her reddish-brown hair.
“I love that one.” Mari pointed to a stone pendant encased in a silver setting. “It matches my ring.”
“Oh, so it does!” The jeweler fixed her gaze on Mari’s ring, the one Reaper gave her. “Um, may I? Do you mind?”
“Of course not.” Mari stretched her hand out for the other woman to inspect.
The woman seemed to go pale as she carefully looked over the stone and setting. “May I ask where you got this?”
“It was a gift from my husband.” Mari beamed, wiggling her fingers.
“I see.” The jeweler turned to me, a tense smile on her face. “What a thoughtful gift. You must love seeing it on her finger.”
“Oh no, I didn’t—I’m not, um—”
Shit. My eyes slid over to Mari, who didn’t seem at all distressed by the misunderstanding. Her hand wrapped around my arm, fingers resting on my bicep.
“We’re together, but he’s not the one who gave me the ring. It’s part of my husband’s culture you see, for a woman to have multiple partners. Everyone involved is aware and consenting.”
“I see,” the woman repeated, looking no less pale and nervous than a moment ago. “If it’s not too personal, can I ask your husband’s name?” Her voice wavered slightly.
“It’s Reaper,” Mari answered. “He’s the president of the biker club that came into town a few days ago.
“Well, he has excellent taste.” The jeweler brought her hands together, clasping and wringing them. “I wish you all much happiness.”
“Thank you so much.” Mari smiled politely as we continued walking. Once out of earshot, she leaned her head on my shoulder. “Was that a little weird?”
“I was just about to ask you that.”
“Something was definitely off there.” She stroked her thumb over her ring, toying with the colorful stone as it caught the sunlight.
Five
REAPER
“Dad?”
I blinked several times, certain that the man standing in front of me couldn’t be real. Or alive, for that matter.
“Holy shit.” He rubbed his face, staring back at me intently. “Is it really you, Rory?”
“Fuck,” I breathed in disbelief. “No one’s called me that since—well, my old lady does to give me shit, but—”
“You have a wife?” he asked in an awed whisper. “And you…you lead a motorcycle club?” Only then did he take in my patches, my cut, and Gunner standing next to me wearing the same uniform.
“I, uh, fuck. I guess I should make introductions.” I ran a hand through my hair, purposely tugging at my scalp to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. “This is Gunner, my sergeant at arms. Gun, this is…my old man.”
“My birth name is Finn. Finn Daley.” Dad gave a sheepish laugh and awkward wave. “But for the last five years or so, I’ve gone by Finn Bray. Long story, but I also went by Carter for a little while to escape being detected.”
“Carter?” I barked, my anticipation jumping at the mention of my other father’s name. “Is he around?”
I regretted the question as soon as it came out. Dad’s smile faltered and he gave a small shake of his head. Of course not. He wouldn’t be using my second father’s name if he were alive and well. But I couldn’t stop the questions once they began.
“What about Mom?” I demanded. “Is she okay? What…fuck! What the hell happened?”
Gunner cut in with a friendly squeeze of my shoulder. “We should probably give you some time alone. Right, governor?”