“Hey,” I answer, nerves already twisting my gut at the prospect of working for him full time once I’ve graduated.
“Ahren,” his deep voice barrels over the line. “I’m in town, and I wanted to know if you’d be up for a session tomorrow. I have a new client coming in, and she’s willing to let you do something small on her. Test the ink, so to speak,” he tells me.
“Yeah, of course.” I’m smiling from ear to ear, and I’m sure he can hear it. “Thanks, man. I look forward to it.”
“If you have any ideas, sketch them up and we can show her. I’m sure she’ll want something unique.” The fact that he’s allowing me to do this means a lot. Elian has always told me I will be able to live my dreams, to have the career I’ve always wanted, but even growing up in Miami with his family looking after me, I knew I had to make it on my own.
“Most definitely. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I tell Scar. We hang up, and I’m thinking about how fortunate I was to meet him. Back in Miami, I hung out at a small dive bar on the beach where the Fallen Saints MC would hang out. The Miami chapter allowed me to spend time with them, and when I met the guys from the Arizona chapter, I knew where my future was headed.
I haven’t yet told Elian I will definitely be patching in, but I know soon I’m going to have to come clean. The more time I spent with the guys, the more I realized that’s where I belong. When Scar told me that he had his own studio not far from Black Mountain, I asked him if I could pop in over a weekend to watch him work, to learn from him, and he agreed.
Even though he doesn’t head out to Black Mountain often, he called me up a few days ago and told me he’s coming to town on business. I don’t know his full story, but from what I gather, it’s not good. He once confided in me that he needed to find his own way, even if it was for a short time. And since he opened his own place, he’s been doing well.
With excitement rushing my veins, I hop on my bike and speed down to the gate, which slides open, allowing me out onto the road. First things first, I need to get to school.
When I walk up to the front door of the house, it whooshes open, and Elian steps out onto the porch. He’s dressed in casual slacks with a black tee that makes him look far younger than he is. But his gaze is haunted, worry creasing his expression.
“What’s up your ass?” I chuckle as I reach him.
“I’m concerned. I don’t know if this is a good idea or not, and Arabella will be here in thirty minutes,” he tells me, looking me over. I’ve always seen Elian as confident, commanding in any situation, but I can imagine taking a risk to be with her can be stressful.
I stop in front of him, looking directly at his worried expression. “Brother,” I say, “let’s go inside and talk.” I follow him in, and we head into the living room where he picks up the bourbon bottle and pours us both a shot.
I left Miami before he did. So, when Mr. Donati was shot, I was all the way over here in Black Mountain.
I remember the phone call. Elian’s cold, rigid voice telling me the old man was dead. He didn’t cry, never showed an ounce of emotion. We sat talking late into the night when we reminisced about Dad, but he never shed a tear. After a couple of days, I went home. I needed to be there for him.
And then he told me he was coming here, he bought a house in Black Mountain, and then, he shocked me by informing me he got a job teaching so he would be around if I needed him. He was hard on me since the day his dad told him I was officially a Donati. In name only, but it didn’t matter. Elian took it to heart. Giving me shit for my clothes, for my grades, but I knew he was only doing it to look out for me, and I appreciated every moment of it. Even though we don’t live together at the moment, he’s still my big brother.
He sets my drink on the table before turning to face the back garden. His back is to me, but I can tell from the way his shoulders tense he’s either really angry or just nervous.
“I want her, Ahren,” he admits but doesn’t look my way. I knew he would say that.
I pick up my drink and take a gulp before I ask, “Did she give you her answer?”
He shakes his head. “We were at a standoff. I didn’t want to do anything at school, so I told her to come here. It would be easier for us to talk openly. The rules—”
“Rules are meant to be broken,” I remind him of something he told me when we were younger. He taught me how to bend them, how to twist them until I was comfortable and could get what I wanted. And I must admit, it was good growing up with him.
“These rules could cost me my job.”
“A job you don’t need.” Once more, a reminder that he has more money than god, and if he wants her, why can’t he have her? He finally turns to me, the blue in his eyes sparking with frustration. I can’t help but grin. I’ve known Eli all my life, and this is new to him—having emotions, feelings, and actually admitting them.
“I tried to build a life without the bullshit of what I did in my past.” A stark
