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Azrael

I didn’t invite many people into my home. There was a reason for that -- plenty of them, actually -- but I’d made an exception for Zara. Completely out of character for me, but I hadn’t been able to just leave her in that alley.

I’d let her sleep in this morning, but apparently the smell of bacon had woken her. Of course, I still didn’t know about her food preferences. My mother had been raised Muslim, but she hadn’t raised me in the faith. Bacon had been on our table when we could afford it. But I wasn’t sure about Zara.

She padded into the kitchen, looking rather adorable in my clothes. I fought not to smile.

“Sit,” I told her, pointing to one of the wooden chairs at my kitchen table.

She didn’t sit. Instead, she paced, her hands twisting in front of her. Her blue eyes darted around the space, taking in the sparse furnishings, the worn countertops, the tidy sink. She hadn’t really gotten a good look at my house last night. Now, in the broad light of day, everything was laid bare. I wondered what she’d expected. Probably not this -- not a simple house at the edge of the Devil’s Boneyard compound, tucked away from the noise and chaos.

I turned on the faucet, letting cold water wash over my hands. “It’s time to talk. I need all the details you can give me. Start at the beginning. Pretend we didn’t speak last night.”

“My mother’s been taken.”

I studied her face carefully. I remembered her saying she was twenty-two. She was young -- too young to be mixed up in the kind of shit that usually found its way to my doorstep. Pretty in a way that was hard to ignore, with skin a few shades darker than mine and those startling blue eyes.

“What makes you think that?” I asked.

“She’s been missing for days. She wouldn’t just leave. Not without telling me.” Zara’s fingers tightened on the chair. “I went to her house, and there were signs of a struggle. A broken vase. Her purse was still there, her phone.”

“You call the cops?”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah. They took a report. Said they’d look into it. Then they asked if my mother had any ‘male friends’ she might have gone off with. Asked if she was the type to do drugs, to disappear on benders.”

“Even with the scene laid out the way it was?”

“Yeah. They said she could have accidentally knocked the vase over or some bullshit along those lines.” She gave a heavy sigh.

I nodded, unsurprised. “Your mother’s name?”

“Mazida. Mazida Quadir.”

“And your father?”

“Carter Colton. Like I mentioned last night, he’s been dead a few years now.”

I pushed away from the counter and walked to the refrigerator, pulling out the orange juice. I poured two glasses and set them on the table, then retrieved the food I’d made.

“If you don’t eat pork, I might have some chicken.” I put a plate down and she finally pulled out the chair and sat.

“This is fine. Dad loved his bacon. Probably why he had a heart attack.”

I took my own seat across from her. “Tell me about your mother. Who’d want to hurt her?”

“She’s quiet. Keeps to herself. She married my dad when she was nineteen. He brought her here from Egypt. After he died, it was just the two of us.”

“She work?” I’d found people didn’t typically disappear at random. Although, some just had rotten luck. It was possible someone had taken notice of her and decided they had to own her. But most of the people I tracked down had gotten mixed up with someone they shouldn’t have. A lot of young girls didn’t understand a handsome guy with a nice smile could be hiding a black heart and a cruel streak.

“At a community center. Helping immigrant women adjust to life here. Teaching English, helping with paperwork. That kind of thing.” She paused. “And she sometimes helped them escape from abusive situations.”

I took a bite of food, letting the information settle. “Any strange calls? Men hanging around? Someone from her past show up unexpectedly?”

Zara’s eyes widened slightly. “There was a man. About a month ago. I didn’t see him, but Mom was upset after he visited. She wouldn’t tell me who he was, just that it was someone from ‘before.’”

“Before what?”

“Before America, I guess.” Zara ran a hand through her hair. “She was raised in a strict household. Her father arranged a marriage for her when she was seventeen. That’s why she ran -- to avoid being forced to marry some old man she’d never met. As I mentioned last night, her family is from Israel. I don’t know why they moved to Egypt, or if they’re even still there. I’ve never met any of them.”

I rubbed my jaw. “You think this has something to do with her family? After all these years?”

“I don’t know.” Zara’s voice cracked. “I just know she’s gone, and no one seems to care except me.”

I studied her for a long moment. There was something she wasn’t telling me -- I could see it in the way she wouldn’t quite meet my eyes.

“How’d you hear about me, Zara? The truth.”

She looked up then, her gaze steady despite the fear I could see behind it. “My mother told me about you. Not by name, but she said there was a man -- an avenging angel -- who sometimes helped women when they had nowhere else to turn. A few of the women at the center, they whispered about you too. How you’ve helped women escape abusive husbands, how you’ve punished men who hurt children. The fact you’re one of us impressed them.”

“Us?” I asked.

She nodded. “From the Middle East.”

My jaw tightened. I hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t expected to be a story mothers told their daughters, a whispered legend among women who needed help.

“And what exactly do you think I can do that the police can’t?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

“Find her,” Zara said simply. “And hurt whoever took her.”

I finished my food and set the plate in the sink. Part of me wanted to send her away. This wasn’t my usual game -- I dealt in certainties, in punishment for crimes I knew had been committed. Not in solving mysteries or finding missing persons. There had been a few exceptions over the years, but not many.

There was something about the desperation in her eyes that I recognized. I’d seen it before, in my own reflection.

“You have somewhere to stay?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I have to check out of the motel today. I spent everything I had trying to find you.”

I rubbed my eyes, already knowing this was going to blow up in my face. I’d let her stay here last night, but Charming had made it clear she couldn’t remain.

“If we’re going to help you, we need my President’s approval.”

“And will he approve?” Her voice was small.

I thought about Charming, about the unwritten rules of the Devil’s Boneyard MC. We had a code -- protect women and children, always. But we also had boundaries. Lines we tried not to cross without good reason.

“I guess we’ll find out,” I said, then turned to wash my empty plate. As the water ran over my hands again, I found myself wondering if I was about to wash blood off them again soon. Some things were inevitable in my line of work.

I glanced back at Zara, at the way she sat ramrod straight in the chair, trying to look brave despite the fear that clung to her like a second skin. She’d come to me for a reason, tracked me down based on whispers and rumors. She’d put her trust in a man known for violence.

I just hoped I wouldn’t end up letting her down. Or worse, dragging her into the kind of darkness that surrounded me like a shroud.

* * *

The Devil’s Boneyard clubhouse was alive with the usual activity when I pulled up with Zara on the back of my bike. Brothers milled around outside, some smoking, others working on bikes in the fading light. A few of them straightened when they saw me, eyes narrowing at the unfamiliar woman. I killed the engine and turned to Zara, whose eyes had gone wide at the sight of so many patched members in one place.

“Stay close to me,” I told her. “Don’t make eye contact unless someone speaks to you directly.”

She nodded, her shoulders tensing visibly. “They look… intimidating.”

“That’s the point.” I climbed off the bike and waited for her to join me. “But they won’t hurt you. At least, the men won’t.”

I placed my hand at the small of her back as we approached the clubhouse, a gesture that wouldn’t be lost on my brothers. It was a clear signal -- this woman was under my protection, at least for now. Several nodded in acknowledgment as we passed, though I could feel their curious gazes following us.

The clubhouse doors swung open. Music played from speakers mounted in the corners, not loud enough to drown conversation but sufficient to provide privacy for those who wanted it.

“Azrael,” a voice called from behind the bar. One of the Prospects, a young guy who’d been hanging around for about six months. Earnest, but green as hell. “President’s waiting for you in Church. Said to bring your… guest.”

I nodded and guided Zara through the room, aware of the conversations that quieted as we passed, the speculative glances that followed us. The women were more obvious in their scrutiny, several of them whispering behind their hands. Club women always knew when something was off -- when a new female entered their territory. And they sure as fuck didn’t like the idea someone might snatch a patch from their hands. Not that any of them had a snowball’s chance in hell of getting claimed by us.

At the back of the main room, a heavy wooden door marked the entrance to our meeting room -- what we called Church. I stopped and turned to Zara.

“Wait here,” I said, gesturing to a chair outside the door. “This meeting is members only, unless Charming says otherwise.”

“But didn’t he say to bring me?” she asked.

“Until I hear it from his lips that he wants you in the room, wait here. He may just want you close by.”

Fear flickered across her face. “What if someone --”

“No one will bother you.” I caught the eye of the same Prospect who’d spoken to us earlier. “Hey. Make sure she’s comfortable. Get her something to drink. Non-alcoholic.”

The Prospect straightened. “Yes, sir.”

I gave Zara’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then pushed open the door to Church and stepped inside.

The room fell silent as I entered. Around the long wooden table sat the core members of the Devil’s Boneyard MC. At the head, Charming watched me with measured eyes, his silver-streaked hair and face reflecting the decades he’d spent leading the club. To his right, Havoc -- our Sergeant-at-Arms -- sat with his massive arms crossed over his chest, his red hair now more white than copper, but his blue eyes as sharp as ever. Beside him was Renegade, our Road Captain, his expression unreadable beneath his graying beard.

Other brothers filled the remaining seats -- men I’d ridden with for years, men whose blood had mixed with mine on more than one occasion. They all watched me with varying degrees of curiosity and concern.

“Azrael,” Charming said, gesturing to an empty chair. “Sit. Tell us what’s so urgent it couldn’t wait. I know you gave me the basics last night but get all of us up to speed. Depending on how this goes, we’ll call in the others.”

I took my seat but didn’t relax into it. “There’s a woman outside. Zara Colton. Her mother’s been missing for several days. Signs of abduction. Police don’t seem interested in pursuing it.”

“And this concerns us how?” one of the brothers asked from farther down the table.

I fixed him with a hard stare. “Her mother helps at a community center for immigrant women. Helps them adjust to life here, navigate the system. She’s spent years helping women escape bad situations. Sound fucking familiar?”

“One of ours?” Havoc asked, leaning forward.

I shook my head. “No. But she knows about us -- about what we do for women in trouble. Or at least, she knows about me. She’s told her daughter stories about the ‘avenging angel’ who helps women when they have nowhere else to turn. Seems the other ladies at the center know about me too.”

A murmur ran around the table. Our reputation in certain circles was something we cultivated carefully -- we wanted the right people to know they could come to us for help, but we kept a low profile with law enforcement and rival organizations.

“The cops?” Renegade asked, his voice rumbling from deep in his chest. “You said they aren’t doing anything?”

“Took a report. Suggested she might have run off with a man or be on a bender.” I snorted. “Standard bullshit. They’re not looking.”

Havoc’s fist came down hard on the table, making several brothers jump. “Fucking typical,” he growled. “Woman goes missing, they don’t give a shit unless she’s rich or connected.”

His rage wasn’t surprising. Havoc had a special hatred for men who harmed women -- we all did.

“What else do we know?” Charming asked, seemingly unaffected by Havoc’s outburst.

I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the table. “Mother’s name is Mazida Quadir. Middle Eastern origin, came to the States when she was nineteen. She married an American named Carter Colton when she was seventeen in order to escape an arranged marriage. Colton died a few years ago. Zara says there’s been a man around recently -- someone from Mazida’s past, from ‘before America.’ She thinks it might be connected.”

Renegade uncrossed his arms and scratched at his beard. “Family honor shit, maybe? Those cultures, they don’t forget when a woman dishonors them. Even after decades. Hell, if anyone knows about that, it’s you.”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” I agreed. “But there could be more to it. The community center -- it’s the kind of place that helps women escape abusive situations. Could have made enemies.”

“Or somebody took a liking to her,” another brother suggested. “Decided to take what wasn’t offered.”

The thought made my jaw clench, but I nodded. “Possible.”

Charming hadn’t moved, his eyes steady on me. “And the girl? This Zara? What’s her situation?”

“She’s been sleeping at a motel, but says she has to check out today. Spent everything she had trying to find me based on rumors and whispers.” I met his gaze evenly. “I let her sleep in my spare room last night. I can’t exactly toss her out on the street today.”

That raised a few eyebrows around the table.

“Since when do you bring strays home, Angel Boy?” someone asked from the far end.

I didn’t bother looking at whoever had spoken. My eyes stayed on Charming. “She’s desperate. Scared. And she came to us for help.”

“To you,” Charming corrected. “She came to you.”

“Same thing,” I said, a slight edge entering my voice.

Havoc leaned forward, forearms on the table. “I say we help. If her mother’s been helping women get out of bad situations, she’s doing the same work we do. Just in a different way.”

Renegade nodded slowly, his eyes scanning the room. “Could be a trap. Someone using this girl to get close to us.”

“It’s not,” I said firmly. “You didn’t see her face. Girl is tough as hell, and didn’t back down when she was attacked last night, but she’s scared. That kind of fear can’t be faked.”

The room fell quiet as everyone looked to Charming. As President, his word was final. If he decided the club wouldn’t get involved, that would be it -- officially, at least.

“What’s your plan?” he asked finally.

I straightened in my chair. “Start with the mother’s house. Look for anything the cops might have missed. Talk to the women at the community center, see if they know anything. Track down this man from her past.”

“And if you find whoever took her?” Charming’s voice was measured, careful.

The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for my answer. They all knew what I was capable of. What I’d done in the name of justice -- or vengeance, depending on who you asked.

“I’ll find Mazida,” I said simply.

Charming’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Even if I tell you to stand down?”

A tension crept into the room, electric and uncomfortable. Challenging the President wasn’t something done lightly, not even by a brother with my standing in the club. I chose my next words carefully.

“We’ve never walked away from a situation like this before,” I said, my voice low but firm. “A woman in danger, a daughter pleading for help. We’ve built our reputation on being different from other MCs -- on protecting women and children when no one else will. Are we going to throw that away now?”

Havoc grunted in agreement, while Renegade’s gaze shifted between Charming and me, assessing the building tension.

“This isn’t about disobeying orders,” I continued. “It’s about who we are as a club. As brothers.” I leaned forward slightly. “And you know as well as I do, Charming, that if it was your woman missing, you’d want every brother out there looking, rules be damned.”

A heavy silence fell over the room. Some of the brothers looked down at the table, others exchanged glances. What I’d said wasn’t wrong, and they all knew it. Our code -- both written and unwritten -- put the protection of women and children above almost everything else.

Charming held my gaze for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

“You’ve got club resources,” he said finally. “But you take Havoc and Renegade with you when you start digging. No lone wolf shit, understand? This is club business now.”

Relief washed through me, though I kept my face neutral. “Understood.”

“What about the girl?” Renegade asked. “She gonna stay at your place while we handle this?”

And there it was -- the question I’d been expecting since I walked in. Club rules were clear about women staying at the compound. They either belonged to a member, or they didn’t stay. Period.

Charming’s eyebrow raised slightly, waiting for my answer. I could feel the weight of every brother’s gaze on me, the unspoken question hanging in the air.

What exactly was Zara Colton to me?