Page 7
Zara
The rumble of Azrael’s Harley sent vibrations through the ground beneath my feet long before he appeared around the bend. I’d been waiting in the driveway, nervously adjusting my clothes and wondering if I’d dressed appropriately for meeting what he’d casually referred to as “some family.” But he’d been called away before we could leave. Something about club business.
Azrael slowed as he approached, the powerful engine growling beneath him like a predator ready to pounce. The sleek black machine gleamed in the afternoon sun, polished to perfection like everything else about him. His intense gaze swept over me.
He brought the bike to a stop and killed the engine, the sudden silence almost deafening. With practiced ease, he swung his leg over and gave me a smile that made my stomach flip. He had to be the sexiest man I’d ever met -- all hard angles and swarthy skin, his dark beard neatly trimmed along his strong jaw.
“You ready?” he asked, his voice low and smooth as he approached.
“As I’ll ever be,” I replied, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “So we’re going to Scratch’s place?”
Azrael nodded. “We can ride or walk.”
I eyed the bike. “Ride.”
He flashed me another smile and got back on the motorcycle before holding out his hand to me. I climbed on and wrapped my arms around his waist. He started the engine again, and we were off. It really wasn’t far, and we arrived in no time.
We pulled to a stop in front of a well-kept Victorian house. “He’s been with the club for decades. In fact, he was patched in before we had a compound with homes. This one was custom-built after he moved his family here. Before, they had a place in town.”
I took in the property -- the large yard, the detached garage that looked big enough to house several motorcycles and possibly an SUV, and the wide porch that wrapped around the front of the house. It wasn’t what I’d expected when I thought of an outlaw biker’s home. It looked… normal. Almost inviting.
Azrael’s hand came to rest at the small of my back as we walked up the driveway, the heat of his palm seeping through my thin shirt. It was a possessive gesture, one I was still getting used to.
“Remember,” he said as we approached the porch steps, “these people are my family. Scratch especially.”
I nodded, understanding the importance of this introduction. Azrael wasn’t just bringing me to meet friends. This was something more significant. We climbed the steps together, and I couldn’t help but notice how the wood had been worn smooth from years of boots crossing its surface.
Azrael didn’t wait for an answer after his sharp knock. He simply opened the door and guided me inside, his hand never leaving my back.
The interior was cooler than the spring heat outside, and the sudden change in temperature sent a small shiver through me. Or maybe it was the two women who stood in what appeared to be the living room, both turning to assess me with calculated gazes.
“Clarity, Janessa.” Azrael nodded to them in turn. “This is Zara.”
The older of the two women approached first. She was perhaps in her late forties or early fifties, with streaks of silver woven through her dark hair and laugh lines that spoke of a life fully lived. Her eyes, however, were sharp and missing nothing as she looked me over.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, her voice warm but measured. “I’m Clarity. Scratch’s old lady.”
Old lady. The term still jarred me a bit, though Azrael had explained it was a term of respect within the club, not the insult it might sound like to outsiders.
“It’s good to meet you too,” I said, extending my hand, which she took in a firm grip.
The younger woman, Janessa, stayed where she was, her posture casual but somehow still alert. She couldn’t have been much older than thirty, with her hair pulled back in a practical ponytail and eyes that seemed permanently narrowed in suspicion.
“Janessa,” she said simply, with a slight nod in my direction. No handshake offered. No smile. Just that assessing look that made me feel like I was being measured and possibly found wanting.
“Janessa is married to Irish,” Azrael explained, and I recalled him mentioning Irish before.
I looked around the room, taking in every detail. It wasn’t what I’d expected. Instead of the dark, smoke-filled den I’d imagined, the space was open and airy. Large windows let in plenty of natural light, illuminating the comfortable, if slightly worn, furniture. A massive leather sectional dominated one side of the room, positioned perfectly for viewing the large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.
What caught my attention most, though, were the photos. One entire wall was dedicated to framed pictures -- some old and yellowed, others more recent. In many of them, men in leather cuts bearing the Devil’s Boneyard patch stood proudly beside their bikes or with arms slung around each other’s shoulders. Women appeared in some too, looking fierce and beautiful beside their men. And children -- there were photos of children at various ages, growing up within the embrace of this unusual family.
“Scratch has been asking when Azrael would bring you around,” Clarity said, drawing my attention back to her. “He’s out back with some of the boys. Should be in soon.”
I nodded, not quite sure what to say. This wasn’t just meeting a boyfriend’s friends. This was something else entirely -- an introduction to a way of life I still didn’t fully understand.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Janessa asked, her tone more obligatory than hospitable.
“Water would be great,” I replied, and she disappeared through a doorway I assumed led to the kitchen.
“Zara isn’t used to all this,” Azrael said. “I was hoping you could help ease her into this way of life.”
Janessa returned with a glass of water and handed it to me without ceremony. I took a sip, noticing how the two women exchanged a quick glance when they thought I wasn’t looking.
“I’m going to find Scratch,” Azrael said. “You good here for a minute?”
The thought of being left alone with these women sent a flutter of anxiety through me, but I nodded anyway. “Of course.”
Azrael’s dark eyes held mine for a moment longer than necessary, a silent reassurance, before he leaned in and pressed a brief kiss to my temple. It was a deliberate gesture, I realized -- marking me as his in front of these women whose approval clearly mattered.
“Back in a minute,” he said, then disappeared through a sliding glass door at the far end of the room.
As soon as he was gone, I felt the women’s gazes even more intensely. I took another sip of water, using the moment to gather myself.
“So,” Clarity said, settling onto one of the leather couches and gesturing for me to take a seat across from her, “how long have you known Azrael? We didn’t get much in the way of details.”
The question seemed innocent enough, but I sensed layers beneath it. “A few days,” I admitted, perching on the edge of the couch.
Janessa made a small sound that might have been a scoff or a laugh -- it was hard to tell.
“Not long,” Clarity observed, her expression neutral but her eyes sharp.
“No,” I agreed. “But it’s been… intense.”
That earned me the first genuine smile from Clarity. “It usually is with these men. Especially Azrael. He doesn’t do anything halfway.”
I thought about how quickly things had progressed between us -- from our first meeting in the dark alley to him claiming me as his woman.
“I’ve noticed,” I said, unable to stop the small smile that curved my lips.
“He’s never brought a woman to meet the family before,” Janessa said abruptly, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. “Not in all the years I’ve been around.”
The statement hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. I wasn’t sure if it was meant as a compliment or a warning.
“I’m not trying to rush anything,” I said carefully, setting my water glass on a coaster on the coffee table. “We’re still getting to know each other. But from what I’ve been told, when I agreed to be his, it was a permanent choice.”
“Honey,” Clarity said, her voice gentler now, “the moment he brought you here, things got serious. Azrael doesn’t introduce women to the club. Ever. The moment I heard he was bringing you here, I knew he’d claimed you.”
Claimed. The word sent a shiver down my spine -- part thrill, part uncertainty. What exactly had I stepped into by coming here today?
I looked back at the wall of photos, at the faces of the men and women who made up this unusual family. Their expressions ranged from fierce to joyful, but all of them shared a look of belonging that was unmistakable. They knew exactly who they were and where they fit.
I wasn’t sure I could say the same for myself.
I shifted on the leather couch, the material creaking softly beneath me, and decided that if I was going to be part of this world -- part of Azrael’s life -- I needed to understand it. I couldn’t sit here like some timid mouse waiting for him to return and speak for me. These women, with their knowing glances and measured words, held answers I needed.
“So,” I began, leaning forward slightly, “how long have you been with the club?”
Clarity settled back into her seat, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Been Scratch’s old lady for over twenty years. Long enough to see this club grow from a handful of men with a dream to what it is now. At that time, there was only one other old lady.”
“Twenty years,” I repeated, trying to imagine the life she’d lived. “And you, Janessa?”
The younger woman pushed away from the wall and took a seat beside Clarity, her movements fluid and confident. “I got here a few years after Clarity. But I grew up around MCs. My father rides with another club in Alabama.”
I nodded, filing away this information. “And what exactly… I mean, I know the basics of what an MC is, but what does the Devil’s Boneyard actually do?”
The two women exchanged a quick glance before Clarity answered.
“The club has legitimate businesses,” she said carefully. “Auto shop, security firm, real estate investments. But I suspect that’s not what you’re really asking.”
She was right. It wasn’t.
“Azrael told me he handles problems for the club,” I said, keeping my voice even. “He didn’t elaborate much beyond that. But I came here looking for the Angel of Death, so I’m going to assume it’s work along those lines.”
Janessa let out a short laugh that held little humor. “Of course he didn’t. But I’m surprised you know about the Angel of Death.”
I felt a chill run through me despite the warmth of the room. I’d known Azrael -- or Samir, as his ID stated -- was dangerous. It was evident in the way he moved, the respect others showed him, the intensity that sometimes darkened his eyes. Not to mention the stories I’d heard from my mom and the ladies at the community center. But hearing it stated so bluntly made it more real somehow.
“The club protects what’s theirs,” Clarity said, her voice gentle but firm. “Territory, businesses, family. Sometimes that protection requires… decisive action.”
“And Azrael is the one who takes that action,” I finished for her.
Clarity nodded once, her eyes never leaving mine, gauging my reaction. “Although, he’s not alone. The Sergeant-at-Arms handles the bulk of that sort of thing. His name is Havoc.”
“Yeah, but he’s getting older. I bet he steps down before too long,” Janessa said. “If he does, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if the torch gets passed to Azrael.”
I took a deep breath, my hands gesturing as I tried to put my thoughts in order. “Okay. So there’s the legitimate side of things, and then there’s… the other stuff. What about day-to-day? How does the club work? Who’s in charge? Where do the women fit in?”
My questions came in a rush, fueled by both curiosity and a growing need to understand the world I was peering into. Mostly I wanted to know where I would fit.
Clarity leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “The club has a strict hierarchy. Charming is the President. Scratch was the VP, but now it’s Ashes. Then there are the other officers: Secretary, Treasurer, Road Captain, Sergeant-at-Arms. Full patch members below that. Prospects at the bottom, working to earn their way in.”
“And the women?”
“We’re not members,” Janessa said flatly. “Not officially. But make no mistake -- an old lady holds her own kind of power. The men run the club, but behind closed doors…”
“We have our say,” Clarity finished with a knowing smile. “The politics can get complicated. A smart woman learns how to navigate them.”
I nodded, trying to absorb it all. “And where does Azrael fit in this hierarchy?”
“He’s one of the patched members,” Clarity explained. “Not an officer, but he’s respected -- feared, even. He reports directly to Charming most times.”
My fingers tapped restlessly against my knee as I processed this. “I knew he handled certain situations, but I don’t… I guess I only somewhat understand what it means.”
“He eliminates threats to women and kids,” Janessa cut in bluntly. “Anyone who crosses the old ladies or our kids, threatens the women in town, or poses a potential threat -- Azrael is who gets sent to deal with it.”
The matter-of-fact way she said it made my stomach tighten. This wasn’t talk of roughing someone up or scaring them off. This was something much darker. Then again, I’d seen what he’d done to the men in that alley, and I’d heard the stories about him before coming here. So, I expected it to some extent. But the way they talked about it, like they were discussing something as common as the weather, made me wonder what the hell kind of life I’d signed up for.
“And that doesn’t bother you?” I asked quietly, looking between them. “Knowing what your men do?”
Clarity’s expression softened slightly. “The world isn’t black-and-white, honey. These men… They’ve chosen a life outside society’s rules, yes. But they have their own code, their own justice. I’ve seen Scratch and the others protect women and children who had nowhere else to turn and stand up for people when the law failed them.”
“Evil exists,” Janessa added, her voice hardening. “Real evil. Men who prey on the weak, who hurt women and children. Our men make sure those people pay. Can you say that’s wrong?”
I thought about it for a moment, about what Azrael had told me of his childhood -- raised by a single mother who’d been gang-raped as a teen, never knowing which of her attackers might have been his father. How that had shaped him, given him an unshakable need to protect women at all costs.
“No,” I finally said. “I can’t say that’s wrong.”
Something in Janessa’s posture relaxed slightly, as if I’d passed a test I hadn’t known I was taking.
“Has Azrael taken you to the clubhouse yet?” Clarity asked, reaching for her glass of iced tea on the coffee table. “Someone mentioned you’d already been. Or was I misinformed?”
I nodded. “Yes, but we didn’t stay. It was my second day here, when he told Charming about me.”
Another significant look passed between the women.
“I saw you there that day, but I wasn’t sure how much you knew about the women present. Some of the guys are up front of about it. Azrael seems like the type who would tell you everything up front, but I could be wrong. It’s smart to take it slow,” Janessa murmured. “Clubhouse has its own… challenges.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What kind of challenges?”
Clarity sighed. “Every MC has what we call club girls -- or sweetbutts, club pussy, hang-arounds. Different names but same idea. Women who aren’t attached to any particular member, who are… available to the brothers.”
“Well, not all clubs,” Janessa said. “The Dixie Reapers, my dad’s club, tossed them all out on their asses.”
“But this club didn’t?” I asked.
“They were gone for a short while. Now they’re back. Just consider them a part of club life,” Clarity said. “They’re useful in their way. Keep the single men happy, help out around the clubhouse. Some are just passing through, looking for a good time. Others have been around for years, hoping to catch themselves an old lady position.”
“And that’s where the trouble can come in,” Janessa added, her eyes narrowing. “Club girls have a way of laying claim. Don’t let them overstep.”
The warning in her tone was unmistakable. I sat up straighter, suddenly understanding what they were telling me.
“You mean they might see me as competition?”
“Or as fresh meat,” Janessa said bluntly. “Especially if you’re with Azrael. He’s never taken an old lady, never even brought a woman around more than once or twice. You showing up changes things.”
“If he’d taken one and was able to claim Zara, then the other one would have to be dead,” Clarity said with a pointed look.
I frowned, processing this new information. “So what exactly should I expect?”
Clarity leaned forward, her expression serious. “Some will test you. Try to make you feel like you don’t belong, like you’re temporary. They might flirt with Azrael right in front of you, act like they have history with him.”
“Do they?” I asked, the question out before I could stop it. “Have history with him, I mean. He said he hadn’t done anything with them in a year or more, but does that mean there could be some he has been with?”
Janessa snorted. “Azrael’s not a monk. But he’s always kept relationships separate from club business. Doesn’t shit where he eats, if you get my meaning. If he was with any of those girls, I doubt anyone knows about it other than him.”
“If one tries to get too close, let them know you’re no pushover,” Clarity added, her voice firm. “You don’t have to be cruel -- that’ll just make you enemies. But be clear about your boundaries. And never let them see you’re rattled.”
I nodded slowly, imagining what this might look like in practice. I wasn’t naturally confrontational, but I wasn’t a doormat either. Still, the thought of women actively trying to undermine me or stake a claim on Azrael made my stomach knot.
“The brothers will follow Azrael’s lead,” Janessa continued. “If he makes it clear you’re his, they’ll respect that. But the club girls…” She trailed off with a meaningful look.
“They play by different rules,” I finished.
“Exactly,” Clarity confirmed. “And remember -- respect is everything in this life. How you handle yourself, especially in those first visits to the clubhouse, will set the tone for how everyone treats you going forward.”
I took a deep breath, smoothing my palms over my jeans. “I appreciate the warning.”
“It’s not meant to scare you off,” Clarity said, her expression softening. “Just prepare you. This life… it’s not always easy. But it has its rewards.”
“Family,” Janessa said simply. “Real family. The kind that would die for you without hesitation.”
I thought about Azrael, about the intensity in his dark eyes when he looked at me, the way his hands moved with such careful precision, whether he was touching me, cooking a meal, or cleaning one of his guns. The man contained multitudes -- capable of both violence and tenderness in equal measure.
“Can I ask you something else?” I said, looking between them. “How do you deal with knowing what they sometimes have to do? The violence, I mean.”
Clarity’s eyes grew distant for a moment. “You learn to separate the man from his actions. Scratch has done things that would horrify most people. But he’s also the man who held my hand through seventeen hours of labor, who read to our children, who still looks at me like I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen after all these years.”
“The violence isn’t who they are,” Janessa added quietly. “It’s what they do when necessary. There’s a difference.”
I nodded, understanding dawning. “Like soldiers.”
“Something like that,” Clarity agreed. “They fight so others don’t have to. They carry that weight.”
“And as their women, we help them carry it,” Janessa finished. “We don’t judge. We don’t flinch. We just… love them through it.”
The simple truth of her words resonated within me. Wasn’t that what Azrael had shown me already? A man capable of compartmentalizing, of being both ruthless and gentle?
I wondered if Azrael had recognized something in me from the beginning -- some quality that told him I could handle this life, could handle him in all his complexity. Would he have even offered to claim me if he’d thought I couldn’t handle it?
As if summoned by my thoughts, Azrael stepped back into the room, his dark eyes immediately seeking me out. The conversation abruptly halted as all three of us turned toward him.
“Everything okay in here?” he asked, his gaze moving between us, no doubt picking up on the serious atmosphere.
“Just girl talk,” Clarity said smoothly, rising from her seat. “Getting to know each other a bit.”
Azrael’s gaze found mine, questioning, and I gave him a small nod to indicate I was fine. The protective posture of his body relaxed almost imperceptibly.
“Scratch will be in shortly,” he said. “Just finishing up some business with the boys.”
The encumbrance of what “business” might mean hung in the air, but I didn’t flinch. Something had shifted in me during this conversation -- a new understanding, perhaps, or the beginning of one.
I met Azrael’s eyes steadily, and for the first time, I felt like I was seeing all of him.
And I wasn’t afraid.