A Dream of Summer (Bleeding Angels MC Book 3) (7 page)

“Jake’s gone.” They are two simple words, but they’re harder than they should be to say.

“What do you mean, gone?” My news is enough to take George’s attention yet again away from the grill.

“Gone as in no longer here with me. He’s with the Angels.” I speak through gritted teeth but it doesn’t make the words any less true.

“But… I thought… It’s not time yet, is it?” George looks about as confused as I feel.

“It’s a long story, G, but that’s the punchline. It’s not the end, though; I’m going to get him back.” George is the fourth person I’ve said this to, and I grow more confident each time.

“Aimee—” George holds up his hand and I know what he’s planning on saying.

“I know, I know, it’s dangerous, and it’s going to be hard, and more to the point, how the hell am I even going to manage it?” I wave my hands in the air to signify the enormity of the task. “I know it’s not going to be easy, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.” I cock my head, waiting for the inevitable disagreement from George as he points out all the reasons why I’m not going to succeed in what I’m planning.

But that’s not what he does and I suppose I should have known better than to expect that of him.

“
Lo difícil se hace. Lo imposible se intenta.”
He says it almost reverently and I get the impression, that they’re not just another way of saying that this isn’t something I can do.

“Sorry, Big G, my Spanish is a little rusty. You mind translating for me?” I’m vaguely aware of Crystal hovering by the door to the kitchen, probably desperate to tell us that customers are waiting for their orders and she’s about to go on a break.

“It’s an old saying: ‘Difficult things we do. Impossible things, we try.” He shrugs his shoulders.

“Thanks, Big George,” I whisper as I look at my feet. They mean more to me than he could possibly imagine. They mean that he believes in me, that he believes I can do what I’m setting out to accomplish.

“If you two have finished whatever you’re doing that’s holding up all the orders, we’ve still got customers to feed,” Crystal bursts out, looking exasperated and completely unamused.

“Sorry, Crys, why don’t you go on your break? I’ll deal with this.” I nod encouragingly at her and she looks grateful enough to cry before she disappears back out onto the floor of the diner.

“I guess I should go and at least pretend to work here,” I joke, heading towards the door, still feeling a little warm inside from George’s words.

“Yeah, stop distracting me from the grill.” His words are gruff but I can hear the smile in his voice. “Oh and Aimee...”

“I know Big G, I know. ‘Be careful.’” I do my best imitation of his deep baritone, but the emotion I’m feeling makes my voice crack. George still has the heart to laugh.

The morning shift passes in a blur and when the breakfast diners have headed out and Crystal along with them, I find jobs for myself to do. If the sugar is even an inch empty from the top, I re-fill it. I clean the counters until they shine—or at least they shine as much as the old Formica can. I feel a little like I can’t stop and can’t stand still or everything is going to catch up with me.

I keep checking my cell, the slightest noise makes me snatch it up in case I’ve missed the message that I’m waiting for, hoping for, from Jake. The three words I’d sent him in the early hours of the morning remain unanswered.
Are you ok? x

I’d wrestled with what to ask. I’d wanted to tell him a million things. That I love him. That I miss him. That I’m sorry. That I need him. That I wish he was with me. That I wish I had a chance to explain, to tell him what happened, to tell him my side of the story. But instead I decided on the one thing that I wanted to know above all others. I wanted to know how he was doing. I still want to know. Is he safe? Is he hurt? What are they making him do?

The morning rush gives way to the lunchtime crowd. Vanessa has called in sick so I’m on my own in the diner and it suits me just fine. The busier I am is the less time I have to worry about Jake, the less time I have to turn over all the possibilities in my had over what it means that I haven’t heard from him. As the hours go by, I figure that ultimately there are only two options: Either the Angels aren’t letting him talk to me, or he simply doesn’t want to.

“Aimee, why don’t you take five?” George suggests when I go in to collect the last lunch order of the day.

“No, I’m good.” I wave away his concern as I pick up the steaming plate of food. My stomach rolls at the smell of it.

“You don’t look good. When was the last time you ate?” George looks me up and down, tilting his head critically.

“I don’t know—maybe yesterday, maybe the day before.” The truth is that I don’t really remember. It’s such a simple thing, but I have no idea when the last time was. I’ve been running on black coffee so far and I can feel from the twitching muscles in my legs that I’m getting to the point where there’s more caffeine in my system than there is blood.

“Take this to the customer, and then come straight back here, you hear me?” It’s not a question. George is already busying himself behind the grill; I’ve been dismissed.

I do as instructed, and when I get back to the kitchen there’s a plate of food waiting for me. But my stomach twists and lurches at the thought of it.

“Thanks, boss. But I don’t think that I can eat anything right now.” I stare at the plate as if it might rear up and bite me.

“You look like you’re about to fall down. You need food.” When George sees that this approach isn’t working, he changes tactics. “Do you think you’re going to be able to help Jake if you can barely stand up? Now eat.” He nearly shoves the plate at me to the point where if I don’t take it, it’s going to end up all over me.

I start picking at the open-faced sandwich that George has made me, and after one mouthful I start shoveling the food in as if I haven’t eaten in months. George grunts a contented sound as he watches me polish off the plate and drink an entire glass of milk that he’s poured out for me.

As soon as I’ve swallowed the last glug, George takes the glass from me and jerks his head towards the store room. “Now take a nap, you look like shit.”

“But what about service?” We’re at least a couple of hours away from the diner re-opening for early bird dinner, but the truth is, I’m nervous that if I go to sleep now I won’t be able to get up again.

“You’re not on the next shift. You’re working the graveyard. Now, don’t argue with me. You’ve been serving the customers with a face like a sad Monday morning. That’s not you, Aimee. You’re the girl that knows all about the lives of all the customers, the girl that calls them by their first names and asks about their family. You smile at them. But you’re not that girl today.”

“I’m sorry.” I can feel myself getting choked up, but I swallow the temptation down. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I just need a bit of a rest.” As I say the words I know how hollow they sound, but they’re better than the truth—the truth that I don’t know if I’m going to be that girl that George was describing ever again.

I head out to the store room, and to the little cot bed that George has made up there for when he needs to take a nap between shifts. He works longer hours than all of us put together, so it’s no wonder the man needs a break every now and again.

I almost expect to lie down on the cot and be unable to sleep. There are too many things going around in my head, too many worries and anxieties, too much that I still need to think through. But my brain seems to know what’s best for me and almost as soon as I lay my head on the pillow I fall asleep.

I’d love say that the safety of the diner and knowing that George is around to look out for me means that I manage to keep the nightmares at bay. But that’s not the case. Closing my eyes takes me right back to Ryan’s bedroom.

“Jakey-boy didn’t wear a rubber the other night, did he? If he doesn’t wear one, I don’t need to.”

The feeling of fear and of being completely and utterly alone comes flooding back to me and I scream out, wishing that someone would come to rescue me. I scream, but all Ryan does is laugh and then he hits me, making me feel like my eye is about to explode out of its socket.

Slut. Whore.

His words echo in my mind and when I look up at him all he does is laugh. He points at me and his mouth becomes a cheek-splitting grin that makes his face look it’s about to be cut in half.

I try to run away from him but he’s everywhere, his face surrounding me wherever I turn. I can’t get away from him.

Pathetic little whore. I’ll fucking kill you.

He laughs and the more I try to run, the more I fall and the harder it is every time to get up. I’m ashamed and disgusted at myself to the point where I’m crying so hard that I can’t catch my breath to run.

I feel Ryan’s breath on my neck as he comes up behind me and suddenly I’m naked and he’s all over me. I scream out and, as if by magic, Jake appears. I could almost cry with relief, but instead of helping me he just stands there and watches as Ryan touches me while I’m paralyzed, powerless to stop him.

Ryan and he exchange a look of amusement and Ryan whispers in my ear, his breath as rancid as I remember it. “There’s no point looking at him for help. Jake’s with us now.” I try to cover my ears with my hands but I can’t move, all I can do is stand there while Ryan does whatever he wants to me and Jake looks on, motionless. He stares at me with so much hate that it’s worse than anything that Ryan can do to my body.

Slut. Whore.

The words echo in my mind, but this time it’s Jake’s voice saying them, and he’s laughing while I cry and scream for them to stop, scream for help, scream for anyone.

“Jesus, Aimee wake the hell up!” I’m being shaken and I push the hands away from me, mixing the dream with reality.

“Get off of me. Don’t touch me. I hate you!” I push myself a far as I can towards the back wall, as if that will offer some protection.

But I’m not in the Bleeding Angels’ complex. I’m in the store room of the diner. And it’s not Ryan that’s shaking me, it’s Big George, and he looks like he’s just seen a ghost.

“Jeez, Aimee, it’s just me. It’s only me.” He uses a tone of voice that you’d associate with calming a wild horse or talking someone down from off a ledge.

“Right, sorry. Must’ve been a nightmare.” My mouth is dry and the words come out hoarse and dry. I can feel the sweat start to cool on my skin and the memory of my dream makes me shiver.

“Yeah, some nightmare. You were screaming like a banshee. Good thing we didn’t have any customers, or you’d have scared them all half to death.” George leans back on the cot that he’d taken a seat on, looking for all the world like he’s the one that needs a lie down now.

“How long have I been asleep for? Isn’t it time for the early bird dinner yet?” I cast around for a sign of what time it is, but there’s nothing in this room that would tell me.

“Early bird dinner? Aimee, we’re well into the graveyard shift. I let you sleep ‘cos I saw how exhausted you were. Now what the hell was all that screaming and carrying on about?” George narrows his eyes at me and even in the dark I can see that he’s concerned—more so than normal.

“Nothing, it’s fine. Just a bad dream, that’s all, no biggie.” I stand up, straightening my uniform and re-tying my hair, trying to shake off the bad feeling that came along with the dream.

“You’re not yourself, Aimee, not even a little bit. And, to be honest, it’s scaring me a little.” George looks at me with a worried expression and I know he’s not kidding.

“I know,” I admit. “It’s scaring me too.”

George looks like he wants to say something more but he’s interrupted by the bell over the diner door. We both turn simultaneously and everything else rushes out of my head. All I see are the two men that have just walked in. It’s Agent Warner and his partner. They’re the ones that are going to help me to get Jake back—they just don’t know it yet.