Give Me Grace (Devil's Right Hand MC #5)

Chapter 4

Grace's POV
August 14th, 2002

I used to dread sunsets. As the warm yellow light of the day faded to angry shades of orange and purple it was only a reminder of what would happen in the dark of night. A warning for the hell I would have to endure under a cover of darkness.

Even after I was out of that house and on the streets, sunsets pissed me the fuck off. Their presence meant that another day passed by and I was still stuck here under this fucking bridge eating scraps of sandwich bread to stay alive.

But that was eleven days ago.

Now, sunsets mean that I will be eat. The warm colorful pink and purple sky shinning above my bridge welcomes the handsome stranger. It means he will come back, just like he has every single night since I took his wallet.

Well, after ten nights spent in a comfortable silence while I stuff my face with whatever food we order from the diner, I guess we aren't strangers anymore. But that's the problem, isn't it? I don't know what the fuck we are. I don't know what the fuck he wants.

He has to want something from me, right?

After ten evenings together, you'd think I'd know what kind of person he is, but the only thing I know for sure about Mr. Darkness is that he hates talking just as much as he hates smiling. Even when he laughs, the corners of his mouth only flicked upward, never meeting a true smile. A part of me wonders if this man has ever truly smiled. Hell, a part of me wonders if he can freaking string together more than two sentences.

Every night we sit in the diner and I awkwardly chatter away while he nods along, but I can't afford to turn away the first steady meal plan I've had in four months. In only ten days my mid-section has thickened just enough to hide the jagged edges of my hip bones, though my ribs and spine still shine through easily. I'm fucking skin and bones and if Mr. Darkness is offering me free food I can't turn him down. Even if I don't know anything about him.

Well, that's not necessarily true, I know a few things.

1. His name is Christopher.
2. He rides a black motorcycle that he parks on the curb beside my bridge and he never wears a helmet.
3. Based on his vest, he's the Vice President of the Devil's Right Hand Motorcycle Club.
4. He never smiles.
5. He calls me sweetheart even though he knows my real name.
6. His eyes light up just a little every time he calls me that.

Okay, maybe that last one was unnecessary, but true none the less. It's why in my mind he will always be Mr. Darkness. Hidden in all black, sulking in the darkness, only coming out to take the poor homeless girl to the diner. It's his eyes, those dark eyes, that draw me to him. He wants people to believe his eyes are the same color as his soul, but I know better. I don't know much, but I've met someone with a coal black soul before, I endured their endless torture. People like that don't feed girls for ten days because their hungry and and ask for nothing in return. People like that don't keep showing up when they really don't have to.

Honestly, I don't know what kind of fucking person does this and that drives me crazy.

Tonight, the uncertainty mixes with my heartbeat and pounds so loudly in my chest I can barely breathe. I know absolutely nothing about this man except that he is the reason I'm still alive.

I don't know what he wants, but tonight I am determined to find out.

I have to know what is going on and with a triumphant smile on my face that basically oozes stubbornness, I make a promise to myself that I will get answers.

And just at the right time, those answers come roaring up the quite street, coming to a stop only a few feet away from my camp.

Even on his motorcycle, he radiates mystery. The very hot, very dark, man of the night riding across the train tracks to the bad side of town to.... stare at a homeless girl while she shoves food in her face. I wouldn't characterize what we do as conversation because I think that would require more on his part than staring at me. He just sits in that damn booth, buys me food, and looks at me.