Roses For Little Swan

The plane landed at 9:17 pm. Damien Rhodes didn't look out the window. He didn't need to. He knew this city. He hated this city. Four years. He had been gone four years. He left after his ex slept his best friend and sold club routes to the rivals. He left after his father told him he would never be more than a biker in a leather cut. Now his father was dead. Alexander Devereux Rhodes. Heart attack in his office on the 40th floor. The lawyers said it was quick. "Mr. Rhodes," the flight attendant said. "We have a car for you." Damien stood up. 6'4. Black tee, black cut over it. PRESIDENT patch on his back. Dark eyes, mouth sharp, a thin scar on his lower lip that cut through when he talked. Tattoos up his neck. He didn't answer her. He walked off. The airport was too bright. Too clean. He wanted his bike. Not a Maybach. Outside, Estelle Rhodes was waiting. His mother. 60 but looked 45. Perfect hair. Perfect dress. Black for mourning but designer black. "Damien," she said. Her voice was cold. "Mother," he said. "You didn't come to the funeral," she said. "You had it without me. Makes us even," he said. She stared at his cut. "Take that off. You are not at your little clubhouse. You are home. Your father left you Rhodes Corp. The board is waiting." "I don't want it," he said. "You don't have a choice," she said. "The will says you have to be married within six months and active CEO for a year or it goes to the trust. You lose everything. The house. The shares. Even your little bike shop you call a club. He tied it all." Damien's jaw locked. That was his father. Controlling even dead. "And Poppy is waiting," Estelle added. "Poppy Carter. You remember her. Her family owns half the port. She is perfect." "I said I don't want it," he said again. He walked past her to the bike that Wolf had left for him. A black Harley, matte, loud. He kicked it on. He didn't look back. He rode straight. Not to the mansion. Not to Rhodes Tower. To the clubhouse on the east side. The clubhouse was the same. Neon sign that buzzed. "Rhodes Custom". Bikes outside. Music inside. He parked. He pulled off his helmet. The door opened before he knocked. "President," Wolf Blackwood said. Wolf was his VP. Biggest guy in the club, beard, eyes that never missed. Loyal since they were 15. Wolf hugged him. Hard. "You came back," Wolf said. "Had to," Damien said. "My mother is being my mother." Wolf laughed. "She called us. Said to tell you to wear a suit." "f**k suits," Damien said. They walked in. The bar was loud. Brothers everywhere. Steel Smith was at the back, arms crossed. Sergeant At Arms. Enforcer. If someone needed Torture and Die, Steel handled it. He nodded at Damien. No smile. Steel never smiled. Ford Brooks was at the bar with a laptop. Treasurer. Clean shirt, glasses, but tattooed knuckles. He handled club money and Rhodes dirty money. "Boss," Ford said. "Welcome home." Ethan Jones lifted a hand. Secretary. Young, kept all records. The stolen drive would be his problem later. "We missed you, Prez." Drake Weston, Road Captain, threw him a beer. "Heard your old man finally croaked. You CEO now?" "Shut up," Damien said, but caught the beer. Ajax Floyd was by the door, watching the street. Tail Gunner. Always watching the back. Max Carter and Leo Marley were near the pool table. Prospects. Still proving. Rowan Reese, Ace Radcliffe, Jude Mortimer were in the corner. Brothers with Secret Loyalty. They only answered to Damien and Wolf. It felt right. Leather and beer and loud. Not boardrooms. Damien sat down at his usual booth. The booth that looked over the whole bar. He took a sip of beer. It was cold. That's when he saw her. She was behind the bar, but not supposed to be. Too pretty for this place. Curvy in a stupid diner uniform that was too big, thin waist cinched with an apron. Fine skin, fine hair pulled up messy, long lashes. She couldn't be more than 23. She was wiping the counter fast, nervous. Her name tag said ODETTE. Next to her was another girl, similar age, blonde. Aria. She was laughing at something. Then the door banged. Two men walked in. Not club. Not ours. Leather but cheap. Drunk. One had a gun half out of his waistband. "Yo, pretty girl," one yelled at a girl with the name tag "Aria". "Come here." Aria froze. "I... I don't..." Odette stepped in front of her. Just stepped. No thinking. "She's on shift," Odette said. Her voice was small but stubborn. "Leave her alone." The man laughed. "And who are you? Her mama?" "I'm her friend," Odette said. "Get out." Wolf started to stand up. Damien lifted a hand. "Wait," he said low. He wanted to see. The second man grabbed Aria's wrist. Pulled her over the bar. Aria screamed. Odette didn't scream. She grabbed a beer bottle from the counter and smashed it against the edge. Glass broke. She held it up like a knife. "Let her go," she said. Her hand was shaking but she didn't lower the bottle. "Let her go right now or I swear I will cut you." The man with the gun turned to her now. He pulled the gun fully. "Put that down, b***h, before I shoot your pretty face," he said. The whole bar went quiet. Steel started walking over. Odette didn't move. Her bright eyes were wet but hard. Her neck was thin, exposed, long. Like a swan when it stretches to fight. "Do it then," she said to the gun. "But you touch her and I will still cut you. I don't care." Sunshine. Stubborn. Brave and stupidly good. Something hot and dark hit Damien in the chest. Not anger. Something else. Obsession. Instant. He was on his feet before he knew it. He crossed the room in four steps. He didn't say a word. He grabbed the man with the gun by the back of his neck and slammed his head down onto the bar. The gun went off. Into the wood. Everyone jumped. The second man let go of Aria and tried to run. Wolf caught him at the door. Damien looked down at the guy he had. Nose bleeding. "Whose bar you think this is?" Damien said, voice quiet. Too quiet. The guy whimpered. Damien hit him once. Hard. The guy went out. He let him drop. Then he looked at her. Odette was staring at him, bottle still in hand, breathing fast. Her lashes wet. Her curvy chest moving fast. She looked at his cut, at his scar, at his eyes. "You okay?" he asked. It came out rough. She blinked. "Who... who are you?" He didn't answer. He just stared. At her thin waist. At her neck. At her hands shaking around that broken bottle. Little Swan, he thought. Graceful but fierce. Neck exposed when she fights. Wolf was dragging the two men out back. Aria was crying and hugging Odette. "You shouldn't have done that," Aria whispered. "He had a gun." "He touched you," Odette whispered back. "I couldn't watch." That line. That line stayed in Damien's head. She fought for a stranger like she had nothing to lose. He sat back down in his booth. But his eyes didn't leave her. Ford came over. "You know her?" Ford asked. "No," Damien said. "Waitress from the diner down the road. Works here twice a week for extra. Odette Sterling. Student. Got loans. Good girl," Ford said, because Ford knew everything. Odette Sterling. Sterling. Like swan. Like white. "Get me her schedule," Damien said. Ford raised an eyebrow. "Prez..." "Get it," Damien said. Odette was cleaning up the glass now, hands still shaking. She tucked fine hair behind her ear. She laughed at something Aria said, trying to be brave. Sunshine after a gun. She had no idea a man had just decided she was his. Later, after the bar emptied, Damien stayed in the booth. Wolf sat across. "You good?" Wolf asked. "Who was she?" Damien asked again, even though he knew. "Odette Sterling. 23. Waitress at Marty's Diner too. Student at City College. Lives over on 5th in that shitty apartment building with the broken lock. Debt. Lot of it," Wolf said. "You want I tell brothers to stay away?" Damien looked at Wolf. His dark eyes black. "No one touches her," Damien said. Wolf understood. That was an order. "And get me the landlord's number for 5th building," Damien said. Wolf nodded. He didn't ask why. At 1:42 am, Odette walked home. Alone. With her bag over her shoulder. Thin jacket. Curvy in the streetlight. Damien followed on his bike, lights off, slow. She lived in a building with mold on the outside. Third floor. Window that didn't close right. He watched her go in. Watched her light turn on. Watched her silhouette move - taking off apron, tying hair up. He sat on his bike for an hour. Just watching. He pulled out his phone. New number. Unknown. He typed: "You fight like you have wings, Little Swan." He didn't send it. Not yet. He put the phone away. He looked up at her window. "Little Swan," he whispered for the first time out loud. He liked how it sounded. Inside, Odette locked her door with two locks that barely worked. She kicked off her shoes. She touched her neck where the man had pointed the gun near her. She was still shaking.