Hearts of Winter (Bleeding Angels MC Book 2) by Olivia Stephens

much prettier when you don’t talk.” I stop myself from responding by digging my nails into the softness of my palm. 
     
    “Baby, you’re killing me with that sweet ass of yours.” Baldy laughs loudly, but it sounds more like a growl.  It’s rough and harsh and the opposite of what a laugh should be.  Then he does something that a few days ago would have whirled me into a rage.  He slaps me on the ass, hard .
     
    A few days ago I would have said something, called him out, called him any number of names under the sun.  But now things are different and I’m more than aware that I’m balancing on a knife’s edge with the Bleeding Angels.  I’m not willing to run the risk of making them angry.  A deal is a deal, after all, but you could only ever trust the Angels so far.
     
    “Yeah, bet you like it rough, little girl,” Blondie jeers at my back, and both men laugh so hard it sounds like it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever heard.
     
    I go back into the kitchen to give myself some time to process what’s just happened.  I grab my phone out of my pocket, ready to tell Jake what’s going on at the diner, but I stop myself.  I know exactly what he’d do if he knew that I was here with two Angels.  Nothing good would come of it.  I slip the phone back into my pocket and run through the conversation I’d heard between the two men.
     
    “You alright?” George asks, pulling out a cigarette from behind his ear and lighting it hurriedly.  He never smokes in the diner. This was a first and it was just a signal of how screwed up everything was getting.
     
    “I’ll be fine. I’m sorry they came here again,” I tell George, leaning against the gigantic refrigeration unit.
     
    “It’s not your fault.” He sounds certain, but I’m not so sure.
     
    “You don’t think it’s a little too much of a coincidence that they haven’t been back since that night? And now, during my first shift back, they appear as if by magic?” I ask, pointing out something that George has probably already thought about.
     
    George shrugs in reply, taking another slow drag of his cigarette.  His shoulders relax as the nicotine hits his system and I wonder absently if I should take up smoking.  “Did you think they were going to just let you go?  You’re smarter than that, Aimee. They’ll be keeping tabs on you until whatever deal you’ve made with them has run its course,” he explains, keeping his voice matter-of-fact and unfeeling. But the concern in his eyes tells another story.
     
    I shake my head, refusing to let the tears of frustration and helplessness make their way out of my eyes.  “I guess I figured they’d leave us alone, at least for a little while,” I admit, aware of how naive that must sound.
     
    We stare at the floor, both silent, neither knowing what to say.  Eventually, my mind drifts back to what I’d overheard the bikers talking about and the thought fills me with nervousness.  “I think they’re on a job,” I tell George, keeping my voice low. “They’re watching out for a truck.” Understanding dawns on George’s face, but he doesn’t say anything.  “We have to do something,” I insist.
     
    “What?” he asks, stubbing out his cigarette and folding his arms to look at me.  “What should we do?  Call the cops?” he asks.  He shakes his head, answering his own question.  We both know that there is no point.  The cops would make sure they arrived after the crime had already been committed, and there wouldn’t be any way to place the blame.  Not only that, but the Angels would no doubt be alerted to the fact that the call had come from the diner.  From there, it wouldn’t take them long to figure out who needed to be taught a lesson.  The residents of Painted Rock had learned a long time ago that it didn’t pay to be a rat.
     
    “So we don’t do anything,” I say, shaking my head.  In my opinion, not speaking up puts you in league with the