Biker's Claim The Broken Angel is Mine (Cora and Jake) novel Chapter 47

Chapter 47

Cora POV

Everything had started okay, or so I had thought.

Claus

The room was finished, and I felt good side. I was making the right decision. I pulled out the clothes I was going to wear to work tomorrow and set them aside in the walk-in robe.

Now what?

Soft rock was playing, and I felt like sitting on the balcony.

Sitting in one of the chairs, I watched the billowy clouds float by and listened to the club members working in the grounds, bikes coming and going, as life continued, as it should.

I felt melancholy.

Remnants of my dream didn’t go completely away, so I thought of my mother, the time we spent together, and how close I had been with her. We were like twins or sisters, not mother and daughter. We shared the same love of life, had the same sense of humour, and she taught me all she knew. Many a day, we would sit in front of her computer as she taught me about her share, the business she owned, the money she moved around in the stock market, and the bank term deposits she held. When I turned sixteen, we went to the bank, and she handed over a lot of what she owned, saying it was my share and had me sign a lot of deeds and stuff in the lawyer’s office. All this she kept from Dad, making me promise if I was married, to do a prenup, and make sure that I protected myself, no need to be fleeced of all we have because the man couldn’t keep it in his pants, or get bored with you. This was something she learned from her mother, who lost a lot of money through a bad divorce. She knew that Dad was sleeping with my now stepmother and had put things in place to protect herself and me. Little did I know that a month later, I would lose the one person I knew loved me unconditionally.

The lawyer and accountant that mum used are working with me now. Once a month, we talk and discuss any changes. I try to watch the stock market and get the gist of it, but I am not as good as Mum was, but I do all right. Having even invested in a long shot, not in stock, but a silent partnership, put a lot of start-up money in, and ensured that the company couldn’t do the dirt on me in the future. I owned fifty percent, and the creator, the other fifty. We have it worded that we together own all that he creates, in any name he uses. The man was desperate for the funding. For someone to give him a chance. My accountant suggested investing and giving it a go. It’s an Al program; it was doing well. Already looks like a success. The guy keeps me in the loop, and my lawyer and accountant are keeping an eye on him. Sometimes, when companies do well, they try to get rid of their investors because they are no longer needed. We are on the lookout to see if he was one of those kinds of guys. Another thing about trust is that it’s such a fragile word. He can offer to buy me out anytime, and I would let him.

Gunner arrived with coffee and a muffin in hand; my stomach agreed I needed fuel.

What I didn’t expect was that my dream was loud, and I had thrashed about in bed.

Igave him iny mother’s name and waited to see his anger and hurt, and see what kind of stupid woman I was. Maybe this will be it for us. The turning point in our budding relationship, best pull the Band-Aid off now and get it over with.

Gunner swore a few times, which I expected. Shock does that to most people, but he didn’t stop looking at his phone, his face blank, like when he was on duty as an enforcer at the door, kicking out drunks.

“You were brave, and lucky you were not shot in the process.”-I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, as he said the only thing I didn’t expect to hear: praise. I had been called a lot of things by my father, in his moments of anger, but never brave. The only people who called me brave were the police and the newspapers, but those close to me, or thought I was close to them, were angry that I hadn’t saved Mum, but she was dead before I knew we had a problem. No matter how much I changed the scenario in my head, the result was always the same. I couldn’t save her, unless I never left her side to get meat as she had asked, and I had done thousands of times before. Over the years, my dad always said it was my fault, which made me start to believe him. Every time I visited home, he would bring it up and put me down.

The security footage showed how stupid I was taking on an armed man who had shot five people already, and wasn’t afraid to shoot another. I didn’t think, I just acted; the training mum had me do to protect myself came into play. It was a calculated risk, and I was prepared to take it. The worst thing that could happen was that I would be with my mother in the afterlife.

“I was stupid,” I mumble back, still stuck in the past at one of the many times my father yelled at me for being stupid and selfish for living when his beautiful wife died. He was full of pig swirl and horse manure because Mum and I both knew he was with another woman when we were out shopping, and he lied to the police about where he was at the time of the shooting. Another reason I don’t trust the police much anymore is that they didn’t think it was important to investigate where he was or that he was screwing another woman while his wife died. It wasn’t relevant to the case, so they didn’t need to probe deeper.

“Never, that was brave. The internet shows the moment that took that gunman down. Not a lot of people would have had the guts to do that.”

“Didn’t help mum though.”

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