Rock's Redemption: Insurgents Motorcycle Club (Insurgents MC Romance Book 8) by Chiah Wilder

Author:Chiah Wilder [Wilder, Chiah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: MC, Fiction, Romance
Publisher: Chiah Wilder
Published: 2016-10-20T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

The small wooden house crouched in the shadows under the sprawling boughs of a large cypress tree. Inside the abode, there were four rooms and an enclosed back porch where Madame Germaine Vincennes kept various concoctions for spells and potions. Customers usually came over in the evenings, under cover of the darkened sky, to pick up a healing salve, a love potion, or a mojo bag to bring them whatever relief they desired.

For over forty years Madame had offered her services to help others. She believed God had given her the gift of healing and warding off evil spirits, as she’d had an uncanny sixth sense ever since she’d been a young child. She charged only what it cost her to make the candles, powders, mojo bags, and spells. It never occurred to her to make money from her gift; it was enough that she could help an unsettled person find comfort and meaning in his life.

The small house was where she’d raised her children, laid out her husband when he was killed in a mining accident, and gave tea leaf readings for the distraught. She was a great-great-grandmother and lived alone, fiercely proud of her independence.

On a side table, among the numerous pictures of her children, stood a framed black-and-white wedding photograph. The bride sat in a chair with a bouquet of roses resting in her lap, and the groom stood behind her looking so handsome in a black suit. Upon waking each day, Madame Vincennes took the portrait in her hands and held it to her heart as she wished her husband a good day. After a half hour of prayers and recollections, she’d place the wedding photograph back in its place, knowing that one day she and her husband would be reunited.

The perimeter of the largest room was chock-full of mason jars stuffed with various herbs, stones, animal bones, and powders. Small vials of oils filled several curio cabinets. The scene was repeated on the back porch.

That evening, the old fortune teller rose from the chair, her knees cracking, when her doorbell rang. The wooden cane in her hand clacked on the wooden floor as she went to answer it. Peering out the curtained window on her door, her face tightened. What does he want? She paused, debating on whether she should let him in. A gust of wind rattled her windows at that moment and her cat skedaddled across the floor, disappearing under a worn couch.

“Germaine, I know you’re in there. I have to talk to you. It won’t take long.”

Pushing down the apprehension that clawed at her psyche, she turned the lock and opened the door. He walked in and smiled at her. His suit was perfectly pressed, and there wasn’t a hair out of place. “How are you?”

“I’m doing okay. Why are you here? You already gave me my money for the month.”

“You’re all business, aren’t you? I came over to talk to you about something. Come on, let’s have a seat.” The tall man threw her a toothy smile, and she didn’t trust him at all.

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