Raiden (Satan’s Angels MC #2)

Chapter 2

Raiden

O n opening my heavy eyes to a pounding head and a foul mouth, aching from head to fucking toes and the hard floor beneath me, the first thing I think is that I’m back there .

The claustrophobia hits hard, suffocating my lungs, but there are no bars here. Just a puddle of drool dribbled down the front of me, a trashcan in my lap, and the wall at my back. There’s sunlight coming in through the blinds at the small window.

I’m not back there.

I let out a strangled sigh that escapes sounding a fuck of a lot more like a whimper.

Lose yourself for a second in a place like that , and you die, but I’m not dead. I’m still here. And over in my bed across from me is the devil I don’t know. The enemy. My wife .

She’s sprawled out in a sea of golden hair and black leather, snoring loud enough to rival a goddamn chainsaw and the lumberjack powering it.

After years of forced sobriety, I’ll admit my tolerance isn’t as high as it used to be. It’s been over a year since I got out, but whatever drink I’ve had was for the pure enjoyment of tasting it because it represented choice and freedom.

I shake off the panic lingering and the sickness in my gut and get myself to my feet. The club’s quiet. Even a mess, I’ll bet I’m in much better shape than most of my club brothers will be today. Bikers live hard and that means celebrating hard. Most of them likely just went to bed or passed out. The lounge is probably strewn with bodies. I had best get showered and make my way out there to cover up who and what I can before the kids start waking up. Usually it’s a kid free zone, but with my wedding yesterday there’ll be more than just my niece Penny staying.

I toss my ass into the small bathroom attached to my room and crank the shower to hot. My skin prickles when I step in and there’s that panic that wraps around my throat in a tight fist again. I learned fast that showers are a dangerous place. I can’t say that I’ve been able to relax in one ever since.

After Lark came back to Hart, she found out about my trouble sleeping. She’s been giving me a ton of natural crap to try to help. I’ve even taken some of it to humor her. I can’t tell her that I don’t sleep properly because I’ve conditioned myself to stay awake. It’s easier to stay alive that way. Still, she’s not stupid. She realizes what five years in a prison can do to a man.

I scrub myself furiously even though it makes my head boom, and my throat burn with acid. Shutting off the water and wrapping a thick black towel around my waist is a relief. I brush my teeth, giving my toothbrush a hard look because it’s not in the yellow plastic cup. I open the bathroom mirror, tuck it in there, and grab the bottle of ibuprofen.

It was a motherfucking toothbrush that almost killed me. I’ve hated touching the things since. It’s better where I can’t see it. I bang the mirror shut too hard and choke back a few of the painkillers with a mouthful of water from the tap.

My mood only blackens when I step out of the bathroom and find the enemy sitting on the edge of my bed, a golden goddess so beautiful and alluring that any living man would want to strip her bare and sink his cock into her.

Thank fuck then that I’m barely half alive this morning.

She went to bed in her dress, but not her boots. Her legs are crossed at the knees, creamy and alluring. She’s rumpled and her thick black eyeliner is smudged, but that bad girl, pouty, leather clad vibe only makes my dick thunder.

Not so unalive then.

Her eyes shoot straight to my towel and darken.

The fact that she has the same strange green eyes as my prez and best friend, works to deflate my dick because thinking about Gray makes me think about Lark, which makes me think about them together.

They weren’t fucking around behind my back for years. It just happened once and then she removed herself from the situation so she wouldn’t hurt anyone. She declined to tell any of us she had his baby. No one knew until she was forced to come back because my mom was sick. It’s been hell for all of us. We lost our mom but came back together as a family through the tragedy. Lark had to admit the truth of her love for Gray when he was taken. She was ready to tear this whole place down. She found the queen in herself to get back her kind. It was hard to hold onto any hate towards either of them when they’d already suffered so much and came back together with such overwhelming love.

Doesn’t mean I’ve learned to stomach anyone touching my sister yet.

I shoot a death stare at Widow as I rehash the past few months in my mind. Thinking about it sparks an inferno of rage in my gut.

“Get off my bed and out of my room,” I command.

I’m built like a mountain and while I might not be as scary looking as some of the other brothers, I’m every bit as feral if provoked and fuck me, I’ve been poked one too many times. I hate what this woman represents and now I’m married to her.

She rolls her eyes at me and stands in lazy slow motion. She stretches, the movement writhing down her curvy body. The clinging leather dress and that stupid vest only showcase her bombshell body. Her skin looks buttery soft and untouched by ink, which shouldn’t be a turn on. If she wasn’t so goddamn in your face annoying, she might be alright. She rides a bike, has said multiple times she knows how to shoot, and told Gray that she did martial arts for years when she was younger. She can take care of herself.

She’s a ten, but…

Christ, I could fill that stupid line in with so many things.

She collects her boots but takes her time about it. “Morning hubs.” She whips around and draws her eyes slowly and purposefully over the length of my naked torso.

Like Gray, I have our club’s angel logo with her bowed head and spread wings on my back. I was getting inked before I went away and I’ve been making up for lost time, going as often as possible to the place Gunner owns. He doesn’t do anything there other than check in with his scary as fuck presence every once in a while, but his artists are exceptionally talented. Two men and three women rent rooms there. I had three of them working on my chest at the same time, so it was done quick.

Making up for lost years.

“You look like you could use a strong cup of coffee.”

I scowl like a devil who accidentally sat on his own pitchfork.

“No?” She hitches her shoulder up. “Espresso then. You probably enjoy it dark and bitter.”

“What I’d enjoy is if you stayed in your own room. You have one. Use it.”

“Sorry for making sure you’re still alive this morning. I didn’t want to wake up a real widow, although I have to say that inciting your club brothers to murder would probably liven the place up.”

It’s so quiet in the club, but drifting through the walls, so faint that I almost don’t catch it, is an unmistakable moan.

Gray’s room is far too close to mine. President and VP. I took this room after I finally gave in and accepted the position. Gunner had to step aside for it, but he didn’t seem to mind. It was always understood that it would be mine if I wanted it. I don’t think he cared either way, because honestly, I’m not sure he has the ability to feel much of anything. I met some fucked up men in jail, but never anyone to the level of psychopath that we all know Gunner is. We just don’t talk about it because we don’t need to.

“Shh.” Widow puts her hand to her lips, wicked glee lighting up her eyes. “Would that be the unmistakable sound of my brother fucking your sister right next door?”

It’s official. She’s going to be a widow for real because she’s going to kill me with this shit.

She obviously gets real joy from provoking me, so I deny her the pleasure and don’t react. Zale Grand has the sickest sense of humor. He’s the one who suggested Widow marry me because he’s all about ‘justice’, and it seemed only fair. I decided to own it, taking the perverse pleasure away from him just like Gray found strength in the way he was maimed and tortured and come out of it twice the man and the leader he was.

I do wish to god I knew where my earbuds were and that the walls were thicker and soundproofed.

“Why are you hesitating in that towel, hubs? You fancy a morning poke? It wouldn’t just blow off steam. It would be great revenge.”

“I don’t want my cock anywhere near you. You represent everything I hate.”

She laughs softly, the sound pretty, because she knows I’m lying. She can see the length of my erection underneath the towel. I’m too hungover and pissed to bother hiding it. “No one ever had to be in love to fuck.”

Widow is a grown, experienced woman, a few years older than I am. She can scent my desire like a predator.

She sits back down on the bed, stretching again, working at the knots in her neck.

I’m grabbing clothes and I’m leaving. This evil, seductive siren can get the hell out of here. We might be married, but my cock is staying well away from her behind closed doors. Behind any doors.

Neither of us move.

This is a straight up pissing contest to see who has more power if I’ve ever seen one.

A knock sounds on the open door a few minutes later, and my sister’s voice follows. She sticks her head in, her hair a wild mess, cheeks flushed, wearing a soft floral dress. I whip around so I don’t have to look at her and know what she was just doing. I mean, I know , but I don’t want to think about it. I’ve given my blessing and I’m glad it’s Gray, but I don’t want to think about any man with my baby sister. It still makes me want to punch Gray in the face, blessing or not, and being torn like that is fucking ridiculous.

“Gray wants to talk to you. I thought I could take Widow for breakfast with Penny.” She sighs when I don’t turn around. “She’s straight up evil for sure, but the sisterhood is important and as Gray’s woman, I need to umm- do this I guess.”

“Kind of sitting right here,” Widow drops sarcastically. “Did he spank such good manners into you?”

I spin around, grab her by the shoulders, and heave her off the bed. My finger points to the only direction she’ll ever be heading. For the door. If she never came back, we’d all be glad.

Even though I’m the one with my hand on her shoulder, the point of contact burning through me as hot as the whiskey burned last night.

Lark purses her lips. “Keep your hands off my brother, you harpy.”

“Lark, I’m a grown man—”

“He’s a big boy and he can more than speak for himself—”

We cut each other off because we’ve spoken at the same time.

Widow isn’t the one hungover as fuck and probably oozing whiskey out of her pores, so she recovers before I can slap a hand over her mouth. “Look at that, hubs. Finishing each other’s sentences already. Isn’t that darling?”

“Why are you in here?” Lark demands to know.

“Someone had to watch your big bro, so he didn’t upchuck and asphyxiate.”

“Why didn’t anyone come for me or Gray?”

I wince. I know exactly why they were taking an extra-long time to come back to the celebrating after checking on Penny. I knew they would have stayed over last night anyway, but there are some moments when I wish Gray’s house hadn’t been burned to the ground. The thought of being doors away from my sister and her man for however long it takes for him to find a new place is not appealing. Sure, I could escape to my house, but with what’s going on here, I need to be eyes on, and I don’t want my new wife in my personal space.

This time, I do slap a hand over Widow’s mouth before she can blurt something no one needs to hear. She has that devious spark in her eyes. She shoves it down as I try and steer her towards the door, using her body as a meat shield because I’m wearing nothing more than a towel, but keeping well away from her and her body made for sinning.

The second I take my hand off her mouth, she grins at my sister. “It’s not my hands you’ll have to worry about. His neither.”

Lark stalks into the hallway to join us. I bend and whisper in Widow’s ear. “I will destroy you.”

Right in front of my sister she whips around, breaking the iron hold I still have on her shoulder, and gets up in my space. She’s too tall and it gives her direct access to lick a hot line along my lower lip before she fucking bites me. I stumble back, cupping my mouth while Lark hisses and charges forward like a bull seeing red.

Fuck’s sake.

If Widow isn’t a walking bundle of red flags, I’m not sure who is.

Then again, if anyone here knew about all my moments of melting the fuck down, they probably wouldn’t think I’m such shit hot husband material either.

Lark’s arm shoots out, pointing down the hall. “Please leave. I’ll come talk to you shortly.”

I hope Gray plans to have this urgent conversation with me on a bike, riding hard into the open wind, because I need to get out of here.

Then again, maybe my prez didn’t need me, and Lark was passing by, noticed my open door and saw Widow. Quite possibly, she was trying to save me. I don’t need saving. Widow might tempt all that’s holy into the pits of hell themselves, but there isn’t going to be a time where I forget myself and start thinking with my cock instead of my brain.

Even if my lips are on fire like she injected venom into them.

“Sorry to get up in your business,” Lark whispers as we watch Widow walk down the hall in her bare feet, that tight leather dress clinging to her curves, her body swaying sensually with every step. She hesitates. “Maybe you didn’t want me to chase her away.”

“You can have her with my utter and complete blessing.”

“Oh good.” It sounds quite the opposite. My sister would rather do anything other than have breakfast with my new wife.

Lark is just doing what’s best for the club, as Gray wants. She’s supported him unwaveringly since he was maimed and tortured, letting him lean on her strength when he’s out of his own. We’ve all seen it, and down to a man, we’ve accepted our new queen. It’s still hard for me, but I’m getting there. Lark was a seventeen-year-old girl when I went to prison. She’s a woman now, a mother, made of steel and determination. She doesn’t look like a biker’s old lady, and it doesn’t look like she’s going to give up her love of florals and lace anytime soon.

“Where do you think I should take her?” she asks.

“Fuck if I know what she likes to eat.”

Widow turns at the end of the hall and gives me a look Lark can’t see because she’s got her back to her. Her eyes seem to glow in the overhead lighting and the wide grin on her lips is just for me. She announces very boldly with that smirk just what she’d like to eat, and it happens to be standing out here wearing a thankfully very thick towel.

“Christ, I’m going to get dressed. Take her anywhere. Take her nowhere. It’s up to you. Just as long as it’s far away from me, I’ll be happy.”

Lark frowns. “Gray wants this to work out. He doesn’t want you to fake it, but he thinks that if your marriage fails, no one will have any respect for peace. He’s not going to tell you to force anything, but he wants us all to make an effort to get along.”

Been there and done that with that conversation, little sis.

“Widow isn’t like the men who came here to keep an eye on us. She’s not included in the play nice rules.”

I can tell how torn Lark is. She wants to be on my side. She wants Widow far away and the rest of the men who came with her. She wants Zale Grand dead and in the ground, a different kind of peace restored to the town.

It’s not going to happen—at least anytime soon—so we’re here. I agreed to this of my own free will. I had a choice, but it was me that they wanted for Widow and to turn her down and pass her off to someone else seemed spineless. The fact that she’s Gray’s half-sister only complicates matters further. Zale Grand likely wouldn’t have agreed to let anyone else have his princess. He wanted his irony dished out hot while he lets his revenge plans chill to serve them up ice cold. If I said no, would the peace have been off? I didn’t want to take a chance.

“You’re right.” I close my eyes against the pounding destroying my temples. I once took Gray to the clinic for migraines. I think I can sympathize even more.

“What do you think she’d like to eat?” she asks again.

“Dirt? Souls? Firstborn children?”

“Ray! Come on!”

“I don’t know. I’m way too hungover to even process any of this. You’re probably the only person at that wedding last night who isn’t suffering this morning. I don’t want to talk about food.”

“Widow looked painfully chipper.”

She did, didn’t she? Rumpled, glorious, ethereal—clearly undaunted and unintimidated by being in enemy territory.

“What are we going to do, Ray? This is freaking awful and now you’re married to it.”

If I don’t get dressed and get into fresh air soon, on my bike, putting distance between myself and my disaster of a bride who draws me in against my will, my head is going to burst.

I have questions that I want answered and none of them are appropriate. I want to know how Widow smells, not from afar, but with my nose pressed right up against her skin. I want to run my hand through her hair, to taste her lips, and worship her body. I’m not the only one under her spell, but I’m the only one who matters. The rest of the club brothers know that she belongs to me in all her problematic glory. I’m a man and she’s a beautiful woman. I can’t help conjuring up illicit images. I’ve only tried to push her away, get away, drink myself into oblivion, because it would be utterly pathetic if I admitted the level of base attraction.

I’m sure she’s interesting and multifaceted. Maybe she’s even soft under all her barbed wit. I shouldn’t want to find out. Getting along doesn’t mean fucking, even if she brazenly egged me on, stating right to my face that hate sex was perfectly acceptable.

“Ray?”

I press my fingers into my eyes, pushing back against the violent pounding. “I have no idea what we’re going to do. Just take it one day a time and try to survive it, I guess.”

If I last another day.

My new, lovely, nerve grating, prickly princess of a wife might do me in after just twenty-four hours.