Raiden (Satan’s Angels MC #2)

Chapter 10

Ella

A t the clubhouse, the atmosphere is more than just high alert, worry, and anxiety. There’s a palpable bitter hatred blackening the air. I find the women who had come back to Hart after the threat of my father was somewhat neutralized, gathered in a circle in the lounge. Their children are clustered closely around them.

Wizard, needed back here for is IT genius and security monitoring, is leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He’s tall and lanky, with shorter auburn hair that looks almost coppery in some lights, and huge glasses. Clean shaven, he has that typical nerdy look that his name and job implies, but it’s probably all a cover. He might be tall and thin, but he’s wiry. He’s likely every bit as dangerous with his hands as he is with his mind.

Odin, the one-eyed older man with the huge paunch and the hulking bulk, is on the other side of the room, directly across from Wizard.

Other than that, only two of the club’s prospects were left in the compound to guard the gates.

Everyone else is gone, including the four men that arrived with me. Mason, Brick, and Numb Nuts are typical bikers, but I wish Smoke would have stayed behind. He’s a good man and I could use a friend here.

The door bangs down the hallway and Raiden appears. His face is still twisted with accusation. He glares at me. The ride hasn’t cooled him down at all.

Truthfully, it did nothing to settle me either.

There isn’t a woman here who looks at me with friendly eyes. Certainly not Lark, who is holding her daughter on her hip. Not Jodie, even though she’s young and I’ve heard was taken by Atlas, another younger guy, when he fell in love with her at a strip club one night. Not Seer, who is the head of the old ladies. She’s the usual old school biker babe and it was clear from the start she was never giving me half a chance. Even the biker whores, Barbie and Trixie, are here. They didn’t mind me before, but now they’re shooting me mistrustful looks. The other old ladies, including Preacher’s woman, Rita, won’t even look at me. She has her hands on her sons’ shoulders. The whole lounge is subdued, the club eerily quiet.

Lark breaks away, probably because she thinks it’s her duty as the club’s new queen to tune me in.

She’s wearing the same accusatory expression her brother was earlier, and I swear, even though I spent a lot of years living in a white collar, scholarly world, trying to pretend that I fit in with their posh manners, the biker bitch in me wants to smack that look right off her face.

“Why were you at my brother’s house? What were you doing there?”

I remind myself that I have class. I’m an MC princess. She’s a brand-new queen, trying too hard. She’s far younger than I am. Still. The way she’s already decided that I’m guilty and wants to cut me from what is supposed to be a sisterhood. Not that I was ever part of it, but it leaves me on the outside again, lonely and licking secret wounds. It’s going to turn to anger soon, and I always did have trouble controlling my temper.

She’s holding Penny like a shield, which is the only thing that stops me from telling her the truth. As in, where to fucking go.

“Getting cleaned up. We spent a rough night camping out.”

“We have showers here.”

“You do.” I whip my gaze to Raiden, who is purposefully looking away. “I don’t know. Ask your brother. I’ve been with him, out of town, for the past day. I would say that should put me above suspicion. My men were here with yours at this club, under careful scrutiny. None of them could have set that fire.”

“There are more than five of you. Spies everywhere. No one trusts Zale to keep his word. You’re only here to keep a very fragile peace from shattering, but I’d say that burning our warehouses and one of our clubs is more than a declaration of war. I’d leave here, while you still can. Stay and you’re as good as a prisoner.”

Do not lash out. Don’t throttle her. You don’t have to bow to her ignorance.

I breathe in and out, counting my breaths like my mom used to tell me to do when I got mad and didn’t know how to cope. She’d make me spread my fingers and trace my hand, the stupid starfish thing, while counting my exhales and inhales.

“I was told to come here, and I did. Beyond that, I know nothing of Zale’s plans. If he wants to be president of this place again, which you all assume he does, why would he not just bulldoze you all and take back what was his? He’s got two hundred men under his control, if he wanted to, he’d do it. And if that was his plan, you think that he’d burn millions of dollars of supplies that could be his? My father is a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. The Berserkers have enemies who might have taken an interest in Zale’s interests. They might have decided it was worth it for them to cause him a bit of trouble. Or maybe it’s someone else deciding to come in here and make a move. Someone who thinks that a little Sunday school church club like this can’t handle their own business. You voted for peace, not retaliation. That can send the wrong message to anyone who cares to read the signs.”

“Enough,” Raiden cuts in between us.

I hadn’t even realized that I’d edged closer to Lark, or that I’d lowered my voice dangerously. Penny stares up at me from her mom’s arm, her sweet face twisted with fear, her eyes wide and scared. A pang of remorse shoots through me.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” I kneel down to Penny’s level. “Your dad is going to be fine. All the men will be okay. The fires will get put out. There are great people out there who know all about these things. They’ll get it under control.”

Lark twists away, stumbling a few steps back. “Don’t talk to my daughter. Don’t even look at her!”

“Lark…” Raiden stands up for me even though he’s not on my side. He tries to talk reason to his sister, using that tone that all women hate. Fucking mansplaining.

She scowls at him predictably. “I warned you to stay away from her, she’s toxic.”

Right. Because I look the way I do. A woman’s most dangerous weapon must be her femininity. It’s a far worse betrayal coming from a woman than getting blamed for these damn fires.

Raiden puts his hands on his sister’s shoulders. “Lark. She was with me the whole time. Gray sent us to check out that land he wants to buy. If this is Zale, she didn’t know about it. She thinks she’s his princess. She thinks she’s far more important than she is. Really, she’s just a pawn, the same as any of us would be to him.”

What the fuck?

It’s only because of the kids in here that I don’t explode and unleash the terrible edge of my fury against him. They think I’m the snake, the one with the changeable face? I’m not the one who let my guard down enough to let someone in and then immediately act like an asshole because I wasn’t man enough to stand behind it.

“Pawn or princess, I can’t be both.” I’d like nothing more to leave here, but I know I can’t.

It would look suspicious, but that’s the least of it. There is hardly anyone here who can defend the place. I don’t believe it was Zale who set those fires, and with all the men out there, lured away or not, they’ve left their women and children in a bad position. Raiden, Wizard, Odin, those two prospects—that’s not nearly enough if someone did plan on attacking.

I leave the lounge in silence, my head held high because I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m tired of being seen as the enemy. The outsider. The one who repeatedly doesn’t fit, no matter where I go. I’m tired of the righteousness of this place, the holier than thou rhetoric, the refusal of these men to get their hands dirty. What did they think it meant, becoming a biker?

My room isn’t far from the lounge. I shut the door behind me and breathe wildly into the small space. The calming shit isn’t working.

I know what will.

I throw off Raiden’s clothes and get back into my own. I feel better when I’m dressed in familiar garb. Less like a woman who gives herself to a man in the most intimate way and gets accused of selling her body and soul.

I kick the clothes under my bed.

I get my guns and my knives and spread them out over the bed, I should be grateful to my half-brother that I was allowed to keep my weapons. I methodically start arming myself. If anything goes down, I’ll be there and I’ll be ready. I’m a great shot and constantly underestimated. I might not be able to do much except put myself between those women and kids and the enemy, but maybe when I die trying to save their lives, they’ll finally realize that they were wrong about me.

There are worse ways to go, I suppose.

Not that I plan to.

I don’t believe it’ll be necessary, but I perch on the edge of the bed, my head in my hands, four guns strapped in my holsters and tucked in the waistband of my jeans, knives strapped to my legs right above my boots.

I could use a little aggression right now, some place to vent all this pent-up shit twisting under my skin. It makes my chest tight and my stomach roil.

The club is silent. So fucking quiet.

Until a real threat emerges or I’m needed in some way or other, I just have to sit here, alone, and suck in bitter gulps of air that do nothing to make anything better.