Raiden (Satan’s Angels MC #2)

Chapter 13

Ella

I envisioned horrors like the spa or getting my hair blown out, but when Lark asked me to go to the range with her for a few hours because she wants to learn how to shoot, I reluctantly agreed. I might have given into my childish desire to tell her to fucking stick her fake sugary niceness up her petite ass if Raiden and I hadn’t talked. As it was, she hit me right in the soft spot. Even angry, I’m never likely to turn down a chance to shoot.

It might make me sound slightly unhinged, but this is my happy place.

It’s even happier for me because I’ve had the whole area and more than a few targets to myself while Bullet has been working with Lark on her stance and aim, showing her how to use and shoot several guns. He’s even gone so far as to demonstrate proper dismantling and cleaning.

I think he might be worried about us being here together, since there’s still more than a little noticeable tension.

Even I can only hold out so long before I approach Lark and remove my hearing protection and eyewear.

Bullet takes that as a silent cue to go stand a few feet away to give us some time to talk.

Lark seems grateful for the break. She sets the Glock down with the safety on and rolls her stiff shoulders back. She shakes out her arms and cracks her knuckles.

“I can see how Gray thinks it’s necessary to learn this, but I can’t say I’ve ever thought it was fun.” She arches one fine brow at me. “You’ve clearly been doing it for a while. You’re good.”

“Since I was a kid. My mom liked going to the range. She’d take me along.”

She looks less horrified at that than I would have expected. “Raiden once surprised me by bringing me here. I had Penny with me, and I was so scandalized that he’d suggest she was okay here, but he ended up taking her for ice cream and to the library.”

An unexpected warmth unfurls in my chest. I haven’t had an opportunity to really see Raiden with his niece, but I’d like to. Probably more than I should. I’m not even sure I want kids of my own, trending to I don’t, but honestly, who doesn’t get soft seeing a man who loves them and is great with them?

“That’s…” For all my education, for all the words I’ve read and the languages I speak, sometimes it’s hard to even find more than a single one.

Lark shades her eyes and looks up at the sun overhead. “I’m- uh- I just wanted to say that I- I’m sorry that I’ve given you a hard time.” Her soft brown eyes sweep to me. There’s nothing but warmth in them. The outright suspicion and flickering hatred are gone. “I was just trying to protect my brother. He might be older and tougher, but I know he’s having a hard time since he got out of prison. I wasn’t here to look after him. He didn’t let me visit him for all those years. We were so close before, despite our age difference. Everything kind of fell apart and I’m still trying to put it back together.”

I didn’t think anyone had noticed what Raiden was going through, but that was a stupid thing to think. Lark wouldn’t put it out there for all the club to pick apart and she sure as fuck wouldn’t come to me with her concern.

“I’ve noticed that he wasn’t sleeping. I can’t imagine what else is going on for him. I might not be a psychologist, but I do know about conditioning and PTSD. I don’t know what he saw, but he almost lost his life in there. That system isn’t meant to heal people. It’s meant to cage them and break them. Five years is a long time.”

The deep concern and love for her brother is so stark and apparent that it’s like getting drenched in cold water.

“I understand your hostility and your doubt. I know you’re just trying to protect your own.” I give her a slanted smile. “You’re going to make a good queen. You might not look fierce, but looks are often deceptive.”

She gets what I’m trying to say. “They can be. Just like situations. I’ll try to do better. Not just because Raiden asked me to either.”

Fuck. He really did do that. I can’t pretend I’m not embarrassed about it. I’m used to looking after myself. I didn’t want my dad fixing my problems for me, getting twisted vengeance. It might have been satisfying for a second, but base violence isn’t right. Two wrongs only make a fucking mess. Being a big person doesn’t mean taking shit. I just wanted to deal with what happened to me in a different way.

“I rode here with Gunner, but…” Lark’s flush deepens. She’s almost shy now. It’s easy to see how anyone could find her endearing. I have a feeling that when she decides to have a person’s back, she’s loyal for life. She might be young, but she’s trying to learn, trying to gather wisdom. I won’t pretend that age has anything to do with any of that. It’s life, and she’s seen a good deal of it too, I’d bet. “Would it be okay if I rode back to the clubhouse with you?”

I saw it coming, but I’m still floored. “Me?”

She laughs. “You’re not nearly as bad as Gunner.”

He’s waiting outside for us, our guard for the morning. I bet that any man in the club would be willing to admit they find Gunner chilling as fuck. That’s probably okay with them or he wouldn’t be a patched in member and most clubs do collect men like him, but I can see how Lark would rather have a warmer ride. If straight ice doesn’t flow through that man’s veins, I’m not sure what does.

“Sure, if you want to do that.”

She nods a little too eagerly, which earns a small smile from me. This isn’t us being besties, but it’s a start and I’ll take that over a full stop any day.

After I gather my things and let Bullet and the men who work with him, Vigil and Steel, know that we’re heading out, I meet Lark in the parking lot. Gunner is leaning against his bike, alert for threats, but also bored at the same time. He doesn’t look put out that Lark is riding with me, even though I know she came out here to do that while I was still inside.

She has her helmet in hand and sweeps it easily over her hair. At least she’s not wearing a dress today, and her footwear is appropriate for a ride—though her outfit leaves a lot to be desired. Floral patches and lace trim on denim? Whatever floats your boat.

I hide another grin and get on my bike before I wait for her to mount up behind me. I don’t like riding behind anyone, and I don’t usually like having a passenger, but I can’t say I really mind this.

Lark’s arms snake around my waist without hesitation. At least she’s one of those people who knows how to hold on. I don’t have to whip my head around every five seconds to make sure she’s still there, still doing okay.

I don’t have to motion to Gunner. He’s ready to roll out, his bike near the edge of the lot, rumbling so loudly that I swear there are actually stones jumping up and down where the gravel edges meet the asphalt parking lot.

My own bike is so loud that as soon as I turn out of the parking lot and open up the throttle down the paved road leading back into Hart, I lose the sound of his engine in favor of my own.

Only minutes later, my joy at temporarily tucking away all my cares in favor of the ride bursts like an overinflated pool toy when Lark leans in and screams in my ear so I can hear her.

“I think we’re being followed.”

I crank my head around. A black car is so close to us that they’re practically eating up my back tire.

“Where the fuck is Gunner?” I don’t know if Lark hears or not, but her arms lock around me, holding on tight like she expects that I might have to gun the throttle at any time.

Now that they know they’ve been spotted, the car swerves out from behind us, the engine screaming in the second lane, to come up to my left. One glance behind me confirms that the lane is empty behind them, Gunner nowhere in sight. Why did he leave us alone? How did that car get in between us? Did he drop off without me hearing? Have trouble with his bike? Or was he part of this plan, whatever it is?

The tinted back window on the sedan unrolls. A thug dressed all in black with a balaclava over his head, waves a semi-automatic rifle at the curb. His message is clear.

Pull over.

There’s no way I’m doing that. They’re in a BMW. I caught sight of the logo when I turned. It’s not like I have any chance in hell of escaping. Even if there was a ditch, an alley, or a field that they couldn’t follow us, my bike isn’t made for off-roading like that. It would be suicide to try and lose them that way and it would be sheer madness to try and outrun them, especially when they have guns. I have one tucked into the back of my jeans, but I just saw firsthand what a terrible shot Lark is and that was standing still at a range. Even if she was good, she’d be shooting against glass and metal and we’re out here with nothing but our bodies as easy targets on this bike.

I have a decision to make. Risk letting them take us and do god knows what to us, or drop back, peel around, and take them on a chase through town. If they fire shots, they could hurt someone else. We’re out here on the edges of the city right now, but if I head back down main streets and they’re not afraid to open fire, someone else could get killed.

We could get killed.

That’s not their aim. If they wanted us dead, they had a clear shot for who knows how long before I even noticed they were there.

“Widow?” Lark screams at me, her arms clenching even tighter. I can feel her trembling against my back.

She’s already braced, trusting me to do what I think is right.

We pass a series of warehouses, getting closer to getting back into the thick of the city. I make a decision.

I squeeze the brakes, bringing my bike to such an abrupt stop that I nearly fly right over the handlebars. Lark comes out of her seat, slamming into my back, but the momentum takes us right back into a sitting position as I maintain control of the bike and reel it around. The car’s engine screams as it flies down the road past us, followed by the squeal of brakes and the smell of burnt rubber.

I don’t stay to watch past that.

I wheel the bike around, laying my own strip of rubber on the pavement. I wouldn’t be able to reach the clubhouse in time and it’s too risky and dangerous. Someone else might get shot or hit by their car. Who knows if they have other men ahead. I might go from one vehicle chasing me to multiple.

Bullet is back at the range. Steel and Vigil are there. They have weapons.

It’s the best bet right now. I have to reach it before they do.

They might be fast. They might catch us. They might try and shoot at us whether they want us alive or not. Maiming and stopping us might still count. I have to try. I can’t just stop and let them load us into their car.

I was almost raped. I trusted someone I should never have trusted and I stabbed him in the leg with a pocketknife I very luckily happened to be carrying. That day changed my whole life. It taught me fear and mistrust. It taught me that some men will take anything they want. It proved to me just how little say a woman has in the world. I paid the price for that bastard’s transgressions against me. I’ve been so much more careful and far more guarded since then. I trained myself on how to use a weapon. Meeting my dad and getting involved with his club helped me in that area. I’m not a powerless woman at the mercy of a stronger, more powerful man anymore.

I promised myself I’d never let that happen to me again and if it did, I’d fight back.

It takes me a second to realize the screaming isn’t the bike’s engine or the car coming after us, even though it is. It’s Lark. She’s shaking behind me so hard I think that her hands might dislodge.

I reach down even though we’re going so fast that I can barely keep the bike under control as it is, and squeeze her hands, telling her to keep them tight together. She can’t let go. I can’t let anything happen to her.

I’m a fighter, but she’s not. I refuse to cower. I know she wants to be brave, but she’s not trained like me. She hasn’t lived through what I’ve been through. She doesn’t know what I know.

Even if she was another warrior, I’d still keep her safe. She’s Raiden’s sister. If anything happened to her, it would kill him. I’d rather die protecting her than come back to him and tell him I failed.

I force myself to breathe as we go screaming down the road, the scenery flashing past us so fast I can barely make out what anything is.

I still know the second we pass the golf course.

Hold on, Lark. Almost there. We’re so close.

We’re not close. We still have over a mile to go before the range.

Lark’s one hand releases and beats at my shoulder. I don’t break my focus. I know what she’s trying to tell me. That the car is either right behind us or that they’re coming. Getting closer. If I let them get beside us again, they could drive me off the road. That would kill us surely as any bullet.

I push the bike as fast as it can go. I’ve never heard an engine make a sound like that before. The wind rushes at me, whipping into my eyes and blurring my vision.

The only thing protecting us is dumb luck and the fact that whoever is back there wants either me or Lark or both of us, and not riddled full of bullets.

I never knew that out-of-control adrenaline could also feel like certainty. I trust in the rapid fire beating of my heart, gulping in great breaths of the razor-sharp air. I narrow my eyes, focusing on the horizon.

I can see the range. It gets closer, alarmingly fast. If I pass it, we’re as good as finished. I’m going too fast. I can’t slow down. I don’t know how close that car is, but if they’re riding us like before, they’ll hit us and at this speed, a crash would be fatal.

I have to change it. I glance behind us. They’re there but giving us just enough distance that they won’t hit us if I brake. They’re pursuing us but being so careful. It’s not natural.

Please don’t let my dad be the one behind this. Please.

I slow down just enough that we careen into the parking lot. The bike twists madly beneath me, bucking like a wild animal, but by some miracle, I keep hold of it. The car has an easier time. I hear their tires leaving the asphalt and skidding into the gravel.

I’m off the bike, grabbing Lark by the forearm, running, dragging her with me, without even shutting the bike off. It crashes to the ground, but I have no time to feel the sharp, horrible pang that tears through my insides. That bike is as close to me as a friend, as family. I hate treating her that way.

She can be put back together. Repainted and repaired.

We can’t.

A loud roar of another bike followed by a popping noise that can only be gunshots is loud in the background, just behind us.

Lark screams.

I force her in front of me, shoving her with all my strength towards the chain link gates surrounding the office.

Bullet is there, whipping out the front door. I push Lark into his arms, keeping my body behind her to shield her until she’s being wheeled into safety. I don’t turn around until the metal door slams just in front of me.

That bike either means Gunner caught up with us, or it’s someone else from the club. I’m not leaving him out there to die.

I whip out my H&K as black clad bodies spill from the car. All four doors are open, used as shields. Gunner is there, still straddling his bike. He’s got his hands curled around his own pistol, but these men have rifles. He stands zero chance of coming out of this alive.

I don’t know he got separated from us, but the way he’s risking his life right now to see us in safe—and his distraction is probably the only reason we made it—I know it has to have been something that wasn’t his choice. Some kind of problem with his bike and I was the stupid one who didn’t notice him drop behind.

Did I pass him on the way back here? I was so focused I didn’t even see him.

I’m focused right now. I have more than enough bullets for this and right now, those assholes are temporarily distracted by the man who just plugged their car full of bullets.

That means he probably doesn’t have many left.

I never miss a target, but shooting live men, real human beings, is different.

I don’t close my eyes. I can’t afford to. I steady my breath instead and pull the trigger. Once. Twice.

Two bodies fall on the side of the car closet to me. There are shouts and a quick burst of gunfire rattles off, spraying the gravel in front of me. Something sharp cuts my face as it flies past and a warm trickle flows from the wound. The first body rounds the car. I aim for his head, and I don’t miss. The last man is smarter, using the car for a shield against me.

My head is suddenly light with the power of adrenaline bursting through me. I know I have nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.

I drop down to the gravel, flattening myself as bullets spray above my head, right into the air where I was standing.

A different shot rings out, the sudden stillness deafening.

It doesn’t last.

I pick up my head at the sound of gravel.

Gunner shot the last man, but he didn’t kill him. The guy is crawling through the gravel, trying to make it back into the driver’s seat. He’s holding his guts, which doesn’t bode well for him. There is blood all over the gravel. Three bodies spilled out of the car, puddles of red growing beneath them.

Gunner appears like an avenging angel of death. The look on his face is so utterly blank and dead. Emotionless. He feels nothing as he grabs the man by the head, tearing off the tight black mask. I don’t recognize him, but that doesn’t mean anything. Hired thugs do dirty work for the highest bidder.

Steel glints in the sunlight, the sky absurdly blue and clear.

“Gunner, no!” I haul myself to my knees, but I’m not fast enough to stop him. He brings the knife down, slashing across the injured man’s throat.

Blood sprays everywhere like a sprinkler coming on in a fire, soaking Gunner’s chest, his jeans, his face, his hands.

So much blood.

I drop back down to my knees, dig my hands into the gravel, and retch violently.

It’s not just the blood. Not just the gore and the wicked gleam of triumph in Gunner’s eyes like he lives for it. It’s the men I killed.

Three of them.

Three more lives, three bullets, three more ghosts to haunt me.

I know it was me or them. I had to protect Lark. I can’t imagine what would have been done to us, or what kind of trap they wanted to lay for the men trying to get us back. I had no choice. They were firing at me.

Firing. At. Me.

They didn’t give a shit about me.

It was Lark they wanted.

Gunner drops the body and walks over. I see the toes of his blood-spattered boots come into view. The gravel dust he’s kicked up sticks to them.

He bends down, puts his hands under my armpits, and hauls me up with zero grace and all force. I try to walk, but my legs won’t do it. He throws me over his shoulder like a limp doll, gathers up my gun, and runs through the chain link fence, into the safety of the office.

I’m dropped to the floor like I’m not even a living thing.

Gunner has no care for it. It doesn’t matter to him that I’m covered in dirt and puke. He just wanted to get to his phone. He’s already calling Gray, or Raiden. They’ll come for us. The club will. They’ll take us back and make sure we’re safe. There are showers at the clubhouse. I can wash the blood off my hands.

I stare down at them. There is no blood.

Only dust.

Whatever’s on my clothes came off Gunner, but I’m dirty. I’m so unclean. I need to wash this away so badly that I’m almost frantic with it.

“Whoa there.” Bullet’s strong, burly arms close in around me. He pulls me tight against him. “Seen this more than once in my years. It’s just the adrenaline high you’re coming off of. You’ll be okay. I’m not going to let you go.”

“P…” I want to say please don’t, please, please, don’t, but I can’t get anything out. I clutch at his bare arms, his t-shirt, anything I can reach, clawing to get closer, raking him with my nails as if somehow that will force air into my lungs and get my heart to stop feeling like it’s going to burst inside my chest.

He holds me tighter, the weight of him like a calm, steadying blanket. He smells like guns and oil, not like blood. Like he’s been cleaning and shooting weapons, but that’s it. Like cigarettes and leather. It reminds me of my dad. Raiden. I know I’m safe.

“Widow!” Lark’s tiny frame slams up against my side. She closes her arms around my back, covering anything that Bullet can’t reach.

I’m sandwiched between them, one massive and one tiny. She smells like flowers, like summer, like sweet innocence. I drink it in, focus on it, anything to get the metallic stench of death and blood out of my nose and mouth. It’s so bitter. Not blood, but bile. I remember now that I threw up.

“It’s okay, girl. You’re going to be okay. Look at me.”

I try. I want to. Bullet will calm me down. He’ll know what to do.

I get my head up a few inches, just enough to see his long beard and focus on it, and then everything goes black so fast that I can’t fight it.