Page 3 of Raiden

That’s a level of transparency I didn’t count on. It’s unbelievably disarming and now I’m the one at a disadvantage. “We just vowed to live free and hard, to be outlaws together, to respect and support each other until motherfucking eternity.”

“Would that it would get here tomorrow.”

“Such a token poet.”

“I’m better with numbers.”

“Me too. I understand the odds aren’t in our favor.” Jesus Christ, why can’t I just stop?

“Be careful, Widow,” he seethes, his danger only slightly dampened by the fact that he’s so pissed he can’t see straight. “You’re standing neck deep in enemy territory. Don’t get comfortable. You won’t be here long.”

That’s quite contradictory, but then again, he is drunk. He storms off, almost walking a straight line.

I let him go.

Fuck it. I’m going to bed. My hard, uncomfortable twin bed in a tiny room far away from any of the officer’s much larger, lusher quarters.

Except, I’m still standing here, watching.

Raiden doesn’t make an advance on any of the club whores, but they see him, and they want him. He’s beautiful in his own hard way and he’s the club’s VP. They all know the marriage meant nothing, so they’re not afraid to approach him.

One specifically, a messy strawberry blonde with fishnets, tiny shorts, and a barely-there scrap of a shirt, throws herself in his path.

It’s a good thing for him because that whiskey finally hits bottom and when he throws his arms around her, it’s more about staying vertical than it is desire.

If I was a lesser woman, I’d cause trouble out here. Give Raiden exactly what he’s egged me onto. I’d act like a true bitch, a rose that’s all thorns and no sweet softness underneath, drawing blood whenever I can, wherever I go, but that’s not me.

Kindness is the most valuable currency because it can’t be bought. It has to be given and it’s always sweetest when least deserved. That’s the woman I was born to be, raised by the best woman in the world, so goddamn it, I’ll suck it up and be better than I want to be.

“Hey, babe.” I saunter over, throwing my arm around Raiden’s back to peel him off the poor girl who is really struggling. “Thanks for the help. I can take him from here.”

“Yeah,” she says, stepping out of my reach, clearly expecting a petty smack for trying to put a move on my man.

“What’s your name?”

“Trisha.”

“Thanks again, Trisha. Have a good rest of the night, yeah?”

She walks away looking dazed, like I really did hit her. Great. Now I know what’s being said about me is far worse than reality could ever be. They’ll be disappointed when I don’t live up to my level of nefariousness. Their ignorance doesn’t and won’t define me. I can be who I am here just as well as I could anywhere else.

My dad knew I wouldn’t lose myself. He could have picked someone else to do this, but he sent me.

That thought gives me a renewed burst of strength. It’s a damn good thing because Raiden leans against me heavily. I’m tall and strong and I bear his weight because I have no other choice. Dropping him seems like the worst kind of insult, even though the thought of doing it makes me smile internally.

Since I’ve been here for a week getting settled in, I know which room belongs to which man. Along with names, I have a good memory for details. It probably helps that I spent almost nine years in college getting a feel for storing up information.

The burn of that truth is worse than any whiskey and leaves a sickness in my gut that nothing will wash away. It’s almost a blessing to be able to turn my attention back to the man half crushing me.

At least Raiden can walk. It’s not so hard to steer him out of the lounge, where whistles and shouts follow at our backs and echo down the hall.

Reckless used to be VP of the club. He’s standing outside Gray’s door. It’s pretty obvious from the loud moans what’s going on in there.

Raiden hears it too and literally gags.

Fuck if I’m getting puked on tonight. I ignore the grizzled old biker’s scornful looks—he was my father’s second when he was president, so hisfuck you, viperglower feels a little bit more potent than it should—and shove Raiden against his own door across the hall.

He puts in his code even though he’s hammered and stumbles in. He makes it about four feet and hits the floorlike a bag of meat.

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