Page 34 of Raiden

“Ask one of the men you’re going to hire to look into Widow. I want to know everything. The four with her here as well, but especially her.”

Gray’s jade eyes turn to me and study me for a long time. He holds me suspended and breathless. I don’t know how to read him, which is a near first for me. I think he’s going to say no, that he’s going to express displeasure and disappointment. I let out a slow breath when he nods.

“If you think that’s best, you’re my VP and my best friend. I should have done it before.”

“A lot’s happened. You haven’t had the time.”

“I should have made it. Should have done a fuck of a lot of shit differently.”

I clap him on the shoulder, squeezing hard. “You need to get some rest. Shit will sort itself, but if it doesn’t, running yourself into the ground isn’t going to help. Whatever comes, I’m going nowhere. Club or not, I’ll always be your brother.”

I slam his forehead to mine, so we’re breathing the same air.

We stay that way for a long time, Prez and VP, until our minds, though far from settled, are calmed enough to go back out there and lead and care for this club.

Chapter 12

Raiden

Sometimes, I think it would be easier to be like Gunner. Wired in a way the world calls wrong, so you don’t feel the confusing, piercing shit that takes up room in your brain. Stuff you can’t get out of your head for all the world of trying.

Like Widow.

Love at first sight is ridiculous. I have to admit that I wanted something from her from the moment I saw her, but it was more than lust. Whatever lay behind those green eyes, soft and welcoming as a wide-open field full of freedom, it was more than sexual.

The men Gray hired are seedy. I’ve never met such creepy fuckers in my life, and being as I was in prison for five years, that’s saying something.

I have to admit, they produced results. Three days after we met with them, they gave Gray a file on his half-sister. They’re still working on who set those fires. Gray doesn’t just want names. He wants reasons. History. Undefinable, ironclad proof. He’s not the kind of man who makes innocents pay. If we’re going to war, we’d better get it right.

Widow’s in the shower. I waited until she left, skulking just around the corner like a stalker, then I moved into her room. She does have a lock on the door, but no code, like our rooms. She didn’t bother to lock it behind her. I could take that to meanthat she has nothing to hide—or that she’s hidden it so well she thinks she’s safe.

I’ve thrown myself down on her bed, a narrow twin that my feet would stick over a ridiculous measure. I have my knees propped up, one foot balanced over the other, swinging casually in the air. The file that contains everything on her life from the time she was born until now, is spread out beside me.

She walks in twenty minutes after I snuck in here.

In a flash, she has a gun in her hand, levelled at me.

I’m a hard man, full of tattoos, big enough to tear a man apart with my bare hands if I wanted, but the gun relaxes in her grip. She sighs, lifting a shoulder in a slight apology, before she puts the safety back on and slips it into the back of her jeans. She pulls her black silk blouse down to cover it. It’s the classiest thing I’ve seen her wear, with little gold and pearl buttons down the front and a tank underneath for modesty. Her jeans might be ripped to shit and painted on, her boots heavy steel toed ones made for riding, but she looks classy. Her long hair is in a wet ropey braid that makes it look darker than it is. She’s lined her eyes and put on mascara, but other than that, her makeup is understated.

Without meaning to, my eyes fall to her plump lower lip.

She’s the one who kissed me at my place. She invited me into it. I haven’t kissed a woman since well before prison, when I was in high school, before I got involved with the club.

“You always carry a gun with you when you shower?”

“I do now.”

She has a point. It’s a messed-up situation that I feel better knowing that she has the power to keep herself safe. Would she choose to defend this place? The people here? The ones who have been so unkind to her?

I think she would. Widow doesn’t like to be vulnerable, but I know everything that she hasn’t told me. She’s so much more than an MC princess or a sassy, spoiled, entitled brat sent here to throw our lives into chaos. She has her masks, and she’s worn them all well. The fact that she was allowed to keep her weapons was a public declaration that we trusted her. That was bullshit, I wasn’t sure if I did trust her, but whatever she’s hiding, or whatever she’s up to—that’s if she’s up to anything—it doesn’t involve her putting a bullet through our brains.

Her eyes flick to the bed, to the pages I have spread out like a fresh snowfall around me. She knows that I know, and her lips curl back with displeasure.

It makes me realize how little I’ve seen her truly smile.

I don’t do much of that either.

I’ve always wished I had a better sense of humor. She’s brought something out in me that I didn’t even know existed. She’d made it possible to expose the softest parts of myself without fear or ridicule. All I’ve given her in response is another reason to hurt.

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