Page 72 of Raiden

Chapter 22

Raiden

“Be smart about this.” Gray claps both hands onto my shoulders. He’s a barely effective barrier against me tearing out of my skin and going after Widow as a bloody meat bag ready to haunt the fuck out of her motherfucking piece of shit father.

A bullet to his brain? No way. That is far too good for a man like Zale Grand.

This is the second time in a matter of weeks that Gunner has called us after fucking someone up with a knife. In this case, it was several Berserkers. We got the call in the middle of dinner. I was on edge the whole time, barely keeping it together even thinking about Widow meeting Zale alone. She had Gunner with her, but if she wasn’t with me, I didn’t feel like she was protected.

I hold none of this against Gunner. Dude put five men in the ground and got himself injured trying to get Widow and himself out of this mess.

He’s currently being supported by Bullet and Reaper, keeping weight off the leg that Zale obliterated at close range with three bullets. One is lodged in his thigh and the other two have made a mess of his knee that I can only imagine. Walking with any sort of ease or lack of pain anytime in the future is going to be an unachievable dream for him.

Gray drove my dad, Lark, and Penny back to the clubhouse. I was on my bike, so I could get downtown faster.

Gunner met us blocks away. He left his blood on the ground for the cops, but no evidence of himself. Just a few dead bikers still in their cuts. He told me everything after literally dragging himself out of an alley, scaring me near shitless.

I hate how fast Gray and the rest of the men got here. We’re getting too good at locking down the club, making sure the women and kids are safe, leaving a few men back to guard them and keep an eye on the men we still can’t trust. Especially now. They may or may not have known about this. They might have been informing on Widow all along. We knew that, but having it waved right in front of us makes me glad I didn’t go to the clubhouse before I gunned it straight here.

If I was there and set eyes on one of those bastards, I would have taken their head off and more than just metaphorically.

Gray’s up in my face right now and I don’t even remember saying anything half-cocked. Then again, know a guy since kindergarten and he doesn’t have to say a thing to be heard. Know me a minute and it would be damn obvious that I’m about to lose my shit, get on my bike, and go in guns fucking blazing.

No one takes Widow. No one hurts Widow.

I don’t realize I’ve muttered the mantra slamming through my brain out loud until Gray backs off and nods. “This needs to end.” He nods at the men surrounding us and starts giving orders. I have no doubt that everyone here is well armed and not afraid to ride out with me if that’s the order Gray gives.

Not one of these men would question going after Widow even though technically she’s little more than the enemy by a matter of weeks, but this is about more than just one woman. This is about our whole club. Zale didn’t take Widow because hewanted her. He took her as bait, and he made it so obvious and easy to follow them that it’s clear that he’s enjoying his savage torment.

You can only push a peaceful man so far before they snap.

“Atlas, take Gunner to Archer’s before he bleeds out,” Gray orders.

Gunner breaks away from the men holding him up, ready to protest, but Gray gets in his face, grabs him by the back of the neck, and slams their foreheads within an inch of each other.

“I need you to survive this. You did a fine job tying those wounds off, but even if you don’t bleed out, you need that leg. Zale could have shot you once. He didn’t have to blow out your knee. He knew what would cause the most torment and for that, I’ll always be sorry. Every day I see you in pain is a reminder that I made the wrong choice when I allowed my father to live. This isn’t mercy.”

Gray turns, scanning the rest of us, one big hand splayed out and spanning Gunner’s shoulder blades. “We get a chance to take Zale down tonight, we’re taking it. However many men you have to kill, so be it. We made a peace treaty and held up our end. Taking Widow is just another way to fuck with us. He wants us to listen? He can hear us out first. He can hear us raise our collective voice in carnage tonight. We will not be ended. We are Satan’s Angels, and this is our city. We will still be here next year and the year after that and motherfucking decades from now. No one is going to drive me out of my own home while I’m breathing. That might be Zale’s aim to make my dead body a certainty, but he can try. They can all fucking try. They’re going to get a fight tonight the likes they’ve never seen and certainlyaren’t expecting. We will not sit here idly any longer and my limits of mercy are at an end.”

There’s a mighty roar, every man including Gunner sending up a vote of approval to the night sky.

We ride out, Gunner on the back of Atlas’ bike in the opposite direction and the rest of us moving out.

Zale’s hiding in plain sight. All we have to do is look for the grouping of bikes gathered out front of somewhere before the cops get to them. The sirens blasting in the distance are going to be a pain in the ass for the club unless the cops think it was an internal argument gone wrong, but with Gunner’s blood all over the ground and real bodies lying out in a public street, I doubt it. Our club lawyer is going to be busy. Even so, at the moment, the police are tied up downtown, which leaves us the outskirts of Hart free.

Gray rides at the front, Axe as our road captain, at the back.

I feel better knowing that each of my club brothers is at my back, fully armed. Bullet never misses. Scythe and Reaper are nasty business at the best of times. Decay and Grave are literally twin forces of destruction. They’re so quiet until they get the opportunity to knock skulls together, then they really come alive. Crow and Odin are battle-hardened warriors, and Steel and Vigil have worked with Bullet at his range for so long, I doubt they’d ever miss a shot.

We aren’t going to split up. The warehouse district is on the opposite side of town and Gunner gave us a clear direction he watched those fuckers ride off in. He swore they didn’t double back as he listened to the roar of bikes fading out. I might not take anyone else’s word for it, but when it comes to Gunner,he has senses that the rest of us don’t. He could probably pick out the make and model of a bike at the faintest rumble in the distance and know if it was something driven by one of his club brothers or not.

It’s no secret that we’re coming, so we don’t even think about ditching our bikes. We thunder past closed businesses, a string of houses, and then, just as we’re hitting the outskirts of town, we catch sight of a grouping of bikes in a tumble-down motel parking lot.

Fire might be Zale’s thing, but the vindictive beast in my chest wants to torch this place just to feed my rage.

The office lights click off abruptly and there’s a shadow of motion at the door, zipping the blinds shut.

Whoever is in there running this place is probably going to hide under their desk, cover their eyes, and pray they survive this. Burning it to the ground might do the fucker a favor as long as he has insurance. He had no choice in renting out these rooms to the Berserkers, and renting probably means free or lose your fucking head.

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