Page 73 of Raiden

At the sound of our bikes, men pour out of the shadows. Doors fling open, but far more black shapes emerge from the corners and back of the building. They’ve been keeping watch, clearly expecting us.

None of them make a move. They circle and group, but don’t rush to attack us as we pull up. Not one gun is drawn that I can see. Technically, this club and these men are still our allies.

Gray dismounts, Bullet, Vigil, and Steel immediately covering him. We’re all wearing bulletproof vests under ourshirts, but if someone takes a pot shot to our heads then we’re done.

The group of men assembling in the lot to square down with us is at least twenty strong that I can see. There’s probably double that hiding in the dark. I wonder how many guns we have trained on us from a distance, which is probably why the large, ugly fucker ready to parry with Gray doesn’t feel the need to talk at gunpoint.

“Zale wants a meeting,” Gray grinds out, perfectly calm. His hand flexes at his side, the fingers beside the missing one tapping against his thigh. “We’re here.”

The huge bastard rolls his shoulders back, grinning one ugly smirk at the men behind him. “It’s you and your VP only. The rest of your men wait out here. No weapons either.”

I would do just about anything to make sure Widow’s safe, including agreeing to some stupid shit like that. They can have me if they want me so badly, but Gray? There’s no way we’re sending our prez in to square off with the sick fucking prick who had him tortured. Gunner was acting VP of this club for a long time. He’s likely in surgery with Archer right now. Anything happens to me, and the club would have a better VP than I could ever be. But Gray? I can’t even think around the black spots that losing my best friend and the best man I’ve ever known, create in my vision.

Gray nods. The decision is his to make and any of us saying anything out here would only undermine his authority in front of a hell of a lot of eyes.

He sets to work disarming himself, laying his guns on the ground at his feet. His knife joins the pile. He straightens, hands out. “Just me. The rest of my men stay out here.”

That’s a fucking crazy idea. I barely swallow back my urge to lunge at him and keep him from going forward. The restless shift behind me says that every single one of the men at my back are thinking the same thing.

“I want your word of honor that the peace agreement stands while I’m in there talking business. The word of a biker and a man of honor.” His hand shoots out, waiting for a man who looks like he hasn’t even heard the word honorbefore, let alone who understands the concept, to take it.

“Creed,” the bastard mutters as his meaty palm slaps against Gray’s and shakes. “And you have my word.”

That’s all we can go on. That, and the fact that whether or not the peace is real, if Zale wanted to kill us all, he could have done it long ago. Standing here and trusting in that feels watery when there’s so much restless rage rushing through me.

None of us like having to stand here while Gray walks off, escorted by Creed, who is probably some higher-ranking officer in the Berserkers. The two of them get halfway across the crumbling lot, heading for a room right in the middle of all the dilapidated strips, when that very door flies open. Every single man out here braces, hands flying to weapons.

I’m tugged back by Bullet, who wrenches me into a tight formation, our men balling up to protect our backs and flanks.

There’s that single split second of shock and action and then everyone freezes.

My blood freezes even though my heart is still slamming at my ribs from the sheer adrenaline of being in the thick of danger. The sight of Widow with a gun pressed to Zale’s temple, her arm slung around his massive chest, steals everyone’s breath. Herwrists are raw and bleeding and she’s dwarfed from her position slightly behind Zale, but that only makes her a harder target to hit. Anyone tries to shoot her, that bullet would be going through him first.

Her voice rings out into the night, clear and scoring through us all like one huge blade raining down vengeance from the sky. “This man betrayed his own club. His greed put his own club brother in prison. His son spared his life when he was sent to put him to ground, and years later, he broke his oath not to return. He brought the full force of his new club here to abduct and torture one man, his own son, after he’d sworn abloodoath.”

Men from the Berserkers turn to mumble to each other. I’m not focused on what they’re saying or on their expressions. My eyes never leave the woman directly across the parking lot from me, or what I can see of her, which isn’t much.

“He used his own daughter as nothing more than a pawn. He forced me into marriage here as part of an alliance only to increase his own gain. When I refused to be his drug lord, he no longer cared what happened to me. Might as well just execute his own children and wipe out his old club—men he’d sworn to bleed for and die for—and move you all in here. Satan’s Angels would have been happy to uphold the peace, even working with a known traitor like Zale Grand, but this? This is the man who’s leading you? This is your prez? A man who would turn on you in a second just to further his own power, greed, and vengeance? He’s not afraid to sacrifice any single one of you. You might be hard, rough men, but I know that you have a sense of honor. Your own families mean the world to you, especially your children. Is this the man you’re going to trust your lives to? Is aman who would sacrifice his own children so callously the man you want safeguarding your own families?”

Another brutal rumble rips through the crowd. Creed stiffens beside Gray, and I can feel the menace pouring off him, but not towards the man at his side. He’s like a furnace blasting the heat of his ire directly at Zale Grand.

“He’s still my father and I don’t want to see him dead. I thought that was the only way that he was ever going to stop, but I was wrong. Right here, I’m going to give you a choice, Zale.” The gun presses harder into his temple, puckering and whitening the skin with the strain. “You confess to the murders tonight. You’ll say you shot your own men after they got in your way, and you shot Gunner when he tried to stop you. You’ll confess to kidnaping, and also to attempted murder. You’ll tell the cops that you brought those dealers to this town and that you ordered them to torch those buildings. They were unpredictable and violent and turned on each other, but you were the one who brought them to our doorstep. You’ll swear a blood oath, here and now, in front of each and every single one of these men, that you will hand over leadership of the Berserkers, do your time in prison, and leave us all the fuck alone if you should survive it. Every one of these men will hold you accountable to it. It’s that, or I pull this trigger.” Her voice wavers at that and my heart caves in.

I would do it. I would save her from this choice if I could. I’d be the one to kill Zale. I’d go back to jail to spare Ella from having to do this. It’s killing me to stand here, knowing I can’t save her from this. I can’t do this for her. It’s not my choice to make.

As brutal as that is, I know if she had to choose between me and her, she’d choose to save me. She might not be able totell me what she feels and that might be because it’s tangled and complicated, but she was willing to die to save my sister and it’s clear that she’d do the same for me.

“Make your choice, Zale,” she goes on while we’re still anxiously frozen. The Berserkers are shifting from foot to foot, some of them clenching double fists and breathing heavily. “Actions speak so much louder than false oaths and your actions are that of a coward. You’re a weak man, Zale Grand. What’s your choice? Death or prison?”

I don’t know many men who wouldn’t choose even a severely reduced life over death and Zale’s included. His stark green eyes rove over the men assembled before him. Not just his current club, but all of us. They scrape over Gray, and I can’t imagine how painful this is for him. Neither Ella nor Gray wanted their father dead. Gray never meant for Zale to become an enemy. He thought his father would go away quietly, like he promised, and make some sort of life for himself outside the club. He gave him the chance back then, and Zale chose life.

He’s going to choose life again. I can see it in the hateful glare he levels at me. I have done nothing to this man. Nothing but love his son as a brother before we ever patched in, love his club as my chosen family, get disowned by my blood family and get locked in a cage for years. Even now, he still can’t see the truth that we were never any threat to him until he revealed himself as a traitor to his oath and club.

He turns his head and whispers something to Widow that we can’t hear.

She releases him, but keeps the gun trained on his head. We all know what a good shot she is. She won’t miss, and fromthe aching determination on her face, she won’t hesitate to pull that trigger either.

Creed tackles Zale to the ground before he gets a chance to pull anything. He kneels on him while he grunts, and zip ties his wrists. After he yanks him up, he turns to Gray with clear purpose. He’s a rough looking man, but Gray clearly saw that he’s an honorable one and he appealed to that honor as soon as we got here. Gray’s like that. He sees the good stuff in people sometimes long before they can even see it for themselves.

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