Page 8 of Raiden

She did, didn’t she? Rumpled, glorious, ethereal—clearly undaunted and unintimidated by being in enemy territory.

“What are we going to do, Ray? This is freaking awful and now you’re married to it.”

If I don’t get dressed and get into fresh air soon, on my bike, putting distance between myself and my disaster of a bride who draws me in against my will, my head is going to burst.

I have questions that I want answered and none of them are appropriate. I want to know how Widow smells, not from afar, but with my nose pressed right up against her skin. I want to run my hand through her hair, to taste her lips, and worship her body. I’m not the only one under her spell, but I’m the only one who matters. The rest of the club brothers know that she belongs to me in all her problematic glory. I’m a man and she’s a beautiful woman. I can’t help conjuring up illicit images. I’ve only tried to push her away, get away, drink myself into oblivion, because it would be utterly pathetic if I admitted the level of base attraction.

I’m sure she’s interesting and multifaceted. Maybe she’s even soft under all her barbed wit. I shouldn’t want to find out. Getting along doesn’t mean fucking, even if she brazenly egged me on, stating right to my face that hate sex was perfectly acceptable.

“Ray?”

I press my fingers into my eyes, pushing back against the violent pounding. “I have no idea what we’re going to do. Just take it one day a time and try to survive it, I guess.”

If I last another day.

My new, lovely, nerve grating, prickly princess of a wife might do me in after just twenty-four hours.

Chapter 3

Ella

After changing into tight fitting, ripped up jeans and a long sleeve black shirt with just about as much distressing along the sides and arms, I rake a brush through my hair and grab my makeup bag to head down the hall to wash my face and brush my teeth. Not all the rooms on this side of the club have bathrooms, though I never expected the Angels clubhouse to be a five-star hotel.

I get ambushed right outside my door by Lark, and she does not look the least bit pleased. Breakfast just got ten shades more dubious if we get there at all. Should I request a pass simply on the grounds that arsenic isn’t my favorite food?

I remember my vow to be kind. This is my new sister-in-law. Like… doubly. It’s really quite messed up.

Lark looks pissed right off that I married her brother. Though I’m not the least bit bothered by her bedding mine. Granted, I didn’t know anything about him until recently and she and Raiden appear close, so it’s not the same thing at all.

She crosses her arms looking like a bright-eyed little pixie in a floral dress.

“This is the part where you tell me to be good to your brother or you’ll come in the night and cut me and you’re perfectly capable of doing it because even though you might look like a little pixie fairy, you’re actually one of those mean, vengeful fae, isn’t it?”

Her scowl darkens. “I’m trying to like you for Tyrant’s sake, but it’s hard.”

I’m a grown adult woman and I willnotspiral downward into rough biker humor. I won’t make a joke about shit gettinghard. I rely on logic instead of snark. “If I’m the spawn of Satan, what does that make Tyrant?”

“A beautiful dark fallen angel. You on the other hand are just a trashy looking wannabe badass who thinks she can seduce my brother. Raiden’s smarter than that and so is everyone here. We’re not just going to—”

“Oh look! The boys are rolling out!” They had to exit this way, which is the one saving grace of getting trapped by the club’s queen. There’s no way that I could respectfully decline to have this boring and predictable conversation.

Lark whips around, scowling. Indeed my new husband, his club president, and Bullet are leaving, dressed in jeans, t-shirts, and their leather vests.

They’re either going on a serious run, which I know isn’t the case, going to knock heads together—also not true or I would have heard and no one would have planned something like that for the day after such a huge celebration when everyone’s too hungover to function—or the guns bulging out of holsters and waistbands are meant to be used at the range and they’re gonna try and shoot their hangovers away.

Given that Bullet is accompanying them, it’s a dead giveaway that it’s the latter. I’m just surprised that Bullet’s new best bud, Smoke, isn’t with them.

I clap my hands in real delight, so loud that everyone stops and turns to look at me. “You’re going to the range! Can I come?”

Raiden’s still hungover as fuck and clearly suffering. He winces at my chipper, over-the-top delight. My voice echoes in the hall, probably clanging through his skull. “Absolutely not.” He digs his fingers into his eyes again. I’m surprised he hasn’t scooped them out by now, he’s done it so many times this morning.

“Why not?” Bullet asks, as if he really doesn’t know. He looks hungover too, a little bloodshot and sweaty, but there’s nothing bullets and a target can’t fix.

I’m not sure what Bullet’s past was. He’s got an average build, which makes him look small in comparison to men like Raiden and my brother who are well over six feet. He runs a hand through his dark hair then drops it. His beard is thick and closely groomed to his face. I’d say he’s in his late thirties. I’ve tried my best to learn everything I can about these men. I know who has an old lady and who doesn’t. Who prefers club whores or who likes to go the strip joint and the bars owned by the club. Bullet doesn’t have an old lady, but I haven’t gathered any other intel.

“I was going to ask Smoke to ride with us, but he’s currently passed out on the floor,” Bullet says.

I mutter a curse under my breath. It would be too much to ask the guys who are supposed to have my back here to actually have it. Not when there’s weed and booze and club whores around to distract them and there was plenty of everything last night.

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