Angel

by Victoria Johns

  “According to his club. You don’t become a president at his tender years without earning it in the Carnals. According to your dad, too. Surely you trust the judgment of the man who raised you?”

  “Leave it alone, Thrott.”

  “According to the Department of Corrections. A sixteen-year-old who can kill his own father in cold blood sounds dangerous to me.” Throttle spat that revelation at me with so much hatred and spite, it had me wanting to back away from him.

  “What’s the matter?” I found my strength and faced off to him. “You don’t want me so no one else can have me?”

  I knew I was lashing out, desperate to hide the shock of the secret he’d shared, but it was more than that. I was trying to hide the joy and respect I felt for Declan. His father was a mean motherfucker and if Declan had taken him out then there’d been just cause, I knew it with everything inside me. I didn’t need our shared history to know I’d have done the exact same thing had I been in his shoes.

  Deep down, though, I knew Declan was my other half, my soul’s one true partner. We’d always shared that connection and being together again convinced me of it. I could feel it in my bones.

  Declan had the capacity to kill, to end a life, and I knew I did, too. I’d tried that once with Chopper and hadn’t been afraid of succeeding.

  That beautiful woman and me were cut from the same cloth.

  Simple as that.

  She’d grasped that concept twenty years ago. For me, though, it took until I was doing time to realize it.

  “What the fuck are you doing here, Razor?”

  “Heard word my club president decided to stick around. Thought I’d come offer some support. Can’t have a lone Wolf in the middle of a pack of Sentinels, even if that Wolf is a Carnal.”

  Support? Fucking liar.

  The only way this dangerous motherfucker would support me would be to help dig a hole big enough to bury my body in.

  The Sentinels were all on edge in the workshop. My extended stay was causing enough drama, but to have him on site was like putting an alligator in the middle of a chicken farm. He was smiling on the outside but cooking up carnage on the inside, and these brothers knew his reputation.

  “A word.” I finished wiping my hands on an old rag and led him back outside the workshop. “Problems back home? Something need my attention?”

  “Digit is getting twitchy. Needs to know if he should keep digging or wait for word.”

  “Wait for word. Make sure that order gets back ASAP.”

  I’d never normally get involved in this low level shit, but as soon as our numbers guy reported that things weren’t adding up in this locale of our operations, I knew I had to look into it.

  And all because I knew she was here. Too close to it all.

  I’d always known where Rosie ended up. In the beginning, it was because my dad kept tabs on her. After he ended Chopper, he felt it necessary to have some kind of early warning system in place. He was convinced she’d blab and they’d come looking for him. The old miser had always hated her, but I knew as long as she was with the Sentinels, they’d keep her safe from him. Unless she came clean.

  I did things I can’t take back. Not that I would. The fucker deserved to die. It was him or me, and he’d had it coming for years. After he was gone, I carried on keeping tabs on her. Admittedly, it was a little bit of a challenge from inside, but I managed. Because of him, I was already more resourceful than the average street kid.

  Rosie and I had always looked out for each other so being yanked from her life felt like this open wound that never fully healed. Something you keep putting a band-aid on, but the infection never clears and until you dig deep and root out the rot, it will always cause you pain. A few days ago, I had to make the choice—let it scar over and be there as a lesson or open it up, clear out the rot and let it heal for good, and I knew when I couldn’t get her out of my head that it was a combination of both. She was a scar I could be proud of and I needed her in my life again, so the wound would heal without the rot.

  I’d slipped up, though. Somewhere along the way I’d missed that she worked for Davis. Her name just never cropped up. It was never in my reports and why would it be? She was an insignificant, an assistant. Well, insignificant to everyone else, and I didn’t normally deal with him directly. Another brother did. It was only when that brother mentioned seeing Davis with a hot piece of ass that we looked into her. I thought the hot piece of ass could be another piece of leverage used to keep him in line. It was a huge fucking shock when I realized it was her.

  I knew I needed to understand just how involved she was. If she was rooted in deep… Fuck.

  No.

  I couldn’t even think about that, or what would need to happen.

  “Report back and tell him I’ll have the answer in a day or so.”

  Razor looked at me skeptically. Even I knew I was operating out of character. No wonder he’d come looking. I never got involved in this shit. I had minions who ran around like little bitches for me.

  “Who’s the skirt?”

  “What skirt?” My heart stuttered, causing a moment of panic.

  “The fine piece of cock candy working on the Plymouth.”

  “The Prez’s daughter so keep your distance.” The inflection of warning in my voice was not to be missed, and if I carried on, I knew I’d be in danger of piquing his interest too much.

  “Sure.” He grinned. “I can wait until the ‘stangs are clear. I love a good bit of anticipation. Makes a fuck so much sweeter.” The grin on his face was vulgar and ugly. I’d seen him play with female toys before and unless they were begging, bleeding or brawling with him, he was bored. The problem was when he got bored, he’d up the level of his games until he got off and cruelly so. I’d had some liberal moments of fun and fucked up sexual adventures growing up, but there was fucked up and there was Razor’s fucked up. He had an edge to him that made my neck hairs stand on end. Razor having Rosie in his sights as a fun time option was not going to happen, not while I was fucking breathing anyway.

  “Stay away from her, Razor. That wasn’t a request either. We need harmony with at least one club nearby. We can’t be at war with them all, and tapping that would definitely be considered an act of war. Got it?”

  I waited until he nodded his acquiesce, but the light of pure sadistic evil in his eyes was not dulling and the minute he got a green light, he’d go racing ahead. It was time to get to the bottom of my Davis Holdings problem and see just how much protection Rosie needed.

  I dressed in my suit and waited for him.

  Like a proper mobster, the suit unsettled people.

  Like it did with Rosie at the gala, but my interest had got the better of me there and I had to see just how close they were. The suit brought their nerves to the surface. I loved the way it destabilized my opponents and not in a good way. Turning up in my cut would have clued them in straight away to my mood, and wearing that leather badge of honor meant that violence was never far away.

  So, when Davis walked out of his office at the end of the day and found me casually sitting on the visitor's couch next to Rosie’s desk, he nearly shit himself on the spot, enough that I could visualize his bowels loosening in fear. I loved seeing the fear in people’s faces. The buzz I got from it was all Wolf, pure and simple biker. It was a feeling I’d become accustomed to inside and it took me by surprise just how at home I was inflicting suffering on others, especially if I came out on top, the victorious survivor.

  “I hear your executive assistant is taking some personal time.” I stood up to meet him, reminding him of my size and structure, tweaking the edge on his fear.

  “Wolf, ah… what’re you doing here?”

  Guilty.

  I didn’t really need to ask any more questions.

  I hated how this motherfucking cock was trying to get one over on me. “Thought I’d call for an impromptu business meeting, check how my holdings are doing at Davis Holdings.”

  My
eyes zeroed in on his trembling lips as he tried to discreetly draw a calming breath through them. I walked past him and made it clear that his presence was required in his office.

  “It’s getting late and I wasn’t expecting you. As you already mentioned, my assistant is out so I don’t have your hands to file.”

  “Files to hand, don’t you mean? Some reason you’re jumpy?”

  “No, sir, not at all.”

  The pathetic piss-ant didn’t even realize he was jumbling up his words. “Take a seat,” I ordered, helping myself to a glass of whisky from his corner office drinks cabinet. “Does your executive assistant work on my holdings?”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “You sure? That would be a huge fucking conflict of interest, her family being in the M.C. fraternity. I’d hate us to have a problem because of inappropriate boundaries.”

  “I’ve already answered, no.”

  “So, the little fib you just told about needing your assistant to find my files… We’ll have no more of those, Davis. Fibs cause me to feel… unsettled.”

  “I, and I alone, work on the Carnals’ holdings.” Davis’s voice, for once, was confident. He was now telling me the truth. Great for me, even better for Rosie, but very bad for him. He was still nervously rattling like a bag of bones, so he was anxious about something.

  “If you’re lying to me about what she knows, Davis, I will personally oversee your demise.”

  Davis’ adam's apple jumped uncomfortably as he tried to swallow through his bravado. “I swear it on my father’s life.”

  My snort of incredulity was not missed. “He can’t save you if you’ve betrayed me.”

  It was true; he couldn’t. I’d met Davis Peters Sr. in prison. I’d saved his ass, literally, from a gang rape party in the toilet block one day. The Mexicans were looking for a new bitch and it was an opportunity I didn’t miss. Saving him meant he owed me and I collected in the form of his son being the legal front man for a lot of the Carnal’s business holdings. It was a debt I intended to make sure both of them continued to honor.

  “Let’s cut to the chase. Digit seems to think you may need a new battery in your calculator.”

  And there it was. The shaking of his hand as he tried to nonchalantly run it through his sweat-dampened hair. The little bobbles of sweat, fighting to break free on his forehead. “I’m giving you the chance to be a man, find your spine and tell me, face to face, that you’ve been skimming off the top.”

  One of the ways we moved money around through Davis was by making sizeable, donations to fake charities. Of course, to keep things legit-ish, we made some real ones and Digit was convinced that what was disappearing as a taxable benefit one end, was not reappearing in our secret account at the other end.

  “Now, Declan—”

  “It’s Mr. Fucking Foster to you. Can’t you see I have my suit on today? I give you the impression that this was a friendly visit? No. It’s a business meeting.”

  His face took on a shiny grey color, and when you added that to the shaking and sweating, I thought for one crazy moment he might be having a heart attack.

  But he wasn’t. Pussy.

  “And because I am a gentleman in a suit, a fucking businessman with a beating heart, I’m going to give you a choice. Razor or Digit?”

  I watched and waited for his answer as a wet spot appeared on his posh blue suit pants. Davis was right to piss himself in fear. I’d given him no choice at all. Razor liked to do most of the Carnals wet work. He was well known for giving a close shave that was a little too close. And Digit—that degenerate motherfucker was as close to an intelligent lunatic as I’d ever seen. The guy was great with numbers, a creative genius with digits, but if shit didn’t add up in his perfect world, if you fucked him over or tried to screw the math, he’d share his true love of digits. He’d take off yours with something jagged, and if they were pretty enough, store them in a jar of formaldehyde in his hunting cabin as a memento. He once told me that human flesh had the right kind of stench to attract a wild animal up in the mountains and they were his big game hunting secret. I wasn’t so sure. I think he just collected fingers and toes for shits and giggles.

  “Take your time, Davis.”

  The wet patch spread. “I did it for my dad. The Mexican’s aren’t being kind to him.”

  This was the first I was hearing of it and I didn’t like that.

  “I swear I only gave them a bit of your fund.”

  “I made you fucking rich. You should have come to me,” I bellowed and his bladder evacuation ramped up. “For the love of God man, stop pissing yourself. You should have come to me. I promised to protect your father when I got out. Taking my money and not telling me I’m failing in my protection duty just fucks me up the ass twice.”

  “I’m sorry, Dec… Sir. Please, I had no choice.”

  “There is always a choice.” Davis was pathetic. How Rosie spent any time around this guy was a mystery. Although, it was now crystal clear why she was dumping all his bitches for him. “You should be pleased I took time out of my busy schedule to come and investigate. If Razor were here, you’d already have a grin like a Cheshire cat. You will return the club’s money, with interest, while I consider your punishment.”

  “I don’t have any money. The Mexicans wanted money. That’s why I took yours,” he wailed, finally realizing he’d pissed himself.

  “Okay then. I’ll get my own money back, with interest, and see what’s going on with your father.” Davis breathed a sigh of relief. “Don’t thank me. You’ll still pay your debt to my club in the way I choose.” I casually placed my whiskey glass on his desk and headed for the door.

  “And, Davis, if your executive assistant finds out about our business arrangements, you’ll pay your debt to both Razor and Digit.” Davis slumped into a chair by his desk in shock. “No one fucks with the Carnals.”

  I didn’t shut the door behind me and I could hear him sobbing as I waited for the elevator. I casually admired myself in the polished brass doors, enjoying the moment of making someone so scared they pissed themselves. I would have enjoyed it so much more if it hadn’t been for the Mexican complication. I had to understand why they were no longer afraid of the Carnals. It was a bold move and one my guy on the inside had failed to report in. Another concern.

  But by far my biggest concern was Rosie. This whole situation felt uneasy and the only way to keep her out of it was to get her away from Davis. I just didn’t see her doing that because I asked; she was so fucking inquisitive. Dragging her away was another option and one that sounded a lot more fun.

  The relief I felt after hearing Davis confirm she had nothing to do with it was immense, almost indescribable. Something like a concrete block had been unstrapped from my back. It was big enough to remind me how I felt about her, so I then spent a night trying to talk myself out of wanting her. All I could visualize was me grabbing her and then fucking her sideways, in technicolor detail.

  Vivid detail.

  Every time I thought about her, my dick twitched in the most brutal way.

  I knew that where Rosie was concerned, Razor’s anticipation theory was bullshit. Anticipation was completely overrated. If she was even half as good in the bedroom as what was going down in my imagination, I was done for. Sunk. I also knew if that was true, I’d definitely have to keep her and I’d pretty much already convinced myself that I had to keep her.

  I just had no fucking idea how to make it happen. How the hell could I pull that off when everything was against me?

  After my little heart to heart with Razor, I tried to send him back to Carnal territory, but then one of the dumbass Sentinels muttered the word party and he delayed his departure. I had lots of business going on—the Mustangs, Davis and now Rosie—so hanging around some party to make sure he behaved himself was not in my schedule.

  Before I’d got into bed last night, I dialed Digit’s number and waited. Looking at the time, it was a crapshoot as to whether I’d reach him
. He’d either be passed out or balls deep into something, male, female or possibly both.

  “Yo,” his gruff voice answered. He was definitely passed out.

  “Davis has been dipping.” I got straight to the point and imparted the news to confirm his original assumption.

  “Motherfucker.” That woke him up and by the way the tone of his voice had changed, I’d say he was eerily pleased. I had visions of him eyeing up empty jars and shelf space.

  “He may have a valid reason so don’t go ordering your formaldehyde just yet.”

  “Ordering? Got that shit out back by the barrel, my man.” Yes, completely whacked. “What reason?”

  “Mexicans are hustling him through his old man.”

  “Impossible. We’d know.”

  Like me, Digit was skeptical. “I got that feeling, too. It begs the question why Merry hasn’t reported it.”

  Merry was my man on the inside and was serving time for manslaughter. It should have been murder, but we paid a fucking big chunk of money to have a lawyer on retainer. Merry had always been a miserable asshole, hence the cute club name. His vibe screamed ‘back the fuck off,’ unless he was surrounded by misery and gore. Only then was he happy, a bit like Digit. Thinking about the men around me, it wasn’t the first time I’d realized my club was made up of men who preferred to inflict pain rather than avoid it. They were the complete opposite of the Sentinels and seldom happy unless they were dishing out their own version of justice.

  All apart from me.

  I could flick that switch and turn the violence on. I could do it because I’d had to. I was more than capable of inflicting pain and getting the same rush as the others, but much preferred to live a life closer to heaven than hell. Since my dad had dragged me away from Rosie in that trailer, I’d always been about the lone lifestyle. It was too hard to get close to people you might have to leave. I became the true hunting wolf. I enjoyed playing mind games to trap my adversaries and only attacked when it was necessary. Club life was sometimes a challenge and I only integrated where necessary, but I much preferred to keep a distant, yet healthy friendship with these psychos. Being their president allowed me to remain objective, see the club as a unit, a business, something to which I had to be loyal. It was a collection of men rather than a set of individuals I had different bonds with. If it had been like that, they’d have been able to sway my path and disrupt my decisions. Being the lone wolf meant I had no single loyalties that could cause me any bias and in truth, I distrusted them all. The purposeful distance made me an excellent president in their eyes.