Razor exits the building with a huge grin on his face. “Thank you, my brother. That was a fine piece of ass.”

“Crazy as fuck, though.”

“I know. That’s why I’m seeing her later.” He grins as he slips his aviators on.

“You’re a sick fuck, Razor.”

“Don’t I know it, Prez.”

CHAPTER 4

***Raven***

You know in the movies where someone walks into a room, a record scratches somewhere, and everyone stares at the newcomer? Think MJ walking into the nightclub in the beginning of the “Smooth Criminal” video. That’s exactly what happened. All I know is, one moment Chrissy and I are playing pool, hanging out with some of the guys, and the next moment it’s dead silent. I look up and everyone is staring at the door. I’m bent over the pool table, so I straighten and turn around. I wish I hadn’t though, because I’m staring into the blue eyes of Death himself. Gage stands there, shaking with barely restrained rage, his eyes locked on me. He’s a volcano about to erupt. I swallow hard.

“Where the fuck…are your clothes?” He shouts.

I swear his voice echoes through my entire body. We’re back to this? What I’m wearing is perfectly fine – shorts and a bandeau. Jeez, even Daddy wasn’t this anal. Before I can say anything, he storms up to me and grabs my hand. Without stopping, he drags me behind him to his room, pushing me inside and slamming the door behind him. I haven’t even regained my balance before he grabs me again and forces me against the wall.

“What the hell, Gage?”

“Have you been drinking? Smoking?”

I roll my eyes. “No, Daddy.”

“I swear to God, woman. Don’t test me!”

“How?”

“You’re out there practically naked!”

“I am not!”

“You like that, huh? Being a fucking tease?” He asks, getting into my face.

A tease? “How dare you –”

I cringe as he slams his palm on the wall by my head and closes his eyes, trying to rein in his anger. Okay, I think it may be in my best interest not to push him right now.

“Just cover up, Raven,” he says, his words coming through clenched teeth.

“I don’t have anything else. This is all Chrissy brought.”

He pushes away from me and removes a T-shirt and sweat pants from his chest of drawers.

“Put these on. I’d rather not have to kill any of my brothers.”

Aah…now I get it. “For what? Looking at me?”

He doesn’t answer, but I know that’s the problem. He’s jealous…to the thousandth degree, but it’s kind of cute. I take his hand, pull him to the bed, and push down on his shoulders. Sitting on his lap, I wrap my arms around his neck.

“They’ve been really cool. A couple of them even pulled me aside and told me I was a total badass for what I did last night.”

“You were…are.”

He slides his arm around my waist and takes a deep, calming breath. I turn his face to mine and stare into his eyes. The rage is gone. I don’t want to rekindle it, but shooting that guy last night has been on my mind all day. Technically, I didn’t kill him, but it still weighs heavily on my conscience.

“About last night –”

“I told you to leave it alone.”

“Gage, I’ve never shot anyone before.”

“And you haven’t killed anyone, either. It’s all on me.”

“Not all. I shot him four times.”

“It was them or us. I’m proud of you for how you handled yourself.”

He’s proud of me for shooting someone. Not exactly what one strives for in life but hey, I guess this is my life now. “I have Reaper’s approval?”

“You always did.”

How does he do that? How does he make me forget why I’m concerned, hurt, or angry? How does he replace all my thoughts with only ones of him? I trail my finger down his stubbled jaw, the tiny hairs prickling me. “You’ve been gone all day. I missed you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I place a few soft kisses on his lips before he finally gives in and takes over. He slowly works his lips over mine, teasing them with his tongue. I moan into his mouth, slipping my tongue in. The taste of peppermint hits me. Goosebumps pop up all over my body as he trails his fingers down my spine. I slide my fingers through his hair, leaning into him, needing to get as close as possible. He grabs my hair and pulls my head back, his gaze roaming my face.

“Change.”

“God! I hope you never have daughters,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.”

“How can you be so sure? Even you can’t command sons to be born.”

He slides me off his lap and heads for the door. With his hand on the knob, he turns to me, his expression stern.

“Because I’m not having children. Ever.”

That’s what he leaves me with. I stare at the door wondering what I’ve gotten myself into. Christ, he’s bossy. And that thing about kids? I would have never expected that. He’s so good with Mikey. Despite what I said, I do believe he’d be a good father. A very strict one, but a good one nonetheless.

Oh, well, it’s his choice. I definitely want kids someday. Someday far, far away, though.

I change into the sweatpants, drop it on my hips, and tie the strings to keep it in place. The T-shirt, I throw on over my bandeau and tie a knot in the back. I just hope he doesn’t get mad over me showing my belly button. I head back out, holding up the too-long legs of the pants. Chrissy’s in a corner cuddled up with Ron and smoking a joint, so I seek out Gage. He turns to me as I approach the bar where he’s sitting and drinking a beer.

“Better?” I ask, with a bit of attitude.

“Better.”

I wedge myself between his legs, lean against him, and drape his arm over my shoulder. He curls it around me, pulling me closer as I settle in and survey the room. These men are not at all what I thought they were. Crow, Motor, and Tek are off in a corner sharing a joint. Crow is so-named because he’s good at “clean-up”. You want to get rid of a body, he’s your man. He’s a big dude, with a buzz cut and a jagged scar running down his cheek. Motor, apparently, is an automotive wiz. He’s a little on the skinny side and has shaggy, blond hair. Tek looks more Goth than biker, complete with the black lipstick and eyeliner. He’s the club’s secretary and way better version of the Geek Squad. I’ve been told he can hack his way into anything.

Booker (that’s actually his real name), the prospect, is huge…and I’m not talking about muscles. He’s like a three hundred pound, grown-up version of Ham from The Sandlot—red hair, freckles and all. He and Ron don’t seem to have road names, but I’m sure that’s coming soon. Razor, I haven’t spoken to yet but he scares me a little. He pulls a disposable razor from his pocket and starts shaving. I guess that explains his name. Then there’s Rico, the road captain. He’s from Honduras and thinks he’s some kind of Rico Suave. I remember him hitting on me at the barbecue. He said I called him an asshole, but he had called me a bitch so we both decided we were even. He’s short and stocky with greasy, slicked-back hair.

Allah, he’s like the resident DJ or something. He won’t let anyone near his equipment. He’s really quiet, always bopping his head to music no one else can hear. Now, his nickname is just a bit scandalous, if I’m to believe Rico’s version. It started out pretty harmless. He would go around rapping Fabolous’ “Young’n” so much, they started calling him Holla Back. When that became too tedious, it was shortened to Holla. It all changed when a new Hound, who didn’t quite get it, kept screaming out “Allah!” while they were fucking. Needless to say, it stuck. He’s proud of it, too, smirking all the time Rico was telling the story. He’s a bit of milk chocolate with a close cut, wavy hair, teardrop tattoos, and platinum grills. I smile at him, playing away in the DJ booth.