Athena's Raid: Book Two Perdition MC (3 page)

When I get back to the shop, I’m going to make you some candles that smell like Tahoe. Have you ever been?

And what gave it away that I was a ginger?

Athena.

He didn’t even bother writing back a bunch of crap.

The dogs are fuckin adorable.

I got time for long stories. Spill. You okay?

Yeah, I’ve been to Tahoe.

You’re a smart ass bitch that likes sniper rifles, how could you be anything BUT a ginger?

R

Her letter came back a week later.

Raid,

I’ve been assured that being called a ‘bitch’ by a biker is high praise, and not something to get my hair fired up about. So I won’t.

And spill? You asked, remember that.

I was dating a guy on and off for about six months. And I use the term dating, loosely. I wasn’t as into him as he was into me, as is usually the case. No, I don’t know why. But it was fun to have a guy around to do stuff with, enjoy life with. Until he started getting snippy about how much time I was spending with my friends, and not with him. I let that go, because he’s a Cancer, and Cancer men are notorious whiny bitches, and I should have known better. There were high points, great points, but he was fuckin intense, all. The. Time. He’d see me getting frustrated and back off, let me have my space, and then it would be fine again.

Till I started spending a few hours every Sunday afternoon, writing you letters.

He was a pissy bitch about it, I told him to grow a pair, and he thought that was an invitation to cold cock me across the face. I didn’t respond well, as you can imagine, and being my uncle’s girl, I kicked that mother fucker in the balls so hard I think I busted one of them. I then proceeded to kick his ass down the stairs, and yeah, kicking him when he was down was probably petty, but I was fairly pissed, my face hurt, so I made his face, and his ribs, and his stomach, and his balls hurt.

Someone called the cops, and somehow I ended up getting arrested. Probably had something to do with the baseball bat in my hand, and the very loud threats to murder my now ex. So I spent the night in jail, he pressed charges, something about aggravated assault or whatever. The judge took one look at me, at my face, and my ex got ‘remanded into custody.’ I told him not to drop the soap, which I thought was very nice of me, and the drama then became some threats on his behalf, which for some fool reason my uncle took seriously, and banished me to Tahoe.

He did buy me a gun, as a ‘that’s my girl’ present, and told me to get a dog. So I don’t think he was pissed at me so much as worried that I’d find more trouble and get put back in jail or something. He was disappointed in my choice of dog, as Cruncher continues to prove what a pussy he is, but was slightly mollified by Rosita’s fury. I’m calling her Rosie, now, because it seems to piss her off. More so when Uncle John threatens to punt her like a football if she goes after his ankles again at dinner time. She’s a little food aggressive. And you haven’t seen funny, until you see a 70 pound pitbull cowering in terror because his girlfriend is telling him to back off while she finishes their dinner.

I’ve had to start feeding Cruncher in the garage, just so he can eat in peace. Rosie hates me for this, but every time we drive by the pound, my intention to throw her out and keep driving, Cruncher puts his paw around her and hugs her close, like he’s promising never to let her go back there. I should have gone with my gut and gotten a cat instead. Cats don’t have souls, and I’d have been in good company. Now I’m watching a pair of disturbed dogs, jealous of the love they have for one another.

SIX

That was the day three things happened.

First? He sucked up the pride, and the bitch ass hurt about wondering why none of his brothers from Perdition had ever sent him letters or called or emailed him or anything. He called the only number he could remember, and it turned out that the reason none of them had stuck by him, was because his drug addict mother had told them he died. KIA on his first duty assignment. He couldn’t even get mad at the bitch, because apparently not long after lying to his brothers, she’d shot up enough heroin to drop an elephant, and died from the overdose.

He should have been upset by that, but for some reason, he wasn’t.

Second, he got Shirley to call the doctor wanting to do the experimental surgery on him and sign his ass up. When Shirley asked him why he’d changed his mind, he was as honest as he wanted to be with her. “Because. Someone needs me back home, and I can’t do shit lyin in a bed.”

Third, he wrote Athena back and told her how he’d come to be paralyzed.

He told her he was about to go into surgery, and if he made it through, it would be a few months of PT, but he was determined to get through it. He didn’t tell her that she needed him, he told her he was sending one of his brothers out to check on her. To deal with it and not get herself hurt or worse, before he could get himself there.

She sent him another box.

This time when he opened it, the paper and the matching box were a soft green color, the same silver wax seal on both, and the smell was…Tahoe. He could totally close his eyes and see Lake Tahoe when he breathed deep. It smelled like green trees, lake water, summer breezes and naked nights on the shoreline with a hot woman. “Damn,” He muttered, carefully opening the box to lift out one of the four candles, in their pale green glass cups, and lit the wick with the green Bic lighter she’d included. Fancy ass woman. He breathed deep and opened her letter, finding himself grinning the whole time he read it.

Raid,

Seriously?

I’m thrilled that you reconnected with your brothers, and sorry, but your mom was a hard core bitch for telling them you were dead. I’m not so thrilled to have random drive by’s at my shop, and my house at all hours of the night. Your worry for me is probably the kindest thing anyone who’s not a family member has ever had for me. But I promise, I’m not some wilting damsel in distress, evident I think by the fact that I was arrested for beating my ex with a baseball bat after he pussy slapped me.

I’m trying to deal, honestly, but don’t be surprised if your brothers call you, bitch, throw their hands up and refuse to do their drive bys. I’m a handful at the best of times.

What kind of surgery, and how dangerous is it? Can I come visit you before you go in? I haven’t been to Virginia in a long time, could be fun.

Athena

He sent her back a letter telling her that she could absolutely not, no way, no how, come visit him before the surgery. He did not want her seeing him bound to a bed, and if the surgery turned him into a vegetable, he definitely didn’t want her last memory of him to be his weak ass body hooked up to tubes and wires in a hospital gown looking like shit.

The day after he sent that, he got another box, but this time, it was from Perdition. A cell phone, fully charged, with a bunch of numbers programmed into it, and only a few names he recognized. Saint and Roar being among them, and there was a text message waiting from Roar.

-
Call me when you get this, mother fucker-

It made him laugh, and he called. Roar picked up on the second ring, “Jesus Christ, we thought you were dead.” He greeted hoarsely, and just like that, his butt hurt attitude evaporated. “Nope. Just paralyzed.” He drawled, and for a minute there was silence. “That’s not fuckin funny.” Roar growled, and he laughed, wincing at the stab of pain. “No, not really. I’m up next week for an experimental surgery. See if they can fix it. Odds are fifty fifty. I either make it through and get up walking in a few months, or I turn into a vegetable. In which case I’m signing a paper that says not to put me on life support.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. You’re serious.”

Not wanting to talk about it, at all, or imagine all the ways it could go wrong, he changed the subject. “You seen her yet?”

“What?”

“Athena, you seen her?”

“Dude, this is not the time to be talking about bitches. You’re-“

“Roar, if not for that bitch, I’d still be thinking my brothers abandoned me and looking for a way to get enough morphine to bite it.”

“Jesus. Yeah. I seen her.”

“And?”

“Hottest bitch I ever seen, second only to mine. No lie. She’s short, like 5’6 max, got that rabid curly red hair all the way down to her ass. Curvy, like all the bitches you used to chase. She owns this hippie new age shop that does herbs and candles and shit, saw her havin a come to Jesus talk with someone the other day, had this massive pittie with her that looked like it was hiding behind her. Don’t know what it was about, wasn’t close enough to hear, but fuck me, she’s even hotter when she’s pissed.”

“Seriously, fucker? She’s mine.”

“I know that, brother. Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the view. Top is Prez now, him and a few of the boys are coming to see you, and don’t fuckin open your mouth to argue, mother fucker. They’re already on a plane. I would be there, but my woman is about to pop out a kid and she’s goin nowhere. I’m keepin an eye on your woman, and mine, so I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Wait, Roar, fuck-my-way-through-the-entire-population-of-women-in-Texas, has a woman and is about to be a father? Who the fuck are you, man?” He laughed, and got grunted at.

He spent the next six hours on the phone with Roar, catching up on everything he’d missed out on, listening to the fuckin hilarious drama he had with his baby mama, who was refusing to marry him because she wasn’t convinced he was husband material. Roar was after that like a starving dog after a bone. And after they hung up, pictures started to flood in through his text messages.

Pictures of his brothers.

Pictures of their women.

Pictures of his Harley that Saint had kept in perfect condition.

Pictures of Athena. And Roar was right, most beautiful bitch he’d ever seen.

Pictures that he stared at while the doctors put him under.

SEVEN

It was a shit slow day, which meant she was getting creative with her essential oil blends, coming up with scents her pen pal might like. And as she made them, she wondered morosely why she kept sending Raid letters and candles, when he hadn’t responded to any of them over the last few months. Six, to be exact, it was almost February again. Raid wasn’t answering her, so why she kept sending them, making candles if he wasn’t replying to her letters, she didn’t know.

Maybe it was just a way for her to pretend the connection was still there.

She’d been tempted several times to fly to Virginia to bust Raid’s balls about why he wasn’t talking to her, but the vehemence in his last letter, not wanting her to see him in a hospital bed, she did her best to honor that. They hadn’t spoken on the phone, hadn’t emailed, hadn’t exchanged pictures or anything. They were just pen pals, but she felt like she’d lost a friend, a good friend. That, and when she’d called the hospital to check on his status, she’d been told by a rather snippy nurse that she wasn’t family, and had no business asking for medical information on a patient. The little twat had hung up before Athena could rupture her ear drum in response.

So she poured herself into work, into being a good doggie mom, into living life. And she’d never been so successful, sales were out the roof, people were eating up her candles, life was good. Except that Raid wasn’t talking to her anymore. So she’d sucked it up, and was in the process of making the last batch of candles she would send him. A batch of geranium rosewood, as a good bye. She was going to put them in the mail, no letter, and move past this.

Cruncher perked up from his spot on the floor beside her, right before the bell over the door tinkled. “Browse around, I’ll be with you in a second!” She called, taking the pot of melted candle wax off the heat and carefully poured them into the twelve waiting cups, quickly in practiced moves planting the wicks into the hot mixture and sprinkled the tops with crushed geranium petals. Cruncher had already gotten up to go greet their customer, in his bumble bee outfit that made him seem less threatening, and she came out to see the hottest man she’d ever seen in her life, crouched down rubbing Cruncher’s belly while the little slut moaned in bliss, all four paws in the air.

She took a moment to appreciate the dark brown of the man’s long, windblown hair, and his gorgeous face, his tanned skin sprinkled with scruff, crinkles around his eyes while he smiled. And it was a killer smile, panty melting, even. He had on a leather vest with some patches on the front, a grey thermal shirt and some faded jeans, all those items hugging his impressively well muscled body. Damn. “Hi, can I help you?” He looked up at her when she’d managed to find her voice, and the breath froze in her lungs. His eyes were…amazing. Grade A, a-fucking-mazing. Golden brown, like expensive whiskey on a cold day, warming you straight to the bones. “I knew you’d have a voice like that. Cruncher is a total slut, why’d you dress him like a bee?”