by Raven Dark
Riot
A Hell’s Heathens MC Christmas Story
Raven Dark
Riot (Hell’s Heathens: A Christmas Story)
By Raven Dark
Copyright © 2019 Raven Dark, all rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Please purchase only authorized editions of this book, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrightable materials.
Cover by Raven Dark
Cover images courtesy of DepositPhotos
Proofread by Amanda Koehler
Created with Vellum
A sugary sweet thank you to all my readers.
All my love.
Always.
Contents
1. Riot’s Mistake
2. Caught
3. Choices
4. One Night
5. Peep Show
6. Run, Red, Run
7. The Demon’s Wrath
8. Cold, Cold Shoulder
9. Creep
10. Toys and Guns
11. A Light in the Dark
12. Revelations
Epilogue: The Best of Both Worlds
Connect with Raven Dark
1
Riot’s Mistake
Everyone has at least one of those moments. One of those moments where something happens and you just know that, because of that one single event, your whole world is about to change and nothing will ever be the same.
That’s what happened the first time I saw him.
The living, breathing God of Gorgeousness that turned my life on its axis with his eyes, hypnotized me with his voice, and utterly upended my world merely by being there.
Riot.
Wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start at the beginning.
The day is clearly headed downhill the moment I get off the plane from Cali. An Uber driver is standing at the doors to the airport, holding up a sign that has my name on it—Red—in big letters so I can’t miss it. With silver hair and a white mustache, I’d put him in his sixties. He must be an Uber driver, because Devil wouldn’t send anything as pretentious as limo.
Walking toward him, I roll my eyes. This is so typical of my brother. I’m coming home for the first time after two and a half years in a boarding school, I haven’t seen him in all that time, and he sends someone else to get me?
The realization as to why Devil isn’t there stings, but I shove the thought down, refusing to let it sour my mood any more than it already is.
As soon as I stop in front of him, bags in hand, the driver’s brows go up as he takes in my appearance. Wild red curls. Rose, butterfly and spider tattoos that cover my shoulders, half hidden by my worn, patched up, sleeveless denim jacket. Most of his customers probably come from Whiskey. Considering the snobby, rich nature of that town, I hardly look like his typical customer. It’s probably more of a shock since I’m only eighteen. He sees me as an unfortunate young girl mixed up with those Neanderthal Heathens who hang out in their clubhouse drinking their way to liver damage and corrupting the innocent.
As the sister of the President of Hell’s Heathen’s MC, I’m not only used to this reaction from people, but I love watching grown men trying to work out if I’m as dangerous as my brother.
The old guy licks his lips nervously, and I can see him trying to put on a professional smile.
“Red?” He holds out his hand for my bags and I ignore it.
“You’re quick,” I say with a smart-ass smirk that usually makes men want to either strangle me or turns them into teddy bears. I set my bags down and swing on my winter coat, then pick the bags up. “Let’s go, old timer.”
I watch him drop his hand awkwardly before I make my way past him toward the doors.
Outside, snow banks surround the airport lot and fat, fluffy white flakes swirl. The icy Ohio chill bites at my cheeks. A storm delayed the plane’s arrival, but it seems to be dying out. After more than two years surrounded by palm trees and sweltering heat, the cold is a shock. God, I’m not here five minutes and I already miss California. Well, I miss the heat, anyway.
Good thing I’ll be getting the fuck out of here as soon as Christmas is over.
An hour later, the driver pulls up at the clubhouse, a large grey building with stone steps that lead up to a wide, closed-in porch. Usually, dozens of bikes sit outside on the wide front lawn, but only a few of them sit out there now, the rest kept in a garage off to the side, out of the winter weather.
Through the glass that surrounds the large porch, I can see a dozen bikers talking and roughhousing, beers in hand and women draped on their arms. An unwelcome stab of sentimentality hits, threatening my determination to leave this all behind. Seeing the clubhouse again almost makes me wish I wasn’t leaving in a month.
“Are you sure you want me to leave you here?” the old man asks, giving me a fatherly look of concern.
I grin. “You’re worried about dropping off young, impressionable me with a bunch of rowdy, horny bikers.”
He opens his mouth, seems to realize lecturing me will fall on deaf ears, and gives a helpless shrug.
I can’t resist having a bit of fun with him. Populated with pearl-clutching wives, rich dads in suits and shiny cars, people in Whiskey are so damned up tight, they practically ask to be messed with. Which is why I slap the money for the fare into his hand over the seat and give him a mockingly reassuring pat on the shoulder.
“Don’t be. I’ll only fuck half of them.”
His expression morphs into such a mix of horror and shock that I almost laugh and ruin the whole vibe. I notice that he doesn’t get out of the car and open the door for me. Ha, he’s probably too afraid. I’m barely out of the car with my bags and shut the door before his car takes off like a bullet down the dirt road.
My words couldn’t have been further from the truth. I might look like a wild girl, but I’ve only ever been involved once, with a guy I met at the boarding school in Cali. The sex was great, but somehow, it got out that I was the sister of the Heathen’s Prez, and wouldn’t you know it, I never saw him again.
Chickenshit.
If there’s one thing that pisses me off about being MC royalty, it’s that every guy I meet is too damned scared of Devil to lay hands on me. I won’t be getting any tonight.
I cross the lawn and go up the steps. As soon as I step onto the porch, dozens of hands pat me on the back and ruffle my hair, and women pull me in for hugs, all welcoming me home. Tatted up and dressed in their leather cuts, these are the kind of guys most people would be intimated by, but not me. For me, being around them is like having dozens of big badass older brothers who’ll give their lives to protect me.
As soon as I walk into the front hall, the scent of old leather, exhaust, smoke, and beer drifts from the clubhouse common room. I inhale deeply, loving the smell.
“Red. Get your ass over here, girl.” Big and burly, with more hair on his face than a grizzly, the club’s tech guy comes toward me, holding his arms out for a hug.
“Badger.” I drop my bags and throw my arms around him, squeezing him tight. “How are you?”
“We missed you.” He whirls me around.
“Missed you more.”
“Good to see you got home okay,” he says, picking up my bags and slinging them over his shoulder.
“Where’s my brother? Is he here?”
“Come on.” Badger slings his arm over my shoulder and steers me toward the common room. “Barbie’s been waiting for
you. She made your favorite.” But he didn’t answer my question, and he won’t meet my eyes.
So not only did Devil not bother to pick me up, but he’s not even here to greet me?
“This is so typical,” I mutter.
“Oh, come on, Red. You know how busy the Prez is with club stuff. Besides, Devil hates being in those fucking cages. Everyone knows you pack enough for three people, and there’s no way we’re getting all your shit on a bike.”
They sound like good enough reasons. Like most bikers, Devil won’t be caught dead in a car—or a cage, as the boys call them. And if things are anything like they were before I left, he has his hands full with the Grim Reapers, another MC that’s been trying to push the Heathens out of this area for years. Too bad I know my brother well enough to know all of those things are just excuses.
“Whatever,” I say.
“Go easy on him, okay?” Badger pleads. “He missed you.”
“Never. That’s no fun.”
Badger shakes his head as if he isn’t sure what to do with me. In the common room, he claps me on the shoulder. “I’ll take these up stairs for you. Go on now.”
I squeeze his hand before he takes off for the stairs to the upper floor. Then I make my way further inside, looking around. The place hasn’t changed at all.
Built like a large barroom, the clubhouse’s common room is a testament to old-school manliness that only exists in such high levels within the walls of an MC’s hideaway. A huge widescreen TV still covers one wall, leather couches sitting around it. Billiard tables are scattered about one side of the room, tables and chairs sit about the other, and a long bar stocked with liquor runs along the wall opposite the TV.
Except for the silver garland someone has strung about the ceiling, the mistletoe above the bar, and the portrait of Santa astride a Harley in a biker’s cut on the back doors, the place looks exactly as it did when I left at sixteen.
It’s only four in the afternoon, but half the guys sitting on the couches are already drunk and making out with the club whores.
Ah, home.
As quietly as I can, I sneak up behind a woman with long, bleach-blond hair seated at a table and put my hands over her eyes. “Guess who.”
Barbie, Badger’s old lady, squeals and leaps up from her chair. “Oh my God. Red!” She throws her skinny arms around me and the bangles half covering them jangle softly. “It’s about time.”
“I know. My flight was delayed because of the snow storm.” I hug her back.
“How was California? Was it fun?”
“No.” Surrounded by a bunch of preppy rich kids who only wanted to hang around me because they thought I was a loose party girl who could hook them up with drugs and booze? Not my idea of fun.
She draws back, her blue eyes gleaming. “You never change, Red. Oh! I almost forgot something. Stay there,” she says with a grin and disappears.
I shrug and wave at the gaggle of the club girls gathered around the table. They all want to know how boarding school was, how I liked the hot weather, if I’m glad to be home. Some of them ask if I’m going to help with the MC’s annual Christmas toy drive, and others ask if I’m home for good. One and all, they’re old friends, some of them women who took care of me most of my life, all eager to catch up.
Before I can answer the barrage of questions, Barbie comes back beaming and holds out a plate for me. “Welcome home.”
I roll my eyes at the heavenly sight. The huge plate has a cherry cheesecake on it, the kind with graham cracker crust and cherry topping. “Oh my God.” I take the plate with reverence and give her a one-armed hug. “Barbie, thank you. Wow, I missed you.”
She giggles and kisses my cheek. “Love you, girl.”
I hold the cake close and smile at all the girls who eye it with envy. “Well, this is mine. What are you girls having?”
Everyone laughs.
Badger appears and throws himself into a chair, pulling Barbie into his lap. She whoops happily.
“Devil should be home soon,” Badger says, kissing his wife’s neck. “Make sure you say hi to him when he gets here.”
“Why would I do that?” I half tease.
“He missed you like crazy, Red,” Barbie tells me. Her eyes plead with me to give him a break. Fat chance.
“He has a funny way of showing it.” Everyone looks suddenly awkward, so I force a smile. “I’m going to go hide this in the fridge before one of the guys finds it and I end up losing all of it.” I nod to the cheesecake and give Badger a look of warning, which he smirks at. “We’ll have it later.”
I cross the room to the bar and stow the cheesecake in the back of the clubhouse fridge behind a couple of large jars of pickles, and then run upstairs to unpack. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to call up a couple of old friends and get out of here before Devil comes home and tries to pretend he gives a shit.
By the time I get back downstairs, that cheesecake is calling me, so I make my way to the fridge.
Barbie’s laughter rings out from across the room. I glance over my shoulder to see her playfully trying to get out of Badger’s arms and giggling.
“Red, help me! He’s got me!”
“Uh uh. You’re on your own,” I tease.
“Would you get me a beer then, hon?”
“Sure, in a sec,” I open the fridge. I’d love a brew too, but knowing my luck, Devil will choose that moment to return. Even I’m not crazy enough to risk him catching me. There are some things even the Prez’s sister can’t get away with when she’s under the legal drinking age.
I dig out the cake and growl under my breath. There’s a huge piece missing from it, almost a quarter of it cut out. “Who…?” I set it down on the bar and throw back my head. “Badger!”
“Yeah?” When I turn, he’s put Barbie down and he’s coming toward the bar, his eyes twinkling. “What’d I do now?”
“Did you eat that?” I jerk my thumb at my cheesecake.
His brows go up in a look of mock-offense. “Why is it that every time food goes missing you always think it’s me?” He looks around at all of us with an innocent expression that fools no one.
“Because it is always you,” Barbie calls out.
“It wasn’t me this time,” he says, holding up his hands. “I swear.”
I shake my head and get a mug from the bar’s cupboard. I know, it’s weird that a girl my age knows how to serve beer at all, but in the clubhouse, every girl knows how to do that. One of the guys showed me how when I was fifteen, before I left. Devil would kill him if he knew that.
I draw Barbie her beer, and Badger watches me, as if he expects me to drop it. I fill the mug, leaving perfect amount of foam on top, and smile at him.
“You want one, Badge?”
“Sure.”
I get down another mug and draw his brew.
“I’ll take that, sweet thing.”
I almost drop the full mug.
Since everyone knows who my brother is, there is literally no one in the state of Ohio with half a brain who would call me that unless he has a fucking death wish. I hear Badger give a snort, his eyes going wide as he leans on the bar.
Curious as to what kind of man is risking his life, I turn my head to look at the daredevil—or perhaps the brain-dead idiot—who currently takes a stool beside Badger.
As soon as I see him, my jaw almost goes slack.
Holy Christ, I think I’ve died and gone to biker heaven.
A colossus of muscle and tattoos, he has two of the most gorgeous—and unusual—eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re a dark, stunning hazel, but with gold striations that make it hard to look away from them. They’re deep set under arched brows that match his hair, which is a rich, golden blond, parted in the middle and feathered back. The patch on the right side of his well-worn cut says Enforcer, and he looks the part. His arms are enormous, thicker than my thighs. The flecks of silver in his hair and the faint lines around his eyes tell me he’s probably almost as old as Devil. His being tw
ice my age or more should put me off, but instead, he has an aura of experience that makes my skin tingle.
There’s a splashing sound, and icy cold liquid hits my boots, soaking them. I hardly notice. I do, however, notice the way his large hand snakes out and carefully rights the mug before taking it from me.
“Here, let me take that, new girl, before you hurt yourself.”
Badger turns his head and bites his knuckles around a laugh. With his eyes on me, the guy doesn’t notice.
A mild offense at his assumptions—that I’m not only a club whore, but a new and inept one—streaks through me, but it’s coupled with amusement. Since Ace was the club’s Enforcer before I left, I’m guessing this guy is our new muscle. He still has a patch on his cut that reads, “Daytona Chapter,” so he hasn’t had time to sew an Ohio one on.
This big blond Florida hunk is probably so new that he doesn’t know who I am. He might not even know his new Prez has a sister, much less that he just made a pass at her.
Deciding to mess with him a little, I take the half empty mug back and lean on the bar, putting my face close enough to his to be suggestive without actually touching him.
“You want one too, Florida?” I purr.
Badger leans on the bar with his arms and puts his head down on them, his shoulders shaking. His ears are very red. Behind the blond, hulking mountain of muscle, Barbie is watching, her hand over her mouth.
“Sure.” The new guy’s voice is like pure silk, deep and smooth as the finest wine. “Something stronger for me, though, gorgeous. And the name is Riot, by the way.”
“Ohhh. Tough guy, huh?” I give him my best dazzling smile. “What are you after…Florida?”
“Whiskey, please. You think you can do it without spilling it, new girl?”
