Keeper: Avenging Angels MC Book 2

by Nia Farrell

  He paused, letting her process what he’d been telling her. “After she got home, did you notice any changes in her behavior? Like, she’d jump at certain sounds? Start to cry, at times? Get shaky, or nervous? Wake up with nightmares, or night terrors?”

  Oh, God.

  “Yes. Some. I put it down to other things. She was fighting with our parents all the time before she took off and moved to California.”

  Mad Dog nodded. “When I saw her, she was showing symptoms of post-rape PTSD. Michael assessed the situation and managed to convince your uncle to let him and the Avenging Angels MC handle the extraction. Michael and I made it to the old coal chute undetected. We managed to pry it open without being discovered. Rose dressed Krissy in a tee shirt that Michael tossed to her, then Michael helped hand both girls up to me. Krissy was shaking like a leaf. Her legs were too weak to run. I had to carry her over my shoulder. It was a fucking miracle, but we made it to the edge of the woods before the first shots were fired.

  “We put the girls in a cage and bugged the hell out of here. Rose was good, thank God. The club president, Reaper, had been saving her for his son as a reward. Krissy…Krissy had spent half the night being used, Isabella. We don’t know if they planned to kill her or sell her, but I guarantee, if we hadn’t found her, you’d never have seen her again. She was in rough shape. I guess because I pulled her out, she latched onto me like I was her fucking savior. And I let her, because it seemed like that’s what she needed.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “For saving her. For trying to help her. Knowing Krissy, she probably never even said thank you.”

  He shook his shaggy head. “She said plenty else, but you’re right. It was a thankless job where she was concerned.

  “When we got back to the clubhouse, Krissy refused to go home until she’d gotten cleaned up. I let her use my shower. Rose found her some clothes. Michael’s deal with your uncle called for him to bring her back. Krissy insisted that I had to take her. Again, I’m thinking that she’s in shock, that she’s got the start of PTSD—and while all that was probably true, she was also a calculating little bitch. She didn’t want anyone to know where she’d been, or what had been done to her. She had the balls to threaten us if we said any different, she would tell everyone that Rose was there by choice. Fucking bitch. I’m sorry, but she is. Or was.”

  “Is,” Isabella agreed. “Or was the last time I talked to her. Not that we ever got along. She would have loved to have been an only child. I spoiled it for her, and she’s never forgiven me. She always did her best to pretend I wasn’t there.”

  “You were there,” he said softly. “I remember. You were this wide-eyed, coltish thing, watching the big bad bikers bring your sister home. Your mom was a mess. Your dad was pissed, but he wasn’t packing, at least. We didn’t know what I’d be riding into, so Papa Bear sent all four of his boys, just in case. We knew for a fact that your uncle was mob. We’d only heard rumors about your dad.”

  Isabella exhaled softly. She was so frigging relieved. Mad Dog knew about Uncle Giovanni, and he hadn’t run.

  “Dad’s not considered part of the Family,” she told him. “He hasn’t been since he married my mom. They’re the Diamond Springs version of Romeo and Juliet without a visit to the apothecary.”

  “No shit?” Mad Dog chuckled. “Good to know, just in case. But this is Southern Fucking Illinois, filled with Bible thumpers, gun owners, and doomsday preppers. Mob or no mob, your dad still could have come out shooting and asked questions later. Thank fuck, he didn’t.”

  “I’m glad, too,” she said. “It would have made me very sad.”

  “That’s two of us. Getting shot is no fun. At least I could show off a wound in the front. The effect is lost, bragging on the one in my back when I can’t fucking see it except in the mirror.”

  Isabella’s heart seized in her chest. She’d nearly lost a cousin to a gunshot wound. It was right after Krissy’s night out, three years ago.

  Crap.

  “Were you shot in the war, too?”

  “Different war. I earned a Purple Heart in Afghanistan, helping another casualty to safety. I’d just gotten him behind cover when I was hit. Lucky me, it missed the good stuff. Still hurt like the devil. You can see it, next time we shower, if you promise to scrub my back.”

  “Without scratching it.”

  He grinned, his teeth flashing white in the moonlight. “You can scratch me all you want, as long as you know what’s coming, Isabella. I would suggest walking before you run. Do a play session with a little belt. Let me give you a taste of it. See if it whets your appetite before you bite off more than you can chew. That’s easy to do when you’re new to the lifestyle. One of my jobs as your teacher is to keep you safe. Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. Your sister was home and safe, but Rose was still a target. She’d been promised to Sig Rhodes, Vice President of the Blackwater Demons, their President Reaper’s son. Sig was headed home from handling some bad club business for their Minnesota chapter. To protect my sister, Crash and Rose went to our safehouse. The rest of the club went to war.”

  “When Dylan was shot.”

  “At the end of it. There was a fucking lot that went down before he got his wing clipped.”

  Mad Dog angled his head and looked at her, wordless.

  “What?” she whispered, wishing that she knew what was going on inside that head of his.

  “Knowing what one Castellari was like, I almost didn’t stop to help you. But I thought about my sister. How she’d feel if she had car trouble, and the help that she needed passed her by. I expected you to be toxic like Krissy, or a user like Anna. But you’re not.”

  “I’m not,” she said softly, firmly. “I’m me. Just… me. And I swear, you can trust me.”

  “I sure as hell hope so, because what I’m about to tell you needs to stay between us, is that understood? You can’t tell anyone, or I might be the next one that turns up dead behind a biker bar. Your uncle swore us to secrecy. If he finds out….”

  “My uncle?”

  “Your uncle. You know? The mob boss whose niece got kidnapped and raped? The one who hired the man who found her? Giovanni Visconti wanted vengeance for Krissy as much as our club did for Rose being taken and Angel Ink getting torched. He said that he’d let us get the girls out if we’d let him handle the Blackwater Demons. At that point, I could give a fuck about who took them down. I just wanted Rose out of there before something happened to her. I figured, the more Demons he handled, the fewer Angels we’d lose. And with none of the risk. Our club record is pretty good where jail time is concerned. But war is a messy business. Things are done that could put a man away for years, if not life. To lessen the risk even more, he brought in outside help. Specialists who started picking off the Blackwater Demons a few at a time. The first four to go were the men who took Rose. Thing is, they’d just taken another girl. Early Sunday morning, the police were gonna ticket an illegally parked van. They found her lying on the floor inside it, bound, gagged, and blindfolded. She hadn’t been used yet. With the July heat, she was in pretty bad shape. Dehydrated enough to end up in the hospital, hooked up to an IV. Another couple of hours in that van sitting in the sun, and she’d have been dead. Your uncle’s men should have known. Or maybe they did and didn’t give a shit. Either way, it didn’t sit well with our club. But we’d agreed to let him handle it, and so we did. For a while….”

  Chapter Nine

  “What happened?”

  The way she was looking at him, Isabella reminded him of the wide-eyed innocent she’d been three years ago, at the start of a war that had cost the club some damn good men.

  “Are you sure you want to hear this, Isabella? It’s gonna get a lot worse before it gets better.”

  “Tell me,” she whispered. “Please. If you don’t, I’ll only imagine the worst.”

  Mad Dog rubbed his face and shot her a look. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. The first hit, on the kidnapping crew, was late Saturday night. The seco
nd strike came Monday morning. Sometime before dawn, the Blackwater Demons clubhouse was hit. Most of the Demons were asleep. They never got a chance to wake up. Everyone there was killed, including Sig Rhodes. But not Reaper. He and his crew who were with him were very much alive. Fucking Reaper was more dangerous than ever. His son and heir was dead. He wanted revenge, and he was prepared to do anything to get it. The thing was, he didn’t have a clue that your uncle was involved. He blamed the Angels for it all. We’re the ones he came after.”

  “Oh, no! What did he do?”

  Luke tightened his arm and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll tell you, but to finish the story, there are two more stops to make. Come on. Let’s go.”

  He saved his flashlight, now that they knew that the sidewalk was in decent shape. The waxing moon was enough for them to make their way safely back to where he had parked.

  Plucking up his helmet, he put it on and adjusted it. Isabella folded the bandanna into a triangle and tied it under her pigtail, covering her ears. Once Mad Dog had the bike running and ready to go, she steadied herself on his shoulder and swung her leg over the seat to mount up behind him. He put the bike in gear and eased open the throttle to start the next leg of their journey.

  Isabella didn’t know how long they rode, but it was probably close to an hour, all the way back to town and fifteen minutes or so beyond.

  Their destination was a long, low building with chocolate brown metal siding and a red tin roof. The overhead sign boasted brilliant neon script that read “Paradise Found.” The parking lot was nearly full.

  He pulled up to one side of the building and parked in the grass.

  There was music inside, loud enough out here that she had to raise her voice to be heard. “Luke, are you sure this is okay? You won’t get towed?”

  “No, Isabella. That’s not a problem. Your age, though, is. When we get inside, I’ll order the drinks. You’re gonna get soda, or something virgin, but nothing with alcohol. If we stay long enough to close this place down, I’ll share whatever I’m having, but we both need to be safe to ride, capisce?”

  Isabella pulled off her head covering, tucked the bandanna in the pocket of her flannel shirt, and followed Mad Dog to the front entrance. A big, burly man with café au lait skin, close-cropped hair, and a beard-shadowed jaw stood guard in the foyer, ready to keep out anyone who didn’t belong. Luke leaned to whisper in his ear. A quick nod, and they were allowed to pass.

  Isabella’s eyes widened when she saw what she’d walked into, but she said nothing, just clung to his hand and followed where he led. If this strip club was part of his world, she needed to be willing to come with him, if that’s what he wanted. And truthfully, she’d feel better with him than waiting at home and wondering. Doubting. Tormenting herself with thoughts of what might or might not be.

  “J.B.!” Mad Dog greeted a biker who was sitting at a table with one of the dancers. She wore pink hair and very little else.

  Luke helped Isabella out of her flannel shirt jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. Pulling it out for her to sit down, he took the next one, leaving her a clear view of the stage.

  A busty red head was working the pole, doing a routine that inspired the men to pull out their dollar bills, ready to stuff wherever she’d let them.

  “Isabella, this is Jelly Bean. J.B. for short. He’s been a patched member for five years now. And this is Candy. She works here. J.B., Candy, this is my new sub, Isabella Castellari.”

  The smile fled from J.B.’s face. Candy, on the other hand, was clueless about what happened three years earlier. “Nice to meet you,” she gushed and snapped her gum. “I’m sorry you missed my last number, but I’ve got one more solo tonight, if you can stay.”

  Mad Dog slid a reassuring glance at Isabella, then looked beyond her and raised his hand. “We can stay. Cricket!”

  A cocktail waitress in a barely-there halter top and Daisy Dukes came over to take their drink order. “The usual,” Mad Dog said. “What’s your pleasure, Isabella? Anything without alcohol.”

  “A virgin strawberry daiquiri, please.” She’d look less out of place with that than a soft drink.

  Mad Dog repeated her order to their waitress. Cricket didn’t look too thrilled, but she wrote it down and headed for the bar.

  “Great choice!” Candy chirped. “Jaxson can make anything you want. He’s really good!”

  Isabella smiled. “I’m sure he is.”

  J.B. leveled a calculating look at Mad Dog. “So, what brings you back?”

  She couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like J.B. was trying to stir shit. Earlier, she would have been tempted to say something about manners. Knowing what she did now, she could excuse a great deal more.

  Mad Dog brushed it off. “We were just out for a ride. I thought I’d show her the club’s property. We drove by Angel Ink first. Paradise Found is the second. I’m saving Gabriel’s Horn Music Emporium and Daniel’s Den for tomorrow.” He leaned to talk in her ear. “Daniel’s Den Auto Repair is where your car’s getting fixed. We have interests in a couple more, but those are the club’s main businesses.”

  “Oops! Gotta go!” Candy jumped from her seat and took off, disappearing down the hall at the back of the room.

  Isabella followed Mad Dog’s line of sight to the current performer, a stunning brunette with a pierced navel, tats, and breasts that threatened to spill from her bra, even before she took it off.

  “What do you think?” Mad Dog turned her chair to fully face the stage and pulled his snugly behind it, with his knees spread wide to straddle the seat. Sweeping her braid to fall over her left shoulder, he leaned forward and scored the back of her neck with his teeth.

  “Um.” Isabella cleared her throat. “She’s, um, very flexible. And toned. Nice muscle definition. Did she just…?”

  “Yep. Think you could do that?”

  She shivered when Mad Dog licked her neck. “It looks kind of dangerous,” she whispered.

  He bit her ear. “I like dangerous.”

  Just that fast, her panties were soaked.

  He inhaled so deeply, she was sure that he could smell her arousal. Twisting to meet his knowing gaze, she confessed, “I think I do, too.”

  It was sheer agony, watching the dancer on stage make love to the crowd, having Mad Dog so close, but not close enough. She wanted his hands on her body. She wanted to twine around him and ride him like a stripper pole, then take him inside her in one huge, meaty thrust.

  “Your drinks. A beer for you, Sir, and a virgin strawberry daiquiri for the young lady. Enjoy.”

  Mad Dog reached for his bottle and tipped it towards Isabella’s glass. “Looks good, for a girly drink.”

  “Yes, it does.” She plucked one of the ripe, red berries that were perched on the rim. “Want a bite?”

  “Only if I can eat it off of you,” he told her. “You know, food play is sexy as fuck. One of these days, I’ll use you as a serving tray, but not until you’re shaved. Next shower, I plan to get you baby-smooth.”

  She nearly choked on her strawberry. “Jesus, Luke! Can we talk about this later, when women aren’t grinding their hoo-has on poles and your waitress friend isn’t staring daggers at me?”

  “You’re gonna have to get used to the stares, Isabella. People aren’t used to seeing me take a woman places, and you’re a looker. Women will wish they were you, and men will think that I am one lucky bastard.”

  “A looker, huh? I guess, better that than a hooker.”

  “Nothing wrong with being a hooker, despite what the law says. It’s the world’s oldest profession and more honest than most. Nothing wrong with being a stripper, either. These girls work hard, doing what they do. Look. Here comes Candy. She’s proud of her routine. Watch her, and you’ll see why.”

  Candy danced—and sang—her way through “Manhunt,” working the pole, giving a demanding performance that included a combination of dance moves, gymnastics, and burlesque. Eventually, she was down to a tiny,
camouflage thong and a smile.

  For the final dance, all the girls took the stage and danced to “Pour Some Sugar on Me.” It was a sensual, sexual feast for a roomful of hungry men.

  J.B. hadn’t said a word to Isabella the entire time that they’d been there. At closing time, when they were herding the crowd to the door, J.B. got up to leave, too. “See you at the clubhouse.”

  He tossed it over his shoulder like an afterthought.

  “Later,” Mad Dog called after him.

  Luke stayed seated. Isabella did, too. When the waitresses had bussed the tables and the mop bucket came out, he helped her put on her jacket. Grabbing his half-full bottle, he snagged her hand and took her outside. Instead of heading for his bike, he led her to a copse of trees that bordered the parking lot.

  Isabella was grateful for the insect spray that he had applied. The mosquitoes were buzzing, but none landed to bite.

  Mad Dog sipped his beer and stood, silent, distant, lost in his thoughts.

  “Luke,” she whispered, hesitant to speak. “Why are we here?’

  Mad Dog looked at her, quietly assessing. “I’ve been to war, Isabella. A soldier protects and defends. I did it for my country. I’ve done it for my club. Whatever it takes to keep the people I love safe, that’s what I do. It’s who I am. Three years ago,” he said, “right where we’re standing, I did just that. With Angels and Demons…we had no choice. It was kill or be killed. Two men died here,” he said roughly, pushing the words past a throat choked with emotion. “But that wasn’t the worst of it….”

  Chapter Ten

  “How much do you want to know?”

  She was tempted to ask him for some of his beer first, to take the edge off of whatever was coming.

  “Everything? Maybe. I don’t know what to tell you, Luke. I don’t know what we’re dealing with.”