Chapter 43
RAZOR
Ryder was right. The hospitality is second to none. The rooms rival the best hotels on the planet. I have never indulged in such luxury before.
Nothing is out of place; it’s an interior designer’s wet dream, and I imagine Bonnie would salivate if she were ever allowed to visit.
I’m disappointed we won’t get to stay here longer because the bed looks so appealing right now.
The white sheets, silk comforter, and endless plump pillows and cushions calling to me.
I’m not usually a man who appreciates the finer things.
I’m happy with a bed, a television and a can of beer most days.
But this place could tempt God himself; it is so decadently luxurious.
It stuns me a little. I hate how dirty it makes me feel inside. My heavy boots crushing the pile of the white carpet, causing me to remove them out of fear of marking it. My leather jacket is out of place, and my huge body is not even diminishing the sheer size of this room.
The bathroom is no different. Immaculate, clean and stocked with every luxury you may want in life.
My thoughts turn to Sunday, and I wish she were here to share this experience with me. She would love every minute of it, and I swallow the lump in my throat. I miss her so hard it physically hurts, and it fires my resolve to push my fascination for this place aside and get on with the job.
* * *
I meet the guys on the terrace and blink in astonishment at the feast laid out before us. Two uniformed men standing to the side to serve us anything we wish. It’s another world, definitely not the MC world, and once again I wonder who the fuck these people are.
Snake grins as I approach. “Impressive, isn’t it?”
“It sure is.”
Blade is wolfing down a huge plate of eggs, bacon, sausages, and pancakes, and my mouth waters.
“I could get used to this.”
“We all could.” Ryder nods. “It’s impressive, for sure. The Angels run things very differently than the usual MC club.”
“You can say that again.”
Creed stares around him with wide eyes.
“Perhaps we should take a few ideas back with us.”
Snake snorts. “In your dreams, soldier. Enjoy this while it lasts; we’re changing nothing.”
Creed groans, causing Blade to chuckle, and as we fall on the food like savages, I wonder what the day will bring.
* * *
Just before 10 a.m, the suited man appears, and we stare at him with expectation.
For some reason, excitement ripples through me because I am interested in meeting our hosts, given the cryptic comments from Ryder and Snake and the sheer opulence of this place.
I am intrigued by The Wild Angels, and so as I scrape back my chair and follow the man, my heart beats with anticipation.
We don’t head into the main house. Instead, we follow the path where a huge white marble structure rises up near the lake, a mini replica of the main house but obviously used as their operational headquarters.
There is no noise anywhere. Even my brothers are unusually silent, taking it all in, scanning the horizon for trouble as we do on autopilot.
We reach a huge wooden door; at least it appears wooden, and as the man dials in a code, it swings inward, revealing a dark, paneled entrance.
The vibe here is dark. The temperature cool, air conditioning turned down, causing my skin to prickle.
There is no sound, merely the dull tread of our boots, and as we follow the man to a set of double doors at the end, I’m on high alert.
Ryder and Snake say nothing. Blade and Creed appear as interested as I am. As the door opens, the man steps to one side and says in a low tone, “Angel will see you now.”
As we head inside the room, there is a huge round table in the middle of a space that is lit by discreet lighting, with no natural light at all. The walls are crowded with art, dark, chaotic, mad even. Tortured images, deathly demons, and glorious angels serene and enchanting.
The huge table is inlaid with a design. A round circle in the middle, with arrows pointing to five chairs. I note the shapes sitting in the chairs. Their gazes piercing, their identities disguised behind face masks printed with skeletal features. The mood ominous, the vibe dark.
Ryder steps forward and addresses the room and doesn’t direct his conversation to anyone in particular.
“It’s good to be here, Angel. We appreciate your hospitality.”
One of the guys speaks, his voice husky, his tone neutral.
“We are honored, Ryder. Please take a seat along with your men.”
There are exactly the right number of seats spread around the table, the Angels facing us in a semi-circle.
I sense their interest as we face them, and Ryder’s voice is deep, controlling, assertive.
“There is a gala tonight in the city. Santiago has been invited as guest of honor relating to his new charitable foundation. We believe he will be escorted by our club member. She will not be doing it willingly.”
Another low voice speaks up.
“Josephine Palmer. She is to be his wife.”
Nerves crackle inside me at the mention of Sunday, and my fist curls under the table.
“We will attend and attempt to liberate her in plain sight. Failing that, stage an intervention on their way home.”
Another voice to my right speaks up. “It has been arranged. Your invitations are procured and assistance selected.”
One of the Angels leans forward, their mask tight, their eyes flashing in the darkness.
They are all dressed in leather jackets much like us, black t-shirts underneath, thick silver jewelry around their necks and on their fingers.
Leather ties around their wrists, a uniform of sorts.
The insignia on their jackets of an angel of death, The Wild Angels MC embroidered around it.
I am interested to note that there are no distinguishing features at all on their jackets.
Unlike Ryder, who wears the patch of president, I couldn’t tell you who is running this show at all.
It’s as if they all are, but I have been led to believe that Angel is the one in charge.
I’m interested in the dynamic and wonder if I will ever know who Angel really is.
The Angel commanding the room right now is second from the left, and his eyes burn as he speaks, low, husky, deep.
“You.”
He points to Creed, who peers back with an inscrutable expression.
Ryder nods. “Of course.”
He almost appears amused by that. I wonder what I’ve missed, and then another Angel adds, “We have arranged assistance. Three Reapers will attend the gala with one of our Angels. They will attempt to liberate Josephine by causing a distraction. If that fails, my club will be waiting along the route, the remaining Reapers running the operation with the committee under the instruction of Angel.”
Part of me wonders if Angel is even in the room because there is no telling who is calling the shots here.
Their masks are identical, their hair wrapped in bandanas, no tattoos, no markings of distinction, merely duplicates of one another set around the room.
Then they all lean back in one sudden movement and bring the palms of their hands face down on the table in front of them.
Ryder nods, scraping back his chair.
“Thank you for your time. We will wait for instructions.”
I can’t believe my fucking eyes. What the hell is this shit? I have never seen anything like it; it’s almost a staged show, something they obviously do all the time.
As we follow Ryder out of the room, no words are spoken. Their gazes burn into my back as I leave, no further forward in my knowledge of what the fuck this is.
The sunlight almost blinds me as I enter normality, the sudden burst of heat from the sun in direct contrast to the freezing atmosphere inside.
“That place is a fucking tomb.”
Blade growls beside me, and he’s right. It’s as if we were buried alive with demons.
The art on the walls: death, torture, pain. The cold atmosphere and the lack of anything but darkness. It was a surreal experience for sure, and Creed whistles beside us.
“Fuck, that was weird shit.”
Ryder chuckles ahead of us as we return to the guest building.
“They are different; I’ll credit them with that.”
“Can we trust them?”
I’m not certain we can, and Ryder grins.
“I told you; I trust them with my life, and you can do the same.”
“How do you know them?”
Creed voices my thoughts, and Snake shrugs. “We don’t. Not really. But they move with honor and have never given us reason to doubt that. This isn’t the first time they have assisted. A while back, Ryder received an invitation to meet with Angel.”
Ryder nods. “It came from nowhere, and I was curious. I always am where it concerns an MC club. They were new in LA, and I only had good reports of the work they were doing here. Standing up for the victims rather than taking for themselves. They have fed me valuable information since they arrived, and it has proven beneficial. Sunday was no exception. As soon as the jet touched down, Angel was on the phone, telling me what I needed to hear and pledging his help.”
“But who is Angel?” Creed grumbles. “I mean, are they all the president? I couldn’t tell who was who.”
Snake grins. “You never will. It’s ingenious, really. Nobody knows their identity, or who Angel himself is. They always meet as five and speak in turn. Nobody takes control, and it’s almost as if they rehearse the conversation before it happens.”
“Where are their men?”
I glance around, and Ryder shrugs.
“Another well-guarded secret. They materialize from the shadows like angels of death when required. Nobody knows who they are, just what they are, and the mystery is the stuff of legends in this town.”
We reach the guest house and Ryder gets straight down to business.
“We’ll go over the plan when it arrives and assign roles.”
“When it arrives?”
I am so confused, and Snake nods. “The Angels will have it all worked out. It will be delivered shortly, and we can wrap our heads around the details and assign roles.”
A movement in the distance distracts our attention, and a familiar voice yells, “I thought I’d find you here.”
Tyson advances with a huge shit-eating grin, and Snake growls, “You took your time, soldier. You’re slipping.”
Tyson shrugs. “While you’ve been holed up in the tomb, I’ve been gathering the intelligence we need. Some of us get up early, Snake.”
He winks, and Ryder asks. “Is that the plan?”
I regard the crisp white envelope in Tyson’s rough hands, and he offers it to Ryder with a shrug.
“I picked it up on my way in. Harrington told me it was important.”
Ryder points to the table on the terrace.
“Then we should discover what’s inside and plan the mission. This could be a very long night.”