Chapter 41
RAZOR
As operations go, this one is unique. Apart from when I played the part of a wedding guest to help Blade save Delilah, who, as it turned out, goes by her real name of Aspen now.
The entire mission was a lesson in liberation, and now we are here to do the same for Sunday. I’m not convinced we will have the same happy ever after as my brother, but I will die trying.
I let Sunday slip through my fingers once. I will not make that same mistake twice.
We arrive in LA in the early hours of Saturday morning. Our unregistered private jet, one of a select few who celebrate that honor. Sometimes it really helps to be the government’s dirty little secret, and as we offload our Harleys onto the tarmac, it’s as if home came with us.
We are here as Reapers. For now, anyway.
Tonight we will be under a different guise.
The plan is to ride to the Angel’s clubhouse, which is risky when patched in as another club, usually anyway.
But the Reapers are legendary, and it would be a foolish club to take us on.
Ryder has already squared things with the Angel’s hierarchy, and they are expecting us.
They will be our local army and, by all accounts, can’t wait to heap justice on their arch-enemy, Santiago De Sauro.
It doesn’t take long to reach them either. Our bikes eat up the miles as we fly through the streets due to the early hour. The air is warm, and as we pull through the huge gates of a freaking mansion in Bel Air, I wonder who the fuck their president is.
This place is on another level. I have never seen anything like it. The house itself is all chrome and glass and sparkles like a jewel in the rising West Coast sun.
The huge electric gates open as we approach. There are no guards, nobody around at all except for security cameras that move with us as we roll to the front of the house, our motorcycle’s engines a deep rumble in the still of the morning air.
To anyone observing the space, it’s the strangest sight, here in the most salubrious part of town. You would never imagine an MC club took up residence, but the Wild Angels appear to be at peace with their neighbors and respectful.
Who the fuck runs this show?
We park up, and as I stretch my legs, I glance around me, noting the carefully landscaped grounds; not a blade of grass out of place. The area is immaculate: flowers blooming in the beds, ornamental trees on either side of the double front door, a portico over it that gleams in the morning sun.
“Fuck!”
Blade whistles beside me, and his voice is low.
“This place is impressive.”
Snake whispers, “You wait until you meet the bikers. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
I can’t share their interest. My mind is focused on only one thing right now: bringing my woman home. Safe and in one piece.
Ryder strides to the door, and it opens as if by magic. As we follow him through it, I note the impeccable entrance hall. Marble floors, white walls, modern art and not a lot else greets us, and we must look out of place in our Reaper jackets as we stick out a million miles.
The sound of footsteps puts me on high alert, and I’m surprised when a man in a suit heads our way. He must be in his fifties; his silver hair neatly combed, his polite demeanor at odds with his visitors.
He addresses Ryder as if they are old friends.
“Mr. King. Welcome to Los Angeles.”
Ryder smiles, apparently enjoying our reaction to this place, and he speaks in a warm tone.
“It’s good to see you again, Harrington.”
“Allow me to show you and your men to the guest wing. You may want to freshen up before meeting with Angel.”
Ryder nods. “We appreciate your hospitality.”
As we follow the polite man, I wonder what his role is here. He doesn’t seem like a member of staff; his wristwatch alone costs over one hundred thousand dollars and from the cut of his smart suit, I would imagine it’s got a designer label.
Everything about this entire setup screams wealth, and it’s fascinating as hell.
We follow him out of a side door and down an immaculate path toward another smaller house set a short distance away. Like the main house, this one is modern and apparently new, and as we follow him inside, it’s a replica of the one we just left.
A huge staircase dominates the entrance, and he stands at the foot of it and smiles.
“Your rooms have been prepared. They are all the same and are accessed on either side of the grand staircase. There is a kitchen, a living area, and an outside space for your enjoyment. Breakfast has been served on the terrace. I have been instructed that your meeting with Angel is scheduled for 10 a.m.”
He checks his wristwatch. “I will return in two hours to escort you there.”
Ryder nods as Harrington turns on his well-heeled foot and leaves us to it, and Blade growls, “What kind of MC madness is this?”
Ryder grins.
“It’s another world, guys. Wait until you meet the members; that will be interesting.”
Snake shakes his head. “This shit never gets old.”
Creed asks, “Have you met them before?”
Snake nods. “A few times. But ask me to identify them in a lineup and I couldn’t.”
Ryder chuckles. “You’ve gotta admire them. I kind of love what they created here.”
“Do you trust them?” I ask, desperate to move this on, and Ryder nods. “With my life.”
I’m surprised by that. Ryder isn’t one to trust anyone other than a Reaper, and I wonder if he knows more about this club than he’s letting on.
He points to the staircase.
“We may as well make the most of this place. Settle in, and when you’re ready, meet on the terrace. I can promise you their hospitality is second to none.”
We do as he says because he’s right; this place is amazing, and now that he mentions it, food would be very welcome right now.