Chapter 3 Raiden
RAIDEN
My body vibrates from the close proximity of the speaker, and my ears will be ringing for hours. But my position by the dance floor was the best place to keep an eye on Isabella.
When I explained the situation to my men, they each took up positions around the club. If any scumbag tries anything with Isabella, one of my guys will be on hand to step in.
I suspect Axel knows she’s here by the way she was taken up to the VIP booth.
Why the hell he’s letting Isabella Berone drink in his club, I have no idea.
I’ll have to ask him all about it at the next poker night.
But she’s here now, and at least we’ll be able to tell her father we did our best to protect her.
But it’s not for the sake of Isabella’s father that I’m positioned where I can watch her. I’m racked with jealousy, and the thought of another man talking to Isabella has my fists clenching by my sides.
I watch their cocktails being delivered. These girls are too young to drink, and I hope Axel knows what he’s doing. It’s a dangerous game to get on the wrong side of Carlo Berone.
Isabella saunters over to the railing and comes into view. My chest tightens; she’s fucking gorgeous. Full of confidence as she surveys the room. Like a fucking queen looking down on her subjects.
Her gaze meets mine, and for the second time our eyes lock. She stares at me, and I wonder what she’s thinking. Earlier she smiled at me, a small coy smile. A smile any man would cherish coming from a woman like her. A flirty smile that set my pulse racing.
She’s got no business smiling at men like that. It’ll get her into trouble if she smiles at every man she looks at like that.
I’m not about to let that happen. I’ve had my eyes on the VIP booth ever since.
There’s no smile this time, and she breaks the eye contact first. She steps back from the railing and disappears from view.
It feels like the room got colder.
But a few moments later, there’s movement on the stairs. A slim heel comes into view followed by a pair of luscious legs. She’s gripping the rail to steady herself. It can’t be easy descending stairs in those heels, but she still manages to look graceful.
My heart’s battering against my chest, and my dick grinds against my zipper as it hardens.
I drink her in. All eighteen years of her. Christ, she’s the same age as my daughter.
The thought has me running a hand through my hair as she saunters over to me.
I’m here to protect her, that’s all. I won’t do anything stupid like throw her over my shoulder and take her back to the club like I’m longing to do.
“Hey,” she says, tilting her head.
Most women her age would be shy talking to an older man, but she comes straight up to me, bold as anything.
“Hi.”
My gaze takes in her face now that we’re closer. Her plump lips are tinged with red lipstick, and her emerald green eyes are illuminated by colorful makeup. It’s pretty, but I long to run my thumb over it. To smudge it away and see how she looks without the paint.
“I’m Trina.”
She holds out a hand, and I resist the urge to raise my eyebrows. I shouldn’t be surprised she’s going under a false name tonight. She must have used a fake ID to get into the club.
“Hi Trina.” Her hand is cool in mine, her fingers soft. I clasp it too long, not wanting to let go. “I’m Raiden.”
We stare at each other, our gazes locked and our hands entwined.
Electricity sparks between us, and heat spreads up my arm and courses through my body.
I want to pull her close, to claim her plump lips.
To take her away from here and equal parts tell her off for coming to a place like this and kiss her senseless.
Then I remember her age. Fuck. She’s eighteen, barely legal. I’ve got no right to fantasize over a woman who’s barely out of girlhood.
I drop her hand, and disappointment flashes across her face before she resets it in a well-used mask.
“What’s the occasion?” she asks.
I cock my head, wondering what she means. She turns to look around the club.
“You’re out with a bunch of men. Two over there.
” She indicates the edge of the dance floor.
“Two over there.” She indicates the booths.
“And two hanging out by the restrooms.” She indicates Barrels and Travis, who I positioned by the bathrooms to make sure the ladies weren’t harassed if they needed the restroom.
“Someone should tell those two it’s not the best place to meet women. They come across as creepy.”
I smile despite myself. She’s observant, smart, and funny.
“How do you know they’re with me?”
She tilts her head and half smiles. “Come on. You’re the only ones in here with beards and tattoos, and you’re about twice the age of the other clientele.”
I mock wince.
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” she says with a smile so sweet I almost beg her to insult me again.
“We’re at a bachelor party. My friend over there’s getting married.”
I indicate Arlo who’s dancing with Colter, making sure the dance floor is safe if the ladies decide to venture out there.
She bites her lower lip, thinking. “Then why are you all spread out around the club? Don’t you like each other?”
Damn, she’s too smart for her own good. But I can’t tell her it’s for her protection.
That even though I only laid eyes on her a matter of minutes ago, she’s the same age as my daughter, and she’s the only daughter of a dangerous man, the feeling of protectiveness I have over her is so strong my chest hurts.
Instead, I change the subject.
“How about you? What occasion brought you out tonight?”
She eyes me, obviously not happy that I didn’t answer her question, but she doesn’t press.
“Girls just want to have fun, don’t you know? We don’t need an occasion to come out.”
You do when you’re Carlo Berone’s daughter. But I let her have her moment of fun. I’m sure she doesn’t get to do this much.
“And are you?” She cocks her head, unsure what I’m referring to. “Having fun?”
She leans in to hear me above the music, and I catch the sweet scent of gardenias. I can’t tell if it’s from her hair or her perfume, and I resist the urge to pull her to me and find out.
“I am now.”
She smiles at me from under thickly coated eyelashes, and even as my heart swells at the attention, another part of me wants to march her out of here and tell her off for flirting with a man like me.
“How old are you, Trina?”
The smile slides off her face. She’s angry I’m not flirting along. But I’m too old to play games.
“Twenty-one.”
She holds my gaze as she says it, never once showing any indication of the lie. Damn, she’s good.
I raise my eyebrows, but she keeps her gaze steady.
“That’s a coincidence. I’m twenty-one too.”
She laughs at my obvious lie, and it’s a genuine laugh that makes her eyes sparkle like sunshine on a mountain lake.
There’s movement by the door, and we both turn to see three men in tailored suits enter the club.
“Puttana…” Isabella rattles off a stream of Italian curses. Fear flashes across her face and she glances around wildly, looking for an escape.
For one crazy moment I think about dragging her to the fire exit and making off with her on the back of my bike. What would happen if I kidnapped the eighteen year old daughter of Carlo Berone? It wouldn’t just be me he’d come after. He’d destroy the entire MC. I can’t do that to my men.
Besides, it’s one thing to flirt with an older man.
There’s no way a woman like Isabella could be attracted to a man like me: twice her age, rough, and bearded.
She’s used to the clean shaven well-dressed men who work for her father, to being driven around in the back on a tinted SUV, not on the back of a Harley.
Still, when I see the desperation in her expression, I know I’d risk everything for her. I clasp her hand.
“Isabella.” She looks up at me in surprise, her eyes wide because I know who she is. The confusion turns to anger.
“Did you call him?”
“No.” I shake my head. “But you must have known you would be recognized.”
She frowns even as she nods her head.
“I thought we’d have more time,” she mutters to herself, and I don’t know if she means she’d have more time at the club or more time with me.
I glance up at the men, and they’ve spotted her. They’re moving toward us, and at the same time my men are heading this way too, ready to back me up if needed.
“Why don’t you want to go back?” I ask urgently. “Does he hurt you?”
I’ve heard about Carlo’s cruelty, but she’s got enough flesh on display and I haven’t seen any evidence of harm.
“No.” She shakes her head. “My dad would never hurt a woman.”
Relief floods me. I’d risk everything if she was in any danger.
“He’s strict. I can’t go anywhere. I can’t have any fun.” She slumps against the barrier to the dance floor, defeated.
So it’s fun she’s so desperate for, not to escape harm. She might not like the way her father keeps her guarded, but she’s not in danger.
The men approach and stop before us. My men form a circle behind. The dance floor has stopped moving and the entire club is staring, apart from a drunk group in the corner who keep on singing loudly and out of tune.
I don’t want to cause trouble for Axel, but damned if I’ll let her go if she doesn’t want to.
“Come with us, please.”
One of the men holds an arm out for Isabella.
She looks at me, and there’s a sadness in her eyes. “It was nice to meet you, Raiden. Or should I call you Prez?”
It’s my turn to be surprised. She knew who I was all along. She gives me a small smile, and for a moment the flirtatiousness is back.
Then she stands up straight, squares her shoulders, and looks the man dead in the eye.
“Let’s go,” she commands as if she’s running the show and not being dragged away by her father.
Her friends have come down from the VIP area, and they trail behind hanging their heads and looking like they’re about to burst into tears. There’ll be a few sets of angry parents tonight when they find out where their daughters have been.
My men look to me, and I shake my head. I won’t cause a scene, and I won’t risk them because a pretty girl wants to have some fun. But it still doesn’t sit easy with me.
There’s a bar next to the dance floor, and I scribble my number on a coaster.
I catch up with Isabella as she’s shrugging into her coat in the foyer.
Axel has come down from whatever tower he was hiding in and he speaks to the men quietly, no doubt pleading his case to Carlo.
While the men are distracted, I slip Isabella the coaster. It’s got a picture of a palm tree and a cold beer on it even though this club is in the mountains.
“You ever need any help, anything at all, you call me.”
She nods once, and our eyes lock. A spark jumps between us that’s so strong I think my heart might combust.
“Thank you,” she whispers and pockets the coaster just as the men turn around.
I back away quickly, not wanting to get her in any more trouble. Isabella straightens up and doesn’t even give me a backward glance as she struts off, her friends tottering behind her and the men jogging to catch up with her long confident strides.
I stand motionless for a long time after they’ve left, breathing in the scent of gardenias that lingers in the air.