Chapter 7 Raiden
RAIDEN
It’s dark by the time we pull up to the clubhouse. Marcus roars in behind us, and we maneuver our bikes into the line of Harleys out back. Lately, my men have been swapping the single life for family life, and there are as many cars now as bikes, each with a baby seat in the back.
Everyone’s gathering tonight for a club meal. I can only be thankful we’ve closed the bar and restaurant so only the club will see Isabella. Still, I want to keep her presence known to as few people as possible until I figure out what the hell is going on.
I’m equal parts furious at her for dancing in a place like that where she could have come to harm and relieved that I’ve got her on the back of my bike.
I saw red in the club when I realized it was Isabella showing so much flesh to those hungry men. I would have fought every single one of them to get her out of there.
I have no idea what she’s trying to pull.
If it’s another stunt to piss off her father, then it’s a good one.
A mafia princess working in a place like the Fuzzy Peach.
It’s not even a surprise that no one recognized her.
The kind of people who frequent places like that are too ignorant to know who runs them.
Although I’m betting The Fuzzy Peach isn’t one of the Berone clubs. It’s not classy enough.
She’s got some explaining to do, and I’m still angry when I cut the engine outside the club. There’re people milling about and men hanging out around the smoker where the meat for tonight has been tenderizing all afternoon.
“Make a distraction, will you,” I say to Marcus.
He nods his understanding, and I wait until he goes over there and knocks the smoker over. There are roars of outrage, and I shake my head in disbelief. Knocking over the smoker isn’t what I had in mind. You don’t mess with a man’s meat.
But it does the trick, and all hands rush over to right the smoker and see what meat can be salvaged.
Isabella is quiet behind me, and when I slide off the bike and turn to her my breath hitches.
She’s straddling my bike in her tiny skirt that rides all the way up her thighs.
And with my helmet framing her face and her looking up at me with wide, innocent eyes, it’s all I can do not to pull her to me and kiss her painted lips.
Then I remember who she is. There’s nothing innocent about Isabella Berone.
“Keep your head down,” I tell her. “And don’t talk to anyone.”
She slides the helmet off and I take her hand firmly in mine, not risking the chance that she’ll run off. Not that there’s anywhere to go. The HQ is in a compound in the middle of the woods on a side of a mountain. She’d be a fool to run here, but I’m not taking any chances.
“You’re hurting me,” she hisses, and I loosen my grip. That’s the last thing I want to do, but I don’t trust her not to run.
While the men are distracted, I hustle her through the door and pull her down the corridor.
Snips and April are pressed against the wall smooching like it’s the end of the world. The entire goddamn club is hooked up these days.
Snips’s eyes go wide with recognition when he sees Isabella.
“Not a word to anyone.”
Snips nods even though I can tell he’s dying to ask me questions. I hustle her past and pull her into the meeting room.
I lock the door behind me and pull all the blinds down. When I’m sure we’re alone and no one can see, I turn to her.
She’s resting with her butt against the edge of the meeting table. My jacket hangs loose on her, falling to her thighs and barely covering the poor excuse for a skirt she’s wearing.
The first thing I’ll need to do is find her some decent clothes.
There’s blood on her leg, which makes me frown. I didn’t notice she’d hurt herself. But it seems like a surface scrape.
Despite myself, my gaze travels up her body to her exposed midriff.
Her Italian heritage gives her skin a tanned complexion, with dark Mediterranean hairs visible on her body.
She’s got a full figure, and I love that she’s not afraid to show it.
I long to run my hands over her skin, to feel the tiny hairs stand on end under my touch.
My cock hardens in my jeans, and I force myself to look at her face.
I desperately want to adjust my pants to ease the pain from my hard-on pressing against my zipper, but I don’t want to make her any more uncomfortable than this already is.
“Start talking.”
It comes out as a growl and we eye each other warily, both with our arms folded across our chests.
“What?” she says mock innocently. “Isn’t a girl allowed to earn a bit of extra cash of her own?”
She’s trying for a flirty tone, but the way her chest rises and falls erratically gives away the fact that she’s nervous.
“You’re not any girl, Isabella, and I’m sure you have enough allowance for anything you desire. Your father’s not stingy.”
She eyes me warily and I stare her down, trying not to get lost in her green eyes. Eventually a shiver goes through her, and she lowers her gaze.
“I wanted to shock my father.”
I nod slowly. I was right about that, but she doesn’t look me in the eye, and I wonder if there’s more to it.
“Where are your guards?”
She bites her lower lip and looks up at me. It’s the most adorable guilty kitten look, and my heart softens even though I know she’s playing with me.
“I climbed over the wall yesterday,” she admits.
“God damn, Isabella.” I run my hands through my hair.
“Don’t send me back.” She grips the front of my t-shirt, and there’s no faking the desperation in her eyes. “Please, Raiden. Don’t send me back.”
My name on her lips makes my dick ache. The scent of gardenias fills my nostrils and takes me back to that night two years ago.
My blood heats, and my cock twitches. I’m going to have sore balls tonight.
But the desperation on her face is all real. I’ve never known Isabella to beg before. Two years ago may have been the only time I’ve talked to Isabella, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been keeping an eye on her. Watching her jog in the woods, following her to the climbing gym.
It was clear to me to see she was planning something; I don’t know how Carlo didn’t pick it up. But maybe he’s not as observant of his daughter as she thinks he is.
My hand closes around hers, and I gently pry her fingers off my shirt.
“I won’t send you back, Isabella, but you have to tell me the truth.”
She nods and swallows hard. “You got anything to drink?”
I’m not letting her out of this room, so I go to the small fridge in the corner. It’s full of beer and soft drink, and she chooses a Sunshine Squeeze apple juice.
She takes her time opening it and swallowing a few large gulps. The drink seems to settle her, and when she’s finished, she places the bottle carefully on the table.
She swishes her hair off her shoulders and sticks her chin out. The scared girl is gone, and the mafia princess is back.
My cock positively aches for her.
“I wanted to ruin my reputation,” she says. “That’s why I went to the strip club.”
Her eyes are steady on me, and I believe her. “Why would you want to do that?”
“My father keeps me guarded because I’m his weakness. He thinks someone will snatch me because I’m such a prize. That’s why I have no freedom.” I nod, catching on. “Italians are an old-fashioned bunch. If I ruin my reputation, I lower my value. I am no longer such a prize.”
“And you thought that would earn you more freedom?” It sounds like a stupid hare-brained scheme to me. But maybe that’s how desperate she is. Isabella is wild and passionate; it must drive her crazy to have restrictions on her.
She raises an eyebrow. “I had to try.”
“Why didn’t you just run away? You got out of the estate somehow.”
She looks away. “Because I couldn’t do that to my father. Despite it all, I love him, and I didn’t want to never see him again.”
She frowns, and I wonder what she’s thinking about. If there’s a soft side to Carlo that only his daughter and late wife have seen.
“Your father must be looking for you.”
She sighs. “Yes. I’ll have to go back eventually, but now my reputation is still intact.” She gives me a flirtatious smile. “Unless you know anyone who wants to ruin it for me?”
A growl rumbles out of my chest. There’s nothing I want more than to throw her on the table, rip off that ridicules skirt, and ravish her until she’s screaming my name. To wipe that mask off her face and watch her come undone.
But she’s Carlo Berone’s daughter. That would be suicide.
“I won’t send you home,” I tell her. “You can stay here tonight until you figure out what you need to do.”
Her shoulders sag in relief, but only for an instant before she pulls them upright.
“Thank you.”
“I’ve got a room upstairs. You can shower, and I’ll have food brought up. You’re safe while you’re here, Isabella. You have the club’s protection. But the fewer people who know, the better if you don’t want your father to find you too soon.”
She smiles and throws her arms around me like a little girl, and I inhale her scent, my body responding to her sudden closeness.
“Thank you, Raiden.”
She pulls her head back, and for the briefest moment her lips brush my cheek. It’s an affectionate kiss, a thank you kiss. But the heat of her lips travels all the way down my body and straight to my cock.
I’ve invited a mafia princess to stay in my club, and I’m in big trouble.