Chapter 9 Raiden
RAIDEN
Barrel sways as he pulls out a chair around the long table and collapses into it. He makes a grab for Marcus’s meat sandwich and Marcus pulls it out of the way, almost knocking over Arlo’s beer.
“Watch it.”
Arlo rescues his beer and proceeds to chug it back.
None of the men are pleased that I’ve called a meeting in the middle of a club dinner, but they don’t complain. They know I wouldn’t have called it if I didn’t have to. Hell, I’d prefer if they were sober, but there’s nothing I can do about that.
“Is this about the mafia princess you got stashed away upstairs?” Barrels looks smug as he says it. I cut a look to Marcus and Snips; they were the only ones who saw her come in.
They both shakes their heads.
“I didn’t breathe a word, Prez.” Marcus looks offended.
“Me neither,” says Snips.
Barrels crosses his arms over his chest. “Come on, Prez, we’re not blind. Even with your big hairy distraction here.” He nudges Marcus, who puts on a front.
“What do you mean?”
I should have known better than to think I could sneak Isabella past my men. Barrels was special forces; he doesn’t miss a thing. Even if he has been hitting the beer all afternoon.
I sigh and run my hands through my hair. I trust every man here, and they need to know who I’ve got upstairs and the consequences that it could lead to.
“Yes, Isabella Berone will be staying with us for a few days.”
There’re murmurs around the room, and I can tell from the pitch of them that not everyone’s happy about our guest.
“Does her father know?” asks Travis.
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
“Jesus.” Travis shifts in his seat. “Are we gonna have a mafia hit squad after us?”
“Do we need to tool up, Prez?” Snips leans forward, looking excited. Some of my men miss their military days more than others.
“I hope not.”
“But you can’t be sure?” Barrels leans his giant elbows on the table. All trace of drunkenness has vanished. If I told my men to get ready for a shoot-out, they would. But I hope like hell it doesn’t come to that.
“Carlo isn’t going to come after our club. He’s not that stupid.”
There’re grunts of dissent around the room. Not everyone agrees.
“I’m not keeping Isabella against her will. I rescued her from a… situation, and she’s staying here for a few days.”
There’s raised eyebrows, but I’m not going into details.
“She was wearing your cut. Does that mean she’s your old lady?”
I fix Arlo with a hard look, but the grin remains on his face.
I wonder how the hell he saw what she was wearing when I didn’t even see him out back when we came in.
Either my men are more observant than I give them credit for or they’re massive gossips.
Also I’m not answering any questions about what Isabella is to me.
She’s mine, that’s all I know. But until she knows it, I’m sure as hell not sharing that with my men.
“I heard she’s bossy as hell,” says Snips.
“The Prez has finally met his match,” quips Travis.
The men break into lighthearted banter, but I can’t deny anything they’re saying.
“You’re not stupid enough to deflower Carlo Berone’s daughter are you, Prez?” asks Vintage. “Please don’t do that. I don’t want him to get all mafia on our asses. He’ll likely take all of our balls, not just yours. And I’m quite fond of mine.”
“I’m not de-flowering anyone.” My voice chokes on the words, because that’s exactly what I’d like to do to Isabella. But the men are right. I’m not that stupid.
“She’s just here for a few days as our guest. Nothing more.”
“We should send her back. We don’t need that kind of trouble.”
All eyes turn to the silent man in the corner with his arms folded. Specs doesn’t speak much, and when he does it’s thought out and the men respect him.
There’re murmurs of ascent. But there’s no way I’m sending my princess back. The only thing she’ll be going back for is to pack her bags and kiss her daddy goodbye.
But I’m not admitting that to my men. Not yet.
“She’s pretty,” Davis adds.
Rage thunders through my body, and my fingers close into fists. Sensing the tension, the huge mastiff that follows him around sits up from her spot under the table by Davis’s feet. Her tail thumps on the floor as I stare down Davis.
If it was anyone else but Davis, I’d rip their throat out for noticing her. But Davis is young. He got voted into the club from being a Prospect a few months ago. He doesn’t know any better.
“Anyone lays a hand on Isabella, and I’ll rip your balls out myself.”
I thump my fist on the desk, and the room goes silent. The men are looking at me like I grew two heads. I make eye contact with each and every one of them so they know I’m serious.
“Prez has got it baaad,” mutters someone from the back.
Geez, they can see right through me.
“We treat her as our guest, with respect. And she has our protection for as long as she’s our guest.”
“We voting on this?” asks Travis.
“No.” I slam the gavel down. “There’s no vote on this. She’s staying, and she has our protection. It’s not negotiable.”
I stalk out of the room and straight upstairs. Colter is sitting in the chair where I left him outside her door. He’s one of top guys and about the only man I’d trust to guard Isabella right now.
“She come out?”
“No,” he answers. “But I heard her singing.”
Son of a bitch. He’s heard her sing, and I want to rip his ears off for it.
“Go join the party,” I tell him.
“You need anything, Prez? Food, beer?”
What I need is right behind that door.
I shake my head. “No. Go join your wife. I’m hanging here for a while.”
Colter gives me a nod and heads back to the party. He doesn’t ask questions and I give no answers. He’ll get the low down from the men downstairs. Right about now, they’ll be telling their wives about the mafia princess in the room upstairs and the entire place will be gossiping about it.
I don’t care.
There’s only one thing I care about right now. Making sure my princess doesn’t leave here without knowing she’s mine.