Death Reapers MC: Angels to Ash

viii.

Riley
"They broke the wrong parts of me. They broke my wings and forgot I had claws."
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I pulled into the empty parking lot of Raging XXX-capades, my mind on my loose lips. I had almost told Angel why I was taking a job with the Raging Bastards. Almost. He probably thought I was crazy last night.

And I felt fucking crazy. Sneaking around, playing a part in two dangerous MCs. Rage laying his hands on me, Angel acting like he wanted to save me. This shit made my head spin.

Rage had to be on to me. The gallon of Russian Vodka he sent to Trace's house was Brynn's favorite drink. Her, one of her many biker boyfriends, Rage, and I used to drink it at the Raging Bastards clubhouse, all the damn time. The same brand. When Brynn was alive. Back before her and Rage hated each other. Back before Shooter realized who we were.

I grabbed my purse, annoyed, my phone buzzing with a call from Trace. I hit decline. I didn't want to talk to him. I damn sure couldn't even look at him. He would see it in my face. Just like Brynn. I was in too deep. I was fucking up again, and this couldn't end well. I couldn't stop though.

My combat boots crunched in the gravel parking lot. It didn't look like a soul was here. Good. I peeked in my purse, checking that the wad of cash that I had gotten a few nights ago was still there. I decided to give it back. I wouldn't be anything for the Bastards, but an employee for Rage. Just another girl taking her clothes off. I still had no fucking idea why the Bastards gave me this money. I had thought long and hard about keeping it, what it would mean.

The front doors of the club were cracked open. Walking in when it was still daylight was surreal, very weird. I wandered aimlessly, seeing how disgusting and sad XXX-capades looked in the light. The floors were stained, as were the velvet couches. The air wreaked of smoke, sweat, and sex. Goosebumps rose on my skin, and I knew I was being watched.

I had barely said a word to Rage the past few nights. He made sure to stay across the room, eyes always on me. Flirting, touching, close to the other girls. The jealousy I used to feel was long gone. But the more I found his eyes on me while I danced for his club, the more anxious I became. I had to cake my cheekbone with makeup to cover up the last time he got too close.

"Well, hello, Riley," a gruff voice came from behind me. I jumped, turning, peering into the darkest corners behind me, seeing nothing.

I paused, my heart racing in my chest. No one else was here. No one would help me if I needed it.

Shooter lazily stepped towards me from the dark, his black eyes scanning me up and down. He licked his thin lips appreciatively. "I'm glad you're here." His eyes disgusted me. They were dead, soulless, devoid of life.

"W-where's Rage?" I asked, my voice cracking. I cleared my throat, straightening my spine. I put my left hand into the handbag hanging from my opposite shoulder, feeling the small 9mm I had started to carry around with me. I felt like I was still being watched and my eyes darted behind Shooter and around the club. What the fuck was I doing here again?

"Has the day off. I wanted to be the one to talk to you." Shooter squinted at me. His bald bead gleamed in the pale light. "I thought you might come by."

"Talk to me bout what?" I tilted my body away from him, as he continued advancing.

"You have my money, McKenna?"