// NO ONE EXPECTS AN ANGEL TO SET THE WORLD ON FIRE. //
Riley McKenna is fresh out of rehab following her sister's brutal death, and decides to come home to her brother and the motorcycle club (MC) that raised her. But she's only back with one missi...
I sat in an empty room, replaying that last 24 hours over and over. Constantly...finding Riley basically cut to shreds, barely breathing, drowning in her own blood. Finally squaring off with Rage, shooting him again and again. Then the cops somehow getting involved. I groaned, smacking my head on the metal table.
The door opened quietly.
"Ready for your phone call?" Deran, a cop and close friend of the club's, asked me. He didn't make eye contact. I knew it was bad, but I had a feeling it was about to get even worse. There'd be no bail, this wouldn't be a slap on the wrist.
I nodded, numbly. He unlocked my handcuffs from the table in front of me, taking my hands behind my back and locking them tightly. I cracked my neck, stretching as best I could. He led me out of the interrogation room and to a phone in the hallway. I could feel the eyes of the entire police department on me.
"What's the number?" Deran asked me quietly, picking up the receiver, his fingers hovering over the silver buttons.
I muttered Trace's cell number as he dialed steadily.
Anxiety ratcheted it's way through me. Luckily, Trace answered on the first ring.
"Yeah?" His voice was gruff, thick with sleep. I didn't know what time it was.
"It's me," I mumbled, leaning my head against the wall, tired. Deran held the receiver to my ear, tall body turned away from me.
"I was getting fucking worried, man." Trace exhaled, and I could hear him moving through whatever building he was at, doors creaking shut.
"How is she?"
"In the hospital, asleep. He rocked her pretty good."
"Is it bad?" I asked, my words choppy, my lungs constricting in fear.
He paused several seconds. "It's bad." Trace muttered, sighing.
"And, is he...?" I questioned, eyes flashing to the cop a foot away from me. I stretched my fingers in the cuffs, feeling the numbness tingling up my arms.
"No reports yet. I already called Bernstein, he should be there soon." Bernstein was our club lawyer. He got paid a lot of money to keep his mouth shut and be good at his job.
I breathed heavily into the phone. "Alright."
"One minute left," Deran muttered, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet.
"Stick with the other Reapers from Georgia. I'll talk to the Tomahawks."
"Will do."
"Keep your wits about you, Angel. Never turn your back. Ever." Trace was stressed.
"Just get me out of here as fast as you can. And keep me updated on what's happening." I swallowed hard, a headache forming behind my eyes.
"Of course." I could hear Trace lean away from the receiver, already barking orders.
"Before I go.. is my sister there yet?" I asked, hope sparking in my chest.
Trace huffed a laugh. "She's here. She's a scary little thing. Been reviewing some tapes for hours with L."
I smiled for the first time in days. "You have no idea."
"Talk soon. Be careful." Trace disconnected.
"I'm finished," I replied to Deran.
He hung up the receiver and led me back to the lone holding cell, locking me back up to the metal table. I had one hand free and rubbed it through my hair. It had to be almost 90 degrees in this room.
Deran sighed, sitting across from me. He leaned back in his chair, eyes on the ceiling. I wasn't sure if he was stalling, or thinking how to do his job and stay loyal to Trace and Wolf.
He messed with his dark hair, slicking it back. He stared at me apologetically. "Got some questions for you Angel." His eyes told me this wouldn't be easy, or quick.
I scratched my face, feeling the Reaper in me spark to life. I wasn't going down for trying to save my girl. "I think it's time we bring in my lawyer, Deran."
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stay tuned for an excerpt from Lux and Kane's book, the second in the Death Reapers MC series.
