“Uh-uh, no. It’s a video. She’s fine, and so is the baby, but Angel has his family strictly off limits until this situation is cleared up,” Sara says. “Snake is in charge, but the measures they are deciding are the Reckoning and banishment or the Reckoning with the possibility of supervision.” They don’t have to tell me whose supervision I will be under. I’d rather be banished, but everyone knows there is no leaving el Diablo but ten toes up. It doesn’t matter if you are a rider, ol’lady, sweet butt or hang around. If there is any possibility of knowing the club’s business, you’re locked in for life.
“He wants you to change.” The uncomfortable look they exchange lets me know I will not like any of this.
Looking around, I see nothing but a thick, black hooded robe. The back has intricate designs on it, with a big snake wrapped around a motorcycle on the back. It s like the one Easy wore the night Angel claimed her. This one also has a big ass fer-de-lance, similar to his tattoo slithering across the shoulders coming around the front ready to strike.
“I know like hell—” I start.
“It’s the only way.” Lorena snaps her gaze, hardening in a way that lets me know my options are nil.
“It’s the best outcome, really. You wouldn’t want anyone else to be the one to carry it out. Plus Snake would kill any who dared touch you.” Sara tries to comfort me.
“I don’t give a fuck what Snake wants.” My wrathful words cause the atmosphere in Angel’s office to feel like a tomb. Appropriate since I might as well die right now.
The man who watched over me for years is the one who will exact the club’s punishment. He had the nerve to think I betrayed him, but this is the ultimate fucking betrayal. Heat rushes to my face, neck, hell, everywhere. Horrified, I feel tears threatening.
A sharp knock on the door makes us all jerk around towards the sound.
Lorena pulls me back as Sara opens the door.
“Yeah?” She asks after squeezing her head through after cracking the door open a smidge.
“He’s ready. The vote was close like we expected even though we don’t have too many holdovers from Rudy’s crew and before, there are still enough people who are still mad about the war and the guys we lost in Western Cape.” Padre supplies and I think it’s more to my benefit which is further confirmed when he says, “There are enough of us out there to keep order, Saban. Snake will not let anything get out of hand.”
By out of hand he means ripping me apart like ravenous devils, for which the club is named.
“I’m on my way.” Resolved to show no fear from this moment on, I force the words out so they are strong and clear.
“Aight.” Comes the reply before heavy boots strike against the concrete of the hall leading back out to the main floor of the club.
“Okay, let’s get you situated. Do you want to use the restroom?” Lorena asks. Concern still clouds her eyes.
Nodding without speaking, I move to the back of the office to take care of my body’s needs.
The last time we were all here like this, it ended with a sweet little librarian being married to our big bad el Presidente. I’m lucky if I’ll be breathing.
I don’t know what Snake intends, but I know the club wants revenge for what they presume is my betrayal, and they won’t be satisfied until they get it.
Lorena and Sara are my only escorts. No, traitors don’t get the second-in-command carrying them on their shoulders to celebrate a claiming. I’d be lucky he doesn’t make me crawl. Walking down the hallway feels more like a long expanse to the gateway to hell rather than one that leads to Angel’s loft on one side and the motorcycle club’s dance floor and bar on the other.
They stop at the edge of the club. The low, heavy thrum of music surrounds me. The lights are dimmed from what I can see under the heavy hooded robe they’ve draped around me.
My body tenses when I hear the heavy tread of his boots as Snake approaches.
“Gracias, señoritas.” The deep roughness of his tone sends an involuntary shiver throughout my body.
The twin cousins fall behind me. Lifting the hood, they then remove the robe. I guess I won’t get the consideration Easy got either.
Naked, I stand before the man who was my guardian, turned captor and now possible executioner. Keeping my head lowered, I see the way his fist flexes — in agitation or anticipation, I can’t tell. It doesn’t matter. He chose to be the one to carry this out in front of the whole MC. His word is law, no different from Angel’s. He could put a stop to it if he wanted to, club rules bedamned. No one can beat him. No one would dare challenge him to find out.
“Saban.” Comes the gruff call of my name. I don’t look up — I don’t dare, afraid of what I may see. Regret? Malice? Resolve to carry out el Diablo justice no matter what? Definitely.
He bristles at my refusal. I can feel it in the tension surrounding us. His fists tighten into tight boulders of frustration. Our bodies are so close still we are not touching. The pulse of emotion is electrifying.
Reaching between us, he snaps a chain to the collar the cousins placed around my neck.
“Hold your fucking head up, girl.” That last word has a Pavlovian effect on causing me to hold my head high in defiance.
Seeing a spark of admiration, the fierce pride in his gaze, does dangerous things to me.
