Sinister (Raiders of Valhalla MC Book 2) Read online

  By the time Fern’s pulling everything out and placing it on the counter with plates, the pipes of my brothers’ bikes can be heard coming down the road.

  “Dinner’s ready,” she announces as she steps into the doorway

  “Thank goodness, it smells so good,” Tor declares enthusiastically. The kid is always hungry.

  Fern laughs and hands Tor his plate. “I made two different kinds of chicken. Fried and rotisserie. I remember you said the other day how much you love fried chicken.” And there it is, again, she’s giving us another reason for Tor and me to care about her even more. She’s flawlessly thoughtful. I swear Fern has the purest heart, and anyone who’s ever met her can say the same thing.

  The door opens as Tor takes the plate. “Thanks, Fern. You’re the best.”

  “Where’s the food?” Logi demands, pushing his way into the house behind Rati, Dag, Kraken, and Fenrir.

  I meet Fenrir’s gaze while shaking my head at Logi’s outburst. “Where’s Charm and the kids?”

  “Charm took them to some movie they wanted to go see. I love them, but there’s no way in fuck I’m sitting in a theatre watching some cartoon movie about singing animals,” Fenrir grunts.

  “Oh, come on, you know you want to watch those animals with Astrid,” Fern teases.

  “Like I said, love my little girl, but fuck that shit. At least I can drink a few beers on my couch. Makes them a little better.” Fenrir grins, and I stifle a chortle.

  “Whatever.” Fern waves her hand nonchalantly. “Food’s ready, come eat.”

  My brothers all dive in. Fenrir and Kraken go for the fried chicken while the rest of us go for the rotisserie. During dinner, we all laugh and joke around. Times like these are what remind me of why we’re all part of the Raiders of Valhalla MC.

  And it’s a damn good feeling.

  Hours after dinner, we’re all sitting outside in the backyard, relaxing, enjoying ice-cold beers and Fern’s having a raspberry wine cooler when it happens. All hell breaks loose.

  All night I’ve been thinking of ways to make my brothers leave without embarrassing Fern. If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t care who heard her crying out as her orgasm rips through her body. But with Fern, I want those sounds for myself. They’re not for other people to hear. They’re private, just between the two of us.

  My stomach starts hurting, and Logi’s already occupying the bathroom. A wave of nausea shoots through me, and I have no choice but to jump out of my seat and rush to the side of the house before it hits me.

  I puke, bringing everything up I ate earlier.

  What the fuck?

  “Oh shit. Not this again,” Fenrir mutters.

  “What?” Fern gasps.

  “Charm better not have fuckin’ cooked any of this food,” Dag yells, partially groaning from somewhere else in the yard.

  “Of course, she didn’t. I haven’t seen Charm at all today,” Fern snaps, obviously getting upset.

  “Fuck,” I groan. Wiping my arm against my mouth, I stand straight. I turn to look at Fern and see her worried eyes lock on me. “What the hell did you put in that chicken? Did someone piss you off? Is that why you wanted to invite the brothers over? Did Charm put you up to this?” I ask with a frustrated tone.

  I don’t like puking, and the last time something like this happened, Charm gave Fenrir a batch of ‘special’ brownies. Special my ass. Those brownies were filled with laxatives. Enough of them that anyone who ate them, thirty minutes later you were either finding a place to go, or shitting your pants. I’m pretty sure some of us had liquid diarrhea dribbling down our legs that day.

  “For your information, Runes, I didn’t do it intentionally. In fact, if anyone’s to blame it’s on you. I must’ve taken the rotisserie chicken out too soon without thinking about the time. You distracted me earlier with kitchen sex! Before I could set the timer, even. If I knew it wasn’t done, I wouldn’t have taken it out.” She shouts the last part before stomping off. I start to follow her, but another wave of nausea courses through me, and I have no choice but to upchuck behind a bush.

  Chapter Ten

  Fern

  After a few minutes, I head out back again. I search the yard and find Runes on the ground, lying down against the grass. His arm is against his eyes, and he’s taking in deep, slow breaths. In my arms, I have a container of Tums, plus some Pepto-Bismol. All I have is the tablets, but it’s probably better than any liquid. Then the guys would all have to share the same cup and, guck, that’s gross.

  I tear open the plastic wrappers and follow the directions. It says I can give one to two tablets every thirty minutes as needed, so I take two out and kneel next to Runes on the grass. “Hey, take these. They’ll help make you feel better.”

  Runes removes his arm from over his eyes and looks at me. “You undercook them too?”

  Immediately I fight back every smartass remark. I truly want to tell him to shove his snarky remarks where the sun don’t shine, but I hold myself back. I should’ve set a timer, and I would’ve if he didn’t distract me, but it’s beside the point now. “You can have two every thirty minutes as needed. I’ll bring you some Gatorade in a few after they’ve settled,” I tell Runes as I rise and go to the next guy.

  Unlike my husband—holy shit. It still feels so weird. We’re married. We’re fucking married. Anyway, unlike my husband, the rest of his brothers are thankful for the medicine and accept my apologies. Slowly, after their stomachs settle, they make their way indoors, and all get to either a couch or a chair. I asked them to all stay until they’re feeling better. I don’t know why I thought they’d be getting on their bikes and rolling out of here, given their conditions. The last thing they’ll be doing is riding off right now. Not when they can barely stand up straight.

  Everything is great for a while until Dag flies up from the couch to run down the hallway. “The bathroom is over here!” I holler, but the disgruntled sounds of bile exiting his stomach fill the air, mixed with the stench, of course.

  I about keel over at the sour scent but put my big girl panties on and plug my nose. I have to clean it up. None of them are capable of doing it, and I doubt they’d clean it to my expectation anyway. Then again, I’m the woman who uses a special brush to clean between grout.

  I head into the kitchen, go into the closet off the side of it and pick up my blue bucket. My mop is hanging up by the handle, so I grab it as well. Once I’m at the sink, I turn on the hot water, allowing it to get hot as it can be. While I do, I head back over to the closet, grab my rubber gloves, a plastic bag, and some paper towels, and then I grab some concentrated floor cleaner.

  When I’m back over at the sink, I pop the bucket inside it, pour a little bit of the concentrated cleaner into it, and let it fill. I turn the water off, pick up my bucket, and head to where Dag upchucked all over my floors.

  He’s nowhere to be seen, but I’m betting he crawled back into the living room and is lying down on the carpet. Goodness, I feel so bad for these guys. It wasn’t ever my intention to make them sick. I only hope they’ll feel better sooner rather than later.

  Sliding the gloves on, I tear off some paper towels and throw them down on the vomit. As the towels saturate, I can’t help but gag. Fuck, this is disgusting. Kneeling, I set the bag on the floor beside me and use the paper towels to clean up most of the chunky stuff. Once I finish with that, I tie up the bag and toss it in the kitchen trash.

  The area isn’t overly large, so instead of using the mop, I end up using a scrubby brush. I dip the bristles in the hot water and scrub against the floor. The fresh lemon scent wafts in the air, and I’m grateful I don’t have to smell the acidic scent that was there moments before. I end up scrubbing the floors for what feels like ten minutes but it actually ends up being almost half an hour. I guess I’m a bit of a clean freak.

  After I put everything away, wash out the bucket, and make sure the floor is dry, I head into the living room. Runes is asleep on the chaise while Dag is right where I
figured he’d be. He has a pillow propped up under his head, and on the couch beside him is Logi.

  Fenrir comes in through the front door and takes a look into the living room. Kraken must still be outside. “I’m gonna take a wild guess and assume these guys won’t be comin’ back to the club tonight.”

  Glancing at my living room occupants, I immediately shake my head. “No, I’d bet not.”

  Fenrir smiles and shakes his head. “I figured as much. Thanks for havin’ us over today, even if some of us did have a bit of a sour stomach.” I appreciate Fenrir downplaying what happened.

  “Sorry about that. I really wasn’t trying to—” Fenrir puts a hand up, and I stop speaking.

  “If you were tryin’ to do it on purpose, we wouldn’t be havin’ this conversation. It was an accident, Fern, so relax a bit, will you? Not everyone is as malicious as my ol’ lady can be.” Fenrir and I both share a good laugh before he’s on his way out the door. In a matter of minutes, his Harley’s motor comes to life, and he’s on his way.

  “Man, they all look like crap.” Tor chuckles as he comes down the stairs. He stops at the bottom step and looks right at me. “I was gonna ask if any of them wanted to play Call of Duty with me. What a bummer.”

  “Whoa, kid. They might be down for the count, but I will have you know I was a master at Diddy Kong.” I wiggle my eyebrows, and Tor looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

  “At what?”

  “You don’t know what Diddy Kong is?”

  “Uh, no. I’m not a thousand years old like you are,” Tor teases, smirking the same way his dad does at me.

  “Those are some fighting words! C’mon, I’ll play COD with you, and I’ll whoop your butt too.” He might think I’m kidding, but I’m oh so serious.

  “Oooo, look at you being all young and stuff.” Tor mocks me and rushes up the stairs, ready to get his ass slaughtered in the game from the looks of it.

  Chapter Eleven

  Runes

  With my court date approaching in the coming week, my brothers and I are getting ready to sign some exciting paperwork. We’re purchasing the garage and a diner in town. This will give us legit work here in Tallahassee. Coming from a biker club, it’s always good to have clean money. It’ll provide us with more opportunities to launder money whenever the time comes. Yeah, we have Fern and Charm’s spa, but there’s still a couple weeks before it’ll be ready for them to reopen.

  I think this is a good thing, because in the time I’ve spent with Fern, she’s definitely started to come back to her normal self. She’s still extremely self-conscious about her scars when we’re out in public, but at home, she doesn’t seem phased by them. It might not seem like much, but it’s still a big adjustment.

  Fern came to the clubhouse for the first time the other day. I was proud of her because she didn’t wear a long sleeve shirt or a long skirt. It doesn’t mean she didn’t wear something that covered her well, though. She had on cargo capris that conformed to her ass but was loose around the thighs and a fitted purple tee shirt. Gods, I love her in purple. She looks damn good in it.

  I knew right away she was making a statement without using any words, but she didn’t have to.

  My brothers don’t know about the marriage between Fern and myself yet. They only know the two of us are dating, and I’m living at her house for Tor’s sake. I don’t know if I will end up telling them. It was only supposed to be temporary; however, the longer I’m with her, I want it to be permanent. Fern’s amazing in every way. I just need to figure out shit with Tor and find a way to convince her we’re good together.

  After living the kind of life I have, I want to finally have one filled with happiness. The type of happiness she’s been giving me every day since we’ve been married. I think I deserve it, and I sure as hell hope she knows she deserves to have a man like me. A man who would burn entire cities for her.

  A few of the hóras took notice of the fact Fern came straight to me and wrapped her arms around my waist. Before Fern and I were together, if I fucked one of them, I never allowed them to touch me. It’s a known rule that I won’t let any of them touch me. On the other hand, things with Fern are much different. She’s my woman, so she came right into the clubhouse and walked straight into my arms.

  I don’t give a damn about those hóras, but I’ll be keeping an eye on them so they don’t fuck with her. Unless I officially claim her, those women will think they can fuck with Fern and push her out.

  Little do they know I’m not going to let it happen.

  Checking the time on my watch, I get off the stool and head across the main area of the clubhouse. We’re having church and today’s when we have our weekly meeting. I have some shit we need to talk about, so none of them better be late. None of it will make them happy, that’s for sure. I definitely don’t have thrills of excitement shooting through me as I walk into the room.

  Taking my seat at the head of the table, I lean forward and rest my elbows on the solid wood oak table. After taking a deep breath, I pinch the bridge of my nose, hopefully warding off the headache forming there. I got a call earlier today from Bruise, the president of the Satan’s Storm MC Florida charter. They got word about a large shipment of women coming in. Women who are supposedly going to be placed in an auction hosted by the Cintron Cartel.

  He called me because he’s asking for a favor. He wants to know if there’s any way some of my brothers could come down to assist them. Bruise explained, their brothers from the Louisiana charter were coming down along with two other clubs they’re allies with. All of us tolerate each other, the Raiders of Valhalla MC, the Satan’s Storm MC, and the Lucifer’s Disciples MC. Bruise and One Shot are not only the presidents of their clubs but real-life blood brothers as well.

  I know all three clubs, and though we’re not allies or friends, we at least all have a truce. The only reason we’re not friends is because we’re a nomad club and hold no loyalty to anyone but our own. It doesn’t mean I don’t respect the men or their clubs.

  The sound of my brothers’ voices pulls me from my thoughts. I lean back in my chair and shift my elbows from the table to the arms of the chair. Leaning to the side somewhat, I bend one of my arms, and my fingers cup my chin while I watch my brothers, contemplating how to bring this shit up.

  “You good?” Fenrir asks, taking his seat next to me with assessing eyes.

  “Yeah, I’ll tell you and everyone else soon as the doors close,” I share.

  Fenrir nods and sits forward in his seat, alert and waiting to hear what I’m about to tell them all.

  When the door closes, I sit straighter in my chair, and I bang the gavel down. The same one Magnus designed with Viking runes on the handle. The gavel itself is shaped to look like an axe. It’s pretty wicked.

  I go straight to telling them everything that Bruise told me. I don’t leave out any detail about the situation at hand. Bruise and the Satan’s Storm MC are going up against something that needs a hell of a lot more manpower than only one club can handle. My brothers know who the Cintron Cartel are and know that those motherfuckers hold no mercy for who try to get in their way. If we’re to help out, they need to know the full depths of this situation. It’s not supposed to go down for another few weeks, but the plan needs to be put into place.

  Putting it to vote, it’s unanimous to help the Satan’s Storm MC and those women from being sold into the human trafficking ring.

  Ending church, I leave the room intending to have another beer before heading home with Fern and Tor. But at the sight of Tor, I instantly know something is wrong. He’s sitting at one of the tables with his shoulders slouched, so I round the table to face him. As I do, my step falters when I see the look on his face. It’s like he’s filled with worry and fear. Two things I never want my son to experience if he doesn’t have to.

  Heading in his direction, I stop in front of him. “What’s going on, Tor?” I ask him.

  Tor seems to almost jump out of his skin at the sound of my
gruff voice. “Dad, ugh, hey, sorry about that.”

  “What’s going on, bud? You look like shit,” I tell him. Crossing my arms, I assess my son’s movements.

  “Ugh, yeah, I need to talk to you about something,” he states nervously, glancing around the club at all my brothers. I don’t know what’s on his mind, but it’s like he doesn’t want to talk if he’s within earshot of anyone else.

  “Come on,” I instruct, already not liking the uncomfortable feeling crawling up my back.

  I show Tor to my office and round my desk to take my seat. He closes the door and comes up to the seat in front of my desk.

  “All right, kid, tell me what’s going on.”

  “One of the women, well, more or less a girl my age, she’s . . . I can’t believe I’m about to say this. She’s pregnant.” Tor’s eyes widen like he just found out, and I have to swallow before I can speak up. He can’t be right. He has to be confused, right? I mean, he told me what his mother did to make extra money. I know many vile details about what she put him through. He told me it happened with girls his age too, but fuck.

  “Come again? How the hell do you know that?” I ask, making sure to keep my anger in check. The last thing I want to do is make him feel like any of this is his fault or like he’s in trouble. Hillary did this. Hillary is the one I’m angry with.

  He informs me of the details he failed to tell me first. I knew he was keeping some things from me, but now he’s unleashing it all. It wasn’t just women or men his fucked-up mother forced on him. She’d book nights like he was a fucking hotel and allowed men and women to force other underage girls on him as well. He gives me details about how special doctors would come to see him, take blood, the whole nine. At a point, I start asking him questions, and slowly the truth is coming out. He wouldn’t know what was done to him, but I’ve lived in Florida most of my life and heard this shit. I heard rumors about what they did to keep their numbers up, and now I know.