Raiden's Choice (A Ravens MC Novel Book 1) Read online

  Copyright 2017. J.L. Leslie. All rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes, promotions, authorized giveaways or teasers only.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Raiden’s Choice (A Ravens MC Novel: Book One)

  Chapter One

  ~Raiden~

  Twelve Years Ago…

  I grip my father’s hand and try to keep the tears from falling from my eyes. I want to be as strong as he is, but I’m not. No matter how much I try to be. I haven’t seen him cry yet. I don’t know how he does it. He stands beside me, ramrod straight, and shows absolutely no emotion. Why can’t I be like that?

  I step closer to him and press my cheek to the sleeve of his leather jacket. The scent of it is strangely comforting. He slips his calloused hand from mine and places it around my shoulder. Another tear slips from my eye and rolls down my cheek.

  I hate crying. Tears are for the weak and crying shows weakness when all I have known is that I should be strong. Everyone I’ve grown up with is strong. Stronger than me.

  I stare at the casket in front of me and then look around. Members of the Ravens surround us and they all have the same stoic look on their faces. They’ve dealt with death so much, but this seems different somehow.

  My mom was married to one of their members. His old lady. She wasn’t a club whore or one of those women who were just passing through. She may as well have been a member of the Ravens herself.

  My parents, Victoria and Dax Daughtry, are club royalty. My grandfather, Maxwell, is the club president and every member knows my dad is on his way to becoming president soon. I know my mom was so proud of him. She couldn’t wait to be the president’s lady. It was all she talked about. They had big plans for the club. They were going to run it together.

  My dad, me, and the Ravens were all she had. Her parent’s had died in a plane crash when she was only seventeen. We were her world and she loved everything about it.

  “Time to go, Raiden.” my dad says in his gruff voice.

  Time to go. Time to say goodbye to my mom for good. But I can’t. My twelve-year-old self isn’t ready to let go of her. Not now. Not ever.

  I wrench myself from his side and throw my body against her coffin, heaving with sobs. Some of the loose roses the Ravens placed on top slip off the side and fall to the ground. If I didn’t know better, I would think I could hear them crash to the ground as though they made a thunderous sound on contact. Everything seems that surreal to me.

  I beg for her to come back. Not to leave us yet. She’s everything to me. We did everything together. Make peanut butter pancakes for breakfast, picked out my dad’s new leather jacket for Christmas, and she even let me cut her hair…once. So I’m not ready. I’m not ready to let her go. And I know my dad isn’t ready. It’s too soon for her to leave this world. Who dies of a heart attack at thirty-two?

  My dad lets me have my fit for about three minutes. Three minutes. But that’s all he gives me. Then he grabs me by my waist and throws me over his shoulder. I kick and scream, but he ignores me. The composure I had during her funeral is officially gone and replaced with hysterics as he walks to his Harley Davidson.

  “Enough, Raiden!” he yells and places me on the back of his bike.

  I know well enough to know that I need to shut my mouth. The anger laced in his voice tells me not to push him. He climbs on and fires it up, the engine rumbling to life. I grip his sides and hold on as he speeds away. The wind dries my tears, making my cheeks sticky, and the roar of the engine drowns out my sobs.

  When my father stops a while later, I know we’re at the make-shift shooting range behind the clubhouse. I’ve been here over a dozen times to watch my dad and other Ravens members shoot and to watch club prospects practice. Sometimes they let me set up the bottles or targets. It always made me feel like I was a member or something special.

  My dad climbs off his bike and I follow behind him. He grabs five empty beer bottles and goes to set them up. He walks back and pulls his nine-millimeter out of the back of his jeans. My eyes grow wide as he holds it out for me.

  “The safety is here and it’s loaded. Pull back here to cock it. Aim when you’re ready and then pull the trigger, Raiden.”

  I hold the gun in my hand and marvel at the feel of it. The weight of it. The coldness of it. It doesn’t replace the sadness I feel over the loss of my mom, but it helps me gain some semblance of control. I aim it first, just to see how that feels.

  “Look at how you’re standing. You won’t hit anything that way.” he comments, then comes to stand behind me. He positions my feet apart a little and shows me how to hold the weapon properly.

  I turn the safety off and cock it. I take a deep breath and focus on the target. I realize my finger is on the trigger and it’s not shaking. It’s not trembling. I’m not nervous at all.

  I fire and hear the glass shatter. The sound reverberates through me and a voice whispers to me to do it again. I like the sound. The anger inside me starts to slowly dissipate.

  “Again.” he demands.

  I repeat and hear the glass shatter again. And again until all five bottles are broken. I look up to my dad and hope I have his approval.

  “You’re a natural, Raiden.”

  Present Day…

  I drizzle a generous amount of syrup over my pancakes and even let some get on my scrambled eggs and bacon. I’ve already slathered peanut butter over both of them. Victoria’s Diner has the best pancakes and I come here nearly every morning when I work days at the hospital.

  “You’re gonna get a sugar high.” Sonnie scolds with a wink.

  Sonnie Rivera has been waitressing at this diner since my dad opened it over ten years ago. I’ve seen dozens of other waitresses come and go, but Sonnie has always stayed. I know part of it is because she was Jerry’s lady and since he was killed four years ago in a motorcycle crash, she doesn’t know what else to do with herself other than to stay busy here.

  The other part is because she was my mom’s best friend and she thinks I need her. Either way, she sticks around when all the other waitresses leave when they’re done fucking whichever member of the club they’re with. They never last long.

  “I need a sugar high today. I’m pulling a twelve-hour shift.” I tell her.

  “Me too, honey.”

  Victoria’s Diner is not a twenty-four hour diner, but it stays open until ten p.m. The Ravens’ clubhouse is behind the diner. My dad thought the diner would give the women involved with club members something to do. This way they’d be close to the club without actually bothering the club members. Then when the diner closes at ten, they could go home or come to the club. I actually think it’s one of my dad’s better club ideas.

  I remember my mom always being frustrated that she didn’t get to go on runs with my dad. Especially since she was the mastermind behind most of them. He always thought it was too dangerous. Too risky. I’m sure he never thought she’d die of a heart attack while sitting on our couch watching television.

  “When was the last time you talked to your pops?” Sonnie asks, propping up on the counter in front of me.

  “It’s been a few weeks.” I lie and take a bite of my pancakes. “I’ll get over to the club and see him soon.”

  “Tell him to cut his hair when you do. I don’t know what look he’s going for, but it doesn’t suit him.” she tells me.

  “Sure thing.”

  Sonnie lets me eat the rest
of my meal in peace. Before I’m finished, another waitress comes in to start her shift and the diner starts filling up. Some club members come in and some are just normal patrons. Everyone likes Victoria’s.

  I finish up and decide to walk around to the clubhouse before heading out to Mercy Memorial Hospital for my shift. I go around back to avoid running into any members. I know the garage is opening soon. The clubhouse doubles as a motorcycle garage during the day. Not uncommon with the motorcycle clubs in this area, considering there are three of them in Verdana alone. Luckily, the doors are still down. I’m not in the mood for chatting today.

  I slip down the hall towards my dad’s office and knock lightly. I know not to barge in or open it without him answering first. I won’t make that mistake again. The door opens enough for a blonde to peek her head out. I give her an annoyed look and cross my arms.

  “Dax, I don’t know who it is.” she complains in a whiny, high-pitched voice.

  I push the door against her and walk inside the office. My dad is sitting in his chair, shirtless, and buttoning up his pants. Typical. The women have come and gone through this damn office like a revolving door. None have stayed. None have been welcome.

  “I’ll see you later, Trixie.” he states and she gives a little pout before leaving.

  “Trixie? Wow.”

  “I don’t judge you, you don’t judge me.” he says, running a hand through his hair. It’s down past his shoulders now. I hadn’t noticed the last time I was with him. He had a bandana tied around his head then.

  “At least I’m doing it for the club.” I mumble.

  “Let’s just say I am too. For my sanity…for the club.”

  “Sonnie says you need to cut your hair.” I tell him and he laughs.

  “She sounds like Maxwell.” he comments.

  “Well, maybe you should listen to grandpa.”

  Even referring to Maxwell Daughtry as “grandpa” is strange to me. At sixty, he’s the president of the Sacramento Ravens and not looking to step down any time soon. Him and my grandmother had my dad when they were just sixteen. It’s funny to think at one time my dad didn’t even want this lifestyle. Almost didn’t follow in my grandpa’s footsteps. Now, he’s a natural.

  “I want you to come check out some new prospects with me soon. We need a new enforcer now that Clay moved to Sacramento. We never even replaced Boyd.”

  “When?”

  “Tonight. As soon as you can.”

  “Tonight’s not good. I’m meeting Griffin when my shift is over.” I explain. “We have dinner plans.”

  “Fine. Take care of the ADA then. When’s good for you?” he asks.

  “I can do Thursday night. He has a trial and I know he’ll go for drinks afterward with Steve. He always does.”

  “Thursday works. Come to Diesel.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  ~Luka~

  I watch my younger brother take a seat and I wait for him to pick up the phone so we can communicate. I hate talking to him through plexi-glass. It’s bullshit. He shouldn’t even be here. We both know that, but the Rykers let him take the fall since he was just a prospect.

  This isn’t the life I want for him. Not in a million years. I know we haven’t had the best childhood, especially Lincoln, but it’s no excuse. Others have had worse. Our dad did the best he could, but after losing mom, he just wasn’t the same. I know exactly how he felt.

  “How’d you do last night?” he asks and I give a slight shrug.

  “Do I look like I got my ass kicked?” This gets a laugh out of him like I knew it would. “He wasn’t really a tough opponent. It’s getting a little boring to be honest with you.”

  I’ve been on the MMA circuit for two years now. Maybe it’s getting boring because Lincoln isn’t there with me like he always was before. I’m starting to wonder what the point is. Why I’m even doing it. Besides the money. And the women.

  “Who do you fight next?” he asks.

  “Pummel on Thursday night.” I answer and he raises his eyebrows then runs a hand through his blonde hair, which I notice is slightly longer now. “I’m not concerned, Linc.”

  He lets out a snort. “He kicked your ass pretty good last time, if I recall correctly.”

  “Let’s not recall.”

  “I mean, it was a knockout, right?” he teases.

  “It was over a year ago.” I remind him. “Why don’t you tell me what the lawyer said?”

  “The DA wants me to take a plea. Twenty years.”

  “Twenty years?” I raise my voice and slam my fist on the counter. “It was minor possession, Linc! Not enough for distribution. It wasn’t even your fucking bike!”

  “The attorney is thinking he can do a twenty-split-five. I’ll just serve five years and possibly get out sooner than that.”

  “I can’t believe this bullshit.” I grumble. “Five fucking years for two baggies of weed?”

  “It’s either that or roll on the Rykers and I can’t do that, man. I’m no fucking snitch. Fuck that.”

  “No, but they sure as hell don’t mind letting you sit in this shithole.” I tell him.

  “You have to let this go, Luka. The club comes first, you know that. I did my job. I’d do it again.” he says, firmly.

  I don’t know when I lost my brother to them. I just know one day we were sparring in the ring at Boutwell’s Gym and the next, he was riding with Cal Harrison and he was different. Everything was different. I don’t know how Cal convinced him to join the Rykers, but he did. It was almost as if Lincoln was brainwashed and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

  “Don’t accept the deal yet. Let me meet with the lawyer and see if there’s any other options first.” I tell him and he nods. “I’ll do whatever I have to do to get you out of here, Linc.”

  “I’m afraid of that.” he mumbles.

  I hang the phone up and stand from the chair. I don’t glance back as I walk out of the visiting area. I climb on my Harley Sportster 48 and head in the direction of his attorney’s office.

  I’m not surprised to find out that Attorney Terrance Leeman is not in. In fact, he’s on vacation for the rest of the week. He’s obviously real concerned with helping my brother.

  I peel out of his parking lot and head over to the courthouse. I’m tired of fucking around when it comes to Lincoln. I want answers or options. Preferably both.

  I approach the front desk at the District Attorney’s office and politely ask to speak with him. The woman sitting behind the desk does a damn good job of ignoring me and typing away on her keyboard.

  “Miss, I’d like to speak with the District Attorney, please.” I repeat.

  Her gaze finally flickers to me and annoyance flashes across her face. “He’s in court.” she answers, curtly.

  “How about the Assistant District Attorney? Is he in?” I ask. I can hear her nails clicking on the keys and I clench my jaw in frustration. It takes her nearly a full two minutes to answer me.

  “I’ll see if he’s available. Name?”

  “Luka Varelli.” I inform her.

  She picks up her phone and I assume she calls into the ADA’s office. Moments later, she hangs up and informs me he’ll meet with me. She waves her hand towards the right and indicates that’s where his office is located.

  I walk inside and Griffin Knowles is seated behind his desk. It’s a large mahogany colored desk with stacks of files on it and a to-go box with a half-eaten cheeseburger. He closes it and tosses it into the trash can beside his desk.

  “Mr. Varelli, what can I assist you with today?” he asks and I ignore the condescending tone to his voice.

  “I’m here to talk to you about my brother, Lincoln Varelli, and the shit plea deal this office offered him.” I state, getting straight to the point and take a seat across from him. I don’t plan on leaving until I get something better for Linc.

  The ADA digs through one of the stacks of files on his desk and pulls Linc’s file out. He opens it and looks through it, makin
g me think he’s refreshing his memory on his case. I know damn well he knows exactly who I am referring to.

  “We offered a twenty-split-five. That means he’d serve five years, Mr. Varelli. Maybe less if he behaves himself. That’s not a bad deal.” he muses.

  “It is when the charges are minor possession. He wasn’t even charged with intention to distribute. The drugs also weren’t on his property, not on his bike. Yet his lawyer doesn’t think he can win that case? I find that hard to believe, Mr. Knowles. I find it hard to believe that you can’t offer a fine or probation to a man who has no priors. He’s already been locked up six months.”

  “We both know it’s just a matter of time before he gets into more trouble considering who he’s now associating himself with.”

  “That’s assumption.” I defend.

  “A damn good one too.” he counters.

  “Offer him a better deal. We both know he deserves one.”

  Griffin Knowles gives me a hard stare and then tosses Linc’s file onto his desk. I glance down at his file and then back up at the ADA.

  “What if I offer you a deal instead?” he shifts in his seat. “We want the Ravens brought down. You help me and I’ll help your brother.”

  “I have no interest in joining a motorcycle gang.”

  “Then it’s a twenty-split-five deal for Lincoln.” he shrugs.

  “That’s bullshit!” I stand up and the chair I’m sitting in falls over backwards. Griffin doesn’t even flinch.

  “Dax Daughtry has been the president of the Ravens for eleven years. They fly under the radar and have done whatever the hell they want to do in Verdana. Our office hasn’t busted them on anything since I’ve been ADA. You want your brother out, you get me the info I need.” he leans back and crosses his arms, waiting for me to change my mind.

  I swore to myself I’d never have anything to do with a motorcycle gang. I own a motorcycle, but riding in some gang is something I never wanted to be a part of. I’ve seen the destruction they can cause. The havoc. Linc is my family and I don’t need anyone else. Shit.