Athena's Raid: Book Two Perdition MC Read online

  He opened it, and the smell of heaven wafted out from inside. Candles. Four big fat ones, in glass cups, that permeated his senses with the scent that had tormented him over the last week. The first letter she’d sent him was sniffed clean of that perfume, and it had sent him into a whole nother realm of pissed off when he could no longer detect that subtle fragrance.

  But now it came out in a nearly intoxicating whoosh, and he swore he felt a little lightheaded from the pleasure of it. There was even a lighter inside the box, surprise, purple. It made him smirk as he shook it, pulled out one of the thick candles and set it beside him on his tray table, flicking the lighter until a long spear of flame shot out and the wick caught a few seconds later. He watched it burn for a moment, wondering what the purplish pink flecks in the white wax were. He picked at the seal on her letter to him and unfolded the pages, eagerly eating up the words she’d written in her pretty scrawl.

  Hey Raid, (cool name, story behind it?)

  Yeah, it was really good for me. Surprisingly, you lasted long enough to get my attention. Up for round two?

  He laughed so hard it fuckin hurt, and he seized with the pain for a second, but for the first time in a while, he didn’t care that it hurt.

  I’m a sucker for awkward and ugly, because writing this now, I’m feeling pretty awkward myself. I think its bad manners to argue with someone in a hospital bed, so I won’t. I’ll just tell you how full of shit you are, leave it at that, and move on.

  I’m curious why you almost went to jail, but you’re in no way expected to explain if you don’t want to.

  As a woman, I think I’d prefer most anything than having to fend off being raped on a daily basis. But that’s me, and if I were in your shoes, I don’t know if I’d rethink that or not. I’m thinking not. And it wasn’t sappy, girly shit, it was sincere girly shit, which being a Jarhead, you ought to be bad ass enough to deal with it. So suck it up, likely before alls said and done, I’m going to throw more at you.

  I’ll tell someone I love them if I want, and if I gain a stalker, I’m confident that I’m intelligent enough to not get caught and sent to jail for murder. I’m classified as ‘help from above’, because my bad ass mother fucking uncle, taught me some bad ass shit when I came to live with him. Shit he probably shouldn’t have taught an impressionable fourteen year old, but I think it was his only way to cope with having a girl in his space.

  Sorry about the nurse deal, I’m sure if you’re enough of a pain in her ass, she’ll trade shifts with someone else. Or just stab you a few more times than necessary with a needle. If you really want her off your back, ask her how she gets her nose hair to grow so long. I dare you.

  I don’t know what to say about your paralysis that won’t sound disingenuine, or patronizing, but if you really wanted babies someday, there are ways to make that happen, and it involves more nurses messin with your junk. So I guess the question would be, do you want kids bad enough to let some cute nurse whose needle happy to get near your junk?

  I definitely agree that your situation, while serious, is better than being locked inside your mind and unable to escape the horrors playing over and over on repeat, and being drugged into a state where all you can do is lie there and see nothing but ugliness.

  Again, you don’t have to tell me how it happened, I’m curious, in a non-weird kind of way. Regardless I’m still going to think you’re important and heroic, so deal with that too while you’re dealing with my girly shit.

  The owl is called Bubo, and in Greek mythology was the Goddess Athena’s messenger bird. Sort of her spirit animal, I guess. My mom loved Greek mythology, and she used to get these horrible migraines in the weeks before I was born.

  Athena was the daughter of Zeus, big kahuna of the Greek Gods. Out of the blue, Zeus started to have screaming headaches, and when one of the other gods split open his head to relieve the pain, out came Athena fully formed and in battle armor. I guess mom thought it was a good story, I think it’s whacked, but that’s why I got dubbed, Athena. I gave my mom splitting headaches.

  I dig the owl, because part of my business is recycling paper and making custom specialty paper for stationary and whatever, things used to carry messages. The other part is herbal, earth mama junk that I’ll tell you about if you’re interested.

  And that smell, which I hadn’t put on the paper on purpose, is Geranium flower and Rosewood oil. I was mixing up a batch of soap with that scent in it, at my house while I was writing to you. The geranium flower is uplifting, and it’s supposed to evoke a sense of peacefulness, while the rosewood is a multi-functional scent. It’s a natural anti-depressant, and it provides relief from joint pain. It’s antiseptic, but it’s also an aphrodisiac, and can help heal wounds.

  I’m glad you like it, and those candles burn for 40 hours each, enough to get you through whenever you need a breath of free air. I’ll send more when you run out, and some other stuff because I can, and I want to. You’ll have to let me know if it helps any, aromatherapy isn’t for everyone, but things that smell nice certainly are.

  It’s not my business, but I’m half tempted to write these so called ‘brothers’ of yours a nasty note, for not being with you.

  Have good dreams,

  Athena.

  FIVE

  She wrote back and forth with him for almost six months, and every letter just got better and better. He told her about his time with the Perdition MC, and how his own stupidity had gotten him landed in jail, beating up a drug dealer he’d seen forcing a teenage girl to trade sex for the drugs she’d wanted to buy. Beat him nearly to death, and he didn’t regret a second of it. Regret that he got caught, but not that he’d done it. Athena didn’t judge in her letter, if anything, it seemed to make her like him more. She’d sent him cookies with her letter after he’d told her about the beat down. Damn good ones. Lemon something ones that melted in his mouth and tasted like heaven. He hadn’t told her about how he’d gotten paralyzed, or how he’d gotten his road name, and she hadn’t pushed. He liked her sass, and her smart ass mouth, accused her of being a ginger, and he hadn’t heard back from her in two weeks.

  The snail mail was both a blessing, and a god damn annoyance, because he didn’t have a phone to call her with, or a computer to email her anything, and while he could have used Shirley’s iPad to order himself a lap top or something, he honestly loved being able to save every single letter and sniff it like a dog when no one was watching. He had one of her candles burning at all times, especially at night, and his entire room smelled like geranium and fuckin rosewood. He was getting impatient, two weeks without a fuckin word, pissed off and surly the likes of which he hadn’t been in a long time, and when Shirley came in carrying a familiar purple envelope, he snatched it out of her hand before she could get a word out, and hunched over the damn thing, forcing himself to patiently pick the seal away from the paper without cracking it.

  Shirley, for the first time since she’d come into his life, left him in peace and didn’t say a god damn thing.

  He opened the letter, and a picture fell out into his lap. But unfortunately, while it was cute, it wasn’t of Athena. It was a picture of a grey and white pitbull, wearing a blue flowered shower cap, looking pathetic and cute while it held a blue rubber duck in its mouth. And a matching Chihuahua between its front paws, looking pissed as hell to be in a bathtub getting a bath. He couldn’t help but laugh, because the picture was hilarious.

  Hey you,

  Sorry for the silent treatment, I had some unfortunate drama that prevented me from doing shit for a while. But I can say now that I would definitely pick hospitalization over avoiding being raped in prison. Long story.

  I got a dog, his name is Cruncher, and I got him because he looked fucking vicious. Clearly he’s defective, as I’m sure you can tell from the shower cap, and he suckered me into springing his girlfriend from the cell next door. I couldn’t help it, they make a great couple. Sadly, Rosita, is more vicious than Cruncher, and I’m now living in terro
r of this tiny bitch. She’s gotten jealous of the time Cruncher spends in bed with me, yelling at him day and night about never being home to share their dog bed in front of the fire, because he loves me more. I swear, I’d never intended to own a 70 pound pussy of a dog, but that face, it slays.

  My uncle banished me to Lake Tahoe for the week, note the address change, and I suppose of all places to get banished to, his cabin on the lake isn’t too shabby. The dogs like playing in the water, but I like sitting outside on the deck at night, staring at the stars and listening to the water hissing over the beach. It’s a full moon tonight, and it’s yellow, making the reflection on the water look like gold. I get it now, why people write poems about places like this, and I’m not even going to bother to try, because I know I wouldn’t do it justice.

  When I get back to the shop, I’m going to make you some candles that smell like Tahoe. Have you ever been?

  And what gave it away that I was a ginger?

  Athena.

  He didn’t even bother writing back a bunch of crap.

  The dogs are fuckin adorable.

  I got time for long stories. Spill. You okay?

  Yeah, I’ve been to Tahoe.

  You’re a smart ass bitch that likes sniper rifles, how could you be anything BUT a ginger?

  R

  Her letter came back a week later.

  Raid,

  I’ve been assured that being called a ‘bitch’ by a biker is high praise, and not something to get my hair fired up about. So I won’t.

  And spill? You asked, remember that.

  I was dating a guy on and off for about six months. And I use the term dating, loosely. I wasn’t as into him as he was into me, as is usually the case. No, I don’t know why. But it was fun to have a guy around to do stuff with, enjoy life with. Until he started getting snippy about how much time I was spending with my friends, and not with him. I let that go, because he’s a Cancer, and Cancer men are notorious whiny bitches, and I should have known better. There were high points, great points, but he was fuckin intense, all. The. Time. He’d see me getting frustrated and back off, let me have my space, and then it would be fine again.

  Till I started spending a few hours every Sunday afternoon, writing you letters.

  He was a pissy bitch about it, I told him to grow a pair, and he thought that was an invitation to cold cock me across the face. I didn’t respond well, as you can imagine, and being my uncle’s girl, I kicked that mother fucker in the balls so hard I think I busted one of them. I then proceeded to kick his ass down the stairs, and yeah, kicking him when he was down was probably petty, but I was fairly pissed, my face hurt, so I made his face, and his ribs, and his stomach, and his balls hurt.

  Someone called the cops, and somehow I ended up getting arrested. Probably had something to do with the baseball bat in my hand, and the very loud threats to murder my now ex. So I spent the night in jail, he pressed charges, something about aggravated assault or whatever. The judge took one look at me, at my face, and my ex got ‘remanded into custody.’ I told him not to drop the soap, which I thought was very nice of me, and the drama then became some threats on his behalf, which for some fool reason my uncle took seriously, and banished me to Tahoe.

  He did buy me a gun, as a ‘that’s my girl’ present, and told me to get a dog. So I don’t think he was pissed at me so much as worried that I’d find more trouble and get put back in jail or something. He was disappointed in my choice of dog, as Cruncher continues to prove what a pussy he is, but was slightly mollified by Rosita’s fury. I’m calling her Rosie, now, because it seems to piss her off. More so when Uncle John threatens to punt her like a football if she goes after his ankles again at dinner time. She’s a little food aggressive. And you haven’t seen funny, until you see a 70 pound pitbull cowering in terror because his girlfriend is telling him to back off while she finishes their dinner.

  I’ve had to start feeding Cruncher in the garage, just so he can eat in peace. Rosie hates me for this, but every time we drive by the pound, my intention to throw her out and keep driving, Cruncher puts his paw around her and hugs her close, like he’s promising never to let her go back there. I should have gone with my gut and gotten a cat instead. Cats don’t have souls, and I’d have been in good company. Now I’m watching a pair of disturbed dogs, jealous of the love they have for one another.

  SIX

  That was the day three things happened.

  First? He sucked up the pride, and the bitch ass hurt about wondering why none of his brothers from Perdition had ever sent him letters or called or emailed him or anything. He called the only number he could remember, and it turned out that the reason none of them had stuck by him, was because his drug addict mother had told them he died. KIA on his first duty assignment. He couldn’t even get mad at the bitch, because apparently not long after lying to his brothers, she’d shot up enough heroin to drop an elephant, and died from the overdose.

  He should have been upset by that, but for some reason, he wasn’t.

  Second, he got Shirley to call the doctor wanting to do the experimental surgery on him and sign his ass up. When Shirley asked him why he’d changed his mind, he was as honest as he wanted to be with her. “Because. Someone needs me back home, and I can’t do shit lyin in a bed.”

  Third, he wrote Athena back and told her how he’d come to be paralyzed.

  He told her he was about to go into surgery, and if he made it through, it would be a few months of PT, but he was determined to get through it. He didn’t tell her that she needed him, he told her he was sending one of his brothers out to check on her. To deal with it and not get herself hurt or worse, before he could get himself there.

  She sent him another box.

  This time when he opened it, the paper and the matching box were a soft green color, the same silver wax seal on both, and the smell was…Tahoe. He could totally close his eyes and see Lake Tahoe when he breathed deep. It smelled like green trees, lake water, summer breezes and naked nights on the shoreline with a hot woman. “Damn,” He muttered, carefully opening the box to lift out one of the four candles, in their pale green glass cups, and lit the wick with the green Bic lighter she’d included. Fancy ass woman. He breathed deep and opened her letter, finding himself grinning the whole time he read it.

  Raid,

  Seriously?

  I’m thrilled that you reconnected with your brothers, and sorry, but your mom was a hard core bitch for telling them you were dead. I’m not so thrilled to have random drive by’s at my shop, and my house at all hours of the night. Your worry for me is probably the kindest thing anyone who’s not a family member has ever had for me. But I promise, I’m not some wilting damsel in distress, evident I think by the fact that I was arrested for beating my ex with a baseball bat after he pussy slapped me.

  I’m trying to deal, honestly, but don’t be surprised if your brothers call you, bitch, throw their hands up and refuse to do their drive bys. I’m a handful at the best of times.

  What kind of surgery, and how dangerous is it? Can I come visit you before you go in? I haven’t been to Virginia in a long time, could be fun.

  Athena

  He sent her back a letter telling her that she could absolutely not, no way, no how, come visit him before the surgery. He did not want her seeing him bound to a bed, and if the surgery turned him into a vegetable, he definitely didn’t want her last memory of him to be his weak ass body hooked up to tubes and wires in a hospital gown looking like shit.

  The day after he sent that, he got another box, but this time, it was from Perdition. A cell phone, fully charged, with a bunch of numbers programmed into it, and only a few names he recognized. Saint and Roar being among them, and there was a text message waiting from Roar.

  -Call me when you get this, mother fucker-

  It made him laugh, and he called. Roar picked up on the second ring, “Jesus Christ, we thought you were dead.” He greeted hoarsely, and just like that, his butt hurt attitud
e evaporated. “Nope. Just paralyzed.” He drawled, and for a minute there was silence. “That’s not fuckin funny.” Roar growled, and he laughed, wincing at the stab of pain. “No, not really. I’m up next week for an experimental surgery. See if they can fix it. Odds are fifty fifty. I either make it through and get up walking in a few months, or I turn into a vegetable. In which case I’m signing a paper that says not to put me on life support.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ. You’re serious.”

  Not wanting to talk about it, at all, or imagine all the ways it could go wrong, he changed the subject. “You seen her yet?”

  “What?”

  “Athena, you seen her?”

  “Dude, this is not the time to be talking about bitches. You’re-“

  “Roar, if not for that bitch, I’d still be thinking my brothers abandoned me and looking for a way to get enough morphine to bite it.”

  “Jesus. Yeah. I seen her.”

  “And?”

  “Hottest bitch I ever seen, second only to mine. No lie. She’s short, like 5’6 max, got that rabid curly red hair all the way down to her ass. Curvy, like all the bitches you used to chase. She owns this hippie new age shop that does herbs and candles and shit, saw her havin a come to Jesus talk with someone the other day, had this massive pittie with her that looked like it was hiding behind her. Don’t know what it was about, wasn’t close enough to hear, but fuck me, she’s even hotter when she’s pissed.”