Athena's Raid: Book Two Perdition MC Read Online Free
Author: Isabel Wroth
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
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
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