"You never promised them you'd help get the girl back," Walsh said. Not a question. Not even a guess; an understanding.
"No." Shaman glanced toward him, sharp-boned face warming, pleased. "Naturally, they assumed that I would, but no, I didn't care about any of that. I'm a fan of many debauched things, but rape isn't one of them."
"But you sent them out to Wynford Chace's farm," Ghost said.
An elegant shrug. "You're looking at it the wrong way, Mr. Teague. I don't care. Not about any of it."
Enter: the villain.
Angels is Michael and Holly's story; it's also another chapter in the ongoing growth and expansion of the Lean Dogs MC. They've all faced rival clubs, drug dealers, corrupt mayors, and law enforcement. But now, here, at the end of this novel, we meet a more classical, archetypical villain: the incredibly wealthy, incredibly powerful drug dealer known as Shaman.
Mr. Ian Byron, originally from London.
I always wonder what readers think when I tell them that Ian is my favorite character in the whole series. In this big, sprawling Southern epic about outlaw bikers, it's our clever, cutting, complicated villain-turned-adopted-son who I enjoy writing best. The truth is, Ian is the sort of character I like best. A sophisticate; a survivor. Elegant, and learned, and bristling with all the best dialogue.
He likes the finer things in life. This was the first time I wrote a character like him - and if my Sons of Rome series is any indication, I'm not looking back anytime soon. I love Ian, and I love his journey, but in Angels, he was still a dangerous enigma.
In any book series, there are stories of the moment, and then there are long game stories. Tango is a long game story. From the first moment we see him, when he's the sweet to Aidan's sour when Ava gets out of the truck at Dartmoor for the first time, it's obvious that Tango is gentler than most of his brothers. It's obvious, too, that he's deeply scarred emotionally: a truth of which we only catch glimpses, here and there. Glances, twitches: we know something terrible happened, but we don't know what. This is my favorite kind of storytelling: showing you a hint, and then peeling the onion of truth down, and down, until the sharpness of it brings tears to your eyes.
When I wrote this book, I knew exactly who Ian and Tango were to one another; that moment in Ian's office, when he's still just Shaman, and Tango sees him, and chokes, and says, "Ian?" That was exciting to write. That was standing at the top of the roller coaster and knowing all the drops and loops, knowing some would be gut-wrenching, but being excited for the challenge.
This book was a first in a lot of ways, craft-wise, and Ian's introduction was another example. A new kind of challenge; a tweaking of old skills, and a gaining of new ones.
Also, I just love him. But I said that already. There's lots of great Ian moments in the rest of the series.
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