Vindication: A Motorcycle Club Romance

by Valentine, Sienna

  “Well, Lucero,” said Ghost. “You’re still a piece of shit in my book. But at least you’re man enough to be here and look in Tommy’s face, and that means something.”

  Lucero’s jaw clenched, and Ghost could tell he wanted to bite back dreadfully, but he controlled himself. He was probably under a very tight leash with his club. “I don’t give a fuck what you think, McBride.”

  “Makes sense,” said Ghost. “And you were totally on board with the plan, so that also makes me want to bash your face in significantly less.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not a fucking monster. Who says no to helping out an abused kid?”

  “Who indeed,” said Ghost. He slid by Lucero toward the door. “I guess you can rest easy knowing you’re not the biggest piece of shit in the world.”

  Jase rolled his eyes and pulled Ghost toward the door by his cut.

  “Bye, guys,” said Tommy. “Good luck Friday.”

  “We’ll video it and show you how it went! Go viral, and all those other cool things kids say!” said Ghost.

  “No, we most certainly will not,” said Will, shaking his head and pushing Ghost out the door.

  As it fell shut, Ghost’s voice rang out from the ward, “Yes we will!”

  ~ TWENTY ~

  Bridget

  She hadn’t felt this feeling in so long. Not since she spent nights watching the true night sky twinkle above the dark cold desert, and woke up to the sounds of hellfire. Bridget knew this particular brand of anxiety, and it was the same kind she got in warfare. The feeling clashed heavily with everything else her senses were taking in: the quiet of the Academy after hours, the comfort of her favorite outfit and boots, the familiar faces and voices of Muriel and Henrietta as they made small talk near the office door. Bridget tried to take ease in the fact that she wasn’t really about to enter a war zone, and even if she was, she had the home field advantage. The thoughts soothed her only a little.

  She knew Ghost would understand exactly how she felt in that moment, and she wished badly that he was there with her. She wasn’t afraid of doing her end of the job alone, but she knew damn well she’d be having a much better time doing it with his charming, goofy smile staring back at her. But it was alright. Ghost had a different job to do today.

  Yesterday, with Muriel and Bridget hovering at her sides, Henrietta had made a call to the house of Stephen Cary, and spoken with the man himself. Their plan had been carefully devised. Months ago, when Toby first started showing signs of extreme anxiety, Bridget had tried diligently to get ahold of the Carys and arrange a meeting to address her concerns about their son. She left messages with household staff and voicemails at Mr. Cary’s office, but no one ever cared enough to call her back. The silence made sense now, of course. But it also told Bridget they would have to employ a little trickery to get what they wanted out of him.

  “He’s not going to come if we call about Toby,” she had said with disgust. “We need to give him a reason to come. We need to give him a reason to care. So, what does he care about?”

  After a few minutes, they had all decided unanimously: money.

  Henrietta pulled up the family’s tuition records. They were rich enough that there had never actually been a real problem, of course; Bridget bet the Carys didn’t even monitor their own monthly spending anymore. But it gave her enough data to come up with a convincing lie about a failed wire transfer and some problem with the IRS related to the family’s last tuition payment. It was the only play they had, so they ran it. Henrietta delivered the news to Stephen Cary and asked him to bring the family over to the school the following evening so they could discuss it. He was so furious, Muriel and Bridget could hear him screaming through the phone receiver, and he didn’t even question why Henrietta wanted the family to come.

  “You better fucking believe we’ll be down!” he had shouted and hung up. The women exchanged heavy glances and Henrietta hung up her office phone.

  That evening, they had huddled together in Henrietta’s office for a final brave push before the Carys arrived. Bridget sent the news to Ghost via text that everything was still set to go, and put him on stand-by for his part of the plan. A bunch of emojis returned, and she just laughed and told the women they were set.

  Muriel gave both Bridget and Henrietta a hug before she grabbed her jacket and purse. Bridget held her shoulders and said, “Thank you so much for helping with this. You’re a great friend.”

  “Always,” said Muriel with a tense smile. “You were right. We are their guardians. I’ll always help.”

  Bridget kissed her cheek and Muriel turned to leave, hurrying out to the parking lot for her next task. While Henrietta waited in her office for her guests, Bridget did one last quick run through the school to make sure no one was lingering around after hours. Getting the children out after the final bell was nothing, but they had worked incredibly hard to get every single staff member out. Henrietta had finally settled on a bullshit lie about fumigators coming for a quick overnight spray. Bridget was unwilling to take any chances on anyone else’s lives tonight, and emptying the place was the only way to be sure.

  Bridget was a hallway over when she heard the unmistakable sound of the heavy front doors opening and closing. Quickly she headed back toward the office just in time to get a glimpse of the Cary family far down the way, heading for the headmistresses’ office. Stephen Cary, a short man in a tailored gray suit, stalked ahead of his family with a red and angry face. Behind him, his wife, Miranda, walked, holding Toby’s hand. Miranda was a former beauty queen, but there was no light on her lovely face. Toby wore a thin gray jacket with the hood up, like he was trying to hide, and clung closely to his mother’s side.

  Bridget’s breath caught in her throat as she saw the bodyguard from the natural foods store trailing in behind them, a scowl on his bandaged and healing face.

  Oh, fuck, she thought. What if he recognizes me? She hadn’t considered Cary would bring a bodyguard to a meeting at his son’s school—none of them had. She realized this was probably her fault for confronting the housekeeper like she did. Cary probably upped his security needs afterwards.

  But there was no stopping the plan. It didn’t matter much now if the bodyguard recognized her; she had the Carys right where she wanted them. It was just a question of how ugly this was all going to go down.

  Bridget waited until the Carys were in the office until she quietly made her way down the hallway to join them. Being Toby’s teacher, they felt they could justify her presence—which was good, because she wasn’t about to let any of this go down around Toby without being there. Aside from his family, everyone else involved in this little scheme was no better than a stranger to him, and Bridget refused to build a plan that kept her out of the way. She wanted him to have as little trauma from all this as was possible.

  Miranda Cary had taken a seat near the door, sitting in such a way that made her already thin frame seem even smaller, like she was purposely trying to take up as little space as she could. Toby stood in front of her, wrapped in her arms, his chin drooped on his chest. The gray hood covered his face and as best as Bridget could tell, he was trying to ignore everything going on around him. Stephen Cary, predictably, stood and leaned over Henrietta’s desk aggressively. The bodyguard had tucked himself into the corner near the bookshelf.

  Bridget didn’t make eye contact with any of them as she slid into the office and stood next to Henrietta’s chair. Stephen Cary had been in the middle of a verbal lashing, and he stopped with an incredulous expression when Bridget’s arrival interrupted him.

  After the sound of his raging voice, the silence was deafening. Already Bridget felt like she was getting a taste of just the kind of horror show Toby and his mother lived in. Stephen Cary stared at her like she was a mosquito, silent, waiting for her to grovel or apologize or explain herself.

  But she didn’t. Bridget’s face was a blank mask as she returned it, looking into the bastard’s eyes with her own thousand-yard stare. She could
almost smell the stench of his internal cowardice, trying to intimidate a woman he didn’t even know. But she didn’t give him the satisfaction. She’d won a thousand battles like this with men much, much tougher than Stephen Carey would ever be. Like an alpha, she held his gaze until he diverted away first, and then she grinned downwardly to herself.

  “As I was saying,” Stephen Cary continued, turning back to Henrietta. “I don’t understand how you fucking people can be so stupid as to fuck up a recurring wire transfer. I thought this place was supposed to be giving my fucking kid a leg up in the brains department, and you’re telling me this is what’s happening at the top?” He rapped his fingers and knuckles on the desk ask he spoke, and it was stupid, but all Bridget could think about was the way dictators gave their rousing speeches.

  Bridget was blown away by how aggressive his language already was. Educators dealing with angry parents was a tale as old as time, but typically, there was some ramp-up to this level of bitterness. Not with Stephen Cary, apparently. Everyone around him was either serving him, or in his way.

  “Mr. Cary,” said Henrietta. “We didn’t have anything to do with the integrity of the wire transfer. We simply receive it, and this month, your bank informed us that they could not make the transfer. As such, your son’s account is technically in a delinquent state.”

  “This is absolute fucking horseshit!” yelled Cary. He threw his hands into the air, and both Miranda and Toby flinched so imperceptibly that Bridget almost missed it. It made her blood boil. “Delinquent? Do you know who the fuck I am? I buy and sell ten times what this shithole school is worth every day!”

  “Mr. Cary…”

  “I don’t want to hear your fucking excuses!”

  Cary raged on, and Henrietta took it. Her job had two parts: to lure Cary inside the school, and to stall him until Ghost’s end of the plan was in place. She knew she was in for the verbal abuse, and judging by the look on her face, it was rolling off her back like water.

  Bridget dared a glance at the bodyguard in the corner. She felt her breath catch in her chest when she realized he was staring at her, eyes narrowed. He was trying to figure out where he recognized her from.

  She looked away quickly, trying to stay calm, and covertly checked her phone from her back pocket. No messages. Fuck, Ghost, hurry up.

  “You need to get this fucking bank on the phone right fucking now.”

  “Mr. Cary, with all due respect, this isn’t really my responsibility to fix. I’m happy to provide whatever information about our deposit accounts that your institutions require, but I’m not going to fix this problem for you.”

  Stephen Cary picked up the black phone on the desk and shoved it out toward Henrietta. The headmistress pitched back, startled, and both Miranda and Toby tensed up and froze in horror. Bridget had to stop herself from springing forward to knock the phone out of his hand and block him from Henrietta.

  Even though he hadn’t taken a swing at her, the move was so aggressive that everyone in the room, even the bodyguard, had frozen. Bridget watched Stephen carefully with cold, angry eyes.

  “Call the bank,” said Stephen Cary in a low, dangerous voice. “Get this settled, now.”

  Henrietta’s face flushed red.

  Bridget couldn’t keep her cool anymore. She stepped forward hard. “You need to put that fucking phone down and step back from her desk right this second.”

  A whimpering sound escaped from Miranda Cary’s throat. She clutched Toby tighter into her chest. Toby stared in fright at Bridget. He wasn’t frightened of her; he was frightened for her.

  Stephen Cary turned his hateful gaze to Bridget, and she met it with steeled wrath. He stood up straight with the phone still in his hand, cord wobbling. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

  “Put the phone down, and step back from the desk,” said Bridget, louder this time. “You’re not very good with boundaries, Mr. Cary.”

  “Who the fuck does this bitch think she is?” spat Stephen as he dropped the phone on the desk carelessly. The bodyguard stepped forward like he had given an order, and that’s when Bridget saw the realization dawn on his face.

  “Boss,” said the guard, and raised a meaty finger. “This is that same bitch from the parking lot! The one who brought the bald guy!”

  Fuck.

  Bridget’s eyes raced from the guard, to Cary, and back again. Both of them stared at her with violent hatred burning on their faces. Henrietta, Miranda, and Toby all looked on in horror, pale with mouths agape.

  Gears were turning in Stephen Cary’s mind; Bridget could see it on his face. He wanted badly to beat the shit out of her right then and there, but he was too smart for that. And he knew he couldn’t even talk about what he knew about her without exposing himself to the accusations of abuse. But his face told her everything. He knew exactly who she was; he knew her agenda; and he suddenly knew he’d just walked into a trap.

  “Get your shit,” said Cary to his family, while still staring at Bridget. “We’re leaving. I’m pulling you out of this fucking school.”

  “No, Daddy,” said Toby as he immediately burst into tears. Miranda shushed him desperately and herded him out of the office and into the hallway.

  Cary held her stare until his family was in the hallway. “You don’t know who you’re fucking messing with, you stupid cunt.”

  Bridget couldn’t help it. A dark smile came over her lips—one that didn’t reach up to her eyes. “That makes two of us.”

  He didn’t ask what she meant. Cary turned and stalked out of the office with his bodyguard on his heels.

  The second his back was turned, Bridget pulled her phone out of her pocket, and felt her stomach drop when she saw no new messages from Ghost.

  “What now?” asked Henrietta, shifting nervously on her feet.

  Bridget didn’t know. Ghost was supposed to have confirmed his set-up by now. But warfare never did go how it was supposed to.

  “We go after them,” said Bridget. “We can’t let him take the family home.” She stuffed her phone in her pocket and raced out of the office after the Cary family, following the sounds of Toby’s upset sobbing. Henrietta followed, scurrying on her wedge heels.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck, thought Bridget with each pounding step of her boots. God, if you’re really up there, give me some fucking way to stop this asshole until Ghost gets here. Even if she physically engaged, the bodyguard would take the hits, and Cary would be able to sneak away. It wasn’t like Henrietta or Muriel were going to jump in and help her fight. She had to think of something fast, before Cary took Toby out of her reach for good.

  As she pushed hard through the double doors, Bridget’s ears were filled with the sweet sounds of salvation: the thunderous roar of fifty perfectly-tuned choppers soaring up the country road and into the parking lot of the Academy.

  She could see the Cary family and their bodyguard stopped at the end of the white entrance walkway, staring as an army of Black Dogs swarmed the empty parking lot. Bridget and Henrietta came slowly up toward the lot and watched the beauty of the maneuvers as the men swerved around in intimidating patterns, finally fully circling the Cary family town car sitting coldly and askew across three parking spaces. One by one, the bikes came to a halt next to each other, keys killed ignitions, and looking on with angry, dark, scarred faces.

  “Holy shit,” said Bridget out loud to herself. Ghost had been right—the sight of all that gleaming black and chrome, roaring loud, ridden by men as big and mean as she had ever seen in all her life, it was terrifying, and Bridget wasn’t even on their bad side.

  “What the fuck is this…” said Stephen Cary, head swiveling around to get a look at them. “Get the fuck away from my car!” he yelled, but there was significantly less fire in his voice now.

  The quiet poured in as the last of the bikes shut down. It was the one directly in front and closest to the Cary family, the one leading the whole pack; it was the bike driven by Ghost. He kicked out his bike stand and got off
with a big, sunny smile, tucking his sunglasses into his cut. When he met Bridget’s eyes, he winked at her, and she smiled.

  “Evening, Mr. Cary!” said Ghost with a wave. He took a few sauntering steps forward with his brothers at his back, menacing and silent. “Mrs. Cary, I presume. And T-Dog, always a pleasure.” He nodded at the former, and waved and smiled at the latter. Then he looked up at the injured bodyguard, his face a mask of rage and embarrassment. “Oh, wow, almost didn’t recognize you without all that blood all over your face.”

  “Just what the fuck is going—“ started Stephen Cary.

  “Nope!” interrupted Ghost, whipping a hand up. Initially, he told Bridget he wanted to show Cary his knife collection, but Bridget made him promise none of the bikers would brandish weapons in front of Toby—not unless it was absolutely necessary. “You shut the fuck up, you little troll.”

  Shocked, Cary fell silent.