Wicked Revenge: A Wicked Angels MC Novel

by Zoey Derrick

  He goes back down the hallway and then down the stairs, through the living room and instead of returning to the kitchen, he turns toward the garage door.

  Shit! I jam my phone back in my pocket and spread my legs, taking my stance and pointing my gun toward the door.

  All I can really hear is my heartbeat in my ears as I wait for Loki to come to the door. I won’t shoot first, I need answers. I need to know why he killed my brother.

  I watch the knob turn and finally the door opens revealing Loki standing there, staring at me.

  He puts his hands up. “Don’t shoot me, Kiwi.”

  My nickname sends my heart into panic mode. “Why?” I breathe; it’s all I can manage.

  “Why are you still here?” he counters.

  “I was just leaving when you showed up,” I tell him, and my voice cracks with fear and sadness.

  “What would you have done if it wasn’t me?” he asks as he steps down into the garage.

  “Exactly what I’m doing right now. Only difference is, I’d have pulled the trigger first, asked questions later.” I reaffirm my stance and cock the gun.

  “I did what I had to do to protect you,” he tells me with his hands still in the air. “To protect Tryke. Please understand that.”

  A stray tear streaks down my cheek.

  “I remember. When he told you that you had to be the one to do it?”

  He cocks his head at me. “You heard us?”

  I nod. “I’ve heard a lot of things over the years, Loki. I’m not the dumb naïve little girl with pigtails anymore,” I remind him.

  He shakes his head. “No, no you’re not, Lily, you’re a woman, and you deserve far better than this. So now you have a choice. Kill me now and run, or get in your car and get the fuck out of here before anyone else shows up.”

  “There are two choices in life. You can let it go and move on or you can do what I’m going to do.”

  “What’s that?” Loki asks.

  “Get revenge,” I breathe.

  Loki lets a small smile spread across his lips as he comes within striking distance. “That’s my Kiwi,” he tells me as he snatches the gun from my hand and the next thing I know, I’m scooped up in his arms.

  My world shatters as I collapse into a ball of tears in Loki’s arms.

  Chapter Four

  LOKI

  “Go, you have got to get out of here,” I snap at Kiwi.

  Having her in my arms, despite how upset she is, is the best feeling in the world, but she cannot stay here any longer. I’ve covered her ass up to this point, but I no longer have control over who shows up next.

  She looks up at me and her eyes are wide with fear. “Why can’t I just stay with you?”

  “Because it’s not safe and you know it. You’ve got to get away from here, Lily. Get out of here and never look back.”

  “But I…”

  “Dammit, Lily, do it. Do what your brother told you to do.” I let her go.

  Her stunned expression rips me in two, but if I’m not hard with her, she’ll never leave.

  “Go, goddammit. I don’t know who else is coming. I can’t protect you against them.” My voice grows harder with each word.

  Her eyes narrow at me. “Give me back my gun,” she snaps.

  I give her an evil smirk. I pull the clip from the gun and push each bullet out one by one. She folds her arms across her chest with indifference. I know damn well there are more bullets where these came from, but by the time she reloads, I’ll be back in the house.

  Seven bullets on the ground and one final one in the chamber. I give her a tsk of disappointment because the magazine isn’t full. I return the clip to the gun and pull back on the slide, discharging the final bullet and turn the safety back on with a flick of my finger before handing her back her gun.

  She snatches it from my hand.

  “Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. Here,” I growl at her.

  “You killed my brother and you treat me like shit,” she snaps.

  I get in her face. “I’m protecting you. Now get the fuck out of here before I kill you myself.”

  Her eyes widen in fear, but then harden as she steps up, toe to toe, with me, despite her smaller frame. “Go ahead, motherfucker. I ain't got nothin’ left to live for.”

  I close my eyes as pain and anger wash over me. She can’t begin to grasp what she has to live for. She’s too young to see it and I’m not about to show her one of her biggest reasons for living, not now.

  I smirk at her. “Yeah, little girl, you do. Revenge.” Realization slides over her features as her stony, indifferent mask slides back into place. She turns, opening the car door and sliding inside. A heartbeat passes before the garage door is sliding up and the engine turns over.

  As soon as she’s clear of the door, she throws the car in drive and speeds out of the garage. I hold my breath, praying she doesn’t take out my bike on the way out.

  Once at the end of the driveway, she hesitates before she turns left. Away from Roswell and the Wicked Angels MC.

  I watch her go. I can’t seem to get my feet moving for a few minutes. Eventually the reality of what I should do comes into focus and I head for the door, punching the garage door closed and waiting before I step inside the house. I walk down the short hallway to the kitchen and my best friend.

  “Who was that?” a voice asks and I turn around, drawing my gun and pointing it at the man standing behind me.

  Chapter Five

  KIWI

  Four Days Later

  “You’re in the wrong place, darlin’,” the gate man says to me as I pull up outside the Wicked Angels Headquarters just outside Tucson, Arizona. My gun rests in my lap, just in case I need to throw down. It’s not what I want to do. I need answers and there is a man inside this building that can give them to me.

  “I doubt that. I need to see Big Daddy D.”

  “And just who might you be?” I can tell the guy is a little irritated at the name I use. He is, after all, head Wicked Angel, eldest in the line of living Beaumont men and the reason the Angels are as successful as they are.

  “Kiwi,” I tell him. Loki gave me the nickname long ago and it’s the only credit I have here.

  After I got to a hotel just inside the Arizona border the other night, I unloaded my luggage, including the bag Kellen left for me in the trunk and dragged them inside. I should have kept moving, but the seedy motel was the perfect place to hide out for a few days. Get my head about me and pull myself together enough to do this.

  Two days ago, I opened the bag from Kellen.

  Two days ago, I learned the real reason Kellen wanted me out of the house and away from Roswell.

  I’m dead.

  At least as far as the Angels are concerned.

  My brother, in all his infinite wisdom, decided it was best to pretend that I died in the same car crash as my parents.

  This explains why I never saw another Wicked Angels member, except Loki.

  “You don’t look like no Kiwi to me.” The man guarding the club leans into my window.

  I catch one of the clubhouse doors swinging open from the corner of my eye. My eyes narrow in on the three men walking out. They’re headed toward their bikes until they see my car at the gate and turn in our direction. I’m doing my best to look at them and keep my eyes on the dick whose patch says Whistler, that’s giving me a hard time about getting in. I pull my eyes from him long enough to see that one of the three men coming our way is the one I’m here to see.

  “What the fuck, Whistler?” one of the men walking towards us shouts.

  “She wants to see Big Daddy, says her name is Kiwi.”

  “Bullshit,” says the tallest, and biggest of the three of them. “Kiwi is dead.”

  With my gun still in my hand, I open the car door, hitting Whistler between his legs. The three men scramble toward me as I climb out of the car.

  “Like hell I am,” I snap at Big Daddy.

  His eyes bulge in pure undiluted shock.
Something I had expected, but hoped I wouldn’t see. I’d secretly hoped that I was only dead to the Roswell members, but apparently not.

  Why would he send me here with this shit if he’d passed it around that I’d died with my parents?

  “Jesus fucking Christ, kid,” Uncle D says as he shakes his head. “Open the gate.”

  After a beat, the gates start to swing open. “Whistler, get out of there before she shoots off your balls,” someone says and my lips twitch with a smirk as I slide back into my car, putting my gun back in my lap.

  The guys clear the driveway and I pull forward until I’m parked on the side of the clubhouse building. I take a deep breath, controlling the adrenaline spike I got when Whistler started giving me hell about letting me in.

  I breathe in again, bracing myself for what’s going to happen next before I climb out of the car. Gun in one hand, briefcase and my purse in the other.

  As I stand up my eyes roam over the four men standing in a semi-circle watching me. Whistler and Big Daddy are the only two I know. Seeing as none of them have weapons drawn, I tuck mine into my waistband along my back and kick my door closed before walking toward the group of men. I send a silent thank you to Kellen for teaching me how to shoot and manage a gun. After mom and dad died, he felt it was important for me to learn, even though I was only thirteen.

  “What are you doing here, kid?” Big Daddy asks me. His tone is hard to read, a little gruff, a little confused and something else, concern maybe.

  I hold up the briefcase. “Tryke sent me.”

  He cocks his head. “Why didn’t he just come himself?” he asks.

  Anger slices through me. One of the reasons I waited so long to come up here was because Tryke should have been honored by the club. All members of the club, including Tucson and Boulder. The anger makes it easy for me to slide my cold, hard demeanor into place. “Because he’s dead.”

  “Fucking Christ, are you kidding me? When?” Big Daddy asks. Anger roars again, a biker is dead and they’re doing nothing to honor him.

  “Four days ago,” I share. “Now, can we talk, privately, please?” I ask a little softer.

  “Yeah, kid, let’s go.” He gestures for me to follow him.

  He leads me into the clubhouse, holding the door for me. I duck under his arm and step inside.

  There are several club members and half-naked women throughout the big, open common room. It’s hard to gauge its size compared to Roswell because it’s been so long.

  There are two pool tables along the back side, a bar to my right and several couches lining the walls around the room. There are also several tables, high and low, with chairs and barstools scattered around the place. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it was a hopping nightclub most nights. Most night’s it’s probably hopping but you couldn’t pay me enough to sit on a couch in this place.

  All the male eyes are on me as I walk behind Big Daddy toward some place quiet for us to talk.

  My outfit isn’t leaving much to the imagination. I knew coming in here would be a mess to begin with, but I had to do something to either make them drool or ward off the crazy.

  I went with the former.

  I’m wearing leather pants with a corset top. My hair is done with wavy curls cascading down my back. I’m also wearing peep-toe, black fuck-me pumps and a gold necklace that’s tied to a locket my mother gave me when I was about seven. My intention was to present myself as hard-ass as possible. Whether or not it’s working, I’m not sure yet. I suppose the gun I got out of the car with is handling a lot of that by itself.

  We step into a hallway that runs toward the back of the clubhouse and Big Daddy leads me into his office. His goons from outside try to follow us in and I slam the door in their faces.

  “Those are my men,” D snaps.

  I give him a hard look. “I don’t give a fuck. What I’ve got to talk to you about doesn’t involve them,” I snap.

  The next thing I know, his hand is flying through the air and slamming into my left cheek, sending my head flying to the side. I put my hand on it, trying to soften the sting and I glare at him. “What the fuck, Kiwi?” He looks at me with concern and my hardened exterior softens some. “Are you done being a bitch or do I need to remind you of the rules, again?” he asks.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I soften a little more. “Forgive me, but there are very few people I trust right now.”

  He nods and takes a seat in the chair behind his desk. “What the fuck is going on around here?” he asks. He’s pissed. Good.

  “What do you mean?”

  He looks pointedly at me. “You’re alive, let’s start there.”

  I shrug. “Honestly, I have no fucking clue. All I know is mom and dad were killed in a car accident. Once that happened, Tryke got hard, he changed. I didn’t understand it, I thought it was grief. But then none of the members came around anymore. I saw only Loki, Tryke’s best friend, and that was it. He got paranoid, built a safe room, rigged the house with cameras and sent me to a private school. He used the guise of a better education but now I see it was to keep me away from the family.”

  “You have any idea why he was so paranoid?” he asks.

  I shake my head as I set the briefcase and my bag in the chair opposite him and reach into my bag to produce a DVD that I’d burned of the other night. It killed me to watch it again, but I did. I hold it up., “I have no idea why he was paranoid, but it paid off. You can see for yourself what happened four days ago.”

  “They got taped?” He narrows his eyes.

  I cock my head at him. “Because Tryke was paranoid,” I remind him and then ask, “How well did you know Tryke?” Big Daddy is, after all, our uncle and the President of Wicked Angels Motorcycle Club.

  “Well enough,” he says deadpan. “After your parents died, I wanted him in the President’s office, but he, along with a few other people, agreed that he needed some time to get the club under his belt. He was twenty-two at the time. He’d had his cut for what, two years?” I nod, acknowledging him. When Tryke got his cut, it was a huge deal in the house. “He was ready, going to make a run at Pres. From what I knew about it, he had more than enough support to make it happen. But other than that? I get the feeling I’m about to be schooled by my niece on the doings in Roswell.”

  “Why was he going for president?” I ask.

  “Because family first, and like your father, they respect the hell out of him. If there is anyone in that outfit that would make a better Pres, I’d like to know about him,” he says confidently.

  I roll my eyes. “I’m not all that interested in clubhouse business, Uncle D. I just want to know who ordered the hit on Tryke.”

  He puts his hands up in defense. My uncle may be the President of Wicked Angels MC, but he’s never shown me anything but kindness and love and I respect him for that.

  “It certainly wasn’t me. Had I known that Rooster had plans on taking him out, I would have taken Rooster out.”

  “Who’s Rooster?” I ask him.

  He leans forward, putting his bare, tattoo covered forearms on his desk. “He took over Roswell after your father…”

  I give him a hard stare. “You do realize that Tryke never accepted the fact that Daddy died in a car accident, right?”

  He nods. “I do, darlin’. But until someone can come to me with hard, physical proof that it was Rooster or anyone else in the club, who ordered a hit or carried it out himself, my hands are tied. There ain’t much I can do.”

  “But you’re the club president,” I remind him.

  “Thank you for that reminder, doll. Yes, I am.”

  “Then why not do something about it?”

  He snorts, “Because we have rules, guidelines in place. Rooster was voted in, albeit because there were limited other options at the time and no one challenged his appointment, not even your brother. Rooster has to be voted out. And if your brother was killed because Rooster was feeling threatened, I need proof. If there are other extenuating
circumstances as to why your brother was taken out, that’s different.”

  “But he can’t just take someone out without coming from you, can he?”

  He glares at me. “No, but it happens.”

  “He was your nephew for crying out loud. You mean to tell me you’re going to sit there and do nothing about him being murdered? Hell, you didn’t know he was dead. I waited four days to come to you because I’d assumed you’d gone to Roswell for the burial and yet here you sit.” I challenge him and his face reddens. “I thought this club respected its dead.”

  He stands up, sending his chair flying back. He slams his fist into his desk. “Do not challenge me, little girl,” he growls. “He obviously died for an acceptable reason for someone to keep me out of the loop.”

  “So that warrants no funeral? No respect?”

  “Enough,” he barks. “You’re making some pretty strong accusations here, sweetheart, and you’d better have some proof to back this up.”

  “Maybe I do,” I say, holding up the briefcase. “I found this after Tryke was killed. It came with a pouch that had a note attached to it.”

  “What did it say?”

  I hand him the note from my purse, the one my brother wrote to me, and he reads it over then he looks up at me with murder in his eyes and I take an involuntary step back. “Loki?” he growls and I nod hesitantly.

  “I overheard them a few years ago, after mom and dad…” I pause, trying to gain control of myself again. I swallow. “Tryke hid me from the club and the only person he let around the house after their deaths was Loki. I overheard them one night talking about how Tryke wanted Loki to be the one to do it. If it ever came to that. Once I understood that, I realized Loki was doing it to protect Kellen and me.” His name slips off my tongue and I bite it, hoping to stave off the tears.