“None of my business,” I mumble unconvincingly.
“You're not fooling me, sweetheart. You can try and hide how deep it stings, but you're doing a fucking piss poor job of it.”
The woman in question climbs on to Atlas's bike, wrapping her arms around his waist as he fires his Super Glide up. The roar of the engine and the rumble of the pipes echoes around the almost empty forecourt as he takes off toward the front gates. Two Prospects charged with manning them, pull the gates aside as he approaches but not before Atlas's eyes connect with mine. For a second, I think I see guilt flash in them, but less than a second later his face goes carefully blank and the light in his eyes dies out.
“Whatever you're thinking, don't,” Hoss demands, clamping his hand around my upper arm to keep my knees from buckling. “What he's got with her is nothing like what he had with you. Don't know what he sees in her, because for the most part, Gwen's a raving fucking bitch. But whatever it is, he's got a right to be happy, and you don’t want to get in there and fight for the job, then let them be.”
Gwen. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. Nothing dull or boring about it. Hoss is right. Atlas does deserve to be happy, and considering that I'm still married, albeit my husband is now six feet under, hopefully not resting peacefully, I have no right to stake my claim on him. All of that aside, that doesn’t negate the fact that seeing Atlas with her makes me insanely jealous. Disgustingly so.
“Babe?” Hoss grunts, turning me so that we're toe-to-toe. “Look at me for a sec, yeah?”
Now that's a tall order. Hoss is six-foot-six to my five-foot-three, so it's almost impossible for me to look him in the eye unless he's looking down, and I stare way, way, way up.
“I need you to pay attention, sweetheart because this is gonna hurt,” he says with sadness tinging the cadence of his deep baritone. “Gwen's pregnant. Atlas is finally gonna have the chance to be a dad from the outset.”
Heartbreak and devastation fight for supremacy as my knees collapse from underneath me. They hit the dirt with a thud, splattering mud up the legs of my jeans and across my sweatshirt. A tidal wave of grief crashes over me as I mourn all I've lost and will never have again. I mean, Hoss couldn't know this because I didn't tell him, but I was here to ask for help. I was here to ask if he would come with me when I tell Atlas he is going to be a father. But not now. Not after my hope and dreams for the future have completely evaporated with the declaration that Gwen is pregnant.
“Emmy? Emmy, babe, Jesus. Open those pretty blue eyes, sweet thing,” Hoss rumbles, dragging me into his arms and folding me into his embrace.
But nothing, not one thing will lift the chill around my heart. Not even the kindness Hoss is giving me and the whispered promises that everything will be okay.
Numbness seeps in, chasing out the cold, leaving me
dead and barren inside. My heart may still be beating; I can feel it's dull thud in my chest. My mind is still intact, although fractured it's whole. And my body is in one piece, albeit it doesn't feel that way. I feel broken, ripped in two. My heart and mind is scrambling to not shatter at my mud covered feet, and my body is desperate for the peace unconsciousness would bring.
Yet I fight it.
I fight it with everything in me – everything that I am – with all the strength I can muster, which granted, isn't much. I fight not just for myself, but for my son, and what little belief I have left that one day, maybe, possibly everything will be just as Hoss says; that I will wake up and it will be okay. And if it isn't...that I'll have the ability to make it that way.
Pulling out of Hoss' arms I whisper,
“I have to go. I have to get out of here.”
“No, you don't, babe. What you've gotta do is come in and have a drink with me.” When I shake my head, no, Hoss insists. “Let me take care of you. I know this is a blow, one you didn't see coming, a fucking vicious one at that, so let me sort you out and get you to a place that I know you'll be okay to drive home.”
“I wasn't going home,” I blurt out, not thinking about the consequences of my careless outburst.
“Where were you going then? And for that matter, why are you here, sweetheart? You haven't been on Vengeance property for years, so why now?”
Ignoring his second and third questions, I answer the first, with a feeble attempt to cover up my faux pas.
“I was on my way to the doctors to get my stitches out.”
Hoss' eyes dart to the neat row of four stitches beside my ear, growling under his breath as he takes them in.
“I'll drive you. Just let me grab my shit, and we'll get going.”
Seeing this for the opportunity it is, I nod and watch him retreat into the clubhouse. However, the moment the door bangs shut behind him, I'm in my car and out of the lot before he has a chance to return.
This is not his problem. I am not his problem. So I leave. And this time, I don't come back. Not once. Not ever. Not for eleven very long years.
CHAPTER TWELVE
~ Sarge ~
Down, but never out
Present day…
The colors on my leather may have changed, weathered with time over the years, but the pain, blood, sweat and tears woven into the thick, worn fabric hasn't. Every patch, stitch, and mark on my cut was earned. My life's history is plain for every man, woman, and child to see every single time I don Vengeance's patch. The story of my life from the time I started prospecting three and a half decades ago until now, I wear like a badge of honor and I always will.
As my calloused fingers trace the scarred leather, they finally come to rest on the rose I had stamped on the left arm up near my shoulder, closest to my heart. I had it done by an old leather worker just weeks after meeting Em when I realized the truth of what she meant to me. This mark is different than the rest, not only because it means more to me, but because of what it symbolized. Regardless of how many patches I added, none would be more important. They couldn't be. This rose is and was everything that Em and I
are. Beautiful. Precious. Vulnerable.
My cut told the story of where I've been, everything I've seen, and what I've done. Slowly the charcoal leather became filled with memories, but none were more ingrained than that of my precious, Emily. A man might one day be able to forget what he'd done for his club, his first run, even his first kill, but I can assure you, I'd never forget Emily, even if a thousand years and a million miles separated us.
My Soldiers of Havoc was eventually replaced by a Vengeance MC top rocker, and so was my Torment bottom rocker. The place I earned my stripes was replaced by the place I made my home.
But now, seeing my colors sent hot, angry blood flowing through my fists. Some men had careers that kept them running like fucking hamsters on a wheel with no end in sight, and other boys had families, old ladies, kids, lives separate to the club – something that, at times, I envied. However, to me, for years the club was more than my job; it was in my blood. It was my whole goddamned life.
Not once, did I want to be one of those poor misguided bastards stuck in a shitty six-by-six cubicle, doing a nine-to-five job that paid shit, and caused more headaches than it was worth. I had always planned to live my life, loving what I did, and not regretting a damned thing. That’s what the two crossed nine millimeters on my cut represented. It reminded
me of the choice I had made, my place in a brotherhood – the only place I'd ever belonged.
However, I wasn’t a solitary man anymore. I had a woman and a home I was trying to build for her. I wanted to set down roots and watch them grow. But most of all, I wanted to start a family with my girl. See her grow round with my child and watch her bring new life into the world. A life that hopefully wouldn’t be tainted by the sins of my past. I was still a ways off from making that dream a reality, but it would happen.
Hog wasn’t happy about my newfound status as a taken man; he hated men in the club tied to anything but Vengeance, but he didn’t have much fucking say in it. I am and always will me
my own man. Fuck, that’s why each and every one of us joined the MC in the first place. To live, ride, and die free.
But when days turned into weeks, and Hog’s position hadn’t changed, I started questioning what the hell I’d do if the club didn’t pull its head out of its ass and support one of their full-patch brothers. I didn’t want to leave; I couldn’t. This is my family, my friends, the men I’d vowed to live and die for, and still would. But if I couldn’t leave, what was left? Transfer out to another chapter, again? Go Nomad? Fuck, just the thought of leaving to live a life of solitude made me fucking sick, so I knew that wouldn’t work. Hence, rock meet hard place.
On the flip side, I had to remember that up until recently the club had been good to and for me. But while the majority of club life was as per normal, I started to realize that maybe, just maybe I’d chosen to overlook things and not all was as it seemed. Deception, subterfuge, lies, and death were
snapping at our heels like hungry dogs, getting closer and closer with every passing day. The law was breathing down our necks, growing more suspicious, becoming bolder in their raids and arrests every month. Add to that, our leadership which left a lot to be desired and Vengeance was set to enter a new era the likes it had never seen before.
And what made shit even worse was funds drying up. With the heat from the police, Cartels trying and succeeding to take over the major drug pipelines in and out of Colorado,
and black market gun sales common on every fucking street corner, Vengeance was financially tapped. Our coffers were almost empty, and that made for an even unhappier President. Especially, when it was club money funding his many vices.
As our free cash plummeted, so did Vengeance’s status in the MC pecking order; something Hog didn’t take well. He was hell bent on being the biggest, most powerful MC this side of California, and was willing to do anything and everything to make that a reality. Even if it meant all of his men sacrificing their all to the cause.
Hog didn’t say it in so many words, but he wanted to revert to the days of old. Trading in arms, drug, and human trafficking, and prostitution were on the agenda at every church meeting. Regardless of being told by our Treasurer that it would take capital to get back into the game, Hog wouldn’t listen. He wanted it now and refused to take no for an answer, meaning we had no choice but to work longer and harder.
There was no rest for the wicked, no peace, and no time to spend with our families; every minute of every hour centered around rebuilding Vengeance into the powerful force it had once been. And we succeeded, but at what cost?
Many of my brothers lost everything. Marriages broke down, children became fatherless, and families ceased to exist if they weren’t part of Hog’s grand plan. But me? I lost the only thing that was worth living for, Emily, and after that, whatever morals I had died a swift and merciless death.
However, what I didn’t know at the time, what I couldn’t know, is that is exactly how Hog had envisaged it playing out. I didn’t find out then, not until years later, but Hog had set a plan in motion that would ensure my undivided loyalty, because as far as he was concerned, without Emily in the picture, I was his to control; a fucking puppet of sorts. One with no heart, no soul, and nothing to cling to but the club. And I played right into his hands.
When I got patched in as a full voting member, I vowed to protect my brothers with every beat of my heart, the breath in my lungs, the blood in my veins, and ultimately, with my life. Nothing has changed; I have and always will be committed to the leather covering my body and the brothers standing at my back. That said, over time, my life has diversified from my singular focus, that being the club. And like I said, Hog fucking hated that. Despised it.
I can’t blame the clusterfuck that is my life completely on Hog, though. It started long before I patched over. See, those morals I talked about, the ones I prided myself on died
years ago, around the time, Skull first ordered me to do his bidding and fuck up a rival MC member, leaving him bleeding and broken for his brothers to find on the side of the interstate.
He was on death's door when I dumped his borderline
lifeless body onto the gravel shoulder of that highway, and I have never been able to forget his parting words.
“It should have been you. It should have been you lying here like a carved up piece of meat.”
Granted, at that point, I could have cared less whether he had breathed his last or not. But later, alone in the dark, I relived every kick, every cut, and every scar I left on his body. No matter if the asshole deserved it or not, he was still a goddamned human being, and I had left him for dead. His rotting carcass exposed to the elements, bared for the animals to pick clean.
Year after year, it only got harder. So much so, I was left with little choice but to resign my patch. I knew four years in that my soul was permanently scarred from the hell I’d put it through. There would be no redemption for me. No solace. And sure as fuck no salvation from the horrors I’d carried out.
One kill after another, I grew colder and more detached. It was almost as if I was in the midst of an outer body experience every time I metered out punishment under the
guise of MC retribution. And just when I thought I had lost everything I had to lose, life pitched me a curveball, and I lost the last remanence of my humanity. Hence, my strategic
move to Furnace.
Funny how decades have come and gone, miles separate me and my old life, and nothing much has changed. I’m still fighting the same battles, it’s just a different enemy these days. An unknown one, at that. Is it Emmy I’m angry at or myself? Am I even really angry at all, or merely mourning the loss of something I never even knew existed? Fucked if I know!
The truth of my situation is this…I have a wife, a daughter, and a home in tatters, all of which I am trying urgently with little to no success to keep intact. Yet with every mile, Emmy travels, taking her further away from me, from our daughter, I’m forced to face the truth of the situation. The lifeblood of our relationship, the mother of my child, and the glue that hold Vengeance together is slipping through my fingers, just like she did all those years ago.
Now, two hours after Emmy, my wife, the love of my life left me, again, I’m explaining my backstory to a group of men I’m glad to be able to call my family. Mind you, I’ve done them the favor of leaving some of the more gruesome details out. I mean, after all this time they’d become irrelevant anyway, hadn’t they?
Handing the photo album – the reason I’d gone home in the first place – to Boss, I reminisce,
“Losing Marlee fucking gutted me. Losing, Diesel, my son, your brother, tore me apart. Slowly from the inside out. And I’ve got to admit, finding out I have a daughter, one
that is alive, healthy, and living less than twenty miles away, makes me the happiest man alive. But there’s a small part of me that can’t help waiting for the other shoe to drop. Circumstances kept Emily and me apart. Stupid misunderstandings. Club bullshit. Scott. You name it, everything seemed like it was against us. And just when I thought we’d set a course for some smooth seas, life throws us another fucking curve ball.”
“Think you’ve been through enough that you’re due some easy, brother. No one would blame you for being pissed at Emmy for the shit she’d been hiding. It blew my mind the day, Gemma walked into the clubhouse, demanding to see you, claiming you were her old man. But then that got me to thinking about shit from Em’s side of things. I just can’t reconcile her keeping her own daughter a secret unless there was a damn good reason for her to,” Cash our usually stoic, silent brother offers.
“Here, here,” Jump seconds. “What’d Em say when you asked her about it?”
“Nothing,” I reply immediately. “She left.”
“She fucking what?” Boss roar, his eyes widening as his expression morphs between fear and being openly distressed. “Since coming back for Marlee’s funeral, Emmy’s only left town once, and that was to make sure Adelyn was okay. So that means there�
��s more going on here
than you’re telling us, old man.”
The mere mention of my daughter has unhindered tears
springing to my eyes. No one who hasn’t suffered the same loss can possibly understand what it feels like to bury your child. Life’s not supposed to work that way. Parents go before their kids, that’s the unwritten rule. But cancer, specifically, Leukemia in Marlee’s case, is a bitch. It didn’t adhere to life’s rules, taking my baby long before her time.
At eleven years old, Marlee was the most beautiful little girl you’ve ever met. She may not have been meant to grace us with her presence for long, but in the time she was here, she made one hell of a difference. She made life brighter, made things simpler with her outlook on the world. My girl taught me a lot. She was all sunshine and possibilities, hope and innocence. Not even the cancer that eventually took her from me could dampen her spirits. Jesus, Marlee even made me promise her I’d stop being sad when she died. She was so sure she was going to a better place, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her differently.
Sarge: Book 8 in the Vengeance MC series Page 16