Vengeance MC Box Set - Volume 2: Gage ~ Cash ~ Knight (Vengeance MC series Book 8)

by Natasha Thomas

  After finding out how I lost my Black Widows ink, Boss invited me to his house under the guise of getting fucked up and watching a game. It wasn’t until halfway through beer three, he fessed up to why I was there, and let’s just say, I wasn’t impressed. The shit in my past was mine to share, not that I was hiding it, but I just didn’t feel it was necessary to advertise how fucked up my history is.

  Not all MC’s operate under the same set of rules. One percent clubs make their own code and deliver punishments how they see fit. However, Black Widows, the Glendale chapter – I can’t speak for the others – take it a step further than most.

  Any sign of disrespect, it doesn’t have to be overt, retribution is sought swiftly, and delivered without mercy. And don’t think because you’re a patch-wearing member you’re exempt because that couldn’t be further from the truth.

  I’ve seen brothers restrained and beaten, confined to one of the outbuildings on the clubhouse lot for days at a time, burned, and have their fingernails removed at the roots. This shit wasn’t rare, either. Not a week went by one of the men I came to call my family was tortured by one of his own.

  I won’t pretend to know why they stayed – it was an unwritten rule; don’t ask, don’t tell – but my reasons were simple. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. Sure, I could have gone out on my own, found an apartment somewhere and got a regular job, but the appeal of having a family, no matter how fucked up they were, and somewhere to belong won out in the end.

  It wasn’t until my world was so black, all traces of gray gone, that I knew I had to get out. I had dozens of lives on my conscience, and washing away the filth after completing a job for Shade was a thing of the past.

  Granted, most of the jobs I did consisted of ridding the world of men who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as the innocent, but that didn’t make what I had to do any easier, At least, not for me. Life is still precious, regardless of what someone does during it.

  There are exceptions; child molesters, rapists, murderers, and any man who beats a woman – those assholes deserve to rot in hell – and I don’t have a shred of remorse for ending their pitiful excuses for lives. And if they were the only jobs Shade had me doing, we’d be having a very different conversation right now, but they weren’t.

  Business owners who didn’t pay their protection dues to the club, Shade handed down the order to have them tied up and fingers or teeth removed until they did. Men who owed the club money and couldn’t pay on time, (Shade played amateur bookie on the clubs’ dime) no longer had the use of their legs. If intel was provided about another MC moving in on Shade’s territory, he ordered their immediate termination, regardless of whether he’d confirmed the information or not.

  As fucked up as it was, and trust me, it was beyond fucked up, it wasn’t until Shade demanded that I torture one of my own brothers that I snapped.

  Shade believed Loki, my VP, was a rat. To this day, how he came to that conclusion is a mystery, but Shade was confident that Loki was selling the club out and wanted me to handle him.

  All of us knew Loki was clean, the man loved his club and his brothers, psychotic President be damned. Looking back on it, it’s ironic that Shade accused Loki of fucking him over because less than a month later, Shade was found in possession of two keys of cocaine, over a hundred thousand dollars of the clubs’ money, and a first class plane ticket to Rio.

  I wasn’t there when it happened, but I was told that Miles Glendale’s new President made sure Shade was taken care of. Permanently. And from all accounts, Shade didn’t go quietly. His death wasn’t quick; it was long, painful, and merciless and exactly what the bastard deserved.

  “Knight called about an hour ago to let us know he saw a few Rebel Warriors in his neck of the woods earlier today. According to him, they’re staying at a motel on the outskirts of town and don’t look to be going anywhere anytime soon. I’ve got Dirty, Sly, Gunner, and Diesel heading to Lower Falls as we speak to check it out. They’ll report in when they’ve got something to share,” Boss explains curtly. “Until they do, eyes and ears open. You see something that doesn’t sit well with you, call it in. I don’t need to tell any of you that them being here isn’t a coincidence.”

  “After what went down in Boulder, I thought these motherfuckers would’ve wised up,” Cash interjects.

  “We can’t know for sure it was them seeing as none of the intel we got linked Rebel Warriors to either the shooting or Lena’s situation,” I remind him, not believing their MC’s innocence for a second.

  “Maybe not, but if we’re looking at this from all sides, the reason Lena gave us for the Cartel getting involved in her father-in-law’s business is shaky at best,” Fury grates out. “I’d buy it we were talking a six figure debt, but thirty thousand? No fucking way.”

  One this point, I agree with him. The Vasquez Cartel has their hands in a lot of pies; money laundering, hits for hire, weapons shipments, and prostitution. Fuck, they’ve even got links to the slave trade, underage girls being a particular specialty of theirs.

  Oscar Vasquez, head honcho of the Cartel’s North American operations, is a busy boy, so I highly doubt he’s got the time in his calendar or the manpower to hunt down a small time debt like Knight’s dad’s. He definitely wouldn’t have put the effort into setting up an elaborate plan to kidnap Lena, hold her hostage for weeks on end and torture her all for no return. Because if nothing else, Oscar Vasquez is not a fucking moron.

  He might be a cold, calculating piece of shit, but he’s not stupid. And taking a man’s wife, strangling, burning, cutting, and violating her is the definition of fucking stupid.

  Last I heard, Lena is physically on the road to recovery – her back is a mass of scar tissue which will never heal, but it’s almost as good as it’s going to get – but psychologically her progress is a different story altogether. In saying that, Lena has a very powerful weapon in her arsenal in the form of her husband, Knight, so I have no doubt, given enough time, she’ll be okay.

  “That’s what I was thinking too,” Jump mutters, agreeing with Fury’s assessment of the situation. “There’s something we’re missing here, and it’s got nothing to do with Knight’s old man. Opening fire on a diner in the middle of town in broad daylight isn’t Vasquez’s style. His goons might have been fucking idiots, but even they weren’t stupid enough to cross their boss.”

  “Might have been if enough green was involved,” Cash suggest, voicing what we’ve all been thinking.

  Muttering a curse, Boss runs his hands over his face.

  “Look, I don’t want to have to do this shit because it’s a pain in the ass, but we can’t afford to take any chances. Activating a full lockdown will tip these fuckers off, the women too, so until further notice, we’re going to have to secure everyone under house arrest.”

  “Jesus,” Jump groans. “How in the hell do we do that without letting on what’s going on?”

  “Fucks me,” Boss admits frustratingly. “All I know is, Blaine and Avery are pregnant, Emily lives out in the middle of nowhere, alone, Bella’s on her own in that apartment of hers, and that’s not even taking into account any of the other women who could become targets like Jonas’ mom and sisters. Then you’ve got our two new arrivals which I figure will like being locked down about as much as Beth will,”

  Yeah, I don’t envy Boss there. If the club does have to go into lockdown, Beth will kick her husband’s ass. Beth’s aversion to being confined can only be described as extreme. The last time she was told she couldn’t leave the clubhouse without an escort, we didn’t hear the end of her threats about false imprisonment and our blatant disregard for her constitutional rights.

  While it was amusing for a couple of days, that shit got old quickly. Especially when Beth started taking pot shots at our balls with whatever she had within reach. On a side note; pool cues are not used to shoot those kind of balls, not that Beth gave a crap about proper use of club equipment.

  Pointing at Cash, Boss g
rimaces, commanding,

  “Call Sarge and get him on Emily because there’s no way in hell she’s staying with Beth and me again.”

  I don’t blame him there either. Emily is sweet, kind, and by all rights, the most patient woman I’ve ever met, but unfortunately for Boss, the love she has for her unofficial son can occasionally be more of a curse than a blessing.

  Two months ago, Emily decided she wasn’t seeing enough of Boss so she took it upon herself to pay him and Beth a visit, which ended up with her staying with them for five nights. To hear Boss tell it, that was the visit of doom.

  Why? Because his sex life was doomed into non-existence, his privacy was a thing of the past, and he had to forget relieving some of the tension of having her there by jacking off since Emily considered Boss showering the perfect time to have a conversation. Needless to say, Boss couldn’t wait to deposit Emily’s ass back at her place and spend some much needed time with his wife.

  “On it,” Cash nods. “Who do you need me to cover?”

  “Jonas has his hands full with Blaine, so his mom, Bella, and Jessica,” he confirms.

  If it weren’t for Aislinn, this would have been my job. Part of me feels bad for Jess having to put up with Cash’s moody ass, but on the flip side of the coin, it wouldn’t hurt her to learn she can rely on some of the others if the shit hits the fan.

  *****

  When I rode into Furnace, one of the first people I met was, Jessica Williams. Painfully shy and barely able to form a sentence around me, I noticed Jess didn’t smile. As in, never. So I made it my mission every time I went to the diner where she works to make her smile, at least, once. It took weeks of dedicated effort on my part, but I eventually pulled it off.

  Three years younger than me, born eight years before her brother, Jonas, I learned Jessica had a hard time making friends, not just in school but in life. Her reclusive personality and reluctance to put herself out there out of fear she’ll get hurt means unless you’re willing to put in the hard yards to prove to her you’re worth it, don’t bother trying.

  I’ve never seen a woman shut down faster than Jess, and it pains me to say this, but she’s a lot of work for very little reward. I’m sure there are a fuck ton of men out there up to the challenge and who’d give their left nut to be with a sweet, shy woman like Jess, that man just isn’t me. And therein lies the problem.

  Six weeks ago, after having too much wine and too little to eat, Jess admitted she has feeling for me. The second the words left her mouth, I could see she regretted saying them but it was too late. They were out there now, and I didn’t have the first fucking idea what to say to her.

  I should have known things between us was getting complicated. Jess wasn’t obvious about it, but there were small hints along the way that I should have picked up on. Things like her brushing her hand down my arm as she walked past, the jealousy I saw I Jess’ eyes when I hooked up with women, and the smile that became reserved only for me. A smile that promised things I’d never be able to reciprocate.

  So what did I do when Jess declared her love for me? I did what any other self-respecting commitment-phobe; I ran.

  I’m not proud of what I did. Fuck, I knew downplaying her feelings – telling Jess she was just confused – was the cowards’ way out, but how the hell was I supposed to explain that I’m in love with another woman? A woman, for that matter, that I’ve never mentioned and probably wouldn’t ever see again.

  My reaction didn’t go over well, just as I had expected, and things between us have been strained ever since. And now, with Aislinn in town, I can only imagine shit is about to get a million-fold worse.

  But regardless of her misplaced feelings, because that’s what they are misplaced, Jess is my friend. One of my best friends. It might not seem like it, what with me only sharing the basics of my life before Vengeance, but I care about Jess, and the last thing I want to do is hurt her. However, I have a strong suspicion it’s too late for that.

  So when Boss tells me ten minutes later that the women have migrated to Jangles, the diner Jonas’ mom and Jess co-own, I swear black and blue the devil has a direct line to my soul. Tonight is going to be a long fucking night.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ~ Aislinn ~

  “No, I don’t need to walk a mile in your shoes. I can see that you’re a train wreck from all the way over here.”

  – Aislinn’s thoughts on Meg’s relationships

  “Nope, no way, I’m still not talking to you my little whore muffin,” Meg informs me after we’ve placed our orders.

  Mumbling under my breath to no one in particular, I say,

  “Well, paint me with glitter and color me surprised that the resident drama queen can’t let it go.”

  Bella, a gorgeous, leggy brunette who I’ve been told is the sister of the big man across from me in the booth bursts out laughing. As does our new friend Beth, and two other women she introduced us to.

  Blaine, a heavily pregnant, stunningly beautiful blonde by the looks of it has the ginormous Jonas wrapped around her little finger. Not that I blame him for being enamored by her, she’s the kind of woman I would consider turning in my ‘I love cock’ card for. However, the other woman to join our group, Avery, well, no consideration need there. I would totally give up men for her. But unfortunately, according to her, she’s blissfully happy with the guy of her dreams, Fury, who I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting yet.

  A bread roll hits me square in the forehead, and I look up to see Meg grinning triumphantly.

  “Not to be a bitch or anything…”

  “Too late. You surpassed bitch and went straight to an annoying cousin I’d like to disown an hour ago,” I interrupt, earning my second middle finger salute for the day.

  “Oh, hush your mouth whore-a-saurus. If I were interested in your opinion, I would have given it to you,” Meg returns waspishly, throwing yet another bread roll at me. This one I pick up, butter, and take a big bite of just to piss her off.

  By the way, just in case you were concerned, this is perfectly normal for Meg and I. If we’re not launching objects at each other, making up original and derogatory names for one another, or getting arrested, seek help because something is seriously wrong with us.

  “Now, where was I?” My possibly menopausal friend asks, scratching her chin. “Ah, yes, now I remember. I do believe you were just about to explain to me why you would neglect to call your best friend immediately on finding out the man who crushed your heart, stole your dreams, and literally and figuratively fucked your life.”

  “Um, no. I think I’d totally remember if I was going to tell you all that,” I quip, continuing to eat my delicious – because all stolen food tastes better – roll.

  With an evil glare, Meg wags her finger in my face,

  “Oh, but you were. And do you know why you were going to confess all and beg for forgiveness before I, oh, so graciously accept your apology and reinstate our friendship?”

  “No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” I say drolly.

  “Damn right I am, my epic whore-tastrophe.” Seriously, what is it with the whore memes today? “Because if you don’t, I’ll be forced to hunt him down and tear his testicles from his body, and we all know you don’t want that. So, out with it,” she demands, tapping her fingernails on the table impatiently.

  “Can I just ask at this point, who we’re talking about?” Bella inquires jovially.

  “Mr. Dickweed Dexter,” Meg snorts unable to wipe the sneer off her face at saying his name.

  A soft gasp from beside the table alerts me to a new arrival. Turning my head to take her in, I wonder again if the town of Furnace puts something in their water. Everyone who lives here is remarkably good looking; it’s not normal.

  A woman easily five or six inches taller than me with dark hair styled in a cute pixie cut looks at Meg with fire in her eyes, promising all kinds of retribution. Mind you, the height difference isn’t saying much since Meg kindly reminds me daily t
hat I’m barely tall enough to be useful for anything other than a good arm rest, or possibly a coffee table for her daiquiri's.

  “Hey, Jess,” Jonas grins at the timid woman.

  “Um, hi Jay. Hi everyone,” she mumbles, looking like she wishes the floor would swallow her whole. “Ah, I’m just curious, but were you referring to, Gage?”

  I nod, having heard Cash call him that back at Pipes, but Meg, who can’t resist a dig at him answers,

  “I don’t know who this Gage person is. However, if he’s over six feet tall, built well enough to addle a woman’s brain, collects tattoos, and sexy scars, and has the intellect of a genius but hides it under a cloak of douchebaggery then I assume it’s one and the same.”

  Jonas tips his head, translating for Jess without words.

  “Um, I don’t know what he did to you, but, ah, he’s actually a really nice guy,” Jess stammers, valiantly trying to stick up for Dex.