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

by Natasha Thomas

  Blaine peers up at us with tears of her own streaming down her cheeks.

  “It’s okay, I’ve got him. You guys go and do what you have to do. I’ll get him home to his mom and Mel when he’s ready.”

  Blaine is six months pregnant, and the level of stress she’s under can’t be good for the baby, but she’s never been someone who’s willing to admit defeat. She’ll keep fighting for Jonas – to pull him out of the depression that’s sure to follow when Jess is inevitably locked away – regardless of how long and how much is takes out of her.

  “Call if you need us, Blaine. I mean that. It doesn’t matter what’s happened, he’s still our brother, and we’ll be there for him as best we can,” Boss imparts, bending to place a kiss on the top of her head. “Take care of yourself, you’ve got a baby to think of too, sweetheart.”

  “I’m fine. We’ll be fine. But I’ll call you if I have to,” she says, burrowing into Jonas’ arms.

  *****

  “Quiet,” Boss’ voice echoes around the room. “We’ve got shit to discuss and not a lot of time to do it.”

  This is the first church meeting we’ve had since what the clubs’ taken to calling ‘The Incident.' Cash has been at the hospital 24/7 watching over Kennedy and looking out for her son, Talon, I’ve been lost in my head until a few hours ago, and Jump’s been shadowing his brother almost as if he’s waiting for something to happen.

  Everyone else has been either helping, Emily who is still grieving Diesel’s death and Angie, pitching in with cooking, cleaning, yard work, and whatever else might lighten their loads. Not to mention, in the middle of all the chaos, Fury and I still had a job to do. One that we carried out successfully three nights ago.

  Our intel was correct, Worm and Ripper weren’t hard to find. A little after eight they parked their bikes outside Mike’s, a local watering hole not far from the Hells Rider clubhouse, went inside, and didn’t come back out until a little after one a.m.

  Fury and I followed them as far as the bars’ parking lot, waiting in the shadows for them to leave and head home. We split up when they got back on their bikes barely able to stay upright; Fury trailing Ripper, and I followed Worm.

  It was a strategic decision. Fury’ bulk, power, and skills that have been honed over the years in boxing gyms, but I’m a scrapper. I learned to fight on the harsh streets of L.A. in some of the least desirable neighborhoods. My skills weren’t learned for fun or sport, they developed out of necessity because I wanted to survive past my twenty-first birthday.

  Ripper is, or I should say was, Hells Riders Enforcer. Huge, mean, and entirely too cocky for his own good. During every interacting Vengeance had with him in the past, what he failed to understand was that just because you have the advantage of size doesn’t mean you’ve won the fight. His two hundred and eighty pounds of bulk is equivalent to, maybe, two hundred pounds of muscle, so not only was he outmatched if something went wrong and Fury had to take him down physically, but Ripper was outclassed too.

  I’ve watched Fury in the ring; he’s fast, calculated, and lethal. Knight trained him personally up until he took time off to care for Lena after she came home. And that’s saying something because Knight’s fight record, even six years after he announced his retirement from boxing, is yet to have a contender come close enough to beating.

  Worm’s a different kind of man altogether. He doesn’t have the size or height of his Enforcer, but instead he has something a whole lot more dangerous; a brain.

  Cunning, merciless, without even a hint of a conscience, Worm is by far the sickest, most twisted fucker I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. I’ve done some seriously fucked up things in my time as an SAA, both her with Vengeance and the years I spent with Black Widows, but I’ve got nothing on Worm.

  Accused of multiple counts of homicide, rape, domestic violence against his wife and two teenage daughters, and a suspect in the spate of disappearances involving teenage girls a few years back, those are only some of the heinous acts Worm has played a role in.

  Picking the lock on the backdoor of the house Worm shares with his wife Diane and his girls, Kayla and Shay, I slide through and scan the kitchen quickly. Satisfied it’s clear, I toe off my boots and make my way down the hall off the kitchen-dining room to the right.

  I called Nix earlier today, telling him to organize for Diane and the kids to be out of the house tonight and not to come back until late tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. Prospects will come in and do clean up after we arrange for the bodies to be removed, but that shit takes time, and the last thing any of us want is a woman or children walking into a massacre.

  The door to his bedroom creaks as I push it open, not that it matters, though. Worm is passed out cold, laying spread eagle on his stomach snoring loudly. I pull the armchair in the corner up to the foot of the bed and take a seat. Sliding my Beretta out of my shoulder holster, I pull back the slide, checking the chamber, and remove the clip ensuring it’s fully loaded.

  Kicking the bed hard enough to rouse him, I grin at the look that passes across Worm’s face before he has a chance to shut it down. The man is scared, good.

  “So, I thought we’d have ourselves a friendly chat,” I say drolly.

  Worm sits up, his legs hanging over the side of the bed, glaring at me.

  “Not a friendly chat when someone’s holding a gun, motherfucker.”

  “You’re not dead, yet,” I return. “So I’d say that’s pretty damn friendly of me, wouldn’t you?”

  “If you’re here to take me out, you best think again asshole because if anything happens to me, Ripper has instructions to pay your women a friendly visit of his own,” Worm sneers, believing he has to upper hand.

  “There’s just one small problem with that, and I’m not referring to you being fucking dumb enough to threaten my woman,” I smirk, transferring my gun from hand to hand. Looking down at my watch, I tell him, “See, right about now, your buddy should be getting his own visit from one of my brothers, so the way I see it, you’re shit out of luck, Worm.”

  His jaw snaps shut and he clenches his fists in the blankets at his side. No doubt he’s pissed, but he knows exactly why I’m here and how this is going to end so he doesn’t bother arguing with me. He won’t beg, plead, negotiate, or try to convince me otherwise either.

  “I don’t need you to admit what you and Ripper did, we already know. Just answer me one thing,” I growl, leaning forward. “Was Diesel’s life worth yours and Ripper’s?”

  “Fuck, yes,” he spits without hesitation.

  Here’s the thing about knowing you’re about to meet your maker. People tend to be brutally honest in the face of certain death. I’ve had men on my table who have spilled their guts – figuratively and literally – providing information we didn’t need or know existed in order to negotiate a less painful end to their lives. I’ve faced down other MC members, both of us with guns drawn, and when they eventually cracked and backed down, they’ve begged for mercy while sharing the secrets of their inner sanctum.

  And by the sounds of it, Worm is going to be no different.

  “Warned him plenty of times if he didn’t back off and leave Cami alone I’d end him, and every time he laughed in my fucking face. I couldn’t let that stand; no one fucking disrespects me and gets away with it,” he snarls, his face turning beet red.

  “Let’s forget the fact you’re married with kids, and we can circle back to that,” I put in.

  “Fuck my wife. The stupid bitch isn’t worth the paper our marriage certificate is printed on. If it weren't for her getting knocked up with brat number one, I never would have put a fucking ring on it.”

  Jesus, this guy is a piece of shit.

  “Pathetic,” I grunt, shaking my head. “Regardless of the shit you’ve done to her and your girls, they’re still here even though they deserve far better than a fucking loser like you.”

  “Yeah?” He snaps. “You’ve got no idea what it’s like to have your life ruined by a
bitch and a couple of parasites like them. Always wanting me to check in, be home for dinner, fix shit around the house, I couldn’t have a life without them interfering.”

  “And you could with Cami?” I prompt.

  On a roll, Worm talks and I listen.

  “Cami’s not like them; she fucking beautiful, smart, independent, and understands the club. I was her first, and if it wasn’t for Diesel, I would have been her last too. You brother took her from me, and when he had the chance to do the right thing and give her back, he was a selfish fuck and kept her for himself.”

  “Cami isn’t a possession, fuckhead. She’s a woman with feelings and the ability to make her own choices.”

  “She was fucking mine,” he roars.

  Yeah, I’ve heard enough. As we thought, Diesel’s senseless murder came down to one thing and one thing alone; Worm’s deluded, sick obsession with Cami.

  “I’d say I’m sorry I have to do this, but I’m fucking not. If I had time, I’d string you up and make you suffer, but lucky for you, this is going to be quick and clean.”

  Pulling the trigger, I fire twice; a double tap, execution style, two bullets entering in quick succession right between his eyes. Dialing Fury’s number, I state,

  “It’s done.”

  “Yeah, brother, me too. I’ll call in the boys for relocation and catch you back at the clubhouse.”

  Glancing over at Worm’s lifeless corpse, I can’t help the feeling of relief that washes over me. Relief for his wife and daughters. Relief for all the other women who may have fallen victim to his brand of violence. And relief that there’s one less oxygen stealing bastard free to walk the Earth.

  *****

  “We’ve got three items on the agenda, so this shouldn’t take long,” Boss declares. “Gage and Fury took care of what we voted on last week, meaning Worm and Ripper are no longer with us,” he tells them, grunts of acknowledgment ringing out around the table.

  We all know what’s coming next. Worm and Ripper’s deaths mean it’s time to vote in a new Vice President. Sarge breaks the loaded silence by putting forward his candidate.

  “Not gonna beat around the bush, Diesel’s gone and the club can’t run without a VP forever. I miss him just the same as you all do, he was like a son to me, but we can’t sit on this any longer. I nominate, Fury. The boy is smart, strong, diplomatic when he wants to be, and he’ll make a good VP for Vengeance under the right guidance.”

  Gunner, our newest full-patch pipes up asking,

  “Shouldn’t Gage be Diesel’s successor? I thought that’s how these things worked; the SAA moves up first.”

  “Not always, kid,” Sarge replies. “Gage is good where he is; he’s not interested in taking on more responsibility than we already lump on him. Fury’s irreplaceable, but not his job as our Enforcer. Speaking of, if Fury moves up, I’m gonna nominate Jump to take over for him. Might as well vote on both, saves time.”

  “Fucking hell, old man. What do you need to save time for, it’s not like you’ve got anywhere else to be?” Boss chuckles.

  “There’s whiskey to drink and women to fuck, son, both of which are better uses of my time than sitting in here with you lot,” he returns, grinning at the disgusted expression on Boss’ face.

  “New rule,” Boss barks. “Sarge isn’t allowed to mention fucking while he’s seeing Emily. She’s the only mother I’ve ever known, old man, so from here on out, keep your sex life to yourself, yeah?”

  Scoffing at him, Sarge says,

  “Whatever helps you sleep at night, boy.”

  “Great. Fantastic. Moving on then. The old man is right, no sense in putting it off, so are there any other nominations for either role aside from Fury for VP and Jump for Enforcer?” All of us shake our heads, to which Boss adds, “Okay. Any objections because if there aren’t it’s settled.”

  Not one sound is made. Everyone is deathly quiet, showing their support and agreement for two men who are more than worthy of their new positions. Finally, after a lengthy silence, Boss raises the gavel announcing,

  “It’s unanimous. Congratulations, boys. Before you leave the clubhouse tonight, drop your cuts off with Emily, she’ll have your new patches done by morning.”

  “Thanks, Prez. I’m honored, brothers,” Fury chokes out, raising his fist to pound his chest.

  However, Jump doesn’t look nearly as impressed to be named Vengeance’s new Enforcer.

  “Yeah, thanks guys,” he eventually mutters, keeping his head down and his eyes on his boots.

  “Last piece of business we’ve got to attend to is how we’re going to handle the situation with Jess,” Boss says reluctantly.

  This is the part of church I’ve been dreading. This is the discussion that is going to change, not only Jess’ life but her families too. Not to mention, I’ve got somewhere to be, and here isn’t it. As much as I want to the answers to all the questions I’ve spent the week beating myself up over, there’s someone waiting for me who deserves my undivided attention.

  Shocking all of us, Boss pronounces church done for today.

  “Jess isn’t going anywhere for a while, so we’ve got time. I don’t want to drag this out for Jonas or his family, but decisions like this need careful consideration, and none of us are in the right frame of mind at the moment. For now, though, Gage has something to celebrate so I say we let him get to that, and deal with this another day.”

  “Here, here,” Sarge seconds.

  “Okay,” Boss grins. “All of you get out. We’ll meet again in a few days to decide where we go from here.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  ~ Gage ~

  “Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it didn’t end like every episode of Games of Thrones.”

  – Cash’s advice for Gage

  Aislinn and I haven’t slept in the same bed since we woke up together the morning of ‘The Incident’. That was her decision, not mine. In fact, I was violently opposed to it, destroying half the furniture in my room in the clubhouse after finding out she’d moved her things out.

  Everything is fucked up. Jess’ obsession over me knew no bounds because even now, it’s still screwing with my life.

  What tipped the scales, turning Aislinn’s frustration with me into full blown anger was when I defended Jess to her one too many times. For the record, I know I’m a dumbass, which I’ve repeatedly proved in the last seven days. However, now I think about it, my choice to postpone our wedding until this was sorted out could have played a part in the fact that Aislinn’s now actively avoiding me, too.

  “Hey, rabid cockmuncher. Get back here, I want to talk to you,” Meg shouts from the opposite end of the hall.

  I’ve been stomping around the clubhouse for days, glaring at anyone who dares to try and speak or approach me. All of the women and most of my brothers have taken the none too subtle hint and left me alone, but no, not Meg. She’s been following me around for the last few hours just waiting for her chance to corner me and tear me a new asshole.

  Resigned to my fate, I swing my door open wide enough for her to enter and gesture her through.

  “Church is in a couple of hours, so make this quick. I’ve got shit to do before it starts,” I instruct, reclining against the wall.

  “Don’t worry, this won’t take long at all,” she assures me through gritted teeth. “I only have two questions for you, and then I’ll get out of your hair.”

  Motioning for her to continue, I rub my chest above where my heart lays beneath, and not for the first time ask myself how Aislinn and I got to this point. Everything was perfect between us; we’d moved into the house we bought together, we were planning our wedding, talking about honeymoon’s, kids, and our plans for the future.

  Now, Aislinn will barely look at me in passing, she doesn’t acknowledge me if I talk to her, won’t let me touch her, and has been absent from the clubhouse more often than she’s been present in the last two and a half days. To say I’m going out of my mind worrying abou
t her is a massive understatement. I’m completely fucking losing it, and if something doesn’t give soon, my fear is that this will be the end of us.

  Meg snaps her fingers to get my attention, narrowing her eyes at me when I turn back to face her.

  “My first question is a two-parter” she snaps, flicking up her forefinger. “And only yes or no answers are acceptable. Are you sorry you’ve been such an epic douche canoe lately and promise to pull your head out of your ass from here on out?”

  “Sorrier than you’ll ever know, and I’ll try,” I offer.

  Meg rolls her eyes in the same dramatic fashion as always, praying to an unseen Goddess for patience and the ability to curb her homicidal urges or something like that.

  “I said yes or no answers only. Sometimes I wonder if men can understand words that aren’t in some way connected with sex. Anyway,” she says, cutting herself off with a flourish of her hand. “I’ll take that as a yes and yes. Second question. Do you still plan on marrying my best friend?”