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

by Natasha Thomas

  In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman so confident within herself before. Yes, Avery, Aislinn, and Meg before she left, are feisty, take no shit women, but even they have moments of insecurity and self-depreciation which is perfectly normal. I’m yet to see anything of the sort from Emily. And maybe it’s her maturity, the length of time she’s spent living this lifestyle, or the being surrounded by strong supportive men that makes the difference, but regardless, I admire her for it whatever the reason.

  “This stays between you and me, young lady. I’ve lived this long without their assistance in my personal life, and I don’t intend for that to change now,” she warns, crossing her arms over her chest indignantly.

  Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I would say this is Emily’s version of pouting.

  “You have my word this goes no further than you and me,” I reassure her.

  And I mean it too. I wouldn’t dream of breaking her confidence, let alone involve a bunch of men she doesn’t know in her personal affairs. I know only too well what it feels like to be controlled and your life manipulated by those around me, and would never subject anyone to the same treatment.

  Pinching the bridge of her nose, Emily begrudgingly accepts my promise.

  “I didn’t mean for it to happen. After I lost my husband, Scott to a heart attack twenty-eight years ago, I told myself I wouldn’t get involved with another man ever again. He was half of my world, Diesel being the other half. We were happy, in love, and then one day I get a visit from the police telling me Scott was dead. No warning. No outward signs he was sick. Nothing. Just here one day healthy as an ox, and gone the next.”

  Tears pool in Emily’s eyes, but as quickly as they form, she blinks them away.

  “Diesel was only fourteen when Scott died. He loved his dad, looked up to him as most boys who had a dad in an MC would. Diesel would have joined the club either way, but he was so determined to prospect and earn his cut faster than most men do that his intensity frightened me sometimes. Sarge was the one who reined that in. He talked to him, gave him an outlet to channel his anger, and I couldn’t have been more appreciative.”

  I can understand that because I would be too. If God forbid, anything happened to me, knowing that Talon is taken care of is my biggest fear. It’s only been him and me for so long, which was the cause of extreme anxiety over where he’d go and to whom. But now, after seeing my son interact with Cash, Jump, and Gage as well, I truly believe he would have a family with them if it ever came to that.

  “Now, don’t go thinking anything started back then, it didn’t,” Emily snaps, wagging her finger at me.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I grin, watching as she runs her sweaty palms down the legs of her jeans. “Before you go on, what’s Sarge’s given name? I’ve always been curious, but I didn’t want to be too forward.”

  “Atlas. Atlas Cobb,” a deep voice laced with amusement answers from behind me. “My Ma was a nut, but my dad loved her too much to argue with her over my name. She wanted to travel, see the world, but being saddled with a baby at nineteen meant she wasn’t going anywhere, so Ma figured why not name me after her favorite book.”

  Wow. Just, um, wow. I’m not sure at this point whether I should tell him his name is unusual therefore I like it, or if I should question his mom’s sanity. It could go either way.

  His expression is soft when he looks at Emily, the love he feels for her shining in the depths of his dark brown eyes.

  “You telling her the story about how we got together, Emmy?” He asks, taking a seat beside her.

  “I was trying to, but you just had to waltz in here and distract me,” Emily mock chastises as Sarge drapes an arm around her shoulders, gently kissing the top of her head.

  It’s obvious to anyone that these two love each other. The way Sarge plays with the ends of Emily’s hair, his focus entirely on her as if she’s the only woman in the world. He’s riveted by her. Every word, every movement, Sarge tracks and responds in kind. That’s what I want. I want a love that powerful, beautiful, and intense. I want a man to look at me the way Sarge is looking at Emily now, with passion and devotion.

  One more kiss, this time to her temple, Sarge encourages,

  “Don’t let me stop you, Emmy. You go on and tell her how you couldn’t resist my charms.”

  Slapping his chest lightly, Emily chuckles.

  “Yeah, that’s what it was. It had nothing to do with you asking me on a date every day for five years or the flowers you had delivered every Friday for just as long. And it definitely had nothing to do with you breaking into my house and refusing to leave until I admitted I had feelings for you too, did it?”

  Sarge smirks at her and then looks in my direction to say,

  “End result is the same, beautiful. Your mine, and I’m not letting you go.”

  Rolling her eyes, Emily ignores his playful comments, choosing to wrap up the rest of her story instead.

  “We’ve been seeing each other for four years. I was always worried about how the boys would react, so I asked Atlas to keep it between us. They may be grown men, but they can act like children when they have temper tantrums, and no mother at my age wants to deal with that crap.”

  With a fierce scowl, Sarge shakes his head angrily.

  “Never known you to tell a half truth, Emmy, so don’t start now. We got married three years ago, Kennedy. The thing is, this one,” he states, gesturing to Emily, “is too fucking stubborn to listen to me when I tell her those boys will handle the news just fine.”

  “Well, I’d say, that’s a fucking interesting turn of events, isn’t it?” Boss’ husky rasp comes from the doorway.

  He’s reclined against the doorframe, legs crossed at the ankles, and his arms folded over his massive chest. Boss doesn’t look angry per say, more like pensive if I had to hazard a guess.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” Emily gushes.

  Trying to stand, Sarge pulls her back down and onto his lap, firmly wrapping his muscular arms around her waist anticipating her escape.

  “Sorry you had to find out this way, boy. I’ve been wanting to share for years, but you know what she’s like,” he rumbles, again indicating the squirming, angry woman on his lap.

  “Indeed, I do,” he replies with a hint of a grin forming. “Why’d you hide it, Em? You have to know all we want is for you to be happy. If it’s with this asshole, then great. If it were with someone else, that’d be okay too. What’s not okay is you keeping that shit from us, but especially me. Diesel’s not here, so it’s my job to make sure I look out for you. It would have been nice to know someone was already doing my job for me.”

  “It, I mean, it wasn’t…” her voice trails off as tears spring to her eyes.

  “Hush, Emmy,” Sarge soothes, rubbing tight circles on her back. “He gets it, and he’s not pissed at you, beautiful. Boss’ pissed at the situation, that’s all,” Sarge reassures her, sending Boss a scathing glare for making his wife cry.

  Raking his hands through his hair that’s a month past needing a cut, Boss lets out a hiss.

  “Jesus.” He steps closer going down to kneel in front of his surrogate mother, grumbling, “Your man’s right, I’m not pissed at you. Never have been, and never will be. I wish you would’ve told me, but we can’t change it, so let it go. I know now, so how about when we’ve sorted Jump out, we plan a long overdue party to celebrate my mom getting hitched?” He asks, quite obviously trying to placate her.

  Feeling like an interloper on their intimate family moment, I silently extracate myself and head out into the living room to sit with Cash and Jump. It might not be the best alternative, considering the tension in here is so thick I could cut it with a knife, but then again, tears make me uncomfortable when they aren’t my own, so maybe it is the better option.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ~ Cash ~

  “Nobody texts faster than a pissed off female.”

  – Truth

  Seven days of hell and I’m abo
ut ready to tear my fucking hair out, invest in ear plugs, and willingly go blind.

  If I thought I knew the first thing about helping my brother detox, what it entailed, how badly he’d suffer, what his body would go through, I was a fucking idiot. I didn’t have the first clue how fucking horrific this was going to be, and if it weren’t for Kennedy, I probably would have given up by now.

  When I bundled Jump into my truck and took him back to our place with Kennedy in tow, I felt lighter than I had in years. His secret was out, and the club hadn’t shunned either of us. They even knew a little about the shit I was forced to do in order to keep Jump safe and hadn’t batted an eye at it.

  A small part of me hopes my brothers will stay as open-minded when the entirety of my past comes out because eventually it will, but I’m not delusional. I’m fully aware there’s a good chance they won’t be as understanding.

  But I’m veering off course by worrying about that now, so let me refocus and run down the last seven days for you…

  Day one wasn’t the worst, not even close. If anything, my anxiety over Jump’s lack of reaction to finding out his stashes – because, yes there were multiple – were gone was concerning, to say the least.

  Kennedy told me that his behavior wasn’t uncommon, though. Apparently it takes up to eighteen hours before enough of the drugs work their way out of his system, at which time, we’d see a significant escalation in his anger and paranoia. And she wasn’t wrong.

  By hour twenty-one, my little brother was tearing his room apart, followed by the rest of the house as he went on a rampage searching for the drugs he thought he successfully squirreled away. It didn’t matter how many times Kennedy and I told him that shit was gone – all of it – Jump wouldn’t listen.

  He ripped up floorboards, smashed holes in walls, and destroyed furniture; pretty much fucked up the whole house in his fruitless search. It was as pathetic as it was heartbreaking. To see him like that, desperate and strung out, was almost more than I could handle. And honestly, if Kennedy hadn’t been beside me every step of the way, I probably would have given into his demands no matter how destructive his addiction is.

  “Where the fuck are they?” He yelled, ripping his hands through his hair.

  Shaking my head at him, I didn’t hesitate to tell him,

  “They’re gone. The guys have been through the place with a fine-tooth comb, the clubhouse, Pipes, your truck, and bike too. I flushed the lot, little brother.”

  Jump started pacing the length of the living room, no doubt looking for a way to escape – most probably intending to score off one of his local dealers – but I was firmly planted between him and the door. He wasn’t going anywhere whether he liked it or not.

  “Do you know how much that shit costs? You fucking flushed over two grand worth,” he rages, struggling to get control of his temper.

  I know he’s not going to be able to keep it in check for long, and I’m happy to accept whatever consequences he wants to throw my way for getting rid of them as long as he stays clean.

  “You need help. You’ve needed help for a long fucking time, Pat. I failed as your brother letting it get this bad, but I’m going to make that up to you. Hate me, yell, scream, throw shit, I don’t care. I can buy new stuff, fix holes in the walls, and listen to you tell me what a piece of shit I am all day if I have to. What I can’t replace is you, so do your worst.”

  Blinking a few times, Jump stares at me as if he’s seeing me for the first time. And I suppose he is, seeing as this is the first time he’s been drug-free in twelve years.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing because I don’t have a fucking clue how this is going to play out.”

  Yeah, you and me both, I mused at the time.

  *****

  Day two, Jump withdrawals reared their ugly head. He spent the day bent over the toilet throwing up, shivering, sweating, and begging for Kennedy or me to put him out of his misery. He didn’t eat, barely drank enough to keep himself hydrated, and alternated between crying and screaming.

  Day three dawned and was much of the same. He pleaded for something to take the edge off, and when that didn’t work Jump tried negotiating. It didn’t take long for him to realize we weren’t going to cave, which was when the yelling started again.

  Jump didn’t quiet down until the early hours of the morning on day four, and by then, Kennedy and I were dead on our feet. We fell into bed together fully clothed and passed out for a few hours until we woke to Jump’s agonizing screams.

  Kennedy didn’t fight me over staying in my room and sharing my bed. I told that I wanted her safe, and she accepted my explanation at face value which was a shock in and of itself, but not unappreciated.

  I wish I could tell you our relationship had progressed, but it hadn’t. We were both working around the clock to keep Jump out of the hospital or rehab, making sure he got enough to drink and didn’t do anything to hurt himself. There was no time for anything aside from a soft kiss that ended far too soon on occasion when we passed each other in the halls.

  The nights or I should say early mornings when we were in bed were the only chances I had to pull Kennedy into my arms and just hold her. I needed her touch as much as she needed mine. Not to mention, having her in my arms gave me the reassurance that I’m not alone, that I have someone beside me who’ll be with me every step of the way.

  I relished those times. Holding her, breathing in her sweet scents, running my hands down her back as she curled into my side meant everything to me. The connection between us deepened exponentially during the time we spent in bed together, and not in a physical way. Sex didn’t even factor into the equation in those first few days.

  That’s not to say, I was immune to Kennedy. I wasn’t, not by a long shot. My body still reacted to hers, painfully so, but I could easily ignore my cock’s demands for attention since there was so much more at stake here than the instant gratification I’d get from sinking inside of her.

  Day four and five, my brother slept a lot. So much so, I was constantly checking on him to make sure he was still breathing. He was so still, so silent that more than once I thought he was faking it so that he could sneak out as soon as my back was turned.

  I was wrong, though. Jump wasn’t pretending. His body was wrung out, exhausted, running on empty, but all our attempts to ply him with food and get him to drink more were met with soft snores or violent bouts of vomiting which left him drained and lifeless on the bathroom floor.

  Basic tasks like showering and dressing himself took too much coordination for Jump’s shaking hands, or required more energy than he had. I never imagined myself at thirty-two washing my thirty-year-old brother and dressing him while his eyes begged me for something he knew I couldn’t give him.

  I would have done almost anything to take away his pain when he looked at me like that, but the only thing that would erase his agony was the one thing he couldn’t have.

  My brothers have been great, bringing food and supplies, along with offers to help every day. I’ve turned them down, but just knowing they’re willing to step up is more than I could have asked for all things considered.

  I haven’t had much of an opportunity to sit down and consider how Jump’s confessions surrounding our history will affect us in the long term. But as far as I’m concerned, my brothers have already shown me where their loyalties lie with every phone call and visit.

  Being part of an MC, people take the brotherhood for granted. They think when you become a member you’re automatically invincible. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

  Every club is different, but the same basic concepts apply. You watch each other’s backs, protect you own, and leave your judgment at the door. Freedom, loyalty, and respect are the foundations of any MC, but sometimes it’s easier to preach the words than to live them.

  And that’s what I fear most; that my brothers albeit supportive now, will turn their backs on us when Jump makes it through his grueling detox. They say they get
it, that they understand having to do whatever it takes to survive. But the truth is, no one can know what it’s like to have lived the way we did. Not one fucking solitary soul can comprehend the shit I had to do to get us to this point, and I wouldn’t want them to.

  Don’t get me wrong, Jump and I won’t be stripped of our patches or forced to go nomad. My past and Jump’s addiction isn’t heinous enough to warrant that. However, there are worse fates than being abandoned by the only family you’ve had your entire adult life, like losing your family’s respect.

  The time is coming for a long overdue sit down with the boys, and not an informal one. This needs to be done in church with everyone present. But all of that is shit for me to worry about another day, though. I’ve got enough on my plate with Jump and spending what little time I have getting to know Kennedy better than to waste it making wild guesses about what’s to come.

  That said, we were up to day six and seven, so yesterday and today which have been by far and away the worst yet.