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

by Natasha Thomas

Be it anger that the man snuck out in the middle of the night, sadness because they didn’t get round two or the guy’s number, or humiliation seeing as they’ve never had a one-night fuckfest with a random before and didn’t get his name, there will be emotion. It’s inevitable. Like it or not, you can’t escape it.

  There are exceptions to every rule, however, and Zara is apparently one of them. I’m not sure if that’s because she’s trying to convince herself she’s different or if it’s actually true, but her track record with men leads me to believe maybe she is unlike the rest of us. Zara has had enough casual encounters with men she met once or twice before sleeping with them, none of which turned into relationships, to prove her point. But part of me thinks that’s only because the man she really wants, she can’t have.

  Speaking of Zara. My phone rings and I snatch it up off the coffee table, noticing that she’s finally called me back.

  “Jesus,” I hiss. “I was starting to think Knight killed you this time, instead of just firing you. Where the hell have you been, and why aren’t you answering my calls?”

  I’ve been trying to get in contact with Zara for a week now. Texts, calls, messages have all gone unreturned, and each of the three times I drove out to her brother’s house to see her, she wasn’t home. Mia told me Zara’s been busy with work, but I’m not buying it. Something’s up, and I want to know what it is.

  “Sorry. And just for the record, Knight hasn’t attempted to kill me this week because he’s not talking to me,” she replies.

  “Why isn’t he talking to you? What did you do this time?”

  “Holy shit, you sound exactly like, Locke. Who, for your information is on my shit list right now. But seriously, why does everyone always assume it’s me who did something wrong? It might be hard to believe, but I’m not a total bitch all the time, you know,” Zara snaps in response to my questions.

  This is true, I sigh. Zara isn’t a bitch, not even some of the time.

  “Okay then, I’ll rephrase it for you. What’s going on? And don’t feed me a line of bullshit about you being busy. Mia told me you’ve barely been home in eight days, Zara.”

  Zara snorts at my use of the word bullshit. Because for no reason in particular she finds it hilarious when I curse.

  “I think that’s a slight exaggeration of the facts,” she huffs. “I go home every day, have a shower, Mia and I go out for dinner or stay in and cook, and then we watch crappy reality shows Mia says are the bomb. They aren’t by the way. I don’t leave until Mia’s gone to bed, which may or may not happen to be around the time Locke gets home.”

  “Ah-ha,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “So, I suppose the better question is why are you avoiding your big brother?”

  “Because he’s the dickless wonders best friend,” Zara states as if I’m meant to understand what the hell she’s going on about.

  “Rewind a second. If you’re referring to who I think you are, he’s hardly dickless, honey. In fact, I’d have to say, he’s the furthest from dickless of any man I’ve ever had the privilege of discreetly ogling. Hate to tell you this, Zara, but that man is packing some serious equipment in his boxer briefs.”

  “Doesn’t wear them,” she mutters, almost so quietly I don’t catch it.

  “What was that? I couldn’t hear you properly,” I giggle.

  “You heard me, bitch. But I’ll repeat it for you since you find it so funny. He. Doesn’t. Wear. Any. As in, the man goes commando. And before you ask, no, I don’t play peeping Tom in my spare time. I accidentally walked in on him not long after I started working at the gym. He was pulling his jeans on, sans junk constrictors. So there you have it.”

  “Now I have to know. Does the promise of him match reality?” I ask, genuinely curious. I might be happily married to a man who’s far from lacking in the penis department, but I’m not dead.

  “This isn’t healthy, you know. You have a husband and a baby on the way, find a hobby that’s not comparing cocks for your own curiosity,” Zara scoffs but answers me anyway. “But if you must know, yes. He is definitely packing a tool capable of mass destruction.”

  Shaking my head at her imagery, I get us back on topic.

  “While I’m worried that when you finally fuck his brains out, you’ll be risking vaginal rejuvenation surgery, I’m ecstatic his package isn’t a tube sock or something. But that’s not the point,” I inform Zara over her muffled laughter. “You still haven’t told me why you’re avoiding your brother. At least, not in a way I understand.”

  “Because,” she huffs indignantly. “Locke is on my shit list for telling my boss where I was on Friday night.” Since today is Sunday, I count back the eight days and realize instantly what she’s referring to.

  Last Friday night, we had a girls night out at Glacier, Zara, and her brother’s favorite bar. Zara’s best friend Cooper owns it and has done for three years since he purchased it from the previous owner who was going out of business.

  Apparently, it doesn’t look anything like the outdated bar did before Cooper took over, though. He gutted it, had contractors come in and refurbish everything down to the restrooms, created VIP areas, and began having theme nights. When Cooper re-opened the doors four months later, Glacier became an overnight success.

  Last Friday night was burlesque night, which is why me, Avery, Beth, Blaine, Aislinn, and Mia ended up there in the first place. It sounded like it would be fun, which it was until a fight broke out and Zara was caught in the middle of it.

  None of us actually saw what happened, but one second Zara was talking to a nice looking guy on the dance floor, and the next, the same man was being escorted out by security. Zara refused to talk about it, and we didn’t push the issue. She was pissed off enough when she made her way back to our table that it was in all of our best interests to leave it alone until she cooled off.

  “Are you trying to tell me, Knight was there on Friday?” I prompt after Zara falls silent.

  “He wasn’t just there, he was the reason that guy went home with two black eyes and a broken nose,” she replies shortly.

  “Explain,” I order, and she does.

  “Locke told Knight we were at Glacier and that there were too many guys hanging around for him to keep an eye on me by himself.” I go to interrupt, but Zara keeps going, cutting me off. “He conveniently left out the part about Rhodes and Slade being there, and Cooper checking in on us all night. Why? I don’t know, but he did.”

  That’s something I’d like answered too. But I have a feeling I already know why, not that I’ll tell Zara right now.

  “So, Knight shows up, yells at me for being irresponsible, and then notices the guy I’m was talking to is there with a date. But not just any date, he was there with Knight’s ex-wife, Lena.”

  “Oh, shit,” I hiss, knowing that can’t be good. Knight and his wife only very recently divorced, and while Knight is devastated about it, clearly Lena is not.

  “Oh, shit is about the size of it,” Zara snorts. “Knight was so pissed off his wife, he still calls her that, was out with another man that he didn’t even notice I was standing behind the guy when he hit him. When he went down, the guy’s elbow connected with my cheekbone, so now I look like a case of domestic violence gone wrong, and I can’t go home because my brother would lose his shit.”

  And then it hits me; Zara is protecting Knight. She isn’t angry at him like I first thought, far from it. She’s actually worried about Locke kicking his ass when he sees what Knight inadvertently did.

  “You can’t avoid him forever, though,” I point out. “Locke is going to track you down eventually, and it’s only going to be worse for Knight when he does.”

  “Yeah, well Locke can kiss my ass. This is all his fault, so as far as I’m concerned, he can beat the shit out of himself and I’ll be perfectly happy to sit on the sidelines and watch.”

  Another question comes to mind, which has me asking,

  “What did Knight say when he saw your face?”

 
; “He hasn’t,” Zara doesn’t hesitate to reply.

  “Um, excuse me? You work for the man; how can he not have seen it?”

  “Because I took the week off. I go back tomorrow. The bruising has faded enough now that I can cover it with makeup, so it’s all G. Anyway, Knight’s so distracted by Lena these days that I could show up in his office naked, and he wouldn’t even notice I was there, much less check out my goody basket.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” I hedge. “I’ve seen the way he…”

  Zara cuts me off again before I can complete my thought by saying,

  “No, he doesn’t. And seriously, you need to stop saying stuff like that. What I told you was in confidence, and if I had known you were going to use it against me every time his name comes up, then I wouldn’t have said anything.”

  She has a point. I might not agree with Zara when she says Knight is immune to her, treating her like an annoying little sister, but that doesn’t mean I have the right to make her feel uncomfortable by stating otherwise.

  “You’re right, and I’m sorry,” I tell her sincerely. “I’ll drop it, but can you do me a favor, honey?”

  “Sure,” she mutters begrudgingly.

  “Talk to Locke; he’s worried about you. I wasn’t going to say anything but he’s been calling me for days, and if you don’t answer your phone soon, I think he’s going to launch a full-scale tactical search and rescue op.”

  Banging echoes through the phone and Zara sighs.

  “Too late, he’s found me. Talk to you later, Kenny. If I’m not handcuffed, gagged, and locked in big brother’s barn, that is.”

  Zara disconnects before I can say goodbye, leaving me to wonder whether Locke would actually go as far as to imprison his own sister. Unfortunately for her, I think the answer is absolutely.

  EPILOGUE

  ~ Cash ~

  “Whoever invented marriage is creepy as hell. It’s like, hey you, I love you so much I’m gonna get the government involved so you can never leave me.”

  – Pinterest

  Five years later…

  Talon had better get his ass home in the next five minutes or my wife is going to lose her fucking mind. Not just a little bit either. A full-blown, catastrophic bitch fit to end all bitch fits is going to occur, and no one will be safe from her wrath when that shit happens.

  While my wife is thinking up new and imaginative ways to kill her son, I was envisaging an entirely different end to the afternoon. One in which Kennedy is sprawled naked across our bed, screaming my name as I eat her pussy before we get to the main course where I slide my cock inside her cunt and fuck her until she can’t move.

  But that delicious thought doesn’t have time to develop because my wife is murderous.

  “I’m gonna kill him. I mean it this time. I’m going to kill my own son and then you’ll be forced to come and see me in prison after petitioning for conjugal visits,” Kennedy rages, pacing the floor of my study.

  Patting my lap, I try to calm her ass down by getting her to come and sit with me for a minute.

  “Come here, gorgeous. As soon as he gets here, he’ll explain, and we’ll sort it out. But until then, you need to relax,” I tell her, but she’s having none of it.

  My wife is too riled up to listen to reason right now, and rightly so. Talon has gone and got himself in a world of trouble, that I don’t think even I can get him out of.

  In short, my little brother is a nineteen-year-old manwhore. While usually, I couldn’t care less who he sticks his dick in as long as I don’t have to pick up the pieces of his body after the father of one of the girls he’s banging shoots his ass – this time is different.

  “Nope. No. Not a chance in hell,” Kennedy shakes her head. “You can’t distract me with sex this time, Cash. I’m going to tear his…”

  My wife’s newest rant is cut short when Talon bursts through the door, panting hard like he’s run a marathon instead of in from his car.

  “What? Where’s the fucking fire?” He snaps, obviously pissed off he’s been pulled out from whatever girl he was under.

  “You,” Kennedy shrieks, pinning him with what I have to admit is an utterly terrifying glare.

  On the odd – and I do mean odd, as in rare – occasion Kennedy gets like this, there’s nothing for it but to grit your teeth and bear it until she’s gotten it out of her system. Take the time our four-and-a-half-year-old, Caine decided it was unsafe for his mom to walk in heels after almost tripping over for example.

  Caine took it upon himself to solve the problem by using a hack saw to cut off every heel on every pair of shoes Kennedy owns, making a neat pile of his handy work beside our bedroom door for her to find. My son didn’t feel in the least bit sorry for what he’d done; as far as he was concerned, he was doing her a favor, not that my wife saw it that way.

  No, Kennedy lost her shit. She would never scream at Caine the way she’s about to let loose on Talon, but it was a close call If I hadn’t come home when I did, Caine may have been put up for auction to the highest bidder.

  Then there was the time our now three-year-old daughter, Paisley – who at the time was two – painted herself, the walls of her bedroom, our dog, Butch, and with much determination the carpet with liquid eyeliner, mascara, and the contents of approximately nine hundred glitter gel pens. That ended in a tirade worthy of record books.

  But neither of those occasions scratch the surface of how bad this is going to be if Talon doesn’t have a good explanation for what we were told this afternoon.

  My wife’s voice rises to eardrum shattering levels as she launches in on her oldest son without giving him the opportunity to defend himself. Not that the little shit deserves it. I could kick his ass myself, but I think this will be a hell of a lot more fun to watch.

  “I cannot believe you could be this irresponsible. What the fuck were you thinking? Do I need to have the talk with you again? Can you even remember it?” She screeches.

  Holding both his hands up in a placating gesture, Talon looks genuinely confused by his mom’s questions, which doesn’t bode well for him. If he doesn’t know what’s going on, then he doesn’t have a hope in hell of walking away from this unscathed. In more ways than one.

  “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Back it up a step. Why have you been crying? What’s wrong, mom?”

  Did I forget to mention that? If I did, I should have. Kennedy has the tendency to cry when she gets frustrated. As if it’s all too much for her and she has to release the emotions she’s bottling up somehow. Crying just happens to be her outlet, unfortunately.

  Truth be told, after being married to her for five years, and loving her for twenty, I still can’t handle her tears. They rip me apart inside, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it, but hold her and tell her everything will be okay.

  Kennedy jams her hands on her hips and cocks her head to the side, studying him. None of the anger has dissipated, but she at least she doesn’t look like she wants to rip his balls from his body anymore.

  “You want to know why I’ve been crying?” She snaps sarcastically. “Today I got an interesting phone call, Talon. A phone call from who I was under the mistaken impression was your girlfriend’s father.”

  “Oh, shit.” Talon breathes. His face is white as a sheet and sweat has started to break out across his forehead.

  “Oh, shit is right. Do you know how pissed he is you cheated on his little girl?” Talon nods his head, dropping his eyes to the floor but not fast enough that I don’t see the tears forming in them. “No, Talon. I don’t think you do,” Kennedy whispers angrily. “She’s heartbroken, Talon. Devastated. And I for one don’t understand it. I don’t understand how you can profess to love her, but at the same time, go behind her back and sleep with someone else.”

  Neither do I. This whole thing strikes me as uncharacteristic for Talon.

  Talon’s been dating Violet since they both turn seventeen. He spent months showing up at her house every Friday, Saturday,
and Sunday, asking her dad for permission to date his daughter before he finally gave in and agreed. I figured if the kid was so determined to get Violet’s old man’s approval, then Talon was more than serious about her.

  Considering, Talon had more experience with girls than the rest of the football team put together, him settling down with one girl, in particular, was almost as appealing to me as it was my wife. Especially since we know Violet and her family well. They’re decent people. More than that, they’re friends. Close friends.

  “Mom,” Talon’s voice breaks as his big body slides to the floor.

  Forgetting she’s angry at him, Kennedy rushes to him and drops to her knees beside him, hugging him tightly.

  “Talon, what happened? Why did you do this? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

  Talon’s throat works furiously, trying to take in a deep breath through his ragged, broken sobs. Right now, I don’t give a fuck what happened. The sound of my brother, the kid I think of as my son being emotionally torn apart is overwhelming.