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

by Natasha Thomas

  At first, I thought, sure, no problem. I could get a second mortgage on dad’s house, a line of credit on the business, we’d be okay. But we weren’t. Dad had already tapped the gym, mortgaging the shit out of the building, and extending a twenty-thousand-dollar line of credit on the ongoing business. His house was mortgaged up to the hilt too. There was no money, and we were quickly running out of time in more ways than one.

  Dad was diagnosed with bowel cancer two weeks after I learned how truly fucked we were. Stage four, with no viable treatment options due to how advanced the big C’s was.

  That’s when Lena quit working. She stayed home to help care for him while I worked my ass off to try and save my family’s business and repay a debt I had no chance in hell of ever putting a dent in. It was tough. We were barely making ends meet, and Nate, my younger brother, was no fucking help. He was out of the country, and regardless of dad’s deteriorating condition, Nate didn’t plan on coming back anytime soon. Which in hindsight was a damn good thing, but we’ll get to that later.

  So, now you’ve got the background. Now you know the situation I found myself in. Up shit creek without a boat or a paddle. Now I can introduce you to my other life; the darker part of what I do for a living.

  Welcome to Dark Knights, where customer service is our top priority, and all the customers are serviced.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ~ Zara ~

  “IWTOYWIM! In other words; I will think of you while I masturbate. It’s less creepy if I give it an acronym, isn’t it?”

  – Zara’s logic

  Stomping through the house, I call out for Pop.

  “Where are you, old timer? I don’t have all night you know.”

  “Back here,” he shouts back. “And keep your shirt on. Locke called and told me Violet’s sick which means you don’t have anywhere to be, so what’s your rush?”

  I come to a stop in the doorway that leads to the sunporch and gape at the sight before me. It takes me a second to close my mouth and absorb what I’m seeing, but when I do, I prop a hand on my hip and ask,

  “What in the name of the baby Lord Jesus are you doing?”

  Pop has pulled up half the floorboards in the twenty by six room and is systematically working on the other half. Why? I don’t have the foggiest, but I intend to find out.

  “Do I need to call dad and have him commit you? Have you finally lost your marbles because I’m beginning to think so?”

  Sparing me a scathing look, Pop turns back to what he’s doing.

  “Don’t be such a smartass and come help. That’s why I told you to get over here in the first place. If I wanted a spectator, I would’ve called Paxton. He’s about as useful as a sack of potatoes, that boy.”

  And he does not lie.

  Paxton, my adorable twenty-year-old brother, is about as helpful as air-conditioning in the middle of the Sahara Desert. Don’t get me wrong, Pax isn’t a bad kid; he’s just irresponsible, a little crazy, and a self-professed manwhore more interested in dipping his wick than, well, pretty much everything else.

  “Ah, question for you,” I snort, narrowing my eyes on the loveable, possibly insane elderly man in front of me. “Is there a reason we’re destroying the house you built for Nan with your own two hands? Because if there is, I’d love to hear it.”

  Pop smirks, gesturing for me to get a move on before asking,

  “I ever do anything without a damn good reason darlin’?”

  “I suppose not,” I reply after giving it some thought.

  “Right. Well, stop lollygagging and get to it then. Start over there,” Pop says, pointing to the far corner. The one he hasn’t demolished as yet. “You work, I’ll talk.” Fair enough, I shrug. Anyway, who am I to question the man’s sanity? If he wants to redecorate so be it.

  I don’t have the first board lifted when he grumbles,

  “Hate getting old. I keep forgetting where I put shit, and look where that gets us. I could be sitting back watching the game with Jack right now, not tearing up a fucking sunporch I’ll only have to rebuild before your dad finds out.”

  “Here’s a thought,” I chime in. “We could not, and say we did. I won’t condone your irrational co-dependence with alcoholic beverages starting with the letter J, but I’m happy to watch the game with you. Who’s playing anyway?”

  I swear sometimes I have ADHD. I can be in the middle of a conversation and then it’s like; oh a butterfly, look there’s a leaf, wow that cloud looks like a dolphin, old MacDonald had a farm, sure, I’d love to go on a date. I shit you not.

  “Broncos versus Texans,” Pop tells me, very well acquainted with my wandering mind.

  “You suck. You know that, right? JJ Watt is not only slated to take out defensive player of the year the fourth time in a row, but I need me a little man candy in my life, and you are currently denying me that.”

  “Suck it up, buttercup. I’m recording it so we can fast forward through all those stupid fucking commercials,” he snaps, throwing another board on the growing pile.

  “You didn’t answer my question before,” I remind him. “Why are we playing two-man wrecking crew tonight?”

  “Because, I’m looking for something. Something I promised your Nan I’d give you when the time is right.”

  Memories of my Nan wash over me like a cool breeze on a summer night. Her baking cookies for my brothers and me, the sweet tea she’d bring us when we were helping Pop out in the paddocks, and the way she tucked me in at night never fail to bring tears to my eyes.

  I loved my Nan more than almost anyone. Besides my Dad and Pop, that is. She was sweet but had a backbone of steel. Nan was kind to everyone unless you fucked with her family, then you needed to watch your back because she was fiercely protective of us all. I’m a lot like her, or so my dad and Pop say.

  Having fallen silent, Pop glances at me and gives me a small, sad smile.

  “She’d be proud of you, darlin.’ My Catherine would have been proud of all her son’s kids, but especially you, Zara. She always told me you’d grow up to be the best of us. Strong, determined, never willing to back down; you’d fight for everyone worth fighting for. Which if you ask me, is too many damn people who don’t deserve it.”

  Hmm, that may be true, but what can I say? I have a thing for helping the underdog.

  “Did you know your Nan liked to play the markets? It was a hobby of hers. We didn’t have a lot of spare cash lying around, but what little we had, she invested. Made a killing when that Google stock came out too.”

  I should be shocked, and part of me is. The other part isn’t all that surprised, though. My Nan was a math teacher; numbers were her thing. Something I seem to have inherited from her.

  “My Catherine didn’t just invest in stocks, though, darlin,’” Pop adds. “She liked to help out local businesses too. Businesses like the one your boss opened up a while back.”

  Ah, say what?

  “Hate to tell you this, Pop, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. As far as I know, Knight only owns the gym, and after dad had helped him out a few months ago, it’s close to operating at what it used to before all the Lena shit happened.”

  Chuckling, Pop shakes his head and reaches down between two boards to pull out a black duffle bag. He thrusts it in my direction saying,

  “Everything you need to know is in here. Sit down and read it. All of it. I’m going to get us something to drink, and when I come back, we’ll talk.”

  Not bothering to wait for me to reply, Pop walks off, presumably to locate a bottle of something that he’s managed to successfully hide from my dad’s impromptu home searches.

  The duffle is heavy, so I have to drag it over to one of the two armchairs where I take a seat and unzip it. It contains three folders, seven rolls of twenty dollar bills, five rolls of fifties, and four rolls of hundreds. Jesus, what the hell is all this?

  Beyond curious now, I open the first folder and start to read. But the first folder isn’t where the pay dirt
is; it’s only old financial records. Bank statements, withdrawal slips, check stubs and the like. The second folder is where it starts to get interesting.

  Dark Knights, a business solely owned and operated by one, Knight Parker opened five years ago. My Nan supplied the initial cash injection Knight needed to get the business up and running, but it was long since paid off. Three years ago to be precise. There aren’t many details as to the nature of Knight’s secret business, not until I open the third folder and skim through it and the seventeen-page contract at the back.

  Shoving everything back into the duffle bag, I yell out,

  “Pop, I have to go. See you tomorrow.”

  Hauling ass through the house and out the front door before he can head me off at the pass, I heft the bag into the backseat of my truck and drive straight home. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. And hopefully, considering I broke just about every traffic law known to mankind, not directly to jail.

  Only after showering and dressing in my usual tank top and boy short panties that I wear to bed do I hazard to open the bag again. I still can’t believe what I’m seeing when I re-read everything, but there it is in black and white, signed, dated, and witnessed by an official.

  You are now looking at the not so proud forty-nine percent owner of a business I don’t want, Dark Knights.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ~ Knight ~

  “I have enough money to live comfortably for the rest of my life…but only if I die next Wednesday.”

  – Nate’s text to Knight

  Scanning the gym floor for Zara, I find her standing between Lucas, one of my personal trainers, and Alejandro, the fucker. He knows how I feel about him flirting with Zara. Especially since I’ve made it perfectly clear to him over the last few months that I won’t tolerate it. You would think after almost breaking his jaw during a sparring session he’d take a hint, but obviously not.

  I scratch another conversation with the douchebag on my to-do list and shout,

  “Zara, a minute?” With raised eyebrows and a defiant look in her eyes, Zara nods once indicating she’s coming, but instead, goes back to talking to dumb and dumber.

  Not impressed, I shout louder this time.

  “Now!”

  Watching her walk toward me is a mistake. The sway of her hips, her tits bouncing in the too small sports bra she’s wearing, and the hard-on inducing short shorts encasing her perfect ass is too enticing. It makes me think about all the things I’d like to do to her when I coax her out of the tiny scraps of fabric that cover what I want to get my hands on most.

  I have a second to settle behind my desk to hide the raging erection I have that’s tenting the front of my jeans before Zara storms in, slamming the door.

  “What?” She spits, glaring at me.

  It might make me a sick bastard, but the scowl on her beautiful face only makes me harder. Bringing with it thoughts of fucking her until the anger is replaced with a look of vulnerable femininity while she’s in the throes of one of the many orgasms I’d love to give her.

  “We need to talk,” I say, getting straight to the point. “You need to back off from Alejandro.”

  “Excuse me?” Zara snaps, crossing her arms over her chest, straining the material of her bra to the limits.

  “You hear me,” I fire back. “He’s a player, Zara. And with all the flirting going on, I think you’ve forgotten the no fraternization policy we have here.”

  If her eyes could shoot fire, they would have incinerated me by now.

  “I’m not sure what you’re getting at, so I think you should spell it out for me,” Zara prompts, perching on the edge of my desk furthest away from me.

  That doesn’t stop my hand from wanting to reach out and caress the silky, smooth skin of her tanned thigh, though. My fingers practically itch to touch all that bronzed flesh, inching higher until they skim across the fabric of her panties to see if she’s as wet as I am hard. The thing is, I know she is.

  Zara’s pulse is pounding, her chest is heaving, her pupils are dilated, and it’s not from anger. She’s aroused. Deep down, I’ve always known Zara has feelings for me, but until now I’d buried the knowledge along with the dirty fantasies I play out in the shower when I’m alone.

  Stroking my cock to the image of a seventeen-year-old Zara dressed up to go her prom isn’t something I’m proud of. But I’ll be damned if I can erase them, no matter how hard I’ve tried.

  She’s my best friends little sister. She manages my gym. Zara is my friend for fucks sake. She’s not a woman I should imagine bent over my desk with her shorts and panties around her ankles while I thrust into her from behind. And I definitely should envisage seeing my handprint on her ass as I pull her hair and manipulate her clit until she’s screaming my name in ecstasy. But I do.

  Zara is waiting for an answer, not patiently either. Every moment I waste, the angrier she gets, and I love it. I love seeing her riled up; her cheeks pink, fingers drumming against the surface of my desk, and the way she’s trying not to squirm under the intensity of my stare. There’s something about knowing I affect her like this that turns me the hell on.

  Putting her out of her misery, I lay it out for her.

  “Alejandro wants to fuck you, Zara. He doesn’t want to date you. He doesn’t want you to take him home to meet the family, and he’ll never introduce you to his. All he wants is to sink his cock into your tight little pussy, and when he’s done with you, he’ll be onto the next woman that’s naïve to drop her panties for him.”

  For a second I’m worried that I’ve gone too far, but then Zara surprises the hell out of me. Standing up, she walks over, not stopping until her knees are touching mine. Zara places her hands on the armrest of my chair, putting her tits in my direct line of sight, and dips her head so that her sweet, hot breath is blowing against the side of my neck.

  With one finger, Zara trails the length of my thigh, slowing when she reaches the prominent bulge of my cock. She doesn’t stop there, though. No, not this little vixen.

  Running the same finger up and down the length of my jeans-clad cock a few times, Zara pulls away so that she can position herself straddling my lap. The instant her hot pussy comes into contact with my erection, I automatically reach for her hips. But Zara sees the move coming, trapping my hands with hers and placing them firmly on the armrests,

  I want to grind against her. I want to thrust my cock up into her heat, even if we are both wearing clothes. I need to feel her shudder beneath my hands. But most of all, I want to make her come. Nothing could be sexier than this woman letting go completely, allowing me to take control of her pleasure.

  But before I can do any of those things, the woman on my lap locks eyes with me and smirks.

  “Do you like me like this, Knight? On your lap, my legs spread wide for you. I bet I know what you’d like more, though,” she murmurs in a husky sex-laden voice. “I think you would love it if I stripped for you. If I took off my clothes, teased you, and then rode your huge, thick cock.”

  When she rotates her hips so that her pussy is pressed up hard against my dick, I can’t help but groan,

  “Yeah. Fuck yes.”

  “Hmm,” she hums. “I thought you’d enjoy that. Should I take my clothes off now, or would you prefer I lock the door first?”

  At this point, I should have known something was wrong. Zara has never admitted she feels anything for me aside from friendship. But when a woman’s tits are brushing against your chest, her pussy is lined up with your cock, and it’s all you can do not to kiss her, as a man you tend to stop thinking altogether.

  “The door. Lock it,” I grunt.

  But Zara doesn’t move. She simply grinds herself against me again, letting out a small moan of her own, then kisses the base of my throat. A series of open-mouthed kisses, followed by long, dragging strokes of her tongue have me close to coming in my pants like a horny teenager. And if she doesn’t stop soon, that’s exactly what will happen.

&nb
sp; I’m so wound up, strung so tight that I feel like I’m going to snap any second, but I want to be inside her when I do. I want to pound into her and show her what it’s like to be fucked by a real man. A man who knows how to make a woman climax so hard her toes curl.

  However, none of that comes even close to happening, and neither do I at her next words.

  “You would know all about sinking your cock into a woman’s tight, wet pussy, wouldn’t you Knight? Especially the part where you get into her panties and move onto the next, right?”

  Removing her face from my neck, I look at her. As in, really look at her.

  “What the fuck are you talking about? If you think I’d just fuck you,” I don’t finish, though.

  Zara cuts me off by pressing her finger against my lips.

  “The way I see it, you and Alejandro aren’t all that different. Except for one little, teeny, tiny detail,” she states ominously. “Alejandro fucks for fun, but you get paid to do it. Women pay you to sleep with them. You escort them to events, galas, take them to restaurants, then you take them back to their place, your place, or a hotel for all I know, and fuck them until the time they’ve paid for runs out. Is that about right?”