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

by Natasha Thomas

  Things were hard enough at home – Lena and I had already started having problems at this stage – without adding to it. And Lena learning I was helping out another woman would definitely have been adding to it.

  My wife was jealous. Always had been, always would be. Even now, divorced and barely speaking to each other, Lena takes every opportunity to try and stake her claim on me when she sees me with another woman. Not that I’m dating, the last time was a purely platonic lunch with Scarlet, Zara’s best friend, but that still didn’t stop my ex from showing her claws and her true colors.

  If you had told me Lena was a raving bitch nine months ago, there’s a good chance I would have made you swallow your teeth. But as I’ve learned about Lena through bits and pieces of information that have filtered their way to me, not everything is as it seems with her.

  “Hey, you listening to me?” Locke snaps.

  “No, but I am now,” I admit.

  “I was saying that Pax doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to keep the old girl running. It was Pop’s truck before Zara’s so it’s got to be forty, fifty years old. Pax has done what he can, but after last week,” he trails off.

  “After last week,” I prompt impatiently.

  “Shit,” he hisses. “Z made us promise not to tell you, so for fucks sake keep this to yourself would you.”

  Inclining my head for him to go on, I keep my mouth shut. My anger is reaching an all-time high, hearing that Zara is actually asking people to hide shit from me. Before I fucked up and propositioned her, we were friends. Losing her friendship and our daily banter was hard enough, but to learn she’s shutting me out of her life completely has got me dangerously close to snapping.

  “Her engine caught fire,” he rumbles, which has me inhaling sharply. Jesus, fuck. “Worse, Z was stuck in the truck because her locks jammed. I’ve been on her ass about getting Pax to fix them for months, but she never listens to me. Rhodes showed up about two minutes after she busted the drivers’ side window and crawled out.”

  My jaw clenches at the thought of Zara being trapped inside a burning vehicle. Fucking hell, she could have been seriously hurt and wouldn’t have told me.

  “Was she hurt?”

  “A few cuts and scrapes, but she was more worried about putting the fire out and saving the truck than herself,” he grunts, shaking his head. “She had it pretty much under control when Rhodes got back with a fire extinguisher he borrowed from Martin.”

  Martin is the owner of the gas station on the outskirts of town, which means Zara was headed somewhere. What I want to know is where?

  “Tell me the rest,” I demand.

  Eyeing me warily, Locke knows what I’m asking without me having to voice it. And regardless of his refusal to acknowledge it, he knows how I feel about his sister too.

  “She got offered a three-month contract. Some big-time MMA fighter needed a personal trainer and Zara came highly recommended, and he asked her to take the gig. Personally, man,” he stresses. “You know what that means, right? My baby sister is currently out at a secluded, secure location with a guy none of us have met, only him and his team for three months. Three fucking months, Knight.”

  My pulse starts beating erratically at Zara shacking up with a virtual stranger for a minute, let alone months. Shit, my heart races at the mere thought of her spending time with any guy that isn’t me.

  “Cooper’s pissed. I ran into him last night, and he told me Z ended things between them before she left.”

  “What the fuck do you mean, left?” I yell, not giving the first shit if anyone else can hear me or not. It’s not like they haven’t heard it all before anyway.

  To say things have been tense around the gym over the last month is a massive fucking understatement. I’ve been an asshole to everyone, with the exception of the kids I train and Zara. Where most of the guys have given me a wide berth, Alejandro has taken my girl not talking to me as an open invitation for him to fuck with me.

  Unfortunately for him, Alejandro made the mistake of putting his hand on Zara’s ass yesterday, leaving me no choice but to educate him as to what would happen if he did it again. Needless to say, he’ll think twice about touching what not his next time.

  “Her contract starts tomorrow; I thought she would have told you seeing as she won’t be here. Z said she’d keep on top of the paperwork while she’s gone, but I don’t see how since you two aren’t talking.” Pausing briefly, Locke gauges my reaction before saying, “About that.”

  “Not discussing it with you,” I snap, cutting him off. “You’ve had weeks to ask about it, and you didn’t.”

  “She’s my sister, Knight,” Locke growls. “Whether you believe it or not, I love the hell out of her, and if she’s hurting then so am I. Jesus, Rhodes and Slade are losing their shit over this, and Pax isn’t far behind them. None of us know what the hell is going on because both of you refuse to talk about it.”

  Neither of us sees it coming – we didn’t even hear the door open or someone walk in – but I sure as shit feel the fist crash into my jaw. That one Cooper gets for free. But if he tries it again, let’s just say I won’t be so forgiving.

  “What the fuck?” Locke growls menacingly. “Jesus, Cooper what’s your fucking damage?”

  “My damage? The only problem I’ve got is this asshole here,” he spits, gesturing to me.

  Standing to my full height, which is a good three inches taller than Cooper, I look him up and down like I’m dissecting a bug.

  If I were a chick, I’d have to concede that Cooper’s a good looking guy. Dark hair, blue eyes, it’s obvious he takes care of himself by the clothes he wears. He isn’t muscular like me or Locke but built the way a swimmer would be – lean without the bulk.

  Outweighing him by at least sixty pounds, Cooper doesn’t appear concerned that I could crush him. But that doesn’t surprise me; anger and adrenaline will do that to a man. Give them a false sense of bravado that is.

  Proving me right, Cooper snarls,

  “I’ve watched you. I’ve seen how you look at her when you think no one’s looking. And if you knew the first fucking thing about Zara, you would have known all you had to do was give her a sign you were into her and she would have been yours. But you didn’t. You sat back with your head up your ass, and now we’ve both lost her. She’s my best friend, motherfucker. She’s all I’ve got, and she left because of you, you selfish fuck.”

  “I’m not going to ask again,” Locke repeats from where he’s, for appearances sake, still calmly sitting in his chair. “What the fuck is going on, and why do you think Knight has anything to do with my sister taking a job?”

  “Are you that fucking blind that you haven’t been able to see what’s been going on right under your nose for years?” Cooper fires back venomously. “Your sister’s been in love with him since high school. All you have to do is look at her when they’re in the same room to see how she feels about him.”

  “You’re fucking crazy, Coop,” Locke denies, but not without sparing a sidelong glance at me first. “There’s nothing going on between Z and Knight. You’re imagining things, buddy. I get that you’re pissed she broke things off with you, but you had to know it wasn’t going to last.”

  “Bullshit. Things were fine between us, more than fine. Goddammit Locke, I asked your dad if I could marry her last month. I was just waiting for the right time to ask her,” Cooper confesses, finally garnering a reaction from Locke.

  “You did what?” My friend questions in a dangerously low tone of voice. Not giving him a chance to respond, he states, “Wasn’t it you I saw walking into a motel downtown with a woman I could have sworn was not my sister ten days ago?”

  Cooper’s brow furrows, but because he’s confused by Locke’s comment. The slimy fucker is trying to work out how to explain the fact that he’s been caught cheating on Zara. Jesus, he’s a piece of shit.

  “Don’t,” Locke warns. “Don’t fucking lie to me. I didn’t say anything to Z because I k
now what you two had wasn’t serious. You lie to me, then I’ll be forced to tell her it wasn’t the first, and I’m betting it won’t be the last time you fuck around behind her back.”

  “Locke, you don’t understand.”

  Quicker than Cooper can blink, Locke is out of his seat and across the room, pinning him against the wall with his hand wrapped around Cooper’s throat.

  “No, you don’t fucking understand, little man,” he growls ominously. “No matter what, Zara’s my sister. You are nothing but a pathetic sack of shit that’s been following her around sniffing for scraps. I heard what she said to you the other day, and she told me how you reacted to it. You’re more stupid than I thought if you actually believed you’d get away with putting your filthy hands on my sister and get away with it.”

  At his words, a red haze tints my vision. Everything dims until the only thing I can see clearly is the man in front of me. Locke has one chance to get out of the way or I’ll consider him collateral damage because I’m going to kill this motherfucker.

  “Move,” I bellow when I’m close enough to reach out and grab Cooper.

  Locke doesn’t mistake my fury for anything aside from what it is; deadly. Stepping asides, he cautions,

  “Careful, man. This is the type of guy who’ll have you charged with assault.”

  Schooling my expression, I give him a sharp nod to acknowledge I’ve heard him and then turn my focus back to Cooper.

  “You touched her?”

  He’s stupid enough to answer and when he does it’s to his detriment.

  “I didn’t mean to,” he stutters. “All I was trying to do was talk to her but she wouldn’t let me finish, so I grabbed her arm. That’s all. I promise.”

  “He mark her?” I ask Locke, not diverting my eyes from the asshole I’ve got in my grip.

  My hand is curled over his shoulder with my thumb digging into the pressure point an inch to the left from the center of his collarbone. Personally, I know how painful it is to be put in this hold. It’s not an easy one to get out of either. Years of training and sparring in multi-disciplines has taught me a thing or two, and pressure points are one of them.

  “Bruises on her upper arm,” Locke replies bluntly.

  My impassive mask slips, turning to rage in an instant. This asshole not only dared to touch Zara, but he hurt her and marked her too.

  “Is that where the black eye and scratches come from?”

  “Yea-yeah,” he mumbles.

  “Good, but not enough,” I grate out, jamming my thumb deep into the tender tissue making him scream.

  Bringing my knee up as Cooper begins his descent toward the floor it connects with his nose. Blood sprays in a wide arc at the same time I hear the tell-tale crunch of bone. With one swift kick to his jaw, Cooper is out cold. His breathing is slow and steady, signaling he’s still alive, which is more than he deserves.

  “Who’s the contract with?” I question, wiping the toe of my boot off on Cooper’s T-shirt.

  Locke studies me uneasily weary of where I’m going with this, but irrespective of his concern for my state of mind tells me what I need to know.

  “Brent Attwater.”

  Then for the first time in weeks, my face splits into a wide grin.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ~ Zara ~

  “If I get arrested for this do not call my dad first. Call a Priest because everyone deserves their last rites before their dad bails them out.”

  – Zara to Scarlet

  “Two more sets of ten, Brent then you can take a break,” I encourage with a smile.

  Of all the men I’ve had the pleasure of training, Brent is by far the easiest. He’s dedicated, works hard, and doesn’t complain, even when I push him to his limits. It’s a nice change from the guys I’m used to working with at the gym. Most of them are whiny little titty babies when it comes to pain, which only makes me appreciate Brent’s determination more.

  “Got it,” he grunts, lifting the bell weights with relative ease for a man who’s been at it since six this morning.

  Training outside at eleven o’clock in the morning at the start of August in Colorado is no joke. Standing in the sun not moving and I’m already sweating. Forget running circuits, ab curls, medicine ball squats, and lifting weights, that’s my idea of torture, but Brent doesn’t utter a word of complaint. Good for him because all I can say is better him than me.

  Counting down his last reps, I call time.

  “And…you’re done. Excellent work, Brent. Do those stretches I showed you to cool down and then you’re ready to go until this afternoon’s session,” I tell him, handing him a bottle of water from the cooler his assistant provided earlier.

  “Thanks,” he mumbles, swallowing half the bottle in one gulp.

  It’s hard to ignore the fact that Brent is an incredibly handsome man. But in saying that, he doesn’t do anything for me. I have my fair share of those at home, and I manage to keep my hands and other body parts to myself, Brent is no different. Not to mention, he’s a client, and I don’t mix business with pleasure. After all, that’s what got me here in the first place, isn’t it?

  Not thinking about Knight is impossible. Trust me, I’ve tried. Every single night for the last six days I’ve gone to bed with him being the last thing on my mind, and every morning I have woken up to thoughts of what he’s doing, where he is, and if he’s okay.

  I tell myself every day that today is the day I’ll make it more than an hour or two without remembering the sound of his voice, the feel of his hands on my skin, or the way he looked at me with such intensity it literally made me melt. And every day I fail. However, for interests’ sake, I beat my own record today. I made it a whole fifty-eight minutes before a particularly vivid vision of him popped into my head. Go me.

  “Zara, you with me?” Brent’s deep voice calls.

  “Huh, what?”

  Chuckling at my apparent confusion, Brent repeats himself making me feel like an asshole for not paying attention. He is, after all, paying me a very generous salary to essentially be at his beck and call for the next three months.

  “I said a buddy of mine is coming out later to spar with me. You good to help by playing referee for an hour or so?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I say distractedly.

  “Pete told me you know a fair bit about boxing, considering you worked for an ex-pro,” he prompts, curling his arm behind his back to stretch his triceps.

  “Yep,” I nod noncommittally.

  “I see you gazing off into the woods, babe. Go for a run. You’ve earned it,” Brent smiles, tipping his head to the running trails I’ve been eyeing since I arrived seven days ago.

  Learning about Brent’s habits, his diet, usual training regime, do’s and don’ts leading up to a match, and the weight class he’s expected to fight in has taken up all of my free time, which for the most part is a good thing. Keeping busy and my mind off Knight has given me perspective, and I have Brent to thank for that.

  Anyone who thinks MMA isn’t the real deal needs their head examined. It’s a serious sport with serious athletes. However, Brent is one of the rare few who competes at a level that earns him more money in one match than I’ll probably see in my lifetime. And he deserves every penny of it.

  Giving him a hesitant smile of my own, I ask,

  “Are you sure? I mean, I don’t mind hanging around if you think you’ll want to work some more after lunch.”

  “It’s all good, babe. I think I’m just gonna jump in the spa and take a nap after I eat, so have at it,” he confirms.

  “Okay,” I chirp happily, glad for the reprieve and to be able to have a few minutes alone to think.

  Changing into a pair of running shorts – that are probably classified as too short to be decent in the company of a guy I don’t know all that well – and a hot pink sports bra that just happens to match my hair perfectly, I set off on the trail starting closest to the chalet.

  I’m still not sure what to call this plac
e. Brent told me he rented the chalet and all the land surrounding it for four months while he got himself prepared for what will be the last fight of his career. The importance of this match is not only the payday he’ll get – which at fifteen million is nothing to sneeze at – but also being able to claim he’s the first man in the history of MMA to retire undefeated.

  According to Brent, there’s only one man who’s any real threat to his title and he retired years ago. As far as he’s concerned, it’s a sure thing on the proviso that he remains in top condition and good health, and that’s where I come in.

  Brent injured his ankle twelve months back when his competitor took him down to the mat with an illegal hold that tore one of the two main ligaments. Eight weeks of recovery followed by ten of physical therapy and the doctors deemed it as good as it was going to get, but I disagree.

  There is still some stiffness and inability to anterior flex the joint which can be improved on. Hence, why I’ve been working to tailor a plan that targets the major muscle groupings to add stability and strength around the joint instead of focusing on the injured area alone.