Ride To Vengeance (A Rough Riders MC Novel #3): A Rough Riders MC Novel #3 (The Rough Riders MC Series)

by Selene Chardou

  “So, you’re givin’ us an opportunity to just walk away?” Cricket questioned incredulously. “Not to say that I would ’cause I’m not. I got an old lady I need to take care of and this deal sits fine with me. I got no qualms with it.”

  “Yes, you can walk away.” Hardy looked around the table before his eyes settled on Ronan’s again. “What’s it gonna be brother? I know you’ve had a tough few months and no one is gonna disrespect you for not wantin’ to go through with this shite but it’s business . . . pure and simple. You in or out?”

  Ronan didn’t even bother to hesitate before he nodded his head affirmatively. “I got an old lady and two kids on the way. We’re settled in Vegas and she ain’t ready to go no where. Neither am I. As the VP of this club, either I move up, stay where I am but I plan to ride or die here till the motherfuckin’ wheels come off, brother. I’m in.”

  He tuned Hardy out as he went around the table. It was full of “Yeas” and not a goddamn “Nay” in the joint. Everyone was too busy counting how much money they were going to make and how much easier it would be to make it on pussy rather than drugs.

  Ronan would be lying to himself if he didn’t count himself as one of the motherfuckers who was thinking the same way.

  The Saints had always been one tough club but they were about to come into their own—this time with the Vegas charter at the helm.

  Chapter Ten

  Naomi

  I sat outside on a lounger, facing the pool and caressed my growing stomach. With twins, I was showing so much quicker than if I were carrying a singleton. Lately, Ronan had been busy with “club business.” There was a time when I would have asked about what was going on but that time had come and gone.

  I was officially retired from the Drug Enforcement Agency with honors due to “traumatic injuries sustained while on duty.” That was what my ordeal with Fernando was considered. Rape, torture and exposure to God knows what kind of fertility drugs wasn’t enough. Instead, I was retired with a full pension yet I still didn’t know whose children were growing inside my belly. My fiancé’s or the monster that had humiliated me beyond all sense of understanding or full comprehension.

  I’d endured more than any human being should have had to live through yet if I’d been one of Michael Vick’s injured pit bulls, I would have been treated better. Instead, the same government I’d served time and again had thrown me to the wolves and basically told me to “suck it up.”

  I was far from being a wimp or someone of weak disposition.

  If the situation involved only me, I could deal with it and move the fuck on. I wasn’t looking for pity or sympathy. I wasn’t an attention whore and I hated what I continued to put Ronan through with my mood swings.

  The poor guy probably didn’t know whether he was coming or going. Hell, I couldn’t even blame my current situation on pregnancy hormones. I was an out of control, psycho bitch because PTSD was a monkey on my back I couldn’t shake no matter how hard I tried.

  I wasn’t suicidal but I might have been suffering from infanticide tendencies. I was ready to undergo an abortion at a moment’s notice to get rid of these monsters growing inside of me.

  My poor, fractured mind couldn’t deal with the consequences of them being Ronan’s. We’d tried forever and a day—and nothing. Then some sick bastard comes along, shoots me up with fertility drugs and rapes me repeatedly and—boom!—I’m pregnant with not one baby but twins?

  I wasn’t buying that explanation, not even for a second.

  These little bastards belonged to Fernando and I would be damned if I would grant him his wish.

  He was busy living high on the hog. Still in his gorgeous palace in Ensenada probably torturing a few Eastern European women brought to Mexico via human trafficking. Biding his time . . . waiting for the perfect opportunity until Ronan and I decided to let our guard down. Then he would strike.

  I wasn’t an idiot.

  He had powerful handlers in the Federal government. Someone was protecting him because he meant more out on the street than in any prison cell. He would never see the insides of Florence ADX except to visit his brother and even then, he had nothing to fear. They would never lock him up and he would get away with what he’d done to me.

  He’d escaped the attempted shooting and murdering of Hardy Cox, another Federal agent, with impunity. Someone powerful protected him with their lives, otherwise he would have gone down ages ago.

  For some reason, he wasn’t expendable and I desperately wanted to know why.

  Layla was in charge of taking care of me during the day but I let her do whatever she had to do and she let me get away with murder. I’d contacted Trey Lennon and he’d sent me all the information he was able to download illegally from the CIA’s computer. It’d almost caused his system to crash but he shrugged it off as we PM’d one another. He was willing to do whatever it took to help me find some semblance of peace of mind.

  “Granted, I haven’t looked at any of the info, Nomes,” he said as we spoke on the phone after I got tired of the incessant PM’ing.

  “Trey, you downloaded it and damn near got your computer fried. I thought you would be able to tell me something about what to expect in the file you sent me,” I replied as I looked over my shoulder.

  Layla was nowhere in sight so that was definitely a good thing.

  He sighed on the end of the line. “Listen, sometimes I do take a peak but this wasn’t a job for me. Babe, you’re Ronan’s old lady and my future sister-in-law. This wasn’t a gig—this is strictly between you and me. Hell, I’m not even gonna charge you ’cause of what you been through.”

  “Come on, don’t treat me special because I’m not,” I replied before I forced a laugh to follow. “As DEA, we know what to expect. We’re not stupid. I was U.S. Air Force before that. I’m not fuckin’ china, Trey.”

  “I never said you were but the job I did for you would cost you mega-bucks. As in, you got a spare fifty thousand around you can part with?” he questioned nonchalantly.

  I scoffed. “I do but it’s in a safe deposit box and I can’t leave home without an escort. Layla Burns would definitely tattle-tale if I went to the bank while she’s looking after me.”

  “Listen, all I can tell you is who ever the Feds have lookin’ after Fernando are ultra-classified. If they are an agent we deal with then they are so motherfuckin’ deep undercover then we don’t even know who they are.”

  “They aren’t that classified,” I retorted smartly. “Ronan said she spoke with his handler the day they came to rescue me. She called him, ‘Des.’ That’s all he could remember.”

  “Oh shit. Holy . . . shit!” Trey stopped talking but she could hear him hyperventilating on the other end. “Listen, I gotta go. Good luck and God speed.”

  “Wait!” I said in a frantic voice. “Do you know who this person is?”

  “Yeah, and if you weren’t so frazzled nowadays, you’d know who it is too. In fact, you’re about to find out. You can’t kill him or even threaten him. Maybe you can still get your much-wanted revenge though it won’t be against Fernando.”

  “Okay—”

  “Listen, I have to go! Take care and when you see the name, don’t freak.”

  The line went dead and I ended the call before I set my Samsung Note down. I refused to own the new Apple—although I’d always been an iPhone girl. After witnessing my abductor use it as a burner phone, just looking at the new devices made me sick to my stomach.

  My mind raced with the possibilities before I opened up my MacBook Pro and began to wade through all the information Trey had sent me.

  I knew exactly what I was looking for and there it was in black and white:

  Name: Fernando Etienne van der Waal-Navarro

  DOB: November 13, 1980

  Place of Birth: Ensenada, Baja California, Mexico

  Race: Caucasian (White European)

  Nationality: Mexican

  Aliases / Passports in Use (LEGAL): Juan Hernandez (Mexico), G
uillaume Rousseau (Belgium), Esteban Amador (Spain), Michael Andrelli (United States), Peter Finney (United Kingdom)

  Father: Ricardo Emilio Fernando Navarro [Birthplace: Gibraltar; Mother: Maria Carmelita Navarro / Father: Sean Finney]

  Mother: Amelie Boucher van der Waal [Birthplace: Bruges, Belgium; Mother: Danielle Boucher-van der Waal / Father: Johan van der Waal]

  Status: Double informant/agent for both Secret Intelligence Services and the Federal Bureau of Investigations

  American Handler [FBI]: Christian Kerrigan (formerly known as Tristan Lennon)

  British Handler [SIS]: Desmond Cox (formerly known as Desmond Patrick Lennon)

  I damn near fell off my chair.

  Shit on a stick and fall back in it. The people I trusted the most were directly responsible for my abductor and had been protecting him the whole time.

  How the fuck was I supposed to feel about this when there was nothing I could and little to stop the damage already done?

  I had no choice. A call to Dizzy was in order.

  “I have been waitin’ to hear from ya every since you got back from Mexico.” Dizzy’s voice was full of contrition though I couldn’t be sure he was sorry about everything that went down in Baja California.

  “You mean with your psycho agent?” I questioned, trying my best to keep my anger at bay. “I mean, it’s not completely your fault he flipped the fuck out and attacked me, is it? You didn’t order him to do that. You’re only one of two handlers he has to keep him under control. What the fuck is Tristan Lennon—sorry, Christian Kerrigan—doing when you’re doing your job may I ask?”

  “Darlin’, you’re expectin’ my grandchildren. You shouldn’t over exert yourself—”

  “No, we aren’t sure of that, Dizzy, because that maniac fucked me six ways to Sunday, injected me with fertility drugs and expects me to be pregnant with his babies!” I finally exclaimed with uncontained fury. “So, I’m sorry if I’m not supposed to lose my temper but I am fuckin’ pissed the fuck off. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t tell all of this sordid shit to Ronan. One. Reason.”

  The older man sighed out loud. “You think I’m a fuckin’ muppet? I wouldn’t dare expose me son to the same issues I dealt with when Bronaugh was raped by the IRA. I got your blood tests right here—taken a couple days before you were abducted. You weren’t ovulatin’ ’cause you were already pregnant.

  “Stop hatin’ me grandchildren and contemplatin’ abortion because you would be throwin’ away Coxes. Not one of those kids in your belly belongs to a fuckin’ Navarro. And if I hear of you wantin’ to kill me grandchildren again, I might he forced to make Ronan a widower. That what you want?”

  “No,” I whispered in a quiet voice. “I want fucking revenge against what that bastard did to me.”

  “Sorry but that can’t be done. He’s one of my best agents and I refuse to lose him. He knows about shite you can’t even begin to fathom because the DEA doesn’t know about it. Cartels that are forcing their drugs into the UK and the United States—human trafficking and other illegal operations that will all be granted access to all agencies via RICO. Eve is FBI—I’m SIS—whether I wanna be or not. I can’t even begin to apologize to you for what Fernando put you through but as far as the American and British government are concerned, the ends always justify the means.”

  “They do, don’t they? And trump everything else, even human decency and good will toward your fellow man . . . or woman,” I bit out. “Listen, I know I don’t have any clearance—what with me being a civilian and all—but I need to speak to Emilio.”

  Dizzy’s silence worried me as my heart thudded in my chest. “What makes you think Ronan is going to allow you to fly to Colorado on your own?”

  “Because you’re not going to tell him.” I licked my dry lips, creating a pregnant pause. “Do you know how badly your son wants Fernando dead? I do because I live with him. What Nando did to me—yeah, I’m fucked up behind it only because I thought he’d gotten me pregnant. Now you tell me this isn’t so, I can let go. I forgive him. I know that seems foolish of me but he was the first man I ever loved—the relationship that introduced me to womanhood and made me forget childish ways. For God’s sake, he broke my virginity.

  “You don’t understand—the Irish never do and neither do the Italians or the Russians—but we Mexicans are capable of great vengeance . . . and the powerful ability to forgive. Perhaps we are more evolved than you or maybe it’s because we’ve lost so much. Our land, our freedom, our language, our roots . . . they are beginning to blend with the gringos and we’re okay with that. In the end, we know we’ll have the numbers on our side.”

  Dizzy breathed deeply on the other end. “And you are all right with all of this? Despite Fernando not being Mexican—”

  “He is by birth—and he identifies with the culture. It makes no difference his parents are European by birth. He knows nothing about that continent, not really. He only carries the passports by accidental ethnicity—nothing else. Believe me when I tell you Nando is Mexican through and through. He would live and die for that land, the culture . . . and the people.”

  “Including you?” Dizzy teased out loud. “Don’t think his . . . fondness for you has escaped me. He’s still very much in love with you—”

  “I said I forgave him. I don’t want anything to do with him and I never want to see him again or I will blow his fucking head off and face the consequences, Desmond.” I counted to three and calmed myself down. “I really need to see Emilio. Not for revenge or anything like that. I have to know . . .”

  “Know what?”

  “If Fernando truly has sold him out . . . and turned his back on him,” I finally replied.

  The day I walked into Florence ADX—also known as Supermax—was a moment in my life I wouldn’t easily forget. The security alone was enough to give one a permanent migraine. I was scanned at least half a dozen times before I even made it to a private room where I would meet Prisoner number A1341.

  The letter was for the danger level and the number meant nothing since ADX didn’t hold a high number of prisoners. Emilio was considered a drug lord and head of a cartel therefore he was one of their least worst felons. They had much worse—including terrorists who’d directly been involved with nine-eleven. A cartel leader was bad but not considered a threat to society in the scheme of the situation.

  Ironically, Jonesy Hughes was also being held at the same prison but I wasn’t privy to his information or what number he’d been given.

  The former leader of the Demon’s Bastards—now run by his son who’d taken over as National president. Although he would be in less than a year, he was considered more of a flight risk than Emilio Navarro. I didn’t know all the details except he’d made a deal in his case to greatly reduce his sentence.

  Emilio Navarro—once in charge of the most notorious cartels in Mexico—looked strangely normal and sophisticated though he wore his orange jumpsuit and was shackled around the waist and ankles. He was placed across from me as we sat at a metal table and we quietly assessed one another—not talking, only staring.

  Of average height, he stood at five feet, ten inches, a good half foot shorter than his brother. His skin, lightly olive toned and he possessed even less Spanish features than Fernando though his complexion gave away what was only a quarter of his ancestry.

  It’d surprised me to find out his father had been the product of a rape between a Spanish woman and a British soldier of Irish origin. I could only deduce the gentleman had been “black Irish”—dark hair, dark eyes and pale skin—though it was obvious Emilio had inherited his father’s complexion while maintaining his mother’s Belgian looks.

  For a long time, neither of us spoke.

  To be honest, I didn’t know what to say to him or how to approach our conversation. None of this was his fault. I could hardly blame him for what Fernando had done to me when his brother’s sexual predilections had always been a sore spot in their relationship.

  Emil
io considered him a deviant and always hoped Carlito would run the family business one day. Whether or not his prophecy would actually become a reality was anyone’s guess. From what I’d heard along the grapevine, Carlito had secured Federal protection from the U.S. government and was now an informant with a handler, similar to his uncle.

  “Naomi, I can only say how sorry I am about what you’ve been through,” Emilio finally greeted in a quiet voice. “I am able to keep up with what’s going on outside and what Fernando did to you . . . he should be quartered, shot and his body parts fed to a pack of wild boars.”

  His words actually brought a smile to my face. “Fernando is what he is. I didn’t come here to talk about what he did to me. I’ve rehashed that story so many times in therapy, I’m sick of talking about it. What I really want to know is why won’t you turn State’s evidence to lessen your sentence? Your son and brother already have. If it’s because of loyalty to your soldados, don’t let that deter you. Everyone else is more interested in saving their own skin than the cartel.”

  “Yes, I know,” he replied. “But even if I do become what you think would benefit me, Carlito and Fernando have already told the government what they wanted to hear. This was my operation, my planning and my doing. They were only following orders.”

  “Bullshit!” I exclaimed. “Carlito was selling cocaine to the White Knights MC on the side. How could that have been on your orders when he purposely avoided using the cartel’s name? Are you willing to die for a bunch of thieves and liars with no honor or code? Do you think it is noble, rotting away in here while those two assholes get away with murder?”

  Emilio smiled wryly. “Not especially but I’m no saint either. I’ve ordered the deaths of men, women and children; ran a ruthless cartel that cared about nothing but money. I am the man with no code or honor. This,” he said as he gestured around with his head, “is where I belong. I should spend the rest of my natural-born life.