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

by Selene Chardou

  We both knew that wasn’t good news.

  Mila, a gorgeous exotic brunette of mixed Ukrainian and American descent—both of the Norwegian-American and black American variety—was quite popular. I deduced it to her light olive complexion, dark auburn hair, and ice-blue eyes but who knew exactly what made certain women more popular with clients than the others?

  I knew Mila had a sob story.

  A father who had no idea she existed, raised in a small town in the Ukraine and the former wife of a computer engineer who’d been murdered by the Russians when they invaded the year previously, she had two children who were being taken care of by her mother in her homeland. Mika and Melina meant everything to her. She was willing to sell her body to make sure her children wouldn’t have to struggle the way she did now their father was deceased.

  Although Chantal mainly managed Saints and Slappers, she also did some bookkeeping for Heaven’s Saints when I was under the weather. It didn’t happen very often but my OB-GYN insisted I get more rest and try to stay off my feet as much as possible. My petite frame wasn’t meant for being pregnant with twins and Dr. Rivers constantly worried about everything.

  It was a couple of weeks after Thanksgiving and we were entering our busiest time of the year. I was almost five months along but my bump was pretty big and I was noticeably pregnant. Of course that was to be expected when one considered I wasn’t carrying just one child but two.

  Although Ronan said he didn’t want to know the sex, he backtracked and on our last visit to the doctor, inquired about whether I was carrying boys, girls or a combination of one each. It turned out we were expecting identical twins that happened to be boys.

  It was an odd phenomenon because twins ran on both his mother and his father’s side of the family but only fraternal, never identical. Dizzy had done a bit of digging after we had broken the news to the family and found out on his father’s side of the family—the Lennon side though he carried the Cox name—there was a set of identical twins.

  Unfortunately, due to the rudimentary care, his grandfather, who’d had an identical twin, lost him during childhood. The poor baby had died of SIDS—Sudden Infant Death Syndrome—reasons unknown. It was during one of the horrific famines that had befallen Ireland at the time so no one knew why the baby died and could only deduce it was probably due to lack of adequate nutrition.

  Although I’d sworn up and down I’d stay out of Saints’ club business, boredom and curiosity got the best of me. Once Ronan confessed he’d persuaded the guys to pay the girls so the place would be run like any other traditional whorehouse, I started working at Heaven’s Saints.

  Layla and I had grown close over the months though there was that niggling feeling in the back of my mind she and Ronan had fucked—albeit briefly and unsatisfactorily. Unfortunately, it didn’t matter. She still knew what my husband looked like naked though his body was nothing to be ashamed of and she was the first to make a joke after our honeymoon night.

  “Not for nothing but . . . can I say you are a very, very lucky woman indeed? Not too big, not average at all but just right. What are you? Goldilocks?” she’d said good-naturedly before I broke out into a full-on blush.

  “No, that would be you. Aren’t you and Kink workin’ out some personal issues?” I jested before I bumped her hip with my own.

  Her face slowly turned beet red. “I don’t wanna talk about it. It’s just . . . well, his wife and . . .”

  “Miranda’s been gone for months, Layla. He’s a man. Mine couldn’t stop his dick from wandering and I was only abducted for about a week. I couldn’t imagine what Kink’s gone through. He’s a man for God’s sake, and he still has needs. No one is judging you. His wife is deceased—as is your former fiancé. Neither of your spouses can suddenly appear and you’re adults. You can’t cling to the past forever,” I explained in an understanding tone.

  She embraced me suddenly. “Thanks and . . . truly, I’m sorry about what happened between Ronan and me. It was my fault. He didn’t even realize I was there once the lights went out. He called me your name and that just about killed whatever mood I was in. It was a poor attempt at affection and closeness on both our parts.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t even bother to be upset about that. It happened and what’s done is done. It’s in the past.”

  That conversation had taken place on Thanksgiving Day and now here we were, face-to-face, trying to figure out how to get out of the pickle Chantal had accidentally caused.

  “Does Kink know?” I questioned in a low voice.

  Her sky blue eyes looked away and she looked on the verge of crying as she stared back at me again. “No. He’d kill any bastard he thought had his hands on me. It’s what I know, Nomes. I know what men want and when a double booking occurs, they get upset. That puts the club at risk and it’s easier for me to sleep with them then to turn them away. My mom was a whore—I suppose it runs in the blood but . . . I’ll be damned if I don’t get paid for what I do.”

  I bit my lip. “You know he’s starting to bond with you. The kids love you—Chantal adores you. Do you want to keep putting your relationship on the line just so you can run a successful brothel?”

  Layla glanced at me with a candid look on her face. “I’m a Madame, Nomes. Everyone knows that a Madame occasionally has to service a client or two. It’s not like it isn’t an open secret. Kink knew what he was getting involved in when we hooked up. Am I gonna tell him? No. And I hope you won’t either.”

  I chuckled. “No, I’m not going to tell him. I have to run an errand and I will be right back, okay? It shouldn’t take more than an hour—max. When was this client double-booked?”

  “It’s a late afternoon appointment—”

  “I’ll be back by then. Maybe one of the other clients will cancel and then you won’t have to service this guy after all.”

  “Ha!” Layla exclaimed as she walked away. “Like that’s gonna happen. There hasn’t been a let up since we opened the doors and you really think a client’s gonna cancel when we have a six week wait list?”

  “Probably not but this is the season of miracles,” I sing-songed before I walked out of the large, ranch-style home.

  I left Heaven’s Saints and quickly climbed into the silver Ford Edge, which had been Ronan’s gift to me after we got married. He would have to be practical after all. He didn’t want to constantly worry about me and my Toyota Prius was no longer sustainable after I found out I was pregnant with twins. Not to mention it reminded me too much of my life before my abduction.

  The Sporty utility vehicle was the perfect size for me and with all the smart technology included, I loved driving it and had fallen in love with it.

  I hadn’t told Layla where I was going and that had been on purpose. If she’d known, it would have gotten back to Ronan somehow or another although I selfishly kept her secrets close to my chest.

  However, I couldn’t even get mad at her. The perfect blend of her innocent blonde looks—a la Blake Lively meets Jennifer Lawrence—and her bubbly yet serious personality canceled out any anger I could feel for her. She meant well and with me being pregnant, she was as protective over me as the rest of the club.

  It actually took less time than I thought it would before I reached the meeting place, a local Cheesecake Factory where the beautiful people of Summerlin hung out with ease. Although December and the weather being in sixties, a good looking couple sat in the outdoor seating area.

  The young woman enjoyed mulled wine and a crab cake appetizer while the guy enjoyed a lager with grilled pork chops, mashed potatoes and spinach.

  I joined them and sat down as the young woman pushed a cup of hot liquid toward my way. “I know you can’t drink so I took the liberty of getting you a cup of their Holiday hot apple cider. It’s got cinnamon in it.”

  I glanced at Mags and shook my head before I picked up the warm mug and sipped tentatively. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. It’s the least we can do.”
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br />   “I can’t believe I’m so nervous,” I began and cleared my voice again. For God’s sake, I used to be DEA and then bam!—I get pregnant and seem to lose half my brain cells.”

  “It’s simple, really. You called us because you obviously want someone eliminated. It’s not rocket science, Naomi,” Max replied as he cut into his pork chop and placed the piece he cut off into his mouth.

  “How much is it going to cost?” I questioned haltingly.

  Mags shrugged nonchalantly. “The answer to that question is if you have to ask then you probably can’t afford it.” She laughed out loud and I was surprised how light and airy it sounded. “For most people, it’s expensive but with you bein’ Ronan’s old lady, it’ll cost you a favor. Not now, of course, but eventually, Max and I will come back to you with something we will want you to convince your old man to do and he will make sure it gets done.”

  “Listen, I don’t know how much I agree with that. I mean, I don’t mind manipulating Ronan but I won’t do anything that goes against my own principles—”

  “To ease your mind . . . and your conscience, we merely want the club to accept more women. Does this go against your moral disposition?” Max interrupted out loud.

  I thought about what I wanted them to do and what they were asking of me. I didn’t even have to think about the situation. Of course it didn’t. Unfortunately, I’d grown jaded and shared the opinion of Ronan. The women were being paid for their services and they agreed beforehand. They weren’t kidnapped victims forced into selling themselves—these were women who volunteered and knew what they were doing. They knew they would have to serve men for an expected amount of time and for that service, they would get paid a certain amount of money.

  “No, I have no problems with that. We’re actually short handed and could use some more women,” I replied, thinking about Layla having to service a client because Chantal had double-booked and the club meant everything to her. It meant enough not to cause any waves and take care of the client herself.

  Mags smiled though it never reached her pale green eyes. “Then please tell us who this person is you want us to eliminate and it will be done.”

  I reached into my black Birkin bag—a wedding gift from Gisela and Kyra—and reached for the manila envelope. I placed it on the table and Max picked it up.

  “It’s everything you need to know—his vitals, stats and a recent photograph. He’s a government informant so I’m not sure if that makes a difference.”

  It was Max’s turn to laugh. “Fuck the government. Their loss is our gain and the difference is we don’t negotiate with drug lords, thieves and terrorists.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “So you can do it?”

  Mags nodded curtly. “Yes, we can. Fernando Navarro will be dead within a week. It will be loud and messy. We’ll make sure it’s on the evening news. Plausible deniability and all of that. If you were going to take him out, they would certainly think you’d do it quietly.”

  “Thank you.” I sipped my apple cider quickly. It’d gone warm and was perfectly drinkable. “You have no idea how much I have been dreading this moment but it has to happen. I can’t do it and I won’t allow Ronan to spend any time in prison for a crime like this. However . . . I can’t just let him get on with his life either. He hurt me in a way he will never know and he should have to pay with his life.”

  “We’re not here to judge you, Naomi.” Max smiled. “We’ve murdered people for less offensive acts than what he did to you.”

  “Besides, this one will be fun.” Mags grabbed my hands and squeezed. “I have been sexually violated but mine happened when I was fourteen. I know what you have gone through but unfortunately, I didn’t have the luxury to have anyone save me. I was forced to befriend and care for the people who attacked me. Consider yourself lucky.”

  I stood as our hands slipped apart. “Thank you.”

  “No worries—it’s our pleasure,” Max replied as I walked away.

  Ronan

  Ronan stood as the chapel meeting ended prematurely.

  Erik Kitaev was back in town and he made it seem like it was urgent so Hardy had dismissed all the men except for key members.

  As Chemist escorted Erik into the room where church was held, Ronan and Cricket looked at one another before they focused on Hardy again. Their president was pissed off, mostly because he hated for chapel to be interrupted for anything, and it was no surprise he could barely tolerate Erik.

  The young, cocky businessman annoyed him to no end.

  “What’s going on, Erik?” Hardy questioned without preamble as soon as all four men were seated around the table.

  “Is it possible for me to get a drink first?” Erik wondered out loud.

  Ronan stood and poured himself a helping of Bushmills before he poured the young Russian a generous amount of Belvedere vodka and handed it to him in a clean tumbler.

  Erik swallowed half of it before he set it down with shaky fingers. “Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice.”

  “Yeah, you only interrupted a weekly meeting where we were going to vote in your plan. All the men agree that we need more women. We severely underestimated the appetite for Eastern European pussy,” Hardy responded in a cool voice.

  “Yeah, about that.”

  “About what?” Cricket questioned rhetorically. “Is there a problem?”

  “No, not with the shipment. The wheels have already been set in motion and the ship has left Rotterdam. I’m having it arrive in San Diego though just because I think Long Beach might be compromised. And there’s been a change in plans. All the women have to come here to Nevada,” Erik explained hurriedly before he swallowed the rest of the vodka.

  “Hold up,” Ronan began, “we agreed to take another fifteen women. How many are we talking about?”

  Erik’s steel-gray eyes looked from him to Hardy and back again. “There are fifty women on the shipment. I have already spoken to Raymond and he can take thirty-five so you won’t have to take on any more than you have agreed to. The problem is that Southern California is no good anymore. Our plans there are completely blown.”

  “What’s going on?” Cricket asked after he lit a cigarette. “We can’t help you if you keep talkin’ in fuckin’ riddles. We need specifics.”

  “My Santa Monica house was blown up. Not my personal residence but where I kept the women. The cops are sniffin’ around but they won’t find anything. The place was known as a hostel . . . except to the right people who knew its true existence and used my services. I was extra careful because it was in L.A.”

  Erik paused and clasped his hands together. “I lost several high-profile clients along with all my girls. They are saying it was a gas leak but I know better. You can do a lot when you combine a gas leak with C-4 explosives.”

  Hardy’s crystal blue eyes grew hard. “What exactly are we talking about here? Are you telling me someone sabotaged your brothel on purpose?”

  Ronan closed his eyes as he squeezed the bridge of his nose. He had a feeling he knew who was fucking with their business and the thought made him nauseous to his stomach.

  All this time, they’d gotten so wrapped up in Aztecas Infierno, they’d forgotten when they were eliminated from the equation they still had enemies—powerful ones and only one man came to mind who would be this bold.

  “Dimitri Koslakov,” Ronan stated out loud before he realized the name had slipped out of his mouth.

  Erik glanced at him with frightened gray eyes. “How did you know?”

  “Who else would do something like that? Fernando and Carlito are out—they would have abducted the women and moved them to Mexico. They sure as hell wouldn’t have blown up a brothel full of freely usable women,” Hardy explained knowingly.

  “Fuck.” Ronan shook his head. “Just when we thought we had some room to breathe, we’re pulled right back into the shit again.”

  “No kidding, me son,” Hardy replied as he looked at his VP with determined eyes. “I’
ll call Dizzy and give him the not-so-good news. Looks like we’re going to war . . . again.”

  “Well, look on the bright side. At least we’ve got Abandonato and Jackson behind us,” Cricket offered as he exhaled cigarette smoke.

  “And me,” Erik continued. “Don’t think you’re going to war with that bastard without the help of my Bratva. He hit my family—he’s going to pay dearly and this time, he won’t walk away alive.”

  Ronan looked around the table and realized the Vegas charter had entered a whole new era.

  For the first time, they would be facing a war where they would be at the forefront, not Birch Tree.

  Although nerve-inducing, it gave Hardy and him a chance to prove themselves as possessing a capable charter. However at the same time, he was putting his family in jeopardy yet again and the thought of anything happening to Naomi or his children drove him insane with worry.

  Nothing would ever be okay and there was no way to perfectly guarantee her safety but he was willing to do whatever it took to make sure his family would be kept out of harm’s way.

  This was the life they’d chosen to accept as their own. They lived by the sword and died by the sword but unfortunately, when involved in a dirty business, it was impossible for hands, hearts, minds and bodies to stay clean.

  Ronan was ready and would fight for everything and everyone he loved.

  The club was their family—their brotherhood. Some two-bit Russian gangster, who would wish he was never born when they were through with him, was threatening their way of life.

  And their motto had always been if they were hit hard, they hit back even harder.

  No one fucked with the Lucifer’s Saints.

  Dimitri Koslakov was a dead man walking, and everyone around the table knew it.

  Especially Ronan.

  Even if he had to pull the trigger himself.

  The Rough Riders MC Series continues with

  Ride To Love