Retaliation: A Twisted Mayhem MC Novel

by Cat Mason

  Pushing her plate away, Shy stands to her feet. “I need to get the kitchen cleaned up.”

  “Shy,” I start, looking up at her.

  She shakes her head. “I need to stay busy. It keeps me from breaking down. I’ll see you later, okay?” Picking up her plate, she heads around the bar, disappearing into the kitchen.

  “Sorry,” Henley says sincerely. “I tend to tell it like it is. My ex-husband got my filter and all my give a damn in the divorce settlement,” she snorts, sarcastically and rolls her eyes. “Along with the house, my sixty-nine Chevelle, and the last of my sanity.”

  “No worries,” I laugh, cutting into my pancakes. “You pretty much have to check your sanity at the door here anyway.” Taking a bite of my food, I shrug my shoulders. “And filters are casualties of war.”

  Looking around the room, she nods thoughtfully. “I don’t doubt it.”

  While we eat, Henley gives me all the details about playing doctor to Colt and Schrader. Along with some juicy tidbits that I wish I could erase from my brain. It turns out that the only way to subdue the Twisted Mayhem’s V.P. is to mount him like a rodeo steer. She has also bet her nursing degree that underneath all that beard is the jawline of a Greek God.

  The idea of Henley climbing Colt like a tree to attack his face with a beard trimmer is hilariously ridiculous. But I have no doubt that, if given the chance, she would shear him like a damn sheep to prove her point.

  By the time Jensen and the others step out of the Chapel, I have managed to finish half my plate. “You still wanna do this?” he asks, swiping the last piece of bacon from my plate.

  “Yes,” I answer without hesitation and stand to my feet. “Are you going to renege on our deal?”

  “No.” His brow furrows. “Though, I’m not gonna say I wasn’t hoping you’d change your mind.” I arch a brow at him. Yanking a hand through his hair, he sighs. “Let’s take a walk.”

  Taking my hand, Jensen leads me outside and across the lot. Passing the auto parts store, we round a large brick building with a steel roof. “Back there,” I say, gesturing back in the direction of the clubhouse. “You called a vote before bringing me here, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” he replies, instantly. “Only one vote against it.”

  I arch my brow. “Yours?” I ask, knowingly.

  “Mine,” he nods. Stopping outside a steel door, he releases my hand and turns to look at me. “Because I don’t want this shit bleeding onto you more than it has. I’m afraid of losing you to it.”

  “You don’t think I can handle it?”

  Shoving his hand into the front pocket of his jeans, he pulls out a set of keys. Sliding the key into the lock, he shakes his head. “The point is that you shouldn’t have to. I’m your man. Protectin’ you, dealin’ with motherfuckers who touch you, is supposed to fall on me. Nevertheless, I get you need this. I’m not about to deny you that closure. I’m also not gonna lie to you, baby. They’re both in pretty bad shape. Given the circumstances, we didn’t want to bring Henley in on this. Doc patched ‘em up some, but only enough to keep them alive until we can find out what they know.”

  “Okay.”

  “One more thing,” Jensen says calmly. Reaching out, he brushes his knuckles over my cheek. “Anger, hate, love, fear: emotions are a driving force in life, but you’ve gotta watch which ones you allow to run shit. Showing your vulnerabilities makes you weak in the moments when your strength will be all that you have to keep you grounded. If I see you being swallowed up by that shit, I’m takin’ you out of there. Even if that means I haul you over my shoulder kickin’ and screamin’.”

  Squaring my shoulders, I nod. “Okay, Jensen. I’m ready.”

  Turning the knob, he pushes open the door, but doesn’t step inside. His eyes stay locked on me, clearly waiting for me to make the first move. Swallowing my nerves, I step through the door, and attempt to mentally prepare myself.

  Both Hank and Richard are blindfolded and gagged, their bodies bound to a couple metal folding chairs. At the sound of us entering the room, they both begin to flinch and struggle against the coarse looking rope, their words muffled by black cloth gags.

  “Mornin’, boys,” Jensen says, coming up beside me. “Hate to break up your little reunion, but you’ve got a visitor.” Placing a hand at my back, he leans down and presses his lips to my temple. “They’re all yours, Duchess.”

  My hands shake at my sides as I walk across the concrete floor, heading straight for Richard. Just as Jensen said they would, a mixture of emotions begins running through me. I start to second guess myself and my decision to come here. Not because I am afraid of them. I am more concerned with what I will do, now that I am here standing just inches from them. Sadness, guilt, anger, even fear, all flow through me, fueling the blistering rage I feel humming beneath my skin.

  I sure as hell don’t feel weak.

  Ripping the blindfold off his face, I toss it to the floor. He blinks several times, attempting to adjust to the light of the room. The moment he focuses on me, his eyes widen. “Guess you weren’t expecting to see me again, were you, Richard?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

  He mumbles something, but I can’t understand what he’s saying. He thrashes in the chair, causing the legs to screech and scrape on the concrete as he fights to get free. Yanking the cloth from his mouth, I drop it to join the blindfold. Fisting his hair, I yank hard, making him yelp. “I’m sorry,” he croaks.

  Releasing my hold on his hair, I slam my right fist into the side of his face. “Save your remorse for someone who gives a damn. An apology can’t fix what you’ve done,” I bite out, angrily. “It won’t change what you tried to do.” Shaking my head, I blow out a breath, refocusing my train of thought. “Ivy killed my father. Did you know that?”

  “No. I didn’t.” He bows his head, his breathing ragged. “Roanne, you have to know that I did everything in my power—”

  “Don’t you dare tell me you did anything to help him. You were too busy trying to make everyone else around me look guilty in the hopes that I would run to you to for safety, because you’ve got some insane fixation on me. You don’t even know me. But, I know you. I see the real you, crystal fucking clear, now.” Grabbing his face with both hands, I force him to meet my eyes. “You stood there and watched Troy murder your own mother in cold blood.” I shake my head, trying to force back the vision of Olivia’s body lying on the cold basement floor. “Then, you turned your gun on him. Not because you were avenging her death, but because those sick and twisted parts of you wanted that kill for yourself. That badge you carry doesn’t make you better than the club, or Ivy. It simply makes you better at hiding what a piece of shit you really are.”

  “They deserved so much more than they got.” His voice is cold, the expression on his face is unremorseful and dismissive. “At least I’ll die knowing my mother and your father are burning in hell together for the pain they’ve caused.”

  My pent-up emotions mix like volatile chemicals. I erupt like a volcano. Screaming at the top of my lungs, I kick him in the chest. The chair tips backwards, slamming to the ground. Richard’s head bounces off the concrete. Watching him heave and gasp for breath gives me a sadistic bit of satisfaction that I hadn’t expected.

  “Don’t kill him, Roanne,” Jensen says, pushing off the wall. Reaching inside his cut, he removes a small knife with a serrated blade. Holding it up, a smirk spreads across his face. “We need to see what they know. Besides, Wright’s missing out on the fun.” Moving toward Hank, he cuts the blindfold loose, but thankfully leaves the gag in place. I don’t want to hear a goddamn word he has to say. At least not yet. Opening his eyes, Hank stares at me in disbelief before looking down at Richard’s body tied to the overturned chair.

  Walking over, I kneel down beside him, gripping his face with my hand. “This isn’t you, Roanne,” Richard whimpers in pain. “You’re not a monster like him. You could never kill someone.”

  My eyes narrow, my teeth grinding to
gether almost to the point of pain. “Monsters aren’t born, Dick,” Jensen says, coming up behind me. “They’re created by a need to right a wrong. Roanne is no different. There’s only so much damage you can do before you wake the devil and he demands his pound of flesh for what you’ve done,” he shrugs, a wicked smile spreading across his face. “I know how you see me, what you think when you look at the club. The Mayhem patch makes me a gangster in your eyes. A criminal. What you don’t see is that I’m a man that demands justice be served. No matter the cost. I’m proud as hell that I’m not limited by the black and white legalities of that corrupt bullshit you call a justice system. The difference between you and me is a hell of a lot more than just a goddamn badge and Federal credentials.” Bending at the waist, Jensen points the tip of the blade in Richard’s face. “I’ve never killed someone who didn’t fucking deserve it.”

  “The difference between right and wrong is nothing but perception,” Richard fires back, spitting blood onto the floor. “And yours is skewed.”

  “Yeah, well…” Standing to my feet, I kick Richard in his injured hip. He screams in pain. “Whether you live or die in the next sixty seconds depends on how you answer this question.”

  “Where is Ivy?” Jensen growls before I can get the words out myself.

  Hank starts mumbling frantically through his gag. My eyes shoot between him and Richard, who shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

  I turn to Jensen. “Give me your gun.”

  His eyes widen. “What?”

  “I said give me your fucking gun,” I repeat, holding my hand out expectantly. “Please,” I breathe, batting my lashes, figuring that may get him to agree faster.

  Shaking his head, Jensen curses under his breath. “Babe?” Yanking his gun free of the holster, he eyes me warily before checking the clip. “Have you ever even held a gun?”

  “Oh please,” I huff, rolling my eyes. “How hard can it be? Point and shoot. Right? That’s what the gun safety course I took in college said.”

  He arches a brow skeptically. “Mhm.” Placing the gun in my palm, he takes a step back and shifts behind me. “Sounds like you’re a pro,” he says, sarcasm dripping from his words.

  Ignoring Jensen’s sardonic brand of encouragement, I wrap my fingers around the gun and point it at Richard. “So, Dick.” I smirk, liking that nickname much better than his real name at the moment. “How about we try that question again?”

  “Fucking Christ, Roanne,” Richard says, looking up at me from the floor. “I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell us shit like that. To Ivy, everyone is expendable. Hell, she’d been fuckin’ Troy for the better part of a year and put a bullet in him like she was swatting a fly.”

  Aiming at the floor, I squeeze the trigger, the bullet hitting the concrete. Everyone jumps in surprise, myself included. “Next time,” I grin, feeling pretty damn satisfied with myself. “I aim for limbs.”

  “Babe,” Jensen says, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder. “He’s not gonna be much use to us beat all to shit and full of holes.”

  “Whatever,” I huff, rolling my eyes. “Like he isn’t already full of holes? What’s a couple more?” Shifting the gun over, I aim at his knee. “Hmm. Kneecap or thigh? Hell, I’ll just do both.”

  “Fuck!” Richard screams, flinching. He closes his eyes tightly, tears streaming down the sides of his face. “I don’t know where she is. That’s the truth. I swear. It doesn’t matter. I don’t have to know her plans to know she’s close. When the time is right she will be coming for you both. Ivy won’t be satisfied until she finishes what she’s started.”

  Rolling my eyes, I squeeze the trigger, shooting Richard in his upper right thigh. “Fuck!” he screams, thrashing so hard he manages to flip the chair to the side.

  “Okay, enough firearm fun for you for one day,” Jensen says, taking the gun from my hands and holstering it again. “Not that I’m complaining, but why’d you shoot him? He answered your question.”

  I shrug. “I didn’t like his answer.”

  Jensen lips twitch in amusement. “Yeah, I’m thinkin’ Dick got the message, Babe.”

  “You honestly believe that he knew nothing about the convoy of black SUVs on the other side of the lake, waiting to haul Ivy away?” Jensen shrugs his shoulders in reply to my question. “Okay,” I nod, thoughtfully, tapping my chin with my index finger. “If that’s true, then he’s useless to me. Give me back the gun.”

  “Wait,” Richard groans, tilting his head to look up at me. “Black SUVs? That has to be the Hywood Brotherhood.”

  Hank grumbles behind us. “Don’t worry, Hank,” I say, not even bothering to look at him. “I haven’t forgotten about your part in all this. Be patient, I’ll be with you shortly.”

  “What do you know about the Brotherhood?” Bending at the waist, Jensen grabs Richard by the arm, yanking the chair back upright.

  “That’s pretty much Ivy and Hank’s thing,” Richard sighs. “I don’t know much. Except Ivy uses those boys like her own private army. Hell, she had them tailing Alfred and Roanne for us long before he was even taken.”

  The idea of being stalked by that crazy bitch, for God only knows how long, is unsettling. I feel completely and totally violated. It is shocking how much I was unaware of what was going on right under my nose all this time.

  Hank loses his mind, attempting to shout around the gag. “Sounds like someone wants to contribute to the conversation,” I say to Jensen. Making my way over to Hank, I work the knot loose on the gag and slide it down under his chin.

  “You rotten son of a bitch,” Hank grounds out, glaring at Richard. “Ivy should’ve slit your throat when you tried to put Roanne in protective custody. You’re worse than that fucker, Troy, any day. He turned rat for pussy, not because he was one.”

  Richard’s expression turns resolute. “I heard Troy on the phone yesterday, before Ivy got to the house. He mentioned getting supplies to some place on Gladeville Ridge. I bet the Brotherhood has property up there.”

  “Motherfucker,” Hank seethes, his fists balling tightly. “If I could get free, I’d kill you myself.”

  Jensen nods. “You better not be lying, Dick.” Leaning forward, he taps the tip of his knife on Richard’s chest. “Because if you are, I’ll show you an entirely new definition to the word pain.”

  “I’m curious about something, Stone,” Richard says, his eyes shifting to me. “Have you wondered why Alfred was so eager to step in when your parents were killed? That was awful noble of him.”

  My eyes widen as everything Ivy said begins to play back in my head. “He was my father’s best friend,” Jensen replies, becoming defensive. “Al was a good man, with a big heart.”

  “You’d be surprised how often generosity is used to mask a guilty conscience.” Shaking his head, Richard laughs. “Ivy has a pretty interesting theory of her own. Doesn’t she, Roanne?”

  “Ivy is a lying bitch!” I roar, lunging at Richard. “My father would’ve never hurt Xander and Lena.” Black floods the corners of my vision. All I can see is Richard and his bullshit lies. Fury takes hold of me, flooding my senses as I hit him over and over again.

  Strong arms wrap around me, yanking me to my feet. With a quick spin, I am hoisted over Jensen’s shoulder, his arm clamped tightly around me. “Let’s go, Duchess. Sorry, boys, visiting hours are over.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Stone

  “Put me down, goddammit,” Ro screams, kicking her feet and pounding my back with her fists. “I wasn’t finished.”

  “Yes, you are.” Striding for the door, I bring my other hand down hard on her ass, making her yelp. “Settle the fuck down, woman.”

  “Kiss my ass,” she mutters, fighting me with every breath.

  “Alright, that’s enough,” I reply, dumping her ass to the pavement. “Time for you to cool off.” Grabbing the shop hose, I squeeze the lever on the nozzle and let her have it.

  “Ah!” she screams, trying to shield herself from the
freezing cold water with her arms and legs. “Stop it, you fucking asshole!”

  “Oops,” I say, spraying her in the face to shut her up. “Missed a spot.”

  Shifting back against the side of the building, Ro curls into a ball, hiding her face with her knees and arms. Her body begins to shake. Shutting off the water, I toss down the hose and kneel beside her. “He’s a fucking liar. My father didn’t kill your parents,” she weeps, looking up at me with red-rimmed eyes. “He couldn’t have. Could he, Jensen?”

  “No. Look Ro—”

  “Not like it’s a far stretch or anything,” she continues as if I hadn’t spoken. Pressing her fingers to her trembling lips, she attempts to stifle a sob. “My dad is connected to so much death. My mother may have died from natural causes, but she kicked the whole thing off. Your parents, years later. Dad killed Ivy’s father, because he believed George killed your parents. Ivy killed him because he killed her father, and apparently, she has her own theory about that shit because she believes that Dad killed your parents and used George to cover it all up. Hell, apparently, Richard’s dad killed himself because my father was fucking around with Olivia.” Shaking her head, she rolls her eyes. “And those are just the ones that I know about. I’m sure there are more.”

  “There are,” I reply, honestly. “Though they were justified.”

  “Of course they were.” Scrubbing a hand over her face, she huffs out a laugh. “Seriously, there’s a never-ending circle of death surrounding my dad that I never noticed until now. It’s fucking disturbing.”