Vengeance MC Box Set - Volume 1: Call Me...Vengeance ~ Fury ~ Jonas

by Natasha Thomas

  “What, babe?”

  “I didn’t tell you this before, what with everything going on with the move and all, but Bec’s decided she can’t live without me,” I state going for humor but falling flat. “She’ll be here in a few weeks once she’s finished working out her notice.”

  “She’s fucking what?” He rumbles ominously.

  Hefting my ass onto the bed beside him, I pat his shoulder in what I hope is a reassuring way.

  “You know she’s my best friend. She has been for sixteen years. What did you honestly think her reaction would be to me moving?” I prompt. Not waiting for him to answer, I go on to admit, “When I left home, I had no one. I knew no one. If it wasn’t for Kevin and Rebecca, I don’t know where I would have ended up, Jonas. When you and I met, I was in a better place, and that was thanks to them. It was all them. Their love and support saw me through some of the darkest days of my life. I would do anything, and I mean anything, to make sure Bec is happy and whole. But she hasn’t been. Not since you left. Not since whatever happened between you broke something inside her. Her light has gone out, J, and that scares me. She’s the strongest woman I know, and if she breaks then what hope is there left for the rest of us?”

  Squeezing my hand, Jonas shifts uncomfortably beside me. We may be friends, have been for years, but what I’ve just told him is goes deeper than anything we’ve ever touched on before.

  “I don’t know what to say other than you know I’m here for you if you ever need an ear, Beth. That’s some pretty heavy shit you just laid out there. Don’t get me wrong, I knew you had skeletons in your closet, babe. You’d have to be blind not to see that, but you’re mistaken about Bec being stronger than you are. She’s got her own shit, shit that’s not mine to tell, but know this. She relies on you just as much as you do on her. She needs your strength just as much as you think you need hers. You both don’t see that there are people here who’re willing to take some of that burden when you’re ready to share it. Me being one of them.”

  I wasn’t sure that was true. I’d trusted for years that my parents, if I’d ever needed them would come through for me. It wasn’t realistic, they never had before, but that didn’t mean I didn’t hold on to the fragile belief that there was some compassion for me hidden somewhere inside them. I was wrong.

  My last conversation with my parents hadn’t gone over so well. None of them did, but that one was significantly worse than most. It was so long ago, but still so fresh in my mind. The anger, frustration, shame. The pain of knowing that no matter what they would never change. They would never put her first or her well-being. It wasn’t a soul crushing realization, nor did my heart break. I didn’t love them enough for that. But it did destroy the last remanence of obligation I felt toward them. It was also the day I began addressing them as Donald and Philippa. They were no longer my parents. They were virtual strangers.

  Through ever protest I made, every refusal I gave, Philippa still thought I would come around and be the dutiful wife she believed I was destined to be. I called them after I was settled with Bec in her apartment and told them what had happened. Their reaction wasn’t what I expected. Far from it.

  They hadn’t believed me, not a word. Donald and Philippa went as far as to demand I apologize to the asshole as if I’d done something wrong. I graciously told them that they could go and fuck themselves and that the Markham’s were lucky I hadn’t pressed charges against their son.

  Philippa used everything in her arsenal to get me to come home and try again. Try with the Markham’s son again. Guilt, crocodile tears, even bribery to get me to reconsider taking this to the police. I hadn’t made up my mind about whether I would or not, but I wouldn’t be swayed by their need for it to go away to protect themselves. I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to deal with reliving every aspect of what Oliver had done to me. I didn’t know if I ever would be. But Philippa could think again if she believed a new diamond tennis bracelet would be enough to buy me off. I couldn’t be bought.

  The conversation that ceased all contact with my parents and I went almost, word for word like this:

  “You will get married to a man we deem appropriate, Bethany.” Blah, blah, blah. Guilt. Manipulation. Tears. You can fill in the other adjectives.

  “No, I don’t think so. Thanks for the generous offer, though.”

  “Oh, I think you will. You don’t have a choice young lady because if you don’t do as I say, I will have no recourse but to see that you are cut off financially and essentially disowned.”

  “You do that. I’ll make sure not to lose too much sleep over it while I cry rivers over your apparent lack of emotional attachment to your only daughter.” I snapped back sarcastically.

  “Bethany,” she gasped in outrage. “I am your mother. You will not speak to me with such disrespect, I have raised you better than that.”

  Cue scoffing.

  “Sure you have. I believe it was a handful of cooks, cleaners, and nanny’s that raised me, but if it helps you to sleep better at night without the assistance of Valium, then you go ahead and think what you like. Needless to say, I’m not coming home. I’m not marrying a rapist. And I am done feeling beholden to two people who should have been born sterile.”

  I can see it now. Philippa would have been beet-red, with harsh, angry lines emanating from the corners of her overly Botox injected mouth, cursing me for the extra frown lines I was giving her.

  “How dare you!”

  “I could say the same thing about you, but I won’t. I’ve wasted enough oxygen trying to explain your and Donald’s shortcomings. We’re done. Don’t call me again. Don’t try and contact me in any way unless you have a change of heart, which would mean you’d have to find one first, so I won’t hold my breath. Just do us both a favor and leave me the fuck alone.”

  After hanging up on her, I wasn’t surprised that I hadn’t heard from either of them in the last twelve and a half years. Nor was I shocked that she followed through, demanding Donald disown me for my perceived disrespect. I mean, sure, I was rude, hurtful even, but as far as I was concerned it was well deserved. What I said that day had been brewing for as many years as I’d been alive. It was time, and I was relieved to have gotten it off my chest.

  Bec and I drank a bottle and a bit of vodka post-disowning, having our own celebration of sorts. Her logic was that it was high time I stood up to them, and I couldn’t help but be proud I’d finally summoned the courage to do it. The other aspect of our mid-week drinking binge focused around what the hell I was going to do with my life now. Enter me drunkenly confessing my love of tattooing, and the rest is history.

  “Hey, did you hear me, babe?” Jonas asks jostling my arm.

  “Yeah, I did,” I nod in response. “Trust doesn’t come easily for me, Jonas,” I reply, opting for honesty. “I’m not saying that I don’t count you in the very few people I do trust, but opening up entirely is another story. There are only two people who know my complete life history, and Bec is one of them. You have to understand that means there’s a bond between us I don’t share with anyone else. An unshakeable one. It also means I’ll do everything I can to ensure she doesn’t hurt unnecessarily. I suppose that’s what I’m asking you to help me with.”

  Straightening but not moving away, he grips my hand holding tight.

  “I can’t promise you she won’t get hurt, Beth. What we’ve got to talk out will more than likely upset her, but I promise you I won’t do anything to hurt her intentionally,” he vows tersely.

  Resting my head on his broad shoulder, I sigh. I know I shouldn’t worry about Bec so much, she’s a grown woman after all, but I can’t help but feel protective of her. Changing the subject, I ask,

  “What have you got me down for tomorrow, boss man? I can’t wait to get back to work. I think I’m actually having withdrawals after not having a gun in my hand for so long.”

  “Don’t know if you should go around announcing that, babe. People could get the wrong idea,” he chuc
kles.

  Slapping his chest, I laugh,

  “I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it.”

  “I know, but I couldn’t help taking the opportunity to fuck with you over it. You’re too easy, babe,” Jonas says ruffling my hair. “Got a few quick pieces booked in for you. They’ll only take a couple of hours each. Should be enough to ease you into the swing of things.” Before I can speak up he adds, “I know you’re a professional, Beth, so don’t go taking what I just said the wrong way. I just want to give you time to settle, meet people, get a feel for how shit runs before throwing you into the deep end. You’ve got to meet the boys too.”

  “Who? The MC?” I ask, genuinely curious to meet the men he refers to as his brothers.

  “Yeah, Beth. The MC. I know I’ve mentioned them, but there are things you’ve got to know before I can leave you at the shop to deal with them on your own. Not saying they’re bad guys or they’d ever hurt you, they wouldn’t, but they aren’t the regular yuppie clients you’re used to dealing with back home either.”

  A small smile creeps across my face at his warning, but I cover it quickly, saying,

  “I’m sure they aren’t that bad. And anyway, one of my best clients was the President of Rebel Warriors, SoCal. I think I’ve got this covered.”

  “Say fucking what?” He demands, glaring at me. “You never mentioned that. Why not?”

  “Didn’t think it was relevant,” I shrug. “Dray’s last appointment with me was before you offered for me to move out here, so I didn’t think it mattered.”

  Muscle twitching in his cheek, Jonas apparently disagrees but meters his words carefully.

  “Not sure how tight Vengeance and Rebel Warriors are, but I’ll put a call into Boss to ask. On the off chance your buddy comes to pay you a visit, it’s better we know upfront if there’s gonna be a problem there.”

  Rolling my eyes, unsure why Dray visiting would be an issue if it’s only for ink, I stand up brushing my hands off on my jeans.

  “Sure thing. I highly doubt he will, but if that’s what you think is best, go for it. Do you want that beer now? I think I’m done for tonight. I’ll tackle the rest of it after I’ve had a good night sleep and got myself situated at the shop tomorrow.”

  Watching his facial expression transform into something I can’t read, Jonas stands, tugging on my hand.

  “Heads up, babe,” he states grinning. “All you need to know is that they’re good men. Solid, loyal. They’d never hurt a woman or child, and if there’s ever a time you need them, they’ll throw down and have your back without giving it a second thought. Boss is the President, Diesel’s is his VP, and they’re two of my closest friends. The rest of them I’m not as close to, but they’re all good guys. Just thought you should know in case they show up and I’m not there.”

  Heading to the kitchen to get his beer, I turn back to him and say,

  “If they are friends of yours, Jonas then they’re friends of mine. Don’t worry so much. Everything will be copasetic. Just wait and see.”

  “Famous last words,” I hear mumbled before I’m out of earshot.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ~ Boss ~

  The sins of the father

  Riding is the best way to think, it clears my head. There’s nothing but peace and clarity when I’m coasting along the highway doing seventy-five miles an hour. In saying that, my thoughts aren’t always pleasant, though. Most of them revolve around someone who doesn’t deserve a minute of my time, let alone the hours I’ve given him.

  My father, Damien ‘Hog’ Carr, died six years ago. And hopefully, God willing, when he left this Earth he ended up where he belonged; chained up in the burning depths of hell for all eternity. As far as I’m concerned, that bastard got off as easy in death as he did in life. He was an asshole. A lazy, neglectful prick of a father. And a fucking useless MC President. I’d go as far as to say; Hog failed in life, in his role as President, and as a human being in general.

  Hog’s reign as President was borderline tyrannical. He definitely wasn’t the kind of man who should ever have been the head of our table at church. But the gavel had been passed down to him by his father, Shank, and Hog was happy to accept the power his position would come with it. After all, the man was an egotistical, self-important asshole, so what better way to gain the attention and adulation he so desperately craved than to rule as king of his domain?

  Hog died doing something he loved, which was what grated on me the most. He hadn’t deserved to die doing something he loved, that honor should have been taken from him the way he’d taken from everyone else; mercilessly. Selfishness ran in Hog’s veins; it was a part of his DNA. There wasn’t a time while I’d lived at home that it had ever been about anyone but, Hog. So when my father died, I couldn’t help wondering why him of all people, the man who made every day of my life fucking miserable, got the ultimate honor of dying doing the one thing a biker loved above all else; riding.

  It was during a freak thunderstorm that Hog lost control of his bike. He was coming around the rocky bend on a stretch of road named, Shadows Pass. The two-lane highway was notorious for collisions and accidents, but if you wanted to get to, Furnace without detouring a hundred miles out of your way, you didn’t have any other choice than to tackle that precarious section of blacktop.

  Coming back from a job in, L.A., Hog was forced to lay his bike down, spinning off the road and hitting a fallen tree. He died instantly at the scene, the paramedics who had been called by a concerned motorist on seeing the downed bike told me. Massive internal injuries and an intracranial bleed was what ended his life. Thinking about it, maybe God did exist. All that praying I’d done over the years, that the asshole I was supposed to call Dad would die and leave me in peace worked. Those thoughts might not have been charitable, but they were honest.

  Hog had been a hard man. Cruel and unforgiving. He didn’t pass up any opportunity to beat the shit out of me when I fucked up or didn’t live up to his ridiculous expectations. If I wasn’t fast enough, strong enough, smart enough, he’d make it his mission to educate me on how I could be better. Fuck, half the time, Hog made it clear the beatings I was getting were simply because I wasn’t enough, period.

  That shit started when I’d just turned eight years old. Too young that I’d had no hope in hell of being able to protect myself against an animal like him. Worse still, looking at the man who was meant to keep me safe, to guide me through the jaded eyes of a kid hardened by his father’s belt did a number on me. It still does, to a point. It taught me an important lesson, though. It showed me that respect was earned, not something that could be demanded. I’d never respected, Hog, and what he died too soon to realize was; was that no matter the how hard he’d hit me, how often, or how severely his blows struck, nothing he would ever do would change that.

  I can remember the first time he hit me so hard he busted my lip open. The taste of coppery blood that filled my mouth. The sting his blow delivered that I felt for days afterward. But that wasn’t what stuck with me the most. No, it was the humiliating feeling of helplessness that struck true and held, burying itself deep.

  I’d just walked in the door from school when it happened. A large hand snaked out from behind the wall separating the front door from our living room, gripping my upper arm painfully. The backhand came next. Connecting with my cheekbone, top lip, and the side of my head, Hog’s silver ring, the one he wore on his middle finger cut through the tender flesh, causing blood to run down my face and pool in my mouth.

  “Can’t you do anything I tell you to, boy,” he sneered at me, his face a mask of fury. Hog’s neck was flushed red, the vein at his temple pulsing. “I fucking told you to clean this shit up before you left the house.”

  He was referring to the mess he’d left the night before. Empty beer bottles, overfull ashtrays spilling their contents across the coffee table onto the floor, food wrappers, and used condoms littered the space, still where they’d been when I walked out this mornin
g. I knew I was going to catch hell for leaving it, but I’d woken up late after being kept awake most of the night because of Hog’s partying. I didn’t have the time or energy to deal with it before school, telling myself I could do it when I got home. Hopefully, before he got back from taking care of whatever business he had to attend to for the club that day.

  Obviously, I was wrong. Hog had gotten home hours earlier than usual and now I’d be left to explain why I didn’t follow up on his demand.

  “I’m sorry, Dad. I was gonna miss the bus if I didn’t hurry this morning. I’ll do it now, okay?” I asked hoping he’d leave it at that.

  Stalking toward me, I backed up against the couch, pressing myself as close as I could to keep some distance between us.

  “I don’t give a shit if you were gonna miss the fucking bus. I tell you to do something, you do it. End of. Fucking useless,” he muttered before giving me a hard shove that saw me landing on the floor after hitting the corner of the coffee table.

  Pain flared through my side causing me to gasp, desperately trying to hold back tears I knew would only make him angrier.

  “I-I’ll do it now. Right now,” I stuttered, crawling toward a half-filled trashcan.