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

by Natasha Thomas

  What intrigued me, though, was the undercurrent of pain that flashed in her eyes before she could mask it. Whenever one of us, Jonas aside, got too close Beth’s body would string tight, and she would work hard not to flinch, but the subtle way she angled her body away from them gave her away. Every time. I didn’t know if she had the same reaction to all men, or if it was just large men dressed in leather and chains that set her off. I’m willing to bet we aren’t the exception, we’re the norm.

  Mysterious, quiet, guarded, Beth was going to put up one hell of a fight, but I intend to be the man who broke her. I’d go in easy, feel her out, test her resolve, but ultimately I’d win. Why? Because I wasn’t a man who was accustomed to losing. Never have been, never will be.

  Rattling the knob, I place my palm on the small of her back, guiding her gently out into the almost entirely empty parking lot. Scanning the shadows, I notice there are only two cars left. Not a surprise, Furnace shut down after dark. The diner closest to Hounds, Hounds itself, and one other bar at the opposite end of town were the only businesses open at this time of night.

  Leaving me with a choice of a newish model Toyota sedan or a sweet, cherry condition, candy apple red, 1969 Shelby GT, I wait for Beth to signal left or right. Pleasantly surprised, Beth points in the direction of the Shelby parked under the single street light. Thinking this woman couldn’t be any more perfect if she tried, I propel her forward, pressing my hand further into the hollow at the base of her spine.

  “Sweetheart, that is one sweet fucking ride you’ve got there. Your man back home buy that for you?”

  Yes, it’s a blatantly obvious attempt to find out whether she’s got someone waiting for her. And no, I don’t fucking care if she knows it. Pathetic, maybe. But when it comes to Beth, clearly nothing is beneath me. I can only imagine what the boys are going to make of this, but not even that is motivation enough to make me stop and think before acting.

  If anyone had told me this morning, a week ago, months, even years back when I thought everything was still possible that I’d meet a woman and feel anything other than lust, plain and simple, I’d have told them to quit whatever they were smoking and fuck off.

  Adelyn, the girl I found half-starved to death, freezing and alone outside the clubhouse said this would happen when I least expected it. The girl I took in, cared for, who became the closest thing I’ve ever had to a sister made me promise that when I felt it (she said I’d know what it was when the time was right), that I’d give it a chance. I don’t know if that’s what this is, but I’ll be damned if I’ll risk letting it slip through my fingers without tasting how sweet it’s got the promise of being.

  Chuckling softly, Beth shakes her head at my earlier question.

  “No, it was my thirtieth birthday present to myself actually. I saw one, almost exactly like this, at a car show when I was nineteen and knew I had to have one of my own. She was powerful and beautiful, and I fell in love with her at first sight. I didn’t need a car when I first moved to L.A., I only lived three blocks from work and school, so that gave me plenty of time to save up. I bought her at auction, pretty beat up about four and a half years ago,” she says stroking her hand over the hood reverently.

  “A friend of mine did most of the work on her, shy of building the new engine that is. And after watching the movie ‘Gone in 60 seconds’, the one with Nicholas Cage in it, I called her Eleanor, and she’s been my pride and joy ever since. Most guys take one look at her and assume it's a man’s car so I won’t hold it against you,” Beth quips.

  Beth slides her keys out of her pocket, unlocking the door with a soft snick. Swinging the door open, me still standing close, breathing her in, she leans forward throwing her over-sized purse into the passenger’s seat. Shit, if only they were both naked and standing about four feet to the left, I could press her up against the hood, bend her over, strip her jeans down her legs, and spank her delectable, tight ass as I pound into her from behind. Yeah, I’m a dirty bastard, but I make no apologies for it.

  As if she heard my thoughts, Beth whips around nearly tripping over herself as she pins me with her stunning green eyes. Nervousness, with a liberal dose of excitement laces the tension between us, and I come up blank. I can’t think of one thing to say that will put her at ease. I want her to feel safe with me, not afraid of me.

  “Beth, sweetheart,” I exhale on a groan. “You’re going to have to hurry up and get your gorgeous ass in the car, take yourself home, and lock up tight before I do something you might regret later.” Looking directly into her huge, emerald orbs, I knew I’d just lied to her for the first time. There was no fucking way I’d regret anything I did with, or to her given half the chance. She would, though, and that’s what is holding me back. Barely. The first time I have her, I want there to be no question that I’m what she wants. And until I can assure us both of that, I’ll keep myself and my cock in check.

  “Car. Ass. Now.” I repeat.

  Taking half a step backward, jamming herself between the car and safety of the open door, Beth blinks up at me whispering,

  “Goodnight, Jackson. Sleep well.”

  Tucking herself into the driver’s seat, turning the engine over, the car roars to life. The throaty purr of the engine cutting through the silence. I took a step back shutting her door and watched as she pulled out past me onto the traffic-less street beyond. I didn’t move until her taillights dimmed, the Shelby rounding the last corner which would lead Beth home.

  Standing alone in the parking lot, watching a woman I don’t know, under threat of a clusterfuck on the horizon, I embrace the darkness, allowing a significant realization to wash over me. The realization that I am in seriously deep shit, so deep I’m drowning in it.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ~ Boss ~

  Seek and destroy

  Vengeance felt it, the change in the air. It wasn’t a subtle shift either. Dark days were coming, as were the changes, that for the first time, we wouldn’t be in a position to influence them. How that affected the club was yet to be seen, but if I had any say in it, the casualties would be minimal. Both in reputation and territory.

  Looking between my brothers, I address the room.

  “Quiet,” my voice booms, reverberating off the paneled walls. I wait until I have their complete attention before continuing. “We got confirmation this morning, Black Widows patch over passed vote. The mother chapter released them sometime yesterday. What that means for the state of play here is yet to be determined, but it’s safe to say if we’re going to see movement it’ll be in the next few days.”

  Officially, Black Widows hadn’t announced their change of leadership, but Lord had called giving me the heads up last night. It didn’t come as a shock that they’d keep it under wraps as long as they could. The decision no doubt influenced by Hells Riders need to retain an ace up their sleeve.

  “Contacted Cage, Silas, Mace, and Leo last night too,” Diesel interjects. “Everyone needed to know the state of play if we’ve gotta call in reinforcements. It’s still anyone’s guess if HR’s are a viable enough of a threat with new backing, but it’s better for us having the others on standby if we’ve gotta phone a friend.”

  Crossing his arms, Gage looks to Fury, the two men communicating silently before he states,

  “I bet they would have fucking loved getting that call. Have we got their support if shit hits the fan?”

  “Unwavering,” I grind out. “Silas and the Destroyers are the lightest on resources. They’re spread thin. Half the club’s scattered between here and Montana, either riding home or setting up to patch in another chapter. Rebel Warriors are flush at the moment; nomads rode in the day before yesterday. Leo assured me they were hanging around until we’ve got solid intel. They’ll make a decision on how long after that. Mace’s old lady is homebound until she has their third, so Rioters are operating with a full table as well. I won’t count them out, but we’ve gotta discuss, Devil’s Spawn, though.”

  “What about
them?” Fury questions. “Cage is a solid President. Might be green, but he’s strong. With Pipe, Reaper, and Tank taking his back, they’re collectively a bigger threat to Hells Riders than we are now we’re out.”

  “Not debating that, Fury. Change of leadership hasn’t destabilized Devil’s Spawns position if anything it gave them an advantage. People underestimate, Cage. And no joke, he capitalizes on that.”

  “Not seeing the problem then, Boss,” Sarge, the oldest member holding a seat at Vengeance’s table drawls.

  Tightening my jaw, I roll my eyes to the roof praying for strength.

  “On the face of it, Devil’s Spawn puts up a good front. No disrespect intended, and Cage knows where I stand on this, but we need a club with fewer weaknesses to stand with us. Our connection to Devil’s Spawn through Ade, and before makes them the obvious choice just not the smartest one.”

  “A few of their boys have got skills we could use,” Mad hedges. And he’s not wrong.

  Pipe, Devil’s Spawns previous VP, who stepped down a few years back is FBI trained with over thirty years on the job. Tank, their Enforcer, has a military background. Which branch of the service he was in I don’t know, but he served a minimum of one resigning. Their SAA, Reaper is one of the deadliest motherfuckers I’ve ever met, and husband to our very own, Adelyn. He joined Pipe, recruited to the FBI straight out of high school. And not unlike, Diesel, Reaper fought underground for years, walking away at the end of it undefeated.

  None of that takes into account the cold, hard facts of the situation, however.

  “Straight up, Devil’s Spawn have too many weaknesses,” I declare, not leaving room for discussion. “The kind of man, Nix is, the type of men in his club, they wouldn’t hesitate taking one or more of Devil’s Spawns women to make a point. Last thing we need is an ally that’s a liability. And with the amount of leverage they bring to the table, that’s what they’d be; a liability.”

  Folding his heavily tattooed arms across his chest, Fury hedges,

  “So, Cage knows he’s not in this?”

  No man wants to tell another he’s too much of risk to have at his side, and I was no different when I spoke to, Cage.

  “He knows. He wasn’t happy about it, but he gets where I’m coming from. They’ve got a lot of collateral. Shit that could be used against us. And I’m not only talking about Ade. Their old ladies aren’t the least of it. They’ve got a lot of kids over in their camp, some grown, some not. Saint’s girls are out living on their own now except for Neveah. Tank’s got a couple in college, one finishing high school, and the others not far off. Glock and Lexi have the twins, and Arrow’s got his hands full with Amalia. The boys I’m not worried about, but HR’s got a track record with girls, not a good one, and Devil’s Spawn is full of them.”

  “Is Cage instigating lockdown?” Gage asks, scratching his jaw.

  “Not until there’s movement,” I reply brusquely. “He’s got a man on each of their old ladies where he can, keeping an eye out. Cage isn’t keen on locking down a bunch of women and kids for an undetermined amount of time, on the off chance shit will filter over into their neck of the woods. Problem is, they’ve got more bodies than babysitters. He’s having to double up in most cases. Highest priority is old ladies attached to position holders followed by their kids. After that, protection is spread thin but he’s making it work as best as he can.”

  “Who’s left swinging?”

  Turning to face, Gage, I answer honestly.

  “He’s got prospects on the younger kids. The ones still in school are predictable, schedules set, movements easily tracked. Wheels has Emma. And the way I hear it, Bryce is on Amalia, and Kell’s got Anna. That leaves Dakota, May Belle, and Avery. Offered to lock them down here, but Pipe wasn’t too happy about having his little girl out of sight for long. Saint is undecided when it comes to, Dakota and Avery. But it’s looking like Cody’s finally stepping up to the plate with Kota so she’ll be claimed before the week’s out knowing him.”

  Sarge smiles widely on hearing, Avery could be heading our way. He’s got a soft spot for her and has done since the day Saint brought her with him on one of his rare visits.

  At the age of seven, Avery was talkative, a funny, yet sweet ball of energy all wrapped up in one adorable package. To look at her, you would think she could do no wrong. Beautiful blue eyes, long eyelashes, dark ringlet curls, and the cutest smile you’ve ever seen hid the truth that, Avery got into more trouble than most other kids I’d ever met.

  Avery had been left with the kids who belonged to Vengeance brothers in the games room, a recent addition to the clubhouse which opened out onto the courtyard where we had our annual hog roasts. Bored and left without supervision too long, Avery wandered out the side doors and out into the courtyard. She made it to the rear fence of the compound, a mile from the clubhouse, before Sarge, who’d been in one of the back sheds came across her.

  By the time Saint found his daughter, Sarge had taught her how to change the oil on a bike, sharpen a machete, and open a beer bottle. Needless to say, Saint wasn’t impressed his seven-year-old princess had been initiated into the biker lifestyle. He didn’t get given a choice when it came to letting her continue her training, though. Avery demanded to be allowed to come back and visit Sarge regularly, refusing to leave until she got the answer she wanted. And seeing as Saint would do just about anything for his girls, that included driving a stubbornly determined Avery over an hour each way, twice a month to see her new best friend.

  “When does she get in?” Sarge grins barely holding back his enthusiasm. At sixty-two, the road hardened biker looks more like a five-year-old on their first trip to Disneyland the way his eyes brighten at the news.

  “I’m all for helping out another brother, but is this really fucking necessary? We’ve got enough going on without adding Avery and the drama that follows her everywhere she goes to it.” Fury growls.

  If Fury were to have a kryptonite it would be, Avery. Where our Enforcer is intense, calculating, keenly observant, and generally silent, Avery is his polar opposite. Funny, sweet, and incredibly perceptive, Avery could talk the ear off a stuffed teddy bear.

  “What’s your fucking damage, asshole?” Mad snaps, narrowing his eyes at Fury. “It’ll be good to see Ree again. It’s been too long. Lonnie was just talking about her the other day saying she’s due a visit.”

  No one’s been able to get out of Fury what his problem with Avery is. Or Ree to everyone except him. All their differences aside, I find it hard to believe anyone could not like her. That includes Fury. Disliking Ree is akin to a biker having an aversion to leather. Fucking impossible.

  “We’re getting off topic,” I say, rolling my shoulders to re-live some of the mounting tension. “This isn’t the first time we’ve done this for brothers wearing an associated clubs patch and it won’t be the last. To close it out, Ree should be here tomorrow or the next day. Make her welcome. And for Christ’s sake, keep your fucking hands to yourself unless you want Saint cutting them off.”

  The vast majority of the last four days had been spent nailing down the logistics for the Vasquez Cartel run. It had absorbed every available resource and some that weren’t. To my mind, we were as prepared as we could be. Now, we wait. Six days and we’ll be officially done. Free and clear, permanently.

  The attention that project hadn’t consumed was directed at completing the last minute jobs Pipes had taken on, and needed to deliver before rally week. The annual Sturgis Motorcycle Rally was coming up in a little over seven weeks. It’s the biggest event on any biker’s calendar, ours for more than one reason. Bikes needing tune-ups, custom mods, new paint jobs, or pin striping were being brought in from all over before they made the four hundred and fifty-mile trek down to South Dakota at the beginning of August.

  This year it’s estimated that over eight hundred million dollars would be spent in the small town populated by just over six and a half thousand permanent residents. During the ten days of ra
lly, seven of which more than half of Vengeance MC, Furnace will make the pilgrimage to Sturgis to witness the influx of close to half a million motorcycles pass through downtown. There’s nothing quite like the sound of thousands of Harley engines rumbling in sync.

  In the three month lead up, Pipes made more money than the rest of the year collectively. Business was good usually, but the rally saw us pulling double shifts working around the clock with twice the staff on hand to meet the demand. This year would be no different. In fact, it had already started, and if it weren't for the fucking Vasquez run, we’d be in good shape. As it was, we’re a week behind for only losing four days. A week we’ll have to make up. Fuck knows how, but it’d get done. It always did.

  “Who’s on Pipes business this week?” I ask no one in particular. Seeing Deke, Trigger, Bull, and Mad’s raised hands, I go on to say, “Check with Gunner when you get in later, he’s got a good handle on what needs doing.” Tipping my chin at Jump, Sly, and Spook, I add, “You’re on, Vasquez. I want to know what their movements are, who they talk to, where and when they do it, and where they eat and who served them. I don’t give a shit if you have to sit on them for the next six days to get it, but we need to know if they’re planning anything during this handover. Milsons holding for us. He’s got round the clock surveillance on it. Far as I know, transport’s arranged for seven that gives your crew just over an hour to clean out the warehouse and make it the thirty-five miles to the drop point.”