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

by Natasha Thomas

  Taking odd jobs, living on the bare essentials since he never knew where their next meal was coming from, Cash learned how to make every dollar count. I suppose that’s why he’s so fucking good at what he does. Or, it could be because the man has a gift for numbers. Either way, I can’t see anyone stepping up to take over from him anytime soon.

  “Anyone have any objections to that?” Boss asks. No one says a word, myself included, so Boss brings the gavel done proclaiming, “Good. Tell the crew we hired to make a start on it and get back to us by the end of the week as to what their finish date is.”

  “On it,” Cash nods taking a sip of his beer.

  He’s the only man I know who can drink like a fish the night before, and still stomach the taste of alcohol the next morning. He says it’s ‘the hair of the dog’ or some shit, but as far as I’m concerned, he’s just straight up asking for liver failure by the age of fifty.

  “I’ve got a few things we need to go over, but before I do, does anyone have anything they need to bring to the table?” Boss asks opening the floor to the rest of us.

  Gage tips his head to indicate he has something to share, going on to say,

  “Got the new shipment of M9’s in on Thursday, so anyone who isn’t proficient with one needs to make time to fire off a few rounds.”

  “Fucking sweet,” Jump chimes in. “I’ve been hanging out to get my hands on one of them. How’s tomorrow suit you?”

  “I don’t have plans, so you’re on. Anyone else joining?” Gage offers the room.

  I raise my hand along with a few others, so we plan to meet up at the clubs’ firing range at the back of the property after lunch.

  When Vengeance bought the piece of land the clubhouse and outbuildings sit on, we didn’t just invest in a lot large enough to hold the main building, forecourt, sheds and newly built six bay workshop. Boss had the foresight to realize that with the number of new members – whose families would inevitably grow over the coming years – that we’d need far more space than that.

  After Hog died – Boss’ Dad and Vengeance’s previous president – Boss decided it was a good time to relocate the club to a larger premises. It took a little over a year for this place to come on the market and the second it did, Boss called a vote to use club funds to purchase it. It was a unanimous decision in the end. A sound investment, and all that.

  A ten-minute ride from town, easy access to the I90, which runs five miles to the south of Furnace, butting up to the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, this land was a prime location for us to start fresh. Some serious hard work, round the clock construction for going on two years, and numerous headaches later, Vengeance MC was the proud new owners of seventy-four acres of property.

  It now houses an eleven thousand square foot main clubhouse, enough parking for three hundred plus bikes, five outbuildings – most are little more than sheds – the six bay garage, and recently purpose-built dorms. Not to mention, we’ve got a new gym annex off the side of the clubhouse, eight-hundred-yard long firing range, and underground bunker we use for storing anything punishable by incarceration during a police raid.

  Boss pauses, allowing everyone else an opportunity to say their piece if they have one, but with no takers he announces,

  “Onto new shit then. Jump is putting forward his bid to sponsor, Will at church next week. All of you need to take the time either tonight or during the rest of the week to feel him out, see how he fits in, so we can put it to a vote. He seems like a solid kid. Young, but solid.” Nods go up around the table, a few of the men grinning at the chance to haze a new prospect soon. “That done, I got a call last night that provided me with some intel on one of the guys we’ve been searching for.”

  No one needs a reminder as to who Boss is referring to, especially not me.

  There are still two men who remain unidentified in relation to Avery’s rape. The club has utilized every resource at our disposal, followed leads, and ran down information surrounding their identities but nothing’s come of it. Not until now, or, at least, I hope this is the break we’ve been waiting for.

  “Hate to say it, but it’s not much to go on. We still don’t have a name, but we’ve got a description. A witness says they saw a suspicious looking guy hanging around on the corner of Fourth and Main on the night we raided the warehouse. I talked to the guy who saw him myself, and he seems legit,” Boss adds.

  “Did he get a good look at the guy?” Diesel interjects.

  Nodding, Boss confirms,

  “Yeah. It was dark but that area’s pretty well lit. Well-built guy, six-one, six-two, dark hair, was wearing jeans, brown leather jacket, and a skull cap. Obviously, our witness didn’t get his eye color or if he had any identifying markings, but he did say he white and his jacket wasn’t sporting any colors. Going to have to take this to Avery and see if she can confirm it, but it’s worth looking into all the same.”

  “You want me to talk to her,” Sarge offers.

  “See if you can work it into the conversation, break it to her as gentle as you can, but yeah, that’d be good.”

  I could have offered the same, but I don’t. Avery and I have enough shit to work out as it is, I don’t need to be adding to it with something that will only stress her the fuck out and probably end up being a dead end.

  Boss groans, running a hand through his disheveled hair, stating,

  “I don’t want to take up any more of your time, but we need to discuss having another sit-down with, Nix.”

  “What the hell for?” I question. “From everything you’ve told me, he was his usual fucking arrogant self at the last one. Nothing’s changed. He’s not going to cave on territory, and we’ve got no reason to back down either. It’ll be a wasted trip, and more headache than he’s worth.”

  “Because,” Boss hedges. “We need to see how far he’s willing to push this fight. What happened to our women went unanswered, and don’t for a fucking second think that’s been forgotten, but until we can confirm Hells Riders involvement in it, we have to focus on what we can solve. Namely, their escalation of hostilities over where their territory ends and ours begins.”

  Sarge interrupts by saying,

  “This shit isn’t something that needs to be haggled over. It’s common sense that unless they’ve taken the upper-hand in these parts, everything stays status quo. Nix is an upstart little prick, but he’s not a stupid. That boy’s been planning this expansion for as long as he’s been sitting at the head of their table, doesn’t mean it’ll go any further than that, though.”

  “I tend to agree,” Boss concurs. “Problem is; Nix is getting impatient. And that fucker, while not stupid, does stupid shit when he wants to force his hand.”

  “Refresh my memory,” Cash prompts. “What’s he asking for, and how does it affect us?”

  “He wants the eight miles around their compound, rights to the runs northbound on I90, and our promise that we won’t make bids for any of the protection runs statewide in the future,” Diesel doesn’t hesitate to remind us all.

  “Not seeing a problem with the second part of that or the latter, but the first one, he can fuck right off,” Gage growls. “We’re out of the transportation game entirely, so it’s really only the eight miles he’s after. The last two were a smokescreen for the former.”

  “I’m with, Gage,” I announce. “Hells Riders clubhouse being forty miles from ours is already close enough without taking into account the three miles they’ve already got bordering it. Eight miles is a stretch, and Nix knows it. If it were up to me, there’s no way in fuck I’d let that asshole creep another five miles in our direction.”

  “Calm the fuck down,” Boss bellows. “I’m not saying I’m entertaining the idea, but he’s not backing down so it can’t hurt to play it like we’re willing to revisit the issue with him. We’re all in agreement that they aren’t expanding so this will be a straight up fact-finding mission.”

  “Prez is right,” Sly says inclining his head. “The more we know,
the better. Nix mightn’t be stupid, but he’s never been one to hold back any of his hand. He goes in balls to the wall and lets the chips fall where they may. Last time I spoke to, Signal, he was bitching about why the club bothered to have an Information Officer seeing as Nix runs off at the mouth all the time.”

  Signal is Hells Riders IO. The position was created for him when the Black Widows patched-over last year. Before then, they’d been running the same way most smaller clubs do; without.

  “That’s settled then. Sly, set something up with Nix, Worm, and Signal for mid-week. Tell them it’ll just be Diesel, you and me, we don’t need them bringing half the club with them for backup.”

  “You got it, Boss.”

  Banging the gavel to call the end of church, Boss reminds Diesel to stay behind as the rest of us file out. Before I can make it out the door, he asks,

  “How’d everything go last night with, Ree? You two work things out?”

  “Not even fucking close,” I reply shortly.

  I don’t bother waiting around to hear his response, pushing through the heavy oak doors that lead back into the hall, letting them slam shut behind me.

  “You good, brother?” Gage questions from his position reclined against the wall.

  “As good as can be expected when the woman I’m interested in isn’t talking to me, Bella’s up my ass trying to get hold of me every five minutes, and the motherfucker responsible for hurting innocent women is still roaming free.”

  Chuckling, Gage shakes his head at me.

  “Have you seen Jonas since you’ve been back?”

  “Brother, I’ve barely had time to scratch myself, let alone catch up with that moody bastard. How’s he doing?” I ask, propping myself against the wall opposite him.

  “Put it this way. If he was a moody prick before, he’s a fucking angry one now. You never know what you’re gonna get with him from one day to the next. We barely ever see him around these days, he’s either working or drinking himself into oblivion.”

  “Jesus,” I hiss. “I’ll make sure to pay him a visit as soon as I can make the time. I’ve been thinking about getting some new ink anyway, so that’s as good a reason as any to drop in on him unannounced and get the lay of the land.”

  Nodding his thanks, Gage slaps me on the shoulder.

  “Well, I’m out of here. I’ve got shit to do.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  ~ Fury ~

  “Have I said I love that shade of forgiveness on you today? If I haven’t, I should have.”

  - Text from Fury to Avery

  Watching my brother walk away, I think about everything that happened while I was gone. I didn’t expect for time to stand still, but I hadn’t realized just how much life moves forward when you’re stuck in the past.

  My minds refusal to come into the present is part of the reason I hurt Avery so badly. All I could think of when I was out on the open road was where I’d gone wrong, how I’d fucked up my life, and what I could have done to prevent that shit from happening. I might not have been able to change the outcome of my family’s death, but my lifestyle – my choice to belong to an MC – was the cause of my wife and son’s murder.

  If I’d chosen differently, maybe they’d be alive today. If I wasn’t selfish, only looking out for number one, me, there’s a good chance I’d be sending my son off to middle school next year, or teaching him how to throw a football now. More importantly, if I hadn’t been at the clubhouse drinking with my brothers, I would have been home to help Rosalie get the groceries out of her goddamn car, meaning she wouldn’t have been vulnerable and exposed in the first place.

  It took one look at Avery, covered in blood, pale and limp for the images of Rosalie’s bullet-ridden body devoid of life to slam back into my consciousness. A split second of seeing the circular burns on Avery’s inner forearms that mimicked the entry points of each round that passed through my wife’s body to remind me of how fragile and fleeting life is.

  That’s why I couldn’t bring myself to contact her. No matter how desperately I wanted to hear the sweet cadence of her voice and have her reassure me she was doing okay, it would have only taken the immediate sting out of not seeing her in person. Afterward, all the reasons for staying away would have come rushing back, only proving to me that reaching out was, in fact, the mistake I knew it would be.

  It hasn’t escaped me that if I’d just told Avery all of this in the beginning, or even a few days ago, she would have forgiven me on the spot. But for obvious reasons, I can’t. I’m not the type of man to share his feelings. I don’t do sappy. And I fucking hate having to explain myself to anyone. What I did tell her should have been enough as far as I’m concerned.

  What it all comes down to is this. I’m a biker. I’m perfectly happy with who I am and what I stand for. I don’t intend to change because I like my life exactly the way it is. In saying that, I’d lay down my life for Avery. I’ll comfort her when she’s hurting, protect her always, and if it’s in my power to give her something that’ll make her happy, I’ll do it.

  I’m not a complete asshole. I know a relationship is about give and take, and with Avery, I know she wouldn’t settle for any less than a partnership. That was one of the many lessons being married to Rosalie taught me. After I’d fucked it all up, that is. But there’s a big difference between the relationship I had with my wife and the one I want to have with Avery.

  Rosalie was beautiful, sweet and caring, but she was fragile. She didn’t have a backbone or challenge me. Not once did she question the decisions I made, even the ones which affected her. If I said it was club business, she didn’t push to see if I’d disclose any more, she’d just nod, smile and then walk away. At the time, I thought that was what I wanted – what my ideal woman would be like. I was fucking wrong.

  Her easy agreement to everything got old, fast. We hadn’t even been married six months before I realized that the spark was missing from our relationship. Not that I wanted to fight with Rosalie, but a sign she was willing to fight for me, for us if it came down to that would have been nice.

  Life with Rosalie was comfortable. When I gave her the option of working or staying at home while I supported us, she was all for being a housewife. Her choice didn’t bother me in the slightest. I earned enough from my cut of the clubs’ income to provide us with a more than comfortable lifestyle, and that was without my regular pay for the hours I put in at the garage.

  My wife cleaned, shopped, made sure dinner was ready when I got home, baked, and created a home for us. She didn’t pay bills, visit with friends, or spend time at the clubhouse like most of the other old ladies. In fact, Rosalie avoided the MC like the plague.

  When I met and fell in love with her, I hadn’t been paying attention to whether or not she’d be comfortable spending time with my brothers. I was young, blind and stupid. Back then, my thoughts revolved getting laid regularly, drinking, riding and my brothers. I wasn’t out looking to hook my star to a woman, so when Rosalie stumbled into my life, I was too blindsided by her beauty and innocence and the fact she’d even consider being with a man like me to be worried about anything else.

  By the time I did, it was too late because Rosalie had already gotten under my skin and imprinted herself on my heart. Boss warned me, as did my brothers that were married or had old ladies, that she wasn’t right for me. Rosalie wasn’t old lady material, but I was just too fucking selfish to cut her loose.

  This is where I want to be able to tell you I loved my wife with every fiber of my being. I wish with everything I am that was true, but it’s not. Did I love Rosalie? Absolutely. Was I in love with her? If you’d asked me that for the first twelve months after her death, I would have unequivocally said yes. But now? I know I wasn’t. Not the way I should have been. And I know this because what I feel for Avery is so much more. So much more intense.

  Avery is a pain in my ass. She challenges me daily, and I fucking love it. Avery’s sense of humor matches mine and watching her absorb ever
ything life has to offer is fucking beautiful to witness. Add to that, Avery’s strength, determination, unwillingness to let people walk all over her, and her huge heart and you have the perfect woman. And that’s before even touching on how fucking gorgeous she is.

  With long, wavy brown hair and sparkling green eyes, and at five-foot-three her head barely grazes my chin. I swear her body was created to fulfill men’s fantasies. She’s the perfect mix of toned limbs with curves in all the right places. Her ass is round, full as are her tits, which I know from just looking at them would fill my huge hands.

  Avery is the woman men envisage when they jerk themselves off. Sexy and confident, but with an air of innocence that makes a man want to own her, possess her; claim as his. Avery isn’t the type of woman you fuck and flick; she screams commitment. It’s written all over her.

  But the biggest difference between Avery and ninety-nine percent of women, that includes Rosalie is she understands my lifestyle. She was born and raised in it.

  There are women out there that want to fuck a biker for a night. They go out searching for one with the intention of taking a walk on the wild side, so that when the sun comes up they can go home to their friends and brag about it. I don’t have anything against those types of women as long as they know what they’re in for.