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

by Natasha Thomas

  Dad loved it – adored the closeness of our bond, actually – my Mom not so much. I think part of her felt like she missed out on the little girl she’d so desperately wanted. After two boys came me and then another boy. She had one shot at having a little princess she could dress in cute, frilly dresses and that was me. But however much she craved that – and I did my best to give it to her when I could – I still believe Mom longed for something she would never have.

  It’s not that I don’t enjoy getting dressed up, mani-pedi’s, girls nights and the like; I do. I just enjoy watching my Dad work on his bike, listening to his brother's stories which get wilder and wilder with each retelling, and kicking back to the sounds of classic rock blaring from the speakers at the clubhouse better.

  Like I said, I try to give my Mom some of what she needs to fill that void she feels deeply, but I’ve learned that I can’t be all things to all people. I have to be me, and like it or not, that’s all I can be.

  The day in question, Mom was who I needed, though. Not my Dad. Not Miles. Not either of my other brothers. My Mom. I knew she would help me sort my head out and order my thoughts; she’s good like that.

  “Um…I’ve been thinking about stuff and some of that stuff I wanted to talk to you about. Do you think if maybe we talk you could say, not tell Dad? I don’t want him to get upset, and I think this will make him angry,” I winced, hoping she would agree to keep this between us.

  The pure joy on my Mom’s face at my request told me everything I needed to know. She wouldn’t be repeating a single freaking word of what we talked about today to Dad.

  “Sure, baby. Now, what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

  “See,” I stuttered, “there’s this boy.”

  I didn’t get any more out before Mom clapped her hands and rubbed them together with glee.

  “Thank you. Thank you, God,” she breathed looking to the ceiling. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for one of my babies to come to me to talk about something like this?” She said excitedly. “For-ev-ah. As in, as soon as your Aunt Kendall had this chat with Lexi about Glock, forever.”

  Wow, that was a long time I mused.

  Lexi, Aunt Kendall’s step-daughter, and Glock have been together what feels like an eternity. So long in fact, that they have twelve-year-old twin terrors together, that as cute as they are, and trust me those boys are so cute it should be illegal, are little more than hooligans in beautiful disguises.

  “Okay, Mom. Maybe a smidge less of the dramatics and more of the advice please,” I asked, rolling my eyes at her.

  “Puh-lease, let me revel in this for a minute or two and then you can burst my bubble. It isn’t every day that I get to talk to my only daughter about the boy she has a crush on, you know!”

  “All right, Mom, tone it down or I’ll have to go and ask Aunt Kendall instead,” I threaten, not meaning a word.

  “Fine, fine,” she huffed. “So, tell me about him. Is he cute? Does he go to your school? He’s not one of your brother’s friends, is he?”

  “Yes. No. And No,” I quipped knowing it would annoy the crap out of her.

  “Seriously,” Mom snapped testily. “That’s all you’ve got for me? How am I supposed to give you advice based on, yes, no, no?”

  “I’m kidding, Mom. Calm down,” I sighed heavily. “Yes he’s cute, but he’s more than that; he’s beautiful. Cute is too plain a word for what he is, and I don’t think he’d like being called that anyway. He doesn’t go to my school, and I don’t think he’s ever met the boys, so they won’t get a chance to warn him away before I get to know him better.”

  “Well, that’s something I guess,” she interjected. “You know I love those boys, but they have a protective streak a mile wide just like their Dad. If they caught wind of any boy on your radar, you can take it to the bank your Dad would already know about it. So, if you didn’t meet him at school or through the boys, how did you meet him?”

  And this is where our conversation was going to get tricky.

  At fifteen, I knew my Mom wouldn’t appreciate my admission that I had the world's largest infatuation for a man more than a decade my senior. I couldn’t in good conscience lie to her either, so I replied,

  “He was at the Vengeance clubhouse one of the times Dad took me out there with him.”

  At that, my Mom narrowed her eyes at me and warned,

  “Blaine.”

  With one word I knew what she was communicating. She didn’t need to say anything else.

  “It’s not like that Mom. Nothing happened, nothing will happen. I like him, but I don’t even think he knows I exist. We talked, he listened, that’s it,” I admitted sheepishly. “I’ve only met him a few times, but those few times we talked. As in, actually talked. He made me feel special. Important, even.”

  “You are, baby. Everything about you is special. I know you might not believe me, but the day you were born, the first time your Dad held you, he looked down at you and said, “My princess is going to be someone. Someone special.” Granted, he added a few f-bombs and a healthy dose of pride which hasn’t changed any, but both of us knew then that there was something exceptional about our little girl. And as you grew up, that feeling only intensified. You won’t get this now, Blaine, but your heart is different, sweetheart. You have so much compassion, so much forgiveness, and so much love to give that I’m in awe of you sometimes.”

  “Wh-what?” I breathed, feeling my head grow light and my heart starts to pound faster in my chest.

  Nodding at me, my Mom confirmed,

  “That’s why your Dad, your Uncles, your brothers, actually, all of the men in the club are so protective of you, sweetheart. They all see that soft spot you have, and they have and will tie themselves up in knots to protect it. It isn’t every day someone comes along that has the level of acceptance you have. You don’t judge. You don’t criticize. You simply take everything in and accept those men for who they are and how much they love you.”

  My eyebrows snapped together as I asked

  “Why wouldn’t I? They do some stupid stuff, say things they probably shouldn’t, but none of them are bad men. There are reasons for the things they do, and while they don’t share them with me and they don’t have to, it doesn’t mean they don’t have them. And I trust them, Mom. All of them.”

  “Of course you do, baby, and there’s beauty in that. In fact, that’s why you’re special. Your unconditional trust, regardless of what they do, how they do it, and the lack of understanding behind it is what makes your heart unique.” Taking my hand in hers, Mom squeezed it gently. “There is not one person I have met, or ever will, that will give those men what you do. Avery might spend more time with them, and she has her reasons for doing that too, but you Blaine, you give them something she can’t.”

  “I don’t get it. They love Avery; she’s like their prodigy. She can change the oil on a bike, shoot, ride, and make them laugh all the time.”

  Agreeing, Mom went on to say,

  “Yes, Avery can do all that. But do you know what she can’t do?”

  Shaking my head, I muttered sarcastically,

  “Nothing.”

  “Now that’s simply not true, Bee, and I think you and I both know it,” Mom chastised gently. “Listen, if you were a few years older I think you would have come to this conclusion yourself, but seeing as we’ve brought it forward in time, I’ll tell you instead of leaving you guessing. Avery might be one of the boys, strong, fiercely independent, smart, and in some part have her own form of fragility; she isn’t soft to the core.” Just as I went to interrupt, Mom threw her hand up stopping me. “Don’t. Don’t say a word. That’s a good thing, baby. Soft can bear the brunt of a heavy load, absorb the hardest impact, and still bounce back. Soft gives a man the chance to show he’s gentle enough to protect something precious. Soft is beautiful, and that beauty is something to be cherished. Men like your Dad, like his brothers, crave that softness, and it isn’t often t
hey have the opportunity to experience it. A lot of us, you Aunt Kendall and Lou included, have a soft spot, but it’s just that; a spot. You, however, Blaine are soft all the way through, and that is a thing of beauty.”

  Stunned by her words, I don’t say anything. I mean, what can I say?

  “Whoever this boy is, he has to be special to have caught your eye. He has to be even more important because you thought to talk to me about him. I won’t say that I’m happy my little girl has her first crush because I was hoping you would be say, ten, fifteen years older. But that being said, I’ll listen to whatever you want to tell me, sweetheart, and I’ll try to guide you as best I can.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I whispered.

  “You’re welcome, baby. Now, tell me all about him and don’t leave anything out.”

  Little did my Mom know, I left a good deal about Jonas out. I had to. There was no way I could give her the details she was asking for, but I didn’t the best I could in a pinch.

  I told her he was smart – so smart it was borderline insane – that he was strong and kind, that his eyes spoke for him when he couldn’t find the words to communicate what he wanted to say and that he was the single most beautiful boy I’d ever met. None of which was a lie.

  By the time I had finished describing him, my Mom was staring at me with her mouth agape and her hands twisting in her lap. For a second there I was worried she had put two and two together and worked out who I was talking about, but she proved that assumption wrong when she said,

  “I don’t, I mean, I’m not sure what to say.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, confused,

  “Sweetheart, I’m not sure if you’ve realized it, but when you talk about this boy, it doesn’t sound like the words of a girl with a crush.” Shaking her head, she concluded, “No, it’s more than that.”

  “I know it is,” I replied emphatically.

  “That’s what I was worried about,” she mumbled.

  “I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about, Mom. Like I said, he doesn’t even know I exist, not really. Sure, he talks to me sometimes, and he listens to me when I speak to him, but he doesn’t feel the way about me that I do about him,” I stressed, hoping to alleviate the concern written on her face.

  Pressing her lips into a thin line, Mom doesn’t look convinced. Not even remotely.

  “And that’s where you’re wrong, Bee. I might not have seen him with you or watched how you are with him, but everything you’re saying leads me to believe this boy is in as deep with you as you are with him. And that does worry me, baby.”

  “But why?” I all but whined. I know, very mature, right?

  “Because, Bee,” she sighed. “You’re young, and I know you won’t want to hear this now, but this boy, he sounds like he has something dark buried in him. Something I’m not sure I want my fifteen-year-old, soft, sweet, compassionate daughter trying to heal. I get that you want to be there for him because I think first and foremost you want to be his friend, but that doesn’t change the fact that darkness can overshadow light. And you, Blaine, are all light. Just promise me something,” Mom pleaded with me. At my nod, she went on, “Promise me that if you need to take a step back from this friendship, you will. Promise you won’t get so tangled up with this boy you can’t see your way clear if you need to.”

  That was when I did something I promised my Dad when I was five that I would never do. I openly, purposefully, blatantly lied to one of my parents.

  “I promise, Mom,” I said, not meaning a word.

  How did I know this was a lie? Because I knew there would never be a day I wouldn’t be tangled up in everything that was Jonas. I knew it when I was thirteen, the first time I saw him across the crowded clubhouse during one of his many welcome homes. I knew it when I was fifteen and got him to open up enough to grace me with the first real smile I’d seen him give anyone in two years. And I know this now, because now, Jonas is just as much a part of me as any one of my limbs. Without him, I wouldn’t be whole. And I knew that to the very depths of my soul.

  *****

  In the years that followed – three to be precise – I saw less and less of Jonas, but that didn’t mean the times I did see him were any less intense. As a matter of fact, they were more so.

  Jonas looked at me when he spoke to me on the rare occasions we had time to converse. He didn’t shy away from physical contact either. Albeit, all of it was initiated by me, and me alone. A touch to his forearm, a squeeze of his huge hand in mine, a kiss on the cheek; it was all me. And while he didn’t pull away, he didn’t reciprocate my affections, not once.

  If I weren't so sure he was worth it, that he was worth everything, I would have given up on him years ago. But I did know. I knew deep down that there was nothing he could do, nothing he could say that would change how I felt about him. That being, I loved him; everything about him.

  From the top of his scarred knuckles to the pit of his equally scarred soul; I loved Jonas Williams, and nobody was going to tell me otherwise. I was so convinced that I didn’t realize the day everything I knew, everything I was so sure of would implode. Unfortunately for me, I would be the only casualty that day, and it would be a day that marked me. A day that would stay with me until I took my last breath.

  The bittersweet agony of that day would also be something that would carry with me by choice. I wouldn’t let it go, I would take it with me because it meant something to me. Meant something so important that I couldn’t bear to part with it.

  Like all war wounds, I carried it with pride. I took the hit, bore it, and moved on. I had to; it was self-preservation at its finest. But what I wouldn’t do, was regret it. Never. Ever.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ~ Jonas ~

  “Dear Karma, I have a list of people you missed.”

  - Wrongcards

  “Have you lost your fucking mind, Torr? I get that I’ve been gone a while but, seriously?” I fumed.

  “What’d you expect me to do, big man? You weren’t here, and we had a call for it. People have been coming in asking for months, and we had to make an executive decision because your ass was holed up at home not answering the fucking phone.”

  I have to admit he has a point, but that didn’t give him the right to go ahead and make a decision that ultimately will affect my business without my approval.

  After hiring Beth more than a year ago – something I should have done sooner seeing as demand for ink far surpassed a single artist – I hired Terrance or Torr for short and Goff. At twenty-nine and twenty-four respectively, both men are hard workers, on time, and love what they do. It doesn’t hurt they’re fucking amazing artists in their own right either.

  My issue with Torr today isn’t substandard work, it’s that he’s decided to open Skin Fusion’s doors to piercings. Something I did not ever want to partake in.

  We’ve got enough work tattooing to keep up busy for the next twelve months, every artist being booked at least four in advance, without adding piercing people privates to the list of services we provide. Not to mention, I’ve got no intention of handling another mans’ junk; that includes tattooing it.

  “Yeah, and they could’ve kept fucking asking,” I shoot back. “That shit takes licenses, education, equipment, it’s not as simple as buying in a few needles, taking a stab at it and hoping for the best, Torr.”

  “No shit?” He spits back, raising a condescending eyebrow at me. “You don’t say.”

  “Calm the fuck down, both of you,” Goff growls. “I’m qualified, so is Torr. Both of us did the certifications while you were out, and we applied for the licenses as soon as we got done with the course. You weren’t here, Jay,” he says lowering his voice and shaking his head. “We talked to Beth, got her input, and even though she didn’t want to get certified too, she said it wasn’t an altogether bad idea. It brings a new dynamic in, and I’ve got to tell you, it’s been good for the tattoo side of the business too.”

  And this is one of
the reasons I employed this kid. Goff is sharp as a tack, and a diplomat to boot.

  At six-four and two hundred and ten pounds of lean muscle, Goff is Terrance’s polar opposite. Where the twenty-four-year-old is a physical powerhouse, packed with lean muscle and barely restrained strength, Terrance is five-ten and one hundred and seventy pounds of hipster.

  If I didn’t know better, I would think their Mom stepped out on their Dad. But I do know better, and I know that just plain isn’t true. The brothers might be vastly different in the looks department, but their tempers and personalities are almost identical.

  “And Beth gave you the impression I’d be on board with this?” I ask skeptically, knowing there no way in hell she would have given these two the go ahead without speaking to me first.

  “No, but we put it to a vote, and seeing as there were only three of us here, and Lindy, the majority ruled,” Torr replies quickly.