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

by Natasha Thomas

  Now, what does an almost twenty-six-year-old, trying to be independent, gym teacher from a smallish town in Colorado do when she finds herself in a precarious position such as this? Simple. Tell absolutely no one and pray the fifty-five gazillion pregnancy tests that came up positive were, in fact, faulty.

  To break it down for you quickly. Yes, I know I should tell Jonas. Yes, I know I am taking my own life in my hands by not telling Avery. And abso-freaking-lutely yes, my Dad is going to kill me when he finds out. By my count, that’s two death warrants and one maybe. Could be worse, but it the circumstances could be a whole hell of a lot better too.

  As the sad truth would have it, at this point, I’m actually more willing to take a risk on letting Jonas know his super-swimmers stormed the castle, penetrated the fortress, and set about wreaking havoc on my chastity sworn eggs than tell my Dad or Avery. But that should not come as much of a surprise.

  And to make matters worse – as if they could get any worse, which they most definitely can – it’s getting harder and harder to keep the specific details of why I look like crap 24/7 from one baby daddy's sister.

  While Bella’s need for accommodation may have come as a boon at the news of Avery’s swift and unplanned departure, now I’m thinking it was more of a curse. Of course, I wasn’t to know then I would soon find myself with a stowaway on board, But just to state the obvious, it would make things a lot easier if I didn't have to hide my B-grade rendition of the exorcist movie, morning, noon, and night.

  “If I were you, I would take advantage of the fact you’ve got that whole deep-dish to yourself and quit your bitching, Missy,” I returned fire, making Bella break out in a blinding, not professionally whitened smile.

  Raising her glass in a mock toast, Bella winks saying,

  “To the advantageous position of single person pizza consumption.”

  “Here, here,” I mutter while pretending not to gag on the OJ I’m forcing down.

  Seriously, this morning sickness jig is no joke. I don’t think even after a night of copious hours including multiple varieties of alcoholic beverages that I’ve ever been so ill in my life. Not that I’m a big drinker, but when the spirit moves me, I don’t mind imbibing occasionally.

  And while the raging case of projectile vomit at all hours of the day or night does reign supreme, my hormonal situation is too on the verge of being uncontrollable.

  Just yesterday, I found myself crying for half and hour over a Barbie commercial on TV. Why you ask? Because my very real, yet somewhat irrational reaction as to the state of homelessness these dolls find themselves in when nobody purchases them, sent me straight over the edge into Boo Hoo Town.

  It’s at times like these a girl needs her Mom. Not because I can’t deal with the laundry that comes from the multitude of trips to redeposit my meals every few hours, or my senseless crying jags, but just because I want her. But alas, there will be no mother without the inevitable two hundred and something pound hemorrhoid that I call, Dad, and that is simply not something I have the energy nor desire to deal with.

  “Hey, did I stop speaking Bitchanese and you tuned out, or do you really feel that bad?” Bella asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

  “I’m good,” I reply, waving her off. “Just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, that’s all.”

  “Well, you know who could help you out by tucking you in safe and sound?”

  “Don’t go there. I do not need your form of sick humor tonight, unless that is, you actually want my dinner to make a reappearance?” I warn.

  Apparently not listening or just not caring, Bella grins,

  “Jonas. He’d tuck you in real good,” she laughs, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

  “You are aware you’re talking about your brother, right?” I remind her.

  “Of course. What other Jonas would I be talking about?”

  “And you are aware the context in which you are referring to him tucking me in leans firmly toward nudity, moaning, grunting sweating, resulting in the culmination of penis in vagina action, right?” I prompt, trying to stifle the giggle building in my chest.

  “That is sick, Bee,” she cringes. “Fine, I’ll stop. You win tonight’s round of who can be most disgusting in ten seconds or less.”

  “Damn skippy,” I crow.

  “But, really. Are you okay because whatever bug you caught is hanging around for a hell of a long time, babe.”

  If there’s one thing I can say about Bella, it’s that she sharp. Not much gets past her, and honestly, I’m surprised she hasn’t worked it out for herself yet.

  “I’m really, really sure, I’m okay. Give it another few days, if I’m not back to my usual charming self, I’ll go see Doc,” I promise. What she doesn’t need to know is that I’ve already scheduled an appointment to confirm my pregnancy the day after tomorrow. So, in essence, I didn’t lie.

  “If you say so,” she shrugs. “You want me to come with?”

  “Ah, no. But thanks anyway,” I say a little too quickly.

  Eyeing me warily, Bella prods,

  “You wouldn’t be keeping anything from me, would you Bee?”

  “Nope, nothing,” I reply, begging her silently to drop it.

  “You’re positive, like one hundred percent sure?” She goads, narrowing her eyes at me.

  “Yep. Super sure.”

  “Because if there were something you wanted to get off your chest that you wanted to keep between us, such as the highly likely event you’ll be giving birth to a miniature mountain-man baby who is the spitting image of my brother, I’d be totally down with hearing your confession. Not to mention, keeping it on the down-low.”

  Damn, shit, crap. Fuck!

  “How? What? I just don’t….” my sentence trails off.

  “Not exactly rocket science, Bee. You puke your guts up no less than eighty-two times a day, you’ve lost weight, you’re pale, not sleeping, and you look at food like it’s making a calculated attempt on your life every time you come within sniffing distance of it. Putting two and two together, I came up with necessary, yet still completely hideous eventual vaginal exorcism of the infant variety.”

  Wow, I hadn’t ever thought of it that way. Thanks for putting it in my head, though, Bella, I muse silently.

  “I’m not sure what the protocol here is, Bella. Seriously, though. This was not planned. I didn’t do this to trap your brother. And I have no Earthly fucking clue how to tell him our one horrible mistake has resulted in a game changer for us both,” I divulge.

  “So you admit it then? You are indeed knocked up with my big brother's monstrous love child? Because you have to know, that baby is not only going to be a game changer but a pink biscuit changer too,” she laughs.

  Disgusted, I beg,

  “Can you please never, ever call a woman’s vagina a pink biscuit ever again? That is just wrong on so many levels.”

  “That’s the least of your worries, Bee. I think your focus should be on how, and when, you’re going to tell the newly turned psychopath that is my brother, that you’re carrying his gargantuan love spawn.”

  “Yeah, about that… Do you happen to have any suggestion on how I’m going to do that seeing as neither of us can stand to be in the same room as each other?” I ask sarcastically.

  “Now, listen here, my hormones took a trip to crazy town. I don’t know what happened between you two, but clearly, whatever it was wasn’t good. He isn’t talking, and you’re buttoned up tighter than a penguins asshole on the frostiest of winter days. No one will willingly share the ten feet of space around my brother, that includes Mom, Mel, and Jess, and you have all but dropped off the face of the planet for fear you might accidentally run into him.” Getting more agitated, she stresses, “I can’t help either of you if I don’t know what the fucking deal is between you two, so start talking because I’m sensing I’ve got a better chance of getting it out of you than him.”

  And at that, I burst into tears. Not pretty tears, great bi
g ugly body-wracking sobs.

  I haven’t told one single soul about what happened between Jonas that day. Not one. And it isn’t because he inadvertently hurt me because I was too stupid and naive to tell him I was a virgin first, either. The reason I haven’t shared is the overwhelming shame I feel. On my part, not his.

  Jonas doesn’t have one thing to be ashamed about. He did what I asked – what I goaded him too. I all but offered myself up on a silver platter and dared him to taste the forbidden fruit, which on a side note, he did really, really freaking well. So, no. Jonas carries no shame in this, but I carry plenty.

  If I could turn back the clock, I would have done three things differently.

  Firstly, I wouldn’t have put in place the ridiculous condition of him leaving straight afterward. All that did was make me feel like a slut. A used one, at that. In hindsight, having Jonas hold me, comfort me, and take care of me after we did the deed would have made a difference. A huge one.

  Secondly, I would have confessed my complete lack of previous experience, and prayed Jonas didn’t turn me down because of it. He may have, and I could have accepted that. What I can’t accept is that I didn’t give him that choice. I pretty much coerced him after lying to him, and that is not okay.

  But the third is the biggest. The thing I spend every night, and a good deal of each and every day rehashing in my head. I should have demanded he kiss me – instigated it, at least – but I didn’t, and I can’t rewrite the past now. Just know that I hate myself more for the last than the two before it.

  “Jesus,” Bella hisses when my sobs eventually die down and I can explain what happened to her. “Fuck me sideways with a candlestick in the library, Mr. Butler, because that is one seriously messed up story, sister.”

  Unsure of how to reply, I stay quiet and let her process everything I’ve told her. But she’s right; it was messed up. Horribly messed up.

  “I hate to do it, but I’m going to play devil’s advocate here for a bit, babe, so bear with me okay?”

  Nodding at her, I drop my head to study my feet that are restlessly shifting through the carpet.

  Bella doesn’t hesitate in grabbing one of my hands and squeezing it reassuringly before she breaks it down in her own unique and colorful way.

  “So, both of you have had feelings for each other for years, yours of the goo-goo eyed love sick variety, and his coming in a close second.” Wanting to interrupt already, I go to interject, but she throws her hand up to stop me. “No. Don’t say a word. He didn’t tell you because he probably hasn’t even realized it himself yet, but that man loves you, Bee. His day doesn’t start or finish until he’s seen of heard from you, and albeit my big brother is a tad slow on the uptake, trust me when I say; he feels the same way about you as you do about him.”

  Groaning, Bella shakes her head exclaiming,

  “Why men are such dumbasses, I’ll never know, but they are, and we love them anyway. Look, the way I see it, you both fucked up. You when you didn’t tell him you were as untouched as a Nepalese sheep-herders daughter at the age of ten, and him for not being more gentle and sticking around when he realized what had gone down. Because you know he knows, Bee. A man like Jonas doesn’t roar like that unless he’s seriously wounded, babe, and he was ravaged that day when he finally put the pieces together. Now, this is where it gets tricky,” she warns. “I get why you didn’t tell him, I also get why you pushed the point and took it somewhere with him you probably weren’t honestly ready for. But what I don’t get is why you wouldn’t let him stay afterward.”

  Quietly, I mumble,

  “Because I knew I wouldn’t want him to leave if he did.”

  “And what makes you think he would have?”

  Looking at her, my forehead scrunches up in confusion.

  “I can’t do let’s see where this goes, Bella, not with Jonas. That’s all he was offering, and it would have hurt too damn much to have to hear him tell me it wasn’t going anywhere.”

  “And that right there is what redeems yourself in my eyes,” she states proudly.

  “Huh?”

  “There are two kinds of women, Bee. One who wants to have fun, be spontaneous and likes to get herself some, however, it comes as long as it’s good. That type doesn't need the promise of a picket fence, seasonal window boxes, and a husband that comes complete with a brood of kids. The other kid, your kind, they do need that, and there’s not one single fucking thing wrong with that, as long as the man you’re expecting it from is on the same page,” she advises.

  Still confused, I mutter,

  “But didn’t ask Jonas for any of that.”

  “I know you didn’t, babe, but it’s written all over you. You didn’t need to say a word and my brother knew that’s the kind of woman you are.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I huff indignantly.

  “It’s not, and it is,” she goes on to add. “For you, it’s all good because you know that’s where you’ll end up one day. Maybe it’s not in your five-year plan, but you know that eventually you’ll be that woman carpooling and dropping her kids off to an obscene number of extracurricular activities. For Jonas? He wants the dream, craves it, he’d bend himself like a pretzel to get it even, but that doesn’t mean he was ready to see his future staring him right in the face every time he looked at you.”

  This is why, Bella, who is an acquired taste for most, is one of my very best friends. She has the uncanny ability to make sense of otherwise terrifyingly complex situations, others couldn’t dream of deciphering. Which leads me to think, is she speaking from personal experience? I don’t ask as much, but I do table that subject to broach at a later date. One when I’m preferably not close to crying jag seven for the day.

  “Not done yet, babe. Stick with me, okay?” She declares seconds later. “In this situation, my idiot brother should have known better. Like I said, you scream commitment, babies, and Thanksgiving dinner with obscure relatives. This is not a secret. To be honest, you couldn’t be more transparent if you tried. Mom sees it, I see it, even freaking Mel sees it, and we all know she’s not the sharpest tool in the shed. And I know Jonas see it. It was his responsibility if he was going to go there with you to make sure you were both on the same page before he rocked out with his cock out.”

  A hysterical giggle burst from my chest at her description.

  “So not funny, girlfriend,” she chastises. “Actually, I don’t know a time that discussing my brother's junk will ever be humorous, but there you have it. At least I got a laugh out of you,” she smiles back at me.

  “Love you, B2,” I whisper, meaning it more than I can possibly convey with words.

  “And I you, baby mama,” she returns, shoulder bumping me gently. “Now on to the not so fun part of the evening.”

  “I was hoping we could round it out there. You know, leave it on a high note,” I suggest.

  “Not on your life, Nelly,” Bella denies swiftly. “See, there’s the tiny peanut-sized issue of said parasite we need to discuss. I’ll have your back no matter what, you know that, but you have to tell him, Bee. And for your sake, you need to do it soon. I know you’re still in the first stretch of gestating my niece or nephew in there,” she says, gesturing to my non-existent baby bump. “But that said, Jonas has the right to know and be as big, or little a part of it as he wants to be.”

  “How, Bella? How the hell do I tell him that the only time we were together, I ended up pregnant, and at the same time, convince him I didn’t intentionally try to trap him?”

  “Ah, just asking, but do you have a dick that in all the months we’ve been living together I’m not aware of?”

  What the hell?

  “That would be a negatory, Starlord, but thanks for asking,” I snipe.

  “Do you know who does?” She grins unrepentantly.

  “Jesus, Bella, not this again,” I groan, rolling my eyes at her.

  “Jonas,” Bella screeches loudly.

  “Uh-huh,” I gru
nt, giving up on reprimanding her for being a loon.

  “The way I figure it; if you bring the equipment, you provide the safety gear. In this case, paint sprayer meet full-body coverall.”

  “And you just keep getting more disgusting. However, I’ve got to commend you on your interesting use of visuals for what it’s worth,” I mutter.

  “Yep, that’s me. A natural storyteller. But back to the point,” she sasses. “Shit happens. Sometimes the mood overtakes you. Sometimes the shield doesn’t hold up to the pounding. And sometimes the cover-all doesn’t quite cut the mustard. But no matter how it happened, it was Jonas’ job to make sure he checked with you whether you were providing end zone defensive coverage, or if it was up to him to go on the offensive.” Patting me on the back, Bella quips, “Suck it up, buttercup. You’re cooking what is soon to be my beloved hellraiser in there, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”