Fear is practically vibrating off Blaine now, but the level of emotions she’s exuding is only a fraction of the blind rage I feel as the pieces slowly click together in my mind.
Six seconds it takes. Six seconds for me to realize the reason my daughter ran, the reason she took off, and the reason she’s pregnant is, Jonas. Six seconds it takes for me to rear my fist back and connect with his jaw. And six seconds is all it takes for Jonas to shake it off, move in front of Blaine, and say,
“You get that one for free. The next one will cost you.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
~ Jonas ~
“Why do people call at 3 am and then ask if you’re sleeping? What the fuck do they think I’m doing? Skydiving?”
- Jonas’s secret thoughts
There aren’t a lot of things that can shock me anymore, but Tank getting the drop on me is definitely one of them. His frame isn’t built for speed it’s designed to inflict the maximum amount of pain.
The man is a fucking powerhouse. Tall. Broad. Heavily muscled after years in the military, and even more spent serving his MC as an Enforcer. You wouldn’t be able to tell he’s fifty-five if it wasn’t for the streaks of gray through his hair, heavier at his temples.
I shift my body so that Blaine is completely dwarfed behind me, caging her in against the wall so that if her old man decides to throw another wild punch she’s protected. He wouldn’t hurt her, not on purpose, but the man is pissed, and I don’t blame him. In his eyes, I defiled his baby, knocked her up, and left her for dead. It’s bullshit, but there’s no point telling him that. In the state he’s in, Tank won’t hear a fucking word I say.
“Someone better start fucking talking. You, her, I don’t give the first fuck which one of you it is, just do it and do it fast,” Tank seethes, his nostrils flaring and forearms flexing as he clenches his hands into tight fists.
Directing his anger where it belongs, I growl,
“Only one of us has the answers you’re looking for, and it isn’t me.” Locking eyes with a terrified Blaine over my shoulder, I indicate to Tank it’s his daughter he should be talking to.
“Girl. Talk,” he barks.
In the two minutes since Tank landed his cheap shot on my still aching jaw, the diner has emptied of customers and filled with bikers instead. Six Devil’s Spawn, if you’re counting Blaine’s oldest brother, Bryce, who isn’t technically a member, and five Vengeance brothers, myself included. The same as Bryce, I may not be a member by leather and ink, but brotherhood is a different story.
Not one of the men staring on at the scene in front of them with avid interest moves. Nor will they unless it’s absolutely necessary. Do I trust the Vengeance boys to have my back if shit goes south? Yes. And the same is true for, Tank. But they won’t step in unless one of us gives them a reason to.
Taking a shuddering breath, wilting under her father’s narrowed gaze, Blaine begins by saying,
“This isn’t his fault, Dad, it’s mine. Jonas didn’t know about the baby. I don’t know how he knows now because I didn’t tell him. This is actually the first time I’ve seen him since weeks.”
“You kept his kid from him?” Boss says unnecessarily, confirming what we all already know. “There are a few things you don’t do to a man, Blaine, and that’s one of them. Doesn’t matter if you’ve given birth to the kid yet or not, a man’s got a right to know he’s gonna be a Dad.”
Pulling herself together in the face of Boss’ bluntly conveyed disappointment, Blaine does something I hadn’t banked on when I envisaged how this was going to go down. She gives the honesty right back.
“I absolutely agree. Jonas did have the right to know. And he would have, just not today. When? I don’t know, but I would have eventually. I was scared to tell him and worried about he would react. And I know that’s no excuse for what I did, but it’s the truth. However, what I’m struggling to reconcile right now is how it’s anyone else's business but mine and his. Where I live, and where I work, if I choose to work at all has nothing to do with my Dad, my Uncles, or you. Regardless of where I decide to live, I had no intention of keeping Jonas’ child from him and would have made sure he got to see the baby as much, or as little as he wanted.”
Ignoring her, Gage interjects,
“Think you’ve got a good idea why it’s our business, Blaine. He’s our brother, cut or no cut. You hurt him; you’re hurting us. We mightn’t know you as well as these guys,” he says, indicating to the wall of Devil’s Spawn leather beside him. “But you’ve been around us long enough to know we’d have your back too. With or without you being with Jay, we would have made sure you were taken care of. That, all of that, makes this shit our business. Dig deep, honey. You know what I’m saying is right.”
“I understand that too,” she nods, not missing a beat. “And I’m glad he has you. It’s important to have people you can count on, and Jonas has that in you. I also know that I couldn’t put any of you in the position to lie for me. Because this was mine to tell him when and how I wanted, not because I was forced to. I’m twenty-five, a grown woman, Gage, and have the right to make my own choices. Choices that are right for me, not everyone else.” Looking at her Dad, Blaine reminds him, “Dad, you told me once that the only person guaranteed to look out for me, forever and always, was me. That’s what I was doing; looking out for me. I know it’s hard for you to come to terms with, but I’m not the same little girl who used to hide behind your strength to protect myself anymore. I grew up. Things change and so did I. You’re angry, I get that. You’re also hurt that I didn’t tell you sooner, and you have a right to feel that way. However, I can honestly say, going back in time, I wouldn’t have done anything differently.”
“I would have hoped, after this fucking scene, you’d have learned something, darlin’,” Reaper drawls. “Fuck, kid. Least you could have done was say you’d have changed telling your man about his kid instead of running.”
“Do you want honesty, or do you want me to lie because that’s what you want to hear, Uncle Reaper?” She asks tersely. “Because if that’s the case, there’s no point having this conversation. You just tell me what you want to hear, and I’ll say it.”
“No need to get short with me, kid,” he rumbles.
“Isn’t there? Because from where I’m standing there’s every reason.”
“How so?” Cash snarls angrily. “Because I’ve got to say, the way I see it, the decision you made proved how fucking incapable you are of being a goddamn adult Grownups think about how they’re affecting others, they don’t take off when shit gets hard. You want everyone to believe you're all grown up, stay and own your choices.”
“Enough!” I bellow.
I’ll accept plenty from these men, and I appreciate their support, but I won’t tolerate them speaking to Blaine like that.
“I get you’re pissed for me, brother, and down to my soul you’ve got my respect. But if I ever hear you talk to her like that again, I’ll make sure you go home to missing a few important pieces we all know are vital to your existence,” I threaten.
Grinning widely, Boss offers,
“How about we see if this town has a bar that serves beer and burgers while they sort their shit out? Need to wash the road down my throat before I get another dose on the way home.”
“Appreciate it, Boss,” I return.
“We’ll head out with them if that’s good with you, brother?” Reaper questions.
“Yeah, do that. Stay close, though. I want to get home to my wife when we’re done here,” he confirms.
They don’t get a chance to leave before pandemonium hits the diner.
Glass explodes. Chairs and tables overturn. Bullets fly, lodging in drywall. And shouts to reach cover come from all directions. My focus is centered on one thing, and one thing alone. Blaine, and making sure she comes out of whatever this is unharmed.
But I’m too late.
CHAPTER TWELVE
~ Blaine ~
“When you’re s
tressed, you eat ice cream, cake, chocolate, and sweets. Why? Because stressed spelled backward is desserts.”
- yourecards
“Seriously, I’m fine. If you don’t stop fussing over me, I’m considering calling Gage and asking him to come over and bring one of his guns, or ten, with him,” I huff.
Two weeks after the incident in the diner, and nine days after I was released from the hospital with a clean bill of health, my patience has finally come to an end.
When I woke up in a hospital bed with my shoulder and thigh burning, the headache to end all headaches, and my arm in a cast up to my elbow, I was confused. But that lasted all of a few minutes before I remembered what had happened.
Standing in the diner, one second worrying about how to calm my Dad down and simultaneously explain to Jonas why I had done what I did, the next Jonas was throwing me to the ground, covering me with his massive body.
Before everything went dark, unconsciousness dragging me under, the sight I was gifted with when I turned my head to see what was happening almost made me laugh. If it weren't for the fact I was leaking blood from two bullet holes, I probably would have.
Watching grown men, all of whom are over six-feet tall and two hundred pounds, hide behind tiny, flimsy tables more useful for displaying a crystal vase than used as a shield against a hail of gunfire, was in my delirious state; hilarious. Actually, it still is.
What wasn’t funny was the look on Jonas’ face when he realized I had been shot. Even worse was when he was told the fall, and subsequently, him landing on my arm was what broke my wrist.
I don’t know what hurt more. The pain from where the bullets tore through the flesh between my shoulder and clavicle and the meat of my upper thigh, or the expression on Jonas’ face at the news he was responsible for hurting me. Let’s just say, the latter ended up being far more painful as the days went on. I would heal, but I was and still am, concerned Jonas will.
“Shut up,” Avery groans, dropping onto the bed beside me jostling my arm, which causes me to wince. Something I, unfortunately, don’t mask fast enough when Jonas walks in.
“Stop fucking doing that,” he growls. “She’s never gonna heal if you keep jarring her arm like that.”
Throwing her hands up in surrender but facing me, Avery apologizes,
“Sorry, Bee. Did I hurt you?”
“Of course, you fucking hurt her. She doesn’t wince like that when she not in pain.” Raking his hands through his hair, Jonas asks, “What are you doing here anyway? Didn’t you just leave?”
That’s what I’m wondering too.
As soon as Avery found out what had happened, she, Bella, and Beth all piled in the car and spent the next five days camped out in either my hospital room or the hotel across the street.
In the beginning, I was happy for the company. Not to mention, the break from my overbearing parents and brothers, dozens of bikers, all of which were livid I’d been injured, and one openly devastated, equally furious Jonas.
However, by day three of the girls hostile takeover of my room, I was all but ready to kick them out. Something Jonas noticed and saw to in spectacular fashion.
One-by-one, Jonas took Bella, Beth, and Avery’s hands deposited them in the waiting room, pointed at each of their men (in Bella’s case Dirty seeing he was the only one there at the time), and instructed them to get the hell out. According to a text I got from Bella later, her big brother went as far as to say; if they came back before the morning (it was eleven am when he forcibly removed them), Jonas would report them to the police for stalking.
“Relax, caveman. I was just dropping off some of Blaine’s classwork for her to mark,” Avery informs him.
“She doesn’t need to be doing that shit right now, Ave. Shit. She only just got out of the hospital.”
“Dude, that was like, nine days ago,” Avery reminds him playing with fire.
Needless to say, Jonas does not like being reminded of my stay in the hospital, or why I was there longer than I would have been for the bullet wounds alone. Because my injuries were classified as through and through's, only needing to be cleaned and stitched – something that is not pleasant when only under mild sedation – I would have been released after three days if it wasn’t for my broken wrist.
At first, my wrist was too swollen to be casted properly, the doctor opting to stabilize it with a soft cast instead. This meant I was required to stay until such time he could fit me with the solid cast I have on now. That took five days. Five days too long for Jonas.
Sensing his mood deteriorating into the red zone, I say,
“It’s only ticks and crosses, Jonas. I can manage that much. Anyway, you won’t let me get out of bed unless it’s to go to the bathroom, and I’m dying of boredom. There’s only so much Netflix a person can watch before considering shimmying down a drainpipe to escape the mind-numbing crap they have on there.”
“The doctor hasn’t given you the all clear to work you, baby. He said it’d be, at least, a month before you could go back. More if your stitches have to stay in for longer than the two weeks the doc said they did,” he reminds me.
“I know that, but this isn’t really working. And Mr. Peters might have been happy about having me back, but I’m already asking for a lot what with him holding my job until I’m back on my feet.”
“That fucker is lucky to have you, and he knows it,” Jonas growls. “He ask you to do this?” He asks, gesturing to the pile of papers Avery deposited at the foot of the bed.
“No,” I admit softly. And he wouldn’t. Especially, not after Jonas paid him a visit to ask for my job back the day after I came back to Furnace.
Somewhere in between being shot and waking up, Jonas had made the unilateral decision that I would be moving in with him as soon as I was released from the hospital. There was no discussion about it, at least, not one he had with me.
When I broached the subject with him, Jonas shut it down by saying,
“Need you safe, baby. And that means you stay with me where I can keep an eye on you. You’re carrying my kid, but even if you weren’t, I’d be the one looking after you.”
That was it. Jonas made his statement and didn’t invite any further conversation no the subject. Which, I’ll have you know, was seconded by my Dad.
In a strange turn of events, my Dad was no longer out for Jonas’ blood. Instead, he looked almost indebted to him. The reason why, I found out the day after I woke up.
According to my Mom, who was also a permanent fixture my entire stay in the hospital, my Dad got over his anger at Jonas as soon as he saw Jonas shielding me with his body. The fact that Jonas had no regard for himself and was all about protecting me spoke volumes as far as he was concerned. Something I happen to agree with.
Along with Jonas’ decree I stay with him for a yet to be determined period of time, he set about setting to rights my life in Furnace. In other words, Jonas took it upon himself to undo everything I did when I left. Starting with getting my job back for me.
I didn’t fight him on it. I let him do what he needed to because that’s what it was; a need. During a time where almost everything was out of his control, Jonas needed something he could take charge of. Something that would right the balance. That something just happened to be my life.
Sitting down in the curve of my hip, Jonas rubs his palm over the stubble of his jaw. That’s another thing that’s changed of late. Where before, Jonas shaved his face and head bald, religiously, in the last few weeks he’s stopped shaving altogether. Now he has, at least two, inches of thick, dark hair covering the top and sides of his head, and a permanent five o’clock shadow, that you just know would be a full beard if he let it grow out.
“So, if your boss isn’t asking you to do this shit, then why are you?” He grumbles, stroking the top of my hand with his thumb.
“Because I’m sick of lying around feeling useless, that’s why. Anyway, it’s only a few papers, Jonas. I don’t even have to move from the bed to do them
,” I reason.
“Right. I’m giving you an hour to get it done. After that, you put that shit away. Deal?”
“Fine,” I sigh, rolling my eyes skyward.
“Jeez, big guy. Lighten up. If her grading some papers sends you into cold sweats, what are you going to do when she goes ack to work full-time in a couple of weeks?” Avery unwisely asks.
This has been another bone of contention for Jonas and I. I want to work, and he doesn’t see the point. I’ve tried to explain that women work all the way through their pregnancies, some until thirty-eight weeks before going on leave, but he refuses to listen to me. In his mind, even if it wasn’t for me being shot, I should be cloistered in the apartment and waited on hand and foot until I’m due to deliver.
We agreed to disagree when I stated that I will be going back to work, but promised to stop a month before I’m due, if not earlier. I think Jonas is hoping that earlier will come to mean the day after I start back, but little does he know, I intend to keep working until the bitter end.
Vengeance MC Box Set - Volume 1: Call Me...Vengeance ~ Fury ~ Jonas Page 74