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

by Natasha Thomas

  Clapping my hands sharply, I draw their attention back to where it belongs.

  “Good work everyone. Your homework assignment for the weekend is to track your ongoing progress. Every day for the next three weeks, we’re going to be working on bettering the times each of you recorded at the beginning of the semester. With only four weeks left until summer, your comprehensive progress report will be due soon, so make sure you record every entry.” As the bells rings, I call, “Class dismissed.”

  Gathering the remaining equipment scattered around the field, James begins silently working alongside me.

  “Was that your boyfriend, Miss Adams?”

  Laughing at his description of Jonas, I reply,

  “No, James, he’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Who was he then?”

  I’m not sure how to answer that, so I opt for the truth.

  “He’s a good friend and the father of my baby.”

  "He didn't look at you like you were just a friend. That dude was totally into you, Miss Adams,” James surmises.

  I try to steer the conversation away from this uncomfortable topic of conversation by asking,

  “Have you given any more thought as to what you’re going to do about college? Purdue, Stanford, DU, and SoCal have all contacted me in the last few months asking for my recommendations. You’ve got your choice of school, it all comes down to you making the decision that’s the best fit for you.”

  James stuffs the last of the cones in the equipment bag, not taking his eyes off his task for a moment.

  “I accepted the scholarship from SoCal. It’s got a great football team, but their engineer program is one of the best in the country.”

  “Wow. Really?” I chirp excitedly. “That’s awesome, James. You’re going to love it out there. Two of my Uncles moved out to L.A. from Chicago about five years ago, and they’ve never looked back. Both of them are huge football fans, so as soon as I tell them one of my students is playing there, they’ll be at every home game. Are you going to be living on campus?”

  “Scholarship didn’t cover that. It was tuition only,” he mumbles.

  That gives me an idea.

  Dad’s brother, my Uncle Reid was the front man for one of the biggest rock bands in America, Saving You, until he retired from touring last year. Now, he’s producing music and the CEO of four studios located in L.A., Dallas, New York, and Nashville.

  Uncle Reid never married, and to our knowledge, didn’t have any kids. I say to our knowledge because he was a notorious rock ‘n’ roll manwhore, and honestly, he still is. Questionable taste in women and extracurricular activities aside, he loves kids and would give you the shirt off his back if he thought it would help.

  “I’ve got an idea. It will take me a few days to fine tune it, but check back with me on Monday. Hopefully, I’ll have an answer by then,” I tell him.

  “You don’t need to do that, Miss Adams. You’ve done enough already,” James implores.

  “I know I don’t,” I reassure him. “But I want to. Have you ever heard of Reid Adams?”

  James’ eyes widen, his mouth dropping open.

  “Who hasn’t. He’s only the biggest name in music.”

  Smiling brightly at him, I say,

  “Well, he’s my Uncle. One of the two who lives in L.A., actually. He travels a lot for business, but his home base is in California. A few years ago, when I went out to visit him, he’d just bought a new house not far from the university. You wouldn’t be able to walk but I’ve seen you leaving school in a car that I assume is yours, so transport shouldn’t be an issue.”

  And I just know the car he drives is his. It’s, at least, twenty years old, held together by rust, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it had more than two hundred thousand miles on it. It’s the kind of car a teenage boy works and saves for, purchasing with no help from his parents. Mine would never have allowed me to drive something so obviously unsafe, but I’m sensing from everything James has told me, his parents don’t have the same concerns for his safety mine did.

  “Yeah, it’s mine. Worked four summers, odd jobs, and weekends to buy it,” he says, confirming what I already know.

  “I’m not promising anything, but Uncle Reid’s house is empty except for him, and he’s a sociable kind of guy. Having you stay with him would kill two birds with one stone. You’d have somewhere to live rent-free, and he’d have company when he’s in town.”

  “Thanks for the offer, Miss Adams, but I can’t ask you to do that,” he repeats.

  “You can, but you’re not,” I smile back at him. “Honestly, I’d appreciate you keeping an eye on the old man. He takes some getting used to, but he’s a big softy at heart.”

  “Are we talking about the same guy?” He asks warily. “Because there’s nothing soft about the rock ‘n’ roll God featured in all those magazines with different women hanging off him every week.”

  Shaking my head in disgust because James is right, I sigh.

  “He’s that too, but that’s not all he is. The man I grew up around had the most beautiful smile of anyone I’ve ever met. He made me laugh all the time, played dress-up and tea parties with me when my brothers wouldn’t, and was at every birthday party, Thanksgiving and Christmas at our house no matter where he was in the world the day before. But the man behind the fame and family is even more amazing,” I confess softly. “Did you know he donates studio time to up and coming artists? He’s involved with children’s cancer foundations across the country, donating money, time, and organizing famous musicians to visit hospitals around America. Uncle Reid is also the beneficiary for the Landow-Adams arts scholarship offered by sixteen colleges in eleven states. That’s the man under the fame, James. He might be rough around the edges, but underneath it all, he’s got the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met.”

  “Wow,” he breathes. “Do you think he’d actually go for it?”

  “I do,” I confirm. “I’d be shocked if I don’t have a ticket in your name in my hand before the end of next week, that’s how okay with it he’ll be.”

  James looks awestruck. And I suppose, if I hadn’t grown up with Reid Adams as my Uncle, I would be too.

  “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for this. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Miss Adams. Even if this doesn’t work out, I want you to know that.”

  “You can thank me by sending me tickets to your first pro game, James. Other than that, no thanks necessary because it’s my pleasure.”

  *****

  Going to the mall with Bella is like entering the seventh circle of hell. My feet hurt, my back aches, and I’d do just about anything for this horrifying ordeal to be over.

  “What about this one?” Bella asks for the millionth time in the last hour.

  “No, it doesn’t make your ass look fat. Yes, your boobs look awesome in it. And yes, I think that’s the one,” I say by rote. It’s only the fiftieth time I’ve said it, so I’ve got the script down pat.

  “What crawled up your ass and died? You used to be fun to shop with, now you’re like the shopping anti-Christ.”

  Narrowing my eyes at her, I snap,

  “It was supposed to be a quick trip to the mall she said. It was meant to be fun she said. She’s a freaking liar. We’ve been here two hours, and you still haven’t bought anything. You are aware the whole purpose of shopping is to actually buy shit, aren’t you?”

  Bella throws her hands up in surrender, exclaiming,

  “Hey now. Calm down estrogen factory, as you know, this is a process, and the process can’t be rushed. I have a date tomorrow night and the look I’m going for takes time to perfect.”

  “What look is that? Classy streetwalker?” I question, eyeing the skin tight bronze scrap of fabric masquerading as a dress.

  “Don’t be jealous, munchkin,” she retorts, smoothing the non-existent material down her legs. “It won’t be long before you’re no longer the mothership for the alien invasion, so relax would you?”
Ignoring my death stare, she states, “This is the one. He’s not going to be able to resist me in this dress.”

  “Who are you going out with anyway. The last I heard, you were seeing that guy, Lee.”

  “Oh, he was so last month, sister. Where have you been?” She answers unrepentantly. “That’s right. You were laid up in my brother's bed living it up while the rest of us were out having fantastic sex with uber hot men who know exactly what to do with their tongues.”

  Sometimes Bella amazes me with the amount of confidence she has bottled up in her tiny frame. The thing is; it’s all a ruse. Bella hides behind her abrasive, outgoing personality chock full of piss and vinegar to shield herself from disappointment.

  One night, granted under the influence of copious tequila shots, Bella told me that she doesn’t do commitment because of her fear they’ll leave as soon as she ties herself to one of them.

  I can see why she’d be afraid of that. Her Dad left her Mom, Jonas left to serve overseas, and her first and only boyfriend left her to go off to college five states away and didn’t look back. Every man important to her some way or the other had left her, breaking her trust when they did.

  Sure, Jonas came back, and he left for a good reason, making him the exception, but Bella still took it hard every time he was re-deployed.

  “It baffles me that you think I want to hear the dirty details of your encounters, Bee two. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you to keep them to yourself, yet you still find ways to work them into our conversations,” I huff, slumping back into the chair located outside the dressing room.

  “Well, one of us has to be getting themselves some, and it’s obvious that someone isn’t you. You should try it. It might just improve your disposition,” she suggests, waggling her perfectly manicured eyebrows.

  “Then I’m glad it was you who picked up the torch in the name of the Vagina Olympics because I’m out of the competition for now.”

  “You don’t have to be. My brother would so bone you if you gave him the high sign.”

  “And look where that got me,” I mutter, gesturing to my rounded belly. “I’ve sworn off sex. It leads to swollen feet, severe boob inflation which, in turn, requires you to increase the limit on your credit card to accommodate, and having to get up to pee eighty-two times a night. No, thank you. Penetration for pleasure is off the table for me for the time being.”

  Bursting into uproarious laughter, Bella clutches her side, tears streaming down both her cheeks.

  “I am so telling Mom you said that; she’ll love it. But seriously? It’s not like he can impregnate you again and the man is clearly interested, so it really is no harm, no foul.”

  “Ah, I hate to ruin your attempt at matchmaking, but that is not going to happen. Jonas and I are just settling into being friends again, so we definitely don’t need to be complicating things by having sex,” I impart.

  Bella flashes me a smile that is part disturbing and part frightening before disappearing behind the curtain to get changed. Popping her head out, she tells me,

  “There’s a pool going, and I intend to be the one who wins it, so if you could say, give it up tomorrow I’d be super grateful. I’ve got my eye on this pair of to die for Manolo’s, and there’s no way I can buy them without winning that pot.”

  “Come again?” I ask, stunned at her admission.

  “The boys at the clubhouse started taking bets as to when you and Jonas would get your shit together and finally bump uglies again. The day you came home the pot was at twelve hundred, it’s over three thousand now. Avery has you down for a month before the baby is born, figuring you’ll have nothing but time on your hands and nothing to do with it. I, however, have more faith in my brother’s abilities than that. Fury’s already out; he had you down for last week. And Cash dropped out of the running the day you went back to work. He always was an optimist, though. I told him you weren’t that easy, but would he listen? No!”

  “Are you seriously telling me that you, Avery, and a bunch of bikers placed bets on the date you expect me and Jonas to have sex again?”

  “Yep.”

  “And you think that’s normal?”

  “Nope, but it is entertaining. Not sure if you’ve noticed, but there’s not a whole hell of a lot to do in, Furnace. The boys were bored so they decided to create their own fun. Avery and I were just lucky enough to cut in on their action before it was too late,” she responds.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t it tradition to take bets on the date, time, and weight of the baby, not if it’s parents will have a meeting of the pelvises again?” I question sarcastically.

  “Sure, but that shit’s boring. Who cares how much that sucker weighs when he’s born. And truthfully, the spread of dates is too short to make betting any fun. There are too many people and not enough baking time, Bee,” Bella informs me like I should have known that already.

  Hefting my ass out of the chair, I stretch my aching back and groan,

  “I suppose there’s not much I can do about it now. Just to say, you better give up all aspirations of getting those shoes, though, bitch. Because if there’s one thing I can promise you, it’s that even if I intended to have sex with Jonas again, which for the record I don’t, I wouldn’t tomorrow just out of principal.”

  “So much for helping a sister out,” she mumbles as we make our way out of the store.

  *****

  Forty-five minutes later, I’m dressed, my makeup is flawless, and I’m putting the finishing touches on my hair when Jonas walks in the door. He’s wearing a pair of black jeans that fit his muscular thighs and accentuate his incredible ass, and a white t-shirt underneath an unbuttoned, tailored black dress shirt. Around his waist is a fantastic leather belt with a buckle proclaiming it’s from the biggest Harley store in the area, and on his feet his trademark black, beat up motorcycle boots. All-in-all, the man looks utterly delicious.

  I chose my outfit for tonight carefully. I didn’t want it to scream, I spent hours making myself look attractive to go out to dinner with a sinfully sexy mountain man, but I didn’t want to appear to have put in no effort either.

  Taking after my Mom during all of her pregnancies, I’ve put on very little weight anywhere but my belly. Avery tells me often that it looks like I’ve shoved a basketball up the front of my shirt, masquerading as a baby. That’s where she’s wrong. I might have a perfectly round stomach which resembles a basketball, but there’s no denying there is a baby on board.

  One thing I’m grateful for when there is so much about pregnancy to complain about is that I’m still able to wear all my old clothes. Minor alterations not included.

  For example, the dress I’m wearing tonight is one I wore three years ago to go out with Uncle Reid to the opening of his newest studio in Dallas. Thankfully it’s made entirely out of stretchy jersey fabric, though, or fitting into it would have been impossible.

  Saphire blue with capped sleeves, it is fitted from my bust all the way down to my knees. The slit up the back to mid-thigh is sexy without being slutty, and the low V accentuates my ample cleavage. The last time I put on this dress, I don’t remember it gaping so much, but I suppose I wasn’t carrying around two cantaloupes back then. More like papayas.

  “Jesus,” Jonas hisses when he catches sight of my back.

  Continuing to add pins to the tendrils of hair escaping the French twist at the nape of my neck, I try to hide my smile. I forgot to mention that the back of the dress is non-existent all the way down to the base of my spine. That was why I bought it. From the front, it’s all business, but it screams party in the back. It’s just unfortunate that it doesn’t allow for wearing a bra because I’m sure by the end of the night my boobs are going to be very unhappy with me.

  “Please tell me you’ve got a jacket or some shit to put on?” Jonas mutters under his breath.

  “In the kitchen,” I instruct, spraying my hair for the last time.

  After helping my with my jacket, Jon
as opens the door for me and ushers me out to his truck.

  Early on in my recovery getting into Jonas’ truck was impossible. The pain climbing into the cab caused me wasn’t worth the freedom of leaving the apartment for the hour or two Jonas allowed me. The day I tried and failed, Jonas cursed, picked me up and carried me back into the apartment, growling something about “killing those assholes” and left once he’d deposited me back in his bed.

  He came home an hour later, again grumbling incoherently, but this time about “fucking pricks making him drive a fucking four-door.” I didn’t understand what he was talking about until the next morning he helped me downstairs and settled me in the front seat of a brand new Ford Mustang.

  All he said as he closed the driver's side door was,