by Sam Crescent
Sienna patted his knee in a sisterly way. “You guys are pretty good at smoothing out complications. I’m sure you’ll fix things.”
Vandal’s mind whirred, moving in a dangerous direction. “I’m sure we will.”
“So…” She studied her perfectly manicured nails with a forced nonchalance. “How’s Cannibal?”
Vandal rolled his eyes. “What is it with you two?”
“Nothing,” she said, a little bitterly. She stood, stretching. “Tell him I said hi though, okay?”
He promised he would and waved her off, thoughts churning. Fix things. Yeah, but how to fix them so Psycho City, and Vandal specifically, came out on top? He wasn’t sure of that yet.
****
The sun had almost vanished into the water by the time he heard from Tara. She texted him to say she was about an hour away, asked him to pick up a bottle of wine and meet her at her place. He was only too happy to oblige.
Tara lived in a modestly nice neighborhood. Nothing flashy, but quiet and safe. The kind of place you settled down to raise your kids in. Vandal knew his black and chrome Harley looked out of place on her neat driveway, next to the saplings and lavender in her garden, but he kind of liked that. Dusk had settled over the streets when he pulled up outside her house, shading the sky like a bruise. His spine prickled as he approached the door, although he couldn’t say why. A creeping sense of unease, honed by his years in the military, kept him cautious, looking out for anything out of place besides himself.
The smell of fresh paint hit him before he saw the single word daubed on Tara’s door. Slut.
Hot rage roared through him. He spun, certain the culprit had to still be around.
A hooded figure shot out from around the back of the house, sprinting for the road. Vandal gave chase, tackling him to the ground hard. The bigger man grunted, but shoved Vandal off him without much effort. Vandal got to his knees, and had just a second to decide it was Niall before the guy’s elbow connected with his jaw. The blow dazed him, and he had no chance to fend off the second one. Or the third.
Unconsciousness hit before he felt the fourth blow.
Chapter Six
“Vandal? Dru?”
Tara’s worried voice and gentle hands brought him around. Vandal groaned, rubbing his jaw as he stirred. His entire head pounded, aching where Tara’s fingers stroked his cheeks. She knelt in front of him, her face contorted with fright. Full dark had fallen, and a too-bright street light made his eyes water, blurring her into nothing.
“I’m okay,” he said, leaning his head back. That stinging fresh paint smell hit him again, and he realized he was propped up against Tara’s front door. He grabbed her hand instinctively. “You saw the door?”
“I could hardly miss it.” There was a dry note to her voice that made him think this wasn’t the first time this had happened. “I don’t care about the door. I care about you. Do we need to go to the hospital?”
He shook his head, then regretted it when the spinning started. “No. I’m good, really.” Using the door for balance, he pushed himself up and decided he really was okay—or would be. His jaw was tender, but nothing was broken and he didn’t think he had a concussion.
He pulled Tara into a crushing embrace, inhaling the unique scent of popcorn and spice that seemed to always linger on her. “I’m not going to let him hurt you. You know that, right?”
She wrapped her arms round his waist, sighing. “It’s not me I’m worried about.”
He lifted her chin, seeing the fear etched on her face and loathing Niall for putting it there. “Does he do this every time you start dating someone?”
A faint flush colored her cheeks. “There hasn’t been anyone until now. Nobody before you, Dru. Nobody.”
“And nobody again.” The declaration was out of his mouth without checking his brain. Telling a survivor of domestic abuse she wasn’t going to date anyone else ever again probably wasn’t the most tactful way of declaring his love, but Vandal couldn’t find it in himself to give a shit. She was his and Niall would learn that one way or another.
Heat lit up Tara’s eyes, a silent response that made his heart sing. “Come inside,” she said, reaching in her pocket for her keys. “Let me take care of you.”
Despite his pain, triumph surged through him as he followed her indoors.
****
He slept badly, haunted by dreams he’d thought long buried. Hot desert sun and smell of gun oil. Screams and blasts of searing heat. He jerked awake, heart racing, and pressed his hand to his chest, tracing the lines of the scars there. In the perfect darkness of Tara’s bedroom, with her curled up beside him, Afghanistan was a long way away.
So why did death feel so close?
She stirred when he sat up, sleepily reaching for him. Wrapping her arms around him, she nuzzled his chest. “Bad dreams?” she asked.
“Bad memories,” he said.
She pulled him back down, trailing kisses along his collar bone and up his throat. “Let me make you some good ones.”
Vandal sank into her embrace. He wasn’t afraid of death. Not so long as the right bastard died.
****
Vandal’s face was a bruised, swollen ruin when he walked into True’s office the next morning. True set down his morning paper and regarded him gravely, a quiet anger on his face.
“Niall Madden?” he asked.
“Who else?” Vandal took a seat. “Niall’s not going to let Johnny make a deal with us, True. He’ll sabotage it one way or another.”
“Not if you stop seeing the Murphy girl,” True said, tone betraying nothing.
Vandal couldn’t mask his anger at that. “No fucking way.”
“Okay, then. What’s your solution? I assume you have one, since you marched in here full of piss and vinegar.” True leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Impress me and I’ll support you one hundred percent.”
True liked ingenuity. Vandal thought he had an ingenious plan. “We can take out Niall in a way that points to the Black Dogs. They’re motivated—they’re losing a sweet deal with Madden and they know it. They kill Niall to punish Johnny. It’s an impulse kill. And Niall’s a loose cannon. It wouldn’t be hard to believe he could piss them off enough to trigger one of them into doing it.”
“That’s the kind of dumb-shit logic the Black Dogs use,” True agreed. “But how do we pin it on them?”
“Weapon and style. The Black Dogs’ Sergeant at Arms is an ex-Mob hitman, right? He kills execution-style, two shots to the back of the head. He’s already done a stretch for one hit.”
True nodded. Capo’s reputation in Harleston’s underworld was legendary. “And the weapon?”
“Get Sienna into their clubhouse. If she can’t sneak out something with Capo’s prints on, no one can.”
True chuckled. “Cannibal will kill you himself if you put that girl at risk.”
Vandal shrugged. It was a risk, yes. But Sienna was damn good at her game, and she had a low enough profile that Capo was unlikely to make her. “I think it’s worth a shot. It causes more chaos in the Dogs’ camp and gets rid of Niall.” He touched his bruised face and gave True a dark smile. “It’s going to happen one way or another, True. I guarantee you that. Because he’s not afraid to go after a woman, and if he goes after Tara, I’ll kill him no matter what it costs me.”
True huffed and picked up his paper. “Let me think on it. You’ll have your answer by tonight.”
****
It took a week for Sienna to insert herself into the Black Dogs’ clubhouse and win Capo’s favor. Her daily reports back to Psycho City had Cannibal climbing the walls, convinced she’d either be made and killed, or fall for one of the assholes there in her role as a new club bunny.
But Capo was all ego, and Sienna proved very good at stroking it. She stole into the Psycho City clubhouse at 3 AM the next Sunday, brimming with glee. Vandal and Cannibal met her at the bar. Cannibal had been drinking steadily all night, leaving Vandal concerned
he was going to do or say something dumb.
“Go get True and Spider,” he ordered his friend as Sienna approached. Keeping a little distance between him and Sienna seemed wise. He didn’t miss Sienna’s pout as Cannibal obeyed him.
“Undercover work is fun,” she said, taking a bar stool next to him. “I think I would have made a great FBI agent.”
He pushed a shot of tequila her way. “You’re amazing,” he said, impatient. “We all know it. So?”
She pulled a package from her bag, something wrapped in a t-shirt. “He has a lot of guns. He’s not going to miss this one.”
Vandal unwrapped it carefully and found a Beretta Pico, a small semi-automatic pistol. It was designed for concealed carry—he had one himself. “Great job,” he said. “Have another tequila.”
She beamed at him, tossing her shot back as True and Spider joined them. She looked past them, pouting again. “Where’s Cannibal?”
“Busy,” Spider said.
She sighed, rolling her eyes. “You guys need to loosen your rules. Nobody’s going to get hurt if Cannibal and I hook up.”
“He’s busy,” True said, more firmly. “You’ve done great, Sienna. Now get out of here and stay far away, okay?”
She rolled her eyes again, but slipped off the stool without another word. She was gone before Cannibal came back. She might bitch about the rules, but Sienna excelled at following them. Vandal wrapped the Beretta back up, a fierce anticipation filling him. If everything went to plan from here on out, Tara would soon be free of Niall Madden forever.
****
“He came by the shop again today.” Tara poured herself a glass of wine and gave Vandal a troubled look. “He didn’t come in, but he hung around outside for an hour, just watching. Ling wanted to call the cops.”
Vandal crossed the small space between them to kiss her, lacing his hands in her silken hair. She tasted of the wine, like oak and vanilla, and he could have kissed her forever, let the whole world rot away around them. He broke it off only to reassure her. “I’m not going to let him near you, Tara.”
She toyed nervously with the chain around his neck. “I wish you’d tell me what’s going on.”
“You know why I can’t.”
“I know. Can’t lie about it if I don’t know about it.” She sighed. “Niall always told me everything. Every awful thing he and his family did. He revels in it. I think he thought it would impress me. Or scare me off leaving him.”
It was easy to forget Tara had been at the heart of the Madden family for a few years. Vandal was fervently relieved Niall hadn’t managed to dim her flame in that time. She’d stayed vibrant and strong, unbowed by her experiences. She deserved to be truly free of the bastard.
If she suspected what Vandal had in mind, she hadn’t said anything. And he’d never tell her. If anything should go wrong, he wanted her to be above suspicion.
He took her glass from her and lifted her onto the kitchen table. Unlike the counters in Canvas, her table was exactly the right height for what he had in mind. She smiled at him, wrapping her arms round his neck.
“You’re going to forget about him, at least for a few hours,” he said, cupping her cheek. “I’m going to make you forget every fucking thing, Tara.”
“Do it,” she said, that wicked gleam he loved so much in her eyes. “Make me forget everything except you.”
He set about doing just that. And as always, it was fucking perfection to do so.
Chapter Seven
Two nights later, just after midnight, Vandal got the call he’d been waiting for. One of Psycho City’s prospects had tailed Niall to a bar often frequented by the Black Dogs. Vandal rose, leaving Tara sleeping soundly, took Capo’s gun, and headed across town to Annie’s. It was a nice enough place on the surface, hiding an illegal gambling den behind the vintage decor. It was out of Psycho City’s territory, so Vandal left his cut behind and dressed in faded gray jeans and a dark hoodie, shielding his face.
He took up position across the street, and sat in the doorway of a closed pharmacy. It gave him a great view of the entrance to Annie’s, and provided some cover. Waiting was agony. He wanted this done, but he had no choice but to be patient. It wasn’t just a question of waiting for Niall to come out. The Beretta was a short-range weapon, so he couldn’t risk firing from across the street. This was going to be up close and personal, both to mimic Capo’s style and for Vandal’s own satisfaction.
He sat there an hour before Niall finally fell out of the bar, helped on his way by an irate bouncer.
“Go the fuck home, sober up, and come back to pay for the damage in the morning,” the bouncer, a giant of a man, yelled. “You think you’re gold because of your name, but you ain’t shit, Madden.”
Niall stumbled away, cursing but making no attempt to fight back. Vandal’s pulse pounded. This was ideal. Niall was drunk and had clearly been fighting in there. Chances were, the cops wouldn’t work too hard to solve a crime like this. One less Madden boy on the streets did everyone a favor. He stood and stole after Niall as he wove his way unsteadily down the road and into the shadows.
When Niall stopped to lean against a lamp post and puke, Vandal struck. Racing up behind him, he wrapped one arm round Niall’s throat, yanking him upright. He pressed the pistol to the back of Niall’s head. Niall never had a chance to struggle with Vandal cutting off his air supply.
“The Black Dogs send their love,” he whispered, just in case anyone else was within hearing distance.
And then he pulled the trigger. Twice. Niall’s body jerked. Blood and gray matter splattered across Vandal’s face. He barely noticed in the deep rush of satisfaction and adrenaline. It was done. Tara was free. Vandal checked his hands and found, maybe for the first time after a kill, they weren’t shaking.
As far as Vandal was concerned, Niall’s body could lay here and rot. But he’d promised True better than that. The night wasn’t quite over yet.
****
A week later, True summoned Vandal to his office. His President was in the middle of his usual morning routine, giant mug of coffee in hand, newspapers spread across the desk. He gave Vandal a pleased smirk as Vandal sat down.
“Some unlucky fisherman hauled Niall Madden’s body out of the water last night,” he said. “And my man in the PD says that pistol they found at the back of Annie’s last night looks like a likely murder weapon.”
“When do we send our condolences to Johnny?” Vandal asked.
True shook his head. “We let him come to us. I’ll be interested to hear what Sienna has to say about the mood in the Black Dogs’ camp tonight.”
It would have been suspicious for Sienna to disappear from the Black Dogs so fast, so she was still hanging out there, playing her role and driving Cannibal mad. Once she was out of there, Vandal doubted any rule was going to keep Cannibal from claiming her.
“You did good,” True said, surprising him. Praise was rare from True. “But until I hear Capo’s in custody, we still need to lay low on this. Don’t go flaunting the Murphy girl around.”
“Her name is Tara.” And it was going to be Tara Curtis before much longer, if Vandal had his way.
True’s eyes glittered with amusement. “Well, when this is all done and dusted, I look forward to meeting Tara. Until then, keep playing smart, okay?”
The warning wasn’t really needed, but Vandal nodded. “Understood.”
True waved him away. “Out of my sight. I need some quiet time.”
Grinning, Vandal left the clubhouse. His Harley gleamed in the summer sunshine, inviting him to take to the road. It had been a while since he’d taken a really long ride, beyond the city limits. Right now, that sounded like a fine idea.
Just one pit-stop first.
He got to Canvas just as Tara was unlocking the front door. She squealed in surprise when he snuck up on her, squeezing her waist and lifting her off her feet.
“Vandal! I have to go to work!”
“Not today,” he said fir
mly. He spun her around and seized a kiss, loving the way she melted against him. “Today we’re getting out of this city.”
Beyond Harleston, the Massachusetts countryside sprawled in a maze of winding roads and green fields. He could push the Harley to its limits, leave all the darkness and violence of the last few weeks behind, and simply enjoy being with his woman.
They rode until they found a lake surrounded by tall pitch pines and oak trees, cool blue water lapping gently at the smooth pebbles piled up on the shore. There wasn’t another soul around, just him and Tara, and Vandal reflected that this was as close to Heaven as he was going to get.
No regrets. He’d always believed that. Killing Niall had been to protect Tara and he’d never regret that. Sure, it might help Psycho City down the line, if True could forge his alliance with Johnny like he wanted, but if Vandal was honest, it had never been about that.
He stretched out in the dew-damp grass and watched Tara kick off her shoes and race into the lake. She paddled at the water’s edge, her brilliant red hair on fire in the summer sun. She tilted her head back to watch a bird fly overhead and Vandal thought his heart might fucking explode at how perfect she looked, how carefree and wild.
He’d do anything to keep her wild.
He’d do anything to keep her.
She came back to join him, straddling him and leaning down to kiss him. His cock sprang to life, his body hungry for her. She was addiction personified, a temptation he never wanted to resist. Within seconds he’d flipped them so she lay beneath him. He stripped off her jeans and panties, keen to see how loud he could make her scream when they were out here all alone.
He found her sweet pussy wet and ready for him, and she laughed in delight as he ran his tongue slowly through her soft folds, a laugh that turned into an awed moan when he gently bit down on her clit. Pride and greed surged through him as her moans became louder and more urgent under his tongue and fingers. Every noise she made, every twist and buck of her hips, tested his self-control. She was driving him just as mad as he was making her and soon he couldn’t deny himself any longer.