Call Me...Vengeance: Book 1 in the Vengeance MC Series (18 page)

Sarge explained that the MC was a brotherhood. Men who abide by their own code of honor, had each other’s backs, believed in God, country, living wild and riding free. The way he talked about it, I could almost feel the love he had for the men he called his family. It was sweet. It was beautiful, in a manly, badass way. And it was something I wished I had for myself.

Embarrassed to ask but needing to, I asked Sarge about the women I saw loitering around the room. My assumption that they weren’t old ladies had been correct. He went on to tell me that some of them were what they called ‘hang around’s,' a few of the others ‘club-whores.’ At my startled gasp, Sarge further enlightened me telling me that they chose to share themselves with the men. They weren’t chained here or held against their will. If they wanted to leave they could, but most didn’t. Vengeance gave them somewhere to live, paid for their education (not all of them, but the two that did go to college), gave them jobs, and cash when they needed it. But most of all, Vengeance gave them a family. Somewhere to belong.

“Girls like them, they’ve got nothing on women like you, though, Beth,” Sarge announced just before he left me to my thoughts.

“Pardon?” I whispered, confused. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Girls like those,” he gestures to two women cackling on bar stools. “They aren’t old lady material. They’re temporary. Women like you are glue. You stick.”

“Um…thank you. I think,” I mumble, burying my head in the crook of my elbow where it’s resting on the arm of the chair.

Chuckling he goes on to say,

“There are two types of women in the world beautiful Beth. Women who want this life and will do anything to get it; and women who are born to have it. They mightn’t know it's their destiny, but when the time comes and they find themselves a man who’s strong enough to endure every hardship to make sure they’re never hurt, never scared, never want for anything, they stick.”

Smiling at me with kind eyes, softened by age and bourbon, Sarge stands.

“You mightn’t know it now beautiful, or maybe you do, but you don’t wanna admit it to yourself, but you’re the second type of woman. I can see you’ve got a vulnerable spot a mile wide, darlin’, but don’t you worry. Boss is a man who’ll have a mind to that and take care of it for you.”

With that, Sarge left and I worried.

I worried that what he said could very well be true. I could indeed be one of the women he described who stuck. And if I was, then what did that mean for me?

Strength isn’t something you can be assured you have until you’re tested, though. What I didn’t know was my test was only hours away. And it was one I would fail. Thankfully, I would be given another chance, one in which I could redeem myself. A test I wouldn’t fail, but to what end. That test wouldn’t be hours away, but days. Not enough of them.

I’d been staring down at Beth curled up in the piece of shit recliner for five minutes calling myself every asshole under the sun for bringing her into my world.

Knowing that I was going to be exposing her to things she’d neither want or understand cut me to the quick. I was a selfish man, though. Greedy enough not to care if she could handle my life or me. Beth was my reward for everything I’d endured up to this point, and I wouldn’t be letting her go without giving us a chance.

She was my reward for making it out the other side of my shitty childhood. She would eradicate the pain of the beatings my old man gave me. Remove the memories of what I’d done for the club. Beth is pure beauty. A gift for everything I’d sacrificed. Someone who made me feel clean, cared for, appreciated. Fuck, yes, I’m a selfish bastard.

Her asking me if I was okay sealed her fate. And although she didn’t know it yet, Beth was mine. I’d stated my intentions when I’d spoken to Deke earlier, making it clear no one was to touch her when he took her back to the clubhouse. Any man that did would answer to me, and that was something they didn’t want to do. They knew what it meant, and I was positive none of them would risk my wrath.

On the ride home, I’d asked myself a hundred questions. Some I had the answers to, some I didn’t. I refused to dwell on the one’s I didn’t, accepting that I might never know because at the end of the day they didn’t matter.

Vengeance lives by the motto, ‘Live like tomorrow may never come,’ and that’s how I’m going to let this shit with Beth play out. I’m going to live for the here and now and worry about tomorrow and her reaction to me claiming her then. If she has concerns, I’ll allay them. If she’s scared of what being my woman means, I’ll make it so her fear is short-lived. I’ll do anything I have to to convince her I’m worth taking a chance on. And I’ll succeed because I’m a persuasive bastard when I have to be. And if she still decides she isn’t cut out for this, I’ll keep working on her until she reconsiders.

Sliding one arm under her knees, the other behind her back, Beth automatically wraps her arms around my neck, nuzzling her face into my chest. Blinking her big green eyes up at me sleepily, I smile down at her.

“Jackson,” she breathes half-asleep.

Jesus, fuck, she undid me. The weight of her in my arms. Her soft breath against my neck. All of it was like a balm to my soul.

“Yeah, sweetheart, it’s me. I’m just gonna put you to bed. It’s been a long night and I’m wiped.”

She didn’t argue, didn’t try and fight me to put her down. Beth just sighed and snuggled closer.

I made it down the hall which led to the dorms, unlocking my door without jostling her too much, and kicked my door shut with the heel of my boot. Placing her gently on the center of my bed, I slipped off her shoes, peeled her jeans down her long, toned legs, trying not to look at what I’d uncovered, flicking the sheet and comforter over her. It took every ounce of self-restraint I had not to linger beside her, strip the sheets from her beautiful body and touch every inch of her creamy, exposed skin, but I managed. Just.

Undressing, washing the filth of the day away, I lean heavily into the tiled wall of the shower stall. Forearm to the wall, my head dips low, water running steadily over the back of my head. Where I’d believed my thoughts would be confused with anger over what had gone down at Hounds tonight, I find them turning to the curvy, auburn-haired beauty in my bed.

Almost unconsciously my hand finds my cock, sliding up and down my shaft, tugging roughly as I reach the head. Imagining it’s Beth’s small, soft hand stroking me, I let out a pained groan. Visions of her lips wrapped around the head of my dick, sucking it into the wet cavern of her mouth have me speeding up, pre-cum beading at my tip.

Fisting myself harder, jerking quicker, I let the memory of her scent, the feel of her tits pressed against my chest as I carried her to bed assail me. Using my thumb to collect the liquid dripping down my shaft, I smear it across my palm increasing the pressure and speed of my strokes until my eyes roll back in my head. This is going to be the fastest I’ve ever gotten off, but I’m not surprised. Beth has that effect on me.

Everything about her turns me on. Fucking everything. The flare of her hips. Her tiny, tucked waist. The heavy fall of hair that trails down her back. Her heart-shaped ass that I want to take a bite out of. And the shape of her magnificent tits I know will over-fill my hands. Tits I want to lick, suck, and inevitably leave my mark on.

Growling Beth’s name as I shoot my load on the tiled wall, watching it wash away only solidifies the knowledge that I’ve got to make her mine. Or better still, tell her she is. I’ll wait as long as she needs to get comfortable with the idea of being my woman. I won’t rush it. But I’m not backing down.

Drying off, I reach for a clean pair of boxers I brought into the bathroom with me, forego shaving, and slip into bed beside Beth. Feeling her weight shift, I pull her back to my front, settling her close, holding her tight.

I haven’t slept the night with a woman for eight years. It’s not something I do. Take them to bed, yes. Fall into a drunken coma for a couple of hours after fucking them, yes. But never an entire night. I’ve never wanted to wake up with a woman, take the time to hold her, memorize her face while it’s still soft with sleep, have coffee and see to her needs.

Laura was the last woman who spent more than one night in my bed, and when she did, I thought she would be the last. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

We met while I was on a run for the club back before I took the gavel. Her not being from Furnace was a plus when we started out. She wasn’t local which meant she wouldn’t hear about all the fucked up shit the MC was into, a definite bonus. I was into her, liked how she looked, liked the way she looked at me as if I was the only man in the room. Later, I liked how she sucked my cock like it was her job, loved the way she wrapped me up in her sweetness so I could forget the world around me for a few hours.

Shit didn’t go south between us for longer than I’d expected. Not that I’d wanted it to, it was just that Laura wasn’t built for the life I lived and I knew it. She was pure innocence. There wasn’t an ounce of fire in her. I didn’t know it then, but Laura wasn’t equipped for the inferno being with the club required. She was too submissive, too gentle.

Women who were tied to brothers needed a backbone of steel, a heart of gold, and a will of iron. They needed their own form of fire to bank the flames at home. None of which Laura had.

I’d been blinded by her pussy, her warmth, and her beauty. So blind I’d missed the signs something was wrong. A year into our relationship, I got a call that I thought would change my life.

I hadn’t seen Laura for six weeks when she called and dropped the bombshell she was pregnant. Aside from wondering how the fuck that happened when I made sure to wear a condom every time we were together, I couldn’t help but be ecstatic she was carrying my baby. It might have been poor timing, the club was in deep with some shit that wasn’t even close to nearing its end, but I was beyond ready to be a Dad.

Everything went to hell when she started pushing to move closer, wanting to share the pregnancy with me. Not that I didn’t want that, I wanted it with every fiber of my being, but I couldn’t have it.

I went in gentle, explained that it wasn’t safe for her or the baby in Furnace. She pushed back, claiming there had to be somewhere she could stay she’d be protected. I hadn’t wanted to hurt her when I shut her down, but I had. And I’d done it in a way that forced a crack in the façade she’d been putting up.

Much like, Sweets, Laura gave me an ultimatum; I relocate her, assimilate her into my life, take care of her, and make our relationship official, or I was cut off. Not just from access to her body, but from my unborn child too. That was when I saw red. There wasn’t anyone on Earth that would keep me from my kid, born or not. Not one person had the right to tell me I wouldn’t play a major part in raising my child, being there for every milestone, scraped knee, new tooth, first, second, or third step. That shit wouldn’t stand with me.

Diesel and Emily convinced me to think about it, calm down some before going to see her. I’d been all set to ride out the same day she’d threatened that bullshit to confront her, but I waited. That was my downfall. By telling me to hold off, doing what they thought was best for her and me, they inadvertently kept me from saying goodbye to my baby.

Laura and I had gone back and forth over where she’d live, what she expected from me for six months. By the time she’d had enough and given me what she considered my last chance, she was seven and a half months pregnant. To my knowledge, in other words, the scraps Laura fed me, her pregnancy had gone smoothly. Her doctor said she was textbook, whatever the hell that meant.

I fucking hated not being there, not seeing her get round and heavy with my baby. I had a choice, I could have gone against her wishes for me to stay away until I’d made my decision, but I respected her. I didn’t want to start a relationship if that’s what we were building towards with anger and distrust. But knowing what I do now, I’d do anything to go back and have that time over again. To be able to feel our child kicking, rub her feet when they were swollen and sore. I wouldn’t give a fuck if I’d had to go out and find pickles at three in the morning to satisfy some funky craving she had, I’d have done it.

The hospital called on September the twenty-eighth at one minute past eight that night, requesting I get to Cheyenne Regional Medical Center as quickly as possible. Two hours later, after breaking more than a dozen traffic laws, I parked in the emergency bay not giving a shit if my bike was towed, and ran the four floors up to maternity.

I’d like to be able to tell you it was a false alarm. I’d fucking love to be able to tell you Laura and I worked our shit out and she gave birth to a perfectly healthy baby. But I can’t.

At nine-forty-seven pm that same night, fourteen minutes before I got there, Laura gave birth to our perfect, yet not healthy seeing as she wasn’t breathing daughter, Georgia Rae.

My baby girl had all her fingers and toes, ten of each, I counted. Her head was covered in dark fuzz the same color as mine. With a sweet button nose, long eyelashes, and rosebud lips, Georgia was the epitome of perfection. She was beautiful. The most beautiful baby I’d ever seen. But she wasn’t for this world. Not for long.

Georgia Rae hadn’t taken her first breath. She wouldn’t look up at me so I could tell whose eyes she got, and she’d never smile. I wouldn’t get to watch Georgia as she learned to crawl, walk, ride a bike, or open her first present. I wouldn’t see any of that and neither would she.

I can remember the last time I cried with clarity. It had been the first brutal beating I got from my old man on my ninth birthday. But never have I cried the river of tears I did when I held my baby girl for what would be the first and last time. Every drip from my eyes that splashed onto her lifeless face would be forever burned into my memory. The discoloration of the light pink blanket she was wrapped in as my pain flowed freely etched into the depths of my mind.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think about her. She’d have turned seven two and a half months ago. Georgia would be in school by now, and playing with the other kids in the clubhouse forecourt when we have family gatherings. She would have had her first ride on the back of my bike. If she smiled only five times a day, I would have missed thirteen thousand and seventy-five of them. And the world was a darker place for it.

As any woman would, Laura fell the fuck apart after we buried Georgia. I’m sure I was a big part of why, but at the time, through my own suffering, I couldn’t bring myself to give a shit.

Laura hadn’t intended to give Georgia my last name, throwing a rant when I demanded to be listed on both her birth and death certificates. There was no way I was having my daughter put in the ground without bearing my last name, which led to Laura refusing to speak to me for the three days leading up to the funeral and the day of.

Diesel, Emily, and Adelyn, who had gone through her own hell after losing her first child, and the rest of my brothers made the trip to Cheyenne with me to say goodbye to the little girl none of us would ever know. I don’t know how I made it through that day, but I do know I couldn’t have done it without them.

Just when I figured things couldn’t get worse, they did.

Laura was admitted to the hospital a week after Georgia died with exhaustion, dehydration, and was placed under suicide watch. She’d tried, unsuccessfully thank fuck, to slit her wrists in the bathtub. I was a fucking mess when the nurse who was taking care of her called to tell me. I’d wanted to get on my bike, ride out and sit with her, but Nancy (Laura’s nurse) told me to stay put and she’d keep me updated. Apparently, Laura was on a mandatory seventy-two-hour psych hold and wasn’t permitted to have any visitors. Something I hated but abided by nevertheless.