Victory Rising (2 page)

“Guard!” she screamed again.

“Listen to me, woman!” Damsel left the table and rushed her. “Logan can destroy the Angels just like he can hurt his own club.”

“And why would you care what he does to the Heroes and Rogues?”

“He can tear down everything I’ve built. Right now, we need operations to run like business as usual. Gaylord makes a lot of dough off the Heroes and Rogues. I don’t want that relationship ruined, but I want Marcs taken out of the equation.”

“I’m sure you do,” she said, thinking Damsel probably blamed Logan for pretty much everything—Sassy reentering his life, for starters.

“Victory—”

“Oh, so the name calling is over for the morning?” She took a step forward then one more. “I don’t know where you came by your information, but my guess is you’re willing to spread all sorts of rumors about Logan Marcs because he’s in bed with Sassy. If that’s true, you’re more pathetic than I thought. Logan isn’t a cop. He’s die-hard Heroes and Rogues. He’s been with that club for as long as I’ve known you.” A beat later, she added, “It’s just killing you, isn’t it? You can’t stand Logan because he’s living with Sassy, and he’s keeping her up at the H&R clubhouse.”

Damsel snarled. “If you don’t tell Gaylord what I said, I’ll whip your little ass all the way to my bed. You hear me?”

The threat she used to love, she’d grown to hate. Victory took the last few steps needed in order to stand in front of him. “And just how do you propose to do that now? Hmm, Damsel?” She dragged her forefinger down the side of his face, embracing a sense of empowerment when she noticed the tight flinch in his set jaw. “If I were you, I’d be careful about using your favorite threat. I doubt you’ll find willing participants in these parts. Then again, we might be surprised. I hear there’s a lot of ass-slapping in the showers. You won’t need a bed for that, babe. In fact, a bar of soap and a slippery wall should do.”

Chapter One

One year later

Gaylord rolled away from Victory, smacking her on the hip as he left the bed. “Next time I come see ya for sex, what do ya say you try and show some enthusiasm?”

Victory slid her back against the headboard, drawing the white sheet against her chest. Reaching for the nightstand, she grabbed the crumpled pack of cigarettes and retrieved her last one. Lighting the end, she inhaled the smoke. Releasing a cloud of white rings, she said, “I might enjoy our time together more if I wasn’t
ordered
to fuck you. Besides, Melinda is a friend of mine. Like every other old lady, I’m sure she doesn’t think you’re loyal to her but what do you think she would say if she realized her old man was fucking the one woman she thought of as a sister? What do you think Damsel would say, Gaylord?”

Damsel probably didn’t give a damn. She only threw out the name to insinuate undesired consequences, hoping the thought of Damsel’s retaliation might deter Gaylord the next time he took a notion to give her a call.

Gaylord snarled. “Is that your way of threatening me?”

Victory nervously took a drag from her cigarette again. “No. I’m just stating the reasons why I can’t have a good time with you.”

“And I’m not real clear on what you’re trying to say. In fact, I’m not real sure why you still live here at the club. Have you decided to stick around and wait on the outcome of Damsel’s appeal?”

She puffed on her Marlboro. “He’ll kill ya. You know that, right?”

“For fucking you?” Gaylord tossed his head back and a wave of dirty blond hair fell straight down his back as he laughed uncontrollably. “Hell, I’ll tell the perverted bastard myself.” A beat later, Gaylord stalked the mirror. He ran his hand over his flaccid cock, staring at his reflection. “If you think that son of a bitch will ever be on the outside again, you’re as nutty as the gal he destroyed. What’s her name?”

“Sassy, and don’t pretend you don’t know,” Victory snapped, leaving the bed. She snatched her shorts from the floor, placed her cigarette on the bedside ashtray, and dressed. Aware of Gaylord’s eyes on her breasts, she wiggled into the denim, not at all enjoying his unwavering attention.

“Damn, woman, you
are
hell-hot,” he said, grabbing her around the waist and tugging her against him. Staring down his nose, he added, “I don’t know much about Sassy Road, but there ain’t a woman around who can hold a candle to you.” He reached between their bodies and patted her pussy before releasing a carnal growl. “Especially with your slick waxed walls and snug snatch.”

Shoving him away, Victory grabbed her cigarette, took a final draw, snuffed out the flame on the end, and grabbed her shirt from a nearby chair. Stuffing her arms through the material, she stilled when Gaylord twisted a nipple. Her breath caught in her chest, and it wasn’t because he sent a shot of arousal through her body. Oh no, all she felt at that moment was straight-up contempt.

She finished dressing, stepped into her shoes, and hurried across the room. She’d almost made it to the door, when Gaylord said, “You belong to me, Victory. As long as you’re here and Damsel is inside, you’re mine. Don’t forget that. You’re my little ho. I’ve
done told
the club, you’re not a free-for-all. You’re damn sure not sheep. You are mine.”

“And what about Melinda? When you started running your mouth to the club, you should’ve thought about your wife.”

“What about her?” he asked. “I’m startin’ to believe you’re gonna run your trap when I ain’t around to stop you. Are ya?”

They shared a daring glance, one full of awareness. He understood what she was capable of, and she knew what he had the power to do.

She shook her head and left the room. No, she wasn’t warning him. Why bother? Melinda would beat her to a pulp, but forgive Gaylord as soon as she heard the news.

Victory strode by the bar and shot Doris a look of disgust. Doris had become the club’s self-appointed sheep, taking care of intimate needs whenever any member of the Devil’s Angels had a particular personal requirement.

Victory really didn’t need to threaten Gaylord or utter his name in any informal setting. Let alone, a formal clubhouse gathering. Doris was wise to the fact they’d been fooling around. She understood what happened behind closed doors. She’d been confined behind enough of them.

Oh no, Victory didn’t have to issue warnings, or make promises. Doris had always wanted Gaylord for her own, and she’d later use what she knew about Victory and Gaylord to try and permanently remove the wedding band from his hand. The dumb bitch wasn’t smart enough to understand any effort to split up Melinda and Gaylord would be in vain. Melinda liked money, and Gaylord made sure he kept plenty of cash in her pockets.

Still, Melinda would soon learn of their affair, and that’s when Victory would know what it meant to stare down the wrong end of a gun. Melinda possessed a notorious temper, and when it came to protecting what was hers, she’d take extraordinary measures, even if it meant killing one of the club’s own.

The time had come to find greener pastures. It was time to get the hell out of dodge, or at least the Devil’s Angels’ clubhouse.

* * * *

An hour later, Victory slid away from the wheel of her vehicle. “Fuck!” she screamed, kicking her flat tire.

Placing her hands on either side of her head, she shoved her palms up, bunching her hair in clenched fists. “Why me!”

She didn’t even bother retrieving her cell. She was right smack dab in the middle of a dead spot. She’d traveled Beech Creek Road enough to remember where cell phones were of no use. Dropping to the front seat again, she leaned over and opened the glove box, hoping there were some instructions she could follow.

She was twenty-five years old and didn’t know how to change a flat.
Ridiculous
. She rummaged through a bunch of paperwork. Hearing the faint rumble of an approaching motorcycle, she slammed the compartment shut and rose from her seat, immediately standing with her arms draped over the top of her car door.

The biker drove right passed her, leaving her to glare at the Heroes and Rogues patch and colors. She rushed to the trunk of the car. Using her natural gifts to draw a man’s attention, she arched her back, flattening her palm against the surface behind her. Placing her other hand in the curve of her waist, she pushed her chest forward and swung her hip out to the side.

Come and get it, sucker.

She wasn’t a bit surprised when the red brake light flashed and the bike turned around, especially when she recognized the motorcycle. She’d seen that particular bike once or twice and would know its unpardonable scream anywhere. Its motor hummed with a definite roar. Those chrome wheels sparkled a little more than any other, but she wasn’t interested in the bike. The biker gripping the lowered handlebars was worth his weight in leather and club colors.

He wasn’t a sucker by a long shot. In fact, he was a real keeper.

There were some women a man knew to avoid. Victory Rising was one such gal, but fact was Devon Kardashian had been awaiting his moment, contemplating the perfect approaching hour and wondering when their paths might cross.

Apparently, his day had come. As much as he’d tried to turn over a new leaf, Devon couldn’t avoid trouble. He was happiest when he was right smack dab in the middle of a danger zone. He particularly liked his life a little better when a woman was involved. He loved living on the edge.

Victory, God love her heart, represented a cliff-hanger. She could keep things interesting.

He gave his bike a little gas and eased up beside her car. God, how he loved a damsel in distress, particularly one capable of soliciting sex and all sorts of promising excitement. He gave his kickstand a swift boot, swung his leg over the leather seat, and shook his hair free of his helmet.

“Well, well well,” she drawled, that country accent thicker than ever. “If my luck hasn’t changed for the better, I don’t know when it will.”

“How ya doin’, Victory?” Devon swiped his tongue across his bottom lip, instantly aware of how he responded to her.

“I’m makin’ out. How about you?” she asked, twirling a lock of blonde hair around her forefinger as she batted those long lashes over startling blue eyes.

“Not yet, but I’d say our chances are improving by the minute,” he said, not at all referring to how the past had been treating them. He was more interested in how her broken down predicament had opened up a world of opportunities and appealing possibilities.

Her pretty smile widened. “You don’t waste any time coming on to me.”

“Never have,” he agreed, leaning over and giving her a peck on the mouth.

She rubbed her lips together. “Mm hmm. You still know how to greet a gal, don’t you, Devon?”

He winked. “Some women are unforgettable.” That was an understatement. She’d given Devon one of the best experiences of his life, riding his face while Addison—God rest her soul—had blown him from here to kingdom come.

“Some men mark their place in a woman’s mind and stay etched there forever,” she said, giving her waist a push as if she were trying to take a more appealing stance.

“I never took you for a poetic type,” he said.

“I never thought you’d wait this long to come find me.”

“Good things happen to those who wait, Victory.”

“And lookie here. The waiting is apparently over.”

“Keep talking like that, and you and I won’t be able to concentrate on the issue at hand.” He walked to the front of her car. “What seems to be the problem?”

“You have seen a flat tire before, haven’t you, Devon?”

He circled the convertible. Stroking his chin, he returned to stand in front of her. “Changed a few in my time, but rarely had more than one within the same hour, let alone on the same car. You have three. Who’d you piss off?”

“What?” she asked, apparently unaware the other side of her car was riding on rims.

Immediately, her face twisted into one of stark fear. The color washed out of her high cheeks.

“Fuck,” she muttered, not at all the reaction Devon had expected.

“We’ll get around to that,” he said, kneeling at the back tire located on the passenger’s side. She didn’t respond, and he didn’t care.

Immediately, a few slash marks drew his attention. He ran his fingers over one gash then another. Glancing up at Victory, he said, “I’m not kidding.”

“I know you aren’t,” she bit out. “But first things first—”

“I’m talking about the damn tire, Victory. Who’d you piss off?” He rose to his feet and stalked the front wheel. He inspected the rubber. “Somebody definitely wanted you roadside.” Immediately, his gaze wandered. He searched the hills and the lay of the land behind them, cautious and perhaps a little paranoid. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble. Were they nearby watching them?

“Who did this, Victory?”

“I don’t know.”

“Think.”

“Other than Damsel, I can’t think of anyone who would want me on the side of the road.”

“I’d say Damsel would like you a lot of places right now. Roadside doesn’t come to mind.”

She halfway laughed. Then, her face washed white again. “I… Devon, I really don’t have a clue. Are you sure someone did this on purpose?”