Victory Rising
A Heroes and Rogues Story
By Destiny Blaine
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
http://www.resplendencepublishing.com
Victory Rising
Copyright © 2012 Destiny Blaine
Edited by Jessica Bimberg and Venus Cahill
Cover art by Les Byerley
Published by Resplendence Publishing, LLC
2665 N Atlantic Avenue, #349
Daytona Beach, FL 32118
Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-544-1
Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Electronic Release: August 2012
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
For Brent
Prologue
Wartburg, Tennessee
Morgan County Correctional Complex
There was something about the clanging of metal bars as they jangled in place. The thick floor-to-ceiling rods slowly glided to one side then slipped out of sight, locked in a final resting spot deep inside a thick barrier wall, a divider designed to separate those inside from others just like them. The outside world lay beyond concrete, brick, and mortar. Secure gates and rolls of barbwire fencing served as a reminder to all visitors.
He or she was entering a well-guarded institution.
Victory imagined the inmates held at the Morgan County Correctional Complex refused to think about what extended farther than the prison yard. Oh no, the occupants had other worries, like keeping one eye open at all times. Conflicts stirred in abundance without an outlet for anger, and those who’d already stood as the accused rarely felt remorse.
She’d been here before. Not exactly in this specific facility, but one similar, and regardless of the hype promoting new modern-day premises, prisons were all the same, and Victory knew all about the confines of separation.
Incarceration served the purpose of alienating those whom society feared, of barricading men who didn’t have a chance in hell of ever receiving a fair shake again. Once here, they’d trod across the line of division. They were in no man’s land. Depending on the crimes the prisoner had committed, some of their victims would like to think the perpetrators would die in this Godforsaken place.
Most of the fellows didn’t deserve a second chance anyway.
Her father hadn’t. And Damsel Road sure as hell wasn’t entitled to another try at living a reformed life. His arrogance served as proof enough. He would never change.
Damsel had been sentenced for second-degree murder. The judge had allowed Damsel’s step-daughter to testify at his trial where she’d spoken of her abused years, of leading a life as a molestation victim.
Now, there wouldn’t be a judge or jury powerful enough to stop the sentence Damsel would face if the prison system let him slip through the cracks. If he saw freedom again, he’d only enjoy his independence for a minute. An eye for an eye and a hide for a hide, that was how men like Damsel lived, and it was how they often summoned their demise.
Damsel said he’d walk out of lockup one way or another. After his conviction, Victory had imagined a body bag with his name scribbled across the top.
Damsel’s beloved brotherhood, the motorcycle club that had once protected him, wouldn’t welcome him home, if he were ever released. Some believed the Devil’s Angels members would enjoy the opportunity to exert proper revenge for a child they hadn’t acknowledged, a woman who should’ve been considered one of their own.
On top of the criminal past his step-daughter had revealed at his trial, Damsel Road had killed Addison Amos, which was why he’d stood as the accused in the first place. While Addison had been a slut, and Victory would give her that much since Addison had worn the title proudly, she hadn’t deserved death. Damsel had killed her because she’d been seeing rival club leader Devon Kardashian, a huge disgrace in the MC since Addison belonged to the Devil’s Angels. Damsel had been Victory’s old man, but he’d been sleeping with Addison also.
The club leaders often fooled around with other broads. Infidelity was practically a tradition in the MC culture.
In their world, anyone in the MC could help themselves to what the club members called their broads or sheep. Addison had been the club’s sheep, their coveted shared woman. She was dead because she’d crossed the line and played with a rival club president. Victory couldn’t blame her there. Addison had chosen one hell of a man, and some said Devon had actually loved her. Whether he had or hadn’t wasn’t a factor. Most women considered time with Devon as time well spent.
I should know. I once played in his bed, too.
A buzzer resounded and jarred Victory from her thoughts. She looked up at the cameras, staring into the unknown. On the other side of the checkpoint, a burly fellow said, “Walk forward. Wait here.”
Following the instructions, Victory stood between two sets of bars. Best she could tell? Damsel was precisely where he belonged, caged like an animal, forgotten like a beheaded pauper after living like a king.
Victory’s father had spent most of his life in a prison facility. In fact, he’d died at Brushy Mountain State Penitentiary. Upon the Brushy Mountain closing in 2009, prisoners had been transferred to Morgan County Correctional Complex. If her father had lived, he would’ve served out the remainder of his life with Damsel Road, the man she’d once loved.
“Victory?”
Damsel’s evil voice curled her toes. The undeniable sound of metal raking against the floor alerted her to a chair being dragged from one spot to another.
She slowly turned on her heels. Facing the devil took a lot of nerve. Telling him off was another beast altogether, but she’d driven a long way, and she wanted Damsel to understand her reasons.
She was not Damsel Road’s woman. She wasn’t his old lady anymore.
“I sure as hell didn’t expect to see you,” Damsel said, unsettling anger in his voice. He still possessed an unmistakable raspy pitch in his tone. His unprecedented confidence existed in the way he carried himself. Thanks to a pinched dimple etched in his face, he looked as smug as the day he was arrested.
“Sure you did, Damsel. I’m just later than you expected,” Victory said, thanking God she stood out of Damsel’s reach. What had she ever seen in this man, this monster?
“Why are you here, Victory?” he asked, taking a seat. “As far as I know, this place doesn’t allow conjugal visits.”
“I’m not interested in fucking you, Damsel.” Oh, but that wasn’t entirely true. She wanted to put the screws to him, all right.
“It’s hard to take a woman at her word when her nipples are hard as little beads.” He nodded toward her breasts.
Like hell. She was far from aroused. In fact, she felt sick to her stomach.
“Why did you want to see me, woman?” This time, his voice sounded harsher.
She jerked and willed herself to remain calm, hoping her eyes didn’t give away her pain. Six months had passed since he’d been sentenced. She’d written him several letters, most of which reiterated her disgust.
“I need closure.”
“Closure?” he asked, crossing thick arms over his pudgy chest.
He’d gained some weight. Once solid, Damsel used to work hard at maintaining his physique and athletic build, but apparently he’d begun to grasp his bleak future and responded accordingly. His outer appearance didn’t matter on the inside. If others found
him too appealing, he might have to fight off same sex relations.
How did I ever let this man touch me?
For the first time in five years, she saw Damsel the way others must’ve viewed him all along. He wasn’t completely ugly, but his general appearance gave off the impression of the old-school renegade biker. He sported tattoos up and down both arms, some of which he’d obtained in his previous prison stints, others to signify his club loyalty. The tats weren’t the problem. It was the evil living underneath the painted skin.
Damsel’s unkempt curly black hair framed his face, which drew her attention to the additional signs of hard times. Wrinkles encased his eyes. His brow was drawn tighter, distinguishing worry from age.
Confinement had yet to strip him of his attitude. A few years, and perhaps that would change.
“Yes, Damsel. Closure. You owe me that much.”
“I don’t owe you a damn thing, bitch. Your cunt-ass testified against me. Remember?”
“I didn’t testify. I just didn’t give you a solid alibi. I knew you killed Addison. You’re lucky I didn’t say as much.”
He averted his eyes. He studied the security camera in the far corner. After a deep breath, he hissed, “Same difference in my book, bitch. All you had to do was say I was in your bed, sprawled out between those talented legs of yours, and it was a done deal. They couldn’t have held me on Addison’s murder.”
“And what about the charges Sassy brought against you?” she asked, noticing he flinched when she mentioned his step-daughter’s name.
“Her accusations shouldn’t have carried any weight in the first place. Too many years have passed.”
“Is that all you can say, Damsel?” she asked. Had she taken the time to visit in hopes he would tell her some of the disgusting things she’d discovered hadn’t been true?
A broad grin claimed his mouth, widened his cheeks. “What’d you expect, gal? An outright denial? ”
“I want you to be honest with me, Damsel. I need the truth!”
“You ain’t gettin’ it from me, whore.”
Victory shook all over. The way he spoke to her, the manner in which he glared at her, and his profuse refusal to put her mind at ease was too much to bear. She stalked toward the door, her courage deserting her. “Guards!”
“Leaving so soon?”
She walked faster. At least she could later rest better. He clearly didn’t think of her as his old lady anymore.
“Victory, I need you to do something for me.”
She stopped, took a ragged breath then reluctantly faced him. Did he really expect a favor after everything he’d done to embarrass her?
“Deliver a message for me.”
“You couldn’t give me what I needed. I’m not about to help you, Damsel.”
“You owe me, woman.”
“I owe you?”
“Tell Gaylord to keep an eye on Logan Marcs. Some of the guys in here say he’s a cop.”
Victory’s pulse raced. If she told Gaylord of Damsel’s suspicions, Logan would be marked for dead. Oh, no way. She wasn’t about to tell Gaylord a damn thing.
“I guess Gaylord still isn’t taking your calls?”
“Just pass along the memo.” He eyed her from head to toe again. Smirking, he added, “I’m sure you’ll see him from time to time.”
“I doubt it.”
“I’m not stupid,” he bit out, insinuating plenty. “Marcs is a snitch. Gaylord needs to know.”
Victory damn sure wasn’t delivering that message back to the club. If an undercover lived and worked among them, even in a rival club, Gaylord would make sure the club disposed of him. Even if Sassy Road had her hooks in Logan Marcs, her man was still a looker. It would be a real shame to see a good fellow go to waste.
“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 wais
t 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.
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