Victory Rising

by Blaine, Destiny

  “Damn it, Devon!” Another round of knocks slammed against the door. “Open up. Now! It’s important!”

  “I gathered as much!” he shouted, pausing long enough to situate things in his pants.

  He glanced at her once, and that was enough. She spread her legs and patted her pussy, appreciating the heated look of lust marking a more permanent place in his eyes.

  “This won’t take long.”

  “I believe you,” she said, collapsing on her back and staring at the ceiling once he disappeared into the hallway. “Yes, Devon, I believe you’ll move hell and high earth to give me whatever I desire. And then, like every other man who’s gone before you, you’ll break what’s left of my heart and leave it shattered in a million pieces.”

  All Devon could do was shift his gaze between Logan and the door he’d just closed. He was pissed. The woman of his dreams was in his bed, and she’d taken the long way home as far as he was concerned.

  “You got what you wished for, and it didn’t take long,” Logan said.

  “You’re telling me,” Devon agreed, realizing he must’ve sounded like he was already halfway in love. “I gotta tell you, man. She’s always been the one. Ever since Addison brought her to my bed, Victory has owned my heart.”

  “Well, ain’t that sweet?” Logan drawled.

  Devon ignored his sarcasm. “Man, I’m telling you, she’s something else. She’s my last thought at night and the first one each morning. Regardless of who I’ve had in my bed, it’s always been Victory.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Logan asked, obviously not following him.

  The thought of two women in his bed at one time was probably overkill for a fine, upstanding guy like Logan Marcs. He had double standards.

  A true exhibitionist, Logan couldn’t see where he possessed faults. He harbored a few, considering the fact his woman, Sassy Road, had a sordid past. Rumor had it, the only time Logan and Sassy had sex was when they had an audience, or at least, the potential for one.

  “What’s wrong, Logan? Can’t find your woman and your left hand ain’t doin’ the trick? Let me make a suggestion. Change things up. If you need some strange, try the right hand. Who knows? You may have a better grip.”

  Logan sneered. “I don’t have time to listen to your shit, Devon. Gaylord is out front. He brought a few friends. I figured you might want to know.”

  “Where’s Tigger?” Devon asked, cracking his bedroom door and peering at the woman waiting for him.

  “Running interference,” Logan replied. “And he isn’t happy about it.”

  “I’m sure,” Devon said, poking his head back in his room. “Make yourself comfortable, Victory. I have to take care of something.”

  “Everything all right?”

  “Fine, sugar,” he replied, closing the door.

  “What the hell is going on here, Devon?” Logan asked as they walked toward the heart of the clubhouse.

  “Victory is scared.”

  Logan narrowed his gaze. “Did she tell you that?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “I think she’s with Gaylord because she didn’t have anywhere else to go, but I’m pretty sure he’s holding something over her head. I think she’s threatened by him.”

  “Did she tell you that or not?” Logan asked, stopping in his tracks. He looked at Devon dead-on. “Well?”

  “No.” Come to think of it, he hadn’t pressed her for a lot of information. His club members couldn’t leave them alone long enough so he could ask the important questions.

  “She’s been with the Angels for several years,” Logan pointed out. “You know what kind of dangers she represents to the club, Devon.”

  “She was with Damsel for a while. That doesn’t mean she belongs to the club.”

  “The hell it doesn’t,” Logan said. “Ever since I’ve been over here, she’s been over there with the Angels.”

  “He’s right,” Cara said, joining them.

  “Stay out of this, Mama,” Devon bit out.

  Cara thinned her lips. Oh now, he was definitely certain of her place with Tigger. She practically froze in place when he called her by the name she’d once coveted.

  Devon studied her, certain she was stirring the angst within the club. If she’d learn to accept Victory, the others would as well. “Hell, I used to think Tigger would soon have you stamped as property, but the truth is, we’re gonna hear wedding bells before long, too, huh?”

  Cara narrowed her gaze. “We aren’t talking about me and Tigger or Logan and Sassy, for that matter.”

  “Who brought us into this?” Logan asked, arching a brow.

  “Everything around here is usually about the two of you in case you haven’t noticed,” she snapped. Touching Devon’s arm, she added, “She’s bad news. Trust me, Devon. Victory should go.”

  “She’s not leaving, Cara,” Devon stated flatly.

  “Then you answer this question because, by God, this club has a right to know! Is she in Gaylord’s bed or not?” Cara asked, always sticking her nose in the wrong place at the wrong time then leaving it there to sniff and snoop around. Sometimes, Devon wondered if she remained club property in order to be Tigger’s eyes and ears.

  “Why is Victory your business?” Devon demanded. “Since when does the club’s sheep question the MC’s president?” He was in her face now. Fury spun through his veins. If she’d been a man, he might have decked her. Just who did this woman think she was?

  Cara swung her arm behind her and pointed at a bank of computer monitors. “If Tigger ends up dead, this is on you, Devon.”

  Everything happened at the speed of sound then.

  Devon followed Cara’s extended arm with his gaze and quickly noted the unfolding act outside the club. Tigger was surrounded. Devon gauged the commotion. They were about to face off with a heap of trouble.

  “God forbid, Cara!” Logan leapt over the bar, grabbed a shotgun, and bolted for the door. “You could’ve told us things had escalated outside!”

  “What the hell?” Devon yelled, following him.

  “Get back!” Logan said, stopping him from stomping outside. “They’re holding Tigger at gunpoint!”

  “I can see that!” Devon yelled, waving Cara away when she blocked his view of the monitors behind the bar. “But why?”

  “Do I have to remind you why Addison is in the cemetery and Damsel is in prison?” Logan asked, kicking open the front door and barreling outside.

  Devon stuck his hand above the door and retrieved a pistol from one of their hiding spots. Then, he stuffed the gun behind his back, tucking the piece in his belt. A few seconds later, he exited the building. “This is fucking ridiculous!”

  “Don’t go out there!” Cara screamed.

  The warning came too late. His feet hit dirt and gravel. Then, he went face-first and bottom-up.

  “Ah fuck, man!” A few jabs of intense pain ricocheted up and down his spine. Gaylord dug his foot into the small of Devon’s back. A double shot of agony zipped through his middle as his thighs tightened under Gaylord’s body weight.

  “Is Victory here?” Gaylord asked, pointing a forty-five at Devon’s head.

  “Move, Gaylord,” Logan said, pumping the shotgun.

  A few of the Devil’s Angels came closer. Logan didn’t budge. Devon couldn’t do much more than turn his head left or right. Tigger was restrained by several of Gaylord’s men. His arms splayed out to either side. If the blood on his lip provided an accurate indication, someone had thrown a few punches.

  “I thought we’d reached an understanding,” Logan said, positioning the shotgun on his shoulder and aiming at close range. If Gaylord stepped forward, his forehead would be pressed against the barrel.

  “That’s what a homeboy gets for thinking,” Gaylord said, cocking his pistol.

  “You’re dumber than you look if you pull that trigger, Gaylord,” Logan said. “You got a death wish today, boy?”

/>   Gaylord hissed, apparently upset by the way Logan disrespected him in front of the Devil’s Angels.

  Devon stretched his neck and looked up, keeping a close eye on Gaylord and Logan. If he’d ever met a man with bigger nuts than Logan Marcs, Devon couldn’t remember his name. His father had been a whole lot like Logan. Courage and ignorance formed a dangerous concoction. Devon’s dad had lived by the gun and died at the hands of those who’d carried a few.

  “Is she here?” Gaylord asked again.

  The parking lot became deathly quiet. No one made a sound.

  “For crying out loud, answer him!” one of the Angels shouted in the distance.

  Tigger tried to break free. “Devon! Fuck! I told you this would happen, man!”

  “Shut up, Tigger!” Devon yelled.

  “She isn’t here,” Logan lied, and Devon didn’t know why.

  “So, that’s your story, too?” Gaylord asked, nudging him with his foot.

  “Yep,” Devon replied.

  “Damn it, man!” Tigger screamed, trying to break away from the beastly fellows holding him. He cursed like a sailor, blasting the woman responsible for the sudden change in tide. The truce between clubs had rapidly disintegrated.

  Since Damsel had been put away, the Devil’s Angels and Heroes and Rogues had reached a compromise. The Devil’s Angels would stop making meth and selling the drug in their local area if the Heroes and Rogues stopped pimping out young women. Most of them entered the profession since they needed to support their habits, which typically circled back to the Angels anyway.

  Shit. In the MC, this kind of thing was expected, par for the course. Women were the root of their business problems, and now, a woman would cause them to be at odds again.

  “You better be telling me the truth, Kardashian.”

  “I am.”

  “Uh huh,” Gaylord muttered, applying pressure to Devon’s lower back.

  “Get your damn foot off me!” The brute must’ve weighed three hundred pounds!

  “I’ll shove my toes up your ass if I find out your shadow here is lying for you.”

  Oh, that would sit well.

  Logan shoved the barrel of the shotgun against Gaylord’s brow. Gaylord temporarily lost his balance, and Devon almost scrambled to his feet. Almost being the real humdinger.

  Logan said, “You know, I’m actually surprised by this little house call, Gaylord. I thought you were Damsel’s oldest and dearest friend.”

  “That’s why I’m here. I’m looking for his old lady,” Gaylord said, clipping each syllable.

  “Like hell,” Devon muttered, grunting when he took another fifty pounds to his lower back.

  “You got something eatin’ at ya, Devon?” Gaylord asked, wiggling his foot.

  “Get your boot off his blasted back!” Logan said. “He’s hardly the kind of footrest you’re accustomed to.”

  Devon snickered, a dumb move all things considered. Provoking a crazy man was more insane than taunting a hungry bear with rolls and honey.

  “How’s Melinda doing these days?” Logan asked, taking the limelight.

  At least he was armed and dangerous. Devon wasn’t exactly deadly at the moment.

  “Fine,” Gaylord snapped. “I’ll tell her you asked about her.”

  Little did Gaylord know, Logan’s inquiry was an inside joke. She was the cushion for the pushing, also the footrest, doormat, and any other derogatory statement the club could conjure up. No one liked Melinda, and everyone thought Gaylord’s cheating couldn’t have happened to a better woman. At the moment—considering Devon believed she slashed Victory’s tires—he wasn’t Melinda’s biggest supporter.

  Logan cleared his throat. “You tell her to come on up here, and the H&R boys will take care of her when you’re done with her. I hear she spends a lot of lonesome nights at home.”

  “Good Lord, Logan,” Devon muttered.

  Tigger growled. “I’ll say.”

  More Heroes and Rogues members gathered round. Hard gazes narrowed. Hands were tucked behind waists, no doubt with a firm grip on a weapon. This could end in a bad way. One twitching finger and it was all over for several of them.

  Gaylord snarled. Logan barred his teeth. They looked like a couple of wild and angry wolves. Soon, they’d whip out their dicks, flex their muscles and act like they each had something to prove.

  Devon preferred to fight his own battles. “If I see Victory, I’ll let her know you’ve been asking about her.”

  “Better yet, why don’t you invite me inside? Let me have a look around. If she ain’t here, you don’t have anything to hide, right?”

  “Absolutely,” Logan said, glancing over his shoulder. Apparently, he had more faith in Cara than Devon possessed at the moment.

  Logan was apparently misguided, too. If he thought Cara would hide a new broad, particularly one from the other side of the tracks, he must’ve missed some of her earlier cursing. The only person Cara would protect was Cara, and maybe Tigger, if she could figure out a way to help him. Where Victory was concerned, Devon had little faith. Cara had made her position known. Hiding Victory probably never crossed her mind.

  “Shall we?” Gaylord asked, nodding toward the building.

  “Why sure, Gaylord, I’ll be happy to give you a private tour. We’ll pull up a chair at the bar, slap backs, tell dirty jokes, and watch a couple of girls put on a show. Would you like that?” Logan asked, taunting him.

  Logan hadn’t lowered his gun. And he probably wouldn’t.

  “I ain’t in the mood for your dry sense of humor, Marcs,” Gaylord said.

  “And I’m not too excited by the possibility of being your companion for the night. So I’ll tell you what you can do. Get on your bike and ride the hell on out of here. If you don’t, I’ll start with you, and we’ll have a shootout guaranteed to make the evening news. I’ll still be around to watch Live at Five. You, on the other hand, will be dead and buried by seven-thirty or a quarter ‘til eight.” Logan nodded toward a cement truck. “We’re building a new garage. We’re all for adding a few Angels to the foundation.”

  * * * *

  “Come on,” Cara said, entering Devon’s bedroom and taking Victory by the arm.

  “Where are we going?” Victory asked, jerking her limb free.

  Cara thinned her lips. Rather than try and help her, she should’ve railed the bitch for bringing down so much heat on her club. Sassy hurried into the room like she thought her presence there would make a difference.

  “Cara is trying to protect you, Victory. I suggest you listen to her. We need to hide you in case the guys want to come inside and have a look around.”

  Victory copped an attitude, flipping her long hair over her back. Cara debated on whether or not Miss Attitude could protect her own high-dollar ass.

  “And why would I listen to the club whore?” Victory asked, eyeing Cara.

  “I’d rather be a whore to the Heroes and Rogues than to go through hell with the devil himself!” Cara lunged at Victory, propelling her arm behind her. She would’ve slapped the arrogance out of her, if Sassy hadn’t caught her by the wrist.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Sassy said, sounding too sensible, too much like her lover Logan. The more the two of them were together, the more a person couldn’t tell them apart. Outside of boobs and cock, they were one and the same.

  Sassy addressed Victory. “I don’t know why you’re here, and I don’t care. What I do understand of this situation, I can’t change. Devon wants you here, and since he’s the club president, none of us have a say-so in the matter.”

  Cara grunted and left the room. Sassy followed right behind her. “Cara, wait! I don’t know where the hiding space is.”

  “Apparently, Damsel’s old lady doesn’t need to run for cover!” Cara bit out, returning to the bar. She wanted to keep an eye on the guys in case she needed to provide some diversions, set off a few fireworks behind the club or walk outside in her birthday suit, which probably wouldn’t help m
atters. “Besides, Victory must think all she needs around here is a capable mouth. Tell the bitch she won’t have a throbbing cock in her cheek if an outright war breaks loose between clubs.”

  Victory appeared behind Sassy.

  “You had no right to call her a whore,” Sassy said, scolding Victory. “You don’t know her. She doesn’t know you.”

  “She doesn’t want me here,” Victory said. “That’s fine. I don’t necessarily want her here either.”

  “Oh, oh, oh, that’s funny.” Cara slapped her hand against the top of the bar. She needed to place her hand somewhere to keep from decking the newcomer. “You’ve been here what—a few hours—and you think you have enough shine on that golden pussy to out slick me?”

  “Girls!” Sassy yelled, swinging her arm toward the door. “Our men are out there fighting to keep this club protected and we’re what? Comparing boobs and discussing pussies?”

  Victory looked stunned.

  Cara sneered. “Just trying to find out where her loyalties are, Sassy.”

  Oh, if daggers could be shot and fired in that instance, Victory Rising would’ve been up in flames and Sassy would’ve been road kill for standing in Cara’s way.

  Grief. I should’ve figured as much.

  Damsel Road was once quite notorious for the women he chose to keep. MCs around the world used to joke about the women he took on to raise since he typically dated a barely-legal woman.

  Then again, she’d heard varying stories about this one. Supposedly, Victory had put Damsel in his place, turned on him after she found out he’d abused Sassy when she’d been a child. Evidently, Victory had known with absolute certainty that Damsel not only ordered Addison’s death but also pulled the trigger.

  She’d stood up for Sassy and Addison in a court of law, and that was worth admiring. Wasn’t it?

  Cara focused on the surveillance equipment again, particularly the large screen in the middle. Devon remained on the ground. Gaylord was pointing a gun at his head. Logan had a shotgun on Gaylord, and those bastards were holding Tigger like he was a rag doll.

  She needed to pull herself together. The club didn’t count on her for nothing. “You don’t have to like me, but if you’re staying, you will listen to me, Victory. I can’t let you put the old ladies and broads in danger while our fellas are out there cleaning up this mess. I’ve lived here for over ten years. When there’s a standoff between the Devil’s Angels and the Heroes and Rogues, blood is typically shed on both sides. Now, personally, I don’t care what happens to you, but Devon is a friend, and we take care of our friends around here. He’ll want you safe.”