“Hey, are you alright?”
His voice is rich and cultured with a hint of an accent I can’t place. Looking up, way, way up, I gasp when I realized it’s the Nicholas Tremaine.
“Oh, ah, yes?” I say, it coming out sounding more like a question than an answer.
Nicholas’ deep laugh echoes off the walls, drawing more than a few appreciative gazes from the women in the room.
“You don’t sound so sure, beautiful, so how about we go find you somewhere to sit down until you decide,” he offers, grinning down at me.
Now, while I’m fangirling inside at meeting my idol of the photography world the majority of my synapses are still firing, so I know staying any longer would be a mistake. I don’t think Dex saw me, or, at least, he hasn’t yet and I want it to stay that way.
Slipping out of his hold, I stutter,
“Th-thank you, but I’m fine. I have to go.”
His eyes roam over my face and down the length of my body before returning to focus on my eyes.
“If you have to leave, then let me drive you wherever you have to go. I’ve got a car out back,” he says, gesturing to the parking lot at the rear of the gallery.
Shaking my head, no, I decline as politely as possible.
“I really appreciate that, but again, I’m fine. You have people to schmooze with and pieces to sell, so it was lovely to meet you, but I’m going to go and let you do that.”
“Can I have your number?” Nicholas asks without hesitating, and a cocky smirk tipping his lips.
“Fuck no, she’s not giving you her number,” a deep, raspy voice comes from behind me.
Damn, shit, fuck, crap, sonofabitch!
I don’t need to turn around to know, Dex is the man that voice belongs to. He still uses the same soap or deodorant because he smells the same, his voice is deeper, but not by much, and the hair on the back of my neck still stands up whenever he’s around.
Nicholas puffs up his chest trying to look intimidating, glaring at the man at my back.
“I believe I asked the lady, not you.” Turning to me, he repeats, “So, how about it? Will you give me your number so I can call and make sure you made it home okay?”
Knowing Dex won’t take his dismissal well, meaning this situation is only seconds off escalating, I reach into my back pocket and pull out one of the business cards I always keep there. Thrusting it at him, I rush out,
“Here. And sorry again about running into you, but it was great to meet you. I’m a big fan.”
Scooting out from between the two posturing men, I hastily make my way to the exit.
“Daisy, wait,” Dex shouts as I push my way through the door.
As soon as I hit the sidewalk, I take off running. I don’t look back. I don’t turn around. I don’t stop until I make it the eight blocks home. I shouldn’t have bothered exerting the energy, though, because Dex didn’t follow me, not that I thought he would. However, I won’t lie, a tiny piece of me hoped he did. But like everything else when it comes to Dex I had to accept that hope was dead now too.
Nicholas did what he said he would and called that night to check if I made it home safely, and asked me out to dinner the next day. I said yes, and it would end up being the biggest mistake I ever made.
*****
Meg is opening and shutting cabinet doors violently in the kitchen, searching for something, which is revealed when she slams a bottle of my arch nemesis – tequila is such a hateful bitch – down on the coffee table along with two shot glasses.
“I’d offer to let you drink straight from the bottle, but you’ve been kissing the closet ass bandit so I think not,” she snaps, referring to Nicholas, who Meg is adamant is gay but just hasn’t come out yet. “Now you, my friend are not going anywhere until you tell Aunt Meg what the hell possessed you to do a fool thing like marrying a douchelord who isn’t close to being good enough for you.” Glaring at me, Meg demands, “And no bullshit either, Linny.”
Cornered with no way to escape, I tell Meg everything. How Nicholas proposed outside a French bistro we had lunch at today, and about how he begged me to be his wife when I said I needed time to make a decision. I explained why I said yes – although I don’t think she believed me – and promised her I wouldn’t let being married change anything between us. I told her that Nicholas didn’t want to wait, depositing us in a cab that took us to the courthouse where we were married in a ceremony that only lasted five minutes.
At the time, it didn’t occur to me to ask how he already had a marriage license or why the clerk marked our names off a list. I was so caught up in what was going on that neither registered with me. I would come to regret not delving into that more deeply too.
Throwing herself back against the couch, Meg lets out a dramatic sigh.
“Well, you’ve really fucked yourself this time, haven’t you, poppet? You’re tied to a man who spends more time in the bathroom than any real housewife, whose ego is bigger than it has a right to be, and your best friend loathes. Good job. I mean, really, well done.”
“Your comments are duly noted and have been filed with the appropriate department,” I retort cheerfully, throwing back another shot I know I’ll pay or tomorrow.
“Oh, and which department would that be,” Meg questions, following suit.
“The joint department of ‘Go fuck yourself and tell me something I don’t know,” I answer, giggling at her pinched expression.
Gesturing wildly, at what I’ve got no clue, Meg spills half the contents of her glass all over the rug by her feet.
“Just saying, but God I hope for your sake the ass spelunker is good in bed. Because really, at this point, that would have to be his only redeeming quality.”
At this juncture, I should explain about my dysfunctional relationship with the bitch named, tequila. She and I do not get along. We never have and we never will. We have a strong difference of opinions that neither of can agree to disagree about.
She makes me a Chatty Cathy, lowers my inhibitions so I do stupid shit I’d never do without her influence, and the after-effects of spending time with her last far longer than it should, making me sick to boot. I, however, believe she shouldn’t tempt me with her beautiful amber color, lulling me into a false sense of security when I’ve partaken in five or six measured doses, and should mind her own fucking business and stay out of my head the next day. See, no middle ground. We are completely at odds with each other.
Cursing the tequila bitch of doom, I mutter under my breath,
“Not even remotely.”
“What was that?” Meg shrieks. “Did you just say that Mr. I am the God’s gift to women sucks in the sack.”
“No, I did not,” I deny. “He’d have to actually suck anything to do that,” I admit using a snarky tone of voice.
Bursting into laughter at my misfortune, Meg falls off the couch. But never fear, my lack of sexual gratification is that amusing she doesn’t stop laughing even when her head hits the leg of the coffee table.
When she’s got herself under control, which isn’t for a long, long time – too long if you ask me – Meg sits up, tears streaming down her face and stares at me blankly.
“Oh, wow. You weren’t kidding were you?”
“What gave it away?” I deliver dead-pan.
Meg crosses her fingers, asking,
“Please, please, please tell me he has a big dick and just doesn’t know how to use it. You can train him if he’s got the equipment to work with.”
Flipping her off, I holding my thumb and forefinger about three inches apart and snort,
“That’d be a negative.”
“Holy shit,” she screeches, jumping up only swaying slightly. “That. Is. Fucking. Awesome.”
“Ah, okay. Why?” I question, not only her sanity but why in the hell Nicholas’ tiny penis is classified as awesome.
“Because silly,” she chirps, dropping down half on top of me, half on the couch. “The man thinks he’s perfect, without flaws, ah
-may-zing. To find out he’s packing a mini flashlight instead of a police baton just made my day. Hell, it made my month.”
“I'm so glad I could provide you with entertainment, regardless of it being at my expense,” I snigger, shoving her off me and onto the floor again.
*****
Everything changed for me again after that night. Gone were the girls nights in with Meg. Gone were the Sunday’s I would get in my car with my camera and explore until I found a subject that spoke to me. Gone was my freedom, my ability to make choices for myself, my dignity, and my self-respect.
In my place was a woman I didn’t recognize when I looked in the mirror. She wasn’t me, and I hated her. Everything about her disgusted me, yet I still couldn’t escape her.
CHAPTER FIVE
~ Gage ~
“I’d like to be one of the things you indulge in on your cheat day.”
– Gage’s not sosecret thoughts
Present day…
“Gage,” Fury yells from across the bar.
Fuck my life. I just wanted to sit and have a quiet drink by myself, and maybe if the pickings were good, find a woman to fuck. What I don’t want is to have to talk to anyone.
Too late, though. Fury sits down across from me with a shit-eating grin on his bearded face.
“I’ve been looking for you all afternoon. Where the fuck have you been hiding?”
“Under a rock,” I deadpan.
Ignoring my shitty attitude, Fury smiles wider.
“Avery’s pregnant my baby. I wanted to tell you first, but you missed out seeing as you were missing in action.”
I’m happy for him, I really am. He and Avery had a hell of a time after she was kidnapped by a bunch of sick fucks who raped and beat her. For a while there, I didn’t think they’d ever get together. Avery was too hell bent on being alone, and Fury took off for months. But Fury was stubborn and determined to make her his when he got back, and Avery was powerless in the end to do anything but give in.
“That’s great, man,” I nod, giving him a fist bump. “Yours and Jonas’ kids are going to be born right around the same time then?”
“Blaine’s three months further along, but yeah, not too far apart,” he grins, happier than I’ve ever seen him.
Fury’s first wife and unborn son were killed in a drive-by shooting nine years ago, and it took him years to get over their deaths. He wasn’t grieving his marriage so much – his relationship with Rosalie was on the outs before she died – but the fact he couldn’t protect his family.
“There’s another reason I was looking for you, though,” he says, finishing the last of his beer. “Boss wanted me to give you the heads up about the journalist and his crew being at the garage tomorrow.”
“Fuck,” I hiss. “I thought that was next week.”
Four weeks ago, Boss was contacted by an editor from, Custom Chrome, a nationally syndicated magazine dedicated to bikes, bikes, and more bikes. Apparently, the MC’s garage Pipes is making a name for itself in the industry, and the editor wants to do an expose on the work we do and the people who do it.
The editor is sending a journalist and his entourage along with a photographer to do an article that will be a ‘week in the life’ puff piece on a custom motorbike garage. They plan on featuring a different garage each month, Pipes being the first.
“It was, but apparently there was a scheduling conflict with the photographer they want to use so they had to bring it forward,” Fury shrugs uncaring. I’m not surprised he doesn’t give a shit; he’s hardly at the garage anyway. I, on the other hand, am.
Every Vengeance patch member has to work a certain number of hours a week at one of the MC’s businesses. Boss doesn’t care whether that’s the strip club, garage, or motel and grill as long as everyone puts in their time. That’s the price we all have to pay for the club getting out of the shit that could have got us killed I suppose.
“Shouldn’t these guys be catering to us and not the other way around? The way I see it, they want something from us, and fucking us around before they’ve even started isn’t going to win them any popularity contests,” I fume, hating that I’ve got to be involved at all.
When Boss approached us during church about taking part in it, my first response was to laugh at him. We’re an MC for Christ’s sake, not exactly celebrity material. After the urge to laugh passed, I wanted to tell him fuck no. The idea of a bunch of nosy assholes poking around and asking questions for a week didn’t sound remotely appealing.
Granted, the exposure this article would give the garage is a big tick in the plus column, but for me, there were far more drawbacks than positives. I was overruled before I could voice my opinion, though. Diesel, Dirty, Sly, Jump, Gunner, Maddox, and Sarge were all onboard with Boss, leaving Cash and I as the only two with objections.
“You’d think so,” Fury answers. “But when the Lance the editor called to move the start date, he told Boss this photographer is the best. Highly sought after or some shit,” he tacks on the end.
“What’s this guy have to do? It’s not rocket science, brother. You pick up the camera, point, and shoot.”
“If someone said that to you about your work, what would you tell them?” Fury grins, fully aware I’d tell the asshole stupid enough to question the ease of firing a weapon he was a fucking idiot.
Shaking my head, I snap,
“Not even close to the same thing, Fury, and you know it.”
“Maybe and maybe not, but if you’re this pissed off about them being here already, I don’t see good things, brother,” he says, flashing me a warning look.
“Boss already chewed my ass out about behaving while they’re here, so you can save it. I don’t have to like it, I just have to refrain from shooting one of the annoying bastards in the head,” I tell him, recalling Boss’ words to me yesterday.
“I’m sure they’ll appreciate you not blowing a hole in them the size of Texas,” Fury chuckles sardonically. “Right, I’m out. I’ve got a warm, willing woman at home waiting for me, and while I like you, I prefer her company over yours.”
After Fury leaves, I scan the bar to see if there are any women ripe for the picking. Standing off to the side of the room around a four-top, Taylor, a woman I’ve fucked a few times in the past gives me what she thinks is a seductive smile and wave.
Usually, I wouldn’t go back for seconds and definitely not thirds, but she’s the only woman here who’s close to fitting the definition of my type. Signaling Taylor over by crooking my finger at her, I pull out my wallet and throw a few bills down on the table to cover my bill and slide out of the booth to wait for her.
Nine years ago, I made the decision that I was only going to fuck a particular type of woman. Sara was the only exception to that rule, and look where that got me. In a shit ton of debt due to her addiction to five-hundred dollar purses and seven-hundred-dollar shoes after she dumped me for her new fiancée that she’d been fucking for two of the three years we’d been together.
I’m not bitter about it; I couldn’t care less, actually. I didn’t love her, and if Sara loved me, she had a funny way of showing it. What pissed me off about the whole thing was that I didn’t pick up on the signs she’d been screwing around behind my back.
“Hey, baby,” Taylor croons as she sidles up beside me. I don’t greet her, which pisses her off, but she’s smart enough not to comment on it.
Taylor knows the drill. We hook up, take separate vehicles to her place – never mine – I fuck her how I want as many times as I want, and then I leave. I don’t cuddle afterward. I don’t make promises to call or see her again. And she isn’t to try to contact me.
Taking Taylor by the hand, I make a fast clip through Hounds and straight out the front doors, not caring that she has to practically run to keep up with me. As I straddle my bike, I drag her closer, pulling her down for a hard, bruising kiss that’s cut off a few seconds later by the sound of a car horn blaring.
My head snaps up searching for
the source of the noise only to see a car stopped in the middle of Main Street with a single female occupant. Noticing my interest, Taylor snidely mutters,
“What the hell is she doing stopping in the middle of the road? Stupid bitch is going to get hit if she stays there much longer. And why the fuck is she just sitting there staring at you? That’s creepy.”
Narrowing my vision on the lone female, I take in her long, deep red hair, the shape of her adorable button nose, the elegant curve of her jaw, and stop breathing. I’ve only ever met one woman with that color hair, and there’s no way that could be her. No fucking way.
I hadn't seen Aislinn since that night at the gallery nine years ago, and last I heard she’d married the asshole who asked for her number right in front of me.
He saw I was approaching Aislinn and made his move, putting himself directly in her path when she spun around to try and hide from me. It didn’t work, her hiding from me that is. I clocked her the instant she walked through the door and didn’t take my eyes off her once.
Vengeance MC Box Set - Volume 2: Gage ~ Cash ~ Knight (Vengeance MC series Book 8) Page 5
