If it weren't for Sara hanging off my arms, refusing to let go, I would have gotten to Aislinn sooner, but as it was, I was too late. Aislinn was already talking to the fuckwad when I approached and took off before I could say two words to her.
I could have followed her when she ran from me, but I didn’t. I was in what I thought was a serious relationship with another woman, and in deep with an MC that I didn’t trust. There was not a chance in hell I’d have brought Aislinn into my life at that point. I had nothing to give her. Shit, I barely had anything to offer her before but, at least, I wasn’t covered in other people’s blood then.
My study of the woman in the car is cut short when she slams her foot on the gas and speeds off, disappearing from sight.
“Are you going to follow me to my place?” Taylor asks, running her bony fingers down my arm.
With my gut churning at the thought of Aislinn seeing me with a woman hanging off me, again, I set Taylor away from me and start up my bike.
“Changed my mind, babe. Another time.”
I don’t hang around to hear her complain. Instead, I pull out onto the road and head in the same direction the forest green Jeep did.
A few minutes later, idling outside Crest Ridge, the MC’s motel, I watch the stunning redhead struggle to drag her luggage out of the back of her Jeep. Two suitcases, a laptop bag, a purse big enough to use as a sleeping bag, and finally, three fucking camera bags.
Jesus fuck! Of all the places in all the world, this was the last place I ever expected Aislinn to show up.
It was a no-brainer, leaving the Black Widows who I’d joined after moving out of my mom and dad’s place. Don’t get me wrong, Aunt Maxine was great. She took me in, gave me a place to crash, and is a fucking phenomenal cook, but I was almost eighteen and wanted my freedom. Living with my Aunt wasn’t conducive to that so I did everything I could to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible.
Working odd jobs after school and on the weekends, I saved enough to buy my first bike. She wasn’t pretty; actually, she was a piece of shit. But she was mine, and I was proud of her. Cracked paint, rust, bald tires, corroded chrome and all.
The first full-time job I landed the day after I had graduated high school was as a glorified bus boy in a less than reputable bar frequented by bikers, and the occasional wanna-be badass.
Most of the guys who drank there weren’t what I’d call conversationalists, except for one. Lord. Over the course of a few months, Lord came in, drank his customary three beers, stayed two hours, and shot the shit with me when I was on my break.
He talked about his club – what they stood for – and his brothers who had become his only family. Lord should have been a spokesman for MC’s everywhere because, after four months of him coming in, I was sold, which ended up being my second biggest mistake.
Lord took me to meet his President, Shade, and a few of the other brothers who held positions in the club, offering to sponsor me if I wanted to prospect. What eighteen-year-old kid who is being tempted with the promise of easy pussy, even easier money, and a family of men who’d lay down their lives for you would say no? Not fucking me, that’s for sure.
I prospected for Black Widows Glendale chapter for just shy of two years, earning my full patch the weekend before I made my last visit to see my mom and dad. I don’t know what I expected when I got my top rocker, but it wasn’t what I got.
Besides being given the shittiest assignments none of the other men would lower themselves to as a prospect, Shade made sure I was tested with everything. Handguns, assault rifles, knives, evasion techniques, picking locks, even fucking explosives. You name it, I’ve had my hands on it a time or fifty. But as far as Shade was concerned, my natural aptitude showed itself when it came to extracting information from people.
This didn’t come as naturally to me as Shade assumed, though. It made me sick hurting people the way I did, but I did it. Shade was an evil motherfucker; he didn’t give a shit about the value of human life. If he could, Shade would have put a bullet in the gas station attendants head who dared to look at him sideways.
No conscience. No remorse. No fucking soul. Shade was a cold, cruel, sadistic bastard like that, and he was grooming me in his image. I knew it. He sure as fuck knew it. And for the most part, most of my brothers knew it too.
It wasn’t until I saw Aislinn at that gallery show that I gave up fighting the hold Shade had over me. No one else knew, but Shade had been blackmailing me since the day he handed over my top rocker.
He’d followed me to Aislinn’s school one Friday, and watched me as I watched her. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what she meant to me, and as such, Shade used that to his advantage.
Walking through the doors of the clubhouse, Shade pulled me aside into his office.
“Take a seat, boy.” I did as I was told, not realizing I was about to get fucked over big time. “Pretty girl you’ve got there,” he smirked knowingly.
Clenching my jaw, I bit out,
“Excuse me?”
“Followed you, saw you watching her, so don’t try and bullshit me, boy. I know she means something to you,” Shade stated curtly. “What I wanna know is, how much?”
Having no idea where he was going with this, I asked,
“What’s this all about, Prez?”
Shade didn’t hesitate.
“It’s a simple question, Gage. How much does this girl mean to you? And what are you willing to do to keep her safe?”
I fisted my hands in my lap, my knuckles turning white under the strain of holding myself back from doing something I know Shade will make me pay dearly for. Such as, planting one fist after the other, repeatedly, in his smug face.
“Don’t,” I warn dangerously. “Just tell me what you want me to do, but leave her out of it.”
“That’s what I was hoping you’d say,” Shade admits, his smirk turning into a sadistic grin. “See, I’ve found myself collecting a lot of enemies over the years, but with your skills, I anticipate that changing in the very near future.”
If Shade thought he was being cryptic, he wasn’t. It was no secret everyone hated him, that included a good deal of his own men too. Shade didn’t negotiate, and he didn’t back down. Ever. He dealt retribution swiftly, brutally, and in most cases, unnecessarily. Slights against him that most Presidents would overlook, Shade handled with bloodshed that always led to fatalities. No exceptions. No lenience.
So, yeah, I knew what he was asking of me, and if I saw any other way to keep Aislinn safe I would have told him to fuck off. But Shade had me over a barrel, and he knew it. The look of wrath on my face at the mention of her gave away how important Aislinn was to me, and he didn’t miss it.
That was the beginning of the end for me. I committed acts of violence that would forever leave marks on my soul.
Pushing the horrible memories of what I did to protect Aislinn aside, I sit in the darkness and stalk her movements with an intensity borne of desperation. It may have been years since I last saw her, but my desire her hasn’t ebbed in the least. If anything, I want her more than I ever have.
Aislinn was a cute kid, and beautiful as a teenager, but as a woman she is exquisite. Just looking at her when she was younger, you knew Aislinn would grow up to be stunning. All the signs were there. Her petite frame that automatically made you want to take her into the shelter of your arms and protect her. Her porcelain skin that always reminded me of peaches and cream; it didn’t hurt she smelled like that too. The graceful way she walks as if she floating, her steps are so fluid. Not to mention, all that thick, glossy red hair, cute button nose, plump pink lips, gorgeous green eyes, perfectly toned thighs, and luscious breasts that have to be, at least, D’s if not bigger that have a hand in making Aislinn the perfect woman.
My eyes don’t miss the seductive sway of her delicious firm ass either. An ass I’d like nothing more than to get my hands, mouth, and teeth on. Fuck! The things I could do to that ass.
Once the do
or to her room shuts for the last time, I wait another ten minutes before turning the key in my bike's ignition. I idle until I see her light switch off and then pull out onto the street, heading home.
Now that I know she’s here and why I hope Aislinn’s ready because there’s no fucking way I can let her go again. I don’t care that it’s been years, she’s moved on, or she’s still married to the fuckwit who’s never been good enough for her, Aislinn’s mine and it’s about time she realized it.
CHAPTER SIX
~ Aislinn ~
“Sometimes I sit quietly and wonder why I’m not in a mental asylum. Then I take a good look around and realize…maybe I already am.”
– someecards
“He won’t budge, Aislinn,” Jean my usually cut-throat lawyer sighs heavily into the phone.
Goddammit. Six months and I’m still no closer to being rid of the life ruining, narcissistic prick.
I hired Jean Jeffries of Martin, Jeffries, and Associates to handle my divorce six months ago after her assurances that this would be a straight-forward, no-contest petition for divorce. Not that I blame her for Nicholas and his lawyer's antics, I don’t. It’s not Jean’s fault my, hopefully, soon-to-be ex-husband is a Class A fucking moron who loves nothing more than to see me suffer, except maybe himself.
“So, what you’re telling me is even though he stole my work, passed it off as his own, lost me seven instalments in the last six years, and made my life a living hell starting from the week after I said ‘I do’, he’s still asking for what he's not entitled to?” I seethe, wishing Nicholas was here so that I could kick his ass.
“Yes,” Jean sighs again. “Sadly, that’s exactly what I’m saying, Aislinn.”
Taking a huge gulp of the coffee I just bought at the diner on Main Street, which I’ll have you know is freaking awesome, I fight the urge to kick the dumpster outside the garage I’ll be photographing for the next week.
Nicholas has always managed to bring out my violent tendencies with little to no effort on his part. He just has to be in my line of sight for me to want to kneecap him and then kick him in the balls repeatedly.
“What do we do now?” I mutter, continuing to silently worship the caffeine God’s for smiling down on me. “Because I’m telling you, Jean, I am not sitting down to negotiate another settlement offer with the life destroying bastard and his Barracuda that’s only going to be rejected.”
“I don’t think it will come to that, Aislinn, but if it does, let me handle it. I have some avenues to look into. However, those will take me the better part of this weeks. So do your job, sit tight, and wait for me to call you. Whatever you do, do not answer Nicholas’ calls, or Price’s,” she tacks on the end unnecessarily.
After my last conversation with the manipulative prick, I can see why Jean might be worried, but she needn’t fear. Fire breathing dragons couldn’t force me to answer another one of Nicholas’ pathetic attempts to win me back.
“Heard and consider it done,” I assure her, smiling at the memory of Jean’s retaliation after Nicholas wouldn’t stop harassing me.
“I’m going to hold you to that, Aislinn. Behave yourself because I can’t promise I’ll be able to have the charges dropped this time,” she warns, but not without me picking up on the smirk I know she’s wearing.
“You’re smiling, aren’t you?” I gasp, feigning shock. “It really wasn’t all that funny, and I’m genuinely hurt that you find amusement in my temporary incarceration.”
I’m not actually upset because, in hindsight, I can see why my time spent in lock-up would be pretty damn funny from Jean’s perspective. However, it wasn’t until after the fact that Meg and I were able to sit back and giggle ourselves silly about it. Word to the wise; Jail is no laughing matter.
Chuckling outright now, Jean replies,
“Actually, from my side of the bars, it was hilarious.”
Hmm, I just bet it was, I muse finishing the last of my coffee and tossing the empty cup into the dumpster.
“Two points,” I crow.
“Uh-huh,” Jean mutters, sounding slightly perturbed by my spontaneous outburst. “You are aware, Aislinn, that it would help your case greatly if you refrained from having any kind of a psychotic break before this is finalized?”
“Sure do,” I grin, pulling the strap of my camera bag further up onto my shoulder. “I make no promises, though. The friends in my head are restless, Jean. Restless. They need out, and I have no control over them if they decide to start a revolt.”
“God give me strength,” she mumbles. “Last warning, Aislinn Banks. Behave.”
Saluting her, regardless of the fact she can’t see me, I chirp,
“Aye, aye captain,” before disconnecting the call.
Grumbling under my breath about the life ruining bastard and his tiny dick, I glance around the garage from the safety of the bay doors.
Pipes is huge. And when I say huge, I mean massive. Eight double rolling doors take up most of the street frontage with the exception of two glass doors that lead to the waiting slash reception area, and what looks to be several offices. The place definitely wasn’t what I anticipated when Custom Chrome contacted me about this job.
While marrying Nicholas Tremaine was without a doubt the biggest mistake of my life, quitting my job at Outdoor Adventurer four weeks after the fact was not.
The job wasn’t going anywhere, and truth be told, it was boring as batshit. Not that I know whether batshit is boring or not, I’ve never had the chance to study it in detail.
My freelance photos were already gaining attention before I quit, so I wasn’t concerned about the lack of a regular paycheck, but I was worried about how my new husband would take the news. And rightly so. The day I told Nicholas about leaving my job, and my plans for the future was the first time he hit me, but it wasn’t the last. Not by a long shot.
Nicholas’ open-hand slap to my cheek stung but it was only a taste of what was yet to come. Sure, he apologized afterward and did what all assholes like him do, promised never to do it again, but that was just one of many lies I saw through immediately.
His “lessons” as Nicholas liked to call them got progressively worse over the eight and a half years that followed. That was until one day Nicholas beat me so badly that when Meg arrived at our apartment to pick me up for our lunch date and found me unconscious in a pool of my own blood, she staged an intervention that led me to file for a divorce.
I hazard to say this, but…Best. Day. Ever.
Not the three teeth he knocked out, two broken and five bruised ribs, fractured wrist, and cheekbone, or the multitudes of bruises Nicholas left behind, but knowing that it was finally over felt like an invisible weight had been lifted off my shoulders.
“Can I help you?” A deep, masculine voice says, startling me to the point I almost topple over sideways onto the concrete.
Jesus. Do they breed them big out here in Colorado or what? I wonder, running my eyes up and down the goliath beside me.
Tall – as in, freakishly so – broad, packed with what I know has to be solid muscle and not an ounce of body fat, this guy is the epitome of a biker sex God. Dressed in faded jeans that hug all his manly bits superbly, tight black T-shirt, unlaced motorcycle boots, and sporting a leather cut that declares him their leader, this man is the stuff wet dreams are made of.
Not that I have we dreams or anything. But hypothetically speaking, if I were to fantasize about turning to the dark side to conquer the leather mountain and ride his powerful horse, this guy would be the perfect candidate to star in said fantasies. Hypothetically of course.
Giving him one last thorough inspection, I tip my head to the side asking,
“I would say take me to your leader, but it seems I’m looking at him.” Thrusting my hand out for him to shake, I introduce myself. “Hi, I’m Aislinn, and I’ll be your photographer for the week. Please feel free to continue all regular activities while I’m around such as, working shirtless and or participating
in wet T-shirt competitions.”
The man lets out a hearty laugh which is joined by a feminine giggle.
“Oh, I like her. Can we keep her, baby?” The woman asks, grinning widely at me. “Hi, I’m Beth, and this is my husband, Jackson. You can call him Boss, though.” Leaning in closer, she whispers conspiratorially, “He gets a little pissy when anyone besides me calls him by his given name.”
Smiling broadly at the obviously happily married man, I wink,
“Righty-ho, Boss, where do you want me?”
“Jesus, fuck,” I hear hissed from another newcomer to our little pow-wow. “Tell me she’s real. Please, for the love of all that’s holy tell me she’s not an illusion,” he mutters, hope evident in his tone.
I run my hands down my sides, gently pinching the skin on my forearm and reply,
“Yep. As far as I can tell, all real. Aislinn, and you are?” I ask the second biker.
“Cash,” he groans, using the hand not shaking mine to adjust the bulge behind his zipper.
Vengeance MC Box Set - Volume 2: Gage ~ Cash ~ Knight (Vengeance MC series Book 8) Page 6
