Ride To Vengeance (A Rough Riders MC Novel #3): A Rough Riders MC Novel #3 (The Rough Riders MC Series)

by Selene Chardou

  What. The. Fuck. Was. Wrong. With. Him?

  “You’re losin’ it, man,” he whispered to himself. “You have fuckin’ taken a one way ticket to motherfucking crazy town. How could you do this to Nomes? How could you profess to love and adore her yet fuck another woman? You’re sick, bro . . . just like your old man. One woman’s pussy ain’t good enough. You gotta act like a fuckin’ dog, pissin’ on every tree you walk by to mark your fuckin’ territory.”

  The blonde slowly woke up, yawned loudly and got out of bed, strolling directly to his bathroom. “You are fuckin’ losing it, Ronan.”

  The voice was familiar; how could he not know her? She was the head manager at the strip club the Saints ran in Vegas—ironically titled Saints & Slappers. It was a lucrative place with an atmosphere closer to Cheetah’s than Larry Flynt’s Hustler Club. She also was Burns’ daughter from his first wife who had hung around the club since she was thirteen. Her mother was dead—heroin overdose—and although she was friendly with the bikers, she was no fucking slapper. Nor was she a free-for-all either.

  Then why the fuck was she in his bed of all places?

  “What’s your name again?” Ronan asked as he massaged his temples knowing that wasn’t going to d0 a damn thing about his massive hangover.

  “Layla. You know, like the Eric Clapton song. Burns is my pops—”

  “Yeah, I know who your pops is. A better question is what the fuck were you doing in my bed?”

  Her icy blue eyes narrowed. “A better question is why the fuck did I even bother? If it makes you feel better, everything was goin’ just peachy between the two of us until you fuckin’ called me Naomi. And by the way, we fucked for like . . . twenty minutes before you passed out. So, if you wanna consider this cheatin’ on a bitch that was taken by the cartel then fine. You fucking cheated and made a skank out of me.”

  Ronan stood and faced off with her.

  They both looked utterly ridiculous, their faces contorted in anger while neither wore a stitch of clothing.

  “You fucking knew what was goin’ on with my situation so don’t act all sweet and innocent now! My fucking old lady was abducted—”

  “Yeah, I know that and I felt sorry for you! I thought you needed a little bit more than a bottle of fuckin’ Bushmills. I wasn’t tryin’ to replace her but you are a biker and you guys are practically Neanderthals. A man’s dick doesn’t stop gettin’ hard just because his old lady is kidnapped. I just . . . wanted you to feel good for one night and forget all the shit that’s been goin’ on around here. Sue me.” She placed small hands on slender hips. “That and I haven’t been laid in six months so, no, I wasn’t really thinkin’ with a clear head either.”

  Ronan laughed out loud before he slowly allowed himself to feel the pain he needed to let go. The tears came before he could stop them and he fell to the floor and began to sob.

  “This is just so fucking unfair. She should be here with me, Layla . . . and I don’t know how much more I can take of this shit before I fucking blow! I can’t live without her.”

  She sat next to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, his head cradled against her naked breasts. “Shh, just let it all out. Maybe this is what we should have been doin’ last night instead of tryin’ to find some solace in empty sex, huh?”

  “What’s your story?” Ronan asked as he used the heel of his hand to wipe the tears away.

  “Before you guys came, a guy named Callum Finney was my old man. We were supposed to get married. Nobody called him Callum—he was just Finn to everyone. Anyway, he was Aztecas Infierno’s first Saints’ kill . . . before they took out Miranda up north in Birch Tree. He was coming back from a run in Barstow and his bike was run off the road into one of the canyons. The brothers don’t even know how he got separated from the pack. It was weird.

  “Anyway . . . I haven’t been any good to anyone either and I know what you’re going through. I’m seriously thinkin’ about dancin’ again just to get my mind off all the shit, you know? I shouldn’t have done what I did and—”

  “Hey, don’t go blamin’ yourself. I’m a grown man, all right? I knew exactly what we were doin’ and if I would have asked you these questions last night when I was too piss drunk to even remember my own goddamn name, none of this would have gone down. We’re both way too fucked up to even be good bed partners let alone . . . you feel like you’re cheatin’ on Finn too, don’t you?”

  Layla nodded her head as she began to cry. “Stupid, huh? I can’t . . . look at another man. Hell, you were the first I was even attracted to enough to want to go there with and I think it’s because we got that in common, you know?”

  They finally separated and despite not feeling an ounce of sexual attraction for her, Ronan found himself running a hand through her silky hair. “Why don’t you go take a shower? I’ll do the same and we can finish where we left off in here . . . with our clothes on.”

  She smiled before she nodded in agreement. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

  Ronan and Layla played a game of poker where he discovered not only was she gorgeous but had the brains to back all that beauty. They were in the middle of a fourth game when Kink, Cricket and Chantal strode into the clubhouse like they owned the place.

  He quickly threw his cards down and stood to greet them with brotherly embraces and pats on the back.

  “What the hell are you guys doin’ here?” Ronan wondered out loud after everyone finished greeting each other.

  “Dizzy thought you needed the backup. No worries. Some of the members from the Vegas chapter have already taken off for Birch Tree. It’s just a trade until we figure out what the hell is going on and whether that bastard plans to let Nomes go free,” Kink explained as he looked around.

  “Nice change of scenery too,” Cricket said as he looked around. “Who’s that fine piece of ass you were playin’ cards with? She’s hot enough to—”

  “Don’t even think about finishing that statement,” Chantal replied in a cool voice that belied her gorgeous yet innocuous looks.

  “I was just about to say the same thing.” Kink glared at Cricket before he met Ronan’s eyes. “It’s too soon so don’t even suggest it.”

  “I wasn’t gonna suggest anything. The chick is Layla Burns and she isn’t a club slapper—she’s the general manager over at the strip club.” He paused for a second before he ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s too soon for her too. Finn was her old man.”

  “Callum Finney?” Kink questioned with concern. “Our first casualty in the war between Aztecas Infierno and the Saints?”

  Ronan nodded. “We kinda fell into bed together last night and to say it was a clusterfuck to end all clusterfucks would be a vast understatement. Turns out neither of us were ready to face the consequences of losing a spouse.”

  Chantal’s aquamarine eyes—identical to Kink’s—glared at him coldly. “The only difference is Naomi is alive although Finn is dead. Are you tryin’ to forget her memory so soon you’re fallen into bed with random women?”

  “Chantal,” Cricket warned in a soft voice.

  “Don’t give me that shit, Cricket. Damn it! What is it with the men in this club? Your woman is abducted by her psycho ex—who happens to be a major drug dealer and club rival—and that gives you a ‘free pussy for all’ card or somethin’? You think Naomi would be happy about what you’ve done? She thought you loved her and so the fuck did I. Some sociopathic asshole takes her as collateral and that gives you the right to start stickin’ your dick in other women?”

  Ronan glanced at her with cold, violet-blue eyes. “Shouldn’t you be in school or somethin’?”

  “I took the semester off,” she snapped. “Family emergency. With everything that is happening in the club, my professors didn’t even flinch.”

  He cleared his voice and decided to avoid further awkward conversation by changing the subject. “Well, make yourselves at home. Grab yourself a drink and let’s all sit down in the main room.”

 
Ronan tried his best to act normal or what had become his new normal now that Naomi was gone. However, he couldn’t even fake it in front of his brothers. Not the same guys who’d known him his whole life and knew his old lady. He immediately put some distance between him and Layla.

  It’d been great just having someone to talk to before the guys showed up but now all he felt like was a fraud. His old lady was trapped with a maniac who was doing God knows what to her while he could actually smile and play several hands of poker with an attractive blonde. How could he act like her disappearance meant nothing?

  It was different for Layla. Finn was dead and gone. Naomi was just gone and that’s what made his situation that much more difficult to manage. How could he pretend like it was an everyday occurrence when it wasn’t? She hadn’t left on vacation or an assignment—her sick twist ex-lover wanted to see her pay for her supposed infractions against him had taken her against her will.

  He sat at the bar for a while Kink led Layla to the game room as they spoke animatedly with each other. They’d be a better fit anyway. At least both their spouses were deceased—taken out by the same cartel who now held his old lady captive.

  Chantal had found a group of old ladies to commiserate with and seemed to make herself right at home.

  That was the nice part about the Vegas club. Most of the hard-core, old school members had old ladies. There were a handful who didn’t but the slappers were kept to a minimum and the ones that did hang around knew their place and showed respect for the old ladies. They knew if they were caught fucking club members who were married or committed to someone, they would be kicked out on their ass so fast, it’d make the Airbus seem slow.

  The Vegas charter turned out to be a lot different than Ronan had expected it to be and under normal circumstances, he would have loved to run this club with Hardy at the helm. Unfortunately, he’d lost his woman and the whole situation had turned to shit before he had a chance to get comfortable and settled down properly.

  Cricket threw back a shot of Bushmills before he nursed it with a bottle of Guinness. “What’s goin’ on, my brother? You can hide a lot of shit from me but we’re best bros. Losing you to another charter was like a knife in the chest. Hell, I’ve even put in for a transfer. Burns and his old lady want their kids to settle down somewhere ‘family friendly’ and shit. What that means is he’s got a ten-year-old daughter and a twelve-year-old son. He wants them to know about small town life while they still can.”

  Ronan drank his shot of Irish whiskey. “That’s great, bro. I hope it goes through. What about Chantal’s schooling?”

  “She already put in her paperwork to transfer to UNLV. Got in with no issues. You’d never know it by lookin’ at her but she’s a straight-A student. She works hard and parties even harder but for now, this is what she wants too. There are so many bad memories in Birch Tree at the moment. Kink would transfer too but you know he’d never leave Cillian. Plus, he’s up for a big promotion so he’s got no reason to leave.”

  “What about you?”

  Cricket shrugged. “What about me? I’m just a soldier. I’d go anywhere my best bro was and you got real power here. When Naomi comes back home, you’re gonna be stronger than ever. And with Hardy at the helm, I see nothing but good shit comin’ this charter’s way.”

  When Naomi came home.

  Ronan grasped the bottle of Guinness hard as he thought about that. Eventually she would return and he would have her back again, safe in his arms. No matter what the damage that fucking sociopath asshole inflicted on her could never stop the love he had for her. He needed her so desperately, even now.

  “Bro, how do we know we’ll get her back? How can you be so sure?”

  Cricket’s cerulean blue eyes glared at him with a mixture of surprise and anger. “How can you not be so unsure? Where the fuck did this defeatist attitude come from? She’s your old lady. Nothin’ is gonna stop us from getting’ her back. Fuck what your old man says. She is everything to this club.”

  “We don’t even know where she is . . .” Ronan trailed off.

  “Yeah, bro, actually, we do. That piece of shit prick’s got her housed in some fancy mansion in Ensenada. He owns the locals and a shit ton of land but we got a plan. We’re just waitin’ for Hardy to come back from his little ‘bitch’ errand and then it’s a private chapel meeting. Just you, me, Kink and Hardy. Fuck this waitin’ around bullshit. We’re gonna go get her ourselves,” his brother replied confidently before he swigged on the black brew.

  “What does that mean? What ‘bitch’ errand? Hardy didn’t say shit to me about havin’ to do anything out of the ordinary today.”

  “Well, you’re not exactly his keeper, are ya? And for the record, he had to handle some shit between Jaden and Talia.” Cricket glanced at him with a genuine look of curiosity on his face. “You do know what’s goin’ down, right? Weren’t you at that party for Trista and Linx when they officially moved here to Vegas for the gig Winter’s Regret signed? You know, the one for the two-year stint or whatever they’ll be doin’ at Vogue Hotel, Casino, and Spa? Don’t tell me you were too drunk to remember what went down?”

  Ronan hadn’t been too far gone not to remember the party. It was full of Vegas bigwigs and bikers—not exactly the perfect mix but somehow, the arrangement managed to work.

  There was only one incident that happened and the only reason why it hadn’t turned into a full on brawl was because one of the parties involved left in complete humiliation.

  In front of all the brothers, Hardy had told Jaden in no polite terms Talia was his. He’d been poking holes in their condoms and now she was expecting a child—his child. Jaden could go back to Faith—the skank—and keep her because he was taking Talia.

  She’d reluctantly agreed it was for the best while Jaden pleaded with her to reconsider. However, what choice did she have? A rocker by night and a domesticated mom by day, she already had one kid to take care of courtesy of Jaden. She wouldn’t be left to go at it alone with two children. Hardy had proposed to her and she’d said yes.

  Since then, she’d cut off all contact with Jaden—at the insistence of Hardy—and the rocker was only allowed to see his son with the boy’s nanny. He never saw Talia because that’s the way Hardy wanted it.

  Jaden had finally burned all his bridges and Hardy had gotten what he wanted in the end.

  “Yeah, I remember what went down,” Ronan finally said after a long time of contemplating that night. “Sorry—since Naomi . . . nothing else . . . the drama in other people’s lives just doesn’t affect me the way it used to. Hardy got what he wanted but then again, he’s older and has more life experience. Did Jaden really think he had a chance with Talia once the Prez entered the picture?”

  Cricket chuckled. “Yeah, he did. Dumbass. Doesn’t he know the guy grew up on the streets of Belfast and East London? He’s got a hell of a lot more goin’ upstairs than Jaden will ever have. Talia made the right decision.”

  The rumble of Harleys pulling up to the compound interrupted their commiseration as they both stood to their feet and strolled toward the doors to the warehouse compound.

  Kink, Layla, Chantal and a few of the other old ladies weren’t far behind as they all walked outside into the crisp Vegas sunshine. The weather was perfect. The temperature was a crisp eighty-four degrees; the sun felt warm against their skin. The sky was pale blue with puffy white clouds dispersed throughout.

  Hardy had already parked his Harley and he got off along with another guy Ronan knew looked familiar. There was also a chick with him but she had ridden her own Harley and looked equally badass.

  Holy shit! Was that the notorious Gillespie crew? The brother Kink and his father had thought was gone forever to the side of the Russians but now worked exclusively for Abandonato and Jackson.

  Maksymilian “Max” Gillespie—formerly known as Maxwell Cartier—and his old lady, Magnolia Abandonato-Gillespie—formerly known in the underground as Magnolia Reynolds—strode along with Hardy
as if they owned the place.

  Although neither wore biker garb, everyone knew they were a force to be reckoned with and then some. Both assassins and too damn good at their job, they were the main hold up in the deal between the Saints and the Kitaev Bratva.

  Almost nine months ago, Max had done the unthinkable, acting on behalf of his former mentor, Dimitri Koslakov. It didn’t matter why the situation had occurred—the fact was it did and that didn’t exactly set him up to have a great relationship with the top Russian on the scene.

  Erik Kitaev could accept why Max had done it but the Russians were known for holding grudges. He still wanted Max to pay for what he’d done wrong, whether he was acting on the orders of his former mentor bore little—if any weight.

  A better question though was why had Hardy brought them to the compound now and what the hell was going on?

  “Brothers, meet Max and Mags. If we’re gonna go down to Mexico and get your woman then we need some real muscle behind us,” Hardy began in his quiet Cockney-accented voice. “Now, I’m not suggesting the Saints is full of a bunch of scared little cunts but we need professionals. We deal in drugs and arms—and occasionally we take out the errant criminal or two—but we aren’t professional killers. Max and Mags are so I figured we might as well use the best.”

  Layla nodded. “I’ve heard of you both. Especially you, Magnolia. Your reputation precedes you.”

  Mags smirked though her pale green eyes warmed slightly. “I’ve been hearing that a lot about myself lately.”

  Chantal looked over their shoulders, her aquamarine eyes growing wide with fear. “Fellas, this scene is starting to look strikingly familiar. There are two low riders cruising by and I don’t like the look of them at all.”

  Ronan, Cricket and Kink all looked in her direction.

  It was truly slow motion on Ronan’s part; one moment he glanced at the low riders—both fully restored ’72 Chevy Impalas—and the next they were shooting.