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

by Selene Chardou

  “Sometimes, we don’t do things to benefit other people but ourselves and this is my penance after a life of crime and cruelty. I don’t deserve to live with the good people of the world on the outside. My son and brother are cowards and care more about themselves than anyone else but that isn’t me. Can you honestly believe I have found God in this place? I am studying to become a Catholic priest with the blessing of the Pope himself.”

  I almost did a double take but stopped myself in time. “I’m sorry . . . a priest? You’ve admitted yourself you’ve committed heinous acts yet you believe you would make a good priest?”

  “Well, I’ve never fondled any twelve-year-old boys and I certainly have never raped or molested anyone underage. I’ve given the Roman Catholic Church over half a billion dollars. Although I do not believe I am buying my way into the priesthood, I hardly think if I hadn’t made such a generous gift to the Vatican my application would have been considered at all,” he explained in calm voice.

  “Don’t you think that makes you a better candidate than either one of your brothers to help the government?”

  Emilio laughed out loud. “By doing more lying, stealing, killing and thieving because the ends justify the means? No, I don’t. I truly believe I can be more help to the men in here than I can on the outside. I’m no snitch but I have confessed to my crimes—both to my priest and the government. They don’t plan to seek the death penalty but I have been sentenced to ten counts of thirty years to life—all to run concurrently. I don’t know about you but ain’t no pill out there that has bought anyone no three hundred plus years of extra life. I’m just shy of fifty and I may have another twenty-five or thirty years left. I got no qualms about spending that time here.”

  We managed to speak for another few minutes before we ran out of time and I had to leave. As I reached the door, I looked back and smiled. “Take care of yourself. I suppose if I look at it from your point of view, you’re the luckiest one of all. At least your conscience is clear even if you are behind bars for the rest of your natural life.”

  He nodded as two guards held on to him in preparation to take him back to his cell. “Hey, it works for me. When my time comes, I feel safe knowing that the Lord will receive me with open arms and accept me as one of His blessed children. I have done my time and paid my dues. I fear nothing or no one, not even death anymore. What my son and brother do are not of my concern. They will have to deal with the Grim Reaper when their time comes and if their conscience isn’t clear—that’s on them, not me.”

  As I left Florence ADX, a calmness came over me and a feeling of peace I hadn’t felt in a long time moved me from the inside out.

  It was time I left the demons behind.

  If I truly wanted a healthy relationship with Ronan then I would have to move on and accept his decision. He wanted our children whether they were his by blood or not.

  I smiled as I opened the truck and hopped inside.

  For the first time I realized I wanted these babies too.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ronan

  The chill coming off the water in Long Beach along with the stench of diesel and pollution surrounded Ronan like a thick fog. Although it was fifty degrees, it felt cooler and for the first time, he wished he was wearing more than a thin long sleeved black cotton t-shirt with his leather cut over it.

  He wore leather gloves not only because they were perfect for the weather but it prevented fingerprints too.

  Although he was only there as an observer, he couldn’t admit how fucking sad the whole situation was to him. If he had daughters, never in a million years would he want them to be one of the scared, miserable-looking bitches who were disembarking from the boat that had brought them so far from their homeland.

  God knows how they ended up in Rotterdam but they all looked out of it and frightened out of their wits.

  Had Erik Kitaev lied to them about whether they knew exactly what they were doing and what was going on? If he had, he could start counting the days—weeks—he’d be alive because both Raymond and Angelo had a stake in this operation.

  Obviously, the big men on campus weren’t there to put themselves in harm’s way. Max and Mags were there to oversee Raymond’s shipment of women.

  They’d left the vast majority of the dirty work to the Saints—that included Hardy, Cricket, Kink, Cillian, Quinn, Bookie and himself. Layla had also come along for the ride since the Saints got first dibs at picking out the ten women who would be the first to try out their new venture. Heaven’s Saints would be the first brothel the club would ever operate. It was purely an experiment and if it didn’t go well, it would be the first and only whore house the club would ever have. If it did do well, there was talk of another location in Birch Tree and another in Glendale.

  As long as they didn’t poach on Raymond’s territory, they could do what they wanted. The man had no objections as long as their operation wouldn’t mess with his bottom line.

  Hardy patted down his cut and then his jeans before he swore, “Fuck! I need a goddamn fag right now, it’s killin’ me.”

  “Well, you know what Talia would say about that—no smoking.” Ronan smirked as his prez hit the back of his head playfully.

  “Thanks, Mum. I’ll keep that under advisement.”

  “Should you be moving your shoulder like that? Where’s your sling, Grandpa?”

  “Fuck off!” Hardy exclaimed good-naturedly. “My shoulder is fuckin’ fine, thank you very much. Actually, the docs did a damn good job patchin’ me up. It only hurts to take a breath every once and a while and my shoulder only pains me on cold nights like this. Other than that, I’m in tip-top.”

  “In that case, you should be happy you aren’t smokin’. It’s a nasty habit, anyway.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement, Dad.”

  Ronan and Hardy looked at one another before they laughed out loud and followed the women to a warehouse at Long Beach Port where they would be divided onto different transport trucks.

  Layla, already there and speaking quietly to Erik pointed out the ten women she wanted to be shipped to Vegas.

  She was ultimately methodical in her process, choosing several natural blondes, a few brunettes, a couple redheads and two exotic-looking women. One looked like she had some Asian blood flowing through her while the other clearly appeared to have a touch of the “tar brush.”

  Ronan raised one of his eyebrows. “Mmm, I didn’t think they did much mixing in Eastern Europe.”

  “Are you as dumb as you look or do you just act that way?” Hardy questioned in an exasperated voice. “How many trips have you taken to Eastern Europe?”

  “None.”

  “Well then, you wouldn’t know that the women can look like anything, really. There are women who have been in the outside world and although there isn’t a ton of immigration, there is some. Eastern Europe isn’t some lily-white place filled with doe-eyed women. If you’ve ever been to Albania, you’d know that some of them could be downright dark—a la almost Mediterranean in the looks department. You’re hard pressed to find a blonde in a place like Albania for instance—at least not a natural one,” Hardy explained in a cold voice.

  “Aren’t these chicks supposed to be from Belarus, Russia and the Ukraine?”

  “Yeah, they are but that doesn’t mean migration doesn’t happen, me son.”

  Layla waved them over and they strolled toward her before they stopped abruptly a few feet away.

  “As you can see, I have excellent taste in women. They will be huge money makers for the Saints’ new venture,” she stated with confidence.

  “Yes, they will.” Ronan smirked. “How were you able to know which ones will do well for the club?”

  Layla smiled wryly. “Easy. My mother was a Saint slapper. My dad decided to make an honest woman of her but . . . after I was born . . . she didn’t have it in her to change her ways. She still slept around and then got introduced to some grade-A heroin. This was during the nineties when
it was makin’ a comeback. Once she got strung out, my dad divorced her but she still hung around the club. She was never my mom—only Dasha. So when she died, it wasn’t a big deal for me. Hell, I was happy to see her go. I thought at least she’s in a better place and hopefully she found the peace she was so desperately searching for.”

  Ronan understood Layla that much more and for her being so candidly honest with them, he gained a newfound respect for her.

  Max and Mags approached them wearily. They both looked dead on their feet but still lethal never-the-less.

  “What’s up?” Ronan questioned.

  “Nothing,” Mags replied nonchalantly. “We chose Raymond’s girls so we’re heading to LAX. We’ll take a plane to Reno and meet the shipment there. After all the girls are checked over, they’ll go to their respective destinations and life will go on as usual.”

  “We gotta get back to Birch Tree anyway,” Cillian replied. “We’ve already spoken to Raymond and we’re supposed to make sure the transfer truck makes its way to its desired location. You two take care of your end and we’ll take care of ours.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” Max responded facetiously.

  “Are you sure we’re related because except for our eerie resemblance and eye color, you’re nothing like me,” Kink said with a smirk.

  Bookie chuckled. “Dude, have you been smokin’ crack? You two are exactly alike. Hell, you scare us sometimes. Seriously, the only thing different about Max from you is he’s a hell of lot more cold blooded than you could ever be but that’s because I believe the right people haven’t pissed you off yet.”

  “That ain’t me, brother. Only thing Max and I shared was a womb for nine months and the same parents.” Kink exclaimed in mock annoyance.

  “Actually, you’re wrong because the two of you share a hell of a lot more than that,” Cricket replied. “If I hadn’t known you my whole life, I would still know you and Max are siblings right off the bat ’cause you are way more alike than different.”

  “You know what? Fuck you and your five-minute assessment. You don’t know shit!” Kink said in an icy tone and walked off in a huff while Ronan, Hardy, Cricket and even Max laughed out loud.

  “Come on, fellas. Time to hit the road,” Cillian said as he adjusted his gloves. “I got an old lady and kids to get home to.”

  “Mmm, you and me both,” Ronan replied under his breath as he climbed on the back on his Harley and prepared to take off.

  Ronan walked into the house shortly after three in the morning. His eyes felt grainy and he was beyond tired. As he closed the front door, locked it and walked through the hallway, Naomi almost scared the crap out of him as she walked down the staircase and paused at the bottom step.

  “Babe, what are you doin’ up? You should be gettin’ some rest.”

  The look on her face wasn’t quite readable. “Where were you? You said you had some club business to take care of. I expected you home hours ago. You left early this morning.”

  “Nomes, you know how it is,” he replied, avoiding her stare. “Club business can take all day sometimes. I didn’t realize I had to check in with you in order to do my job.”

  “I don’t expect you to check in but you could have called me.” She walked up to him and pressed her face into his neck. “I was worried—that’s all. Surely you don’t think I’m checking up on you, do you?”

  Ronan felt bad about snapping at her. Sometimes he forgot it hadn’t been that long ago she’d been through a traumatic and stressful period in her life. Not to mention her pregnancy. If anyone was acting like they had something to hide, it was him, not her.

  “Sorry, babe.” He wrapped his arms around her waist before he kissed her forehead. “It’s this new venture. I just don’t know . . . what the fuck I’m doin’ anymore. I’ve never questioned the club or any decision they’ve made but this? I don’t know. Maybe I’m just gettin’ too old for this ‘shoot ’em up’ shit.”

  Naomi pulled away before she broke into laughter. “You’re not even thirty yet. What are you talking about? What new venture?”

  Ronan couldn’t even look her in the eyes.

  It wasn’t because he didn’t want to tell her the truth. He realized he was deeply ashamed and that was a first for him.

  He licked his dry lips before he replied in a quiet voice, “Human trafficking.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Naomi

  God knows I wanted to pretend like I hadn’t heard Ronan correctly. Did he say what I thought he had? The club was importing women and whoring them out against their will?

  I never had a problem with the “world’s oldest profession” as long as it was practiced the same way I’d always experienced BDSM with Fernando and later, Ronan—“safe, sane and consensual.” The moment it was none of that and especially just months after what I’d gone through, knowing the club was forcing women to do what I’d gone through . . . I felt nauseous and sick to my stomach.

  “Tell me you’re joking,” I whispered so softly, he barely heard me.

  “No. It’s a RICO case. The Feds want to go after Koslakov, the Albanians and the Chinese involved in human trafficking,” Ronan responded as he finally met my eyes.

  “But you aren’t dealing with Koslakov so why are the Feds involving the club in this clusterfuck of a mess? Unless . . .” I trailed off and realized if I told Ronan what I knew, I could cause an even bigger mess than just being pissed off at him.

  “Unless what?” He grabbed me by my biceps and pulled me closer to him though he was gentle enough not to hurt me. “What the hell is going on you don’t want me to know about? You’ve been acting strange all week . . . as much as I have been able to see of you. All the sudden you don’t want the Amniocentesis done and you’re fine with having the twins. What’s going on, Naomi?”

  “Mierda,” I whispered to myself more than to him. “Your father should have been honest with you, and I thought he was. Why do I need to explain anything to you if you already know he’s an agent?”

  “For the SIS? Yeah, so what?”

  “So . . . what?” I glared into his hard violet-blue eyes and smirked. “So, he was Fernando’s handler for the SIS while Christian Kerrigan—also known as Tristan Lennon—is his handler in for the FBI. He’s untouchable. You couldn’t get to him if you wanted to because both the American and British governments protect him. He’s one of their most valuable informants and he lays a whole lot of golden eggs for them.”

  “So we go after Emilio—”

  “Why?” I interrupted, suddenly furious at not only the situation but also his simpleton thinking that if he couldn’t get to Fernando or Carlito, Emilio was the next target. “The man doesn’t have anything to do with his son or his brother so why would you murder him? For shits and giggles? He’s studying to be a priest while doing ten concurrent sentences of thirty years to life at Supermax. He has repented for his crimes—he’s not hiding out like some coward.

  “If you have ever loved me and I know you have and still do, you won’t touch him. He’s not a threat to the club, our family or us! The threats are living it up, high on the hog—being taken care of by the very government I swore to serve and protect. Not only them but the British government too. The whole situation is one whole circle jerk because at the end of the day, all they give a fuck about is RICO!”

  “Babe, what do you want me to do? I want that bastard to pay for what he did to you—”

  “So do I but killing Emilio isn’t the way to do it.” I clasped his face between my hands and kissed his lips softly. “I know how much you want revenge and this road of . . . vengeance you have been on is flattering, truly, I get it. However, it won’t change what’s been done to me or what I have been through. You cannot harm Fernando or Carlito—we’ve established this fact because they are both considered important informants. However, if you really want to make me proud, help those poor women that have yet to go through what I will face.”

  “What do you want me to do?” he wh
ispered in desperation. “It was a club decision, Nomes. I never agreed with it but I was outgunned and outvoted. The only way I could get out of it would be for us to leave Vegas and transfer back to Birch Tree but then one of the members has to be willing to transfer down here. I can’t do that to you . . . God knows I don’t want to leave either. You think I want to go back to Birch Tree and be demoted? There’s no way in hell I’m gonna get VP when Trey has been promised that seat once Dad retires and Cillian takes on the role of National President.”

  “Listen, baby, I don’t want you to be demoted any more than I want us to go back to Birch Tree. You can’t do anything there anyway but you can do so much if you stay here. The women they brought over to service strange men for sex—they’re the victims. You have so much more power in this situation than you realize,” I implored out loud.

  “Like what?”

  I began to pace, one hand on the small of my back. “What happens if this . . . experiment is successful? The club will diversify and open more locations, won’t they?”

  “That’s the plan,” he replied as he ran his hands through his hair.

  “Then you do everything in your power to make that an unviable option. I’m not telling you to do anything that would get you kicked out of the club but you’re an intelligent man, Ronan.” I stopped pacing and faced him. “Do what you have to do.”

  He shook his head and sighed loudly. “I can’t believe this is coming from you of all people. Never once have you questioned a decision the club has made.”

  “No, I haven’t. Ever. But I’m doing that right now. If you can’t do it then I will. I’m close enough to Layla it should be easy for me to get a job there. I can help her with her duties and quietly sabotage along the way. Then you have plausible deniability. I understand, I truly do. I never had a problem with the crime—the drugs, murders and paybacks never bothered me. They still don’t to a certain extent. But when you’re dealing with the selling and using of women, you’re reaching a whole new low. This isn’t the same as prostitution. Human trafficking is a line I refuse to cross, Ronan.”