Jump: Book 7 in the Vengeance MC series

by Natasha Thomas

  “No,” I gasped at Patricia, unable to believe what I was hearing. Did she really think I was the kind of woman to manipulate my way into their home and her children’s lives in an effort to extort money out of them? Obviously, she did.

  Addressing Duncan, Patricia instructed,

  “Call Margarete and tell her to return to the house immediately,” she said, referring to their long-time housekeeper.

  Patricia then turned to me.

  “Your little game is over, Miss Reynolds. Margarete will be here shortly, but in the meantime, I would kindly ask you to start packing your belongings immediately as you have fifteen minutes to vacate the premises. And before you do anything that can’t be undone, I request that you think very carefully about your future and the futures of those you love. It would be a shame to see such a lovely young lady dragged through the mud over one silly transgression, but I can assure you, that if you insist on contacting the police, the outcome will not be in your favor.”

  “After what he did, you’re threatening Mia? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,”

  Devlin hisses through clenched teeth.

  “Watch your language, young man,” Patricia snaps. “I suggest you go to your room until this unseemly situation has come to its inevitable conclusion.”

  Waiting to see what her son’s reaction to her demand will be, Patricia taps her manicured fingernails on the sideboard. But when Devlin digs his heels in and refuses to follow her directive, she narrows her eyes and points toward the staircase.

  “Your room, now. Do not come out until it’s time for dinner or until you’re called.” Devlin’s face slowly raises until his eyes meet mine, and the wetness glistening in the corners of them bring about more tears of my own.

  “I love you, Mi-oh-my, so does Mathias. Forget everything else, but remember that.” “And I love the both of you. Promise me you’ll take care of your brother for me. He’s going to need you, Dev. He pretends to be strong, that nothing fazes him, but deep down, he’s just as scared as the rest of us. With you by his side, though, he can get through anything.”

  Those were the last words I spoke to Devlin in person, and they were my way of telling him that even though I was terrified of what came next, I would get through it. I had to because I had every intention of seeing them again one day soon.

  The boys were forbidden to have contact with me after I left. Patricia used their college tuitions and inheritance against Devlin and Mathias as a way to control them long after they turned eighteen. If it were up to them, they would have said to hell with it and walked away from their mother without so much as a backward glance, but I convinced them to stick it out. I wanted them to have the very best education money could buy, and that was only possible if they played by Patricia’s rules and kept their distance from me.

  However, everything changed after Duncan Richards suffered a fatal stroke three months ago. He died at home alone since neither his son’s or his wife were home, not unusual since they could barely stand to look at him. Duncan’s final moments were spent face down on the bathroom floor without the use of his arms or legs, laying in a pool of his own urine which I like to believe is karma's way of saying fuck you.

  Albeit, it has taken five years to come to fruition, countless emails back and forth and rare short and sweet conversations when Patricia wasn’t home, I am finally able to make the promise to see them again a reality. In seven days’ time, for three whole weeks, Devlin and Mathias are coming to stay with me. And I can hardly wait.

  ***** Zara is pulling into the driveway of her and Knight’s bungalow before I realize how long I’ve let my thoughts wander. What started as me asking myself what would have happened if it weren’t for Sarge throwing his arm across my chest, protecting me from the force of impact as the car began to flip quickly morphed into the first time I met him and why.

  Switching off the ignition, Zara doesn’t make a move to get out of the car. Instead, we both sit quietly, gazing up at the thousands of stars littering the cloudless night sky.

  The silence is broken when staring straight ahead, Zara confesses,

  “I’m scared, Mia. So fucking scared.”

  Well, that’s not what I expected her to say. And quite frankly, it shocks me because I’ve always believed her to be fearless. Underneath her tough, take no shit façade I’m aware Zara is just as vulnerable as the rest of us, but sometimes that’s hard to remember since she’s so damn strong all the time. So much so, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Zara cry. The closest she’s been to tears, at least, in front of me was when the last episode of Sons of Anarchy aired.

  Zara was raised by her dad, Chase after her mom disappeared the day she gave birth to her. Neither of them has seen or heard from Tracy since, and for the most part, Zara refuses to acknowledge she has a mom she’s never met out there somewhere. Which I’m only guessing here, but I assume is part of the reason why she’s worried about becoming a mom herself.

  When the only role model you have is a badass bounty hunter, and his idea of throwing a child’s birthday party is taking ten out of control eight-year old’s to the gun range for the afternoon, I suppose I can understand why Zara’s freaking out.

  “You’re not her, and you’re not your dad, Zara. You’re married to an amazing man who loves you to pieces and will make a great father simply because of how much he respects and adores his baby’s mother. You have a job that you love, a house that is perfect for raising a family in, and a loving family who will be there to support you could ever need. But if there does come a time you need help, I’m only a phone call away,” I offer, meaning every word.

  Sniffling, Zara wipes her eyes on the back of her sleeve. “I don’t want Knight to know that I’m terrified of something that weighs less than most crazy lady’s cats, Mia. He’ll never let me live it down.”

  Since it’s only a matter of seconds before she finds out it’s too late, I’m not going to be the one to break it to her that her husband just overheard every word she said.

  With a sixth sense when it comes to his wife, Knight opened the front door and walked out onto their wraparound porch almost the second Zara’s truck lights went off. When she didn’t get out of the car, I knew he would come and check on her, and I’m glad he did. I’m happy to listen anytime she needs someone to confide in, but Zara should be talking to her husband, not me.

  “Baby,” Knight rumbles as he opens Zara’s door and pulls her into his arms.

  Peering up at him, Zara groans, “Oh, God. You heard, didn’t you?”

  “Yep,” he smirks, placing a kiss on her forehead. “And I’m pretty sure some babies come out weighing more than your average cat, babe.”

  “Don’t be an asshole,” she snaps, burrowing further into his embrace. With a heavy sigh, Zara gestures toward the house, “And for your punishment, you’re required to carry me to bed and tuck me in. After you give me a foot massage, that is.”

  “Your wish, as always, is my command,” he grins, sending me a wink along with a nod of thanks. I have no doubt there will be bumps in the road ahead as they try to make head or tails of having a newborn in their lives when Zara does eventually get pregnant, but at least they have each other. And I’m happy for them, truly I am, but I can’t help being a little jealous too.

  I want what they have. Someone who shows me they love me in a way that I never have to question it. Someone who doesn’t let me push them away, but pulls me closer to them instead. Someone who understands and supports my passion for teaching children to dance, but won’t allow me to use that as an excuse not to explore other things I may come to love just as much.

  I need someone in my life that’s brave has integrity and fights for what he believes in. A man who for all my flaws can see through them and love me anyway. A man who not only thinks I’m beautiful but believes it with his whole heart.

  It’s a lot to ask for, I know, and the likelihood of me finding a man like that is slim to none. But what if I’ve already found him? And
what if that man wasn’t one, but two?

  CHAPTERELEVEN ~ Jump ~

  “Youcanalways finda reasontocelebrate. Todays’isbecause Ididn’tdie.”

  –Jump’s text toCash

  “How goes it, old man? Your nurse treating you all right,” I ask, helping myself to a beer from his fridge. Sarge doesn’t lift his eyes off the newspaper he’s reading, flipping through the real estate section.

  “Can’t complain, son. Get one for me while you’re at it.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think so,” I say dropping onto the stool beside him, shaking my head. “Em would kick my ass if she caught me giving contraband to her patient.”

  “Since when are you scared of my woman?” He chuckles, eyeing my beer like it contains the answers to all his prayers.

  “Always have been, always will be. Em can be fucking terrifying when she goes off on one.” I may just lose my man card for admitting that, but it’s the truth.

  “Smart man,” he nods approvingly. “Now I know you didn’t come to shoot the shit, so why don’t you tell me why you’re here. And while you’re at it, fill me in on what the boys have been up to. Last I heard, Boss and Fury were talking about investing in a new start-up. There been any movement on that?”

  “That’s been tabled for now. Everyone agrees that all club business is going on hold until you’re sitting back where you belong.”

  Two weeks after Mia and Sarge’s accident, Boss called all the brothers into church to determine where we all stood on suspending any and all decisions indefinitely, or, at least, until Sarge was able to weigh in on them. As it is, he can barely make it up and down the three steps into his sunken kitchen without wincing in pain. There’s no way he’d be able to haul his ass up into his truck.

  Sarge’s injuries could have been far worse, but he didn’t walk away from the wreck unscathed. His collar bone is broken, what’s causing most of the pain he’s still experiencing. He has a couple of bruised ribs, which were wrapped for three weeks but are almost healed now. The laceration along his jawline was superficial, but still needed seventeen stitches and came with a concussion free of charge. But aside from some minor cuts and scrapes from the windshield when it shattered, that’s the extent of the old man’s damage.

  Thanks to Sarge’s quick thinking and even quicker reflexes, Mia fared a hell of a lot better than he did. Throwing his arm across her chest didn’t just save Mia a stay in the hospital; it saved her life. According to one of the detectives who’s taken a personal interest in the case, Mia’s seatbelt had been tampered with. If Sarge hadn’t reacted the way he did, I would have lost her.

  Forensics estimates the other car – a dark gray sedan with Minnesota tags – was traveling, at least, eighty in a fifty zone, on an unsealed road, in the middle of the night with no lights on. If you take that, and the fact the driver didn’t make any attempt to swerve out of the way when they saw Sarge coming, along with the shredded seatbelt currently being held by the cops as evidence, it’s clear, this was no accident.

  After Mia had left the ER the night of the accident, I tried calling her dozens of times, and I’ve sent her hundreds of text, but she’s yet to answer one. Driving past her apartment to find the lights off and all the doors and windows locked, it didn’t take a genius to figure out where she would have gone.

  Zara and Sarge are the only people Mia has really connected with since showing up in Furnace two years ago, and seeing as Sarge wasn’t home on account of being in the hospital, I knew Mia had to be at Zara’s.

  Every day, multiple times a day, I’ve had to stop myself from getting on my bike and going to get my woman. Mia would fight me tooth and nail, she would refuse to come home with me, but even if I had to throw her over my shoulder, kicking and screaming it would be worth it. She would be back in my arms, in my bed, and in our home where she’s meant to be.

  Demanding, begging and resorting to kidnapping to get Mia to give me another chance isn’t beneath me. In fact, if I have to, I’ll do all that and more. But aside from having to go through Knight to get to Mia, which wouldn’t be a problem because out of anyone, Knight understands how I feel about Mia, there’s a good reason why I haven’t done any of the above. Actually, there are three of them.

  I’ve thought long and hard about what I want out of life. Where I want to go. What I want to do. And when I do eventually follow through with my plans, who I want beside me. Five weeks of being left alone with my thoughts as my mind weighs every pro and con has been fucking draining. Going around and around over the same questions and addressing the same fears has led me to one conclusion; I can’t live without Mia, but I can’t lie to her anymore either.

  The first part of my plan to win Mia back was finishing the interview with Shauna. I walked into Shauna’s office at Xtreme with a stack of candid, behind the scene photos shot by Aislinn, who’s a well-known, highly sought after photographer and an offer I hoped she didn’t refuse.

  The deal was simple. In exchange for the photos, I wanted Shauna to write a second article. My only rules were that it couldn’t be printed and that Shauna wasn’t allowed to use any of the extra information for her original story that’s due to come out next week.

  At first, I thought Shauna was going to turn my offer down. She was quiet for so long that I’d gotten up to leave. My shoulders sagged in defeat, and just as I was about to reach for the door handle, Shauna stopped me in my tracks with two words.

  “I’m honored,” she whispered harshly. Spinning around to see her cheeks wet with tears and her head bowed, my heart lurched as I realized the gravity of what I’d done. Yeah, there was a chance that at the end of this I would be rewarded with the one thing I’ve always wanted. On the flip side, I was taking a fucking huge risk that could and probably would backfire, and then I’d lose everything. My club, the acceptance of my brothers, my relationship with Cash, and my last chance with the only woman I’ll ever love.

  And I couldn’t forget about, Austin. He stood to lose a fuck of a lot if any of what I told Shauna got out too. Austin’s career, his friends on the police force, relationship with his parents, and maybe even his sister too, all hung in the balance. For all I knew, I was setting all of us up for an epic fall, and there would be no one to blame for it but myself.

  But risks be damned, whatever fallout I had to deal with would be worth it because they’re worth it. Mia and Austin are my whole fucking world, and I would throw myself on the sword of humiliation to ensure they had a place in it if that’s what it took.

  “Boy,” Sarge barks, snapping me out of my thoughts. “What is it with you kids these days’? Every one of you has the attention span of a fucking slug.”

  Shaking off the lingering fear over the bomb I’m about to drop on him, there’s a slight tremor in my hands as I place the envelope I’ve been carrying around for the last week on the table in front of him. Shauna sent me five copies of the second article she wrote; one each for Mia, Austin, Cash, Sarge, and Boss, and it’s taken me a week to build up enough courage to deliver this one.

  “What’s this?” He frowns, eyeing me suspiciously. “I want you to read it. Not now, when I’ve left.” Taking a deep breath, I go on to say, “It sounds fucking stupid because you’ve been more of a dad to me than a friend, but out of all my brothers, I’m going to miss you the most.”

  Sarge’s eyes close for a moment before a broad grin slowly creeps over his face.

  “So you’ve finally decided then. Took you long enough. Thought I’d be dead and buried before you gave up pretending to be someone you’re not; glad to see you’ve proved me wrong.”

  Confusion furrows my brow, and I shake my head at him. “What the hell are you talking about, old man? I haven’t been pretending shit.” “Deny it all you want, son, it doesn’t make it any less true. You’ve been playing at being a biker for more years than I can count. It only took one look at you for me to know this wasn’t the life you were cut out for.” Raising an eyebrow at me, Sarge tilts his head toward the enve
lope. “Without reading it, I’m going to go out on a limb here and tell you not to do anything rash until you hear me out. I’ve been waiting for you to come to me and tell me you’re leaving for years, boy. The first few seconds of silence at the beginning of every conversation we’ve had, I fucking prayed you were going to say it was time for you to move on.”

  Sarge chuckles at my narrowed expression, folding his heavily tattooed arms over his chest.

  “I love you, kid. Suffered a lot of loss in my lifetime, but I watched you the day you walked into the clubhouse, nervous and scared shitless, and I couldn’t have been prouder. You held your head high, met everyone’s eyes and treated men you didn’t know with respect. Not a lot of kids have the wherewithal to assess a situation and adapt to it like that, Jump. Especially not when they’ve got more than enough shit in their past they would have earned the right to walk around with a chip on their shoulder.”

  “Sarge,” I groan. “Shut it, boy,” he snaps, but there’s no anger behind his words, just frustration. “Losing my Marlee nearly fucking killed me. Eleven years old and the most beautiful little girl you’ve ever met, she wasn’t meant for this world long, but she made a hell of a difference while she was in it. My girl taught me a lot, Jump. She was all sunshine and possibilities. Nothing got her down, not even the cancer that killed her. She used her last breath to tell me not to be sad anymore, that she was going to a better place, and that one day she’d see me again.”

  Life might not be fair, but losing your kid is straight up fucking brutal. I can’t imagine how someone could come back from that, but Sarge has. That or he’s really fucking good at making it look like he has.

  “Marlee’s mom, Gwen is a cunt; knew it five minutes after I met her. She was a bitch to the bartender serving her drinks, the waitresses, and her friends but that didn’t stop me from wanting to fuck her. Gwen was gorgeous, and she used that to manipulate men into getting what she wanted. Drinks, cash, jewelry, she accepted all of it. Some fuckwit must have thought her pussy was magic and planned to keep her around for a while because he bought her a damn car,” he chuckles without any humor.