Retaliation: A Twisted Mayhem MC Novel

by Cat Mason

  “I’m fine,” Roanne replies, though it isn’t very convincing. “Are you okay? I’m sorry about Troy,” she says, taking me by surprise. Leave it to my girl to apologize to Shy because that piece of shit is dead.

  “I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me.” Shy swallows hard, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m a hell of a lot tougher than I look, girl. Now,” Releasing her grip on Roanne, she rubs her hands together and clears her throat. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? The guys refused to let me lift so much as a finger today, but I can run in the kitchen and throw you something together.”

  “No, but thanks. Honestly, food is the last thing that I want right now.” Wrapping her arms around herself, Roanne shakes her head. “All I want is to shower and sleep.”

  “Henley, once Ro gets cleaned up, can you come down and check her out?” I ask, watching as she digs through her medical bag.

  “No,” Ro argues, forcing a small smile. Her eyes shoot to mine. “I said I’m fine.”

  “Thanks, Henley,” I say when she nods, ignoring Roanne. “We appreciate everything you’ve done for the club.”

  “Sure thing.” Holding up a syringe, Henley nods before jabbing Schrader in the thigh with it. Slamming his fist down onto the table, he curses under his breath, making her giggle. Capping the syringe, she tosses it into a large trashcan that has been moved from the other side of the room. “It’s not every day I get to dig a bullet out of a man’s ass cheek,” she adds, slapping him on the uninjured side of his ass. “Most excitement I’ve had in weeks.”

  Leaving Henley to handle Schrader, Roanne and I head for my room. Her movements are slow and hesitant. She can say she is fine all she fucking wants, but I can see the emotions she is trying to bury. Whether she wants to admit it or not, she has been through a lot. Especially this last eighteen hours.

  I also know that shit like this festers in your gut like cancer, eating away at you until there’s nothing left.

  Stepping through the door, Roanne walks over to the dresser and begins digging through the drawers she claimed for herself not long after she started staying here. Leaving her to it, I head into the bathroom and get the water going for her. Stripping off my cut, I yank the t-shirt over my head, tossing the blood-stained cotton to the hamper beside me. Switching on the sink, I splash some water onto my chest before wiping away the blood with a towel.

  “You’re hurt,” Roanne’s shaky voice comes from behind me.

  “Not my blood.” Throwing the towel on top of my discarded shirt, I shut off the sink and meet her eyes in the mirror. The only color in her face comes from the cuts and bruises. Turning to face her, I step closer, taking her face in my hands. She winces, her entire body tensing. Leaning in, I kiss her softly. I need the taste of her on my lips, I need to have that tangible confirmation that she is here. That I didn’t lose her. “You okay?” I ask, pressing my forehead to hers.

  “Jensen, I told you, I’m fine.” Pushing me away, she rolls her eyes. Pressing the tips of her fingers to her cheek, she runs them along her jaw while looking in the mirror. “It looks a lot worse than it is. Can we please just drop it already?”

  “Not talkin’ about here,” I reply, brushing my knuckles over what is going to be one hell of a bruise tomorrow morning. My other hand presses to her chest, feeling her heart beat beneath my palm. It calms me. “This is what I’m worried about.”

  Covering my hand with hers, she closes her eyes and breathes deeply. “I tried to save him,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. “But, I—”

  “I know you did, Baby. He died knowin’ that you’d have given anything to help him.” I want to soothe her, to take away the ache, but I can’t. I know all too fucking well that nothing I can say or do will make this any easier on her. This kind of shit rips down the walls you put up to protect your heart and demands to be felt. “There was nothing you could’ve done differently back there.”

  “Bullshit.” Her eyes open, a tear slipping down her cheek. “This could have ended differently and you fucking know it.”

  “You’re exactly right.” Brushing away the tear with my thumb, I shake my head, not wanting to say the words out loud. But I know that I have to. No matter how badly I don’t want to give those words any more weight than already carry inside me, I know deep down she needs me to voice them. “It could’ve been a lot worse. I could’ve lost you, too.” She nods, more tears spilling over onto her cheeks. Wrapping my arms around her, I pull her close. After a few seconds, her body relaxes into mine. “It could’ve been so much fucking worse.” Tipping her chin up to meet my eyes, I continue to lay it out for her. “You’ve gotta understand, Baby, Ivy was never willingly going to let Al walk out of there. Or anyone else, for that matter. Yes, I wanted to save Al. I promised you, myself, and everyone around me, that I would not only do that, but that I would keep you safe. I failed. You’ll never know how fucking sorry I am that this happened to him. To you.”

  Slipping from my grip, Roanne nods. Scrubbing a hand over her face, she pads across the tile to the shower. Removing the torn shirt from her body, she tosses it to the trashcan. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” Reaching in, she checks the water, then adjusts the temperature before stripping out of the rest of her clothes.

  A growl tears from my chest when I see the bruises that were hidden beneath her clothes. “Those motherfuckers deserved a lot more than they got,” I ground out, balling my fist. Reaching out, I skim her hip with the tips of the fingers of my other hand, tracing a nasty bruise that looks a hell of a lot like a goddamn boot print. Closing my eyes, I breathe deep, trying to push visions of that bastard, D.A., kicking my girl hard enough to leave marks like that on her skin. If I could, I’d bring him back to life so I could kill the motherfucker again myself. “They’re the ones that deserved to suffer.”

  “Yeah,” she breathes, her eyes dropping to the floor as she steps into the spray.

  Instead of stripping down and climbing in there with her to take stock of every fucking mark those bastards put on her beautiful body, I force myself to leave the bathroom and let her have a few moments alone. Digging through the mini fridge and cabinet I use to stash snacks in, I manage to find a can of soda, a Twix bar, and a package of peanut butter crackers. It is nowhere near a meal for someone that I am sure hasn’t eaten in twenty-four hours, but it’s something to fill her stomach with for now.

  Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I call Jinks, wanting to check in to make sure everything has gone according to plan. The last thing I need to add to this fucked situation is some blowback because we were sloppy with clean up and disposal.

  “Yo,” he answers on the second ring. “I’m about ten minutes out. Got a surprise for you, Prez.”

  Scrubbing a hand over my face, I groan. “Surprise is the last word I want to hear right now, Jinks. What’s up? I can get Torch out there if you’re havin’ issues.”

  “Shit,” he laughs into the phone. “That place went up like a box of greasy rags. What’s up, is the not so dead Fed that I’ve got knocked out cold in the back of this truck. He’s pretty fucked up, but still breathin’. Thought it best the police didn’t find him barbecued along with the house.”

  I had almost forgotten about Dick.

  “Lock him up with Wright,” I reply, sitting on the edge of the bed. “He may know where Ivy is headed.”

  “Lock him up with Wright?”

  “Shit.” Jumping to my feet, I meet Ro’s eyes as she steps out of the bathroom, her fingers combing through her damp hair. “Handle it, Jinks. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ve gotta go.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Roanne

  Ending the call, Jensen shoves his phone back into his pocket. He eyes me carefully, as if not sure how I am going to react. I can’t blame him. I’m not really sure either.

  “So, Hank’s alive?” I ask, sitting down on the bed.

  “Yes.” Grabbing the can of soda in front of me, he pops the top and extends it to me.

&nbs
p; “And you have him locked up,” I continue, taking the drink from him and bringing it to my lips to drink. “Here?” He nods. Placing the can on the nightstand, I swallow around the lump in my throat. “Richard Laswell is still alive, too, isn’t he? That’s who Jinks is bringing here now, isn’t it?”

  “We aren’t talking about this now, Roanne,” Jensen says, shaking his head. “You should eat something and try to rest.”

  “Fine,” I bite out, standing to my feet. “Don’t talk to me about it. Take me to them.”

  “Fuck no.”

  “Suit yourself, stubborn ass.” Grabbing my sneakers, I head for the door. “It’s a compound, not a continent. I’ll find them myself.”

  “The fuck if you will, woman,” he roars. Blocking my exit, his nostrils flare as he slams his palm against the door. His eyes narrow at me, the vein in the side of his neck bulging. “This isn’t anything for you to worry about.”

  Wrong answer, Jensen. Wrong answer.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Throwing down my shoes, my fist connects with his jaw before I can stop myself. Bringing his hand up to where I struck him, his eyes widen in shock. Taking my frustration out on him feels good. Knowing I have shocked him feels even better. I shove at his chest with both hands, causing his body to bounce off the door. “You’re bringing the man who attacked me here and say I shouldn’t worry about it? If Schrader hadn’t gotten to me when he did, that piece of shit psycho would’ve—” I choke on a sob. Pressing a hand to my chest, I will my heart to stop hammering so violently.

  Scrubbing a hand over his face, Jensen curses under his breath. “I’m sorry,” he sighs, pulling me into his arms. My body goes rigid. Burying his face in my hair, he tightens his grip. “So goddamn sorry.”

  “Why would you bring him here?” I ask, my fingers clinging to his back. “Why would you do that knowing what he did? What he would’ve done.”

  “I couldn’t breathe when you weren’t here, Roanne.” His words come out in a rush. “It was like the entire world stopped the moment I found out you’d been taken away from me. I’ve only felt that way one other time in my life,” he says, sounding pained. Loosening his hold on me, he pulls back to meet my eyes, but doesn’t allow me to step out of his embrace. “I won’t lose you. Not to anyone. Especially not to Ivy Vaughn and any desire she has to circle back for what’s mine. Wright and Laswell have been by her side from the beginning. They know what the plan is; they’ll know where she’s headed.”

  I nod my head, knowing that he needs to do this. But, more importantly, realizing that for whatever reason, he is explaining himself to me because he wants me to understand. And I do. I can only hope he can see where I am coming from as well. “I don’t care if Richard Laswell is on the property for ten seconds, or ten days,” I reply, squaring my shoulders. “You take me to him before you put another mark on him.”

  “Absolutely not,” he snaps. “I don’t even want you two breathing the same goddamn air.”

  “I didn’t ask for your approval or permission,” I warn, not backing down. “This is a fight you’re going to lose, Jensen.”

  “I don’t want you anywhere near that piece of shit,” he says, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “Why is this so fucking important to you?”

  “Because!” I shout back, just as irritated as he is. “After everything they’ve done to me, after all that they’ve taken that I can never get back, I want that son of a bitch to split hell wide open knowing he didn’t beat me.”

  “Fine,” he says after a moment. “Sleep now. Tomorrow, after you eat breakfast, and Henley has a look at you, we will walk over there and do this together. Take it or leave it, Duchess. If this happens, it’ll happen on my terms.”

  “Okay,” I reply, turning and walking over to climb beneath the covers. Kicking off his shoes, Jensen slides into bed next to me. Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me into his chest. “Jensen?”

  “Babe?” he asks, resting his chin on top of my head.

  “You were right.”

  “About?” His fingers start tracing slow circles up and down my back.

  “You said everyone has their limit.” My eyes burn with the tears that desperately want to fall. Closing my eyes tightly, I feel some spill down my cheeks. “Today, I reached mine.”

  “I know, Baby.” Shifting his body, Jensen pulls me closer, his grip tightening as he kisses my hair. “I’m there with ya.”

  Sleep doesn’t come as easily as I had hoped it would. I wake several times in the night. When I close my eyes, I can smell the cologne Richard wore. Knowing that he is still breathing, that he is here, makes it impossible for me to rest.

  Watching the clock on the wall, each minute that goes by feels like an eternity. The slight ticking sound that the clock makes might as well be bombs going off.

  The only thing louder is my racing thoughts.

  As promised, I allow Torch’s sister, Henley, to look me over. After assuring Jensen that nothing appears to be broken, she uses some butterfly bandages on my cheek and tapes up my bruised ribcage for added support as it heals. When Jinks steps into the room, he jerks his chin at Jensen, who nods in return. Bending down, he presses his lips to my temple, before walking toward where Doc, Huck, Torch, and Jinks stand waiting outside the double doors that lead to the chapel.

  Coming out from the kitchen, Schrader catches my attention. His face is contorted in pain as he hobbles across the room on a set of crutches. “The hell are you doing out of bed?” Doc asks, his head tilted to the side as he scratches his salt and pepper stubble covered chin. “You got the boys in the shop installin’ one of those donut cushions on your bike?”

  “You know it,” he grunts, a smirk spreading across his face. “I took it from your Momma’s nightstand, this mornin’, after I rolled off her.”

  Doc laughs. Arching a brow, he pats the gun holstered at his hip. “You’re about two seconds away from having a set of matchin’ ass cheeks.”

  Pushing to my feet, I make my way over to the guys. All eyes are on me. Especially Jensen’s. I can feel him watching me, his disapproval of me interrupting their conversation written all over his face, but I don’t care. I should have done this yesterday. However, it wasn’t the right time.

  Stopping in front of Schrader, I wrap my arms around him, hugging him tightly. One of his crutches clatters to the floor when his arm comes around me, returning my embrace. “Thank you,” I choke out, trying not to let my emotions get the best of me in front of everyone.

  “Well, hell,” he chuckles, rubbing his hand up and down my back. “I’ve never considered myself a goddamn hero or anything, but, we can sure as shit hug it out. Just make sure to grope the uninjured side of my ass when you cop a feel.”

  “She can’t eat breakfast if you ruin her appetite.” I feel the heat of Jensen’s body at my back. “Not gonna forget what you did, Brother.” Dropping a hand to my shoulder, he flexes his fingers. “You were there for Ro when I wasn’t. It’s because of you that she’s standin’ here now.” Releasing my hold on Schrader, I reach up and cover Jensen’s hand with my own and give it a squeeze.

  “Felt good to shoot that piece of shit,” Schrader replies, shaking off our gratitude. “Now, speakin’ of breakfast, I’m fuckin’ starved.” Glancing over, he spots Shy carrying a tray with three plates on it toward the table where Henley sits. “Oh, Shy! What’s a man gotta do to get some food around here?”

  “Well, if he says please, I’d make him a big plate with bacon, eggs, and pancakes. Maybe even some of my homemade buttermilk biscuits, smothered in sausage gravy.” Placing the tray down on the table, Shy puts a plate down in front of Henley and begins arranging one for me as well. “If he talks to me that way?” Looking up, she winks. “He hobbles his ass into the kitchen and eats cereal.”

  Knitting his brows together, Schrader pouts his lip. “Damn, that hurts worse than the bullet did.”

  “Go eat,” Jensen says, giving my shoulder one last squeeze before dropping his han
d. “Got shit to handle with the guys. I’ll find you after.”

  Nodding my head, I head back toward the table. Henley has already dug into her breakfast. Shy, on the other hand, sits across from her, pushing her food around with her fork. “How you holdin’ up?” I ask, sitting down beside her.

  “I’m fine,” she breathes, keeping her eyes locked on the piece of pancake that she moves back and forth through the mixture of syrup and melted butter. “I’m always fine.”

  “It’s okay not to be fine, Shy. No one expects you to act like nothing happened.”

  Exhaling harshly, she bows her head. “I want to pretend it didn’t happen,” she replies, keeping her voice low. Her hand shakes, the fork falling to the plate. “I know how shit works with the club. I’ve lived it my entire life, Ro. Troy didn’t just betray me. The man I fell in love with, who I couldn’t wait to start a family with, is a traitor. He willingly betrayed the very patch that stands for the only family I’ve ever known. I should’ve seen it. I bought into every goddamn lie he ever told. Never questioned anything he ever said or did, because I trusted him. Because I loved him with everything in me. How do I begin to process that?”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  I can’t imagine the pain she has to be dealing with. She lost her husband. Not only is she grieving the loss of the man she loves, she is dealing with the shit he left behind because he betrayed the club. Troy turned on her, beat her, and never once seemed remorseful for the pain he knowingly caused her and everyone else.

  “Maybe not directly.” Turning her head away from me, she sniffles. “But it doesn’t change what happened. People are dead, Colt and Schrader are hurt and can’t ride, all because I was sleeping with the enemy.”

  “Damn, girl,” Henley says, swallowing around a bite of food. “I know I’m late to the party here, but sounds to me like you’re hoggin’ all that blame for yourself.” Forking a bite of eggs, she points it at Shy. “From what I can tell, your man fooled every-damn-body. Not just you.” Taking a bite, she chews thoughtfully, then swallows. “You didn’t kill anyone. And I sure as hell know you didn’t fire off the bullets that I dug out of Schrader or Colt’s big, beefy asses. Honey, you need to get a grip. If falling in love with the wrong man makes you guilty, then damn near every woman on the planet would be doin’ hard time.”