Vengeance MC Box Set - Volume 1: Call Me...Vengeance ~ Fury ~ Jonas

by Natasha Thomas

  Thankfully, since then, everything had been reasonably quiet in Hells Riders camp. When I say quiet, I mean their retribution for the state we’d sent their men home in was around the corner. We just hadn’t caught wind of it yet. This couldn’t go unanswered for long, Nix would look weak if they did, and the last thing an MC President could afford was to look spineless, but one could live in hope. Hope that he learned his lesson and moved on, even though I knew that was highly unlikely.

  More like he was biding his time until he had the perfect opportunity to launch an attack. We have bigger issues to deal with than, Hells Riders, though. Issues I can’t ignore, no matter how much I’d like to.

  Drug pipelines are starting to dry up in, Colorado’s neighboring states, which means we’re dealing with an influx of new chapters of current MC’s encroaching on our territory. All of them setting up, hoping to score that elusive connection to dealers and suppliers who’ll keep them flush in green.

  Most of them didn’t last long, packing up and going home before they’d even established a clubhouse. The smart ones decided the reward wasn’t worth the risk of dealing with the backlash from a club the size of, Vengeance. The less intelligent ones became an annoyance, who after pushing for a sit down with us, still left town with relatively little fuss. However, one club has caught and kept my attention; the Black Widows.

  Los Cornidos were on my radar until I had a sit-down with their President and made my position clear. Since then, they haven’t done anything to earn themselves on my shit list.

  “Santos, you’ve gotta know this shit can’t go on. I sat back waiting to see if you’d make the right decision on your own, but I’m sensing since you’re continuing to do business in our neck of the woods that’s not gonna happen.”

  Half a foot shorter than myself and fifty pounds lighter, Santos Carrera, President of, Los Cornidos is currently eyeing me with nothing short of disdain. His beady, black eyes are narrow slits, and his nostrils are flaring.

  “We don’t do business in your county, Boss. Never have. We keep our shit tight, and only deal to our own, so I’m not getting why what we do is any of your fucking concern? No disrespect, but you coming in here and trying to tell me and my boys where we can offload our shit is out of line. Even for you.”

  I’d agree with him if the crack he’s peddling weren't infecting our streets and the bloodstream of our kids. But seeing as four, Furnace high school kids, this week alone, have shown up in ambulances at the ER I’m thinking this is most definitely my fucking business.

  “You’ve got a choice here, Santos. Take your shit further afield and make sure it stays there, or I’ll ensure it does and you won’t like how I make that happen.”

  “You threatening me, Boss,” he questions, seething.

  “If I were threatening you, you’d know it. This is me making you a fucking promise. Get your club, your coke, and your hookers as far away from, Furnace as possible, or I’ll make it my mission to hunt down every single one of your men, your dealers, and your pimps so I can convey a personal message about what happens to assholes who fuck with us. Because there’s no mistaking, that’s what you’re doing, Santos. This shit is bleeding into my territory, hurting our kids, and making our women nervous,” I growl. “And I don’t like edgy women, Santos. They’re a pain in the ass. I’ve got better things to do than reassure the mothers of teenagers that their kid won’t be next.”

  “I think you’re underestimating us, Boss. My club isn’t gonna bend over and let you fuck us on this one. The money’s good, brothers are settling in. They aren’t just gonna agree to pick up and move on because a few stupid fucking kids can’t handle their blow.”

  That’s where he’s wrong. I’ve never underestimated the power of a pissed off Mexican with a gun.

  “Thanks, but you’re not my type,” I reply chuckling. “I prefer warm, wet pussy over gangbanger ass, Santos, but I’ll keep you in mind if I ever have a change of heart.”

  The men on his left and right lean forward, hands sliding to their waists reaching for their guns. Seeing Fury’s subtle movement out of the corner of my eye, I signal him to stand down. The last thing I need is anyone drawing on someone in a confined space like this. It would be a bloodbath.

  “You know where I stand, where my club stands, Santos. I’m not gonna initiate another sit-down with you to discuss what we’ve already gone over, so if you leave today and don’t give what I’ve said some serious fucking thought then that’s on you.”

  Cocking his eyebrow, he smirks asking,

  “Yeah, and what the fuck are you gonna do if I don’t? Telling me you’re gonna hunt us all down is one thing, but I know your club, Boss. Vengeance hasn’t been hardcore since your old man bit it, so excuse the fuck out of me if my worry over you seeking retribution doesn’t come across all that sincere.”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean back in my seat and stare him down. He may be right in the respect that, Vengeance isn’t into the same nefarious shit we were in the past; peddling flesh, cooking Meth, and taking on hits for other clubs, but we’re far from fucking weak.

  This right here is what my brothers were worried about. When it was put to a vote – taking the club legit, that is – the boys were concerned other MC’s wouldn’t see us as a viable threat anymore. I heard them understood their hesitation to a point, but this was always going to be a risk we would have to take if we wanted to ensure the longevity of our club. The dangers that came along with being outlaws were many. The perils of being a one percenter club dealing smack, selling pussy, and dealing in illegal firearms were high. It was luck that we hadn’t been caught yet, and only a matter of time before one, or all of us, were taken down in a major bust that would see us sent away for fifteen-to-life.

  This was the perfect time to re-exert our dominance in the world we’d ruled for decades. If Los Cornidos thought I was going soft because I wanted Vengeance clean, they had another thing coming.

  “We’re done here, Amigos,” I state, slapping my hand on the table, standing. “Your choice stands; retreat peacefully or I’ll pick apart your club one-by-one. No man will be left standing when I’m fucking through with you. If I have to put a bullet in every last one of your heads personally to ensure it, mark my words, Santos, I’ll do it. Just because I don’t believe in beating women into submission, doesn’t mean I won’t put you fuckers down like the animals you are if you keep fucking with my club.”

  We left that day with the belief, Los Cornidos would rally. I didn’t hold out a lot of hope they’d see things from our perspective, but I was wrong. An agreement of sorts was reached, and they held up their end of the bargain by retreating to a safe distance.

  Black Widows MC are a different story altogether. On their own they’re not a particularly strong MC, but with backing from a larger club, they could become another problem I have to deal with. And that was a possibility if the rumor was to be believed. I’d heard from, Devil’s Spawn’s new President, Cage, that Black Widows were looking into a patch over that would see them joining the ranks of the Hells Riders, which would potentially make them a very viable threat.

  Answering my phone at seven in the morning wasn’t something I often did. People knew better than to call me before nine unless there was a literal fire for me to put out that is. So when I ignored the first and second call that came in and my cell rang for the third time, I knew it must have been something important.

  Not checking the caller ID, I growl,

  “You’ve got me.”

  “Boss, Cage. How you doing old man?” He asks with humor lacing his tone.

  Declan ‘Cage’ Marks, the newly appointed President of, Devil’s Spawn MC located in, Blackwater, Colorado, is young, cocky, and a pain in my ass. In saying that, he was born to take on the job he’s got now. Smart, cunning, and observant, Cage was the perfect man to take over the role as President when Priest died earlier this year.

  A family man, married to, Kendall, the daughter of their previo
us President; Cage had made a lot of the same decision for his club going forward as I had. And I respected him for it. He didn’t want to raise his three kids, a child he had with his wife, one from an earlier relationship, and one he adopted in a world fraught with violence and pain.

  While Devil’s Spawn aren’t as influential as Vengeance, they still have their feet firmly planted in the gray area between legitimate and illegal. Weed, providing protection for black market contraband transportation, and questionable deals struck with law enforcement, Devil’s Spawn wasn’t squeaky clean, but they weren’t finding it as hard to dig themselves out of that lifestyle either.

  “Cage, what can I do you for?”

  “You sound like shit, Brother. Big night?” he asks. I can envisage the grin on the cocky bastards face now.

  Grunting, I shift myself up until I’m back to the headboard, disentangling the leggy brunette as go. I’d gotten home early enough last night I just hadn’t had nearly enough sleep that was the problem. Shayla, one of the club whores and a spectacular lay, had worn my ass out until the wee hours of this morning. I wasn’t built for all night fucking anymore. I was getting too old for that shit.

  “This a conversation I need privacy for,” I ask ignoring his question.

  “That’d be good,” he states.

  Swinging my legs off the side of the bed, I look back over my shoulder as I’m pulling on my jeans at the sound of, Shayla’s moan, and grin at the sight of the naked woman in my bed. Tits bared, masses of creamy skin on display, pussy exposed for my viewing pleasure, Shayla is definitely one of the better fucks I’ve had.

  Putting thoughts of what I intend to do to, Shayla’s pussy, her ass, and her mouth when she wakes up aside, I adjust my hardening cock in my boxers and make my way into the kitchen.

  I don’t often bring women home to my house. In fact, Shayla would be the first female to ever step foot inside my private residence. If I need to fuck, I usually do it at the clubhouse. It’s easier that way. I can kick them out after I’ve had my fun with them, and I don’t have to worry about them showing up on my doorstep without invitation.

  Set into the base of the mountain, my six, now five, bedroom, three bath house is far too big for one man alone, but I wasn’t thinking about that when I bought it sixteen months ago. I knew the time was coming that I’d start thinking about settling down, getting an old lady and having a couple of kids. At thirty-nine, I might not be over the hill, but I didn’t want to be in a fucking wheelchair when my kids graduated high school either. In saying that, there was one thing holding me back from moving forward with that dream; I hadn’t met a woman I wanted to take that ride with yet.

  The farmhouse was a rundown shit heap when closed on it. Barely a foundation and frame. The walls were practically non-existent, and the floors, staircases, anything wood had rotted out past the point of being viable to repair. Plumbing, wiring and the roof had to be completely ripped out or off and replaced. And the property surrounding the house needed to be cleared. All-in-all, it was a fucking dump. But a dump with potential.

  It took a little over a year to get it finished and for me to move in, but I couldn’t deny the results. It turned out exactly how I’d hoped it would. Polished floors gleamed their dark, rich hue in the early morning and evening sun hit them. The he sash windows at the front and back of the house opened it up to expose the view of the mountain range beyond. With a living room, dining room, office, guest room I’d turned into a home gym, half-bath, and kitchen downstairs you’d think it would be a rabbit warren of hallways and doors but it’s not.

  I knocked out every wall that wasn’t load bearing or hadn’t fallen down, only resurrecting the ones that were necessary to enclose the half-bath, office, and home gym. Everything else was open-plan, sectioned off by furniture. Upstairs, I’d left the layout the same as it was when I first found the place.

  At the top of the stairs, my master suite was to the left, the other four bedrooms, now three after I knocked down a wall to increase the square footage of my room, to the right, sharing one full bath. The decision to take the house from six bedrooms to five was made based on me potentially sharing the place with a woman one day. And seeing as everyone knows, women have a lot of shit, buying to compensate for that made sense.

  I increased the closet space, included his and hers sinks in the adjoining bathroom, a shower with four shower heads, and a whirlpool tub. The floor space in the bedroom was more than I’d ever need on my own, but add a few more pieces of furniture and whatever other crap a woman needed to feel at home, it would be filled in no time. At present, I only had a California king sleigh bed, two side tables, and a set of drawers in there. That was all I needed. I liked living simply when I could.

  Trudging across the kitchen, I flick on the coffee machine, pull a pack of smokes off shelf beside the fridge and light up. Fuck, I love that first hit of nicotine in the morning. Exhaling heavily, blowing a thin stream of gray smoke into the air, I prompt,

  “Talk. You got problems, Brother?”

  “No. It’s more like you’ve got problems and I’m calling to let you know they’re closing in,” he sighs.

  “Yeah, don’t we all?” I ask meaning it. “I’m taking it from this call you know something I don’t, Cage. You wanna let me in on what that might be?”

  “Had a run that skirted, Hells Riders territory last week. The boys need to stop, rest, refuel, and decided to do that at a place called, Jimbo’s. You heard of it?”

  “Yep. A little hole-in-the-wall bar about five miles from the Hells Riders clubhouse. Not primarily a biker bar, but it apparently sees a lot of that trade seeing as it’s so close to their home base. That the one you’re talking about?” I ask knowing it is.

  “That’d be the one,” Cage grumbles.

  “Did your boys run into trouble there? Or are you just asking because you’re trying to learn the places not to visit on your annual family vacation?”

  “None of the above, brother. And even if we had run into trouble, I sure as hell wouldn’t be calling your ass to bail us out of it. I might be less experienced than you, Boss, but I’ve been living this life the entirety of mine. Meaning, I’m capable of getting my boys out of a jam if it comes to that,” he grunts.

  “No disrespect intended, Cage. You know I’ve got a lot of love for you and your club.” And I do. I respect the hell of him for stepping up and into such an enormous pair of shoes to fill. Priest was a legend, and he left behind a legacy when he died. A legacy Cage is doing well to continue. Remarkably so.

  “Yeah, I do know that, and you know it goes both ways, Boss. If it wasn’t for you, the guidance you’ve given me since we lost, Priest, I don’t know if Devil’s Spawn would have fared as well we have. That aside, that’s not why I’m calling,” Cage huffs.

  “While they were there, Tank, Glock, and Saint heard some chatter about, Black Widows patching over to, Hells Riders. The boys didn’t think much of it, just figured it was a few old guys jabbering away at the bar and all that. It wasn’t until they hit, Blackwater and Tank spoke to Reaper, that they could confirm the rumor’s going around, and not just this side of, Colorado, south too. Apparently, this has been in the works for a while. Black Widows have cut out chapters, joining charters just to keep decent numbers in their ranks, and that’s not a new development.”

  “No, that side of things isn’t, but the patch over is,” I confirm. “Whatever they’re planning, they’re keeping it quite out this way. None of my boys would keep this shit from me if they’d gotten wind of it, so I can only assume they don’t want us knowing until it’s been decided and it’s already in the works.”

  “That’s what I was leaning toward think too,” Cage grunts unhappily. “What’s this gonna mean for you, though, Brother? I know you’ve got ally clubs coming out of your ass; us, Rioters, Rebel Warriors, and Disaster, but is that gonna be enough to send a message if the situation demands it?” He questions.

  He’s right to ask, especially since h
is club might be requested to ride with us, but I don’t share the same concerns he has about the amount of manpower that would be necessary to take them down.

  “Rioters are up to five chapters now, not including their mother chapter. Rebel Warriors are at four. Disaster is on par with, Devil’s Spawn at three, they’re even thinking about opening another chapter down, Montana way seeing as their numbers are getting up there. The jacked up part of the whole thing is, even with the six charters we’ve got, seven if you include us, and the nomads who bring our numbers up to an even eight, Hells Riders know the firepower they’re coming up against and they’re gonna do it anyway. Shit’s gonna get messy if they’re considering some kind of a fucked up power play. Not saying, Vengeance will back down if it’s a war they’re bringing to our doorstep, but I’m not jonesing for one either.”

  Cage is silent a beat before saying,

  “I’ll keep my ear to the ground here, ask the boys to do the same, and I’ll call if I hear anything. Keep me in the loop, though, yeah?” He asks as if I wouldn’t.

  “You know it. Prepare, though, Brother,” I warn. “I’m thinking this is gonna go downhill fast when it happens.”