Vengeance Road

by Christine Feehan

  She needed him to keep talking so she could get herself under control; hopefully the cool air would help with the results of her loud, noisy sobbing. “Tell me about her.” She walked to the very edge of the circle and pretended to examine a particularly large rose.

  “We were hitting the Swords’ traveling prostitution houses. They would set up with the girls they kidnapped. Some were ‘trained’ right there, gangbanged and beat. We divided into two teams. Czar took one out and I took another. We’d hit as many of the chapter’s houses as possible and shut them down. Czar’s team hit a group that had several young girls being trained. One had fought back hard because her little sister was there. He had a feeling about them. Not all kids have homes. Blythe looked them up later and found them in foster homes. There were the two girls and a younger sister who hadn’t been there. Czar and Blythe adopted them.”

  She swung around, forgetting all about her tear-stained, swollen face. “The Swords ‘trained’ kidnapped young girls?”

  “For human trafficking,” he said. “I told you, they had the biggest ring going that anyone knows of, worldwide.”

  “No. You said the international president did. You said he had freighters for his clients.” She could barely breathe all over again. “The Swords run drugs and guns. They force their women to sleep with other clubs to make alliances. A lot of the women are prostitutes for the club and they do it willingly, but no one ever said a word about kidnapping children.”

  “You knew some of the women were sold to other clubs. Your father threatened to sell you,” Steele pointed out.

  It wasn’t the same thing. How could she make that distinction to him? “To other chapters. I was born into the club. We’re considered club property. That isn’t the same thing as kidnapping a child outside the club and selling their body to the highest bidder.” She was outraged. Sick. Was her father involved? He was scum—she knew that. She knew he considered women to be far less than him, but would he really kidnap an innocent child and force her into sexual slavery?

  “Baby.” Steele’s voice was very gentle. “Just because you were born into the life doesn’t give anyone the right to use you or sell you. When you wear my colors proclaiming you’re mine, it means I take care of you. That you’re protected, not only by me but by every one of my brothers and sisters. It means I’m responsible for you and willing to take on that responsibility. It means you’re loved and that everything I do, I do with you in mind.”

  She turned away again, not wanting him to see her face. He was too good at reading her expression. She couldn’t respond to that. It was too dangerous. That was for fairy tales, not real life. She knew better than to dream. To trust him. To trust any club.

  “These girls . . .”

  “Darby, Zoe and Emily. Darby is the oldest and she’s been through hell. Zoe is still fragile and probably always will be. She was so traumatized she barely talks, although I think she feels safe with all of us now and she’s happy. She doesn’t like leaving the farm, but she goes to visit Blythe’s sisters, who have their own homes on the farm. They aren’t sisters by blood, but she regards them that way and the children think of them as aunts.”

  “I don’t know what to say, Steele. How are they going to feel with me being the daughter of a member of the Swords? Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

  She needed a little time to process the facts he was giving her. She could tell he wasn’t lying to her and it fit, now that she had time to put together some of the behavior she’d noticed that hadn’t made sense years earlier. Small things. Snippets of conversations hastily shut down when she was close. Her father suddenly furious and then smug.

  “You were victimized just the way they were, Bree,” Steele said. “Blythe hadn’t even accepted Czar back into her life all the way when we brought home Kenny. We’d made a run to stop a pedophile we’d heard about and found him chained in the basement with nowhere to go when we freed him. We brought him home to Blythe. She took him in immediately.”

  She was beginning to think Blythe wasn’t real. She couldn’t equate a woman like the one he talked about with her measure of Czar—or any club man for that matter. And for Czar to take those children in . . . Breezy shook her head, rejecting the idea that the man could do anything decent.

  Steele ignored the small shake of her head, although he had to have seen it. He saw everything. “We’ve got a line on another little boy. He’s being auctioned on the Internet. We were bidding on him, trying to find the nest. Code traced him to Las Vegas but then the operation was shut down. As far as we can tell, there’s no family looking for him. If we can’t find his family, Blythe and Czar will take him in. She’s got good counselors for the children and the patience of a saint. I’ve never heard that woman ever raise her voice to those kids.”

  Now that she thought about it, Steele had only raised his voice to her last night—for the first time. He’d always been gentle with the children from any of the Swords families. He hadn’t said much, but he’d been unfailingly patient with them. She could imagine he’d be that way with their son.

  That brought her up short. Their son. It was the first time she’d ever thought of Zane that way. He’d always been her son. It was the two of them. Zane and Breezy. She would whisper that to him all the time. That she would always keep him safe. A fresh flood of tears welled up, burning behind her eyes, and she turned away from Steele before he could see.

  “How old is he?” She whispered it, unable to find her voice. That could be Zane. Terrified. Alone. He could be sold off by his own grandfather. Bridges would do it too. She hadn’t wanted to think of him as capable of kidnapping children and selling them to the highest bidder, but she knew Steele was telling the truth. Now Bridges had their son and she had to worry, not just about him hitting her boy but about him selling Zane to some horrible pervert.

  She staggered over to the bench and put her head down, dizziness welling up along with the tears. She had to pull herself together. She wasn’t going to be of any use to Zane this way, and Steele would never agree to her going along to find him if she didn’t stop.

  “He’s six, at least that’s what he was advertised as being.” Steele’s voice was grim.

  She glanced up at him, unable to help herself at his tone. His face was a mask of anger. Every line was carved deep and shouted retribution. He really despised those who had that little boy and she could read his intentions to take the child back. That was her Steele. The one that made her heart flutter.

  “That could be Zane,” she whispered. “Steele, that could be Zane.”

  “It won’t be, Bree.” Resolve was there. Absolute resolve. “Even if something happened to me, every one of my brothers and sisters would keep after him, never stopping. It isn’t just me. I know you don’t like clubs, and you have every reason, but we’re not all the same.”

  She took a deep breath and forced her head up. “Maybe. Clearly there are degrees of depravity. The Swords are disgusting, but I walked in after one of your parties, Steele. I saw the place and I saw all of you. You were buried under three women, and most of the rest of your brothers were draped over others. No one had a stitch on. I remember the parties, even after we were together.”

  He frowned. “What was wrong with the parties after we were together, Bree? I took care of you. I made certain no one came near you. When it got insane, I took you to our room, away from everyone else.”

  She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Babe. We have to talk about the things you object to.”

  “No, we don’t. We just need to get Zane back. After that we can talk all you want, but right now, it has to be about Zane.”

  His eyes went even darker. He walked right up to her and held out his hand to help her up. She hated touching him. He made her weak. He made her want things she couldn’t have. She had to wrap herself in the hurt he’d caused.
Real pain. Three years of it, going over every word, repeating it endlessly, looping the ugly things he’d said to her over and over until they were etched into her very bones. She had to cling to that agony in order to survive this.

  His fingers closed around hers and he tugged. His hold on her was at odds with the way he pulled her to her feet. His hold was gentle, but he yanked her up aggressively. Her stomach bottomed out as her body fell against his. His other hand was there, cupping her chin, tilting her face up, and then he took her mouth.

  The moment his lips touched hers there was fire. Hot. Burning. Wild. Out of control. She tried to cling to the hurt and pain he’d caused, but the storm of flames burned right through those memories, consuming them until there was no way to think. Only feel.

  Steele was rough. He was aggressive. Dominant. Totally taking control of her and wielding a fire that burned so hot there was no resisting. Her brain refused to function as every nerve ending in her body sprang to life after a very long hiatus. Blood thundered in her ears and pounded through her clit. Her sex clenched hard and her nipples felt like they would shatter if they continued to rub over his chest.

  His body felt so hard, like coming up against a wall of pure steel. His arms were strong, his hold on her just exactly the way she needed—the way she wanted. She liked that he took control. She’d always needed that from him. Now her body just melted into his, her tongue following his lead, dueling with his, a dark tango that had her clutching at his hair and sliding one hand under his jacket to try to feel his skin.

  They had to breathe, and it was Steele who breathed for both of them, kissing her over and over, refusing to let her come up for air. Refusing to allow her to think of anything but what her body needed—and she needed him. She would have done anything for him right then. Given him whatever he wanted as long as he put out the fire building like a volcano inside of her. Need coiled tighter and tighter, winding until the pressure was unbearable and she needed release. All from his kisses.

  He lifted his head just an inch and proceeded to kiss his way over her chin to her throat. One hand was there at her nape, controlling her so easily. Her mouth chased after his, but then she felt the sharp sting of his teeth. That echoed through her body, sizzling like a lightning strike, straight to her sex.

  She remembered how he did that. Those nips with his teeth, the bite at her shoulder, her neck. The sting on her breasts that was like a lash of pure heat, an arrow of desire that pierced her skin and drove straight to her pounding clit. Blood thundered. Her breasts ached. She hadn’t felt truly alive in all the time without him. Not once. She hadn’t known her body was even capable of feeling pleasure, not like this.

  His hands slid under her jacket and found her shirt. Those hands of his. Big. Strong. Stroking fingers knowing exactly how to arouse her. She heard herself moan and then, before she could come to her senses, his mouth was back on hers, devouring her. So hot. So perfect. So completely dominant, taking her over, taking her body over, demanding nothing less than a complete surrender from her. God help her, she gave it to him just like she always had.

  Every touch of his hands, every stroke of his fingers, his mouth moving over hers, his tongue demanding things she didn’t know how to give but impossibly did, all of it was pure Steele. He was addicting. His taste. His mouth. The way he kissed. The way he touched her. He didn’t seduce her gently. Had he tried, it would never have worked. For some reason, Breezy responded to his strength, his aggression. To that pure control he always exuded.

  He was the one to step back, lifting his head, those dark eyes watching her, compelling. She could see the mixture of lust and something else she didn’t want to believe. She couldn’t believe. She’d never allow herself to believe again.

  She pressed two trembling fingers to her swollen lips. There was a sting there where he’d nipped her bottom lip, and she licked at it, her heart pounding. “What was that for?”

  “I can’t resist you. I never could, not even when I should have.” His gaze never left her face.

  He was expecting her to get hysterical or run. Something. She just stood there, trying desperately to draw air into her lungs. Trying to wait for her body to return to her. He’d taken possession of it, just the way he always did, and she didn’t dare move until she was whole again. The problem was, she hadn’t been complete in three long years. She wasn’t now. She never would be again. Not without him.

  She touched her tongue to her bottom lip one more time, forcing herself to remember those three naked women surrounding Steele when she’d first come to the clubhouse. She could imagine what they’d done to him, to his body, the body that she thought had belonged to her.

  “Don’t do it again.” She turned away from him, determined to be Breezy Simmons, on her own, mother of Zane. Independent. She was that woman now, and she liked who she was. She wasn’t about to let a man like Steele drag her back under.

  He paced along beside her. “We’re going to revisit what you didn’t like about the parties, baby, but not now. Later. When we have Zane back.”

  Of course he would have the last word, but she didn’t dare refute him. All she cared about was getting her baby back, so let him talk. Let him say anything he wanted.

  SIX

  Blythe was tall, blond and beautiful, with brown eyes and a ready smile. She looked elegant, as if she’d just stepped off the cover of a magazine. She didn’t look as if she belonged in the world of motorcycle clubs, and yet she fit perfectly. Breezy didn’t know exactly how to act around her. The others, all members including Lana and Alena, treated her with the utmost respect. It was clear she was very loved.

  Czar, the president of Torpedo Ink, was a different man around his family. He couldn’t get near Blythe without hooking his arm around her waist. He kissed her often and his gaze followed her everywhere she went. When he wasn’t looking at his wife, he had his arm around one of his adopted daughters.

  Darby, Zoe and Emily looked very Irish, especially the youngest, with her red hair and freckles. It was easy to see the three girls were close, and Darby watched over her sisters very attentively. Kenny was seventeen and filling out, although he still appeared a little coltish.

  It was interesting, and revealing, to see the interaction between the children and the Torpedo Ink members. Breezy could see the affection between them. When one of the kids talked to a member, he or she immediately got their entire focus.

  The house was large, with high ceilings and extremely spacious rooms, and the space was needed. The club members were all inside, even Reaper and Savage, although they were close to the doors. There was a woman with Reaper, his old lady, Anya. It was a revelation to see the enforcer of Torpedo Ink with his woman. As far as she knew, he’d never touched a woman in the Swords, although several patch chasers had tried to snare him. Emily, the youngest of Czar and Blythe’s children, hung off of Reaper’s arm while his other was around his woman. That shocked Breezy as well. Reaper didn’t touch anyone, and no one ever touched him.

  None of it seemed real to her, the transformation the club made the moment they were at Czar’s property—it was too surreal. Clearly, they all felt at home there. The men immediately pitched in, getting leaves in the tables to make them much longer. She was even more shocked when they set the tables for breakfast in the huge dining room while others helped Blythe, Darby, Lana and Alena in the kitchen making eggs, bacon, potatoes and toast.

  Steele walked in with Breezy, going in through the door to the kitchen. Immediately, there was silence, the conversations stopping as heads turned toward them. Breezy couldn’t help herself, she slowed, dragging her feet reluctantly. She’d always felt that initial inferiority complex she could never quite get rid of when she entered a new, unfamiliar place. She was a whore, a mule, lower than low, passed around, and it had to show on her. It had to be etched into her forehead. At school, the few times she’d managed to convince her father to let her go, girls ha
d whispered behind her back. She detested new environments because she still had those moments when she lacked confidence.

  Steele stepped close to her, took her hand and pulled her beneath the protection of his broad shoulder. “Blythe. Thanks for letting us meet here. I’ve wanted you to meet my woman. Bree, this is Czar’s old lady, Blythe. Their daughter Darby. Anya, Reaper’s woman. You know everyone else. This is Breezy. We all call her Bree.” He transferred his hold, circling her shoulders with one arm.

  He was a big man and she wasn’t that tall next to him, not like Blythe. Not at all like Blythe. She couldn’t be elegant if she tried. Ordinarily, she would have corrected the impression Steele was giving to Czar’s wife, but right then, she couldn’t even open her mouth. She hadn’t looked in a mirror and she’d been on a terrible crying jag and then she’d let Steele kiss her. A terrible thought occurred, and she glanced down quickly to make certain her clothes weren’t all over the place.

  “Bree, it’s wonderful to meet you. I’m so sorry for the circumstances. I know the boys will bring your son home. You must be out of your mind with worry.”

  The sympathy in Blythe’s voice was genuine and nearly got her crying again. She didn’t understand, when she’d managed to stay in a semblance of control, why she was breaking down so much all of a sudden. Well, she knew, she just didn’t want to admit that a part of her was already allowing Steele to take over so that she was free to collapse with grief.

  “Thank you for lending us your home,” Breezy said, blinking back the threat of tears. She tapped her lip with the pad of her finger, hoping the tiny bite mark didn’t show. She detested her voice. It was too shaky, but she did manage to stop herself from moving even closer to Steele. If she was any closer, she’d be crawling into his pocket.