Vengeance

by Kane Daemon

“How many men have you killed?”

  “I rarely draw first blood, Carrie. I have a calm demeanor that keeps me out of most trouble. It’s why I was able to leave the club and go nomad and be successful. Amanda helped me figure life out. She helped me know there was more than killing.”

  “But yet you’re back killing,” I said. “Would Amanda really want you chasing after the ghost who killed her?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not sure what the answer to that is. I do know one of the last things to go through her mind that night was that I would eventually find the man and kill him. Whether or not she thought I should or shouldn’t, she knew I was going to eventually. That time has come. The club is dependent on me finding this fucker before Bain starts a war.” He placed his hands around my waist and stood me up. “We should head back to the house.”

  When we arrived at the house, we went straight to the pool, dropping our clothes on the chairs and getting in naked. When the lights came on, I could see Zane’s large cock hard beneath the water.”

  “Are you happy to see me?” I nodded at his cock.

  He didn’t look down, only smiled. “He’s saluting you.”

  “Nothing better than a man with a sense of humor.”

  “And?”

  “Nice looks,” I said.

  “And?”

  “Okay, a nice body. Are we playing games?” I waded into the water, treading toward him but stopping before getting too close.

  “And?”

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Yes, really. Continue.”

  “And a large cock,” I said and swam forward.

  Zane’s body was warm and hard. The water seemed always to be the perfect temperature. I glanced up at the stars and wondered when Mercury would be in retrograde, crashing my world.

  “You have something on your mind,” he said.

  “Tell me about the pussy business the club is running.”

  Zane chuckled. “I would have thought Sadie covered that.”

  “She did, but I want to hear it from you.” I looked away. “I saw the pussy hanging around the club. There was enough booty there to feed an army.”

  Zane laughed. “And you’re wondering if I ever partake in that meal?”

  “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  “I’ve had a lot of pussy since Amanda died. A lot.”

  “Okay, okay, no need to emphasize. Just answer the question.”

  “I mean a lot of pussy,” he said and kissed me when I pouted. “I’ve never touched any of the club pussy. I'm not interested. Too close to the club. I want distance. So, to answer your real question, you never have to worry about fucking one of the girls while I’m with you. Never.”

  “Good, I won’t mention it again.”

  “I’m sure you will,” he said, “and that’s okay if you need a reminder every now and again that you are number one.”

  He placed his lips against mine and kissed me with so much vigor that I thought I would faint in his arms. He then moved me to the edge of the pool and sat me on the ledge.

  “Spread your legs,” he ordered.

  I did as I was told, twirling my hair as I waited.

  “Slide your ass forward.”

  “Say please.”

  “There’s no please in this game, Carrie. Move forward.”

  I move forward, my pussy over the edge of the water.

  “Now lay back and watch the stars.”

  Again, I did as I was told. I stared at the stars while Zane devoured me, bringing me to yet another orgasm. Life was good, but I was willing to bet it was going to turn the other direction any day.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Zane

  I kissed Carrie on the forehead before leaving for the road and chuckled as she slept. She was so tightly wound in the blankets that she looked like a caterpillar waiting to turn into a butterfly.

  The sun was barely licking at the sky. It was one of the best times to get out on the road and ride. She fucking rocked me in bed last night, something most women can’t do. Maybe her age? Whatever it was, I didn’t mind and looked forward to the next time. I thought Amanda would approve despite the age difference. I pushed the thought from my mind and focused on the road ahead.

  I laid awake most of the night trying to figure out how someone could have snuck onto club grounds and planted a tracking device on someone's vehicle or bike. It just didn’t seem possible. And then whoever was doing it was also tracking a Slayer’s ol' lady. None of it made sense.

  Desperate for answers, in the middle of the night, I called Bono Harper, the clubs SAA. He agreed to meet me first thing this morning to review security camera videos. I didn’t give him an explanation because, as far as I was concerned, everyone was a suspect, including Trucker. The asshole was famous for doing things in the club's name without the club knowing about it. But then I didn’t think he was stupid enough to start killing women. It wasn't his style at all.

  Although, Trucker did love to brag about the club being one-percenters. They broke every state and federal law in the books. Yeah, they were also famous for getting caught. At least a dozen members were littered in the prisons around Arizona. I stayed out of jail because, except for a few times, I stayed out of trouble.

  Amanda tried early on to get me out of the club. “If you loved me, you would leave,” she often said.

  “You know it’s not that easy.”

  “What, because my brother is the president?”

  “That, and because I’m mixed up in some shit that needs to be taken care of before I leave. Otherwise, people come looking for me, and we, meaning you and me, don’t have the protection of the club.”

  Amanda always kissed me after our little spats concerning the club. She understood my struggle, but that didn’t make it any easier on either of us. “Then, you need to have an exit plan, at least.”

  I agreed wholeheartedly. That’s when I began to get back into the business world. I knew it was our only savior. Nobody was going to hire me, knowing I was an MC member. So, I had to start my own business, and I did.

  I pulled to the club’s entrance, and a Prospect I didn’t know opened the gate and waved me in. I’d decided to wear my rocker, so the Prospect asked no questions. My VP patch was gone, of course.

  When I left, there was a vote on who would be the next VP. I voted against Stringer and had been working the members to not vote for the slimeball. He was an asshole of epic proportions. Amanda hated him and once told me, before I came around, that Stringer had a thing for her. She said even Trucker was trying to get her to date Stringer. But because the man looked like a rat and acted like a weasel, she wanted nothing to do with him. It pissed Stringer off to no end. Unfortunately, Trucker canvased the club members and got all the votes Stringer needed.

  I parked and stuffed my gloves in my side-saddle, seeing only a couple of other bikes. I found it odd that Trucker had let so many men leave during a lockdown. Not a smart move.

  “Hey, you fuck wad,” Bono said as he emerged from the main building. I looked up to see three guns pointed in my direction. “Don’t worry about those assholes. The story on those three is they couldn’t hit a three-hundred-pound gorilla if it were two feet away.”

  I hugged Bono and found it strangely pleasing to hug the man. Not in a weird sort of way but in a way that secured my place in the club. “Where is everyone?”

  “Still running pussy despite the lockdown, so Trucker sent some men out to be private escorts.”

  “Bain says the club pussy is infringing on his territory,” I said. Bono and I were always close, so I knew he’d fill me in. Bono didn’t vote for Stringer either.

  “Yeah, Trucker is pressing the club's luck. He’s got hoes all the way down to the border and all the way to the Utah state line.” He shrugged and clapped me on the back, squeezing my neck. “You gotta give the club some credit, though. We managed to bring in some prime time pussy. The girls are in high demand. One night is pulling in a grand for each. We’ve never seen
that kind of money before. Trucker ain’t going to let that go.”

  “Neither is Bain. He’ll bring the war here just for that reason.”

  “That’s because his hoes are second class. That pussy has been stretched so wide a guy’s dick could still get swallowed up in DP. I hear a couple of the girls have had surgery to make ’em tighter.”

  I cringed, and Bono laughed. “You’re fucking with me.”

  “I am.”

  We sat down in the security room, and I could see the compound from a dozen different angles. I was only worried about one particular aspect, the parking lot.

  Bono logged into the computer and started clicking around. “The fuck.” He clicked around again. “The fucking files are gone.”

  “I thought you kept everything for a week. Today’s Monday. You should at least have this past weekend.”

  Bono scrolled through files and folders. “It’s all been fucking deleted. I’ll kill the son-of-a-bitch who did it.” He slammed his fist on the table and pushed back from the desk. “Come on.”

  We entered the main building, where most of the families hung out. Bono never minded causing a scene.

  “Who’s been fucking with the security equipment?” Bono slammed his hand down on the bar, and everyone in the room stopped what they were doing. A couple of the women grabbed the kids at the playground and ushered them into another room. “I’m not fucking asking again, you bunch cocksuckers. Who fucked with the equipment?”

  Every member moved in around us. Stringer entered from the church area, half-dressed pussy following behind him.

  “The fuck are you yelling about?” Stringer asked.

  “Where the fuck is Trucker?” A vein in Bono’s neck grew, and I thought for sure he was going to have a heart attack in front of us.

  “He’s out with Sadie,” Stringer said. “What’s crawled up your ass?”

  “All the fucking week’s video is gone. The last thing I have is from midnight this morning. I sure as hell didn’t erase it.”

  Stringer turned to the members. “Who’s been fucking around?”

  Nobody said a word. Every one of them as confused as the day they joined the club. I studied each man’s expression and didn’t pick up shit. None of these guys were guilty of anything more than jacking off where they shouldn’t be.

  Stringer turned to Bono and me. He nodded at me. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “Last time I check, I was still a member,” I said. I left my gloves on the bike, but that was okay because I knew I could lay Stringer out with a single punch. I looked at the girl following him-pussy following pussy.

  “Figure the shit out and bring it to church,” Stringer said to Bono. He glanced at me and fear-filled his eyes, and rightfully so. I never liked the man and still didn’t. Maybe Bain would take him out first.

  Bono and I stepped outside just as a couple of pussies were pulling into the parking lot. The girl driving had tears streaming down her face. The passenger had a black eye. Club work was dragging me back in.

  “The fuck happened to you two?” Bono asked and grabbed his gloves from the security office. When he returned, the girls started talking.

  I recognized neither, so I guessed they were transplants. The younger, more attractive one, without the black eye, started talking first.

  “He wanted to do anal, and I said no. He and the other guy got pissed.” She pushed her matted black her away from her eyes, and that’s when I decided they weren’t transfers. I recognized the girl as Stanley Morrison’s daughter. Stanley owned the only hardware store on the north side of town. He and my father were best friends. He had a young wife and therefore had a young daughter.

  Bono checked out the other pussy, holding her jaw, turning her head so he could check out the shiner. There were some things worse than murder. Hitting a woman was one of them. “Can’t let this shit go,” Bono said. He turned to me. “Go on home, and I’ll get a couple of Patches to go with me.”

  I stayed still, contemplating my choices. Then I made a choice I’d not made in many years. “You and I can take care of it.”

  We got the address from the girls and hauled ass out of the club parking lot, the two cops sitting in their car at the gates unsure of what to do. The club didn’t own the police in town, but there was a quiet understanding between the two. Stay the fuck out of club business, and you get to live.

  The address was in a shitty part of town, which meant the Johns were assholes. Assholes carried guns because most assholes who did were too scared to fight without them.

  We walked to the front door, and Bono pulled his Glock from his waistband. “You carrying?”

  I shook my head. “It’s with my bike.”

  “You wanna go get it?”

  “I’m good. Let’s just get this over with.”

  Bono knocked, and then people scurried around inside.

  “They’re going out back,” Bono said, and the two of us raced around the house.

  “Fuck!” I stopped when the two men exited the house wearing their King Slayer rockers.

  The two men sized us up, and Bono put his gun away. Bono believed in fair fights.

  “Making a mistake, homie,” the bigger of the two guys said to Bono.

  The thing about Bono was that he didn’t carry the muscle or the weight most guys did. But the mother fucker was quick as a cat, so when the bigger guy lunged, Bono quickly stepped aside, tripping the guy and sending him headfirst to the ground.

  Guy number two looked at me, and I nodded for him to make his move. I was not as quick as Bono. Instead, I stood my ground, blocked a fist, and hit the guy between the eyes. He staggered back, staring at me in dismay. Had I really just cleaned his clock in one punch? Yes, I did.

  Buy two fell over, still breathing but unconscious.

  Bono let guy number one get up and hit him hard enough to knock the man’s teeth out. The fight lasted no longer than sixty-seconds.

  “Next time you beat on our pussy, I’m going to make you eat each other's dick.” He nudged the guy with his foot. “You hear me?”

  We left the two on the ground and headed to our bikes.

  “Bain will be pissed about this,” Bono said.

  “He would have done the same fucking thing,” I said. “Who do you think deleted the videos?”

  “Fuck if I know.” Bono revved his engine. “But I’m going to find out.”

  “I’m going to head over to the warehouse and check on some things. I’ll stop by the club later to check on Rocky. You guys take care of him. He’s going to need it.

  “We heard back from McCabe,” Bono said. “She was pretty fucked up when they found her. Fucking ball gag. She shat all over herself. Whoever did it was fucking her ass.”

  “They leave any evidence behind?”

  “Yeah, her shit was covered in the guy’s come. Police are taking samples to the lab.”

  “Say it, Bono. I know what’s on your mind.”

  “McCabe said they would compare it to the sample left on Amanda and Bain’s wife.”

  I shook my head. “No need to compare. It’s the same asshole.”

  Bono glanced at the back of my bike. “You know what you have to do when you find this mother fucker.”

  “DNA is the only way anyone will be able to identify him,” I said. “But I’ll also be sharing with Bain. He deserves a shot at the guy as well.”

  Bono and I went our separate ways, me to the warehouse and him back to the club.

  I parked the bike in the garage next to the Mercedes and rechecked my hand. Guy number two’s head had been hard as a rock, splitting my middle knuckle.

  “I let you out of my sight for only a moment, and you come home injured.”

  “You should have seen the other guy.”

  “Where’s your First-Aid kit?”

  “The laundry room.”

  Carrie walked me to the kitchen sink and ran cold water over my hand. She looked up and at my shirt. “Take it off, and I’ll st
ick it in the washing machine.”

  I removed my shirt, and she sighed. “Just doing what you told me to do.”

  “I didn’t tell you to flex as you did it. Keep your hand under the water.”

  Carrie left me alone, and I let a huge grin across my face. I was by no means desperate for a woman, but I was desperate for Carrie to stay.

  “You have a gun in your laundry room.” Carrie sat the First-Aid kit on the counter next to the sink and turned off the water. She dabbed my hand with a towel. “What’s the gun for?”

  I shrugged. “I case I need it.”

  “I was in the laundry room the other day, and it wasn’t there.” She wrapped my hand and then taped the gauze wrap with medical tape. “You should be able to leave the house in a week or so.”

  “Funny,” I said. “But I have thirty hours to figure out who’s killing club member wives.”

  The doorbell rang, and I instinctively pulled the Ruger from my back waistband. Carrie jumped back.

  “Stay right here,” I said.

  The walls had stayed darkened since the attack on Carrie’s life. I snaked through the house and found the wall remote. I switched the front walls to clear and saw Trucker standing at the front door. I returned the gun to my waistband and let Trucker in.

  “I’m alone,” he said when I tried to look around him. He stepped inside, and I looked again. Bain would have his club watching us. He knew Trucker was in my house.

  “Must be important if you came all the way out here.” I led him through the kitchen, past Carrie, and out to the pool. We took a seat, and Carrie appeared with two beers before returning to the house.

  “How’s this one working out?” Trucker smirk, and when he did, the scar along his left chin became more pronounced. My eyes couldn’t help but shift to the injury. Trucker ran his fingers along the scar that had been caused by a fight he lost with Bain’s father. “Not like you haven’t seen it before.”

  “What do you want?”

  Trucker looked around. “You’re doing pretty well.”

  “And the club is getting a cut, so everybody should be happy.” I took a drink and sat my bottle on the table. “You didn’t come all this way to tell me I was doing well.”