Call Me...Vengeance: Book 1 in the Vengeance MC Series (5 page)

“Yes, let’s shall we,” Lewis agrees facing off with the two other men in the room. “Mr. Kirksey, I have been informed that you have revised the purchase price of your property since Mr. Carr put his offer in on the property. Is this correct?”

“My client only recently learned the true value of his property and is well within his rights to increase the price as he sees fit, Mr. Adams,” the ruddy-faced suit replies.

Clearing his throat, Lewis pulls a file out of his briefcase that’s sitting on the floor between our chairs.

“It was also brought to my attention that your client has, coincidentally around the same time, acquired a background check on my client. Including his current credit score and limited financial records. Would this too be correct?”

Waving his hand dismissively, assholes lawyer snaps,

“I’m not sure I like where you’re going with your line of questioning counselor. Again, my client is perfectly within the bounds of the law to obtain the necessary documents to support the successful sale of his property. And I can assure you, the documents you have mentioned were all necessary.”

“You’re fucking joking, aren’t you?” I growl darkly. This guy has got to be kidding, right? I know I didn’t just hear him infer that because he’s since found out I’m loaded; he wants to jack up the price accordingly. He couldn’t be that stupid, could he?

“Give me a moment to deal with this please, Jackson.”

“You’ve got two minutes before I take matters into my own hand, Lewis,” my depth of warning evident in the tone I use. Deep, and laced with fury.

“What I’m failing to see, Mr. Kirksey, is where the documents pertaining to the new valuation of the property are.”

“I believe we should stick to the matter at hand, Mr. Adams,” he retorts. “We are here to discuss the sale of my clients building, not who has what paperwork. If you are ready to proceed at the new price, then we have something to discuss. If not, I have another engagement I need to get to.”

“Look, buddy, I don’t know who the fuck you or your client think you are, but I’m not a man you want to fuck with,” I spit viciously, gritting my teeth. “You want to sell and I want to buy, it’s as simple as that. I’m willing to sign on the dotted line right here, right now, but not at your bullshit over inflated price.”

“There’s no need for the profanity, sir,” he chastises. “I speak for my client when I say, we are content with walking away today if you aren’t prepared to negotiate.”

I’ll just bet he is, I fume. The fact remains; I’m not walking out of here without that piece of property.

“Listen up, asshole.”

“Jackson, I’ll handle this.”  Lewis tugs on my arm urgently, but I’m on a roll.

Shrugging him off, I go on.

“You’ve gotta be fucking stupid or just plain ballsy to fuck me over on this, asshole. I suggest you get the papers and your fancy pen out and sign the damn contract. The first one, not this bullshit,” I spit, gesturing to the sheaf of papers in front of me. “Make the smart choice here and I won’t have to pay you a fucking visit for trying to fuck me over.”

Half an hour later, the property is mine and hopefully, this will be the last visit I need to make out here until the renovations on the building are done. Occasionally, I might need to check to see if they’re on schedule, but that’ll be about it.

Is it wrong to be questioning my sanity at the age of thirty-four? I haven’t before, but there’s a first time for everything. After moving so far away from the place I’ve called home for years and all of my friends, I honestly believe I might be a little unstable. Because who does that? Who just ups and leaves everything behind? Me, obviously.

And yes, I’m aware that talking to myself is one of the first signs of insanity and I embrace it. In my position, you would too. Initially, I believed this would be the perfect solution to my problem, but now? I think I might just have bitten off more than I can chew. I’m not sure where to start or how to explain my current set of circumstances, but I’ll give it my best shot. Bear with me, this will take a minute…

I met Jonas, or Jay to his friends, (I can’t bring myself to call him that, it makes him sound like a fifteen-year-old, surfer bum when he’s anything but), at a tattoo convention three years ago in, Los Angeles. We hit it off instantly, having plenty to talk about since we both specialize in black and gray work and photo-realism. The convention was huge and the first one I’d attended, but regardless of how intimidated I was being surrounded by so many immensely talented artists, I felt strangely at ease with Jonas. I’d spotted him long before were introduced. My eyes had been drawn to him inside the crowded exhibition hall due to his sheer size and his magnetic presence.

I couldn’t help being in awe of him the second my gaze had connected with his powerful frame. Tall, broad shouldered, with muscles upon muscles, I’d never seen a man as big as him before. What was even more shocking, regardless of his significant bulk, was that Jonas managed the impossible, moving with the fluidity of a jungle cat. As I watched him weaving through the crowd with ease, I noted it looked almost as if he glided across the floor. He wasn’t walking or lumbering like most men his size would. No, not Jonas. He prowled with feline grace.

Slipping into the free seat beside me at the bar, Jonas didn’t look in my direction. I didn’t think he even knew I was there until he asked,

“First timer?”

I let my eyes a moment to appreciate him, but before he could call me out for staring at him too long, I turned my attention back to my drink and nodded my ascent.

“Yes. Honestly, I’m not sure why I’m here. I haven’t been tattooing for half as long as a lot of the artists here, but the shop I work at had a booth and no one to work it, so here I am,” I reply rambling. I do that when I’m nervous.

Laughing, a deep, rich, guttural sound, Jonas takes a long swallow of his beer and gifts me with a stunning smile.

“I’ve got nothing going on for the next half hour until my next client arrives. How about you show me your portfolio and let me decide for myself how talented you are?”

I can’t tell you why I agreed to his request, but the rest, as they say, is; history…

After talking for hours, and hanging out with him at the bar after the booths closed down for the day, I realized one upsetting yet oddly comforting fact about Jonas; there was absolutely no spark between us. No chemistry. No sexual tension. Just friendship. It was a damn shame really because I can openly admit, I would have loved a night spent naked, tangled up with Jonas in between his sheets. If there had been the slightest connection between us, I would have jumped him without giving it a second thought. There was no harm in a little no strings sex between consenting adults after all.

But alas, nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch.  Sadly, no matter how gorgeous Jonas is, or the fact that I am most definitely a red-blooded woman, in our case we were only ever destined to be friends. Not that I was upset at the prospect of having another friend, because God knows we could all use more of them, I was a little disappointed I couldn’t find it in me to be attracted to him.

We exchanged numbers, but honestly, I never expected to hear from him again. And I was okay with that. I figured he was simply being polite when he handed me a card with his personal cell info on it, but obviously, I was wrong. Because years later, Jonas used the slip of paper I’d scribbled my phone number on and changed my life.

Before that, though, I returned to work at, ‘Canvas’, the tattoo studio in West Hollywood where I’d been working for the last ten years. Canvas had actually been where I had begun my apprenticeship at the age of twenty-three, which lasted for two grueling years before I became fully qualified. The owner, Marc, said he appreciated my artist ability and offered me a full-time position as one of his lead artists. A job I’d remained in for the last eight years.

However, shockingly, Jonas did call end up calling five weeks ago. It was completely out of the blue, especially considering I hadn’t heard from him for months, but a pleasant surprise nevertheless. During the ten-minute conversation we had, he told me he was in desperate need of a tattoo artist with my experience and quality of work since his last female artist had moved on to greener pastures.

Apparently, his tattooist had moved to, Blackwater, a couple of hours drive from where his shop was located, shacked up with another tattooist and biker to boot, and wouldn’t be returning anytime soon. I couldn’t fault the woman for her choice, even though I had never met her. If I found a sexy, biker covered in ink, I’d probably make the same one. Being that his was the only shop in the area, it wasn’t as if Jonas could borrow an artist from another studio, albeit temporarily either. An option I suggested but was shot down equally as quickly as the words left my mouth.

When Jonas was trying to convince me to take the job, he gave me the phone number for a rental that had just miraculously become available in a small, but well-kept apartment building a five-minute drive from his shop.

On top of that, he offered to pay to have my belongings shipped to, Furnace, money for gas and hotels on the drive out, promised I’d have a base of steady clientele within a week of working there. It was all very appealing, but frightening at the same time. I’d been where I was for so long, I was comfortable there. I felt safe. However, the lure of a new challenge was tempting. Too tempting. Because incentives aside, I was ready for a change, one I made before I could overanalyze it.

T
d
en years at the same shop had become mind-numbingly boring, and although I love the people I work with, I outgrew Canvas long before I decided to leave. Marc, my boss, hadn’t made me believe I was indebted to him for training me, but that didn’t change the fact that I did indeed feel somewhat beholden to him. Hence, why I stayed so long.

That said, I still love tattooing. My clients give me ample opportunity to put my creativity to good use, but the underlying reasons for the pieces they choose border on the ridiculous these days. In L.A., it’s almost as if people are getting them just for the sake of it. Everyone was doing it, so? That isn’t the sort of clientele I want. I want to ink people who are as passionate about my craft as I am.

Part of the reason I’m so passionate is because my life was planned out for me by my parents before I could walk. I didn’t get to make choices for myself, and that’s not something I want experience ever again.

That was the motivating factor for taking Jonas up on his job offer of a job. It would give me the chance I needed break out of the cycle I had unwittingly thrust myself back into.

“You sure you wanna do this, Babe? I know I’m the one who’s been pushing for it, but I need to know you aren’t just agreeing because I all but begged you,” Jonas asked during our last conversation.

I was putting the final touches on the packing I’d been slaving over for the past week, and while I loved him for being worried about me, I couldn’t help but be a little aggravated he was asking me this now.

“Seriously? Are you having second thoughts, big man? Changed your mind already?” I snap sarcastically. “If you are, you need to say so now, because I’m tapping the last box shut as we speak.”

Grunting he replies,

“I haven’t changed my mind, Beth. Not even close. I need you here. Since Adelyn’s been gone, I can’t seem to get a handle on the amount of work I’ve got backing up. It’ll be good to have you here to take some of the pressure off, especially since a few of the Vengeance boys are getting their full patch soon. Work always picks up then. What with them coming in for their ink and all.”

Jonas had told me about his dealings with, Vengeance MC not long after we’d first met. Apparently, they were a motorcycle club who came to Jonas to get all their work done. They had been after Jonas to join them for years before he signed up with the Marines, but Jonas had declined the opportunity to prospect with them, choosing a different band of brothers instead. Jonas claims that he doesn’t regret his choice, he wouldn’t change it for the world. But I can hear the sadness in his voice when he recalls the group of men who had been like family to him.

Part of me believes, given a hard enough push, that he would throw his hat in the ring with, Vengeance. I know enough about MC’s to know that they are basically a brotherhood. Men who bond through a common set of ideals, different to that of civilians like you and me, but a value system nevertheless. Jonas needed something like that. A group of men who would look out for him the way he looked out for everyone else. I hadn’t had a lot of dealings with motorcycle clubs over the years, regardless of the fact that SoCal is riddled with them, but when I had, I’d been pleasantly surprised.

Focusing on what Jonas said instead of the wayward direction my thoughts had taken, I tape the massive box shut with a sigh.

“Well, it’s good I leave tomorrow then, isn’t it?”

“Sure is, Babe. I’ve got appointments booked for you starting the day after you arrive. I know it doesn’t give you much time to settle in, but your shit won’t be here for a few days anyway, so I figured what the hell. You’ll meet some people, get the word out there that I’ve got help again, it’ll be all good.” I’m not sure who he’s trying to convince, him or me.

“Okay, if that’s all I’m going to go try get some sleep before I have to head out in the morning,” I say on a yawn. “I haven’t stopped for days, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m looking forward to the drive just get the chance to unwind.”

“I wish you weren’t driving all that way by yourself, Babe. I could’ve had your car brought out later, you know?”

It’s true he did offer to have my car transported along with the rest of my stuff, but I couldn’t imagine being without it for a day, much less a few weeks.

“I’ll be okay. It isn’t the first time I’ve made a road trip like this. And, I’m a grown woman, Jay, I know how to take care of myself.”

“Got it,” he grunts. “Get some sleep, Beth. You’re gonna need it.”