Fury: Book 2 in the Vengeance MC series (15 page)

“Are you gonna keep pussyfooting around what you really wanna ask if I say yes?” He fires back, narrowing his eyes at Gage and me.

“Honestly, I didn’t think you wanted to talk about her. From what I hear, you don’t talk to anyone about anything anymore, brother. I’m not trying to piss you off, no one is, but you’ve got to throw us a bone here, Jay. You don’t want us to mention her, we won’t. You want to get shitfaced with us, great. But, this shit,” I say, gesturing to the room, “has got to fucking stop. Working all hours, not sleeping, shutting your friends out; it’s all got to stop.”

“You’re one to fucking talk,” he snarls, taking a menacing step toward me. “When shit got hard, you took off. You packed your saddlebags and got the fuck out of dodge. I didn’t have that luxury, brother. I’ve got people who depend on me. So, excuse the fuck out of me if you think it’s taking me too long to get over the woman I loved dying in the most brutal fucked up way a woman can die. Not sure what I can do to make that process faster so that all you fuckers can feel better, but I’ll do my best to hurry that shit up for you,” he sneers sarcastically.

“Ease up, Jay. You know he’s only saying it because he gives a shit,” Gage interjects uselessly.

Jay’s too riled up to care why or how at the moment. By the looks of him, he will be for a good long time to come. And I don’t blame him. Bec did die horrifically, and he saw it. Jonas saw how they restrained her, the marks, bruises, and devastation they had inflicted on her before she took her final breath. That’s not something anyone could get over quickly, let alone a man like Jonas.

Jonas is a protector by nature. It’s all he knows. It’s in his DNA. He went into the Army because of it. His Mom, sisters, and his friends, he’d lay down his life for any one of them. Knowing that he wasn’t there when she needed him is eating Jay alive. I can see it. Gage can see it. And I’m sure Blaine saw it, which is why she asked Gage to check on him in the first place. But what no one else seems to have noticed is that Jay doesn’t only feel guilty; he feels relieved.

I decide then to take the risk and approach him. Closing the distance between us, I grip Jay’s shoulder, looking him dead in the eyes.

“I see it, brother. Try and hide it all you want, but I see it.” Lowering my voice so Gage isn’t privy to this next part, I murmur, “Not going to out you to the boys, brother, but just know that if you need anyone to talk to, I’m here. I know more about how you feel than you think. When you’re ready, come find me.”

I don’t bother waiting for him to reply, taking a step back, I turn to Gage stating,

“I’m heading to Hounds for a beer. You guys feel like joining me, fan-fucking-tastic. You don’t, I’m heading back to the club in an hour.”

With that, I stride out, hoping something I’ve said tonight has penetrated with the man I consider one of my closest friends.

For the last twenty-four hours, I haven’t been able to think about anything other than what Fury said to me when he was leaving last night.

At first, I was pissed off both him and Gage hadn’t mentioned Bec’s name. I shouldn’t have been surprised they didn’t, no one has since the day we buried her. At least, not around me they haven’t. But, I can’t ignore the fact that it fucking burns people won’t say her name.

Bec may have died, but that doesn’t mean the memories of her did. Every night I close my eyes, I think about Bec. My dreams are consumed by her, and so is every waking moment I’m not consciously distracting myself. Her beauty, her laugh, the way she always knew when to call because I needed to hear her voice; I remember it all.

I know what people think when they look at me too. The questions are written in their eyes, plain as day. No, Bec and I weren’t together, we hadn’t been for a long time. Our breakup was mutual, neither of us saw what we had going the distance. And to be honest, at the time, a relationship wasn’t what either of us was looking for. But just because we weren’t together, doesn’t mean her death didn’t destroy something in me. It did. I just don’t quite know what that is yet.

When I met Beth, Boss’ woman, at a tattoo conference over a decade ago, we hit it off. For all of about five minutes, I considered seeing if she’d be up for a casual friend with benefits arrangement, but after talking to her, I knew we’d never be anything more than good friends. Just friends.

A few months after that initial meeting, I had business to see to in L.A. so I called Beth to find out if she wouldn’t mind me crashing on her couch for a few nights. We’d exchanged numbers and kept in touch – albeit sporadically – but Beth had said if I was ever in town to give her a call and she’d put me up.

Beth didn’t think twice, she messaged me her address and I was standing on her doorstep the very next morning. That was the day I met Bec. That was the day I met the woman I would use to banish the thoughts of someone else from my head. Someone I couldn’t have.

Since Beth was working the early shift at the tattoo shop she was employed at, she was in bed by ten most nights, leaving me at a loose end. I’m a night time person, not usually going to bed until one or two in the morning, at least. Thankfully, I wasn’t bored for long. Bec came in that first night, dropped down onto the couch beside me, and told me to pick a movie.

Rebecca Michelle Foster was loud, funny, and her sense of humor was out of this world. Nothing was off-limits to her. She joked about everything from blowjobs and anal fisting, to the Holocaust. To some people that might have been offensive, but it wasn’t meant that way. Bec was one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. She would give someone in need her last dollar if she thought it would help them.

I’m not going to lie to you, Bec and I fucked like rabbits from the first night I met her until we called off our whatever the hell it was relationship seven years later. It wasn’t serious, and we definitely weren’t exclusive. Both of us knew the score. Funnily enough, it wasn’t me that laid down the ground rules of our arrangement, that was all Bec.

Three months before I met her, she’d just gotten out of a semi-serious long-term relationship with a guy she had been dating since college. He did the dirty on her, fucking one of her friends at work in the staff breakroom. Bec, unfortunately, just happened to be on her lunch break, finding her boyfriend fucking the chick bent over the pull-out couch.

Needless to say, after that eye-opener, Bec wasn’t interested in hooking up with anyone else unless it was no strings sex. Something I was completely okay with.

See, back then, I had a problem. A fucking big problem. I was in love with a sixteen-year-old girl. I didn’t want to be. I hated that I was, but nothing I’d done had changed the fact I was one hundred percent, head over heels in love with her. And if her Dad found out, I’d also be one hundred and ten percent fucking dead. As in, chopped up into little pieces and scattered throughout the Rocky’s, dead.

Don’t ask me how it happened, because for the life of me I don’t know. One day she was just a cute kid who hung around at the clubhouse, that I saw from time-to-time when I was in town on leave, and the next, she was the most stunning woman I’d ever seen. The worst part was she wasn’t even actually a woman yet. She looked like one, talked like one, and behaved like one, but she wasn’t. She was six-fucking-teen. A kid for Christ’s sake.

I can’t tell you how many times in those days I wanted to kill myself for looking at her and getting hard. It made me feel like a fucking pedophile staring at a high school kid when my cock hardened at the sight of her. But even then, I couldn’t bring myself to stay away from her altogether.

It’s not like we spent a great deal of time together anyway. Maybe that was my justification for not keeping my distance entirely, but that didn’t make it any less true. Being in the Army, I wasn’t home much – two or three times a year for a couple of weeks at most. My unit was almost permanently deployed, which in light of my problem was a damn good thing.

Everything about that girl called to me on a primal, visceral level. The way she listened intently to every word I said. The way her voice sofened in sympathy when I told her about the men I lost on my last mission. And the tears that filled her eyes that weren’t for my men, but for me.

It didn’t hurt she was stunningly beautiful either. Waist length blonde hair, legs that go for miles, an abundance of curves, and that angelic face was, and still is the stuff of my fantasies. Fucking everything about her was perfect. So was the situation. Perfectly fucked up, that is.

Not only would her Dad kill me for even thinking about his little girl like that, but the rest of his club would also want in on the action too. I wouldn’t have even needed to touch her for them to put a bullet in my head, the thought alone would have signed my death warrant. And I wouldn’t have blamed them for following through with it.

I was a twenty-nine-year-old man lusting after a sixteen-year-old girl. Nothing about that was right, so why did it feel that way? Why did my world settle on its axis when I was around her? Why was she the only thing I thought of all day and every night? And why no matter how hard I tried – and believe me, I tried – couldn’t I see anyone’s face other than hers when I was balls deep inside another woman?

Those questions were ones I asked myself for two years after realizing what I felt for her wasn’t simply lust but something deeper. I couldn’t bring myself to admit I was in love with her to her or myself, but I was. Unequivocally. Completely. Irrevocably.

You’d think I would have made a move after she turned eighteen if I felt that way about her, wouldn’t you? But I didn’t. I couldn’t. She deserved better than a man who couldn’t be there for her. Like I said, I was out of the country more often than I was in it. If she needed me, I wouldn’t be able to be at her side. I couldn’t comfort her if she was upset, take care of her like I wanted to, or protect her from being hurt.

Don’t think I was entirely self-sacrificing, though. Sure, I knew I wasn’t good enough for her, that she deserved better, but I kept a safe distance for another reason too. And that reason wasn’t her Dad and his club; it was me.

I knew without a doubt, I would destroy her. Not in the way you’re thinking either. If she and I were together the way I am would eventually tear us apart. I’m a jealous, possessive, and demanding man. I don’t take kindly to the woman I’m with getting attention from other men. I won’t tolerate her talking to, flirting with, or touching any man but me. Not to mention, there’s no way in hell I’d be able to handle not being with her 24/7. And, I can assure you, a woman that looks like she does gets a fuck ton of attention.

I spent the year after she turned eighteen wrestling with my decision not to pursue a relationship with her. Every time I saw her, I rethought it. When she’d call my name across a room, or threw herself in my arms telling me she was happy I was home safe, I’d curse myself for it.

Some of the hardest times for me were when I saw her eyes flare with emotions which mirrored my own. The lust. The desire to touch me. The deep, all-consuming love. It was all there, and it took everything I had to restrain myself from going after the only woman who would ever own my heart.

That’s where Bec came in. What we had was a distraction when I needed it most. She gave me a way to work out my frustrations without having to worry about becoming attached. There weren’t any feelings on her side either, of that she assured me. I knew this was true when I told her about the other woman I’d met that I began sleeping with. Alysia.

Alysia and my relationship was much the same as mine and Bec’s. It was fun, casual fucking. But where it differed was in the type of woman Alysia was. Strong, focused, and driven. She wasn’t fun, carefree, and sweet like Bec.

Alysia was in the Army as well, deployed just as often as I was. When we hooked up, it was intense. We burned hot for each other, but just as soon as that fire peaked, it petered out too.

For a while there, I was under the mistaken impression I’d fallen in love with Alysia. However, when I really thought about it, I recognized what I felt wasn’t love, it was respect. I cared about Alysia, a lot, but I wasn’t in love with her. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize that until I made the mistake of asking her to marry me, though. Yeah, I know. Not my smartest move, but no one’s accused me of being a genius before.

I’ll give Alysia this. She let me down gently, and my stupidity thankfully didn’t affect the connect we had because we’ve remained good friends throughout the years. In the end, it all worked out for the best because now, she’s married to her first and only love, Rob.

Alysia had been in love with Rob since back when they went to high school together. The feeling was mutual, but in those days, Rob was too fucked up and damaged to drag Alysia into the shit show that was his life. So, he did what any man who loves a woman with his entire heart and soul would do; he left.

To cut a long story short, Rob suffered through some of the worst kind of abuse any kid could suffer. He may have come out the other side of it winning the girl, but it took a long time, a lot of help, and a life-threatening situation to get them there. They’re happy now, though. Deliriously so. And I’m happy for them.

Everything my relationship with Alysia and Bec ended up teaching me was that I couldn’t escape what I felt for
her
. It didn’t matter how much time passed, how much distance I put between us, or how many women I fucked it would always be her for me. Which in essence is why Fury’s words hit home with me last night.

Intermingled with the feelings of sadness Bec’s gone, devastation at how she died, and guilt over not being able to save her; I feel bone-deep relief. Why? Because there’s no question that after suffering through what she did before she died, Bec wouldn’t have come out the other side of it the same woman. Not even remotely.

It takes a special kind of woman, one like Avery or Beth to recover from the atrocities the three of them went through and not break. Bec was not that woman. She wasn’t as strong as Avery and Beth are. No amount of support, help, care, or time would have repaired all of the wounds she sustained. Sure, her body would have healed. But her mind and her soul? Never.

That’s why I felt relief when I found her. As I cradled her cold, lifeless body to my chest, frantically checking for a pulse I knew I wouldn’t find, I was relieved when I confirmed her heart had long since given out. Not only because she’d never be the happy-go-lucky jokester anymore, but because I know for a fact the second she opened her eyes in the hospital if she’d lived, Bec would have prayed for death.

We’d once had a conversation about what Beth had gone through when she was younger – what Markham had done to her – and Bec admitted she wouldn’t have been able to live with herself if that had happened to her. Bec was blunt when she explained that if she were brutally raped like Beth was, she would take her own life. The disgust she would feel would be too overwhelming.

It killed me to hear her talk about ending her life, but in part, I saw where she was coming from. However, I will say; at the same time it made my chest fill with a newfound respect for Beth. How she overcame it and turned into the woman she is today is nothing short of awe-inspiring.

Lying in bed, in my quiet apartment, alone last night, I thought about everything Fury said and nothing but. The words were on repeat in my head until I had to do something to shut them off. So, I did the only thing I could.