Ride To Vengeance (A Rough Riders MC Novel #3): A Rough Riders MC Novel #3 (The Rough Riders MC Series) (10 page)

“You. Fucking. Cunt.” Lola glared at me with cool green eyes but I couldn’t give a damn about her or anyone else in this fucking ostentatious palace that had become my prison.

If it was up to me, I would kill them all and not even pause long enough to place a call to Ronan just to let him know I was on my way back to Vegas.

That’s how much the blood boiled inside of me and I couldn’t bring it to a simmer. Not even the consequences of my actions would register; with the wrath I would face from Fernando, there would be many, conceivably directed at the people I loved most.

I was in a dangerous situation with amoral people and yet, I acted like I was on a bad episode of
Big Brother
.

“Bring it on, you fake fuckin’ skank,” I sneered in anger.

Before I had time to react, Lola attacked me—acrylic nails stabbed at me while fake blonde hair flew in every direction.

No fucking way! This bitch did not just go
Jerry Springer
on my ass because I actually knew how to fight. Not ghetto, “hit ’em up style,” but actual hand-to-hand combat. I’d been an officer in the military before I was DEA after all.

I head-butted her in the face and felt a crunch as her nose broke and blood began to pour like water out of a vessel. Before she could attempt to fight back, I used the heel of my right hand to shove that same broken bone directly into her brain. She stared at me with a dazed look before she fell to the marble floor in a heap like dirty laundry.

Shit!

Goddamn motherfucking crap on a fuckin’ stick shit!

I’d killed the bitch in the heat of the moment and my training not only frightened me but also exhilarated me at the same time. If she’d been Fernando’s “bottom bitch” then I was just begging to be made an example out of and he wouldn’t be gentle or kind about it. In fact, he would make me suffer
more
because he knew I could take it due to my military and DEA training.

Out of nowhere, a manservant rushed forward and bent down before Lola. He bent down and rushed to grab her wrists to check for a pulse I knew he wouldn’t find. The bitch was deader than disco and all because of what
I’d
done.

“
Señorita
Suleiman has no pulse,” he murmured to himself more than me before his dark eyes met mine and narrowed suspiciously.

I acted completely innocent and bent down next to him. “Of course she has to have a pulse,” I murmured before I bore my arms, which displayed the damage from her wicked acrylic nails. “That can’t be possible.”

The manservant stood and yelled for help.

Jorge, or whom I liked to refer to as “The Sadist” was the first to heed the call. He and the manservant spoke in rapid Spanish I could completely understand.

“Did you do this?” Jorge questioned in anger.

“It wasn’t on purpose,” I murmured, my bottom lip quivering enough to fake fear and remorse. “She attacked me—everything happened so fast I think she did the most damage to herself.”

 
He rolled his eyes as he placed a call and spoke in rapid ghetto Spanish to the speaker. Half of it I understood—the other half went right over my head. I was fluent in proper Spanish but the language of the lesser educated might as well have been Greek to me. It was like a person who’d studied the Queen’s English all the sudden understanding someone from Appalachia.

“You black bitch. You won’t get away this time.” Jorge grinned in triumph though I merely looked away and rolled my eyes.

At this point, I had nothing else left to lose.

They’d stripped me of my life, my dignity and the man I loved.
 
Ronan wasn’t everything to me—simply the air I breathed and the reason why every morning I woke up with a smile on my face. Without him, I could be something to someone. I was his everything and he was my world. He was that important to me and to not have him in my life killed me a little bit more each day.

“You can’t kill me so I have gotten away with it.” I smirked at him, ignoring the manservant.

He quickly removed his nine-millimeter from its holster but before he could switch the safety off, adrenaline coursed through my veins again. I ran to him like a woman possessed and used all my strength and energy to throat punch him with a left fist he never saw coming.

The gun dropped to the marble floor as both of his hands went to his crushed larynx. I could admit to doing a lot of bad things—including murder for my country, the DEA and the Lucifer’s Saints—but I couldn’t stand to watch Jorge suffer by suffocating to death.

I knelt down and picked up his nine-millimeter. It was heavy, a Desert Eagle II made of steel. I should know; my father not only owned a gun shop but he was notorious about his love for the American-made brand of weapons.

My heart thundered so loudly in my chest, I would have sworn the manservant could hear it had he not high-tailed it out of the room the moment I attacked Jorge. Apparently he valued his life more than one of his fellow co-workers.

It was too easy to switch the safety off, chamber a round and fire it directly into Jorge’s head. The scene—directly out of a David Lynch film—left behind was gruesome. Blood, brains and bone decorated the area where now two dead bodies lay almost side-by-side; Jorge’s blood spreading like a pool of dyed
Karo
syrup.

I stepped back from the bodies though my hand gripped the gun tighter than before just as the man of the house strolled through the elaborate front doors. He’d obviously been riding since he wore riding crops, black leather boots and a crisp white polo shirt.

Fernando ignored his obviously distressed manservant as he strode directly to me. His glance towards Lola and Jorge were cursory at best.

His amber-green eyes lacked any real emotion as he ordered his manservant to take care of the bodies and clean up the mess they would leave behind.

“How stupid of me,” he began quietly. “I always underestimate you. I forget you’re not the same naïve girl I met all those years ago. You’ve had military training and worked for the United States government. You lost your innocence a long time ago. Still, I have to ask . . . why did you feel the need to murder two of my best? Lola was the queen of blowjobs plus she was a pain whore. Jorge was the perfect guard dog. He watched out for me and would report on other members of staff I was suspect about.”

“Whoops,” I murmured sarcastically. “If you could just return me back to the States now that you’ve had your fun with me, I’ll be out of your way. You won’t have to worry about coming home to any more scenes fit for a remake of
Pulp Fiction
.”

Fernando shook his head as he smiled wryly in return. “No, that won’t happen, not now at least. I like you feisty—it gives me something to work with when I tie you to the bed and fuck you six ways to Sunday for the mess you just made. You’ll have so much of my cock inside of you, you’ll choke on it.”

I tried to back up but I couldn’t move. My body, drained of the earlier adrenaline, now ached all over and I remembered the soreness between my legs and the rawness of my throat. The thought of him taking me again and so soon . . . all day with no break or let up allowed a small sob to escape from between my lips.

“Oh no, don’t tell me
mi
querida
is still sore from last nights’ exertions. That was just a normal night of perversion and fun. Remember, I haven’t seen you in a very long time. I’m going to be gentle with you at first, I promise. I know you must be sore. I’ll give you something to numb the pain so all you feel is pleasure and you’ll be screaming my name before the night is through,” he explained in a soothing voice.

“I . . . can’t. Every time it happens, you remind me why we shouldn’t be together. How you are just stripping me of my humanity. It wouldn’t have been that easy to murder Lola or Jorge if you weren’t raping me—”

“
Raping
you?” Fernando’s face contorted into feigned ignorance. “You enjoyed last night. I made sure you came
five
times. One doesn’t have orgasms if one is being raped. You reveled and came alive during my violent acts of sex with you and admit it—you like it rough. Isn’t that why you’re with someone like Ronan? He doesn’t exactly seem like the most sentimental of lovers.”

“What I do with Ronan is pleasurable because I simply want to be with him.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to be with you. I can admit . . . perhaps there was some feelings left for you beforehand but you’ve stripped them all away. Everything between us now is tainted, ugly and
dirty
. You think if you drop me off to the Saints—beaten, bloody and pregnant, you’ll have won? I’ve got news for you because you won’t. I would have your seed
scraped
out of my womb before I ever brought a child into this world that belonged to you!”

The sudden change from somewhat jovial to downright cruel took place so fast, it made the Airbus seem slow. Fernando closed what little distance remained between the two of us and backhanded me as if I were a rag doll. I fell to the floor, the gun scattering from hand. The metallic taste of my own blood filled my mouth as I realized he’d cracked my jaw.

He sat astride me at the small of my back grabbed me by my hair, pulling so hard I could almost feel strands of my hair being torn out by the roots. “You think this is how you will defeat me? By using words of
abomination
like abortion and threatening to hurt me the worst way imaginable?”

I sobbed and shook my head. If I could have said I was sorry, I would have but it caused too much pain to open my mouth let alone attempt to talk.

“You know . . . even though you did what you did . . . I was just going to punish you. I saw no need to bring the Saints into our lover’s dispute. But now . . . you’ve just proven to me you don’t care about what we have. You don’t give a shit about our shared history or us. We are and were simply
nothing
,” he whispered in my ear.

I shook my head vehemently again as the tears fell from my eyes.

That simply isn’t true! I loved you at one time—goddamn it—and I would have done anything you asked me to do!

But I couldn’t say the words. My mouth refused to cooperate with my brain.

“This is what’s going to happen. You want to be treated like a whore? Fine, I will grant you your wish. I’ll fuck you and use you up and then I’ll pass you on to my
soldados
. Then I’m going to carve up that gorgeous face of yours and dump you off in Vegas. After that . . . Ronan can have you back. When you look like shit, are disease ridden and no one would want you on your best day.”

My nails bit into my skin painfully and I tried to overcome the pain and misery I felt but it was simply no use.

“And your little stunt,” Fernando continued, “will cost you dearly. I’m thinking of taking out a member of the Saints. Heads is Hardy—tails is Ronan.”

I heard a coin flip before it landed just inches from my face on its head.

“Look what we have here. The motherfucker I wanted to take out in the first place.” He rose from my back before his hands wrapped around my throat and brought me roughly to my feet. “But first . . . you and I have some unfinished business.”

A tear slid down my cheek as I steeled myself for the inevitable.

Soon, the only feelings I’d have would be wrapped in a heavy shroud of terror and unimaginable agony.

Chapter Seven

Ronan

R
onan awoke with a start.

His head ached with a dull throb; the familiar feeling of a hangover from one drink too many again.

However, the golden body laid out next to his with a golden fan of natural honey blonde hair and her arms wrapped around the pillow like a lover were unfamiliar to him.

Who the fuck was she and when the fuck did he have time to screw her? How could barely remember his own name last night let alone getting together with some chick and inviting her into the very same bed he shared with his old lady.

What. The. Fuck. Was. Wrong. With. Him?

“You’re
losin
’ it, man,” he whispered to himself. “You have fuckin’ taken a one way ticket to motherfucking crazy town. How could you do this to
Nomes
? How could you profess to love and adore her yet fuck another woman? You’re sick, bro . . . just like your old man. One woman’s pussy ain’t good enough. You gotta act like a fuckin’ dog, pissin’ on every tree you walk by to mark your fuckin’ territory.”

The blonde slowly woke up, yawned loudly and got out of bed, strolling directly to his bathroom. “You are fuckin’ losing it, Ronan.”

The voice was familiar; how could he not know her? She was the head manager at the strip club the Saints ran in Vegas—ironically titled Saints & Slappers. It was a lucrative place with an atmosphere closer to Cheetah’s than Larry
Flynt’s
Hustler Club. She also was Burns’ daughter from his first wife who had hung around the club since she was thirteen. Her mother was dead—heroin overdose—and although she was friendly with the bikers, she was no fucking slapper. Nor was she a free-for-all either.

Then why the fuck was she in his bed of all places?

“What’s your name again?” Ronan asked as he massaged his temples knowing that wasn’t going to d0 a damn thing about his massive hangover.

“Layla. You know, like the Eric Clapton song. Burns is my pops—”

“Yeah, I know who your pops is. A better question is what the fuck were you doing in my bed?”

Her icy blue eyes narrowed. “A better question is why the fuck did I even
bother
? If it makes you feel better, everything was goin’ just peachy between the two of us until you fuckin’ called me Naomi. And by the way, we fucked for like . . . twenty minutes before you passed out. So, if you wanna consider this
cheatin
’ on a bitch that was taken by the cartel then fine. You fucking cheated and made a skank out of me.”

Ronan stood and faced off with her.

They both looked utterly ridiculous, their faces contorted in anger while neither wore a stitch of clothing.

“You fucking knew what was goin’ on with my situation so don’t act all sweet and innocent now! My fucking old lady was abducted—”

“Yeah, I
know
that and I felt sorry for you! I thought you needed a little bit more than a bottle of fuckin’ Bushmills. I wasn’t
tryin’
to replace her but you are a biker and you guys are practically Neanderthals. A man’s dick doesn’t stop gettin’ hard just because his old lady is kidnapped. I just . . . wanted you to feel good for one night and forget all the shit that’s been goin’ on around here. Sue me.” She placed small hands on slender hips. “That and I haven’t been laid in six months so, no, I wasn’t really thinkin’ with a clear head either.”

Ronan laughed out loud before he slowly allowed himself to feel the pain he needed to let go. The tears came before he could stop them and he fell to the floor and began to sob.

“This is just so fucking unfair. She should be here with me, Layla . . . and I don’t know how much more I can take of this shit before I fucking blow! I can’t live without her.”

She sat next to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, his head cradled against her naked breasts. “Shh, just let it all out. Maybe this is what we should have been doin’ last night instead of tryin’ to find some solace in empty sex, huh?”

“What’s your story?” Ronan asked as he used the heel of his hand to wipe the tears away.

“Before you guys came, a guy named
Callum
Finney was my old man. We were supposed to get married. Nobody called him
Callum
—he was just Finn to everyone. Anyway, he was
Aztecas
Infierno’s
first Saints’ kill . . . before they took out Miranda up north in Birch Tree. He was coming back from a run in Barstow and his bike was run off the road into one of the canyons. The brothers don’t even know how he got separated from the pack. It was weird.

“Anyway . . . I haven’t been any good to anyone either and I know what you’re going through. I’m seriously thinkin’ about
dancin
’ again just to get my mind off all the shit, you know? I shouldn’t have done what I did and—”

“Hey, don’t go
blamin
’ yourself. I’m a grown man, all right? I knew exactly what we were doin’ and if I would have asked you these questions last night when I was too piss drunk to even remember my own goddamn name, none of this would have gone down. We’re both way too fucked up to even be good bed partners let alone . . . you feel like you’re
cheatin
’ on Finn too, don’t you?”

Layla nodded her head as she began to cry. “Stupid, huh? I can’t . . . look at another man. Hell, you were the first I was even attracted to enough to want to go there with and I think it’s because we got that in common, you know?”

They finally separated and despite not feeling an ounce of sexual attraction for her, Ronan found himself running a hand through her silky hair. “Why don’t you go take a shower? I’ll do the same and we can finish where we left off in here . . . with our clothes on.”

She smiled before she nodded in agreement. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

R
onan and Layla played a game of poker where he discovered not only was she gorgeous but had the brains to back all that beauty. They were in the middle of a fourth game when Kink, Cricket and Chantal strode into the clubhouse like they owned the place.

He quickly threw his cards down and stood to greet them with brotherly embraces and pats on the back.

“What the hell are you guys doin’ here?” Ronan wondered out loud after everyone finished greeting each other.

“Dizzy thought you needed the backup. No worries. Some of the members from the Vegas chapter have already taken off for Birch Tree. It’s just a trade until we figure out what the hell is going on and whether that bastard plans to let
Nomes
go free,” Kink explained as he looked around.

“Nice change of scenery too,” Cricket said as he looked around. “Who’s that fine piece of ass you were playin’ cards with? She’s hot enough to—”

“Don’t even think about finishing that statement,” Chantal replied in a cool voice that belied her gorgeous yet innocuous looks.

“I was just about to say the same thing.” Kink glared at Cricket before he met Ronan’s eyes. “It’s too soon so don’t even suggest it.”

“I wasn’t gonna suggest anything. The chick is Layla Burns and she isn’t a club slapper—she’s the general manager over at the strip club.” He paused for a second before he ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s too soon for her too. Finn was her old man.”

“
Callum
Finney?” Kink questioned with concern. “Our first casualty in the war between
Aztecas Infierno
and the Saints?”

Ronan nodded. “We kinda fell into bed together last night and to say it was a
clusterfuck
to end all
clusterfucks
would be a vast understatement. Turns out neither of us were ready to face the consequences of losing a spouse.”

Chantal’s aquamarine eyes—identical to Kink’s—glared at him coldly. “The only difference is Naomi is
alive
although Finn is
dead
. Are you tryin’ to forget her memory so soon you’re fallen into bed with random women?”

“Chantal,” Cricket warned in a soft voice.

“Don’t give me that shit, Cricket. Damn it! What is it with the men in this club? Your woman is
abducted
by her psycho ex—who happens to be a major drug dealer
and
club rival—and that gives you a ‘free pussy for all’ card or somethin’? You think Naomi would be happy about what you’ve done? She thought you loved her and so the fuck did I. Some sociopathic asshole
takes
her as
collateral
and that gives you the right to start stickin’ your dick in other women?”

Ronan glanced at her with cold, violet-blue eyes. “Shouldn’t you be in school or somethin’?”

“I took the semester off,” she snapped. “Family emergency. With everything that is happening in the club, my professors didn’t even flinch.”

He cleared his voice and decided to avoid further awkward conversation by changing the subject. “Well, make yourselves at home. Grab yourself a drink and let’s all sit down in the main room.”

Ronan tried his best to act normal or what had become his new normal now that Naomi was gone. However, he couldn’t even fake it in front of his brothers. Not the same guys who’d known him his whole life and knew his old lady. He immediately put some distance between him and Layla.

It’d been great just having someone to talk to before the guys showed up but now all he felt like was a fraud. His old lady was trapped with a maniac who was doing God knows what to her while he could actually smile and play several hands of poker with an attractive blonde. How could he act like her disappearance meant nothing?

It was different for Layla. Finn was dead and gone. Naomi was just
gone
and that’s what made his situation that much more difficult to manage. How could he pretend like it was an everyday occurrence when it wasn’t? She hadn’t left on vacation or an assignment—her sick twist ex-lover wanted to see her pay for her supposed infractions against him had taken her against her will.

He sat at the bar for a while Kink led Layla to the game room as they spoke animatedly with each other. They’d be a better fit anyway. At least both their spouses were deceased—taken out by the same cartel who now held his old lady captive.