Ride To Vengeance (A Rough Riders MC Novel #3): A Rough Riders MC Novel #3 (The Rough Riders MC Series) (9 page)

Ronan laughed as he dragged off his cigarette before he ground it into its own ash. “And what about your favorite? The woman you’re in love with?”

Dizzy chuckled though it lacked mirth. “What is this? A fuckin’ pissing contest between you and me? You wanna know how Eve suffered? Is that what’s gonna make you feel better about this whole fucked up situation?”

“Fuck yes it will make me feel better!” he roared into the speakerphone.

“Okay, you no good piece of shite.” Dizzy paused while he lit a cigar. “They fuckin’
waterboarded
her—
Aztecas Infierno
. When they still couldn’t get what they wanted, Emilio raped her. She spit in his face so he beat her. This was a little over a year ago. Six months ago, that psycho—Dimitri
Koslakov
—gets a hair up his ass. He realizes Eve means something to me. He abducted her and tortured her for three days. She had cigarette burns and cigar burns all over her body. Then he had some muscled, steroid-raged freak rape her.

“Do you honestly for a
second
believe I love her any less?” Dizzy whispered. “Yes, she was violated and reduced to the status of an animal but I cannot fault her for that. It was her body they used but her heart, her soul . . . and her spirit remains intact. She was prepared and trained for that kind of shit and she did her job without complaint—”

“But Naomi—”

“Is no
different
. She’s a Drug Enforcement fookin’ Agent and she can handle whatever Fernando puts her through. Hell, she’s the lucky one. At least they were lovers at one time and she can
fake
it. I tell you this now . . . if she ends up in any shape different than she returned . . . if it takes her a while to want to be intimate again with you, give her the fookin’ space son.”

“I wouldn’t act any different than that,” he continued with his eyes closed, trying to will the tears away. “I swear I won’t push her.”

“And don’t ever . . . and I mean
ever
. . .
accuse
her of bringin’ this on herself. I did that and I will regret it for the rest of
me
life. The human body and the human brain don’t always sync up. Do you think a woman isn’t raped if an orgasm results at the end of it? It was still
against
her will. She feels just as betrayed by her body as you do. If you make her feel guilty about what Fernando does to her, I will make that trip to Vegas and put a bullet in your brain.”

Ronan laughed sardonically. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you care more about
Nomes
than you do about me.”

“At this very moment, I do.” Dizzy cleared his throat. “Hardy, bring the rest of the guys back in. Let’s finish this
meetin
’—I got shit to do.”

Chapter Six

Naomi

I
awoke to a soreness I hadn’t experienced in a long time.

It wasn’t the physical acts themselves but the way my anus, vagina and throat throbbed in constant pain.

I sat up and observed the dark purple bruises on the insides of my thighs, my arms, and around my waist.

What. The. Fuck. Had. This. Monster. Done. To. Me?

The night flooded my senses like a rush of blood to the head and I closed my eyes tightly, trying to will away the sights of depravity.

What Fernando had done; what he’d made me do.

He’d used and abused my poor body past the point of me ever wanting a man to touch me intimately ever again.

However if Ronan were right in front of me now, I’d want him to kiss my lips while he caressed my neck. I knew he’d whisper sweet words in Gaelic that he’d never allow something like this to happen to me ever again and I would always be safe with him.

It was this one thought that forced me out of bed and to my private
en
suite bathroom. I ran water in the tub and dropped in a few bath salts for good measure, knowing they were going to burn like a son of a bitch.

Every place below the waist felt sore, from my asshole to my well-used pussy that had taken a beating if one was ever known. My labia and inner lips were swollen from repeated abuse. I could only relive the nightmares but those weren’t the only ones that plagued me. What if . . . I couldn’t even contemplate it.

Although the thought of a venereal disease was a slight issue, I was more worried about a more common occurrence that happened after two people of the opposite sex indulged in intercourse.

Ronan and I hadn’t been using anything for the last few months; he wanted me to get knocked up if only for the sole purpose it would force the DEA’s hand and hopefully, they would let me go. Between us, and despite his strong Irish genes, I still hadn’t been blessed with a child. However, knowing my luck and the kind of person Fernando was, he would definitely leave me with a nice little going away present.

I didn’t believe in abortion—in fact, I thought it was a sin to kill a fetus and didn’t think it was much different from infanticide. In this case . . . my own hypocrisy was stronger than my moral fortitude. There was no way in the world I would bring a baby belonging to that animal in the world. I could get it handled quietly and wouldn’t tell Ronan. Hell, I wouldn’t even get it done in Vegas; I would take a trip up to Birch Tree.

Speaking of Vegas, from my vantage point of where I lay in the tub and the open window sending a gentle breeze through, the smell was pure Ensenada. I wasn’t even in the States. He’d dragged me all the way back to Baja California just so he could have his way with me.

Even though I’d spoken to my superiors—with him on the line—and they’d reassured him of his safety. He would be fine. As long as he cooperated with the United States government and handed over the information that benefited the RICO investigation, he was untouchable.

If I could have grabbed Eve by the throat and choked the life out of her, I would have. The pain I knew Ronan lived with now was insurmountable. He felt helpless and hopeless. Would he want me after I lived through this situation of forced rape and sodomy? Hell, I wasn’t sure if I would have even
wanted
me.

Not only was I tainted—used goods and not worth the heartache or trouble I’d caused but I was a cold-blooded liar. I’d looked him in the eyes and told him I’d never been with Fernando only for the truth to come out anyway.

Did it matter the situation was supposed to be classified? Would he care about Fernando being a Federal informant? That he’d bought and sold out his family for immunity and a United States passport?

At the end of the day, people like him didn’t give a damn about anyone but themselves. He didn’t give a shit about
Aztecas Infierno
, his brother or his nephew. They were casualties of the cartel war as far as he was concerned. He had his offshore accounts; a shitload of money and knew enough about the underworld wheelers and dealers that would keep him well into the black after RICO decimated the cartel.

He had his Russian connection that was smarter and more conniving than
Koslakov
ever could be. His dream had always been to open up the floodgates for human trafficking. Not only in the States but in Mexico as well. There were plenty of wealthy men who had nothing but money and depravity who wanted beautiful, complacent women that did not include the Mexicans they were surrounded by either. They preferred Eastern European women and to have a whole selection at their beck and call was a dream come true.

If they decided to rape, torture and then kill their captive, there was no one to worry about what had happened to the faceless women. As far as the local authorities were concerned, the women had never gone missing in the first place and where they were wanted, needed and missed dearly, no one would have known what happened to them anyway. It would be like they’d never existed. One day they were there and the next day they vanished—poof, like smoke—into thin air.

Despite the warm temperature of the water, a chill wafted through me and I slowly stood up in the tub. I felt like I’d given birth and hoped wherever Fernando had gone, he wouldn’t be back for a while. I was in no shape to perform any sexual activities.

After I dried off and wrapped a robe around my body, I walked back into my bedroom and located a pair of loose white linen pants and a matching
cami
before I slipped over a loose peach linen blouse. The bastard had provided me with clothes but no undergarments. I still felt uncomfortable with venturing any other place into the house.

There were bodyguards everywhere. Not that they would touch me like
that
—they feared Fernando more than I did. However, it still felt awkward to endure their stares as I passed them.

My stomach grumbled and all the sudden, whether I wanted to explore the house or not, it was no longer an option. I needed to eat. I couldn’t remember the last meal I’d had but it had been a while. Surely my captor wouldn’t want me to starve to death.

I gathered my sense of courage and opened the double doors to my suite. It was a bright and beautiful day with cerulean skies, sunny and very few white fluffy clouds. In fact, the day was too gorgeous to be trapped in my gilded prison fit for a queen.

I hated this. I despised my situation but even worse, nothing could or would be done about it. Not by anyone, including the man I loved and that hurt my heart. It made me despondent and I wondered if there was any way I could figure this shit out. There had to be a way. I wouldn’t accept no for an answer.

I couldn’t.

“Impossible” was not a word in my vocabulary.

Ever.

“
Ohhh
, look who just decided to grace us with her presence,” a Mexican-accented voice cooed in delight.

There were a lot of the people who surrounded Fernando I couldn’t stomach but Lola had to be the worse.

As his “bottom bitch”—i.e., in not so ghetto speak, “main woman”—she strode around like she owned the place and everyone in it. She might have thought she had power but she didn’t have shit.

I’d known and felt Fernando’s love before. As sick as our present situation happened to be, he loved me even now. He still wanted me even though I’d been with another man for the last several years. He’d never felt any of those emotions for this woman and because I innately sensed this, I had a natural leg up in any situation that arose between the two of us.

Lola was the average Shakira wannabe. Of Mestizo origin on her mother’s side along with Lebanese and French ethnicity on her father’s, she possessed light olive skin, green eyes, which she assumed made it okay to die her raven black hair flaxen blonde with platinum highlights. Personally, she looked a hot mess but with a hairdresser and human hair extensions on-sight, she actually looked pretty good for her twenty-seven years.

If anything about the situation surprised me, it was the fact Fernando would even allow a woman as old as she was to be his main piece and the female he showed off at events and club openings. I suppose she was quite attractive if the “fake everything”-type of woman—from her hair to breast implants and an expert nose job—was a man’s type.

Still, Fernando’s words always echoed in my ears despite how much I tried to dissipate them. “You’re
every
man’s type with that gorgeous deep complexion, those complex amber eyes and beautiful face with a body to match. Don’t ever let any woman think she’s better than you because you
are
the cream of the crop.”

“Actually, to be honest, I was hoping to avoid you,” I finally snipped as we both strolled toward the dining room.

“Ha! That’s an impossible feat. Not when
Nando
has been keeping your bed warm at night and
neglecting
me. What does he see in you anyway?
You
, with your
dusky
complexion and surly attitude?” She glared my way with cool seaweed green eyes. “Still, it’s fuckin’ ‘Naomi this’ or ‘Naomi that.’ What the fuck? Is your
coochie
fur-lined or somethin’?”

“Fuck you, bitch.” I turned lethal eyes on her and all I wanted to do was grab her hair by the extensions and just start to yank until she yelped in shock. “You don’t know shit about me. Why you’re accusing me of having a fur-lined pussy, did it ever occur to you
Nando
goes on and on about me because I’m real? Nothing on me is phony . . . unlike some I am what I am. Actually, I’m very
proud
of my heritage.

“I never tried to bleach my skin or stay out of the sun,” I continued, digging the blade deeper. “I never swear up and down my ancestry is Spanish when anyone with half a brain knows there were a lot more Africans and Aztecs cultivating the land back then than Spaniards. I am proud of my Mestizo heritage the way I am proud of my black American heritage. I hide myself from no one.
 
Not even you—”

“How. Dare. You—”

“What? Accuse you of lying and perpetrating? You think people look at you and see Britney Spears or Jessica Simpson? No, they look at you and see a poor woman’s Christina Aguilera with green eyes and fake blonde hair. You can try to run from what you truly are but you can’t hide.”

“My father is Lebanese and French—”

I laughed out loud, cutting her off. “Funny how the Lebanese part comes first and my geography is pretty good. Last time I checked, Lebanon isn’t a part of Europe . . . but maybe you know more than I do. A
well educated
, Drug Enforcement Agent. In that case, please allow me to retort.

“Lebanon is not a part of France. In fact, they speak Arabic there—not French. It isn’t even a pseudo former colony like Algeria where they do, in fact, speak French. It’s nothing to France. You’re a Mexican woman who thinks just because her skin is fair, she is white and much better than a
mayate
like me. Newsflash—the Mexican part alone gets you a demotion in a place like the States.

“You think your people are better than mine because I happen to be part black? Who the fuck do you think the gringos are preparing for the underclass of the next generation? They need someone to watch their bratty little kids, clean their oversized
McMansions
and mow their fucking lawns. Good luck with being the new
slaves
, you cheap whore.”