VENDETTA: A Bad Boy, Motorcycle Club Romance (18 page)

Emily

I’d just put my bloody sundress back on when a knock sounded on the door.

“Come in,” I said, grabbing my sweater and pulling it over my chilled arms. The door opened to reveal a man with thick dark hair liberally peppered with gray. His arms were still strong and ropey and his face was enough like Flash’s that I knew immediately who he was.

“I’m Bill,” he said, extending a hand to shake mine, which he did with a very soft grip, in deference to the bruises he saw on my face, I’m sure.

“Emily.” I took his measure, studying his kind, worn face. He had smile lines and full cheeks.

“I haven’t seen you in years,” he said, gesturing for me to take a seat. “You’ve grown into a very lovely young woman.”

“Thank you,” I said. The urge to slam him with questions about my past was ever-present, but I had a feeling this was a man who got to things in his own time. Hurrying him wouldn’t get me anywhere. The only thing I could do was wait for him to tell me the truth of my own life.

“Do you want me to tell you what I know?”

“Yes, please,” I said, and then he started the story that broke up my life and put it together in a new pattern.

“Rafael Deleon was Manuel’s brother, and he was the leader of the cartel after their father died. Manuel was always jealous, because he felt he was the better leader. He was reckless where Rafael was cautious, full of ideas that fizzled out, and always just a little off. My father worked with Rafael’s father, and it was only natural that his older son and I trusted each other as we got older. Rafael and I were business associates…and friends.

Two decades ago, Rafael began to grow paranoid. He hired people to protect him, even at home. People tasted his food for him—and at the time, I thought he was going mad. Later I found out that he’d almost died from drinking drugged wine. The biggest surprise, though, was something he told me when he called me down to inspect new processing facilities with him.

Rafael wasn’t the kind of drug lord you see in movies at all. His employees were well cared-for and he abhorred violence. He only sold to trusted sources who weren’t junkies themselves. While he didn’t make as much as some of the other cartels, his business slowly ramped up until he was generating an enormous amount of profit—without the relentless danger that plagued others. So I expected a tour of a new, clean place for his workers to do their jobs.

Instead I was at a secret wedding. Rafael had fallen in love with one of his housekeepers and decided to marry her. Not willing to put her life on the line, he kept it secret. Rosaline—your mother—looked at him like he’d put the stars in the sky. It was the same for him.

Then a year later, you were born.

Rosaline put it about that you were the son of a laborer who’d gone to the United States, because Rafael knew that you would be his greatest weakness. But he loved you too much, and Manuel began to suspect.

One night, someone broke into the nursery and tried to take you. Rafael killed the man, who he didn’t recognize, but he believed that it was Manuel that sent him. He couldn’t be sure—but if Manuel suspected that you were his child, it would be a death sentence.

Rosaline couldn’t bear the idea of losing you, but Rafael wouldn’t walk away from the cartel. He knew that to remove a stable leader—the last in the bloodline, except Manuel or Santiago, who was already wrong in the head—would send the organization into chaos and warfare. Dismantling it was discussed, but ultimately rejected. It would take too long and by then you’d be old enough that you wouldn’t remember them if they sent you away. Rosaline would say that you died of a fever.

He confided this to me so that I would help find you adoptive parents. Though he’d hoped to leave his child the cartel and his business, both your parents felt it was more important for you to have a life where you were safe and protected. So my wife, Flash and I drove to Mexico City on a fake vacation, took a detour, picked you up and brought you to your new parents.”

“Rosaline is my mother.” Reeling from his story, I sat back. My stomach flipped as I remembered the sad-eyed women who’d tended me the night Santiago almost killed me. Santiago. My own cousin. I’d murdered my only cousin.

“Flash told me you met her at Manuel’s villa.”

“I didn’t know…”

“She must have,” he said. “My wife says that she’d recognize Flash, even if she hadn’t seen him in seventeen years.”

Remembering how I dismissed her from the room, I paled. I could feel the blood drain from my face. “I barely spoke to her.”

“Seeing you probably was enough. Knowing you made it out alive with Flash was all she could want.”

“Oh, god.” It was too much, too quickly. Bending forward, I started to cry in great, heaving gasps. Flash’s father moved to sit next to me. “I had a mother,” I said. “One who was still alive. And all these years with Dale, I thought no one wanted me. Loved me.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t save you,” Bill said, wrapping an arm around me. “We’d have come for you if we’d known. We thought disconnecting from you was an extra layer of protection between who you were and who you are now.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said, trying to stifle my tears. “It’s just…I wish I knew them.”

“You might still get a chance to know her,” he said.

“How did Manuel know I was with Dale?”

“The best we’ve been able to deduce is that Dale found out when he adopted you.  Your paperwork was fake, but there were pictures of your parents and a letter from them that I gave your adoptive parents. He must have seen them, understood what it meant and contacted Manuel. Delivering the one person who could displace him would certainly make Manuel more inclined to give Dale whatever it was he wanted.”

I remembered moving out to Malibu and how Dale started to ask me questions I didn’t have the answers to. It seemed like he was finally taking an interest in me, asking for my earliest memories. The only one I had that seemed out of place was of a strong man lifting me up so I could pick an apple.
Was that my father
?

“But why sell me out to him?”

“Maybe he wanted something only Manuel could give him. Wider distribution. Protection from Piston.”

“He could have given me up years ago,” I pointed out.

“You started turning a profit.”

“Until I told him I was leaving for college.” Everything became startlingly, painfully clear. “Then my life wasn’t worth anything to him anymore, so he sold me out.”

“I’m sorry, Emily.”

“It’s not your fault. Will you tell me about my biological parents?”

“Yes,” he said. Sitting back, he started to tell me about the man and woman who’d given me life and then given me up.

Flash

I didn’t like leaving Emily, even with my Dad. Not knowing what I knew now.

But he could tell her what she needed to know, and my woman needed space to hear it. Restraining myself with promises that I’d hold her as soon as she walked out of the room, I sat back on the couch and drummed my fingers on my jeans. Waiting was fucking intolerable.

“Things went well between you and Emily, I take it?” Jackson said, plopping down next to me. I glared at his cheerful tone.

“Good enough.” The full color details weren’t something I was going to share with my brothers. “I’m keeping her.”

“What about her friend? He’s still fucking up one of the guest rooms.”

“Once it’s out of his system, throw him in rehab. Emily told me more about him last night and he might be a half-decent guy if we can get him clean.” Plus, she’d be happier to know he was on the right path.

“What do you care about getting him clean?”

“I don’t,” I admitted. “I care about her.”

Jackson nodded. “I’m going to get a drink. You want?”

“Whiskey.”

He crossed the room and picked up a bottle from the bar, splashing a little in a tumbler for me. Carrying it back, he handed it to me and I drained it. The burn helped focus my mind. I had to wait until the girl upstairs was ready for me. Charging up there like a raging bull wasn’t going to make this any easier on her.

A few minutes later, I heard a door open and close, then she walked down the steps. She was more beautiful than the first time I’d seen her, all golden skin and long, wavy hair. Knowing her now—the sly, clever parts of her—made me want her even more. Like a lion stalking his mate, I followed her with my eyes as she descended. When she spotted me on the couch, her eyes welled with tears.

Just like that, I was up and moving to her. I picked her up before she could step off the last stair.

“It’s going to be okay, Emmy.”

“Rosaline is my biological mother,” she said, sobbing into my shoulder. The hot wetness of her tears on my shirt shredded me. “I didn’t know. I was right there with her and I didn’t know.”

“She’ll understand,” I promised, rubbing her back. “There’s no way you could have known. I’ll bring her here for you. You can spend as much time as you want getting to know her.”

“But what about my mom? My mom who died? I loved her.”

“I know, baby. You can love both of them.”

“I feel so torn,” she said, her shudders slowing. She burrowed deeper into my arms without restraint and I carried her to the couch, sinking down with her in my lap. She nuzzled against me and I shot a glare at some prospects who’d wandered in. Wide-eyed, they headed for the game room, leaving us alone in the lounge.

“Why?”

“I’ve always been alone, Flash. No one ever really loved me for me, except my parents who died before I really knew what it meant to have a family. Now I might have another mother, who your father is telling me loved me just as much. I don’t know what do to with that.”

“The only thing you can. Stay here and let us decide how to deal with Manuel.” I wasn’t letting her within one hundred miles of the man.

“What if they decide to give me to him?”

“They won’t. We’re talking about it tonight, but it’s a done deal.”

“Why? They don’t owe me anything.”

“Because I claimed you,” I told her, and her eyes went wide. “From the first day I spent with you, I knew you were it for me. You’re one of us now and every man here will die to protect you.”

“I don’t want anyone else to die for me.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that someone always dies in wars like this. The only question was whether the first volley would come from our side or theirs.

A few hours later, I got my answer.

Emily was eating a waffle and talking to my mother when I heard the pounding on the door. Jackson went to answer it, his face twisted with confusion. Most people who have cause to visit during the day just walk in. Looking through the window, confusion turned to rage. He flung it open.

“What the fuck?” he roared, grabbing the body that fell forward into his arms. It was a mess of entrails and blood that spilled over him, but he was blind to that. Grabbing the dead man and lowering him to the ground, he touched his face. “Mudd?”

“Fuck,” Piston erupted, pushing past the two men and racing after the guys who were running back to the truck parked at the end of the block.

“Go upstairs,” I snapped to my mother, then headed after Piston. He was already ahead of me, running hard. Manuel chose the wrong men for the job, because they weren’t fast enough to get to the van before he grabbed the greasy ponytail of the first man and slammed him into the sidewalk before continuing after the other.

By the time I reached the first man, Piston was already on top of the second, punching him in the face. I grabbed ponytail and marched him back into the club. Mom had done as I’d said and taken Emily upstairs. Pulling open the basement door, we went down the stairs and I had him tied up before he’d fully regained his senses.

I’d never wanted to kill someone more.

“Please,” he said, then coughed and spit blood. “We’re just the messengers.”

“Shut up,” I snapped, driving my fist into his face. Leaving him alone in the dark, I walked up the stairs to help Jackson take our fallen brother’s body inside the clubhouse.

It was two hours before Mudd was taken care of and Piston was calm enough to start the interrogation. The men he’d pummeled were still alive and both were bound at the same table in the basement. After seeing the mashed face of the man Piston caught second, I was surprised he was able to speak.

“What happened?” Piston said. The two men exchanged a look, and I grabbed Ponytail’s chair and turned it so they couldn’t see each other.

“I’ll ask again,” Piston said. “What happened?”

Neither spoke. This was going to get worse before it got better.

“You’re both going to die,” he said, looking down at his hands. “There’s no doubt about that. You killed a member of The Fallen.”

“Then why would we bother to talk?” the other man said.

“Because one of you is going to die slowly,” I chimed in. “The other one will be dead before he realizes what’s happening.”

Ponytail started shaking, his skin pale and clammy, while the other fucker just looked confused. “Let us go and I’ll tell you anything,” he said.

“No.” Piston’s voice rang out like a gunshot. “Not happening. Die fast or die slow. That’s the only choice you have. What happened?”

Silence reigned for another moment, then Ponytail started babbling. “Manuel found out that the man was checking our operations. He saw the arena. He saw the women.”

“What arena?” I asked at the same time Piston said, “What women?”

“A lot of the workers left,” he said, spitting out another mouthful of blood. I rose to stand behind him, leaning against the wall. “Rafael’s enforcers have been defecting. We needed new people.”

“And?”

“He went into one of those bullshit middle of nowhere villages up in the mountains. Herded the people onto a bus. They fought in the arena. The winners stayed to work for us.”

Manuel’s insane
.

“What about the women?”

“You can make almost as much money from women as you can from white horse,” he said, “and Manuel didn’t see any reason to split the profits.”

“Anything else?” Piston nodded at me and I stood up, moved to stand behind the man. He didn’t notice, because his lips were still spilling useless words.

“No, no,” he said. “The man, he was creeping around and they killed him.”

“Why bring his body back over the border?”

“He was still alive coming up,” Ponytail said, hanging his head. “Got killed close, where the others are.” That meant Mudd had known what was going to happen for days before he met his end. Rage boiled through me and my fingers flexed, ready to kill.

“What others? You failed to mention that.”

“Figured you knew. Soliders. Word is, you’ve got the girl Manuel wants. They’re down at the flophouse in South Central.”

Rage
.

“Near Normandie?” Piston asked. When Ponytail confirmed it, Piston nodded once. I reached out and snapped the man’s neck before he knew what was happening.

“Jackson?” Piston called out. He’d forbid the man from coming to the interrogation. He and Mudd patched in together and were like blood brothers. Losing him was going to be difficult.

He shuffled down the stairs, then straightened when he saw the remaining man.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Whatever you want. Keep him alive until we get back from South Central.”

“Why South Central?” Jackson asked, but he was already eyeing a hammer hanging on the wall.

“We’re going to put down a few cartel fuckers,” I said. Piston and I left him in the basement. The other man was already screaming before we closed the door.