Fury: Book 2 in the Vengeance MC series (12 page)

“How’d everything go last night with, Ree? You two work things out?”

“Not even fucking close,” I reply shortly.

I don’t bother waiting around to hear his response, pushing through the heavy oak doors that lead back into the hall, letting them slam shut behind me.

“You good, brother?” Gage questions from his position reclined against the wall.

“As good as can be expected when the woman I’m interested in isn’t talking to me, Bella’s up my ass trying to get hold of me every five minutes, and the motherfucker responsible for hurting innocent women is still roaming free.”

Chuckling, Gage shakes his head at me.

“Have you seen Jonas since you’ve been back?”

“Brother, I’ve barely had time to scratch myself, let alone catch up with that moody bastard. How’s he doing?” I ask, propping myself against the wall opposite him.

“Put it this way. If he was a moody prick before, he’s a fucking angry one now. You never know what you’re gonna get with him from one day to the next. We barely ever see him around these days, he’s either working or drinking himself into oblivion.”

“Jesus,” I hiss. “I’ll make sure to pay him a visit as soon as I can make the time. I’ve been thinking about getting some new ink anyway, so that’s as good a reason as any to drop in on him unannounced and get the lay of the land.”

Nodding his thanks, Gage slaps me on the shoulder.

“Well, I’m out of here. I’ve got shit to do.”

- Text from Fury to Avery

Watching my brother walk away, I think about everything that happened while I was gone. I didn’t expect for time to stand still, but I hadn’t realized just how much life moves forward when you’re stuck in the past.

My minds refusal to come into the present is part of the reason I hurt Avery so badly. All I could think of when I was out on the open road was where I’d gone wrong, how I’d fucked up my life, and what I could have done to prevent that shit from happening. I might not have been able to change the outcome of my family’s death, but my lifestyle – my choice to belong to an MC – was the cause of my wife and son’s murder.

If I’d chosen differently, maybe they’d be alive today. If I wasn’t selfish, only looking out for number one, me, there’s a good chance I’d be sending my son off to middle school next year, or teaching him how to throw a football now. More importantly, if I hadn’t been at the clubhouse drinking with my brothers, I would have been home to help Rosalie get the groceries out of her goddamn car, meaning she wouldn’t have been vulnerable and exposed in the first place.

It took one look at Avery, covered in blood, pale and limp for the images of Rosalie’s bullet-ridden body devoid of life to slam back into my consciousness. A split second of seeing the circular burns on Avery’s inner forearms that mimicked the entry points of each round that passed through my wife’s body to remind me of how fragile and fleeting life is.

That’s why I couldn’t bring myself to contact her. No matter how desperately I wanted to hear the sweet cadence of her voice and have her reassure me she was doing okay, it would have only taken the immediate sting out of not seeing her in person. Afterward, all the reasons for staying away would have come rushing back, only proving to me that reaching out was, in fact, the mistake I knew it would be.

It hasn’t escaped me that if I’d just told Avery all of this in the beginning, or even a few days ago, she would have forgiven me on the spot. But for obvious reasons, I can’t. I’m not the type of man to share his feelings. I don’t do sappy. And I fucking hate having to explain myself to anyone. What I did tell her should have been enough as far as I’m concerned.

What it all comes down to is this. I’m a biker. I’m perfectly happy with who I am and what I stand for. I don’t intend to change because I like my life exactly the way it is. In saying that, I’d lay down my life for Avery. I’ll comfort her when she’s hurting, protect her always, and if it’s in my power to give her something that’ll make her happy, I’ll do it.

I’m not a complete asshole. I know a relationship is about give and take, and with Avery, I know she wouldn’t settle for any less than a partnership. That was one of the many lessons being married to Rosalie taught me. After I’d fucked it all up, that is. But there’s a big difference between the relationship I had with my wife and the one I want to have with Avery.

Rosalie was beautiful, sweet and caring, but she was fragile. She didn’t have a backbone or challenge me. Not once did she question the decisions I made, even the ones which affected her. If I said it was club business, she didn’t push to see if I’d disclose any more, she’d just nod, smile and then walk away. At the time, I thought that was what I wanted – what my ideal woman would be like. I was fucking wrong.

Her easy agreement to everything got old, fast. We hadn’t even been married six months before I realized that the spark was missing from our relationship. Not that I wanted to fight with Rosalie, but a sign she was willing to fight for
me
, for
us
if it came down to that would have been nice.

Life with Rosalie was comfortable. When I gave her the option of working or staying at home while I supported us, she was all for being a housewife. Her choice didn’t bother me in the slightest. I earned enough from my cut of the clubs’ income to provide us with a more than comfortable lifestyle, and that was without my regular pay for the hours I put in at the garage.

My wife cleaned, shopped, made sure dinner was ready when I got home, baked, and created a home for us. She didn’t pay bills, visit with friends, or spend time at the clubhouse like most of the other old ladies. In fact, Rosalie avoided the MC like the plague.

When I met and fell in love with her, I hadn’t been paying attention to whether or not she’d be comfortable spending time with my brothers. I was young, blind and stupid. Back then, my thoughts revolved getting laid regularly, drinking, riding and my brothers. I wasn’t out looking to hook my star to a woman, so when Rosalie stumbled into my life, I was too blindsided by her beauty and innocence and the fact she’d even consider being with a man like me to be worried about anything else.

By the time I did, it was too late because Rosalie had already gotten under my skin and imprinted herself on my heart. Boss warned me, as did my brothers that were married or had old ladies, that she wasn’t right for me. Rosalie wasn’t old lady material, but I was just too fucking selfish to cut her loose.

This is where I want to be able to tell you I loved my wife with every fiber of my being. I wish with everything I am that was true, but it’s not. Did I love Rosalie? Absolutely. Was I in love with her? If you’d asked me that for the first twelve months after her death, I would have unequivocally said yes. But now? I know I wasn’t. Not the way I should have been. And I know this because what I feel for Avery is so much more. So much more intense.

Avery is a pain in my ass. She challenges me daily, and I fucking love it. Avery’s sense of humor matches mine and watching her absorb everything life has to offer is fucking beautiful to witness. Add to that, Avery’s strength, determination, unwillingness to let people walk all over her, and her huge heart and you have the perfect woman. And that’s before even touching on how fucking gorgeous she is.

With long, wavy brown hair and sparkling green eyes, and at five-foot-three her head barely grazes my chin. I swear her body was created to fulfill men’s fantasies. She’s the perfect mix of toned limbs with curves in all the right places.  Her ass is round, full as are her tits, which I know from just looking at them would fill my huge hands.

Avery is the woman men envisage when they jerk themselves off. Sexy and confident, but with an air of innocence that makes a man want to own her, possess her; claim as his. Avery isn’t the type of woman you fuck and flick; she screams commitment. It’s written all over her.

But the biggest difference between Avery and ninety-nine percent of women, that includes Rosalie is she understands my lifestyle. She was born and raised in it.

There are women out there that want to fuck a biker for a night. They go out searching for one with the intention of taking a walk on the wild side, so that when the sun comes up they can go home to their friends and brag about it. I don’t have anything against those types of women as long as they know what they’re in for.

Some women think they know what being involved with a biker entails when really they don’t have the first fucking clue. They get clingy, demanding, and most of the time, they don’t last long enough to see the end of their first club party. I’m not sure why these women believe after they’ve picked a biker up at a bar, he fucks them, promises to call and then doesn’t that signals relationship because it doesn’t. It screams cheap, easy, available pussy when he can’t be bothered to take care of his cock himself.

Club whores are a different kettle of fish altogether. They know what they’re getting themselves into when they agree to become club property. All of them understand they’ll never become old ladies and they’ll be passed around the members’ like a game of pass the parcel. Not many women are capable of fucking without an emotional connection, so these women are few and far between.

I’ve had my fair share of the first and second group, but there’s only one club whore I’ve stuck my dick in. I don’t relish the idea the woman I’m fucking has been with all of my brothers, possibly as recently as hours earlier.

Speaking of which, my bedroom door cracks open and Sam pops her head around the corner asking,

“You up for some company, Fury?”

I haven’t had sex since the week before Avery was kidnapped, so while I’d like to relieve my frustrations and get rid of the worst case of blue balls I’ve ever had, using Sam’s tight, little body to do, it won’t be happening. Tonight, or any other night.

“Not interested, babe,” I grunt from my position on the bed.

I came in here to get away from everyone an hour ago when the party ratcheted up a notch and started getting too fucking crazy for my liking. I’m all for the club whores using the stripper pole in the main room to put a show on for the brothers, alcohol flowing freely and joints being passed around, that shit is all in good fun. But when stripping turns into clumsy, drunken lap dances being given by women who don’t know the meaning of the words “fuck off,” I’m out.

“It’s been more than a year since I’ve had a ride on that massive cock of yours, and I’ve missed you, Fury,” Sam pouts, batting her eyelashes at me.

“I said, not interested, Sam. Go find, Sly. I’m sure he’d love a piece of your sweet ass.”

Leaning against the door frame, Sam pushes her chest out, her tits all but spilling over the top of her tiny, ripped tank top. The denim miniskirt she’s wearing just covers the generous swell of her ass, and the fuck me heels she’s wearing, which at one point I thought looked good on her now only make me see Sam for what she really is. A woman in her late twenties whose bottle-blonde hair is limp and dull, trying desperately to fit into clothes two sizes too small for her. Her makeup is caked on, the fake tan she applies patchy and uneven, and the blood red nail polish she wears on her fingers is chipped.

If Sam put some effort into her appearance, bought clothes which fit her and took care of herself better, she’d still be an attractive woman. A well-used woman, but still pretty enough to attract attention. However, now, she just looks like a tramp. Not to mention, old beyond her years.

“Sly’s great, Fury, but he isn’t you. No one fucks me as well as you do. I’ve been waiting for you to get home so I can show you how much you’ve been missed around here.”

This bitch just won’t give up. I don’t usually make a habit out of disrespecting women – even one’s who are around for the sole purpose of fucking – but if Sam doesn’t fuck off soon she’ll see a side of me I don’t show many.

Someone clears their throat behind her, which has Sam’s head snapping around to see who it is.

“What the fuck do you want? Can’t you see we’re busy here?”

A feminine snort sounds, followed by,

“Ah, not sure if you heard him, honey, but he isn’t buying what you’re selling. Actually, I think you’d have more luck giving it away. Oh, wait. You already do, don’t you?”

“You fucking bitch,” Sam screeches.

Avery’s laugh is loud and long, petering off when she says,

“Seriously, I know a few men out there who would find a better use for your mouth than speaking, so why don’t you go and find one of them to infect with whatever petri dish of diseases you’re carrying?”

Swinging her head in my direction, Sam props a hand on her hip and narrows her eyes, demanding,

“Aren’t you going to do anything about that? You can’t just let her talk to me like that, Fury. Do something.

That’s where she’s wrong. I absolutely can.

“Nothing to do, Sam. I told you I wasn’t interested.”

Turning back to, Avery, Sam glares at her, snapping,

“I don’t know what anyone sees in you. You’re nothing but a stuck up biker brat who doesn’t recognize when she’s overstayed her welcome.”

“I feel sorry for you, I really do,” Avery quips. “It has to be hard to accept at your age your usefulness expires with what’s between your legs. No matter, I’m sure there’s plenty of guys out there who would still be interested in your limited charms.”

In the blink of an eye, Sam raises her hand and slaps Avery cross the face. Jumping off the bed, I’m across the room roughly yanking Sam away from Avery, slamming her back up against the wall.

“If you ever lay a fucking hand on her again, I will kill you myself,” I growl, shaking her so hard Sam’s head snaps back connecting with the wall behind her.

She doesn’t bother to defend herself. Sam knows the rules when it comes to this shit and she doesn’t have a leg to stand on.