Fury: Book 2 in the Vengeance MC series (6 page)

“Strange how?” I question, intrigued.

Shrugging her shoulders, Bella goes on to explain,

“I can’t put my finger on it, but it was kind of like Fury was pretending to be someone he wasn’t for her. Like he was one man with the club, and another outside of it if that makes sense.”

“Mmhmm,” I mumble non-committedly because it really doesn’t.

“Let’s put it this way. Have you ever seen Boss and Beth in the same room when she isn’t attached to his side like a Siamese twin, or on his lap like a leg warmer?” She asks.

Thinking about it, no, I haven’t.

“Ah, that would be a negatory,” I quip.

“Exactly,” Bella exclaims with a flourish. “Fury and Rosalie weren’t like that. He held her hand, sat her next to him but with inches of space between them, and he never kissed or hugged her. Well, not in front of anyone that is. It was weird. All the guys in the club are touchy-feely. Whether it’s with the hang around’s, the women they bring back for the night, or their old ladies, they’re always physically demonstrative with them, but not Fury. He showed more emotion toward the club’s Cactus which died from lack of care two days after someone bought it than he did toward his wife. So, you tell me? If that doesn’t scream strange, I don’t know what does.”

I mull that over for a moment before replying,

“Sure, it’s odd, but I don’t think you can assess someone’s relationship based on what you’ve seen at a few club parties. Apparently, he loved her or he wouldn’t have married her. Maybe she was shy or didn’t like PDA. But whatever reason he wasn’t all over her, I don’t think that’s an iron clad reason to deem their relationship weird, Bell.”

“Maybe not, but what about him not crying at her funeral? That’s fucking messed up, Avery, and not even you can refute that.”

She’s right, I can’t, but everyone grieves in their own way.

“I see what you’re getting at, but I think you’re way off base. From the stories I can recall, Rosalie was buried three days after she died. Fury was probably still in shock, which would account for his lack of emotion that day. We don’t know how he coped afterward. Like you said, he was gone for months. Maybe he used that time to grieve for her. But this is getting off topic, Bell,” I say trying to guide the conversation back to Fury’s homecoming instead. “He’s home, and who knows for how long. Your friendship with him isn’t my business and I don’t want to get in the middle of it, but I think you need to talk to him. If this is how you feel, tell him.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Bella grins evilly.

“Keep me out of it, though,” I reply wearily. “You and he sort your shit, but do it without dragging me into it. I’ve got enough of my own problems I don’t need to be dealing with ones you’ve created because you can’t mind your own business,” I warn.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it,” Bella says way too cheerily. “You look out for you, and I’ll deal with him.”

Famous last words. And I have a feeling they will come back to bite me in the ass sooner rather than later.

Riding back into the clubhouse forecourt peace I hadn’t found while on the road hits me with the force of a Mack truck. At the same time, a sense of foreboding washes over me, scoring deep.

I hadn’t planned on being gone for so long, a month – maybe two at most – not nine. But when I left, I just couldn’t bring myself to turn around and come home. Why? I’ve got a few ideas, but none of them are sitting well with me and I didn’t want to dig into it while I was gone. Now, though? Now, I’m not going to have a choice. I’m going to be forced to deal with my demons whether I want to or not.

By the time I’d just crossed the Kansas-Missouri border, I knew I’d need more time to clear my head than originally planned. I wasn’t running, per se – you couldn’t outrun demons like mine – but I did need to put distance and time between myself and everyone who’d been enabling me for years.

See, the way I figure it is, when a brother falls, his club and his family are there to pick him up again. But with me, the club and my brothers hadn’t let me fall, they’d been there to ensure that didn’t happen, and because of that, I hadn’t ever had the come to Jesus moment I’d so desperately needed.

I’m not saying I’m not grateful they were there for me, shit, that’s why I joined Vengeance. Brotherhood. Loyalty. Respect. But back then, I needed to fall. I needed to falter so that I could get back up a stronger man. A man ready to heal. A man ready to face his grief and move on. But that hadn’t happened, and it left me lost.

From Missouri, I rode through Arkansas, and Oklahoma before stopping in New Mexico for a spell.

I got a call from a buddy of mine, Leo, who was running an underground fight circuit in, Albuquerque wanting to know if I wanted a piece of his action. It was easy money since fights were only five rounds, each round lasting two and a half minutes, with a maximum two matchups a night. If that wasn’t enough incentive, the guaranteed two large per fight was.

Four months after I started raking in the cash – four grand a night, three nights a week was nothing to sneeze at – Leo’s cash cow was shut down during an FBI raid. Thank fuck I hadn’t been there that night. I didn’t have any priors in my jacket, but the last thing the club or I needed was for me to go down as an accessory and end up in a Mexican border jail for my troubles.

Leo’s right-hand man, Dixon, and a few of his other lackeys were arrested, along with whoever was on the docket to fight that night, but somehow Leo made it out without getting pinched.

I made it my business to stay out of everyone else’s, so I have no fucking clue who was pinched, but I assume they’ll all be doing a nice long stretch together. The FBI tends to look down on profiting from illegal gambling since the IRS isn’t getting its cut, and the organizer refuses to pay to have agents in his back pocket.

After that close call, it was time to move on. I had a shit ton of cash, my bike, and a whole lot of road calling my name so it was an easy decision to pack up and find somewhere else to hole up for a while.

I did a stint in Las Vegas, playing blackjack, making bank. I’ve always been good with numbers, so cards, and counting them came naturally to me. Needless to say, casinos don’t take too kindly to that sort of shit, and they’re a lot less friendly than your neighborhood FBI agents.

I wasn’t there two months before I’d been blacklisted from eight of the top ten casinos, and I figured I’d be pushing my luck at the other two so again, I up and moved on.

Coming home was always on the agenda. I’d been avoiding Boss’ calls for weeks when he finally got hold of me, telling me to get my ass on my bike and home. He was done being patient, and I didn’t blame him.

When I’d asked for time, he was understanding. He got why I couldn’t hang around and watch Avery put herself back together again and not help. She had made it clear she didn’t need me there, and I was more than happy to back the fuck off and give her the time she was asking for.

I may have misspoken when I said Boss understood why I needed to take off for a while. The truth is; it was that or I was going nomad. He knew it and chose to give me the time instead. That isn’t to say my freedom was given without conditions, however.

The club had a lot of shit to worry about after rescuing the girls. We were on the verge of war with Hells Riders – honestly, we were at war, they just didn’t know it yet – and we were still hunting for several men who were involved their capture. On top of that, Boss was forging ahead with the plans to expand the clubs’ legit business, buying a rundown motel with a bar attached on the outskirts of town. Needless to say, my absence was going to put a strain on manpower.

After agreeing to Boss’s conditions, the first of which was if shit hit the fan I’d come home immediately, and secondly, I’d check in often, he gave his blessing. Not all of my brothers were so accommodating, but I didn’t expect they would be. Very few of them knew the whole story surrounding how I lost my wife, and if it’s up to me, they never will.

Eventually, I received the call I’d been waiting on – truthfully, I thought it’d come sooner. Boss was getting impatient seeing as I’d been gone so long, and he said as much when I finally picked up the phone.

“You’ve got my respect, brother, but it’s time for you to get on home now. You’ve got responsibilities here, not just to the club, but to your family. So, get your ass on your bike, gas her up, and ride your ass into the forecourt by Friday. We’ll be waiting.” And with that, he disconnected the call.

That was Wednesday. Don’t ask me how Boss knew I’d be able to make it back by Friday because I don’t know. I wouldn’t put it past him to have gotten, Sly to track my cell, or put GPS on my bike before I left.

Swinging my leg off my bike after backing it in, I walk through the front door like I’d never been gone. By the number of bikes in the lot, I knew everyone was here, but I hadn’t expected the welcome home I got. Not even close.

“Motherfucker,” Gage growls.

Pulling his fist back, he lets go and connects with the hinge of my jaw. Sly, Dirty, Cash, and Boss are looking on with wry grins on their faces and I know then they aren’t going to be stepping in to stop this.

I easily dodge his second and third swing, spinning right I use one foot to take his legs out from under him asking,

“You done?”

“Not even fucking close,” he grunts, pushing himself up off the floor.

Five minutes later, covered in sweat with blood leaking from my nose, I grunt,

“You good now?”

Gage fared worse than I did with a split lip, black eye, and I’m willing to bet one if not two cracked ribs. Using the back of his hand to wipe the free-flowing blood from the side of his mouth, he replies,

“Yeah, all good. Welcome home, brother.”

“Well, thank fuck for that,” I rumble. “Now, what does a man have to do to get a drink around here?”

*****

A couple of hours and several bottles of bourbon later, Boss signals for Gage and I to follow him to his office. At this point, I can barely fucking walk so I hope he isn’t expecting any kind of intelligent conversation out of me. It’s safe to assume, I drank more than my fair share of the alcohol we’ve consumed so far, and if it weren't for this interruption, I’d still be drinking.

Taking a seat across from him breaking the silence, I ask,

“What couldn’t wait till tomorrow?”

Boss reclines in his desk chair, Gage to my right, stating,

“Right, we’ll get this done quick so you can get back to communing, but there are a few things you need to be caught up on. This won’t come as a surprise, but we’ve had a few developments and the balance of power has shifted. Vasquez cartel isn’t an issue for us, but you knew that before you left, and in the few conversations we’ve had since, I kept you updated on that front. But what you don’t know is that we’ve come to a stalemate with Hells Riders.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I didn’t know you were even in talks with them,” I growl, shifting in my seat restlessly.

“We’re not,” Boss snaps. “Nix and I had a sit-down months ago, which went as you’d expect it would. He asked for shit it isn’t in my power to give and he wasn’t willing to negotiate. We ended the meet in opposing corners which is where we’ve been ever since. Nix is hell-bent on expanding his territory, and with the cartel backing out of their deal after what went down in their warehouse, to say he’s pissed would be a huge fucking understatement.”

“He wants three miles around Hells Riders clubhouse, the stretch of I-90 west to the border, and our word that we won’t get in between him and negotiating whatever deals he’s got in the works,” Gage interjects.

“I assume you told him to fuck off?” I ask seriously.

Chuckling, Boss gives me a wolfish grin, replying,

“You don’t need to assume, brother, I can confirm it. I don’t know what he was thinking asking me that shit, but I set him straight on a few things. The first of which is that I’m not land management, so I can’t give him shit. If he wants the miles around his clubhouse, he’s either got to buy them or go to war for them, and we all know he’s not in the position to do that. Nix might think he’s got sway in these parts, but even the residents of Shady Oaks Retirement Village know better.”

Gage lets out a bark of laughter as do I because he’s not wrong.

“Has there been any blowback from Markham’s Dad?” I ask, curious if the bastard has even noticed his son’s gone missing.

“Not a fucking thing, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing,” Boss admits.

“Why is that? As far as I can tell there was no love lost between those two to begin with. Dear old Dad is probably fucking ecstatic we cleaned up his mess for him,” I suggest.

Shaking his head, Gage replies,

“Old money like that? I wouldn’t count on it, Fury. He might not have been his son’s number one fan, but he was an only child. Those sorts are big on legacy and heirs to the kingdom. Don’t doubt he’s noticed his boy is missing, and it’s only a matter of time before he comes looking for him. He won’t find him, but that doesn’t mean he won’t look and while he is, he’ll bring the long arm of the law with him.”

“Have we got a strategy to deal with that if and when it happens?”

“Not as such,” Boss returns. “He was a sick fuck, and seeing as the only person who can confirm he was even here is sharing the same unmarked grave with him, I’m relatively certain whatever Markham brings with him won’t be enough to uncover that.”

Letting that sink in for a minute, I ask,

“What else? That shit could have waited, so I figure there’s more or we wouldn’t be having this sit-down.”

“Yeah, there’s more and what I’m about to tell you, you’re not going to like,” Boss answers shortly.

“Are we going to sit here and stare at each other or are you going to tell me?” I question just as tersely.

Before he speaks, I know it isn’t going to be good. The air in the room goes wired with an undercurrent of tension.

“It’s been months, Fury, and while I get why you needed to go nomad that doesn’t mean life didn’t keep moving forward.”

“I know that,” I grimace. “I didn’t intend on being gone as long as I was, but I can’t say I’m sorry I was.”

“And I’m not asking you to. Shit,” Boss groans. “I’m not sure it’s my business to share this with you, but because you’re my brother I’m going to. Don’t make me sorry I did, though,” he warns poignantly.

“Can’t promise you anything if I don’t know what’s going on, Boss.”

“She took the time to heal, brother. Up until a month or so back, we thought she was still doing that, but it seems she’s been dealing better than any of us imagined.”

“That’s good, right?” I ask looking at them confused.

“Yeah, it’s good. But what’s not is that she’s started dating again,” Gage replies quietly.

She’s fucking what? Oh, hell no. They better not be saying what I think they are or heads are going to fucking roll, but before I can say a word, Boss intervenes.