Victory Rising

Victory Rising

A
Heroes and Rogues
Story

By Destiny Blaine

Resplendence Publishing, LLC

http://www.resplendencepublishing.com

Victory Rising
Copyright © 2012 Destiny Blaine
Edited by Jessica Bimberg and Venus Cahill
Cover art by Les Byerley

Published by Resplendence Publishing, LLC
2665 N Atlantic Avenue, #349
Daytona Beach, FL 32118

Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-544-1

Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Electronic Release: August 2012

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

For Brent

Prologue

Wartburg, Tennessee
Morgan County Correctional Complex

There was something about the clanging of metal bars as they jangled in place. The thick floor-to-ceiling rods slowly glided to one side then slipped out of sight, locked in a final resting spot deep inside a thick barrier wall, a divider designed to separate those inside from others just like them. The outside world lay beyond concrete, brick, and mortar. Secure gates and rolls of barbwire fencing served as a reminder to all visitors.

He or she was entering a well-guarded institution.

Victory imagined the inmates held at the Morgan County Correctional Complex refused to think about what extended farther than the prison yard. Oh no, the occupants had other worries, like keeping one eye open at all times. Conflicts stirred in abundance without an outlet for anger, and those who’d already stood as the accused rarely felt remorse.

She’d been here before. Not exactly in this specific facility, but one similar, and regardless of the hype promoting new modern-day premises, prisons were all the same, and Victory knew all about the confines of separation.

Incarceration served the purpose of alienating those whom society feared, of barricading men who didn’t have a chance in hell of ever receiving a fair shake again. Once here, they’d trod across the line of division. They were in no man’s land. Depending on the crimes the prisoner had committed, some of their victims would like to think the perpetrators would die in this Godforsaken place.

Most of the fellows didn’t deserve a second chance anyway.

Her father hadn’t. And Damsel Road sure as hell wasn’t entitled to another try at living a reformed life. His arrogance served as proof enough. He would never change.

Damsel had been sentenced for second-degree murder. The judge had allowed Damsel’s step-daughter to testify at his trial where she’d spoken of her abused years, of leading a life as a molestation victim.

Now, there wouldn’t be a judge or jury powerful enough to stop the sentence Damsel would face if the prison system let him slip through the cracks. If he saw freedom again, he’d only enjoy his independence for a minute. An eye for an eye and a hide for a hide, that was how men like Damsel lived, and it was how they often summoned their demise.

Damsel said he’d walk out of lockup one way or another. After his conviction, Victory had imagined a body bag with his name scribbled across the top.

Damsel’s beloved brotherhood, the motorcycle club that had once protected him, wouldn’t welcome him home, if he were ever released. Some believed the Devil’s Angels members would enjoy the opportunity to exert proper revenge for a child they hadn’t acknowledged, a woman who should’ve been considered one of their own.

On top of the criminal past his step-daughter had revealed at his trial, Damsel Road had killed Addison Amos, which was why he’d stood as the accused in the first place. While Addison had been a slut, and Victory would give her that much since Addison had worn the title proudly, she hadn’t deserved death. Damsel had killed her because she’d been seeing rival club leader Devon Kardashian, a huge disgrace in the MC since Addison belonged to the Devil’s Angels. Damsel had been Victory’s old man, but he’d been sleeping with Addison also.

The club leaders often fooled around with other broads. Infidelity was practically a tradition in the MC culture.

In their world, anyone in the MC could help themselves to what the club members called their broads or sheep. Addison had been the club’s sheep, their coveted shared woman. She was dead because she’d crossed the line and played with a rival club president. Victory couldn’t blame her there. Addison had chosen one hell of a man, and some said Devon had actually loved her. Whether he had or hadn’t wasn’t a factor. Most women considered time with Devon as time well spent.

I should know. I once played in his bed, too.

A buzzer resounded and jarred Victory from her thoughts. She looked up at the cameras, staring into the unknown. On the other side of the checkpoint, a burly fellow said, “Walk forward. Wait here.”

Following the instructions, Victory stood between two sets of bars. Best she could tell? Damsel was precisely where he belonged, caged like an animal, forgotten like a beheaded pauper after living like a king.

Victory’s father had spent most of his life in a prison facility. In fact, he’d died at Brushy Mountain State Penitentiary. Upon the Brushy Mountain closing in 2009, prisoners had been transferred to Morgan County Correctional Complex. If her father had lived, he would’ve served out the remainder of his life with Damsel Road, the man she’d once loved.

“Victory?”

Damsel’s evil voice curled her toes. The undeniable sound of metal raking against the floor alerted her to a chair being dragged from one spot to another.

She slowly turned on her heels. Facing the devil took a lot of nerve. Telling him off was another beast altogether, but she’d driven a long way, and she wanted Damsel to understand her reasons.

She was not Damsel Road’s woman. She wasn’t his old lady anymore.

“I sure as hell didn’t expect to see you,” Damsel said, unsettling anger in his voice. He still possessed an unmistakable raspy pitch in his tone. His unprecedented confidence existed in the way he carried himself. Thanks to a pinched dimple etched in his face, he looked as smug as the day he was arrested.

“Sure you did, Damsel. I’m just later than you expected,” Victory said, thanking God she stood out of Damsel’s reach. What had she ever seen in this man, this monster?

“Why are you here, Victory?” he asked, taking a seat. “As far as I know, this place doesn’t allow conjugal visits.”

“I’m not interested in fucking you, Damsel.” Oh, but that wasn’t entirely true. She wanted to put the screws to him, all right.

“It’s hard to take a woman at her word when her nipples are hard as little beads.” He nodded toward her breasts.

Like hell. She was far from aroused. In fact, she felt sick to her stomach.

“Why did you want to see me, woman?” This time, his voice sounded harsher.

She jerked and willed herself to remain calm, hoping her eyes didn’t give away her pain. Six months had passed since he’d been sentenced. She’d written him several letters, most of which reiterated her disgust.

“I need closure.”

“Closure?” he asked, crossing thick arms over his pudgy chest.

He’d gained some weight. Once solid, Damsel used to work hard at maintaining his physique and athletic build, but apparently he’d begun to grasp his bleak future and responded accordingly. His outer appearance didn’t matter on the inside. If others found him too appealing, he might have to fight off same sex relations.

How did I ever let this man touch me?

For the first time in five years, she saw Damsel the way others must’ve viewed him all along. He wasn’t completely ugly, but his general appearance gave off the impression of the old-school renegade biker. He sported tattoos up and down both arms, some of which he’d obtained in his previous prison stints, others to signify his club loyalty. The tats weren’t the problem. It was the evil living underneath the painted skin.

Damsel’s unkempt curly black hair framed his face, which drew her attention to the additional signs of hard times. Wrinkles encased his eyes. His brow was drawn tighter, distinguishing worry from age.

Confinement had yet to strip him of his attitude. A few years, and perhaps that would change.

“Yes, Damsel. Closure. You owe me that much.”

“I don’t owe you a damn thing, bitch. Your cunt-ass testified against me. Remember?”

“I didn’t testify. I just didn’t give you a solid alibi. I knew you killed Addison. You’re lucky I didn’t say as much.”

He averted his eyes. He studied the security camera in the far corner. After a deep breath, he hissed, “Same difference in my book, bitch. All you had to do was say I was in your bed, sprawled out between those talented legs of yours, and it was a done deal. They couldn’t have held me on Addison’s murder.”

“And what about the charges Sassy brought against you?” she asked, noticing he flinched when she mentioned his step-daughter’s name.

“Her accusations shouldn’t have carried any weight in the first place. Too many years have passed.”

“Is that all you can say, Damsel?” she asked. Had she taken the time to visit in hopes he would tell her some of the disgusting things she’d discovered hadn’t been true?

A broad grin claimed his mouth, widened his cheeks. “What’d you expect, gal? An outright denial? ”

“I want you to be honest with me, Damsel. I need the truth!”

“You ain’t gettin’ it from me, whore.”

Victory shook all over. The way he spoke to her, the manner in which he glared at her, and his profuse refusal to put her mind at ease was too much to bear. She stalked toward the door, her courage deserting her. “Guards!”

“Leaving so soon?”

She walked faster. At least she could later rest better. He clearly didn’t think of her as his old lady anymore.

“Victory, I need you to do something for me.”

She stopped, took a ragged breath then reluctantly faced him. Did he really expect a favor after everything he’d done to embarrass her?

“Deliver a message for me.”

“You couldn’t give me what I needed. I’m not about to help you, Damsel.”

“You owe me, woman.”

“
I
owe
you
?”

“Tell Gaylord to keep an eye on Logan Marcs. Some of the guys in here say he’s a cop.”

Victory’s pulse raced. If she told Gaylord of Damsel’s suspicions, Logan would be marked for dead. Oh, no way. She wasn’t about to tell Gaylord a damn thing.

“I guess Gaylord still isn’t taking your calls?”

“Just pass along the memo.” He eyed her from head to toe again. Smirking, he added, “I’m sure you’ll see him from time to time.”

“I doubt it.”

“I’m not stupid,” he bit out, insinuating plenty. “Marcs is a snitch. Gaylord needs to know.”

Victory damn sure wasn’t delivering
that
message back to the club. If an undercover lived and worked among them, even in a rival club, Gaylord would make sure the club disposed of him. Even if Sassy Road had her hooks in Logan Marcs, her man was still a looker. It would be a real shame to see a good fellow go to waste.