Retaliation: A Twisted Mayhem MC Novel Read online

  Shaking his head, he clears his throat and tugs at his shirt collar. “I’ve just come from the coroner. Physical identification isn’t going to be an option I’m afraid. There’s too much damage from the blast and fire. He’s managed to retrieve some jewelry from the body and is in the process of getting DNA samples and dental records for an official ID. Though, at this point, it’s mainly a formality for the investigation. I’ll be in touch. Call me if you need anything.”

  “Oh God,” I breathe, pressing my fingers to my lips to stifle the sob that threatens to escape.

  Without another word, Jensen ushers me through the front doors. Half a dozen cameras are aimed at me, several people shouting multiple questions in my direction. “No comment,” Jensen barks, tucking me into his side as he shoves his way through the bodies toward the sidewalk. “Fuckin’ savages.”

  At the corner, a man wearing a leather cut like Jensen’s stands beside two parked motorcycles. His curly blonde hair peaks out from beneath a black and silver striped beanie. Jerking his chin in greeting, he takes a draw from his cigarette when he spots us. “Was wonderin’ if I’d have to send in a search party, Brother.”

  “Nothin’ I can’t handle, Schrader.” Stepping up to the bike closest to us, Jensen swings a leg over and looks my way expectantly. “Let’s go, Duchess.”

  “Are you insane?” I ask, gaping at him. My eyes move from his, to the seat of his bike, then to the short black dress and heels I am still wearing from last night. “Do you see what I’m wearing? I can’t ride that damn death trap like this.”

  “Darlin’,” Schrader chuckles, shaking his head. “Every son of a bitch with a cock sees what you’re wearin’.” Dropping his cigarette to the ground, he crushes it with his boot before climbing onto the other bike.

  “You’re here for protection, asshole,” Jensen growls, glaring at Schrader. “Not comic relief.”

  “Multitasking is a gift.” Chuckling again, Schrader starts his bike, flashing a huge smile as he revs the engine.

  “Don’t have time to argue with you, Ro,” Jensen bites out, his eyes meeting mine once again. Holding out his helmet, he arches a brow. “Got shit to do. Either climb your ass on behind me, or I’ll put you there myself.”

  I want to remind him that I never asked for his help. Or a ride. But I don’t. The look on his face is very clear. He is not in the mood to argue, and at this point, neither am I. I just want to go home.

  “Fine.” Yanking the helmet from his fingers, I grumble under my breath about what an asshole he is while securing it on my head. Gripping Jensen’s shoulder with one hand, I attempt to keep the hem of my dress riding up and climb on. The bike roars to life beneath me, making my body jolt forward into Jensen’s back. Wrapping my arms around him, I hang on for dear life. Closing my eyes tightly, I press my cheek to his shoulder and remind myself to breathe.

  Chapter Two

  Stone

  Nothing good happens when my boots land on this side of town. However, this demanded to be handled and there was no way in hell I was sending anyone else. It had to be me.

  Having gotten what I came for, I twist the throttle and pull out of the parking lot, happy to put as much distance between us and the damn law as I can. Roanne’s grip on me tightens with every hard-cornered turn. Instead of slowing down, I ignore her shrieks and embrace the ride to get my head right before I have to lay shit out at the table. The wind and the road, both have their way of helping me find the clarity I need in to make the tough choices that are coming.

  Especially now.

  Legion Falls is a safe town. Always has been. Mostly because every member of the club does their part to insure our small corner of Tennessee stays a safe place for everyone who call it home.

  Today, that safety has been threatened.

  Alfred’s death is a warning. It is an attack designed to rattle us. That much is fucking clear.

  Now, my brothers will be looking to me for a plan of action.

  When I joined the club, I never expected to wear the President’s patch. At eighteen years old, I felt lost and all I wanted was to find a place where I belonged. Much to Alfred’s initial disappointment, it sure as shit wasn’t going to be found behind a desk working in the company he built with my father. Twisted Mayhem gave me what I needed. Brotherhood. A sense of purpose.

  As a prospect, I worked my ass off and quickly learned that I wasn’t entitled to shit, in this world, if I didn’t fucking earn it. But, more importantly, I realized that I didn’t want shit if I didn’t earn it. Nothing leaves a bitter taste in your mouth more than a handout with strings attached to it. The fuck if I was living my life that way. I kept my head down, paid my dues and earned every patch on my cut.

  Because of that, I am more proud of the leather on my back than anything I have accomplished in the thirty years I have been alive.

  The second I stop in front of the clubhouse, Roanne releases her hold on me and leaps off my bike so fast she nearly face plants on the concrete. I kill the engine, watching as her face turns blood red. “You crazy bastard!” she shouts, yanking the helmet off and throwing it at me. “You could’ve gotten me killed.”

  “Got yourself a belly full of fire there, don’t ya, Beautiful?” Schrader laughs, walking past us, heading for the front doors. “Shit’s about to get real interesting around here.”

  Climbing off my bike, I tower over her much smaller frame, but she doesn’t seem intimidated. Staring down, I can’t help the smirk that spreads across my face as she begins shoving at my chest. “Careful, Duchess,” I warn. Gripping her arms, I yank her body into mine. “I’m not feelin’ any gratitude here.”

  Roanne’s body goes rigid, her eyes hardening. “I’ll be sure to send a thank you card,” she bites out angrily. “As fun as catching up with you has been, I think I’d rather go home.”

  “Not happenin’.” Loosening my grip, I spin her around and steer her toward the doors. “We can discuss this shit inside.”

  “Excuse me?” she asks, fighting to get free of my hold. Yanking her arm loose, she faces me again. “I’m not going in there. I’m going home.”

  Taking a breath, I nod. Bending quickly, I scoop Ro up over my shoulder and stride through the opened doors of the clubhouse. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she shrieks, kicking her legs and pounding on my back with her fists. “Stubborn. Hothead. Son of a bitch!”

  “Table,” I grunt, shifting Ro on my shoulder as I make my way through the room. Talking and laughter stop immediately as chairs begin scraping against the floor. “Ten minutes.”

  Taking the stairs, I move down the hallway toward my room. Shoving through the door, I toss Roanne to the bed, her ass bouncing twice on the mattress before settling. Kicking the door closed with my boot, I lean back against it. “Here’s how this is gonna go,” I say smugly, crossing my arms over my chest. “Home isn’t an option right now. It’s not safe. You’re going to have to trust me here, Ro.”

  “Trust you?” Rolling her eyes, she laughs. “We aren’t kids anymore, Jensen. I don’t even know you, let alone trust you.”

  “You’re right. We’re not kids anymore.” Stepping forward, I press my hands to the mattress on either side of her and lean in close. “I’m the man who’s gonna keep your ass alive. You’ll want to trust that, unless you wanna end up in a goddamn body bag.”

  The color drains from her face. Her bottom lip quivers, a tear slipping down her face. “I’m sorry,” she breathes on a rough exhale.

  The girl has been through hell today, that’s for sure. Physical and mental exhaustion are written all over her face. There is no doubt in my mind that she has reached her maximum capacity for bullshit. The problem with that is my gut tells me that it is going to get much worse before it gets better. I don’t have time to be concerned with hurting her feelings right now. My main objective is keeping her alive.

  Standing again, I jerk my chin in the direction of the closed door on the other side of the room. “Bathroom’s there. Cloth
es in the drawer. I’ll be back later with some food.”

  Walking out of the room, I use my key to lock the door behind me and head back upstairs. Stepping through the double doors, I walk into the chapel, ready to get to business. Taking my seat at the head of the table, I wait as the doors close and everyone’s attention focuses on me. “What do we know, Jinks?” I ask, looking to my right.

  “Explosives used were no joke,” he says, shaking his head. “Whoever wired up that Benz was no amateur.” Clearing his throat, Jinks rubs a hand over his scalp. “Alfred’s financials came up empty, but I’ll keep diggin’.”

  “Whatever Ol’ ‘Fredo was into, he sure as shit wasn’t leavin’ a fuckin’ money trail,” Colt blurts, shaking his head. “Hell, we’ve been cleanin’ up his messes for years. There’s never been any blowback.”

  “Right, VP,” I reply, agreeing with my best friend. “Someone has declared war on the club. On our town,” I state, pounding my fist on the table. Looking around the room at my brothers, I can feel the rage beginning to take hold of me. “Alfred was my father’s best friend and a second father to me. This attack is personal. It is a play for power. One that they will fuckin’ lose.”

  “What’s the plan, Prez?” Schrader asks, bracing his elbows on the table and steepling his hands. “If you ask me, there’s no need for a vote.” His eyes scan the room. “Looks like we’re all in here. Your family, is our family, Brother. Let’s fuck shit up.”

  “Time to dig in and get dirty,” Huckleberry, one of the two remaining original members, says, pounding his fist on the table. “An attack on a brother, or his family, is an attack on the club. Eye for a fuckin’ eye. Blood for fuckin’ blood.”

  “I appreciate that, Huck. For now, it’s gotta be business as usual. Our next move needs to be smart,” I announce. “Need to get all our pieces into place. Then, once we find out who is behind this, and what they want,” I ground out pushing to my feet and slamming my palms to the table. “We rip their goddamn hearts out.”

  After discussing a few possible suspects and trails we need to follow up on, I dismiss the meeting. Jinks and Colt head to Frazier Stone’s main offices to check things over, while the rest of the guys get to work on the day to day shit we have going on. We have our hands in a lot of shit. The club has an auto parts business that helps take the focus off the things we do that are on the other side of the law. For the most part, the local law and people living around here turn a blind eye to our dirtier dealings, happier to focus their attention on the good deeds we do. They aren’t concerned with the guns we transport in and out of town, the chopped cars and stolen parts, or the underground moonshine stills Huck and Doc have going year round in underground bunkers back in the mountains, as long as Twisted Mayhem continues to give back to the community.

  And we do.

  The town of Legion Falls has the lowest welfare and poverty rates in the county. We take care of our own, and in return, they protect the club. This is not how it has always been. Our last President, Vic, spent years building the relationships within the community before he died of a heart attack last year. He believed it wasn’t about how much money you had, or the status of entitlement that came along with the last name you were born with. That shit can be taken away in the blink of an eye. What makes a man is those around him and what he does with what he has been given in life. Respect cannot be earned without first humbling yourself enough to work for it.

  Alfred played a huge part in helping the community, as well. There was no doubt, in anyone’s minds, that he was a good man. However, no one knew about the things he did behind the scenes in order for the company he built, with my father, to continue to thrive during the hard times. There are moments when the lines of legal and illegal are blurred, but sometimes right and wrong isn’t so simple as black and white.

  Although, I think it is safe to say that it was the gray area where tough choices were made that has brought this all on.

  I may not have been able to protect him, but I’ll go into the ground, myself, before I’ll let something happen to Roanne.

  Grabbing the ringing burner from my pocket, I push to my feet and flip it open. “Yeah?”

  “Just got a heads up from a friend at the Regional office. Feds will be here by tomorrow morning,” McKelvy says, blowing out a breath. “By the time they’re done crawling up my ass, I’ll be able to taste their boots.”

  “I’ve got feet on the ground and eyes on the house,” I inform him, relieved at the fact that Jinks and Colt will have everything handled at Frazier Stone in the next hour. “Let the suits come in and sniff around. By the time they have a suspect, that fucker will have disappeared.”

  “You realize who you’re talkin’ to, Son?” he asks, sounding a little uneasy.

  “I do. And you’re sure as hell not my dad, so lay off the son bullshit,” I reply, smugly. “I also know that you’d rather leave this to us and get back to protectin’ the local bakery while writing parking tickets. Have a cup of coffee and leave the dirty work to us. I’ll be in touch.”

  Chapter Three

  Roanne

  Lying in Jensen’s bed, I toss and turn, unable to sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see dad’s car burning on the street. I can hear our last conversation echoing in my ears, the sadness and disapproval in his eyes cutting me like a jagged blade. I am so tired, but it isn’t an exhaustion that sleep can cure.

  Flopping onto my back, I stare up at the tiny holes in the ceiling tiles, starting to count them for the third time since I climbed under the blankets. This time, however, the holes begin to blend into one another, making it damn near impossible to focus.

  The lock clicks and the door flies open as Jensen steps inside. Placing a plate down on the bed, he tosses a bottle of water next to me. “You locked me inside this room like a prisoner.”

  “I locked it for your privacy and protection,” he says confidently, pushing the plate toward me. “Couldn’t risk you runnin’. Now eat.”

  “I’m not hungry.” Looking down at the sandwich, I shake my head and push the plate away.

  “When’s the last time you ate, Ro?” he asks, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest. My eyes fix on the ink running along his forearms. The skeletons mix with red roses running all the way down to his wrist on his left arm, while on his right it looks like a detailed motorcycle engine with lightning and flames surrounding it.

  “Dinner at an art fundraiser,” I reply, shaking my head and forcing myself to meet his eyes. “Last night.”

  “Nearly twenty-four hours.” Pushing off the wall, he steps closer. “Eat. Then we’ll go get you some shit from your place. I need to get into your father’s office.”

  “Why would you need anything from his office, Jensen?” I ask, grabbing the bottle of water, taking a drink. “What could you possibly know about running the business?”

  “More than you think, Duchess,” he grounds out, his stare hardening. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me. You’re gonna learn real quick that, that little know it all attitude of yours, doesn’t fly. If you don’t wanna cooperate, I’ll go myself. Or I can always send in the Prospect.” Shrugging his shoulders, he smiles wickedly and turns for the door. “I’m sure he’d love to dig through your panty drawer.”

  “Wait!” I yelp, not wanting anyone going through anything of mine. Especially not my underwear. Jensen stops at the door, his hand on the knob. “Okay. You win.” Kicking off the blankets, I yank the plate into my lap. Grabbing the sandwich, I take a bite and chew quickly. “See,” I mutter as I swallow.

  Releasing his hold on the door, he faces me. His eyes move slowly up my body before meeting mine. “Ro,” he chuckles, turning toward the bathroom. “You’ll learn very quickly that I always do.”

  Once I eat my sandwich and down the bottled water, I dig through Jensen’s dresser and find a black t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants that I can tighten enough so they don’t fall off my ass. No longer being concerned about f
lashing anyone, it was much easier getting onto the back of Jensen’s bike. With Schrader, and a man he called Huckleberry riding a bike with some sort of sidecar attached to it, behind us, we pull out of the compound and onto the street.

  I am grateful for the inability for small talk over the roaring of the engines and the rushing wind. I have no interest in pretending to engage in conversation at this point. I would give anything to shut the world off, quiet my racing thoughts, and submerge into complete and total nothingness for the unforeseeable future. Just me, and a void of emptiness, where all of this can fade away and be nothing more than a bad dream sounds like Heaven.

  The pain of my reality is, at the moment, all too fucking real.

  The ache in my chest only grows when we pull onto my street and drive past the police tape surrounding the scorched street and curb. The breath lodges in my chest, a sob escapes my lips, but is drowned out by the sound of the engines. If it is even possible, the house I was raised in appears even larger as we pull into the driveway.

  Climbing off the back of Jensen’s bike, I wrestle off the damn helmet and turn for the sidewalk. “Wait,” he barks, grabbing my hand. “Never walk into a situation blind or unarmed. Right now, you’re both.” Yanking me behind him, he draws his gun from his side and gestures for Schrader to take the lead. “Huck, watch the street,” he calls, slowly moving us toward the house.

  Revealing a gun of his own, Schrader moves up the porch steps and toward the door. Stopping, he tosses a smile over his shoulder. “Nothin’ more fun than a game of hide ‘n’ seek with a loaded weapon.”

  Jensen takes my keys and unlocks the door. Swinging it open, Schrader heads inside, checking the rooms over one by one while we wait for what seems like an eternity. “Clear!” he shouts, coming back down the stairs. “Is it wrong that I’m disappointed?”