Page 92 of Vengeful Mates

“I’m glad you’re happy.” He smiled, carefree, and lighter than I’d seen him in so fucking long.

“Ditto.” It felt good to have this chat. Get a weight off just like we used to.

“You’re pleased it’s a boy?” he asked.

“Fuck, yeah,” I replied. “Someone to pass on the club’s reins to.”

Carrying on the father-son tradition, my first choice to lead rested with my son, but the decision was his. If he didn’t want the job, my next choice lay with Castor’s kid. Although, I would have been pleased if it were either sex. All the same to me. They were all my kids regardless of biology.

Things got complicated with the girls, unless the MC male tradition changed. Whatever happened, I just hoped our kids didn’t let the Jackals’ Wrath MC die or leadership go to another family. Break my fucking black heart. Guess we’d find out the club’s destiny in five or ten years, when our kids’ interests and passions took shape. Where their allegiances leaned.

Zethan’s features broke into a rare smile, smoothing the lines on his forehead. “What if Castor’s kid grows up to be a book nerd?”

“Fuucckk. Like father, like son.” I dragged the word out and raked a hand through my hair. “We’ll have arguments to no end with our sons.”

The start of a headache pierced my skull imagining the chaos, shouts, tears, punches, and intellectual insults.

Castor got off on competing with me and if he kept that bullshit up in front of the kids, they’d learn to do the same. We had to cut that shit out for our damn sanity because I wasn’t putting up with the competition magnified.

Zethan laughed. “A good possibility with our kids if they inherit our traits or some of the gods’.”

“Fuck.” I scrubbed my face. “I don’t even want to consider that.”

Set quarreled with Thoth over the millennia, nothing like what he did with Osiris or Horus. Zethan and I had our clashes over club direction, membership, personal choices, even mate-related matters. Nothing a good spar in the boxing ring didn’t sort out to release tensions.

Alaric and I never had those problems, thank fuck. He was too much a beta personality, and had discipline, authority, and respect beat into him at a young age. Zethan to an extent too, until the police force, corruption in law enforcement, and lack of protection for domestic violence victims drove him to his own brand of justice.

Besides his competitive nature, Castor and I were good. Better since he assumed second dog position. I worried he might pull some of his shit with me as VP, but he kept that to home only. Good looking asshole probably didn’t want me to ruin his pretty face and teeth.

Looking back, the club and I were lucky to secure his skills, loyalty, and brotherhood. Threats of retaliation from the Triad pushed him into wiping out the fuckers, and carving out a new identity with the Jackals. Protection from anyone who sought revenge. Far from his choice of lifestyle when he was used to wheeling and dealing with defense lawyers at fancy-ass restaurants, a big office, mahogany desk, bookshelves, and legal textbooks.

I tried my best to give him the same, although a somewhat less extravagant office and position. Once we got Pharaoh proceeds rolling again, I’d get him that fat, mahogany desk.

Set told me I could trust the former solicitor, and I brought him into the fold, fast-tracked him as prospect, promoting him to enforcer. He never liked the violent aspect of the role, yet over time, came to terms with the similarity to his previous position. Seeking justice for those who broke the law. Punishing those assholes that deserved it. Delivering one hell of a reckoning. The darkness in Thoth that drove him to dark magick reveled in delivering retribution.

Pleased flames sparked in my chest that Castor taught our mate the same brand of justice, and she unleashed her darker side on the cops. My little mate—caring, thoughtful, loving, with a fiery side and a dark need for revenge that matched my own. It made me think of the snake representing Isis, and we all know that when cornered, those slithery fucks sink their teeth and venom into their adversary.

Zethan thumped me on the shoulder, bringing me out of my memories. “Getting sentimental, old man?”

I croaked out a laugh. Family, my mate, my friendships, and everything we lost put things into perspective. What I wanted moving forward.

“There’s something I wanna say before we leave.”

Confession time. Good for the fucking soul. Despair and regret tore through our connection. Chaos lumbered my bond and the need to offload it. My chest locked with the hope that if I said this, he’d want to come back as VP. To return where he belonged. Best friend. Right-hand man. Trusted confidant. Brother. Lover. Fellow biker daddy.

“I want to apologize for all the shit that went down.” My voice cracked with the vulnerability of being this raw and apologetic. “For not having your back like I should have. For not having Aaliyah’s. For not being the friend you deserved, or the mate she needs.”

Shock rocketed along the bond like a bomb went off on it.

Yeah, shocked me too. Slade Vincent never apologized for anything.

Set taught me to live without regret for my actions. That every general made mistakes, and lost a battle, territory, or income. Losing was part of learning to be a better commander. Leaders didn’t apologize to their men for their failures, they regrouped after their losses, and planned their next victory.

Aaliyah taught me the value of apologies, and even if I didn’t believe in them, she did, and that sometimes all it took was an admission of shitty behavior to mend a broken heart. In the value of surrender and laying down my sword when winning led to greater consequences.

I wanted my friend and ally back, and for that, I had to make a sacrifice.

Zethan’s stony façade cracked and crumbled. “That means a lot to hear you say that.”

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