Page 98 of Vengeful Mates

The day my mom was mowed down by a rival club, the six year old child was destroyed. From that day on, I had to grow up real fast, constantly on guard for the next threat. Become the soldier Set raised me to be, then the general as I grew into a man. Helping Dad with the club, hell bent on vengeance, accelerated my growth from boy to man. These days, I just wanted to relax and play, let out my inner child who’d been caged for seventeen years.

I wanted softness and innocence in my life. Mia gave me some of that, and a part of me was content. Yet the greedy asshole in me wanted more. Wanted an army of kids, several from each of Aaliyah’s mates.

A car door closed outside, and I glanced out my club office window. Fuck. Blue Forester parked on the crushed stone driveway by the garage.

Aaliyah.

Dropping by the club, carting a box of food for her mates. Putting on a brave face for us when this destroyed her as much as it did us. Evident in the creases in her dress where she kept fisting it, the slight oil in her hair from pushing her fingers through it, the dark bags under her eyes, and creases across her mouth.

A visit from her normally brought me joy. Today it tightened the knot inside my ribcage, making it hard to breathe. I came to the club to get away from the grief in her eyes, the mourning on our connection, as if she already said goodbye to us and cast a white rose onto our coffins. Knowing she thought us dead punched a hole in my chest and ripped out my heart.

Damn woman. I couldn’t fault her. She loved us fiercely and to the very end! Wanted to take care of us in her little way, making sure we fueled our bodies right, exercised and stretched, and taking down time to relax when tension hit an all-time high. Down to her encouraging me to cut down my cigarette intake. The woman personified the healing goddess.

Fuck, if I was honest, I felt her cool the fires of vengeance. Heal my need for reprisal. Replace it with the need for peace.

“Hey, Dusty.” Aaliyah’s voice strained from outside in the rec room hit my solar plexus like a mortar round.

Fuck. I stabbed my hand through my hair, then scrubbed my weary, coarse face. Expecting her any second, I shoved the unlit cigar into the ashtray and got out of my seat.

Quickly, I gathered the legal paperwork and stashed it in my drawer. Loose ends tied up. Wills drawn up with the help of Castor and Barry. Signed, stamped, officiated. Future plans for the club and new chapter. All our affairs in order to protect her in the event we fell in battle and didn’t come home. Financial security for life. School and college paid for Mia. House and land settled, and land taxes covered for life. Everything left to Aaliyah, Mia, and the babies. Except Zethan, who left a small portion for his nephew, Dylan.

I threw down the last of my whisky. Pulling myself together, I plastered an upbeat face on and stamped down my turmoil, hiding it from her. Ditching my desk, my thoughts, my darkness, I exited my office to greet her, finding her setting down our spoils on the kitchen table.

Catching her by the waist, I kissed her neck, hoping she didn’t sense the chaos grappling within. “Hey, sexy. What have you brought your old men?”

I ignored her scowl from the old men reference and took some of the load off her hands, delivering it to the kitchen table. Woman could protest until the cows came home. She was my old lady, no ands, ifs or buts about it. I was going to make that happen before our last showdown with Raine.

“Ham, cheese, and salad sandwiches.” She deposited the goodies in the center of the table. “A few sweet pastries.”

Fuck. Pastries. A treat one day a week to keep our sugar intake down, which morphed into every day this week. Feeding us our favorite foods and letting us enjoy what might be our last few days alive. My hollow, rolling stomach pitched at the idea of putting food in it, but I would eat to please her.

Heartache gripped me, casting me back seventeen years, when the family dog, Scrappy, had cancer. Dad bought him chicken nuggets, hamburgers, hot dogs, and steaks for his last week with us before we put him to sleep.

“Let him eat like a fucking king.”Dad patted me on the shoulder and handed me the nuggets to feed the dog.

My confidence felt like a dented shield. Weary from too many battles, in desperate need of repair from the blacksmith and a fresh coat of paint. Fear at how easily Colton got into my head, convinced me to go against the plan and attempt to kidnap Faline, the way the dead overpowered.

Death whispered at my nape,“Come to me. You’ve fought valiantly, hard, loyally. Now it is time, soldier.”

I couldn’t fucking shake the cold voice. Wondered if Colton played his tricks on me again, or if my mind fucked with me. New territory for me, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. Only that I had to get my shit together and find a way to outwit the cunt or lose all hope of defeating him.

Pasting on a fake smile, I fed my old lady a classic Slade Vincent line, “Trying to sweeten your old man?” I boosted her into my arms for a greeting kiss with lots of tongue and sliding, warm, honeyed lips that I never got enough of. “Mmm. You taste good, sugar.”

Her eyes slanted at the praise. Woman fawned when we complimented her. Apprehension lurking behind her pleasure ruined my brief moment of joy, turning my jackal into a crazed beast eager to destroy everything in sight to bring her comfort.

“You taste good too. Like whisky and smoke.” Like war. She braced my hands between her palms. “You don’t need sweetening, you devil.” My turn to fawn at her praise. The titles devil or Mr. Vincent always got me so hot and hard. Not today. My dick solidified and crumbled to dust. “And stop the old man talk.”

I ignored her last comment, going for the pastry first, knowing she’d heat up over it. “Suck cream from my finger and make your old man happy.”

Needing a distraction, I swiped jam and cream from the bun and let her lick it off. Nothing. Not a twitch or any sign of life from my dick when she normally easily switched me from a semi to rock-hard.

“Nice try to corrupt me, Mr. Vincent.” She smiled, victorious, smashing down my attempt to crank an argument from her. “Eat your sandwich. Vegetables first. Dessert later.”

Bossy little woman had me wrapped around her finger, and nothing pleased me more than keeping her happy. I hoped I stuck around long enough to keep her happy for the rest of my life. A long fucking life. Where I once sought hedonism and gratification with life in the fast lane, I now wanted peace, quiet, harmony. Cigars, whisky, my old lady curled in my lap, and my kids playing on the floor, their antics getting laughs from us.

With a grunt of satisfaction, I did as I was told, lapping up the cream and putting my dessert aside. At least for lunch. Then all bets were off. I was gonna get my cock back from its stony hell and get some hot desk fucking action.

My lip worked between my teeth as I watched her sway those sexy, wide hips as she drifted down the hall to get Castor and Alaric from their offices.

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