Page 99 of Vengeful Mates
Alaric studied and mapped out escape routes for the Distinguished Gentleman’s Ride in two days. Back-up plans upon back-up plans, safety our priority number-one in case we needed to make a break to get Aaliyah and Mia to safety.
Castor holed up at his desk, finalizing the legal shit with Barry. Wills, assets, and plans for the club. A legacy burned to ash if we died. Hopefully the men were loyal enough to run the club until mine or Castor’s boys were old enough to take the reins. Otherwise, there’d be another war to wage.
Stomach tossing, I went to summon Zethan from the garage where he tinkered with the bikes, performing maintenance and repairs with T-bone, prepping them for the Distinguished Gentleman’s Ride. Cleaning oil filters, checking chains, fluid levels, cable integrity, spark plugs, suspension, and exhaust adjustments.
Fuck. Just thinking about being open and vulnerable left me sick to my stomach. Aaliyah refused to let us cancel this late in the game, and I didn’t want to break a promise to Mia.
I called back Zethan’s wisdom to calm me.“There are one thousand riders. Colton would be stupid to stage something with that many witnesses and civilians.”
Still, we couldn’t be too careful. The three-hour ride there or back home left us exposed. Mountainous terrain with plenty of hiding spots to launch an attack. My pulse pounded with the idea of having to take cover and shy away from a fight to protect the family we carried on our bikes.
I stuck my head in the garage door, the scent of fuel, oil, and metal hitting me. “Zethan, lunch is here.”
“Be there in a minute,” he grunted, twisting a wrench back and forth, fixing a nut to the rear shock on the suspension so it didn’t bounce too much. “This suspension needs repairing.”
Arms crossed, I leaned in the doorway. “Give us a minute, T-bone.”
T-bone obeyed the order, tossing his spanner in the toolbox and clearing out.
Zethan glanced at me, testing the coil on the suspension. “You’re hiding from her?”
Asshole knew me too well.
“Wars, guns, whisky, sex, bikes. Know them like the back of my hand.” I glanced at mine. Rough, tanned skin that had seen too much sun and one too many punches. Biker rings decorating my fingers, the skin underneath paler and softer. “But I don’t know how to handle a pregnant woman who’s already grieving like we’re dead.”
Her pain ground me to dust. I wanted to tear off Colton’s head, slam it on a spike, and show everyone who tried to fuck with us what they’d get for distressing her and in this goddamn state.
“Talk to her.” Zethan cleaned his oily hands with a rag.
Simple as that, huh? I rarely made myself vulnerable. Only for her.
I stroked the scar I received from coming off my dirt bike when I was sixteen from riding too hard in the bush on Dad’s property. “If she knows I’m worried, she’ll freak.”
A general never showed fear, not even in his last moments before the blade pierced his chest and he closed his eyes for the last time. It was why I stayed as far away as possible to avoid her reading my anarchy.
“It’s okay to be cautious and uneasy.” Zethan got up from his crouched position. “I think she’d rather you be real with her than strut your fake, cocky act around the house.”
Brutal honesty I always relied on. Still, his words impaled me with truth, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Asshole was right and I hated it. I was a liar. A fake. When I promised Nurse A my honesty, fear and vulnerability played havoc with me. I never had this much to lose before. High stakes with the club, the endless road, my old lady, and my fucking kids.
Rage blistered my skin and thundered through my blood. Colton placed the dark magick sigils on the club and our homes that made Liz and Zethan ill when in close proximity. His god set the curse on us and murdered our mate. My god and I grew restless for the last battle to make them pay for fucking with us. Violent fire shot up my spine, the demon beneath my skin determined to finish off Colton and Anubis.
Zethan washed his hands at the sink, scrubbing them three times to get off the oil and grime from the bikes. His silence gave me little comfort when it normally quieted the chaotic rumble in my head and gave me space to think.
“You’re right.” I scratched at my beard. “I’ll fucking talk to her.” I wasn’t going to my grave with things left unsaid when I owed her this.
CHAPTER33
Slade
Aaliyah’s moodlifted as Zethan and I strode into the kitchen, as if his presence gave her power, security, and courage. Asshole was good at hiding his emotions. Stony walls. Brutal, deadly glare. Stoic as they fucking came.
Me, I was a hothead, wearing my heart on my sleeve kind of guy. Chalk and fucking cheese. Why Zethan and I worked so well. He tempered my fire, and I breathed flames to warm that dead heart of his.
Jealousy lanced down my chest at not being the one to provide her that. At Colton chipping away at my armor. At myself for thinking like a fucker who was already beaten, executed, body left to rot and food for the vultures.
“Hey, baby.” Zethan greeted her with a peck on the cheek, and a rub to her belly and shoulders. “Thanks for lunch.”
She squirmed, grateful and glowing at his appreciation. “You’re welcome, Hellhound Dick.” Fuck. That nickname. I hadn’t heard her use it in so long.
