Call Me...Vengeance: Book 1 in the Vengeance MC Series (2 page)

The illusions I’d had about the lifestyle of an MC President, what it would be like, the power, the respect, were all erased the day I took the gavel. It wasn’t gradual, something I was eased into overtime. The harsh reality between what I’d imagined my new position would be like and what it really was slapped me in the face from day one. I was left with a choice to accept it, to learn how to deal with it, or…nothing. There was no other option.

From the outside looking in, as a teenager and then a man in my twenties, it was easy for me to overlook the intricacies of a working MC. I’d been a patched brother, and the Son of Vengeance’s, President, but I found out quickly that I knew nothing about what my new position would entail.

The basics, like how to navigate the club through its day-to-day dealings, and the politics required to only keep the peace were all things I had to learn on the fly. I realized, I was as naïve as the rest of those fuckers who assumed it was all about sitting back, banging a piece of wood against another piece of timber, and yelling at prospects to get him a fucking beer. Now, though, I’m intimately aware of what’s involved, and all of it falls squarely on my rapidly sagging shoulders.

Most of the issues the MC is facing are mistakes of the past, ones that are only now coming back to bite us in the ass. They were made by a reign long since dead and buried, but that didn’t change the fact that they are rearing their ugly heads to fuck with the present. People are still crawling out of the woodwork, demanding debts that weren’t settled by our previous, President be paid in full.

Alliances that have taken years to develop are starting to deteriorate because I won’t give in to the pressure they’re exerting. It didn’t matter to them that times had changed, they wanted what they believed they were due. No matter how many times they’ve been told Vengeance isn’t in the business of covering debts we weren’t aware existed, they haven’t let up yet. And that signals trouble. Trouble we don’t fucking need right now.

We have enough issues at the moment. Cross country runs are taking longer and becoming more dangerous. Especially, since the alliances I mentioned are divided. These days, clubs, even those with the amount of manpower, influence, and notoriety Vengeance have been required to exercise extreme caution. Where in the past our name alone would afford us a certain amount of protection, it doesn’t anymore. It’s a stark reminder of how bad things have become when a club as powerful as ours is treated the same way as everyone else.

The biggest change came when we had to start bidding on runs for arms deals. Bidding for Christ’s sake, like it was a goddamned auction or something. Only a few short years ago, motherfuckers were begging him to supply them with cocaine and guns. The trade was good, steady, and new customers were approaching them every month. The margins were even better, though. I could have retired a rich man if business had stayed that way for another five years.

Vengeance has dealt, hauled, and supplied for all of the major players in the drugs and black market arms trades within a five-hundred-mile radius with little to no drama or competition for decades. But now, the cheap bastards want uncut coke, discount priced guns, and a free whore on top like a cherry on a goddamn sundae. It was getting to the point, that soon I’d have to donate vital organs to go along with each deal just to keep the greedy pricks happy.

To make matters worse, last month our closest rival, Hells Riders, sought out Vengeance’s gun shipment and tried to intercept it as it crossed state lines into, Colorado.

Thank fuck, my Enforcer, Fury, heard chatter in one of the bars a county over, because if he hadn’t the MC would have lost a million dollars in revenue that day. But as luck would have it, due to Fury’s intel, being at the right place at the right time, they were able to successfully capture two of the Hells Riders lookouts before they could follow through.

Up until then, I’d dismissed Hells Riders as a joke masquerading as a club. To date, they hadn’t proved to be much of a rival MC, more like an epic pain in my ass. But, that changed when they decided to fuck with the club’s cash flow because that was no laughing matter.

My brothers depend on the profits from those shipments. They have families to feed, bills to pay, and kids to clothe. If we hadn’t caught the two guys trying to re-route the shipment, it would have been a total clusterfuck. There’s no recouping that kind of cash, and you can bet your ass war would’ve ensued had they gotten away with it.

But in the end, Diesel, Dirty, Fury and I sent the two assholes home with their dicks between their legs, barely attached mind you, and a very clear message for Hells Riders President, Joseph ‘Nix’ Walker. If you fuck with my club, you’ll pay the price.

I wouldn’t usually fuck around in a situation like that; I’d sooner put a bullet in their heads, wash my hands and go home. But in this case, a message needed to be sent, and I needed them alive to do it. Hence, it was those two jackass’s lucky day. Because aside from having to spend a few weeks laid up in hospital - and possibly reconstructive surgery for one of the guys to take care of his nose – they’d pull through. If you ask me, that was better than they deserved.

Thankfully, since then, everything had been reasonably quiet in Hells Riders camp. When I say quiet, I mean their retribution for the state we’d sent their men home in was around the corner. We just hadn’t caught wind of it yet. This couldn’t go unanswered for long, Nix would look weak if they did, and the last thing an MC President could afford was to look spineless, but one could live in hope. Hope that he learned his lesson and moved on, even though I knew that was highly unlikely.

More like he was biding his time until he had the perfect opportunity to launch an attack. We have bigger issues to deal with than, Hells Riders, though. Issues I can’t ignore, no matter how much I’d like to.

Drug pipelines are starting to dry up in, Colorado’s neighboring states, which means we’re dealing with an influx of new chapters of current MC’s encroaching on our territory. All of them setting up, hoping to score that elusive connection to dealers and suppliers who’ll keep them flush in green.

Most of them didn’t last long, packing up and going home before they’d even established a clubhouse. The smart ones decided the reward wasn’t worth the risk of dealing with the backlash from a club the size of, Vengeance. The less intelligent ones became an annoyance, who after pushing for a sit down with us, still left town with relatively little fuss. However, one club has caught and kept my attention; the Black Widows.

Los Cornidos were on my radar until I had a sit-down with their President and made my position clear. Since then, they haven’t done anything to earn themselves on my shit list.

“Santos, you’ve gotta know this shit can’t go on. I sat back waiting to see if you’d make the right decision on your own, but I’m sensing since you’re continuing to do business in our neck of the woods that’s not gonna happen.”

Half a foot shorter than myself and fifty pounds lighter, Santos Carrera, President of, Los Cornidos is currently eyeing me with nothing short of disdain. His beady, black eyes are narrow slits, and his nostrils are flaring.

“We don’t do business in your county, Boss. Never have. We keep our shit tight, and only deal to our own, so I’m not getting why what we do is any of your fucking concern? No disrespect, but you coming in here and trying to tell me and my boys where we can offload our shit is out of line. Even for you.”

I’d agree with him if the crack he’s peddling weren't infecting our streets and the bloodstream of our kids. But seeing as four, Furnace high school kids, this week alone, have shown up in ambulances at the ER I’m thinking this is most definitely my fucking business.

“You’ve got a choice here, Santos. Take your shit further afield and make sure it stays there, or I’ll ensure it does and you won’t like how I make that happen.”

“You threatening me, Boss,” he questions, seething.

“If I were threatening you, you’d know it. This is me making you a fucking promise. Get your club, your coke, and your hookers as far away from, Furnace as possible, or I’ll make it my mission to hunt down every single one of your men, your dealers, and your pimps so I can convey a personal message about what happens to assholes who fuck with us. Because there’s no mistaking, that’s what you’re doing, Santos. This shit is bleeding into my territory, hurting our kids, and making our women nervous,” I growl. “And I don’t like edgy women, Santos. They’re a pain in the ass. I’ve got better things to do than reassure the mothers of teenagers that their kid won’t be next.”

“I think you’re underestimating us, Boss. My club isn’t gonna bend over and let you fuck us on this one. The money’s good, brothers are settling in. They aren’t just gonna agree to pick up and move on because a few stupid fucking kids can’t handle their blow.”

That’s where he’s wrong. I’ve never underestimated the power of a pissed off Mexican with a gun.

“Thanks, but you’re not my type,” I reply chuckling. “I prefer warm, wet pussy over gangbanger ass, Santos, but I’ll keep you in mind if I ever have a change of heart.”

The men on his left and right lean forward, hands sliding to their waists reaching for their guns. Seeing Fury’s subtle movement out of the corner of my eye, I signal him to stand down. The last thing I need is anyone drawing on someone in a confined space like this. It would be a bloodbath.

“You know where I stand, where my club stands, Santos. I’m not gonna initiate another sit-down with you to discuss what we’ve already gone over, so if you leave today and don’t give what I’ve said some serious fucking thought then that’s on you.”

Cocking his eyebrow, he smirks asking,

“Yeah, and what the fuck are you gonna do if I don’t? Telling me you’re gonna hunt us all down is one thing, but I know your club, Boss. Vengeance hasn’t been hardcore since your old man bit it, so excuse the fuck out of me if my worry over you seeking retribution doesn’t come across all that sincere.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean back in my seat and stare him down. He may be right in the respect that, Vengeance isn’t into the same nefarious shit we were in the past; peddling flesh, cooking Meth, and taking on hits for other clubs, but we’re far from fucking weak.

This right here is what my brothers were worried about. When it was put to a vote – taking the club legit, that is – the boys were concerned other MC’s wouldn’t see us as a viable threat anymore. I heard them understood their hesitation to a point, but this was always going to be a risk we would have to take if we wanted to ensure the longevity of our club. The dangers that came along with being outlaws were many. The perils of being a one percenter club dealing smack, selling pussy, and dealing in illegal firearms were high. It was luck that we hadn’t been caught yet, and only a matter of time before one, or all of us, were taken down in a major bust that would see us sent away for fifteen-to-life.

This was the perfect time to re-exert our dominance in the world we’d ruled for decades. If Los Cornidos thought I was going soft because I wanted Vengeance clean, they had another thing coming.

“We’re done here, Amigos,” I state, slapping my hand on the table, standing. “Your choice stands; retreat peacefully or I’ll pick apart your club one-by-one. No man will be left standing when I’m fucking through with you. If I have to put a bullet in every last one of your heads personally to ensure it, mark my words, Santos, I’ll do it. Just because I don’t believe in beating women into submission, doesn’t mean I won’t put you fuckers down like the animals you are if you keep fucking with my club.”

We left that day with the belief, Los Cornidos would rally. I didn’t hold out a lot of hope they’d see things from our perspective, but I was wrong. An agreement of sorts was reached, and they held up their end of the bargain by retreating to a safe distance.

Black Widows MC are a different story altogether. On their own they’re not a particularly strong MC, but with backing from a larger club, they could become another problem I have to deal with. And that was a possibility if the rumor was to be believed. I’d heard from, Devil’s Spawn’s new President, Cage, that Black Widows were looking into a patch over that would see them joining the ranks of the Hells Riders, which would potentially make them a very viable threat.

d

Answering my phone at seven in the morning wasn’t something I often did. People knew better than to call me before nine unless there was a literal fire for me to put out that is. So when I ignored the first and second call that came in and my cell rang for the third time, I knew it must have been something important.