Page 3 of Wick
"She and Pop are doin' good. Mom finally convinced Pop to take her on that trip to California. I helped them set up their travel arrangements and made sure the neighbors would come by and pick up the mail while they are gone."
"That's great of you, Wick. I hope they have an amazing time." Josie gives me a genuine smile. That's something I admire about both our club girls, Payton and Josie. Both are caring as hell and neither tolerate nor start drama. They are easy-going and take their jobs here at the clubhouse seriously.
Josie slaps her hand on my thigh. "Can I get you a drink or are you turning in for the night?"
I'm about to decline Josie's offer for a drink and head to my room when the door to the clubhouse bursts open. Nova strides through with Vayda sauntering in behind him. Nova continues to make his way toward the bar, whereas Vayda comes to a complete halt. Time stops momentarily as I drink in the sight of her. All 5 feet 8 inches of her. Vayda is wearing a pair of jean shorts that show off her long toned legs and black combat boots. My eyes travel north to where her full breasts strain against the hunter green racerback top she's wearing, then continue upward, where her thick midnight waves kiss the top of her shoulders, before my gaze lands on her eyes. Eyes that at the moment look wounded as they land on my face then quickly dart down to where Josie's hand is resting on my thigh. A look crosses her face before she quickly schools it. Josie must have seen the look too because she removes her hand from me as though she had been burned. I meant it when I said the girls don't cause trouble.
"I'm sorry, Wick," Josie apologizes the same moment Vayda retreats upstairs without a word.
"You have nothin' to be sorry for, sweetheart." I stand and kiss Josie on top of her head. As I make my way across the room and out the door, Nova calls out behind me.
"It's good to see you too, brother."
"Fuck off," I return with the same teasing tone, and it causes Nova to chuckle. I had planned on crashing at the clubhouse tonight, but I don't trust myself with Vayda sleeping under the same roof.
Climbing on my bike, I start her up and rev the engine. When I glance up at the second-story window with the light shining through it, I see Vayda peering down at me. We hold each other's stare for several seconds. She's the first to break the connection this time. Shaking my head, I kick the kickstand up and peel out of the clubhouse parking lot.
The drive to my home is a short one. I live about ten minutes from the clubhouse. I bought my house two years after joining the club. The first time I saw it, I knew I had to have it. I purchased the 1936 Victorian style home at a steal. Riggs had tried to talk me out of buying the dilapidated structure, but I insisted on having it. I didn't tell my friend the real reason I wanted the house. I didn't tell him that when Vayda was thirteen she had a dream of getting married and living in a blue Victorian house with black shutters. She described how she wanted everything down to a T. With help from my brothers we restored the old house in just under a year and a half. The house is three thousand square feet, has four bedrooms, three bathrooms, and a completely updated kitchen with an adjacent sunroom with floor to ceiling windows.
Pulling into the driveway, I steer my bike into the attached garage before climbing off and entering the kitchen through the garage. I flick the light on to my right, illuminating the house then enter the code into the alarm panel. Tossing my keys onto the counter, I round the kitchen island and head toward the refrigerator. Pulling it open, I sigh when I see nothing but empty shelves and a few bottles of beer. Swiping one from the shelf, I pop the top and take a swig as I stride into the archway of the living room. I stop and stare at the vast empty space. My entire house sits empty—all except my bedroom, and a small table in the kitchen.
Several of my brothers have ribbed on me from time to time asking why I have this big ass house but haven't bothered to fill it. My excuse is always the same; I don't have the time. The truth is, I don't feel right finishing it. This place is Vayda's dream. A part of me feels it's not my place. The sick twisted thing about the whole situation is that she has no idea this place exists.
She'd probably think I was crazy if she knew. I mean, Vayda probably doesn't even remember the conversation she had with me at thirteen.
Shaking memories of the past away, I walk through the living room and make my way up the stairs to the end of the hall to my bedroom. I shrug my cut off and drape it over the chair next to the bed.
Walking into the en-suite bathroom to take a shower, I strip out of my t-shirt and jeans and toss them to the floor. Standing in front of the mirror, I look at the scars that run across the left side of my abdomen and trail along my ribs around to my back. My scars are jagged and angry looking. They also serve as a reminder of the worst day of my life. The day the devil himself paid me a visit and forever altered my future.
Once finished with my shower, I put on a pair of gray sweats and make my way over to the desk I have set up in front of the window. Knowing sleep won't come easy tonight, I decide to fire up the computer and do the books for the club and the bar. When I left active duty at age thirty, I dove headfirst into furthering my education. By the time I graduated high school, I had several colleges offering me scholarships, including Columbia. School was not my calling, though. Serving my country is what I wanted to do with my life. As soon as my dream ended, I poured all my ambition into something I excelled at when in school. I had always been good with numbers. Numbers make sense to me. So, without hesitation, I went back to school and got my bachelor's degree in Mathematics from the University of California-Berkeley. It took me four years to finish my degree. Once I had finished with school, I didn't know what direction I was headed next.
It was then Riggs came back into my life. Riggs and I served together in my last two years of Special Forces. We had stayed connected here and there once I left the service, but when he called me up one day and invited me down to New Orleans, I jumped at the chance to catch up with my friend. Once I got here, Riggs filled me in on what he had been doing with his life. How he had been living in Montana and joined the MC. Soon after he joined The Kings his grandfather fell ill, and he had to leave his club behind for long periods of time.
The Kings of Retribution founding President, Jake Delane put an offer on the table; one Riggs couldn't turn down. Open a second chapter here in Louisiana. Riggs' first call was to me. He said there was no other man he wanted by his side. He offered me the position as his Vice President. I accepted in a heartbeat. I knew then, and there The Kings of Retribution was my destiny. I will forever be grateful to Riggs and my brothers. My club gives me purpose. I would lay down my life for my brothers and know they would do the same for me.
Chapter Two
Tequila
After sleeping like shit most of the night, I decide to grab a quick shower so I can head down to the gun range. Maybe a few rounds of target practice will help defuse my anger. Who am I trying to fool? I'm fighting mad because jealousy has a hold on me after seeing Malik with one of the club girls.
Taking the guys up on an earlier offer, I load up my gear, strap it to the back of my bike, and take off toward town. Once I get to the tactical store the club owns, I park my bike alongside the others. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I make my way inside, immediately spotting Everest behind the counter. "Hey, Tequila."
Greeting him with a smile, I ask. "The guys in the back?"
"Yeah. Head on back." He goes about his business, and I cross the room, opening the door leading to the indoor gun range located on the backside of the store. It's actually the first time I've taken the time to use the gun range since Riggs and his men opened the place. Rounding the corner, I come upon a smaller room separated by a large window that overlooks the range. Spotting Nova, Fender, and Kiwi, I place my gear on the bare table sitting in the room and unpack my weapon. With it strapped to my side, and a couple of boxes of ammunition in my hand, I enter the shooting range.
Nova spots me. Sitting his gun down, he removes his ear protection, letting the earphones hanging around his neck. "Hey, beautiful. Come to show off some of your infamous shooting skills we've all heard so much about?" He gives me his signature panty-dropping grin.
"You scared I'm going to come in here and show you, boys, how it's done?" I taunt him, having a little fun.
"Those there are fighting words."
Looking unimpressed, I shrug my shoulders and pretend to admire my nails. "I win; you owe me a drink and get to wash and polish my bike."
"Only if you're willing to do the same when you lose." He wagers.
"Sure."
