Read Online The Salvation of Vengeance (Wanted Men #2) by Nancy Haviland - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nancy Haviland
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NYPD said Smythe is gunning for us again. Jackass.”
Vincente didn’t pay much attention to the griping. The cops were always somewhere in the background. What was news about that? He was more concerned with reminding himself that this woman in front of him was married to some fucknut and Vincente led a shitty life and had nothing to offer her. She was Caleb’s little sister, for fuck’s sake, and the guy was standing right there!
And none of it fucking mattered at all. He still wanted to be wrapped around the redhead’s long, curvy body for a week straight. And given one sliver of a chance, he knew he’d take her. No. Matter. What.
The knowledge was . . . Well, he wouldn’t say shocking. Because he’d always pretty much lived by his own rules, taking what he wanted when he wanted it. But he’d never done so without first making sure any collateral damage was minimal. In this case, it wouldn’t be. And he didn’t care enough about that fact.
That was unacceptable. He usually held himself to a higher standard than that. His mother and sister would be ashamed.
He had to keep his distance from her.
He blinked when Nika stiffened. Noticed because she was all he was aware of. She took that step back that he should have taken a few minutes ago, blinking rapidly, her flawless skin paling. Her voice came out just a whisper. “I’m going inside. You coming?”
I wish.
She turned without waiting to see if Caleb, to whom the question had been directed, followed and then disappeared back into the house.
Cigarette smoke and the smell of weed hung heavily in the air as Kevin Nollan walked between two large shipping containers and came to a clearing in the center of the run-down building in Crown Heights. He sidestepped his way around cords and strategically placed lighting systems.
“Why didn’t you bring her with you tonight?” his cousin said over his shoulder as he led them to a disaster of a desk in the corner, surrounded by a half-dozen metal chairs. “She coulda checked things out. We coulda got started tomorrow instead of waiting another day.”
Kevin eyed Darren, his fucked-up family’s resident videographer, wondering again if the guy was going to want in on the action once they started filming. Did he want a piece of Kevin’s property? His wife? The way every bastard who saw her wanted her?
Like he had when he’d first seen her walk through the doors of the clubhouse in Seattle—the very one he’d hoped to one day call his own. Fucking bikers. Assholes hadn’t let him in. Caleb Paynne hadn’t let him in. He’d heard that prick tell the president of the Seattle chapter that he didn’t think Kevin was Obsidian Devils material.
The president had agreed.
Sonsofbitches. All he’d wanted was a place to hang. Boys to hang with. The brotherhood that came with groups like the ODMC.
But they’d turned him away. Told him he could loiter but wouldn’t be asked to join their ranks. Would never really belong. Like always.
Fuck them. He hadn’t needed them anyway. He had something better than brothers now. He had Niki.
And Caleb Paynne’s downfall if she ever left him. Getting the evidence he’d used to bind Niki to his side had been almost too easy, because Paynne had jumped at the chance to play hero. The guy hadn’t needed any prodding to exact revenge on his buddy’s behalf for the scenario Kevin had set up. All he’d had to do after getting Paynne in the right place at the right time was hit Record.
And he’d gotten a beautiful wife out of the deal. Kevin sneered. A beautiful wife who couldn’t even get him hard. She had a couple of times, in the beginning. When she’d walked into the clubhouse in south Seattle with her brother and that bitch friend of hers, Kevin had grown hard as a pipe.
But he’d never been able to get that way once he had her in his grip. Not since Niki had fucked everything up, confused things, turned his simple revenge against her brother into something
Vincente didn’t pay much attention to the griping. The cops were always somewhere in the background. What was news about that? He was more concerned with reminding himself that this woman in front of him was married to some fucknut and Vincente led a shitty life and had nothing to offer her. She was Caleb’s little sister, for fuck’s sake, and the guy was standing right there!
And none of it fucking mattered at all. He still wanted to be wrapped around the redhead’s long, curvy body for a week straight. And given one sliver of a chance, he knew he’d take her. No. Matter. What.
The knowledge was . . . Well, he wouldn’t say shocking. Because he’d always pretty much lived by his own rules, taking what he wanted when he wanted it. But he’d never done so without first making sure any collateral damage was minimal. In this case, it wouldn’t be. And he didn’t care enough about that fact.
That was unacceptable. He usually held himself to a higher standard than that. His mother and sister would be ashamed.
He had to keep his distance from her.
He blinked when Nika stiffened. Noticed because she was all he was aware of. She took that step back that he should have taken a few minutes ago, blinking rapidly, her flawless skin paling. Her voice came out just a whisper. “I’m going inside. You coming?”
I wish.
She turned without waiting to see if Caleb, to whom the question had been directed, followed and then disappeared back into the house.
Cigarette smoke and the smell of weed hung heavily in the air as Kevin Nollan walked between two large shipping containers and came to a clearing in the center of the run-down building in Crown Heights. He sidestepped his way around cords and strategically placed lighting systems.
“Why didn’t you bring her with you tonight?” his cousin said over his shoulder as he led them to a disaster of a desk in the corner, surrounded by a half-dozen metal chairs. “She coulda checked things out. We coulda got started tomorrow instead of waiting another day.”
Kevin eyed Darren, his fucked-up family’s resident videographer, wondering again if the guy was going to want in on the action once they started filming. Did he want a piece of Kevin’s property? His wife? The way every bastard who saw her wanted her?
Like he had when he’d first seen her walk through the doors of the clubhouse in Seattle—the very one he’d hoped to one day call his own. Fucking bikers. Assholes hadn’t let him in. Caleb Paynne hadn’t let him in. He’d heard that prick tell the president of the Seattle chapter that he didn’t think Kevin was Obsidian Devils material.
The president had agreed.
Sonsofbitches. All he’d wanted was a place to hang. Boys to hang with. The brotherhood that came with groups like the ODMC.
But they’d turned him away. Told him he could loiter but wouldn’t be asked to join their ranks. Would never really belong. Like always.
Fuck them. He hadn’t needed them anyway. He had something better than brothers now. He had Niki.
And Caleb Paynne’s downfall if she ever left him. Getting the evidence he’d used to bind Niki to his side had been almost too easy, because Paynne had jumped at the chance to play hero. The guy hadn’t needed any prodding to exact revenge on his buddy’s behalf for the scenario Kevin had set up. All he’d had to do after getting Paynne in the right place at the right time was hit Record.
And he’d gotten a beautiful wife out of the deal. Kevin sneered. A beautiful wife who couldn’t even get him hard. She had a couple of times, in the beginning. When she’d walked into the clubhouse in south Seattle with her brother and that bitch friend of hers, Kevin had grown hard as a pipe.
But he’d never been able to get that way once he had her in his grip. Not since Niki had fucked everything up, confused things, turned his simple revenge against her brother into something
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