Chapter Five
For a second, all Vandal could hear was roaring as the blood rushed to his head. A pure, clean rage swept through him and every instinct screamed that he needed to snap this fucker’s neck. Niall Madden smiled at him, a cold, ugly smile that invited a fist. Time stretched out thin and fine between them while Vandal mastered his reaction, his need to hurt this man. His heart pounded at his ribs and his hands shook so hard he had to curl them into fists to hide it.
He swallowed it all, stomped on it. He hadn’t survived this far in life by being a slave to his emotions. And he wouldn’t, couldn’t destroy what True had worked for here by striking out at Niall, no matter how fucking satisfying it would be.
“Is there a problem?” Niall asked him, tone venomous.
“Vandal?” True’s tone was mild, but somehow more dangerous than Niall’s.
“No problem,” Vandal said. He forced a smile onto his face, certain the strain would crack it. He patted Niall down, taking the opportunity to get the measure of him. He was a big guy, a few inches taller than Vandal, and packed with muscle. And Vandal already knew, from the scars on Tara’s back, that he liked to fight dirty. Worth remembering.
“Clear,” he said, stepping aside to let Niall take his seat at the table. The man smirked at him as he passed. He knew. Somehow, he knew. Harleston wasn’t exactly a gossipy little town, but Vandal guessed he couldn’t be surprised. Men like Niall kept tabs on their victims’ lives. The question was, was he going to bring it up here and now, and wreck the deal they were trying to make? He took his own seat, next to Spider. It put him across from Niall, and the Madden boy stared at him, that nasty smirk never slipping.
“Now then,” Johnny said, once everyone was seated. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that there’s some heat on the Black Dogs right now that makes them … unreliable for me in a few avenues. And you don’t need to tell me how lucrative the drug trade is in this town.” He frowned slightly, probably irked that he’d never been able to make any inroads with it before. “So it seems to me we have some useful skills to offer each other, True.”
“I’ve always thought so,” True said. “So let’s not waste time dancing around.”
The deal-making began in earnest. Vandal tried to focus solely on True and Johnny, but his attention kept whirling back to Niall, whose gaze never left him. The inevitability of a clash ground at Vandal. But Jesus fucking Christ, surely Niall wouldn’t start something here? And if he did, could True salvage the meeting? Vandal drummed his fingers on the table, edgy and close to breaking point. Sitting across the table from the man who’d abused Tara was a worse torture than anything he could have dreamed up. He wanted to fight Niall. Wanted to shove his fist directly down the bastard’s throat.
And he couldn’t. It was agony.
“Stop that,” Niall said suddenly, interrupting his father mid-sentence. With the way he was glaring at Vandal, nobody could mistake who he was talking to. All eyes fell on Vandal.
He drummed his fingers harder. “Stop what?”
“Niall,” Johnny said.
Niall ignored him. “Are you an asshole or a fucking moron?” he asked Vandal.
Vandal held his red-hot glare, still drumming his fingers. “I’m an asshole, pal. Which are you?”
A sudden commotion broke out as Niall leaped to his feet, knocking his chair over. Johnny’s other boys rose, too, one of them throwing his arm across Niall’s chest as if to stop him diving across the table at Vandal. To Vandal’s right, Shrike stood with a warning shout. Vandal stayed put, even though every muscle screamed for him to tackle Niall head-on. True and Johnny didn’t move either, and that told Vandal he’d made the right call.
“Niall,” Johnny said again, anger lacing his tone. “What the fuck are you doing, son?”
Niall, red-faced and trembling with anger, thrust his finger at Vandal. “That’s the cunt who’s fucking Tara!”
Vandal bristled, feeling True’s gaze land on him hard, but Johnny just rolled his eyes.
“Really, Niall? Still with this shit?” Johnny stood, facing True. “My apologies, sir. Turns out my son isn’t as ready for this level of the business as I’d hoped. Maybe we should finish this another time?”
“Of course.” True stood to shake his hand. “We’ll be in touch.”
Madden’s boys filed out of the room. Johnny kept one hand on Niall’s shoulder the whole time, barely seeming to touch him, but Niall never tried to pull free. All he did was cast one last, burning look back at Vandal. It was enough to tell Vandal this wasn’t over.
But then, he already knew that.
When the door closed behind Johnny Madden, all the air went out of the room. Vandal exhaled, knowing True was about to chew him out. There was no escaping it. He’d fucked up. He turned to face his President.
True’s expression was clean and empty. When he spoke, it was soft and deliberate. “Are you fucking Niall Madden’s wife, Vandal?”
“No,” he said. “They’re divorced.”
“Jesus wept,” Spider said, slamming his fist on the table. “You think that matters to that psycho—”
“I don’t care what he thinks about it. They’re divorced. He was abusive.”
Spider sniffed. “Boy, unless her pussy spits diamonds, it’s still not worth it.”
Vandal stiffened at the crude words, but bit back his angry reply.
“How serious is it?” True asked him, ignoring Spider’s sneer.
Vandal didn’t hesitate. “I want her as my Old Lady.”
He hadn’t known it until he said it, but the words felt sure and right. Tara was special, someone he couldn’t let get away. Claiming her as his Old Lady was both a statement of his certainty and a measure of protection for her, should Niall decide to do something stupid. And he seemed like a guy who did a lot of stupid things.
True sighed and shoved his newspapers around aimlessly, shaking his head. “And she’s definitely through with the Maddens?”
“He abused her, True.” Vandal couldn’t believe he needed to repeat it. “I’ve seen the scars. Cigarette burns on her back. Yes, she’s fucking through with them.”
Across the room, Cannibal growled. “We really going into business with scum like that?” he asked True.
“I’m not making deals with Niall,” True said. “I’m making them with Johnny.” He turned his attention to Vandal, stormy gray eyes hard and serious. “Make her your Old Lady and you know we’ll go to the hilt for you, if it’s needed. But you’re out of any future dealings with Johnny.”
Vandal started to protest that, but True silenced him with a swipe of his hand.
“There’s no point adding gasoline to the fire. Cannibal can handle security for the next talk. I’m not risking you and Niall crossing paths if you’re really serious about this woman. Johnny will come back to the table this time. Let’s not assume he’ll do it a third time.”
I’m not letting your dick fuck up my deal, in other words. Vandal let it go. “Understood,” he said through gritted teeth. Cannibal knew his shit. Vandal trusted him to run things smoothly, and it wasn’t as if Vandal was being stripped of his rank. Just cut out of Psycho City’s biggest deal in years.
But it was okay. It was fine if it meant he could keep Tara. If she’d become his Old Lady. His gut feelings about her were so strong, it seemed impossible that she didn’t feel the same about him, but it wasn’t as if they’d talked about their feelings or the future.
He stood, nodding respectfully at True. “I guess we’re done here?”
“Yeah, we’re done.” True waved his hand at him dismissively. “Go do whatever you need to do.”
****
Tara was out of town for a tattoo convention all day, not planning to be back until late in the evening. It killed Vandal that he couldn’t ride straight to Canvas and make his claim. He even toyed with the idea of asking Ling where the convention was so he could go find her there, but quickly dismissed the idea. Ling was protective enough of her friend that she wouldn’t give that information away. Knowing Tara’s history with Niall, Vandal didn’t blame her. In fact, he liked that—but he’d like it better once Tara was his Old Lady and he wasn’t someone Ling guarded her against.
Instead of loitering around Canvas like a stalker, he rode down to the docks and sat on the waterfront. Sunlight sparkled on the water, dazzling him, and he watched fishermen and dog-walkers down on the stony shore with a quiet sense of impatience.
“Hey, bad boy.” Sienna surprised him, sneaking up on him. Seeing her in daylight was always slightly surreal. Out of her hooker gear, in sneakers and a candy-pink tank top, she looked cute and wholesome. She sat down next to him, offering him a warm smile. “How’s life?”
He was surprised her first question wasn’t how’s Cannibal? “It goes on,” he said, cautious. Sienna was solid, and completely loyal to Psycho City, but you never knew who else was hanging around the docks.
“Heard the news about Brutus,” she said. “Is everything okay?”
He recognized the veiled question. “I don’t know. There’s a complication.” He grimaced. Tara was not a complication. No fucking way. But Niall had made himself into one. It was all very well for True to tell Vandal to stay low, but in his gut, Vandal knew that wouldn’t resolve anything. Niall was clearly obsessed. Men like that didn’t just quit.
Sienna patted his knee in a sisterly way. “You guys are pretty good at smoothing out complications. I’m sure you’ll fix things.”
Vandal’s mind whirred, moving in a dangerous direction. “I’m sure we will.”
“So…” She studied her perfectly manicured nails with a forced nonchalance. “How’s Cannibal?”
Vandal rolled his eyes. “What is it with you two?”
“Nothing,” she said, a little bitterly. She stood, stretching. “Tell him I said hi though, okay?”
He promised he would and waved her off, thoughts churning. Fix things. Yeah, but how to fix them so Psycho City, and Vandal specifically, came out on top? He wasn’t sure of that yet.
****
The sun had almost vanished into the water by the time he heard from Tara. She texted him to say she was about an hour away, asked him to pick up a bottle of wine and meet her at her place. He was only too happy to oblige.
Tara lived in a modestly nice neighborhood. Nothing flashy, but quiet and safe. The kind of place you settled down to raise your kids in. Vandal knew his black and chrome Harley looked out of place on her neat driveway, next to the saplings and lavender in her garden, but he kind of liked that. Dusk had settled over the streets when he pulled up outside her house, shading the sky like a bruise. His spine prickled as he approached the door, although he couldn’t say why. A creeping sense of unease, honed by his years in the military, kept him cautious, looking out for anything out of place besides himself.
The smell of fresh paint hit him before he saw the single word daubed on Tara’s door. Slut.
Hot rage roared through him. He spun, certain the culprit had to still be around.
A hooded figure shot out from around the back of the house, sprinting for the road. Vandal gave chase, tackling him to the ground hard. The bigger man grunted, but shoved Vandal off him without much effort. Vandal got to his knees, and had just a second to decide it was Niall before the guy’s elbow connected with his jaw. The blow dazed him, and he had no chance to fend off the second one. Or the third.
Unconsciousness hit before he felt the fourth blow.