Chapter Seven
Two nights later, just after midnight, Vandal got the call he’d been waiting for. One of Psycho City’s prospects had tailed Niall to a bar often frequented by the Black Dogs. Vandal rose, leaving Tara sleeping soundly, took Capo’s gun, and headed across town to Annie’s. It was a nice enough place on the surface, hiding an illegal gambling den behind the vintage decor. It was out of Psycho City’s territory, so Vandal left his cut behind and dressed in faded gray jeans and a dark hoodie, shielding his face.
He took up position across the street, and sat in the doorway of a closed pharmacy. It gave him a great view of the entrance to Annie’s, and provided some cover. Waiting was agony. He wanted this done, but he had no choice but to be patient. It wasn’t just a question of waiting for Niall to come out. The Beretta was a short-range weapon, so he couldn’t risk firing from across the street. This was going to be up close and personal, both to mimic Capo’s style and for Vandal’s own satisfaction.
He sat there an hour before Niall finally fell out of the bar, helped on his way by an irate bouncer.
“Go the fuck home, sober up, and come back to pay for the damage in the morning,” the bouncer, a giant of a man, yelled. “You think you’re gold because of your name, but you ain’t shit, Madden.”
Niall stumbled away, cursing but making no attempt to fight back. Vandal’s pulse pounded. This was ideal. Niall was drunk and had clearly been fighting in there. Chances were, the cops wouldn’t work too hard to solve a crime like this. One less Madden boy on the streets did everyone a favor. He stood and stole after Niall as he wove his way unsteadily down the road and into the shadows.
When Niall stopped to lean against a lamp post and puke, Vandal struck. Racing up behind him, he wrapped one arm round Niall’s throat, yanking him upright. He pressed the pistol to the back of Niall’s head. Niall never had a chance to struggle with Vandal cutting off his air supply.
“The Black Dogs send their love,” he whispered, just in case anyone else was within hearing distance.
And then he pulled the trigger. Twice. Niall’s body jerked. Blood and gray matter splattered across Vandal’s face. He barely noticed in the deep rush of satisfaction and adrenaline. It was done. Tara was free. Vandal checked his hands and found, maybe for the first time after a kill, they weren’t shaking.
As far as Vandal was concerned, Niall’s body could lay here and rot. But he’d promised True better than that. The night wasn’t quite over yet.
****
A week later, True summoned Vandal to his office. His President was in the middle of his usual morning routine, giant mug of coffee in hand, newspapers spread across the desk. He gave Vandal a pleased smirk as Vandal sat down.
“Some unlucky fisherman hauled Niall Madden’s body out of the water last night,” he said. “And my man in the PD says that pistol they found at the back of Annie’s last night looks like a likely murder weapon.”
“When do we send our condolences to Johnny?” Vandal asked.
True shook his head. “We let him come to us. I’ll be interested to hear what Sienna has to say about the mood in the Black Dogs’ camp tonight.”
It would have been suspicious for Sienna to disappear from the Black Dogs so fast, so she was still hanging out there, playing her role and driving Cannibal mad. Once she was out of there, Vandal doubted any rule was going to keep Cannibal from claiming her.
“You did good,” True said, surprising him. Praise was rare from True. “But until I hear Capo’s in custody, we still need to lay low on this. Don’t go flaunting the Murphy girl around.”
“Her name is Tara.” And it was going to be Tara Curtis before much longer, if Vandal had his way.
True’s eyes glittered with amusement. “Well, when this is all done and dusted, I look forward to meeting Tara. Until then, keep playing smart, okay?”
The warning wasn’t really needed, but Vandal nodded. “Understood.”
True waved him away. “Out of my sight. I need some quiet time.”
Grinning, Vandal left the clubhouse. His Harley gleamed in the summer sunshine, inviting him to take to the road. It had been a while since he’d taken a really long ride, beyond the city limits. Right now, that sounded like a fine idea.
Just one pit-stop first.
He got to Canvas just as Tara was unlocking the front door. She squealed in surprise when he snuck up on her, squeezing her waist and lifting her off her feet.
“Vandal! I have to go to work!”
“Not today,” he said firmly. He spun her around and seized a kiss, loving the way she melted against him. “Today we’re getting out of this city.”
Beyond Harleston, the Massachusetts countryside sprawled in a maze of winding roads and green fields. He could push the Harley to its limits, leave all the darkness and violence of the last few weeks behind, and simply enjoy being with his woman.
They rode until they found a lake surrounded by tall pitch pines and oak trees, cool blue water lapping gently at the smooth pebbles piled up on the shore. There wasn’t another soul around, just him and Tara, and Vandal reflected that this was as close to Heaven as he was going to get.
No regrets. He’d always believed that. Killing Niall had been to protect Tara and he’d never regret that. Sure, it might help Psycho City down the line, if True could forge his alliance with Johnny like he wanted, but if Vandal was honest, it had never been about that.
He stretched out in the dew-damp grass and watched Tara kick off her shoes and race into the lake. She paddled at the water’s edge, her brilliant red hair on fire in the summer sun. She tilted her head back to watch a bird fly overhead and Vandal thought his heart might fucking explode at how perfect she looked, how carefree and wild.
He’d do anything to keep her wild.
He’d do anything to keep her.
She came back to join him, straddling him and leaning down to kiss him. His cock sprang to life, his body hungry for her. She was addiction personified, a temptation he never wanted to resist. Within seconds he’d flipped them so she lay beneath him. He stripped off her jeans and panties, keen to see how loud he could make her scream when they were out here all alone.
He found her sweet pussy wet and ready for him, and she laughed in delight as he ran his tongue slowly through her soft folds, a laugh that turned into an awed moan when he gently bit down on her clit. Pride and greed surged through him as her moans became louder and more urgent under his tongue and fingers. Every noise she made, every twist and buck of her hips, tested his self-control. She was driving him just as mad as he was making her and soon he couldn’t deny himself any longer.
She cried out in protest when he rose, but Vandal winked at her as he cast off his own jeans. Her eyes lit up at the sight of his shaft, thick and hard and ready for her, and she settled back down in the grass, licking her lips devilishly.
He groaned. “You’re too fucking much, Tara.”
“I’m exactly enough for you, Vandal.” She wriggled her hips invitingly.
He slid home, driving himself deep inside her, and for a second they held stone still, her fingers grasping his shoulders, and Vandal stared hard at her, memorizing how she looked in that instant, in the instant he claimed her.
“You are,” he said, voice husky as he began to move, loving the way her pussy cradled his cock, the way her eyes glazed over when he fucked her. “And I’m never letting you go, Tara. I hope you can handle that.”
She knotted her hands in his hair, pulling him in for a hot, frantic kiss that answered all his questions. And after that there was no more need for words. The rest of the world could go to hell. The Black Dogs, the Maddens, even Psycho City. Right then, it was just him and Tara. silently saying I love you and Vandal thought that was pretty fucking perfect.
The End