Redemption Road (Vicious Cycle #2)(84)

Without a word to Rev or the others, I hurried to the door. I don’t know how he made it so fast, but he was at my side before I got it open. Taking me by the hand, Rev led me into our bedroom. Thankfully, it was empty. He went to the bed and lay down, pulling me down beside him. “I know that had to be hell for you, so cry all you want to.”

But the tears didn’t come. Instead, I looked at the amazing man before me in disbelief. “I’m such a selfish *.”

Apparently Rev hadn’t been prepared for my response because he burst out laughing. “No, you’re not,” he replied.

“Yes, I am. This is such a happy day for you, not to mention we’re in the middle of lockdown because of Mendoza.” I shook my head. “You’re too good to me. In fact, you shouldn’t marry me.”

“Just because you think you’re a selfish *?” he asked almost teasingly.

“No. It’s just . . . the way you kissed Wyatt’s head . . . the way you are with Willow.” I exhaled an agonized sigh. “I can’t give you the children you want . . . the children you deserve.”

“We don’t know what the future holds.”

I shook my head. “I can’t have a baby, and we can’t adopt. No judge would give us a child with your background.”

“Hmm, so I guess we’re both a little to blame?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I protested.

Rev wrapped his arms tighter around me. “Annabel, none of us know what tomorrow holds. But I do know that we’ll have a child one day.” When I started to argue, he said, “I’ve done a lot of reading on surrogacy, and I’ve talked to some of the girls in the club. When the time comes, we’ll have a baby. You have to believe that.”

I jerked my head off his chest to stare into his eyes. The conviction in them gave me hope. I shouldn’t have been surprised that he was already thinking ahead for us—that was just his way—but his confidence gave me hope.

Just like we would weather the Mendoza storm together, we would make it through building a future and a family together as well. Somehow, some way. I just had to have faith.

TWENTY-ONE

Mendoza was close. So very, very close. Roja would soon get what was coming to her. As his car crossed the state line into Georgia, the ever-present mix of rage and desperation surging through him reached a volatile new level. The one thing that had pushed him through the bullshit of the last few months was revenge. Revenge against the man who had taken Roja. Revenge against Roja for daring to leave him.

The months had melted into a blur of false leads and dead-end roads. He’d called in favors to gain information, and he’d had to end the lives of a few less-than-cooperative people as well. He had poured more money into this quest than what he had anticipated—some of the money he had owed to Rodriguez and the cartel. At the time he hadn’t given a f*ck about the cost.

But in the last two days he had gotten wind of a plan that caused his desire for revenge to escalate further than he had ever imagined.

This Hells Raiders biker—this chingada madre—had not only dared to infiltrate his compound, but had cut him off at the knees by having him alienated from his cartel brothers. Who the f*ck did he think he was to approach Rodriguez for protection for his club, for himself, and, most important, for Roja? And who the f*ck did Rodriguez think he was to betray one of his lieutenants for gringo biker scum?

Oh yes, the cocksucker would pay. He would pay with his life and with Roja’s, but only after he had been tortured to where he would pray for death. And Roja would watch every blow until the time came for her to suffer her own dose of justice.

TWENTY-TWO

REV

Two days after Wyatt’s birth, I had Boone and Crazy Ace open up the main gates on the compound. Deacon, Bishop, and Mac, our club secretary, followed me as I zipped out onto the main road. I had received a call the night before from Hector Rodriguez himself. He was more than willing to take the guns off our hands, and he had set up a meeting with us at noon with some of the men in his operation. As vice president, Deacon would be there as my second-in-command, and we needed Mac to record what was agreed to verbally. Of course, Bishop, as sergeant at arms, was along as well for any needed muscle.

Although the January cold bore down hard on us, I couldn’t help enjoying the sunshine and the freedom of being outside of the compound. Our contact point was about two miles from the compound, which Rodriguez had chosen to put us Raiders at ease of not being far from home. We pulled into the parking lot of a rather run-down Mexican restaurant, which I’d previously had no idea was involved in any dirty dealings.

When we stepped inside the restaurant, I quickly scanned the room. A waitress hurried up to us. “Come with me,” she said.

“Guess she knows we’re not here for the food,” Bishop mused.

We were led to a back room that had once been used for private parties. Two men sat at one of the tables. They rose to their feet at the sight of us. “Please come in. You’re very welcome,” the older of the two said.

When I stood before him, he offered me his hand. “I’m Hector’s cousin, Juan. He flew me in to meet with you.”

After shaking his hand, I introduced him to Deacon and the others. As we sat down, beer and bottles of tequila appeared from several waitresses. I took a beer to ease some of the tension I couldn’t help feeling.