Veiled Amor (Renegade Souls MC Romance Saga Book 10) Read online

  VEILED AMOR

  By V. THEIA

  COPYRIGHT

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are the products of the author’s

  imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Names and characters are the property of the author and may not be duplicated. The use of any real company and/or product names is for literary effect only. All other trademarks and copyrights are the property of their respective owners.

  VEILED AMOR

  Cover photo: depositphoto.com

  Cover Design: V. Theia. ©2021

  Published by V. Theia 2021.

  All Rights Reserved

  DEDICATION

  For Sasha.

  Without you, Capone would be speaking bad Google translated Spanish.

  Thanks for all your help, lady! (any mistakes are mine!)

  CONTENTS

  COPYRIGHT

  DEDICATION

  CONTENTS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  Also by V. THEIA

  CONNECT WITH ME:

  ONE

  “Time to banana and split this gilded prison.” – Lucia Mercado

  Kismet. Fate. Serendipity. An act of God.

  Whatever you called it, it came knocking on Lucia Mercado’s door that night, and she wasn’t one to look a gift horse in its eye. Eh, mouth. Whatever the saying was.

  There was an excitable tremble to her chest she hadn’t felt in a long time.

  But when one was escaping, there was no time for reminiscing about a time in her life where she committed a crime that only one other person knew about. And he wasn’t inclined to talk to her about it either.

  Clothes flew everywhere as she dragged them out of the tall, white dresser.

  Be quiet.

  She had to be quiet.

  Though, she knew no one would hear.

  The house she lived in was the size of two football fields with overlap. Her bedroom was on the east wing, and only the staff came across, but never this late.

  It was hard to stay silent as she shoved dresses, panties, bras, and flip-flops into a roller case, because she wanted to bubble with laughter.

  Lucia wanted to throw herself on the bed she’d slept in since she was a child, and howl with giddy joy.

  Wait. She’d need more than flip-flops. She added sneakers and two pairs of ankle booties along with jeans and sweaters.

  The dream played on a loop for some weeks.

  Trampling through her subconscious, waking her with sweaty needs humming through her bloodstream.

  It usually drove her crazy and put her in a dreadful mood for the rest of the day.

  Not today.

  Thank God her subconscious was a filthy bitch.

  If not for the dream, she never would have stomped out of her bedroom to fetch a glass of water. And if not for the need for a cooling down, she wouldn’t have overheard a conversation her father was having in the echoing entrance hall.

  A conversation about her.

  Nicholas Cole, renowned Kingpin, cold-hearted criminal, and the wolf of Miami, was planning to use her as a bargaining chip again in one of his business deals.

  It was all Lucia heard before she sprinted back to her room on silent feet and began packing.

  So much for fatherly love.

  But that had always been in short supply ever since her mom died when she was four-years-old. She tried to tell herself she couldn’t miss what she’d never had. But it still stung to hear him talking about her like she was a thing.

  Nicholas Cole’s love always came with a price, and for a long time she’d fought for it.

  Her image, obedience and lack of opinion were top of his list.

  Vanity meant a lot to Nicholas.

  She couldn’t get fat, God forbid. Who would buy her then?

  Someone always micromanaged Lucia for every morsel she put inside her mouth or the clothes on her back.

  My daughter will make you a great wife; let’s get it arranged as soon as possible.

  Not this time, dad.

  She’d been there, got the t-shirt and the bad fucking memories.

  Being her father, she stupidly loved him. But didn’t like him all that much. Funnily, she discovered she was cut from the same cloth because why else was she trying to escape in the middle of the night if she didn’t have some of her father’s fighting instincts? She wouldn’t lie down and take his dictating anymore.

  Lucia would take a running guess that her second arranged marriage wouldn’t be quite the same as her first. That slimy goat downstairs would insist on her giving him children.

  Double ick.

  Once she was packed, she tossed her PJ’s on the bed before she dressed in patterned yoga leggings, a tank top, and a white hoodie. Next, she slid her feet into a pair of Michael Kors tennis shoes.

  Her father might lack giving affection and genuine love for his child. But his one good grace, as you might call it, was he’d never been skimpy on anything she wanted. She had an unlimited credit card, only because he refused her to work.

  It was degrading to know she was twenty-six and had no say in her own life.

  She felt sick admitting she was a trophy. A thing. Not treated as a person.

  The plan to spend a lot of his money, until he insisted she earn her own, backfired because he’d smirked over the dinner table and told her. “You had a good month, Lucia.”

  Ugh, like he was proud of her frivolous ways.

  But of course, a man like Nicholas Cole would equate fun with spending thousands.

  She was stifled in a privileged life many would kill to have.

  If only they knew.

  She lived in a gilded cage, did Lucia.

  Her leash was only so long.

  Couldn’t date.

  Couldn’t travel without her father.

  Not permitted to work or have an apartment. Even during her brief marriage, she lived in an estate villa with guards always close by.

  In part, it was because of her father and the danger his lifestyle brought.

  But why should the daughter pay for the father’s sins?

  She refused to be his chess piece again.

  Santiago was dead.

  Her then nineteen-year-old husband was dead because of her father.

  The entire Mercado family was dead.

  All except for one man.

  The one who might have saved her life again tonight.

  She missed Giancarlo like it was a gaping sore.

  At times, she fooled herself into pretending that night didn’t happen so she could breathe without it hurting.

  That haunting, unforgettable night burned into her memories, staining her soul, flaying her sexual organs.


  The night she buried her husband and slept with his brother.

  There was a lot that people didn’t know.

  A lot that Giancarlo didn’t know either.

  If he did, then maybe he wouldn’t hate himself. Or keep distance between them.

  But some things weren’t her secrets to share.

  God. God. Stop thinking about him, Lucia. She chastised, zipping her case closed.

  Giancarlo.

  Or Capone, as he was known now.

  Biker. As dangerous as her father.

  But yet not to her.

  To her, he was her haven and had held her heart since she was eighteen.

  Not that he wanted it. Ouch. Unrequited love, what a fucking bitch.

  Some might say Lucia was a typical, ditzy blonde and dependent on daddy. Only suitable for pushing out babies and doing as she was told.

  She lived in the modern world yet governed by olden-day fashions where women had no rights and opinions of their own.

  To him, business was business, and there was no room for emotion with money.

  She remembered the night she was brought back to her father’s house, after Santiago was killed. She’d known it was his doing, of course. But there was no show of affection. Go unpack, Lucia. We won’t speak of this again.

  And that had been that. As if she’d returned from a trip and not from the police station.

  Lucia knew the one remaining man from that whole devastating saga wanted to be as far away from her as possible. If anything, Giancarlo felt obligated to her because of guilt. However, she’d absolved him of any wrong-doing long ago.

  Slinging a messenger bag around her back, Lucia picked up the roller case and padded soundlessly to the door while her heart thudded.

  She’d always had a nervous laugh when in situations where laughter wasn’t the right thing to do. It couldn’t be helped. The nervous tick tried to work its way up her throat, and Lucia pushed it down. She was on the other side of the house, but it would be her bad luck if someone heard.

  It was fast work down the winding staircase, creeping through the corridors, hearing the house staff in the kitchen. Holding her breath, Lucia tiptoed into the garage. She didn’t bother flipping on the lights for fear they triggered a warning in the staff quarters. Luckily, Lucia knew the two rows of eight cars and quickly grabbed the BMW keys from the lockbox.

  So sure she’d be caught as she started the electric engine, the reason for the choice when it didn’t make a sound.

  It was only when she depressed the gate control Lucia let out a breath, also freeing a bubble of laughter from her chest.

  She wasn’t out of the woods yet, but it was the closest to freedom she’d ever felt, and she was euphoric as she increased her speed, taking her further away from the compound.

  Life was about choices.

  Or so the saying went.

  Not for Lucia.

  Never for Lucia.

  Follow orders, obey the rules, and never ask for anything not already offered.

  Until now.

  Refusing to be a pawn any longer.

  “Screw that,” she declared aloud. “I’m my own woman with my own choices. And I choose my life, my way.”

  Unknown to what that life was yet.

  She drove.

  And she laughed while the distance between her old life grew bigger.

  It wouldn’t be long before her father realized she wasn’t in the house.

  Oh, boy. He’d be fit enough to piss fury.

  She’d seen his temper taken out on others and had no desire to face it head-on.

  Hoping to be far enough away he couldn’t ever find her.

  Lucia was free.

  And once a caged bird was free, there was no putting it back.

  She’d rather be dead.

  Yeah, she was dramatic.

  She’d earned it.

  She was fucking free at last.

  Switching on the radio, she sang along loudly, and went into the unknown.

  Happily.

  TWO

  “Sandwiches for the insomniac.” - Giancarlo Mercado

  It was known by many that one-percenter bikers lived an enriched life.

  They wanted for nothing because there were no laws to stop them from getting anything desired.

  Only, there was one thing unavailable to him for days now.

  Capone wasn’t getting much sleep, at all.

  He was ready to sell his immortal soul to The Holy Mother Magdalene to get some shut-eye. Existing on power naps that made Capone feel like sluggish shit. The Butcher wanted to give him sleeping pills, fuck that. His Abuela relied on that shit until the day she died, and Capone didn’t want to be doped up to catch some decent sleep.

  Having faced a greasy gut feeling all week, he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. It made the Sergeant at Arms officer restless until he paced.

  Things were good at the MC lately. Nothing much was happening—bad news-wise, so he didn’t know why his instincts were telling him to get on his bike and ride.

  The sandwich shop he was investing in was coming together. They had the interior ripped out, a new chrome counter fitted, and an open kitchen so customers could watch their food being made. The staff were ready for opening any day now.

  He liked sandwiches and money. It seemed like a good investment and not something that would need his attention very often. The last thing Capone needed was to strap on an apron and slop lettuce to the public, but he sure as hell would profit from that lettuce slopping.

  Rubbing the center of his chest where his family ink sat deep in his skin, he rolled up to his knees on the cemented garage floor, tossing aside the wrench. He reached for another tool and distracted his dread-filled gut with hard labor. And used the remote to turn up the music to deafening levels.

  Preacher, the most prominent and soft-hearted bastard, broke Capone’s concentration sometime later when the music dimmed. Capone cranked his head to see the big shadow in the doorway. “God Almighty, how do you listen to that shit?”

  “Bajito isn’t shit, papi. You haven’t risen to the heights of good taste, sí?”

  Preacher guffawed a booming laugh while he pulled on his overalls to get down to work. “Keep telling yourself that shit. I’m here if you need an education, bro.”

  Capone rolled his eyes at his club brother.

  These fools loved picking at him about his excellent taste in music.

  “Oh, hey, a call came through for you on the office line,” Preacher informed as he sorted through the worksheet.

  “Sí? Who was it?” Weird, because he never got calls to the office. Everyone had his cell number. He slid it out of his pocket. No missed calls.

  “Don’t know. Some chick, Zara said she hung up when she told her you weren’t around. Have you been holding out on us, brother? You caught a groupie, huh?” Smirked the bigger man.

  Not recently.

  And any woman he might have fucked for a release, he wouldn’t give the office number to. It was used for business reasons. Some treated the club like they were Batman with problems to sort for a price, or they wanted to rat on someone if they were Souls loyal. It came in useful sometimes, especially with cutting off new dealers at the knees. The city knew by now the Souls didn’t put up with anyone trying to push drugs in their territory.

  “So, who is it?” Preacher pressed.

  “No idea.”

  “Could be a baby daddy situation.” Preacher joked. “Some chick is gonna drop a baby off at the front door.”

  Capone went cold all over.

  He knew that wasn’t possible, but what a fucking nightmare it would be.

  Kids in his future sounded like a punishment.

  If any man was not meant to be a papá, it was Capone. If he didn’t have a family of his own, then he’d never feel the debilitating grief ever again.

  “I always wrap up, Preach.” He answered finally. “Unless a woman dug in a trash can for my condom.”

 
He put the phantom woman out of his mind for that day and the next few. Whoever it was didn’t mean a thing to him. If he’d fucked her and she was looking for a repeat, she was out of luck.

  She’d be better off trying to attach to a crocodile.

  Capone didn’t do relationships.

  Not anymore.

  And not in the future either.

  Being a lone wolf was coined for the likes of Capone, and that’s how he preferred his life.

  Nothing was going to make him change his mind.

  Famous last words.

  THREE

  “William Wallace freedom war cry…but with less face paint.” – Lucia

  Coffee.

  A sandwich.

  And an extra hot shower.

  They were the only things Lucia had on her mind while she drove for six more hours that day.

  She drove until she was too exhausted, so she booked a motel. As soon as she washed the road grime away in the weak shower, she fell into asleep on top of the bed. Waking after 2 a.m., shivering and dying of hunger. After pulling on sweatpants and a hoodie, she raided the vending machine of all their crackers and chips. A bed picnic was what she needed.

  Lucia had been unaware of how lonely yet fulfilling running away would feel.

  For the first time in years, her possibilities were endless.

  And it felt good.

  She didn’t quit traveling for four days. Putting over a thousand miles between her went some way to easing her mind.

  In truth, she hadn’t thought that far ahead.

  Would she be fleeing for the rest of her life?

  On the fifth day, Lucia only stopped that night to refuel and get something to eat and she found a diner after she’d filled up with gas.

  “What can I get you, honey?”

  “The soup and sandwich look good. And an ice tea, unsweetened if you have it, please.”

  “Do you want fries or homemade chips?”

  “Salt and malt vinegar chips if you have them.”

  “You got it, won’t be long, honey.” The woman smiled and trudged back to the kitchen. She didn’t take notice of the eight other people in the diner while she sipped on tea and fed the food into her hungry belly. Once again, she took out her phone.