Amy's Santa: Satan's Devils MC Second Generation #1

by Manda Mellett

  “Who are you?” Flint starts shouting. “Let me go. What the hell do you want? Money? Huh, haven’t got much of that. I’ve done nothing to you, let me go.”

  I tap Wizard on the shoulder, it’s clear he’s tense as he tries to hold himself back. But in deference to my being her father, he raises his chin toward me.

  Stepping up in front of the man, I stand still for a moment. When I’ve got his full attention, I spit out, “You fucked with the wrong woman.” At his look of confusion, suddenly aware that Amy was probably not his first, I clarify, “Amy Norman.”

  Flint stills, then protests, “I don’t know anyone by that name. You’ve got the wrong man. Now let me go and I won’t say anything.”

  It’s him alright. But it’s possible he’s not lying. In such an establishment she could have used a fake name, so I refresh his memory. “Three months back at the Feathers BDSM Club. The woman you abused and raped. The woman you’ve been stalking ever since.”

  He sneers. “Abused and raped? It’s a fucking BDSM club for God’s sake. Women go there to be abused and have sex.”

  Wizard’s lost his patience and steps up beside me. “Penetration’s not allowed at that club.”

  Flint pouts. “Well damnit, it should be. It’s a sex club.”

  “It’s a kink club,” I correct.

  He shrugs as if there’s no difference; however, I know there is.

  Prez growls loudly, “There’s a thing called consent—”

  “It was consensual,” he protests. “She wanted it that way. If she says anything different, she’s a liar.”

  “Then why were you stripped of your membership? And why did the dungeon monitor who pulled you off, confirm her story?”

  He blusters. “It was all a mistake. I broke the rules of the club, but I did nothing she didn’t ask for. Look, when a bitch is gagging for it, you give it to them.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Prez’s voice has gone eerily calm. Wiz has learned a lot over the years from his old prez, it’s a bit like watching Drummer at work. “None of us,” he indicates the men standing around, “believe you.” He points to me. “This is Amy’s father. Do you think he’s going to show you any mercy?”

  There’s a flicker of fear in Flint’s eyes, but still he tries again. “I didn’t hurt your daughter. Well, not beyond what she wanted.”

  “She wanted to be raped?” I approach him having seen Prez’s chin lift. “If she wanted sex, why was she at a club that banned it?” When he opens his mouth, I give him the answer myself, “Because she wanted a safe place to play, where she could be herself, where she could relax and have fun, knowing there were limits.”

  He must see something in the expression on my face, as he shouts out, “She wanted it. I swear. She wanted it!”

  Knowing there was no fucking way she asked for anything of the sort, my fist smashes into his jaw. So hard, I have to give it a shake to remove the sting from it, knowing Marc will question why my knuckles are broken and bleeding. Must have hit a fucking tooth. And I’m right on the money, as he spits one out.

  Wizard gently moves me out of the way and takes his place in front of Flint. He waits patiently while Flint spits more blood out of his mouth, and for his eyes to focus on him. “Now you’ve… met… Amy’s father, let me tell you who I am. I’m Wizard, President of the Satan’s Devils MC. Amy was born into this club, and unlike you, we’ll do anything for one of our own.” He pauses to let that sink in for a moment, the coldness in his tone emphasising the implication. Flint seems to shrink back into himself. His eyes open wide as it appears to dawn on him, if we’ve told him who we are, he’s not getting out of this.

  “I’ll give you money. I’ll give her money. I’ve not got much, I’ll mortgage my house…” Christ, I wouldn’t be surprised if he offered us his children.

  “Rude,” Wizard states. “You didn’t let me finish. Amy’s club property, ours to protect. More than that, she’s my old lady. You think money can fix what you’ve done? You believe the nightmares she still has can be wiped away with a handful of dollars? You fuckin’ know a submissive gives control to a Dom because she trusts him. She trusted you Flint, and you took that trust, tore it up and shredded it.”

  “You let your old lady go alone to a kink club?”

  Prez stops him talking with a fist to the opposite side that I’d hit, his Satan’s Devils’ ring contacting with his eye. Right on target.

  “You’ve taken out my fucking eye!” Flint screams, shaking his head, trying to rid himself of the stinging pain.

  “Not yet I haven’t, but it’s an idea,” Wizard says drily. “Blade, would you like to do the honours?”

  Blade gives an evil and chilling chuckle and, as well as he can, flexes his gnarled hands. “Sure would. An eye for a rape. Sounds fair.” Then he snaps out, “Hold him.”

  “No. For the sake of God, no.” Flint’s screaming. “No, you can’t. No!”

  Throttle and Hound step up. It takes them a moment to subdue him, but soon Hound’s holding his head in a headlock and Throttle’s holding a knife to his throat.

  “Move and this is all over,” he warns. “You might survive losing an eye, but I’ll cut your fuckin’ throat if you keep fighting.

  Flint squeals like a stuck pig. He’s gone completely white and Blade hasn’t even touched him yet.

  “Not my eye. Please, I beg you. Not my eye. Anything but my eye.”

  Then he’s screaming again, forgetting the threat of the knife at his throat, he jerks back against Hound who just grips him more tightly. The ex-enforcer approaches, gripping a stiletto blade firmly. With one hand he parts the eyelids of the swollen eye, then waits.

  “No. No. You…”

  Blade strikes. Christ, I don’t think I’ve heard anyone scream so loudly as Blade proudly brandishes Flint’s eyeball in front of him still pierced by the stiletto. With his other hand, he takes another knife from his belt and calmly slices through the ligaments still attaching it to the socket.

  “My eye. You’ve blinded me,” Flint sobs. “Christ, my eye.” All the time Blade’s holding the eye in front of him as though it’s a trophy.

  “You’re all crazy,” Flint sobs, blood dripping from his empty socket, and tears streaming from his one remaining eye.

  Prez is tapping his chin, looking thoughtful, his face gradually darkening, betraying the direction of his thoughts. “I had a chat with my ol’ lady last night. You know what she fuckin’ told me?” He pauses and looks around at each of us. “You know what I had to hear from my woman? Do you want to know how this man gets his kicks?” He blanches as though even the thought pains him, and his gaze meets mine, sending an apology. “This man tied her up, gagged her. She couldn’t scream for help, he ignored her non-verbal signals. He fucking hit her, abused her, and he dared to put his cock inside her. You think one eye pays for what this scum did? I fuckin’ don’t. In fact, I don’t think Flint deserves to see another pretty girl ever again in his life.”

  As he spells out what she went through, Throttle, Hound, and Hawk clearly hearing the details for the first time, swear loudly. It’s almost too much for Hawk, who turns away, hurling his fist against the wall. Throttle’s vibrating with anger, and Hound’s gone still.

  Prez’s calm, cold, retelling had been hard hearing to even my brothers who already know most of the details. Drummer’s stroking his beard, pain showing on his face.

  Eyes come to me, her father. Then go to Prez, her old man. I catch his gaze and say simply, “Blind him, Prez.”

  “My turn,” says Throttle, tightly. “Blade, walk me through how you did it.”

  If I thought Flint was shouting loudly before, his bellows are almost deafening as Blade takes his time, and makes a show of instructing Throttle just how to insert the blade and twist. I’m sure Throttle could work it out for himself, but Flint’s begging, promising us everything he owns, just to leave him some vision.

  I’m glad the room’s soundproofed. Christ, the scream as Throttle t
akes out his one remaining eye is ear piercing.

  “Fucking shame he can’t see this.” Throttle shakes his head in disappointment as both he and Blade display their prizes.

  “We could let him go free,” Wraith suggests. “He wouldn’t last long if we dumped him on the freeway.” We all start laughing. I’m picturing him stumbling in front of a truck.

  “No, no, no…” Flint’s got blood running down his face from his empty eye sockets.

  “You want to die yet?” Wizard asks him seriously. “You ready to beg for us to end you?”

  “You know what Slick would suggest?” Mouse refers to our brother who’s passed over.

  Drummer, Wraith, Peg, Blade, and I grin at each other, while Wizard cocks his head, not certain of the answer.

  “Cut off his fuckin’ dick.” Blade’s jumping on the spot, looking cheerful.

  “Christ yeah,” says Throttle. “Always wanted to try that.”

  Peg’s shaking his head at his son, though the grin shows he’s proud of him.

  “He wouldn’t be able to fuck anyone again,” Hawk observes. “Good fuckin’ idea, Mouse.”

  Flint’s screamed pleas for mercy are now almost drowning us out. It’s getting hard to hear each other.

  It’s annoying Prez. “Throttle, cut out his fucking tongue, will you? Fed up with hearing this piece of shit.”

  Hawk and Hound step up. It takes them a moment as Flint is surprisingly not cooperative. But they get him in position for the enforcer, and soon his tongue is out too. Now he’s making odd sounds and is definitely quieter and spitting blood out of his mouth.

  “He could bleed out from that,” Blade observes casually and certainly with no pity.

  “I want to make him hurt.” I raise my eyebrow at Wizard, thinking cutting off his dick probably would. But it seems it’s not enough. “I want to send him to Satan with every part of him screaming.”

  Prez’s eyes land on me. “He raped your daughter.” He points to himself. “He raped my ol’ lady.” Now he looks at each of the others in turn. “He raped our property. He left her broken, and she’ll never completely recover from that. I think we all deserve a piece of him.”

  None of us mistake what he means. It’s Drummer who steps up first, cutting through the tendons in one leg, Wraith goes for the other. Hawk slices off one ear, and Peg attacks his left arm, then Hound his right. Mouse, with a wide grin at Blade, goes behind the gurgling man, and slowly, and deliberately, uses a suspiciously old looking knife to slice off his scalp.

  An arm’s been left for me, I take my own knife from my belt and slice through it. Flint flops like a grounded fish, only the ropes holding him up, his body twitching like a marionette.

  Wizard has retrieved the bat we keep for such purposes, now he lets his rage loose, breaking both his legs, well, to be accurate, smashing them to pieces. I grimace, remembering how much that hurt, but maybe it’s too late… no, I saw movement, he’s still conscious.

  “Can I go for his dick now? Can I, can I?” Throttle sounds eager, just like his predecessor.

  “Wait,” I say, taking the bat from Wizard, wanting something to satisfy my burning anger. The satisfying crunch tells me I’ve broken his ribs.

  “Now?” Throttle tries again.

  “Yeah,” Prez says.

  There’s an attempt at a scream from the broken body. It’s more of a gurgling strangled sound.

  “Christ. His bowels have let loose,” Throttle complains, gingerly picking up the limp cock with his now latex covered hands.

  Drummer comes up beside me, laying his hand on my shoulder. This is the end, we all know it. A man can’t exist without his dick, or not unless he has pretty quick treatment.

  He’s dying already from the punishment we’ve inflicted. Maybe he won’t even feel it, but the thought of removing a rapist’s dick is highly satisfying.

  “Slice his balls, Brother,” Blade offers helpfully.

  The enforcer wastes no time in doing just that. Then he raises his knife one last time. “This is for Amy. Goddamn your soul for ever touching our sister.”

  His cock, which he used to rape my daughter, is now lying on the floor. I view it for a moment, then turn away, disgusted. Not at what we’ve done, but at what the man did.

  But he’s no longer a man, he’s a bloody broken mess. All I feel is relief and a sense that he’d gotten off lightly. His suffering lasted an hour or so at most. Amy has got to live with what he did, forever.

  “Get the prospects up here,” Wizard instructs.

  “He’s not gone yet,” warns Peg.

  “Don’t give a damn if he’s breathing or not when he goes to his grave. He’ll be dead soon after.”

  “Nathan will have gone with Amy,” Hawk reminds him. “But I don’t mind helping with clean up.”

  I glance at Wizard seeing him grimacing. Yeah, by now, Amy will be back in Phoenix, but at least she’s got a prospect to protect her even though, while she may not know it, the threat is gone.

  “I don’t mind giving them a hand to dispose of the trash.”

  “Yeah, I’ll help too,” offers Hound. He nods at Hawk.

  No one needs any instruction on what to do, we’re practised at this. And yet again, Road’s track will be extended a little bit, the name still sticking even though he’s with another club and, like the rest of us being older, doesn’t ride in trials any longer.

  Drummer slaps his hand on my shoulder again. “The girls are laying out a buffet. Anyone want food?”

  “Sounds good,” I reply, turning my back on the thing in the chair.

  “Not me,” Blade shudders, and Mouse goes over to him. “Come on, man.” With his arm around his shoulders, he leads the ex-enforcer out into the fresh air.

  “He’s never gotten over that, has he?” observes Wraith.

  Nope, surprisingly he hasn’t. He always pukes after he’s done his job. I reckon, myself, it’s something to do with the adrenaline hit, rather than him being squeamish.

  The rest of us? Well it turns out we’ve worked up quite the appetite.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Amy

  There was never really any doubt what my decision would be after the month Drew had given me had run out. Somehow, my subconscious had known what I’d do, as the very first day I went back to work after Christmas, I’d handed in my resignation.

  But I did use the time to do some serious thinking. One side of my brain was telling me, rushing headlong into a relationship with Drew was a mistake. On the other hand, it wasn’t as if we’d only just met and I didn’t know everything about him that’s important—his loyalty, the depth of his commitment once he makes one, his truthfulness and reliability. That in conversation he gives weight and consideration to anything I say, something that goes back to when I was a child, and he’d taken notice of my opinion, even if it was an uninformed thought from a young mind.

  If I listed everything I wanted in a life partner, Drew would tick every box, all but one. I worry if I’ll be settling for something less than I want if I commit to him.

  My perfect man would be dominant—not in day-to-day living, but definitely in bed. I can’t deny vanilla sex is amazing with Drew, but at the back of my mind worry I may become bored if it descends into a routine. I don’t need to be tied up or blindfolded every time we make love, but occasionally I like to feel I can totally relax, and feel myself drift away into subspace, where I lose myself completely in the moment.

  Can I live without that? It’s the question I ponder when I see Drew at least once every week. He’s fitted in with my shifts, often making the journey up to Phoenix and staying over for the night. On one occasion I’d driven down to Tucson, and it had felt so natural being back on the compound.

  We’ve made love, but Drew’s always been so careful, mindful of what happened with Flint and trying to do nothing that would bring back bad memories. On my part, while I trust him completely, my brain screams at the thought of experiencing the things I previously enjoyed.
But one day, I hope to get to a better place where I’ll want him to restrain me, where I’ll want him to be inventive, but if he were to make such a suggestion now, you wouldn’t see me for dust. But in time, I know, I’ll want him to dominate me. Will he be able to be the man I want?

  Vanilla sex with Drew? Or kink with someone like Xander?

  I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s no comparison. Maybe a month ago I’d say something different, but I love everything about Drew, and should he turn out not to be the most exciting lover, then what he can give me in everything else will more than compensate. He’s a complete package, not just what he can offer in bed.

  As well as deep thoughts about our relationship, I find myself damning Flint every day for how he’s ruined my life. I hope one day his will be in tatters too.

  I was shocked when Xander called me, not having expected to hear from him again, even though I yearned to call and apologise, and see how he’s doing. The reason for him making contact was that the police had been making enquiries at the BDSM club. Apparently, Flint’s wife had reported him missing a few days after Christmas, but they can’t find out where he’s gone. Most think he might have left her for a girlfriend, apparently his wife saw nothing suspicious, just that one minute he was there and the next he left. I wonder whether she’s glad to be shot of him, and whether she’d ever had a taste of what he’d done to me. It wouldn’t surprise me. Even if she hadn’t, she might not know it, but she’s better off without him in her life.

  That he’s missing doesn’t make me feel easier. It would be better if someone was keeping tabs on his every move. I constantly worry I’ll see him when I come out of the hospital, or that he’ll be waiting for me back at the apartment, or even one of the stores I visit.

  At least I’m never alone, Nathan’s been my shadow, always there when I leave work, and accompanying me back home. I’m sure it must be the most boring job in the world being my babysitter, but he assures me he’ll obey his prez’s instructions to the letter. It’s a sign of how much he wants his patch. Nevertheless, his being here has allowed me to have some semblance of peace of mind. He’s also good company. As I’ve come to know him better, we’ve shared a few laughs.