Satan's Devils MC Boxset 1

by Manda Mellett

Dollar and Bullet follow the others out, which leaves me alone with Devil and Haughton. “You gonna be in on this?” After, as expected, they confirm they are I rub my temples with the heels of my hand, wondering what blowback we can expect from the feds. We’re letting them see our interrogation methods, which sure wouldn’t get approval under the Geneva Convention.

  But what else can I do? “I’ll take you up in a couple of minutes.” I want to check in on Sam first. “Wait for me at the bar.” I walk out of the room, wondering how this fuckup of a day can get much worse. Immediately it is obvious it can. As soon as I get outside, even though it’s dark now, in the light from the clubhouse I see Sam, Sandy’s arm around her, walking out.

  “Hey! What the fuck you doing?”

  Sam’s eyes stare into mine, her features fixed. She’s now wearing a clean t-shirt and a pair of shorts, purple-black bruises adorning her legs. “I’m going to see the women that were brought in. Crystal needs some help, and I know some of what’s happened to them. They won’t trust the men, or not without reassurance.”

  “You should be resting up.”

  She sighs, comes over, and puts her hands on my cut. “Drum, I’m sore, but that’s all. And I won’t be able to rest if I don’t do all I can for them. Jeez, Drum. What they’ve been through?” She shakes her head.

  Rolling back my head, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. A president’s woman has got to have strength, and Sam’s showing she's about as strong as any woman I’ve ever known. It’s what I’d do if I was in her place. Looking back down at her, I softly caress her hair, grateful when she leans into my touch. “Just don’t overdo it, okay? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  She smiles. “You go and do your prez things, and I’ll see you later.”

  I stay where I am, watching her limp stiffly away. Fuck, she’s going to be the death of me. Then, seeing Devil and Haughton waiting, I go out back where I find Doc finishing up with his rather impatient patient.

  “I’d rather he go to a hospital.”

  Roadrunner's face twists with pain but is set in a glare. “I don’t need to go. You said nothing vital was hit.”

  “I said I didn’t think the bullet went near anything vital,” Doc corrects him.

  “I trust you, Doc.”

  Doc’s face doesn’t seem to reciprocate the faith the young prospect has in him. “I don’t want you to move. You stay put until that IV runs out. If you don’t, I’ll have an ambulance here faster than you can fuckin’ blink.”

  I add my bit, “And if you want to patch in, Road, you do exactly what Doc’s telling you to do. Understood?”

  As Doc and I both direct our best glowers toward the prone man, he seems to shrink back on the bed. After a moment he gives a slight nod. “I hear you, Prez.”

  With a shake of his head, Doc turns to me. “I’ll go see to the women, then come back and check on this one.”

  Returning to the clubroom, I signal to Devil and Haughton, then lead them out back to the innocently named storage area. A place we don’t often use for anything but keeping random stuff, and a location which comes into its own when needed, sufficiently out of the way so we don’t need to be quiet.

  Kurt’s already strung up, stripped naked. His cock he was hoping to use to deflower an unwilling virgin, swinging limp and flaccid. His eyes are wildly flicking left and right. So far, apart for the rough treatment dragging him in, no one’s laid a hand on him. They’d been waiting for me. Throwing him a look of disdain and having to keep my hands curled by my thighs, I take Devil and Haughton off to one side and then lean back against a workbench, leaving them to make themselves comfortable as they see fit. I incline my head toward Blade.

  Kurt starts spluttering before the enforcer’s taken his first step toward him. “I have money!”

  Yeah, tell us something we don’t know. We know what he paid for Sam, and we’ve seen his house.

  “You can have the woman.”

  We’ve already got her.

  “Look, you’re making a mistake. I’m a businessman. I’m well respected. The police will come looking for me. You don’t want any trouble. Let me go and I’ll keep quiet.”

  He wanted to hurt Sam, to break her, but is shit-scared of pain for himself. Blade looks toward me; I give the nod, working to quell the rage burning inside me. He picks up a baseball bat we leave here and smashes it against one of Kurt’s legs. There’s an animalistic scream that seems to hang in the air. Stoically hiding my wince, I force myself to look steadily on, as it’s clear with the one strike Blade’s broken a bone. Now there’s pressure on Kurt’s shoulders as he tries to balance on just the one leg. After his initial bellow of agony, he’s whimpering like a baby.

  Now that Blade’s softened him up, I push off my perch. “How did you hear about Sam? Tell us everything about the gang you were dealing with. Who were your fuckin’ contacts? You tell it all and we let you live. Blade, here, will be giving you some encouragement if you stop fuckin’ talking unless it’s to take a breath.”

  The pain’s already making him shake, but the tone of my voice makes it worse. He knows I’m fucking serious.

  Blade’s taken out his knife, lovingly sliding his fingers over it. It’s his weapon of choice.

  “They’ll kill me,” Kurt rasps.

  Another nod toward Blade, a slash across his stomach. Not too deep, but enough to sting. Seeing his own blood dripping down his legs is all it takes.

  When at last Kurt stops spewing every detail he knows, I glance across to Haughton, who gives me a nod. We’ve learned a lot about how the buyers are fixed up with their women, and the one name that he knows of the person who was the scout for Sam. He doesn’t know much, has only dealt with Louis, but some of the background should help.

  “May I?” The agent steps forward, I grant my permission with a nod. “Who got you into this?”

  As he speaks in a calm voice, it’s clear Kurt hadn’t noticed the agent, wearing his jacket identifying who he is, was present. A whole new level of fear comes into his eyes. Once again, I lean back against the workbench. This will be interesting.

  Haughton continues, “How did you learn about the ring?”

  Kurt’s in pain already, but now a stream of urine runs down his legs. Catching Devil’s eye, I slowly dip my head. Kurt knows something.

  The agent indicates Blade. “Shall I let him loose on you again? Pull out your teeth?” He sneers. “After what you tried to do to their president’s woman, I reckon you might be saying goodbye to your cock.”

  I raise my eyebrows. It seems the agent is relishing being able to call on our interrogation methods that wouldn’t be allowed in his organisation. He’s enjoying this.

  Kurt starts to cry. “You can’t let them do that. You’re a fed.”

  A disinterested shrug. “I’ll just turn my back.”

  There’s a moment of silence, then Kurt speaks again, he sounds defeated. “If I tell you... I’m dead.”

  Another shrug. “And if you don’t, you’re not very far away from that. Doubt it will take long to bleed out once they cut off your dick.”

  Tears streaming down his face, mingling with the blood and urine on the floor, Kurt’s chin drops to his chest. Haughton nods at Blade, who once again removes his knife from his sheath and steps forward, his hand aiming toward the flaccid cock that seems to have shrivelled up even further.

  Kurt’s eyes follow the blade until it’s almost made contact, and at the last minute gives it up as he rasps out the name of a prominent senator.

  The agent’s eyes open wide as he queries he’s heard correctly.

  “Yes,” Kurt agrees, his mouth twisted in pain.

  Haughton’s beaming as he slaps me on the back. He looks like he’s won the fucking lottery.

  “Got what you wanted?”

  When he clarifies that indeed he has, and it’s over to me again now, I jerk my chin at my men. “Gag him,” I instruct.

  As Blade and Wraith move forward, Kurt realises his suffe
ring isn’t going to come to an end, and he screeches out. “Get me down, you can’t leave me up here!” Then his begging stops. He can’t say anything at all with a rag stuffed in his mouth. We’ve three more to interrogate, and the sight of him strung up, his stomach bleeding, his left leg useless, will help loosen them up.

  My first officer position in the club was as enforcer, so I know exactly how Blade is feeling, though his face will give nothing away. He’s treating the men he’s questioning as though they’re nothing more than a side of meat he has to cut up. His knowledge of anatomy means he can make it hurt, but not do enough damage to kill—unless I give the signal of course. Afterwards, he’ll get drunk and fuck whores, berating the loss of one more piece of his soul. But the job needs to be done. And we’ve just proved our methods of questioning are a lot more successful than those of the feds.

  One by one we grill them. Haughton’s making notes in a book, Devil’s jotting them on his phone. Names, locations, pickup and drop-off points, and their contacts in the cartel. Now we have some idea of the size of the organisation we’re facing and where the rot stems from.

  When we come to the end, I raise an eyebrow toward the agent. If I had my way, I’d end this now, finally and for good. Leaving these men breathing, wasting money on a trial when they’re , guilty as hell of ruining the lives of hundreds of women seems a waste of time, space, and air to me.

  Haughton’s conscience may have allowed us to interrogate them, but he baulks at my final solution. At last, he calls for some transportation to take them away, and asks for a doctor to be ready as they’d apparently been in a fight. Yeah, with the losing end of Blade’s knife and baseball bat.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Sam…

  The compound rests in the foothills of the Coronado Forest and rises toward the back where the women have been housed. Seeing me struggling, Sandy puts her arm around me to help me up the slight incline. As we approach the houses, the sound of weeping reaches me.

  Pushing in through the door, I find, at least for now, all the women have decided to stick together in one of the buildings instead of spreading out to the second available unit next door. Their time together causing a bond to form between them. I can relate to that, as my eyes meet those of the one woman who’d not been too broken to speak to me in the transport. I’m not surprised to see it’s her, Monica, who’s comforting the rest.

  Crystal had called on the other old ladies to help. Carmen and Sophie are already here. Sandy, having stayed to help me dress and then lend me her arm on the way up, is meeting the abused women for the first time, and I see by the worried glance she throws toward me that it’s only now she’s realising just what they, and I, have been through. Some are sobbing, possibly with relief that they’re free, some are simply staring into space. There’s a low murmur of conversation, and in snatches I catch mostly disbelief in their rescue, tinged with concern and suspicion about the bikers who saved them.

  The old ladies have been busy. Already they’ve got coffee brewing, the welcome scent pervading the air, and food on the go. Doc’s beaten me here too, but like Joker and Beef, the three men stand in a corner, the women shying away from them, their ordeal making them fearful of anyone of the opposite sex.

  Some of the women had been with their captors for weeks. I, only a few hours, but that was enough for me to have some insight into how they’re feeling. I give Doc a nod, then pick on the person I think might be the bravest. Going over to Monica, I touch her arm. “Doc, the man without a cut over there, he wants to examine all of you. See if you need treatment. If you go with him, the others might follow.”

  She grabs my hand, with her other she touches the bruises on my face as if confirming I was indeed one of them too. “Do you trust him?” Her voice is tentative; she too is wary of any male.

  “I do,” I say, confidently, with no doubt in my voice, able to vouch for him due to the sympathetic way he’d treated me. “He’s a good man. He knows what he’s doing. He’s not like the men who stole you.” That I show no misgivings about the medic’s skills and can confirm he’s got no ulterior motive seems to calm her.

  Her eyes search my face. “Will you come with me?”

  “Of course, I will.” I squeeze her fingers in mine and lead her across to where Doc’s waiting by an open bedroom door. Joker and Beef step back, giving her a wide berth. Nodding to them, I give an inward smile. They’re doing everything they can to appear non-threatening, but it’s an uphill struggle. Tall, muscular, rugged-looking bikers wearing cuts have their work cut out to appear non-threatening.

  Doc’s examination is quick and non-invasive, instead asking her about any concerns. Like me, she’s got bruises and scrapes and admits to being raped. It’s then he leaves us for a moment and goes outside to make a call.

  When he returns, it’s to tell us, “I’ve spoken to a friend of mine, she works at a women’s clinic. She’s gonna come up with some rape kits and tests for STDs. If we do this the right way, we can get evidence to put the bastards who did this to you away.” His kind eyes find Monica’s.

  Monica glances at me, and then back to Doc, a tentative nod is her only reply.

  I stay while Doc examines the others, the awfulness of their ordeal lessening mine. At least I wasn’t raped by multiple men, used and abused. In Doc’s view, no one needs to go to hospital, though he confides they’ll all need therapy to fully recover, if indeed they ever do. When the nurse arrives, she brings a female colleague to help. All the women want me there to support them, and again, I’m happy to help.

  By the time Drum, Devil, and another man appear, we’re well into the early hours of the morning and I’m overcome with tiredness. Doc fills them in; the stranger seems pleased with the steps that have been taken.

  He then steps forward, introducing himself as Agent Haughton. He addresses the women, letting them know the services that the Human Trafficking Task Force will be able to offer. I’m interested in learning this includes providing them with shelter, food, and clothing if they require it, and the counselling which they most definitely need. But the best bit of news that helped cheer us all up is that the four men who’d been with the transport had all been killed, along with one of the leaders of the trafficking ring, and that they’d captured three of the others. Knowing the men who’d molested them can’t ever hurt anyone else was the best news they could have heard.

  “Should have cut off their fucking dicks,” Monica grumbles, and her comment even brings forth a weak laugh from a couple of the other women.

  When Haughton concludes his speech, Drum puts his arms around me, and I lean into his touch, barely able to support myself anymore. Pulling back slightly he examines my face. “Come, you’re worn out. You’ve done enough, Sam.”

  I have to agree. We’re already at the top of the compound so his house is quite close, just a little way away, secluded from the other buildings. Keeping one arm around me, he leads me over the sandy ground. Above us, the moon hangs in a star-laden sky, but I’m too tired to appreciate the sight. Reaching his front door, he opens it and leads me through the lounge area and straight into to the bedroom. He prods me over to the bed, where a gentle pressure on my shoulders has me sitting down.

  Taking his hands away slowly, as though reluctant to break the contact between us, he maintains our connection with his eyes. “You hungry? Want anything to drink?”

  The stress of the long day before and the tension of supporting the abducted women catches up with me now that the weight’s off my feet, and there’s a soft mattress underneath me. “No, I just need to sleep, Drum.”

  Slowly, non-threateningly, he folds to his knees, and his hands go to the button of my shorts. “Let’s get you undressed then.”

  I welcome his assistance, suddenly overcome with weakness. As though I were a child, he undoes the zip and encourages me to lift my hips so he can remove them completely. He leaves my underwear on.

  “Do you want to sleep in your shirt?”

  Fo
r some reason I do. It’s not that I believe he’ll take advantage of me, but having been naked in front of Kurt, I need the illusion of protective armour now. But my bra will be uncomfortable, so I slide the straps down my arms and reach around to undo the clasp and pull it away without removing the t-shirt. Drum doesn’t miss that I’m avoiding his more intimate touch. His eyes narrow, and his mouth thins, but I know the anger he’s trying to rein in isn’t directed at me.

  He pulls back the sheet and I slip underneath. Then, after adjusting the air conditioning, he strips down to his boxers. As he slides in behind me, there’s a moment of hesitation, and then he pulls me into his arms, spooning me. The warmth of his body behind me makes me feel safe, and I close my eyes.

  The combined effect of the trauma of the day and the painkillers I’ve taken, mean sleep comes fast.

  I’m back in that basement, tied to the wall. Kurt is standing over me whip in hand, telling me that he owns me. I scream to escape.

  “Hush, you’re here. With me. You’re safe.” A hand smooths my back, a gentle caress.

  Without gaining full consciousness, the nightmare vanquished, I drift back to sleep.

  The next time I awake, I’m alone. I stretch, wincing at the bruises and my sore muscles. Bright light streaming in through the gap in the curtains suggests I’ve slept well into the day, but it’s done me good, and I’m feeling better, mentally and physically stronger. Just as I’m wondering where Drummer has gone, the door to the bedroom opens and he walks in with a tray laden with coffee and a delicious smelling breakfast that immediately makes my mouth water.

  Gazing at the tray he’s placed on my lap, I look up with a bemused grin. “You cook?”

  He huffs and looks sheepish. “Can’t take credit. Soph brought it up.” He takes one of the overloaded plates for himself and leaves the other for me. Soon I’m tucking into the most scrumptious bacon and eggs I’ve ever tasted.

  He looks on, his steel-grey eyes examining me. “How you feeling today?”

  I try an experimental wriggle. “A lot better.”