Satan's Devils MC Boxset 1

by Manda Mellett

  Might be with you soon, Crystal. But for the first time, faced with my almost certain demise, I don’t think they’d be doing me a favour. Crystal’s been dead for almost eight months. Now I’m faced with the real possibility of death myself, and not by choice. I belatedly realise she’s never coming back, isn’t waiting somewhere for me, and that I want to hang onto this life. My thoughts are more with my living daughter, Amy, than with my dead wife. It’s her I need to be with, not a ghost.

  Having chained me up, they leave me alone and switch the light off, leaving me in total darkness. This, I know, is the first part of the torture. Soon my shoulders and arms will protest being strained in such an unnatural position for so long. If Scratch knows what he’s doing, he’ll leave me here all night. Hungry, dehydrated, tired, and hurting will have softened me up by the time day comes. But if I’m reading him correctly, he’s inexperienced and impatient. And one thing’s for certain, I won’t be giving him tips on torture techniques.

  I don’t have long to wait to find I’m right. Not even an hour has gone by when light filters through the door at the top of the stairs, and I don’t have to turn my head, recognising by the thumping of feet that multiple people are coming down. I’d fancy my odds against two or even three, or at least put up a good fight, if only they’d let me down. But of course they’re not going to free me from my restraints. When they come into sight I’ve underestimated. There are four. Witcher, Painter, Scratch and Zip. By the looks on their faces, they’ve not come to pass the time of day.

  Scratch lights up a cigarette and blows smoke in my face. I breathe it in. If that’s the last taste of nicotine I’m going to get, I’ll take what I can.

  He takes a long drag, then blows it out, this time toward my feet. I’ve no desire to prolong what I expect is going to be a whole world of pain, but I’ve no desire to get it started either. I leave him to begin, in his own time.

  And wouldn’t you know it? He’s starts by bragging. “You wanna know how we knew to pick you up?”

  I don’t move a muscle, don’t utter a word. Yes, I do. But I’m not giving him anything.

  He continues without any prompting. “You were riding with Arizona plates.”

  “You stop everyone with Arizona plates?” I can’t quite keep the sneer out of my voice.

  It earns me a sharp look. “It makes us take a closer look. Especially when you’re wearing a cut with a Ronin patch, and word on the street was to watch out for you.”

  I have a mental image of them riding around doing nothing but stopping bikers with my home state’s plates. Seems a waste of time to me.

  “Zip here has a brother with the po-po. Traffic cop. We just had him run your license through on his scanner.” He pauses. “Seems you’re a Devil who goes by the name of Adam. Knew you’d come looking for me sometime or the other.”

  “Why?” Not bothering to admit I’m riding another man’s bike, I can’t hold back my curiosity any longer, even though I might end up like the proverbial cat. “Why would I be looking for you?” I ask the question, even though I’m pretty certain I already know the answer. In my head, there’s no longer any doubt. The man Slick’s been trying to find and this Scratch are one and the same. But I’m not going to tell him my real name. Or anything else. I’ll try to find out what I can, while not giving anything away. Just in the unlikely event I’ll get out of here.

  No one knows where I am. The Wretched Soulz knew I was making my way to LA, and so did Marc, but no one knew when, or exactly where. And LA’s a big fucking place.

  The look he shoots me is entirely malevolent. He grinds the stub of his cigarette out with his boot, then spits in my face. “You know who I am, boy?”

  I resent a man clearly younger than me calling me that, but suspecting I’ll shortly have greater things to worry me, let it ride. “The president of the Demon Sons?” I suggest.

  “I was a Rock Demon! Phoenix chapter,” he spits in my face. “Your fuckin’ club blew our clubhouse up. My uncle, the president, is dead because of you.”

  I’m not admitting to anything, or pointing out that he wasn’t a full member, as a prospect he never wore their patch. I’m not letting on I know anything. It’s obvious they were our enemies, trying to get Sophie, the woman who became Wraith’s old lady. We were the likely suspects, but we left no proof. “Why do you think the Satan’s Devils were involved?”

  “I don’t think, I fuckin’ know! Saw your prez with my own eyes.” It’s true, he could have. Prez let him and another escape. A bad mistake. One we should learn from. And the person it’s come back to bite is me.

  Still keeping to my bluff, I tilt my head to one side, partly to ease the ache in my neck. “I heard about that. Word was only one full member escaped. You him?”

  “That was Fang, my brother.”

  I glance at the men accompanying him. “The only other man to get out was a prospect.” Witcher and Painter stand impassively, as if it’s not news to them, but I wonder how much they know about the man leading them. On the basis that anything’s probably worth trying at this point, I throw at him, “So what you’re saying is that you were the prospect who escaped. How the fuck did you go from prospect to prez in such a short time? I’m surprised to see you’re even a member. What’s the time for prospecting at this club?” My eyes query Painter, who doesn’t look at all perturbed.

  “Whatever I fuckin’ say. It’s my fuckin’ club.”

  “Have any of your members prospected? Started off as hangarounds?” I’m curious. “Patched in from other chapters?” Though that’s unlikely. Demon Sons have never come up on my radar before, and from the name, I presume it’s meant to be an offshoot of the Rock Demons, though perhaps it should have been the Demon Nephew, seeing as it wasn’t his father in the club. Realising my thoughts are rambling, I bring myself back to the present and pay attention to his response.

  “Don’t need no prospecting time when you’ve men you can trust.” He exchanges chin lifts with the two other men.

  There had been a prospect manning the gate, but I’m not going to get into semantics now. I don’t like the man standing in front of me and begin to wonder how much he can trust these two who are with him. How does the club make its money? Is it enough to keep these men by his side? In an MC, it’s more than the love of riding bikes which bind us together. It’s knowing every man has your back and would lay down his life for any one of their brothers. Even me, while I was being an asshole. The trust I’m thinking about is probably different to his. Trust can only be earned during the prospect stage, when a man has to prove he will do anything without question or complaint. It might be interesting to try to explore just how far these men would go.

  “How long you been up and running?” I doubt he’ll reply.

  But he surprises me. “Six months. Four since we moved into this clubhouse.”

  Not long then. Certainly not long enough in my opinion to inspire loyalty. Unless these were all childhood friends, of course. And that’s the reason why they all appear so young, because they are. No seasoned biker would join a ramshackle club like this.

  “What about your articles and regs? You got a proper setup here?”

  Ignoring my question, he moves behind me. “Got a good place to hide a dead body, and that’s all you need to know.” As his fist makes contact with my kidney, I gasp to take in a breath. He hits hard, I’ll give him that. I’ll probably be pissing blood if I live long enough to find out.

  When I’m able to breathe I look around at Painter and Witcher, neither of them seem disturbed or put out at either the statement Scratch made or the action he’d taken. But it gives me an idea. Ignoring the pain in my back, I explain as calmly as I can while I’m still swallowing down the pain, “The dom club in the area are looking out for me. Can’t set up a support club without their agreement. They see you’ve given me disrespect, well, you’ve disrespected them too. Cut me down now, let me go, and I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

  Showing he’s really stup
id, as must be the men with him, Scratch snarls, “Don’t give a fuck about the Soulz. I do what I want in my club. We’ll deal with them if they come calling.”

  Well, that didn’t work. There’s probably no point in making him see sense, he’s as stupid as fuck. Taking on the Wretched Soulz? No wonder he didn’t move on from prospect in his previous club. And now it’s his desire for revenge that’s the overriding factor, I’m the one he’ll be taking it out on.

  “Come on, boys. I told you what violent murdering motherfuckers the Satan’s Devils are. Now we’ve got one to ourselves, we’ll show him how upstanding bikers don’t have no time for that shit. Let’s soften him up a bit and then get him talking.”

  As they come in front of me, I see Witcher cracking his knuckles and Zip, God bless him, sliding on a knuckle duster. I brace myself for what’s going to come.

  Then I’m given an unexpected reprieve, as Scratch signals for them to wait up. “You can save yourself some pain if you give us some info.”

  What can I tell them? I’ve been out of the loop for many months now. And during the short time I was back before I went Ronin, I only attended a couple of church meetings, and one of those was where I’d been on trial and kicked out onto the road. I jerk my chin.

  “How many more Devils in LA?”

  “None that I know of,” I reply, honestly.

  He narrows his eyes. “You been hunting us?”

  “Didn’t know about you until you introduced yourself. So, no.” I’m not going to tell him Slick’s gunning for him. Or that one thing I’d picked up, the other person to escape the conflagration at their clubhouse, Fang, is dead.

  “How many club members do you have?” And this is where I’ll keep my mouth closed. If I’m reading him right, and from his erroneous description of my club to his brothers, I expect I am, they’ll be crossing the border into Arizona once they get themselves organised to bring trouble to the Tucson club.

  But I do offer him something. “I haven’t been in Arizona for five months. Don’t know who’s left or who’s joined, so I can’t tell you.”

  He ignores my evasive answer. “How did you know I was in LA?”

  “I didn’t. You found me, not the other way around.” I smirk as I point out the obvious.

  “You’ve been searching for me all down the coast.”

  Christ, he’s insane. I haven’t been looking for him at all. But that wasn’t a question. He goes on to ask details about our businesses, and I’m definitely not going to disclose anything of that type. When he realises he’s got everything he’s going to get out of me, he gives another signal to Witcher and Painter. This time there’s nothing holding them back.

  Chapter Twelve

  Marc…

  I’d caught Drummer’s interest. He takes his phone out of his cut and places it on the desk between us. He dials a number. I’m going to look such a fool if Heart answers. But I’m hoping he does, and that I’ll then leave embarrassed but relieved. I’d happily accept anything that proves this bad feeling inside me to be wrong. My friend’s in trouble.

  It’s on speaker, and it goes straight to voicemail.

  Drummer stares at this cell. When he looks up, he meets my eye. “He could be on another call.”

  “Or the battery has run out,” Wraith adds.

  He dials again and gets the same result.

  The prez jerks his chin toward Wraith. “Get Mouse in here.”

  The VP gets to his feet and opens the door. “Mouse!” he yells at the top of his voice. It sounds like he must only be in the office next door, as I hear a door opening and shutting, and then the inaptly named Mouse appears—tall, well built, and with enviably long, dark, shiny hair. He’s part Navajo, I remember from his file.

  As Wraith returns and takes his seat, Mouse pauses in the doorway, his face pointed expectantly toward Drummer. “Yeah, Prez. What’s up?”

  “Heart’s phone. Can you track it?”

  Without asking why, Mouse simply asks, “What happens if you call it?”

  Drummer tries to place the call again. It goes straight to voicemail. “Third time that’s happened.”

  Mouse tuts. “Either he’s on a long call or the device is dead. If the batteries have run out, there’s not much I can do. When was he last in contact?”

  “Ten days ago,” I butt in. Mouse gives me a strange look and raises his eyebrow, then turns his attention back to his prez. “You think something’s happened to him?”

  “Can’t rule it out.”

  “I should be able to pull up the last location where it was used.”

  “That would be something, Mouse. Do that, will you?”

  Drummer picks up his phone and places another call. This time he takes it off speaker. “Yo, Dart. How you doing in San Diego? Alex and the kid okay?”

  “Good. Good. Glad to hear the boy’s doing well.”

  “Yeah? Does he?” He chortles, and putting his hand over the phone, speaks to Wraith. “Kid still goes to bed with his fuckin’ cut on.” Wraith laughs.

  “Yeah, Eli’s doing great. Good fuckin’ set of lungs on him. Ollie? She’s good too. Got Wraith here if you want to give him some fatherly advice.”

  I twist my hands together in my lap, wishing he’d get on with it.

  At last he does. “Brother, you heard from Heart at all? Word is he was heading your way before coming here.”

  “Yeah, six months almost gone now. Seems he’s doing better at last. But you haven’t heard from him or seen him?”

  It’s a negative answer, I can tell by the way Drum sucks in his cheeks.

  “Yeah, keep in touch. That would be great. Brothers here would love to see y’all. You do that. And soon.”

  He ends the call, shakes his head, and then lowers his face, cupping his cheeks between his hands. After a moment he looks up.

  “I take it you can’t be contacted via the precinct?” Then when I gesture a negative reply, he continues, “Leave me your number. If we find anything we can share, I’ll be in contact. Only to put your mind at rest, mind you. Whatever this fuckin’ thing is between you and Heart has to stop.”

  I sit back in the chair, cross my feet at the ankles, and fold my arms over my chest. “Nope. I want to know that Heart’s okay, and if he’s not, do what I can to help. You’re not leaving me out of this, Drummer.”

  “You’re not here in an official capacity. And whether you’re on active duty or not, cops and the likes of us don’t mix. Now I’ll ask you politely to leave us.” As I go to refuse, his face grows dark. “Or I can easily have you escorted out. You’ve no right to be here.”

  Still in my defensive posture, I lean my torso forward, bending at the waist. “If it wasn’t for me, Drummer, you wouldn’t even know something was wrong. I’ve contacted the LA police, and he hasn’t been arrested. He’s not turned up in a hospital or morgue. He’s gone completely off the radar, and that’s not like him.”

  When Drummer tries to interrupt me, I put up my hand to stop him. “For the last five months, every time I’ve contacted him, he’s answered his phone. If not immediately, he’s gotten in the habit of returning my calls. While I was in the hospital, he was ringing every couple of days to find out how I was. Last time I spoke to him, he was going out sightseeing. He was getting stronger in his head, even joking about the things Crystal was making him do.” I realise that doesn’t sound right. “The things she had on her list,” I bite my lip to cover a small smile, “though he did balk at Disneyland. The point is, if there had been anything wrong, I would have known it.” I place my hands flat on the table. “Heart started out suicidal. For the past month or so he’s changed. His focus was on getting back to his daughter. Something’s happened to him, whatever you think. Something he couldn’t control.”

  “Still doesn’t mean you shouldn’t leave it in our hands, darlin’.” Wraith backing up his prez is what I don’t want. Especially when he gets to his feet, obviously preparing to walk me off the premises.

  I have a
brief reprieve, as at that moment Mouse returns. “Found his phone. Must have run out of battery or something, but I can tell you where it was six days ago.”

  Drum opens his mouth, but I get in before him. “Where?”

  Mouse just glances at me, then back at his prez.

  “Look, Drummer. I might be able to call on resources to help.”

  “No cops. Whatever’s happened to Heart, we’ll sort it ourselves.”

  I breathe in deeply and let air out on a sigh. “Of course you will.”

  “Women aren’t involved in club business.”

  “I’m not a woman.”

  Wraith laughs. “Could have fooled me, darlin’.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” I snap. “I’m not someone who sits around waiting for men to look out for her. I’ve been trained in self-defence, in high-speed driving. I carry a gun and am not afraid to use it.”

  “Don’t matter what sex you are. You’re not a member. You’re fuckin’ law enforcement.”

  “Doesn’t Heart matter to you?” I stand up and slam the palms of my hands down on the desk. “If it was someone I cared for, I’d take all the help I could fucking get.” I’m so angry my cheeks feel warm. “Thanks for the tip, Mouse. I’ll get someone checking his phone and go after him myself.”

  “Don’t talk to me that way ever again!” Drummer’s voice thunders over mine. “Sit the fuck down.”

  Assuming my point has been made, I do as he says and snap my mouth shut.

  After focusing his glare on me as though making sure I’m satisfied I’ve had my say, he looks behind me. My threat to use police resources to find out the same info that Mouse has obviously worked. He wouldn’t want Heart to be officially listed as a missing person and have the police trying to track him down. “What you got, Mouse?”

  “I’ve checked the location on Google Maps and viewed it on satellite. Seems to be an old factory of some sort.”

  “Any vehicles, bikes?”