Satan's Devils MC Boxset 1

by Manda Mellett

  Mouse huffs a laugh, but it’s not one of amusement. “You know how old those images can be? There’s nothing at all at the factory, which just means it wasn’t used once, but could have been taken over now. Or, it could still be abandoned.”

  “Did it look like a place Heart would have lost his phone?” Although it would be a sensible move to keep quiet, I simply can’t. I throw a look of apology at Drum as I see his eyes tightening.

  Mouse answers, “Can’t see what he’d go there for. It was a bit out of the way, not much around it. Even at the time the picture was taken, other buildings were run-down.”

  “Anything show on Street View?”

  Now there’s a glint in Mouse’s eye as if I’m speaking his language. “Similar to Google Earth, if it’s not older.”

  “No sign? Identification of any sort?” I look at Drummer. “If we knew who owns, or even owned it, we might get a clue what it’s being used for now.”

  Smothering his annoyance that I seem to be conducting an interrogation, his eyes flit to Mouse, who shakes his head. “Sorry, Prez. Nothing. And before you ask, nothing on the buildings around it. Some didn’t even have roofs or walls intact.”

  Drummer picks up a pen and twists it between his hands, then he points it directly at me. “I admit, I don’t much like what I’m fuckin’ hearing.”

  “What are you going to do, Drummer?”

  “Club fuckin’ business. And none of yours.” I’m reminded that I’m sitting in front of the president of what my colleagues would consider a dangerous OMG. And this time, when he gives me the instruction to leave, I realise he’s giving me no choice.

  “Now get out of here, Detective. I can’t fuckin’ deny I’m grateful to you if Heart is in trouble, you’ve given us the heads-up. And,” he points his finger toward me, “you better start making arrangements to get out of Heart’s fuckin’ house. I’m grateful to you for looking out for my brother, so I’ll let you know what I find. But this… friendship between you stops now. Club rules are members don’t talk to cops. Even off-duty ones. Ever. You’re gonna promise me here and now that you won’t try to make contact with Heart ever again. Unless it is fuckin’ official business, and he’s got a brother or lawyer by his side.”

  That is a promise I can’t make.

  “VP. Get her out of here and then get everyone together for church.” His eyes at last gentle. “I know you’re concerned about him, but leave this to us. I don’t want any cops involved.”

  I can agree to that. “My position’s already precarious, I realise that. I assure you, Drummer, I’d be faced with questions from my boss if I started an investigation about Heart going missing. Questions I wouldn’t be able to answer. As you’ve said, law enforcement and OMGs don’t mix. I’d probably lose my job.”

  He gives me a sharp nod.

  I stand and let Wraith lead me into their clubroom, passing me over to one of their prospects to escort me out. Inside, my mind is whirling. Drummer wants me to stay out of this? No fucking chance.

  Since the loss of my family, I’ve purposefully allowed no one to get close, but somehow, over the past winter, Heart’s become a good friend. I won’t be letting him down. Sitting back and waiting for news isn’t how I work. No, I’m going after him myself, and I know exactly how to do it.

  Getting back onto my Ninja, I speed through the streets back to Heart’s house and get my toy out of my garage—my ratty, mean-looking Suzuki. Harleys might be the preferred bikes for the MC, but I favour the higher speed, tighter cornering, and the bad-boy looks of my brute of a machine. And the best thing? Only Heart knows this beast is mine.

  Guessing they’ll only be having a short church meeting, and not doubting that the outcome will find them undertaking the eight-hour ride to LA, aiming to get there in closer to six by lane splitting and breaking speed limits to locate their missing brother, I know I’ve got no time to waste. I grab my black helmet, black jacket, and get on my black ride, tucking my blond hair up out of sight, becoming another anonymous biker on the road.

  There are two routes they could take to LA. As it would be stupid to try and follow them from the clubhouse, I instead zoom past and park up on the shoulder just before Casa Grande and the junction between the I-8 and I-10. Then I wait, just a biker checking his route on his phone.

  As expected, I’m not there long. Half a dozen bikers zoom past me, taking the straight route up to Phoenix. I smile to myself, knowing it’s them, even though they already removed their cuts, there’s no disputing it’s Drummer out in front. Getting back on my Suzuki, I start it up and move out onto the highway. Twisting the throttle, I pick up speed, and am soon flying past them. With a couple of stops to top off my tank, I arrive in San Bernardino and again settle to wait. Now it gets harder. From here on I’ll have to try to follow them undetected, as I’ve no idea of where exactly they’re heading. I can’t lose them now. I’m too close.

  They’re quite a ways behind me, but I’m patient. At last they come into sight, now all wearing helmets to abide by the California laws. Once they’re a little way ahead, I slip into the traffic behind. I’ve done the surveillance course too and now put all I’ve learned to good use.

  I’m a few cars behind as we pass the Hollywood sign, and I’m overtaking a car to get a little closer when I see them turn off. As they start to take turns left and right, I need to narrow the gap between us, determined not to let them out of my sight. I can’t lose them, not when Heart might be close.

  A left then a right, then a right once again. Where the hell are they going? Suddenly the bikes in front of me slow, and two peel off. I reduce my speed and hang back. Oh shit. In my rear view I see two bikers coming up behind me. I hadn’t been as clever as I’d thought.

  Their speed reduced once again, I’m suddenly surrounded and forced to stop. Knowing I need to identify myself quickly, I pull off my helmet and dark glasses and shake out my hair.

  “Fuck me,” Drummer says, getting off his bike. “What the fuck are you doing here, Detective?”

  “I’m coming to find Heart.”

  “You’re a persistent bitch, ain’tcha?” Drummer’s shaking his head. “Must have broken a few laws speeding to get here.”

  “Yes, I did. And I’m prepared to break more if I’m right and Heart’s in trouble. Anything it takes, Drummer. You’re not going to get rid of me. So I suggest we go to wherever his phone was last pinged and start tracking him down.” I gaze at him steadily, hoping to convey nothing he can say will put me off.

  Almost without seeing where it came from, a gun’s pointed straight at me. “Oh, I can get rid of you, sweetheart.” His tone is chilling.

  There’s already been one attempt on my life, as the throbbing in my head reminds me. I stare at the gun, then toss a look of challenge to Drummer. “Isn’t this just wasting time?”

  As an answer I hear a click as he gets ready to fire. Well, if this is it, so be it. I’ll have died trying to find the man I’ve come to like.

  A pin would be heard if it dropped. The distant sound of traffic seems to fade.

  “If you’re going to do it, I suggest you’re quick. Heart needs to be found.” I can’t explain the feeling inside which tells me he needs help. My worry seems to be for him, not for myself. I know outlaw gangs can’t be trusted and have a probably rational fear of the police. I made my bed when I decided to follow them.

  Seconds pass slowly, time seems to extend.

  Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the gun goes back into its holster and Drummer’s still standing in front of me, again shaking his head. “You’re a brave bitch,” he tells me, admiringly. “You must really have a thing for Heart.”

  Now it’s my head that moves side to side, but in truth I can’t really explain it. “I just want to know that he’s safe. I heard what you said, Drummer, and I agree. Once Heart’s back home, I won’t have anything to do with him. Cops and bikers don’t mix.”

  “If you come with us, you might see things...”

 
; “I’m not a cop today. I’m not even here, I’m recovering at home, remember?”

  He stands back a pace and looks at my bike, shaking his head once again. “Is that thing even legal?”

  “I don’t fucking care,” I toss his way.

  Another sharp look, then, “Mount up, brothers. Let’s go see what we can find. And you, Marcia, can tag along at the back.”

  Before I can sigh with relief, bikes are starting with a thunderous roar, and then we’re off.

  Soon we’re heading into an industrial area that looks like it went out of business some time ago, a ghostly, eerie place. Heart can’t be here, can he? If I had a bad feeling before, it’s certainly not being allayed by this place. It’s the kind of place a cop would expect to find a body.

  Drummer calls us to a halt and waves a man forward. “Blade. Wanna go with Mouse and take a look?”

  Mouse is studying a printout. “There’s a way around the back, along the tree line there. Reckon we can get close without being seen.” He breaks off and looks around the deserted area. “If there’s anyone to see us, of course.”

  Drum nods, and they move off without wasting time.

  No one speaks while they’re gone, expressions are sombre. I guess everyone’s thinking like me. On the one hand, if Heart is with his phone, chances are he’ll be found as a corpse. On the other, even if he was here once, he might not be now. His phone could have been stolen then dropped. Snippets of my conversations with him go around my head. He’d come back from the precipice. He wanted to be a good dad to his little girl. He can’t be dead. Impatiently I wipe a tear from my eye, the action not going unnoticed by Drummer.

  It’s not long before Mouse and Blade return. Blade’s looking particularly grim. “You’re not going to believe this, Drum. There’s a dozen bikes parked up—mostly Harleys. We’ve stumbled across an MC.”

  “Any idea who?”

  “Demon Sons,” Mouse interjects. “Sign out front.”

  “Never fuckin’ heard of them.” Drummer takes his phone from his cut and wanders a little distance away. It’s impossible to hear his end of the call.

  After a few minutes he comes back. “Right, I’ve spoken with the dom. They’ve not heard of them either, and aren’t happy they’ve set up on their turf, or if they’ve disrespected the Ronin protection extended to Heart. Want us to give them any info we find, happy if we have to take them out.” He glares at me when he says the last, but I just stare back.

  All I’m interested in is the man I’ve come to find. Even if I know Drummer’s call had been placed to the Wretched Soulz, the dominant MC in California, to which other one-percenter clubs give due respect. I’m not stupid, and I know a club which appears overnight unknown to the WSMC is asking for trouble. If Heart’s here, I’ll be right behind Drum helping to finish them off. If Heart’s here and hurt, or if they’ve killed him… My vow to uphold the law disappears in a flash, overtaken by my desire to take out the bad guys.

  “You stay here and wait.”

  “No. There are a dozen bikes there, that could be a dozen men. You’ve got seven, including me.” I take a deep breath. “Biker clubs like women, yeah?” I shake out my long hair and fan it around my face. It’s only a bit shorter than it had been once the singed ends were cut off. Taking off my riding jacket, I reach under my tight t-shirt and unclasp my bra, sliding the straps down my arms and removing it from underneath my top. My fairly generous breasts are now clearly outlined, the nipples pushing at the thin material. I step off my bike, showing my legs are encased in figure-hugging leather pants. The only thing letting me down is my scarred arm.

  “Would I pass for a biker babe?”

  “I’d fuck ya,” an admiring voice says.

  “Shut it, Rock,” Drum growls, but he’s giving me an appraising look. “You go in there, you’re likely to be eaten alive.”

  “I can handle myself,” I tell him. “I’ll see the lay of the land and let you know what I find.”

  “You armed?”

  I pull up the leg of my pants and show him my ankle holster.

  “Give me your phone.” When I do, he enters his number. “Have it in your pocket and keep the line open. I want to hear everything that’s said. Try and get us some info.”

  I nod, dial his number, and put my phone into my pocket.

  His hand comes out and rests on my shoulder, his fingers gently pressing in. “Good luck, sweetheart. Now go and let’s see if we can find our brother.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Heart…

  I’ve no idea how long I’ve been held here in this dark basement, unable to tell whether it’s day or night. It seems like I’ve been here a lifetime. A living hell. There’s not an inch of me that doesn’t hurt, to the extent I barely register new pain anymore, though that doesn’t stop them. Further torture is ineffectual, my body’s ability to distinguish the additional hurt has gone.

  They’re coming again, heavy footsteps thumping down the stairs. Though they’re almost too swollen to open, I squeeze my eyes firmly shut, unwilling to give them any indication I’m conscious. As soon as they realise their new toy’s awake, it all starts again until I pass out.

  I’m weak from dehydration and hunger, though they’ve given me just enough water to keep me alive. Once they’d broken my legs, they’d taken me down from the chains, knowing I couldn’t move if I wanted to. As well as being immobilised, both shoulders are dislocated from being strung up for so long. I’m battered and beaten, and numerous stab wounds cover my now naked body.

  “Take him upstairs,” Scratch instructs. “It will be easier to play with him there.”

  No reprieve. Even a change of location won’t afford me the opportunity to escape. I couldn’t even crawl at this point.

  They drag me, my naked, broken body thumping up the stairs, bringing unwanted groans from my lips, providing them with satisfaction. They laugh and make jokes as they dump me unceremoniously in a corner, a dying animal, offered no dignity.

  All I can do is curl up in the fetal position and hope for death. My new setting makes it easier for them to see when I’m awake, and now it’s not just Scratch and his three henchmen, as all members of the club appear to relish in taking turns in putting me back under again.

  Last night they chopped the ring finger off my left hand, my body unable to process the additional physical pain. The loss of my digit barely making itself known over the other agonies inflicted, but I felt the anguish as I was forced to watch them take away my wedding ring, my last physical connection to Crystal.

  They don’t seem to have a plan what to do with me other than to inflict the most torture they can. I know they wanted to use me as bait for Drummer and the rest of the Devils, but we’d come to an impasse. I refuse to give them his contact details, and they’re too stupid to know how to find out themselves. Until my phone died, they kept waving it in front of me, but I refused to give up the passcode and haven’t, for this very reason, set up touch. They kept trying to use my fingers, but it didn’t work.

  Earlier today I heard them placing bets on how long I would last, and the way I’m feeling now, each breath a struggle to get air into my lungs, the person who opted for this evening will probably win. Each time one walks past they spit on me to show their disgust, leaving me to wonder if I might die of infection before anything else.

  I’m conscious now, but woozy. Just able to hear them making arrangements to transport my dead body to Tucson and drop it outside the Satan’s Devils’ compound, a message the same fate is awaiting the rest of my brothers at the hands of the Demon Sons. At least I’ll be home.

  I’ve given up the fight to live, the spirits won’t have long to wait now. I’ve started praying the next kick or knife wound will kill me. Crystal, I’m coming. But she’s forsaken me too. I haven’t felt her gentle touch for days. Even in the depths of pain-induced hallucinations she’s left me alone, which is a mercy. I wouldn’t want her to witness me in this state.

  Though I’ve hop
ed for the end so many times, there’s a small part of me unwilling to give in to death. I try to remain conscious as much as I can, quiet, unmoving, eyes shut so as not to alert them, but being human I still hope for the impossible. For a rescue. I didn’t have a chance to hold my daughter, to tell her I love her. The thought of Amy keeps me hanging on, even while I cry out to whatever deity might be listening to put an end to my suffering. It’s too much for a man to bear.

  My ears are still working, analysing every sound, on the alert for footsteps approaching, anticipating another steel-capped boot to my side.

  Now I hear the clubhouse door opening, not an unusual sound, but the footsteps sound lighter, different to any I’ve heard before. I strain to listen, if only to relieve the monotony of my pain.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Thought you tough biker boys might be looking for women.”

  Despite my desire to keep my eyes closed, they snap open as far as they can as I recognise the voice. I must be delirious, there’s no way Marc can be here. Turning my head a little to the right, my neck muscles protesting, I struggle to peer through my swollen eyelids. I can just about make out a woman in the doorway, her body silhouetted by the daylight behind. Long hair flows over her shoulders, and her hip is cocked to one side. It’s a whore’s pose.

  It’s coincidence. There’s no way she could find me. It can’t be her. I’m just dreaming, imagining the female voice I’ve come to know so well. Someone on my side. Someone who’s come for me.

  “Who sent you? How did you know we were here?” It’s Scratch, asking harshly, as though he’s suspicious.

  “Word gets around,” she drawls. As she steps forward, I can see her better. Now I know I’m dreaming. The staid police officer I’d only met a couple of times eight months ago would never be here, dressed in tight leathers and tits clearly on view beneath a tight tank top.

  As I watch, she places her palm flat on Scratch’s chest, seeming to study his cut. “Oooh. You’re the president! I like you. Why don’t you and I go have some fun?”