Satan's Devils MC Boxset 1

by Manda Mellett

  Like a kid kept behind after class, wishing he could leave with the others, I enviously watch my brothers leaving the room.

  Pushing back his chair, Drummer slides open a drawer under the table where I know a gun is kept. I hold my breath until his hand reappears with two shot glasses, then delving back inside, comes out again with a bottle of scotch. He pours two drinks and slides one over.

  His intense gaze fixes on me. “I thought we’d finished with this, Heart. Thought these impulsive rages had left you. Thought you were getting better.”

  My anger had taken me by surprise if I’m honest. I thought I’d stopped lashing out. “I don’t know what the fuck happened, Prez. I was jealous she’d spent time with Amy, doing things I can’t do because of this fuckin’ broken body. I’ve already lost Crystal. When…” I break off, trying to gather my thoughts. “After what you said…” As he growls at the suggestion of any blame attaching to him, I correct myself. “When I saw her getting so close to Amy, my brain misinterpreted what you said. That with the fact she can’t have kids of her own, well, somehow it seemed to fit that she wanted to take Amy away. I can’t lose my daughter now. I’m only just getting my relationship sorted with her.” I look down at my legs, fucking useless things that they are, stopping me doing half of what I want to do with my kid.

  “It won’t be long until you’re fit again, Heart.”

  No, it won’t. But I seemed to have lost my patience when I lost my wife.

  Drummer drinks from his glass and then stares down at the amber liquid. “Did I make a mistake, Heart? Telling you to treat her like an ol’ lady?”

  One side of my mouth turns up. “Can’t say whether you did or didn’t, Prez. But it might have been better if you hadn’t have put her so close to me. We fucked.”

  He doesn’t seem surprised. “What’s wrong with that?”

  My eyes go to his face. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

  “Did you force her? Hurt her?”

  “Of course not,” I reply indignantly. “It was what we both wanted. It was sex, pure and simple. We didn’t even kiss. But it still shouldn’t have happened.”

  “Why the fuck not? You’re both adults.”

  I put my glass down a bit too heavily. “Because of Crystal.”

  He rolls back his head, then brings it back down and moves it side to side. “Can’t say I’ve ever been where you are, Heart. Never lost someone that close. But would Crystal really expect you to stay faithful to a memory? Expect you to feel guilty if you look at another woman? I knew Crystal from the time you first met her and brought her to the club. For the four years or so you were married, I saw that girl almost every fuckin’ day. And from what I had seen, she wouldn’t have wanted to stop you moving on. Honour her memory, yes, but cut yourself off from ever enjoying life again? The woman I knew would have been cheering you on all the way.”

  “She’s never coming back, is she?” For a second I wonder whether Drum will think I’m talking about Marc, but he’s on the same wavelength as me.

  “No, Brother, she’s not. I saw her put into the ground with my own eyes.” A funeral I didn’t get to go to. The identification of her body done by Drum and Slick. “And there ain’t no way you can go to her.”

  I’d come to that conclusion myself. It was why I’d stopped thinking of ways to die. Oh, there might be a slim chance that the Christians have got it right, but even if they have, she’s probably up there overhead, and I’ll be going the opposite way.

  “Marc’s a cop. Thinks like a cop. Acts like a cop.”

  Again, my out of the blue comment doesn’t faze him, catching on to exactly what I mean. “You won’t stop being a biker, Heart. You proved that by coming back to us. We’re your family and your way of life. And no, she won’t stop being a member of law enforcement. It’s in her psyche. What was it you said? She wants to put the bad guys away.”

  “Because of the time one of them walked. The man responsible for killing her family. Yeah, Prez. Her shit runs deep too.”

  “Then, Brother, there’s nothing more to say. I regret that she’s gone. I liked her myself. Any other occupation and she’d have made a great ol’ lady, but oil and water don’t mix. I don’t like how it happened, and maybe I was wrong bringing her here. Perhaps it’s all for the best.”

  Maybe he’s right. But it was me who ran her off, and in the worst possible way, forcing her to go and face the threats on her life. In my mind’s eye I see her running with Amy, teaching her how to ride that bike, cooking dinner with the old ladies, and looking like she could settle in with our way of life. In doing so, I realise, I might have taken the promise of a family, mismatched and screwed up as we might be at times, away.

  She’s on her own now.

  And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Marc…

  It’s early in the morning, and the only place that I can think of to run to is the precinct that I work out of. Something ingrained in my gut tells me this is a place of safety, even though my head warns me otherwise, reminding me I need to be careful who to count on.

  I couldn’t stay with the Satan’s Devils any longer, so now I’m about to hand over my safety into the hands of the people who may be in the pocket of those trying to kill me. Everything’s happened so fast, I’ve got no strategy in place. But the building in front of me lures me with its sense of righteousness. There are good people inside, men and women who should have my back. Out here I’m a sitting target.

  I leave my bike in the parking lot and let my feet be drawn forward. A couple of police officers come striding out—state troopers, I must remember their still relatively new designation—obviously sharing a joke before they go out on patrol. They pass me without a hint of recognition, which isn’t surprising. Unless we cross paths on a case, I don’t know too many of the uniformed officers, working as I do out of the Investigations Bureau of the Criminal Investigations Division.

  But sitting behind the desk is a familiar face.

  “Detective Hannah. I didn’t realise you’d returned to duty.” His face frowns. “And you’re a bit early for your shift, aren’t you?”

  The clock above him says five a.m., and unless I’m on a case when I can work all hours, I normally would clock in at eight. “I’m not officially back, yet…” I struggle to remember his name. “Johnson. But hopefully I will be after today. I’ve come in early to prepare for a meeting.”

  He nods, looking bored. He wouldn’t give a damn why I’m here, so I’m not certain why I’m trying to justify myself.

  Taking my card out of my wallet, I swipe it through the reader that lets me into the heart of the building and ride the elevator up to the third floor where my office is situated. Walking into the open-plan area, nodding to a couple of tired looking detectives working, I step up to my desk only to find it covered with paperwork from a case I’ve not been dealing with, and beside the computer a photo of a family which isn’t mine. I pull open a drawer, seeing an unfamiliar cup and other personal things there.

  Motherfucker! Someone else has been assigned my space. In my absence, I’ve been wiped out of existence.

  Not sure what message this is, I go over to the low table in the corner and grab myself a coffee from the machine, knowing it will taste as awful as ever, but at least strong enough to wake me up and give my hands something to do.

  A man comes over and sits down opposite. “We thought you’d left.”

  “No, Reed. Just on extended sick leave. I see I’ve lost my desk.”

  “Garza boxed up your stuff. It will be around somewhere.” He glances around the room. “Think it might be over there in the corner.” He turns back and his eyes sharpen as he examines me. “How are you?”

  “Much better.”

  “Do you mind if I tell you, you look like shit?”

  A strangled laugh escapes me. I expect I do. Crying all night and no sleep will do that to you. I only hope that is my box over there, as I keep
spare makeup here to freshen up. From what Reed has said, I’ve got one hell of a job on my hands to make myself look anywhere close to normal.

  I take a sip of my coffee and grimace.

  “That bang on your head affect your memory? You seem to have forgotten how that tastes like shit.”

  A more genuine smile now. “Always thought we should use it in interrogations. Force suspects to drink it until they spill the truth.”

  He grins. “Great idea, Hannah. Might use that myself. If you don’t start talking, I’ll get you another cup.”

  My smile widens. It’s good to be back amongst like-minded colleagues and not feel out of my depth in the midst of people living a lifestyle I know nothing about.

  “So, is this a formal return to the job? If so, you’re a bit overeager.” He sits back, arms folded, stretching out his long legs and crossing them at his ankles. His relaxed posture doesn’t fool me. He’s after information. I’ve seen how he works before.

  “I’m here to try to convince Reynolds I’m fit to return to work.”

  His eyebrow rises. “Really? You’ve got paid sick leave, yet you willingly want to go out with Garza again?”

  I’m not the only one who doesn’t like him. “Unless his own partner has returned?” It’s a hopeful question on my part.

  “Nah. Terry’s milking the sick card for all he can get.”

  I already suspect it won’t be the day for good news.

  “What’s your plan?”

  I haven’t really thought it through, everything’s happened so fast. “I might try and see Lieutenant Diaz.” He’s Reynolds’ boss.

  Now Reed’s eyes narrow. “You’re going over Reynolds’ head?”

  I sit forward. “Tell me what you know about the investigation into the explosion at my house, Reed. Surely people have been talking about it? There was an attempt on a detective’s life. Isn’t that being taken seriously?”

  “You think your case isn’t being thoroughly investigated?” Reed pauses. “It’s reached a dead end, that’s for certain. In the briefings all that’s said is the explosive device used was built by the same person who blew up Lucas Herrera’s house and killed Archer. The suggestion is someone was out to get your ex-partner, and whatever he knew, they think you do to.” He frowns. “Obviously Archer’s investigation is ongoing, but no progress has been made.”

  No progress in almost a year. It’s not going to go anywhere.

  “Where you living now? You got a new place.”

  “I’ve been away from the area.” It’s only a white lie, and I didn’t go very far, just a few miles outside Tucson. Before that, when I stayed in Heart’s house, I hadn’t given anyone my new address. I don’t have any inclination to return there now, other than to collect the rest of my things. “I need to find a new house to rent.”

  “You got somewhere to stay?”

  I hadn’t thought that far. “I’ll check into a motel for now. Shouldn’t take me long to find a place.”

  I want to get him off the subject of me. Looking around, I see the familiar whiteboard strewn with pictures and scrawled writing. “So, anything interesting going on?”

  For the next few minutes he runs me through some of the cases the bureau has on its plate. My interest perked when he mentions some children have gone missing. Hopefully without giving myself away, I question him as though out of idle curiosity.

  “How many, Reed?”

  He’s happy to talk. “At first we just thought we were dealing with runaways. A couple went missing from foster homes, and you know how unsettled kids of their like can be. Never too certain about the motives of the fosterers, you know?” I do. Some do it purely for the money, but there are good ones around.

  “But when we started getting reports from upstanding families, a pattern began to emerge.” He unfolds his arms and points to the whiteboard. “Kids who do well in school, popular, and happy by all accounts. Nothing that on the surface would cause them to voluntarily leave home.”

  “Ages and sex?”

  This time he uses his head to indicate the information on the wall. “It’s all on there.”

  I get up and go over. Eight kids are missing, their ages ranging from nine to fifteen. Fifteen, the same age as Jayden if I’m not mistaken. Mostly girls, but a couple of the younger ones are boys. But these kids are actually missing. It’s not the same as the child grooming ring. Those poor children were seduced then threatened into providing their services and keeping quiet, still living at home but becoming a shadow of their former selves. As I think of the pretty, happy young girl I met at the compound, I hope nothing like that ever happens to her.

  Jayden was reported as missing. And by Archer. No, there can’t be a link. Archer is dead, and any mystery to that must have died with him. But something’s going on in Tucson. Something I don’t like.

  “I’d like to work this case,” I say offhandedly, trying not to show my interest is anything more than professional inquisitiveness. A detective wanting a puzzle to solve.

  “If you come back to work, you might well be. Garza’s got it on his pile.”

  That’s interesting.

  “Anyway, I’ve got to be getting on. And yeah, I’m pretty certain now I think of it, your stuff is in that box.”

  “Thank you.” As he gets up and goes back to his desk, I stare at the board for a moment longer and then go and find he’s right. All my personal belongings are there, including my makeup bag. Taking it out, I go to the restroom, splash water on my face, then carefully apply foundation, mascara, and eyeliner, followed by face powder and a dash of lipstick. After I’ve pulled back my hair into a bun, I’m looking almost normal. Certainly it’s put some colour back into my skin.

  I pull back my shoulders and study my reflection. Yeah, I think I’ll pass.

  Returning to the table, I risk another cup of coffee then, grabbing some paper and a pen, start to make notes—all the reasons why I should return to the job. Although I hate the thought of working with Garza, what he’s working on is what interests me. What’s he been doing to find the lost children?

  If he’s been doing anything, that is.

  My phone vibrates with a text message. I take it out. When I see it’s from Heart, I almost don’t open it, but when I do, there’s just one simple word.

  Sorry.

  I delete the message, and the contact details. He hurt me too badly. The things that he said will haunt me forever. There’s no going back. Next time I see a biker it will be across the table in an interrogation room. Cops and bikers can’t associate with each other. I should have remembered that from the start.

  Just before eight, I go down to the first floor.

  “I’d like to see Lieutenant Diaz when he comes in, please.”

  The woman consults her screen. “He’s got back-to-back appointments all morning, I’m afraid.”

  Hmm. Has he, or is she just putting me off? “Just a few minutes before he gets started?”

  “I’m sorry,” her smile seems genuine, “but the meetings are off-site. He won’t be here all day.”

  Damn. Thanking her, I go back to my office again. Now I’ve got no other option, I’ve got to confront Reynolds. That’s a conversation I’m really looking forward to. Not.

  The sergeant’s come in while I’ve been gone. His door is ajar, and he’s got a cup of steaming coffee in front of him which obviously has not come from a machine. I knock, and his eyes come up to meet mine. He looks startled for a moment, as if he didn’t expect to see me. I’ve been missing. Does he think someone succeeded in killing me and burying my body?

  “Detective Marcia Hannah.” He nods. “I’m surprised to see you.”

  “Sergeant.” I give a polite jerk of my head in return and then dive straight in. “I’m more than ready to come back to work.”

  “Hmm.” He taps his fingers on the desk. “You’re sure your fit?”

  “I certainly am.”

  He doesn’t say anything about my employment, but goes
down a different track. “We still don’t know who threw that bomb into your house.”

  I take the seat across from him. “I hear you’re linking it to the explosion that killed Archer.”

  “It makes sense, it was a case you were both working on.”

  This time I don’t argue that Archer was as dirty as sin, simply shrug, letting him know I’ve doubts about his reasoning. “Not unless they weren’t watching closely and assumed I was his partner at the time. We’d only worked together a couple of months.” I think for a moment. “Was his old partner’s death really an accident?”

  His eyebrows draw down, meeting in the middle. “Absolutely. Don’t you think we can do our jobs in Tucson? Cop dies, it gets investigated.”

  I didn’t mean to annoy him. I keep calm and once again press my case. “I’m going stir crazy with nothing to do.”

  He stares, then sighs and pulls a folder toward him. “As long as you’re not going to black out on the job, you can start today. With this.”

  As he pushes it over to me, I pick the folder up. It’s the missing children’s file.

  “You’ll be working with Garza.”

  From my talk with Reed I expected that, but it’s still hard to keep the disappointment from my face.

  “I know you have issues with him, but remember, you’ve not been at detective grade for anything like as long as he has. You can learn a lot watching how he does things. He’s the senior detective on this one. I’ll be asking him to report to me on your progress.” He leans back in his chair, picks up a pen, and taps it against his mouth. “Before you were targeted, we had words, remember? About that report you drafted on Archer. I want no more of that. As far as I’m concerned, you’re on probation, and I will be checking with Garza as how you’re doing. I’m still not convinced you’re making the grade.”

  That’s so unfair, but I’m in no position to argue.

  “Dismissed, Hannah. And I’m expecting to see some improvement in the way you work.”