“She’s going fucking nowhere with you.” Horse is adamant. He puts out his hand and rests it possessively on my shoulder.
“Horse is quite right, Mr Hargreaves. I have absolutely nothing to say that would be of help to your employer. Now could you please get out of my house?”
“I believe the lady asked you to leave,” Cut adds his two penny’s worth, and steps aside from the doorway leaving room for Hargreaves to pass through.
It appears it’s not often anyone refuses Ethan’s henchman. Suddenly he drops the mask. “Lady? She’s a fucking whore! That’s probably what you two are here for anyway.” He’s spitting with rage as he addresses the two men, then he turns back to me, “You won’t always have your punters here, and Christ, they must be scraping the bottom of the barrel to want anything from a cripple like you. Or are they just here for a pity fuck?”
My mouth drops open; tears come to my eyes. Trying to tell myself Hargreaves is a despicable man working for an even worse employer I force myself to ignore the offensive words he’s spouting but they hit the mark, echoing my own thoughts about my desirability. I manage to speak, rasping out while trying not to let him see how much he’s hurt me, “Just get out of my fucking house.”
“Oh, I’ll leave, but I’ll be back when your clients have gone. Don’t try to run, Miss Weston, you won’t escape me.” He breaks off and sneers, “Oh, hang on, you can’t run, can you? You can’t even bloody walk!”
With a roar Horse launches himself at Hargreaves, Cut moves quickly for such a large man, and they both take hold of his arms and propel him out of the door. I hear the noise of scuffling outside, then a car door banging, an engine over-revving and roaring away, and then silence.
Angrily I brush the tears which are now falling in earnest away from my face. Even if I had the use of my legs I’d be feeling helpless after a visit from such a horrible man, but as immobile as I am, I’m completely vulnerable and defenceless. My hands cover my eyes. I’m shaking and can’t stop.
“Shush, it’s alright, he’s gone.”
Lifting my head, I see Horse once again hunkered down in front of me, his large hands coming out to cover mine. Cut hovers behind him, concern written all over his face.
“I’m not a whore!” Why I should feel it necessary to refute that accusation immediately, I’m not sure, but it’s the first thing that comes into my head.
“Of course, you’re fucking not!” Horse’s immediate forceful assertion comforts me. “But one thing’s for certain; you can’t stay here.”
What? It’s my house, my home, my refuge. I’ve barely stepped foot outside these four walls for months. It’s adapted for me; I can’t just leave and go somewhere else where I’ll have to worry if my wheelchair would get through the doorways. “I can’t go. You mentioned staying in my spare room?”
For the first time, Cut addresses me directly, “Even if Horse stays with you, now Hargreaves knows what he’s dealing with, he could come back with more men. It sounds like this St John-Davies has got a fucking hard-on for you. I agree with Horse, you’re not safe here, and you need to go somewhere he can’t find you.”
Horse looks at me for a few seconds; his brow creased as though he’s deliberating, then his features relax. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, nods at Cut then walks out of the room.
I started today like any other I’ve lived through over the past few months, with nothing to think about other than how to get myself out of bed, then into my wheelchair, onto the sofa then reverse the process again. With nothing for company other than my books and TV, the only things to concern me are the phantom pain from my non-existent leg and the very real pain from the other one. While I’m unsure whether I can cope with such a drastic change to my lonely existence, I know I wouldn’t have had a chance against Hargreaves alone. He’d have taken me with him. I couldn’t have put up much of a struggle. Eventually, I glance up to Cut. He’s standing, leaning against the doorjamb, legs once again crossed at the ankles, giving me time to process what’s gone on.
“I don’t have much choice but to accept Horse’s help, do I?” I admit in defeat, having failed to come up with any alternative. Folding my arms across my chest, I lean back on the sofa. If these two men hadn’t been with me today, Hargreaves might already have delivered me to Ethan. And even if I don’t much care what happens to me, I have to think of Zoe. If keeping myself safe somehow allows her the freedom to get away, that’s what I’ve got to do, however much I dislike being dependent on others. Notably, people I don’t know.
Cut nods, slowly, and the corners of his mouth turn up as he smiles, “We’ve got your back, Sophie. Trust Horse to get you somewhere safe.”
Somewhere safe? I’ve no idea where that could be. Oh, I’ve googled Ethan bloody St John-Davies, and I know the kind of resources he can bring into play if he truly wants to discover someone’s whereabouts. Especially a person who sticks out like a sore thumb. “There’s probably nowhere I can hide.” My chin drops down to my chest in defeat. “If he wants me, nothing will stop him finding me.”
Horse has been gone quite a while, but he chooses this moment to return, his features relaxed and smiling, “I should have everything sorted, babe. Just have to wait until I get the nod, but I don’t see it being a problem. Trust me, if it works out, I know exactly the right place. Not only won’t he be able to find you there, he won’t even think of looking.”
Chapter 2
Wraith
Shutting off my engine, I remain sitting astride my bike for a moment, breathing in winter evening air. Up in the foothills above Tucson, Arizona, I prefer this season’s milder temperatures to the scorching heat of the mid-summer months and the more predictable weather. Riding can be a real bitch in July when the torrential rainstorms, often preceded by dust storms can blow up out of nowhere, forcing any sane rider to pull over and stop. Arizona doesn’t have a stupid motorist’s law for nothing, if you’re crazy enough to try to drive through the floods you end up picking up the tab for any damage caused. Yup, winter’s definitely my favourite season. Sure it still rains, but it’s either a steady drizzle or occasional showers and nothing like the summer monsoons.
Swinging my leg over the bike, I dismount and straighten my cut. I’m early for church, so there’s no need to rush and so I can take a moment to enjoy the fresh air― only slightly tainted by the smells of gasoline and hot oil―and the early evening light. Today has been warmer; signalling spring is on its way. Almost time for the prospects to fill up the pool! I grin. That’s a job and a half to keep it clean over the summer months; you never know what might be found in it after a party. What with the other major task of keeping the brothers’ bikes sparkling, and chains and belts free of the sand which otherwise can literally grind us to a halt, I’m so glad those days of being at everyone’s beck and call have long been in my rear view. I’ve been a patched member for ten years and prospected for a year before that. And those arduous twelve months were quite enough for me, thank you very much!
Satan’s Devils hit pay dirt when they found this location for their clubhouse―shortly before my time. An ill wind decidedly didn’t blow the previous owners of the Blazing Trails Resort any favours when a fire ripped through the complex, destroying well over half of the accommodations and public areas leaving them financially ruined and unable to rebuild. And no one else was interested in acquiring the burned-out shell, being relatively isolated a few miles outside town, part of the reason why the fire was able to take such hold. No one that is, except for a club of bikers looking for a new home.
The fact we run a construction company, as well as a garage and the standard obligatory strip club together with a few other businesses―some not quite so legitimate as the rest―meant we could complete essential repairs at very little cost to the club. The result being that all patched members, the prospects and the sweet butts, all have comfortable accommodation on site for when they want to use it, living in the blocks which used to house the guest bedrooms each compl
ete with en-suite. Luxury in the biker world. And the views from the compound are magnificent, looking out as we do over the city of Tucson sprawled out below, while above us the Coronado Forest reaches up to the mountain tops. The Sonora Desert, with its magnificent fauna, including the saguaro cactus―some growing strongly, some dead, surrounds us. Here in Arizona, even the felled cacti are protected by law. The scenery sometimes makes me feel like I’ve got the star role in a Western.
It’s a peaceful spot and, to me, it’s the only real home I’ve ever known.
The ticking of my cooling engine is the only sound I hear until a gust of wind gets up, and a small tinkling sound reaches my ears. Ha! It’s the darn prospect’s Gremlin Bell; fuck knows why but young Hank seems to believe in that shit. Even though I’ve suffered from the attention of the evil road spirits over the years, I don’t put any stock on the ringing of the bell driving them crazy enough to drop off my bike, and you wouldn’t catch me hanging one of these on my handlebars. Uh uh.
Shaking my head, I start to make my way towards the clubhouse.
“Hey, Wraith! What’cha doing out here? Stop playing with your dick and get your ass inside. Time for church!”
“Hey, Peg!” I stumble as he plants a hearty slap on my back on his way past. Fuck, that man doesn’t know his strength! Falling into step beside him, I follow him through to what was originally a large reception-come-lounge area for residents, now our bar. “Get the deliveries done okay?”
“Fuck yeah, too fuckin’ right. No problem. Get me a fuckin’ beer, Marsh!” Peg thumps his meaty fist on the bar and shouts his order at another of our prospects.
Not being stupid, Marsh slides one over to me too. I take a long drink and turn to survey the room. The bar and the old dining area out through an archway make up our clubroom. Tables, chairs and a few mismatched and well-used couches dotted here and there, combine to form a decent area for the members to relax. A pool table and a couple of arcade machines―where, not surprisingly, Adam is currently hammering the hell out of one of them ― complete our area for recreation. And tonight, after church, we’ll be letting our hair down and having a fucking party. The sweet butts, who get food and lodging in exchange for their services as well as city girls up from Tucson, will be put to good use, and the prospects will be kept busy at the bar. It’s gonna be a goooood time. My cock twitches in anticipation, but I shut that shit down fast. Not so good joining my brothers in church sporting a hard-on!
“Come on you jackasses! Church! Now!” The irritated voice of our prez, Drummer gets our attention, and a load of leather-clad bikers stop what they’re doing with a variety of grunts and stretches and get to their feet in no particular hurry. It’s doubtful anything in particular has upset the prez, Drummer always sounds that way and usually has an expression to match. Sometimes it’s pretty damn difficult to work out whether you’ve upset or pleased him. Still, he’s got a good head on his shoulders and has our backs, so he gets our respect.
Traipsing into the room which has a large oval wooden table in the centre, we make our way to our allotted seats. Drummer takes the head, of course, Peg, as sergeant-at-arms is to his right, me, as VP, on his left. Dollar, a man so talented with figures and exceptional at making money make more money that we had to make him our treasurer, sits next to me, and Blade, the enforcer, is to Peg’s right. Next to him sits Heart, who we made our secretary by virtue of the fact he has a business degree. The other brothers sit in the same places as they always do. There’s a gap down at the end, which Drummer isn’t slow to miss.
“Buster?” he growls, the deep lines on his brow showing his annoyance.
“Doing what he does best, Prez, bustin’ balls I expect!” A roll of laughter runs around the table as Dart’s flippant comment.
Viper pipes up, “Not back from his run to Phoenix yet.”
“Anythin’ I need to worry about?” Now Drum sounds concerned, as he’d be for any of us missing without reason.
“Nah, last thing I heard his contact was delayed,” I reassure him. As VP it’s my job to know exactly what anyone’s doing at any time. “He should be here soon.”
“Fuckin’ better be! Right, Dollar. How’s the fuckin’ money looking?”
And so it starts. The club’s run exactly like a business, and of course, we all take an interest in how the bucks are coming in as our personal take depends on our rank in the club and how much we make. It’s all fairly standard tonight, but the income from the strip club is down a bit, down to losing one of our star attractions who’s moved out of state. The motion to try and attract in new pussy is agreed.
As Heart records the vote, a loud sniff has me glancing at Adam, and it doesn’t surprise me to see him wiping the back of his hand under his nose, reminding me I need to get the prospects stock up the room with boxes of man-sized tissues. Christ, do I have to think of everything? They’ll be getting me to change the toilet rolls next!
Movement catches my attention as Dart flicks ash off the end of his cigarette, most of it landing on the table. My eyes are drawn to the sign some joker put on the wall, ‘When the floor’s full of cigarette butts, please use the ashtray’. The offending member throws me a grin when he sees where I’m looking, and pointedly takes more care to tap off his cancer stick in the correct depository.
“VP?” Drum prompts me to give my report, bringing my full attention back to the meeting. My brief summary is then followed by those from the other officers, and then by those of the other members.
It’s been a quiet week, and there’s not much going down that’s giving us cause to worry, and one by one everyone gives updates on a similar line. Observing that everything’s copacetic doesn’t seem to ease Drummer’s irritation any, but that’s not surprising, nothing ever does. As we plough on through the business, I take a second to cast my eyes around my brothers around the table. For the main part they’re a good bunch, and as always it gives me a warm feeling to have found my place in such a family. For the main part that is, the exception being Buster, our newest and missing member, having only recently patched over from another chapter. I’ve still got to take to the man. But for all that, he’s my brother, and I’d give my life if necessary for his, just like I would any of the others. That I might not be quite so happy about having to do so is another matter.
Church is winding down and looks like it’s coming to an end. The brothers are getting antsy to get out and start partying; a couple are even getting to their feet when Drummer shouts out, “Did I say church was fuckin’ over?”
Casting quick glances at each other, those standing sit down again and pay attention. I cock my head in the prez’s direction; he hadn’t discussed any new business with me which is unusual.
Drum nods at me, acknowledging he hadn’t had a chance to fill me in, but then, I’d only just got back from a run so couldn’t hold it against him. Still, showing proper respect for my rank, he’s looking in my direction as he starts to speak, “Got a call from Horse yesterday. He’s gonna be here a month early this year.”
“Fuckin’ sweet!” Slick’s face widens into a grin, “I’ll get him started on my new ride. Got some great fuckin’ ideas for it. Fuckin’ A.”
While Drummer shoots him a glare, I feel like high-fiving someone myself. Horse is an amazing artist and does some great work for us. The delicacy of his airbrushing is beyond amazing. I’d been planning to treat myself to a brain bucket to match the detail he did on my bike last year. Of course, in Arizona, once you’re over the age of eighteen there’s no requirement to wear one, but I value my brain too much to ride without.
Horse isn’t a patched member, but we treat him as an honorary one, Horse usually spends six months with us each year, accompanying us to Sturgis in August where his skills are much in demand. Apart from being fucking ace with a paintbrush, Horse is a great dude, and we’ve long accepted him as one of our brothers. It’s no trouble for us to let him make his base here, and it means we’re first in line for his services.
&
nbsp; Slick’s comment sparks a round of conversation around the table. Drummer brings us back to order by banging the gavel loudly.
“Cool it!” He glares, waiting for everyone to quieten, “Horse wants a favour from us. He’s bringin’ a girl with him.”
“Fuck yeah! The more the fuckin’ merrier!” Tongue’s famous organ comes out and waggles, the stud in it catching the light and glinting.
“Fresh meat!” Beef’s heavily muscled arm thumps the table.
“Shut the fuck up and let me fuckin’ finish!” The voice of our prez cuts through the shit being thrown around. “The woman is under his protection. It will be hands off for all you fuckers.”
Now a collective groan.
Drummer is the only one who brings his phone into Church, the rest of us leave them in a basket outside, and now he pulls it out of his pocket. I watch, curious, as he presses a few keys then passes it to me. I can see he’s started a video playing. Dollar peers over my shoulder.
As the drama unfolds in front of my eyes, I find it hard to watch, but can’t look away, like seeing a car crash happen. Which is exactly what I’m viewing. “Fuckin’ motherfucker!” I shake my head, unable to believe what’s on the video. Dollar snatches the phone out of my hand, and presses play again. Seeing the expressions on our faces, the others start to leave their seats and gather around. The phone gets passed around; Peg growls loudly when it gets round to him. After we’ve all seen the bastard run over a defenceless woman the phone, at last, is returned to Drummer.
Turning Wheels (Satan's Devils MC #1): A Blood Brothers Spin off Page 4