Devil's Spawn: Satan's Devils MC Colorado Chapter #6

by Manda Mellett

  Closure I’d told Mace. Last weekend, my talk with Mace, tonight’s talk with Lindy have helped me to start thinking straight. Even if Lizard regained his memory, he’s built a new life for himself. We may no longer have things in common. Perhaps how he lives now is what he wants out of life. If I spent time with the man I met last weekend, would I still like and admire him? For a start, I don’t like his approach to casual sex. The man I’d married would never have stepped out on me. But would he even be able to be faithful again, now that he’s experienced variety? I couldn’t share a man, and maybe it wouldn’t be so easy to forget the years when he’s been with easy women, while I’ve satisfied myself with my BOB.

  Could another of those gorgeous specimens of men be one for me? Mace? I like the man. He’d be good for Cas. But while he’s handsome and well-built and probably wouldn’t disappoint in bed, when I consider sleeping with him, it does nothing for me. Not compared to my thoughts about Liz.

  Closure.

  Well remembering my man’s cock and the magic it could perform is doing nothing to get me closer to that.

  Twisting my wedding band, I wonder if I should take it off and swap it to the other hand. Still wear it but make a statement to myself and others that I’m free, no longer shackled to any man. But his tattoo is still on my back. I’ll never do anything to remove that. Lizard had been so proud when I’d agreed to carry his name. A small smile curves my lips as I remember the first time after I’d gotten it and he’d made love to me. Doggy style, of course. Hmm. What was exciting and a tremendous turn on for him had been very beneficial for me.

  “Have you made a decision?” Lindy asks, sipping her coffee and indicating the one she’s brought in for me.

  I snap out of my reverie, realising what she’s talking about when she waves toward my hair. “If you can get me a discount, I’ll pay for the cut myself,” I say in a voice brooking no argument. “As for clothes, if you’ve got something suitable, I’ll borrow it.”

  She grins. “Compromise, huh? I’ll go with that. I’ve got Shauna’s number. I’ll give her a call and see if she can fit you in tomorrow after work. You go upstairs and raid my wardrobe. I’ll be there in a sec.”

  An hour later, when I go to collect Cas, the back of the car has a selection of clothes piled on the seat, including a fetching butter soft leather jacket that fits as though it was made for me. Leather-looking leggings, that I don’t think I’m brave enough to wear, not with the size of my ass, and a selection of tops, some lower in the front than any that I’ve ever bought.

  “You have fun at Jordan’s, Cas?”

  “Yeah. It was okay. Mom, what are these?” He points over into the back seat.

  “Lindy lent them to me. Oh, and I’m having my hair trimmed tomorrow.” I glance at him, seeing by his expression he’s put two and two together as expected.

  “Uh-huh. Mom’s dolling herself up,” he tells me in a singsong voice. “Going on the prowl, Mother?”

  I punch his arm lightly.

  “Mom.” His voice returns to normal and, at the moment, is gravelly deep, a suggestion of what it will be like when it breaks completely. “If Dad never remembers, then you deserve to be happy again. Try and get to know the other bikers.”

  “Cas…”

  “No, Mom. Seriously. I like the club, like the work they do on the bikes and cars. It’s fun being there. So do it for me. Hook up with a biker, will you?”

  What?

  Stunned, I start to smile at the knowledge my son thinks I could have a chance attracting one of these sexy men.

  “I heard Rusty’s single.”

  My smile slips completely away. Rusty has to be sixty, if he’s a day.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mace

  “F… Damn thing.”

  “I think ‘damn’ is technically swearing, Brother.” I laugh when I see Pyro just save himself from having to put a dollar in the gallon jar that’s now sitting on one end of the bar. There’s another the same size at the other end. Already, Esme’s money is racking up. “Look at it this way, you’ll have cleaned up your language by the time your kid is born.”

  “Can’t change the habit of a lifetime,” he grumbles. “Don’t see how it matters. Kid can’t repeat what she hears as she doesn’t speak.” His eyes follow Esme as she walks into the kitchen, followed by the two dogs who’ve taken to escorting her around.

  He’s not being cruel, just frustrated. Try as we might, she still refuses to say a word. Really, she needs to see a therapist of some sort. Fuck knows what’s going on in her mind, but we’re being cautious, the last thing we want is for Major to find her. Red’s still no closer to finding out more details of exactly who the man is, or the length of his reach.

  Pyro signals for Karl to bring him a beer, then raises an eyebrow at me. When I nod, he raises another finger, and Karl places two bottles in front of us. Having four prospects is beneficial, there’s always one around to tend the bar.

  “You know who I admire in all of this?” He turns to lean back against the counter. “Shayla. She got them out. Kept that kid safe, provided for her. Couldn’t have been easy lying low when she had her to look out for, but she didn’t abandon her.”

  He’s right. “With that tat on her back, the wrong person seeing it could have meant she’d be stolen back by Major. I can see why Shayla kept the kid with her.” But like Pyro, I’m impressed by everything she’d done. “I wish Cad could find something out about where Esme comes from. Surely, someone, somewhere, must be missing her?” I can’t allow myself to think her family had been pleased to be shot of her. Sure, Esme has issues, but she’s a delightful kid, and no bother.

  “All we’ve got is a first name, and that she’s got problems. Don’t even know if there’s a name for what she’s got, or whether she was born that way, so he can’t search medical records. Like finding a needle in a fuckin’ haystack.”

  I nod toward the jar.

  “She ain’t even here,” he hisses when he turns back around to see where I’m indicating. Then laughs. “You getting a cut out of this, Brother?”

  No, I’m not. But seeing the way those dollars are mounting up, I wish I were. There are even a few IOUs in there as well. Reckon come payday, the levels in the jars will rise.

  Suddenly both of us lurch forward.

  “Hey, what you two ladies gossiping about?”

  “Ink,” I cough as I recover from the hard slap to my back. “Asshole.” I give him one of my best glares. Then relent. “Actually, glad you’re here. What do you think about this?”

  I place a coloured drawing in front of him. He picks it up, then whistles through his teeth. “One of Esme’s?”

  I nod. I glance at Pyro, wondering whether he’s going to mock me or not. Then at Ink, not certain he might not do the same. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. “I was wondering about having that on my gas tank.”

  It’s a picture of a rearing stallion, his front hooves raised, his eyes blazing and angry breath coming from his nostrils. How the fuck Esme can conjure something like that up, I’ve no idea, but it’s nothing you’d expect from a childish sketch.

  “I’ll tell you what I think, shall I?”

  I look up then down. I thought it was his opinion I’d just asked.

  “I wish I’d fuckin’ seen that first, Brother.” A wide grin spreads across Ink’s face, which slips when I nod toward the jar.

  “She’ll be pleased,” Pyro observes. “Fuckin’ over the moon I would think, Mace. With a talent like that, doesn’t matter what other drawbacks she has.” He sees my glance and shakes his head. Oh well, he’s right, Esme’s not within hearing.

  Fleetingly I wonder how she’ll grow and develop, whether the two women will stick around somewhere locally so we’ll find out. My eyes go to Shayla who’s currently playing a game of pool with Beth. It had amused me as Beth had very carefully inspected, then wiped down the pool table first. Uh-uh, now they’ve caught my eye, I can’t look away. Shayla’s just bending to
take a shot… That ass! A little more padding as she puts back on the weight which I’m assuming she lost, and it would be perfect. As it is, I wouldn’t complain if I was pounding my cock into it…

  I swing back around fast. That woman’s been objectified by men enough. Doesn’t need a man like me leering after her. While I suspect Beth was probably responsible for dragging her down, it’s progress that Shayla’s ventured to the clubroom without Esme as a buffer. Last thing I want to do is chase her away.

  “Any idea when the gym will be completed, Ink?” I ask to take my mind off of the woman I shouldn’t be having lewd thoughts about, discreetly adjusting myself in my pants.

  “Nope. I’m beginning to wish we’d never gone with the idea of opening the place to the public. If it was just us fuckers using it, we wouldn’t have to be so fuckin’ particular. Now it’s all got to be built to code. Apparently, it’s not cool to have walls falling down on customers.”

  I look at him out of the side of my eye. “Not sure I’d be too keen on that myself.”

  For a response, all I get is a shove with his fist, then he calls out, “You ready, Beth?”

  His woman mimes finishing her game, and he nods back. Seconds later, I wish she’d been ready to leave as he starts on me. “So, that bitch of yours is coming back at the weekend, then?”

  I’d mentioned it as an aside last night in our normal Wednesday church in case anyone objected. No one complained, though a few groaned and mentioned they couldn’t afford having kids around. Which, predictably, got another mention of Theo, followed by a few comments about how all kids should have naps and go home by five so the men could let loose. I’d grinned, just imagining what Cas would have to say on that matter.

  “She’s only a friend,” I tell him, yet again. “It’s Cas she’s coming here for. I’ve told you and everyone else this, Ink.”

  Pyro then starts in too. “It’s how it starts, Brother. You think you’re just supporting them, then they worm their way under your skin and voilà. They’ve got you forever.”

  “You love Mel. Always did.”

  Pyro snorts and shakes his head but doesn’t deny it. “Didn’t allow myself to think it while she was with Skull. Could be similar to you, Bro, though there isn’t another man in the picture, or not one who’s breathing that is.”

  He doesn’t know the half of what’s wrong with that statement.

  “Hey, that kid of hers. Anyone else notice he looks like Liz? Could he be a relative or something?”

  I still at Ink’s words, feeling blood drain from my face. “Haven’t noticed,” I tell them, trying my best to sound convincing. “Kid’s got red hair, just like his mom.”

  “They’ve got the same nose though, and the same sulky look to their mouths. Hey, I might ask him.”

  “Leave it,” I tell Ink fast.

  “Why so defensive, Mace?” Ro asks.

  Sorting through my thoughts at lightning speed, I come up with something that’s not quite a lie. “I’ve known Vanna for ages.” Well, almost two weeks. “You can see for yourself, Liz has never met her. And Cas has no cousins so I can’t see how there can be a connection. Maybe way back there’s a link in their DNA but hell, heaven help me, I’m probably linked to you two if I look far enough back on my family tree. We’re all probably related in some way.”

  Pyro stares at Ink, and murmurs, “Thanks for that thought, Mace.”

  “Shut it,” Ink growls, but laughs.

  Finished with her game, Beth wanders over. Leaning in, she gives Ink an open-mouthed kiss. Now there’s one brother I thought would never get caught. There’s no doubting how happy he is with her though, despite the troubles they had to go through to get together.

  “See you later, Ground Pounder.”

  “Later, Leatherneck,” I respond, as he at last lets her go, and hand in hand they walk out the door together.

  I notice Shayla’s tidying away the pool cues and racking the balls for whoever wants to play next. She’s doing it hurriedly though, as if without female company she’s going to escape back to her room.

  Deciding to go over, I approach. With eyes that have learned to be aware of her surroundings, she notices me as I draw close. Hoisting my left buttock onto the pool table, I fold my arms and face her.

  “How you doing, Shayla?”

  Her shoulders move up, then down. “Good?”

  “Are you asking or telling me?” I chuckle softly, while examining her face. Her eyes still look like there’s no life in them.

  Another shrug. “It’s hard for me to feel safe anywhere, Mace. My gut tells me I can trust people here, but I’ve time on my hands, especially as Jayden’s taken Esme under her wing. I think I’m only just beginning to process what happened to me.”

  I can understand that. Like a soldier in a war, she’s been doing what had to be done. It’s only after the bullets stop flying, you check to see what damage there is. As for thinking time, we’ve made her give up what really was a shit job. I’d ridden past the dive where she worked and wasn’t comfortable with her being there at all. A suggestion that it was best if she kept out of sight was the only persuasion it took for her to tell Andy and his shotgun a final goodbye.

  “If time’s hanging on your hands, why not help Jeannie out in the kitchen?”

  An almost there smile appears. “I tried, but Jeannie hates me.”

  She’s not exactly right, but I remember now that she allowed a pie Jeannie asked her to watch out for burn when she’d left it too long in the oven. Thereafter, her offers of help were turned down. Prospects clean and tidy, so there’s not much else for a female to do.

  “Jeannie’s okay.” I defend Bomber’s old lady. “She just likes to be in charge in her domain. Perhaps you could help by peeling vegetables or something?”

  She holds out her hand with a Band-Aid wrapped around one finger. “Tried that. Failed. Blood on the potatoes is apparently worse than a burned pie.”

  I have to laugh at the crestfallen look on her face. “Can’t you cook at all?”

  “I can open a can and pour it into a saucepan. I can put bread in the toaster, er,” now there’s an actual grin, “some of the time without burning it. And I can microwave. When I remember to remove the tinfoil first.”

  I snort. “Thought women were born with the cooking gene.”

  “Obviously my genetics are wrong. I must be partly a man.”

  My eyes view her up, then down. “Well that part must be in your head. You look all female to me.”

  Damn. Fuck it to hell. Why did I go and say something like that? To cover the moment of awkwardness when I realise given her situation I shouldn’t have been looking, and she, clearly linking my statement to how she’s been objectified for the last year, bristles. I make a swift change of subject.

  “What are you good at?”

  “Machinery.”

  Well fuck, I didn’t expect that. The expression on my face must show my surprise, as she nods sharply. “Give me something mechanical that doesn’t work, and I can usually fix it.”

  Well colour me surprised. “You work on bikes? Cars?”

  Her hands move a foot apart, then widen. I frown, then realise she’s indicating bigger. “Tractors?”

  “Large farm machinery, yes. Oh, I could find my way around a smaller engine, but I’m more used to something larger with the torque to drive a combine harvester.”

  “You trained?”

  “Graduated in mechanical engineering, so yeah.”

  My eyes widen in admiration. But before she can latch on to that, I shake my head, forcing the corners of my mouth to turn down. “Shame it doesn’t make up for the fact you can’t cook.”

  She stares at me. Just stares. Then, when my lips twitch, she snorts a laugh, then another, then she’s doubled up laughing. When she straightens, she wipes tears from her eyes. “Asshole,” she tells me.

  Four days ago, she wouldn’t have dreamed of calling me that, or anything like it. Progress. I have a warm feeling insi
de that it’s me she’s growing more comfortable with. Rather than analyse why I should feel that sense of pride, I nod to the pool table.

  “This one of your talents?”

  “That would be telling.”

  “Want to be beaten?” Poor choice of words.

  But she’s got a sly look on her face. “I’ve got nothing else to do. I don’t mind standing bored while you work the table.”

  Huh. Minutes later, it’s me standing looking on as she expertly sinks ball after ball, eventually getting a short turn which, I completely fuck up, then, for the second time in less than a week, my pool playing ability is brought into question by a woman. Aren’t women supposed to know their place? Which is, of course, allowing the man to win. But she certainly doesn’t, and I find I don’t care at all.

  I love the little jump of triumph she makes as the final ball sinks into the pocket. Without thinking, I place my arm around her.

  “You’re a ringer, sweetheart.”

  I’m a big man, my arm, like everything else about me is muscular. I’m totally unaware I’ve trapped her until she goes stiff by my side.

  “Let me go.” There’s desperation in her voice. “Let me go!” she repeats.

  Immediately my arm drops, and I look down to see her shaking, her face white. “Oh, baby,” I tell her quickly, “I’m so fuckin’ sorry. Deep breaths, babe. Deep breaths. Look at me.” My gentle voice has panicked eyes staring my way. I take a deep breath, hold it, then exhale. Then I repeat my actions. “Breathe, babe.”

  She looks like she’s struggling to do that simplest of action, but tries, eventually inhaling sharply, and then, mimicking my movements, holds it before letting it out. She copies me again and again until finally I see her relax and her shoulders slump.

  “Come and sit down.” I indicate a couch, and when she sits, putting her head into her hands, I take a chair opposite.

  “I’m sorry.” Her apology’s offered in a low weak voice.

  Dismissing her words, I tell her, “Shay, you were forced to do things you didn’t want for the past year. No wonder you don’t fuckin’ want a man’s hands on you. It’s me who should apologise. I didn’t fuckin’ think.”