So I’ll be going down into a clubhouse full of strangers. Great. My expression must show my distaste.
“I won’t be out long.” She reads my reluctance. “Vi’s only going to show me the ropes, make sure it’s within my skillset. A couple of hours tops. You could stay here and rest while I’m gone. But I have to do this, Lizard. I can’t stay here without giving something back.”
“Like I am?”
“Oh, Liz.” She comes closer. “From what I hear, you’ve done a lot for the club. No one’s worried about you not being able to work as yet. They just want you to get strong and back to your old self.”
“What if I can’t, Vanna? What if what you see now is all you’re going to get? Is that going to be enough for you?” Christ, I sound needy.
She shrugs. “It is what it is, Lizard. We’ll cope, whether your disability is permanent or not.”
But will she be there with me? At this point, I’m not sure. She’s changed, she’s independent, and me? Well, I’m not even the man I once was.
When the door closes behind her, I get out of bed. Showering and dressing is exhausting. I have to do everything one-handed, and that’s not even my dominant one, but my stubborn side doesn’t regret refusing Vanna’s offer of help. If I’m going to improve, I’ve got to do things for myself.
Though the effort has taken it out of me, and my head is pounding, I refuse to do what my body suggests and lay down on the bed once again. I’ve had enough time doing nothing over the past few days. Instead, I just sit on the bed for a moment, waiting for the wave of dizziness to pass. When I feel sufficiently recovered, I eye the motorcycle boots and pull them toward me.
The leather looks scuffed as though I’ve worn them a million times, and there’s wear on the left on the inside, a mark as though it’s been rubbing against something. I realise it’s come from operating the gears on the bike. What model have I got? Seems strange that I own and ride something I didn’t know existed.
I pull on the boots and find they are incredibly comfortable. Supportive too. Deciding to keep them on, I pull my crutches toward me. Time to make my entry into the clubhouse.
There’s a ball of nervousness inside me. Vanna’s probably left by now, and Cas has chosen to spend time with another biker and not his old man. Can I blame them for deserting me? Probably not. I’m an invalid and impatient with it. I’m tense as hell trying to deal with a fucked-up mind and probably not pleasant to be around.
In their view, they haven’t left me alone, they’ve left me with family. I need to find out if I want to claim it as my own.
It takes me an age to descend the stairs, bad leg first, down into hell. The physio’s description amuses me, and that’s where I feel I’m heading now. Half expecting to find a den of iniquity, men snorting drugs, cleaning guns or fucking the whores, I at last take the final step and enter the clubroom.
There’s a man behind the bar cleaning the surface. After a moment he comes around it, carrying a black bag, and proceeds to pick up the rubbish left lying around. There’s a cloth hanging from his back pocket which he uses where necessary to wipe tables down.
His eyes catch sight of me. “Hi, Lizard.” He waits, but when I give no sign of recognition, he enlightens me. “I’m Nails. One of the prospects. Dirt’s my friend, and he’s currently outside manning the gate. Beaver and Karl are the other two, they’ll be around later.”
“Prospect?” Even the word sounds unfamiliar.
“Like a recruit?”
That he’s put it into words I can understand makes me wonder. “You served?”
“Me and Dirt, yeah. Same unit.” His face falls. “We were being transported back to camp. Ran over a fucking IED. Dirt and I were lucky, all the rest of the unit were killed. Except for Bagel here.” He points to a dog I hadn’t noticed before. It had been sleeping. Hearing its name, it stands and wanders across. I notice one of its hind legs is missing.
“That how he lost his limb?”
Nails grimaces. “Yes. Bringing him back stateside and keeping him seemed fitting. Though he’s not got much call for his expertise nowadays. He’s a sniffer dog. Bombs.”
“No explosives in the clubhouse?”
Nails laughs, thinking I’ve made a joke, then sees my face and says scornfully, “Of course not. Anyway, Liz, Jeannie’s got breakfast on in the kitchen if you’re hungry. Oh, and, anything you want, me or one of the other prospects will do or get it for you.”
Well, I think to myself as I make my way in the direction he’s pointing, Nails seems to be okay. As for the dog, Bagel’s either taken a liking to me or can smell the bacon, as he seems to be following me.
The kitchen is where the action is. There are four men seated around a table, another standing with his back against one of the counters. An older woman moves him so she can open a cupboard, tut-tutting as she shoos him away.
It’s her that turns as my crutches clack over the wooden floor.
“Lizard!” Her eyes brighten. “Oh my God, Lizard. I heard you were back. I’m so pleased to see you.”
My brow rises. I don’t know her from Adam.
She gives a little shake of her head. “I’m sorry, I forgot what Demon warned me. I’m Jeannie.” Coming closer, she stares up into my face, then pokes me gently in the chest. “Don’t tell anyone, but you were one of my favourites.”
“We’re all your favourites,” grumbles one of the men. “Liz ain’t anything special.” He looks up at me and winks. “I’m Bomber. Jeannie here is my old lady. We’ve been married darn near forty years.”
That surprises me. I thought any arrangement between these men and women would be temporary, the women used, discarded and passed on. But forty years? Not many people can last that long.
Jeannie looks at her man and rolls her eyes. “I’d have done less time if I murdered someone.”
“Thought you’d have killed Bomber before now,” observes the man leaning against the counter. “I don’t know how you stand him. Hey, Liz. You remember me, Brother?”
“No.” I make no apology for it, but I do notice the crestfallen look that crosses his face.
“I’m Ink. I’m another leatherneck.”
My brow creases. “We served together?”
Ink makes a negative gesture. “Nah, met here in the club.” He indicates a chair, and gratefully I sit. “I’ve got a woman, Beth. She’ll be around later today.”
“Can’t fuckin’ miss her,” puts in the man sitting opposite me. “She’s a fuckin’ giant of a bitch.”
He gets a slap around the head. “Watch your mouth, Judge.”
“Fuckin’ youngsters today. No darn respect.” But Bomber’s got a twinkle in his eye as he says it.
“I’m Buzzard,” the man sitting to my right starts. “I’m the treasurer of the club.”
“And he’s here,” Jeannie swipes him with a dish towel, “as his wife Sindy can’t cook.”
“Hey, I object to that.” A middle-aged woman walks in, leans over and snags a piece of bacon that Jeannie’s just taken out of the oven. “Not that I’m any good in the kitchen, but not everyone needs to know that.”
“Think that ship has sailed sweetheart.” Buzz stands, takes her hand, and pulls her over. Retaking his seat, she ignores the empty chair beside him, and plonks herself on his lap. “After twenty years, I think everyone’s figured out why I eat so many meals in the club.” He turns to me, chuckling. “She can burn water.”
“I cannot,” she mumbles around her mouthful of bacon. “I wouldn’t know how to turn the stove on.”
There’s a round of good-natured chuckles at that.
“Buzz actually is a good cook.” Jeannie points a spatula at the treasurer. “He’s just lazy as fuck.”
“Who are you?” I query the fourth man at the table.
He scratches the top of his head before telling me, “I’m Wills. I part-manage the strip club.”
“The new girl work out okay?” Bomber asks. “Last night was her first Saturday, w
asn’t it?”
“She did good,” Wills responds. “Couple of assholes tried to get their hands on her, but we shut ‘em down. Kicked them out.”
“Hey, Liz, why that frown?” Ink’s staring at me.
It’s not my place to say anything. I may not have seen evidence yet of drugs or guns, but they’re admitting they do profit off girls.
“Wills,” Ink may be talking to the other man, but his eyes are focused on me, “tell Liz about Lia. I don’t think he understands.”
“Lia?” Wills’ hand covers his mouth to stifle a large yawn. “She needed money so went out to earn it on the street. She was on a corner waiting for the next John to stop, when he did, he was one of those do-gooders wanting to get girls like her off the street. Problem was, his way of providing education was with his fists. Scared the fuck out of her. When the bruises healed, she had no way of earning a living. Lia doesn’t object to taking off her clothes, so when she came to us for help, we paid for her to have some pole dancing classes, then gave her a job as a dancer. She’s now safe and protected. Off the streets and not living in fear of having her life beaten out of her. And before you ask, no, sex isn’t one of the club’s services.”
Ink’s still staring at me. “Still think we exploit women? I could run through the rest of the girls. They’ve all got similar stories. We,” he points to himself and the others, “never touch the girls. Some are only there because it’s the only job they can do for sure. Others enjoy the power they feel when men are watching them dance. They work for us as we pay well, and they are protected. In return, they give their all, and we run a popular, clean and successful club.”
I return his gaze, then give a sharp nod. The way he’s put it, it doesn’t sound as bad as what I had been thinking.
A plate piled high with bacon, eggs, sausage links and hash browns appears in front of me. As Jeannie hands more around, conversation halts as everyone digs into their food.
Fuck. I take a deep breath then wonder how I’m going to tackle this, surprised as fuck when Ink leans over, picks up the knife and fork and slices my food into bite-sized chunks, before sitting down and starting on his own plate.
He’d not said a word, just did what needed to be done without me having to suffer the embarrassment of asking, and without waiting for me to express gratitude when he was done. No one comments at all.
The practicality of it takes away the shame I was feeling and allows me to dig into the best plate of food I can remember.
“Not in here, Ink. People are eating.” Jeannie admonishes Ink when he gets out a pack of cigarettes.
He stands and waves the pack at me. “Want to come outside and have a smoke, Liz?”
I frown, trying to remember. “Do I smoke?”
“You did.” Jeannie’s standing, looking thoughtful. “But maybe that’s not what you need right now, Liz.”
I wave Ink off, she’s probably right. If I don’t need nicotine, don’t feel a desire to fill my lungs with smoke, maybe it’s for the best. I doubt medics would recommend it. If I’ve given them up, it’s something good to come out of my predicament.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Shayla
It was like one of those movies yesterday which are comedic and tragic at the same time. The bikers had exited en masse, kidnapped a man for all the right reasons and brought back a stranger who ended up in the last place he wanted to be, the club.
Mace had been devastated, as broken as I’d ever seen him. On one hand, he’s pleased his friend is alive and looks like he’ll be staying that way, on the other, he’s not his friend anymore. He’s not the man he rode with or shared drinks and, I’ve heard rumours, women with—not that I’ve witnessed that myself. Since I’ve been here, he’s obviously being very discreet about where he gets his needs served or who with.
I knew Mace would need a friend and thought I had something to offer him. However much I want to hold my own in a man’s world, women and men tend to think differently. Men are about action, wanting to rush and take down their enemies brandishing their swords, while women, not having the superior strength, tend to use their heads and bring a different perspective to things. It’s why the vast majority of murderers are masculine, often crimes in the heat of the moment. Women tend to think twice.
Men are supposed to keep their emotions locked down. I could tell Mace was upset and needed someone who’d listen while he let his sadness out. I hadn’t missed the moisture in his eyes which betrayed him.
Mace will be confused and must find it difficult to comprehend the change in his brother and friend. Of course, all his brothers will be feeling the same to some degree. Only Vanna would fully understand how they’re feeling. But each will be suffering in different ways, their primary response being what action they should take, while they all should take a moment to process.
Ink, I think, will be the next most affected, but he’s got Beth to help him through. Mace, though, who’s he got? No one, except for the club girls and I’m not particularly impressed by them, from what little encounters I’ve had. My gut feel is that if you’re able to live in the physical world not needing any lasting connection with the man you’re fucking, you’re probably lacking on the emotional front yourself, maybe having a lower self-esteem either gained through nature or nurture.
While I certainly can’t provide to Mace the comfort someone like Tulia or Breezy could, I have something to offer. Just being there, listening, and giving him a safe place to be as sad and down as he wants. Sometimes you have to let the sorrow out, to hit rock bottom before you can climb up and allow grief to overwhelm you as it’s going to do at some point.
I’d sat with him, listened to him, let him talk it out. Commiserated, but never suggested there was anything wrong with the way he felt.
That he trusted me to see him at his lowest point hadn’t escaped me.
And, it was me giving him something back, when all this time I’d been mainly taking.
Mace is a good man. He’s asked me for nothing.
Would he want more if I was able to offer it?
What if I wasn’t damaged beyond repair? What if there is some way out for me, a way back to something akin to the person I was?
My job at the auto-shop has given me purpose. It has given me a reason to get up every day and feel I’m contributing. When I first started working, I was scared, not so much of Mace, Ink or Pyro, but of the civilians they have working there. But wearing my overalls, with no makeup and my hair pulled up in a messy bun, I’m not so much female as asexual.
Whether Pyro had had a talk with them or not, no one had made so much as a suggestive comment in my hearing, and as I proved my skills could match theirs, I began to be treated just as a co-worker. It triggered memories that I’d forgotten were there, and soon I found myself as comfortable working at the shop as I had in the job I’d been forced to abandon over a year ago.
I don’t deal with customers as I’m wary of strangers. I stay in the service area working on the cars and bikes. I jump at loud voices, when someone drops a tool suddenly, or when a door bangs or an engine misfires. But I’m not the only one who has problems. Sid, a mechanic, had gone white one day when thunder boomed right overhead. It didn’t surprise me to learn he’d served overseas, and his reaction was a result of PTSD. It explained why no one had regarded me as an oddity.
I like my job, like the men I work with. I’m feeling a little more confident each day. Do I still want to move on? No, I don’t. I want to stay here, but should I? That’s the question. At times, I get a tingling sensation as if not all’s right with the world, as if someone’s watching me. As if Major is closing in. He could be casting his net to catch me even now.
I’ve stayed too long.
I don’t want to leave.
I helped carry the load during the past week when Lizard was in the hospital, comfortable enough to continue to go to the auto-shop even without the brothers there. Sid and the other civilians had said nothing, but little gestures, the
odd word, told me they had my back. I’d become more convinced than ever that Pyro had spoken to them.
Between the civilians and I, we kept on top of the urgent jobs, but with three men out, the work was piling up which is why today, Sunday, I’ve come into the shop with Mace to catch up on the backlog.
“You mind Cas being here with us?”
“Of course not, Mace. You needn’t ask.”
“Demon suggested it. He’s sending Vanna to the tattoo parlour for a couple of hours with Vi and wants Cas out of the way too. He thinks if Lizard’s forced to mingle with his brothers, he might get more comfortable around the club. Sure has got some weird thoughts about what we stand for,” Mace explains, but then his lips press together. “I don’t know if it will work. He might retreat without his family as a buffer or never appear in the first place.”
I don’t respond having no idea how it will go either.
It’s an hour or so when I hit a snag.
“This is so darn fussy!” I complain.
Mace leans over to see what the problem is. “Hey, let me.” Though his fingers are much fatter than mine, he’s still able to reach under the engine and tighten the bolt.
Swallowing the blow to my pride, I quip at him, “I’m used to working with things you can actually see and get hold of.”
He smirks and winks. “I can see how large things you can get hold of are better.”
My mouth drops open, but instead of wanting to put distance between us, I bat his arm at his comment delivered in a suggestive tone and admonish sternly, “Mace.”
Instead of pushing it, he looks around, calling Cas over. “Want to see how this is done?”
Cas is turning out to be a quick learner, and Mace a good teacher. I’ve been impressed with how much Cas has picked up. Mace has been showing him how to tune a motorbike engine this morning. It’s involved a lot of joking around, and I’ve enjoyed both their company. I especially enjoyed that of Mace who’s in much better spirits today, and I like to think I was partly responsible for putting that smile back on his face.
Devil's Spawn: Satan's Devils MC Colorado Chapter #6 Page 29