Avenging Devil Part 1: Satan’s Devils MC - San Diego Chapter #3

by Mellett, Manda

  “I’m fine here.” I put as much conviction into my voice as I’m able to. “Look, please, will you go?” I’ve had enough socialising. All I want to do is curl up in a ball and cry. Best all around if I were to go to sleep and never wake up. How can one woman cope with all the pain in my heart?

  Please go, I repeat in my head.

  Chapter Eight

  Niran

  This woman seated on my lap, barely holding herself together, is a complete stranger, and I shouldn’t feel any sense of responsibility for her. Nevertheless, she’s going through something terrible, something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, and my gut is screaming the last thing she needs is to be alone.

  I hate that she’s in this place. She should be somewhere safe, not in an environment that must be adding to her stress level and distress. But I can appreciate how it’s far too soon to ask for her trust. There’s only one option, I have to stay.

  Taking out the keys to the SUV, I pass them to Mary. “You okay to drive yourself?”

  For a response, I get a roll of her eyes, followed by her seeking confirmation I won’t be leaving her new friend alone. “You’re definitely staying?”

  While Saffie looks at me in horror, I qualify to make her feel easier, “Just for a while. But Grumbler will be worrying himself senseless if you don’t get home now.”

  With a worried look in my direction, and a more complex expression spared for Saffie, Mary stands, takes the keys out of my hand, then goes to lean over the woman sitting beside me. “Niran will give you my number. Anything you need, anything, you hear me? Just call, and I’ll come around.”

  “You can both go,” Saffie states, anxiously looking between me and Grumbler’s old lady.

  “No can do,” I reply. “You shouldn’t be on your own. Not right now. I’ll just stay long enough to make sure you’re okay. But first, I’m going to walk Mary down to the car.”

  “How will you get home?” she asks.

  “Don’t worry about me. One of my brothers can come collect me.” Standing, I gesture Mary to hold back, as I walk to the door and open it.

  Peering out, I check no one’s shooting up in the hallway, and there’s no sound of footsteps coming up the stairwell. Sooner Mary’s out of here the better. Taking the lead, I walk slowly down the stairs, hoping Mary’s following carefully.

  Outside the apartment, I’m relieved to find the SUV unmolested. Ushering Mary toward it, I settle her in the driver’s seat, pleased when with just one worried glance around, she adjusts the seat which had been pushed back for my long legs and starts the engine immediately. I watch until the taillights disappear around the corner, then, fortifying myself with a deep breath, attack those flights of stairs again.

  Saffie’s door is shut, as it should be. I bang on it and get no reply. Knowing she’s in there, I don’t give up.

  “Open the door, Saffie. It’s me, Niran.”

  “Go away,” a small voice says.

  “Nah. Let me in, or I’ll stay right here.” I eye the hallway critically, wishing I had my piece on me. There’s no way in California I’d get a license to own a gun, let alone concealed carry, not with my affiliation to the MC. Being Black, I’m already at enough risk of being stopped as it is, being caught carrying could be a death sentence if I come up against a trigger-happy cop. Flexing my shoulders, I keep my eyes and ears open, ready to fight my way out if need be.

  One moment passes, then another, then I hear the sound of bolts being drawn back, and the door opens a crack. It’s all the invitation I need.

  “I won’t hurt you, Saffie,” I tell her, carefully pushing the door wider, moving slowly so as to not scare her. I pause, then walk past her into her small living area.

  “I don’t understand why you’re here.” Her words are laced with suspicion.

  Truth be told, neither do I. All I know is she’s hurting, badly, and something inside me wants to ease her pain. I doubt I can fix her, that’s beyond me, but to lend her my shoulder and do what I can to make this awful day easier, well, I hope I can go some way toward that.

  In the end, there’s not much I can do. She won’t eat. She watches as I make a sandwich for myself hoping to tempt her, but it doesn’t work. She won’t drink anything other than the water I force on her, worried after all the crying she’ll become dehydrated.

  I sit on the worn sofa beside her. For a long while we sit in silence, then with a sigh of exhaled breath, as though tired of keeping herself together, she inches toward me, and I put a brotherly arm around her.

  She might not be speaking, but I know her mind has to be whirring. I don’t attempt to start a conversation. I’m so out of my league, I wouldn’t know what to say.

  Eventually, out of sheer exhaustion, she falls asleep. Gently, I lift her and carry her into the one bedroom, laying her fully dressed on the bed, only removing her shoes before sliding the sheet over her. Then, unable to stop myself, I lean down and plant a quick kiss to her forehead for no other reason than it seems the right thing to do.

  “Sleep,” I whisper, knowing she doesn’t hear me.

  I return to the sofa that’s far too short for my height to stretch out but settling in as I don’t want her to be alone tonight. Fuck knows why, she’s not my responsibility. But she needs someone, and there seems to be no one else.

  Knowing it’s still relatively early and I’ve no inclination to settle in for what will be undoubtably be an uncomfortable and restless night, I take out my phone and start googling. I read up about the baby’s condition and end up thinking she has only one route ahead. Medically, nothing can be done to help her baby. I don’t believe in the power of prayer, especially not when the dice have already fallen. Her baby has zero chance to survive.

  Will she live on hope? Put herself through the next few months which only a fucking miracle could end happily? The best she could hope for is a few minutes or hours with a dying child, and that’s if she’s lucky.

  Is she strong enough to take the logical route?

  How could I even begin to imagine what strength it would take to end the pregnancy, to close that door on hope. I’m a man, how could I ever understand?

  While I’m a fixer, while I want to help, imposing my views on a woman I’ve just met would be a mistake of the highest proportions. Any views I have, I need to keep to myself, holding back, even if she asks my opinion.

  What would I feel if I were the father?

  Devastated, lost, raging at fate. For perhaps the first time, I truly understand Grumbler and Mary’s concerns. Saffie appears to be in my age bracket, and this probably wasn’t on her radar, or only as a minimal risk. Grumbler and Mary’s eyes are wide open, and every day they live with the possibility that something will go wrong.

  Fuck, what would it be like to lose a child? Even one that was only a promise as yet.

  Saffie hasn’t mentioned the father. As he should have been the one she’d contacted first, or been at the hospital to accompany her, I gather he’s out of the picture. Does she know who he is? My initial impression of Saffie is that she’s no bed-hopper, but even the best of us makes mistakes. A drunken one-night stand where no names were exchanged? Or was it conceived in a relationship that went sour? Did he throw her out as he didn’t want to be a dad?

  Glancing around the apartment, I wrinkle my nose in disgust. She’s made the best of it, but there’s only so much silk you can apply to a pig’s ear. Nothing can disguise the unkempt nature of the building’s fabric—shoddily thrown together with paper-thin walls. It makes me wonder how it’s still standing.

  Saffie must either be exhausted, or has learned to tune the sounds out, but I keep jumping as noises reach my ears—heavy footsteps overhead, the sound of a television from next door, and a loud argument with voices swearing loudly, and the shouting of someone who ‘needs to score’.

  Whoever the man is who’s responsible for Saffie’s predicament, if he knows his woman is living like this, he deserves a fucking beatdown.

  Whe
n I start yawning, I quietly visit her tiny bathroom, wincing at the loudness of my stream of piss, but even that doesn’t disturb her. Returning to the sofa, I take off my prothesis, snorting quietly when I start to lie down, finding amusement in that the couch is at least long enough for one of my legs.

  As a Marine, I got used to sleeping anywhere. I employ the tricks I’d learned back in the day for snatching sleep whenever an opportunity presents itself. With my mind still whirring, it takes a while to work, but I drop off eventually.

  I don’t sleep easily, sounds continue from the building around me, startling me out of my rest. One such sound is Saffie’s door opening.

  Pulling myself upright, I realise it’s the early morning, and despite my uncomfortable position, I’ve stayed the whole night.

  As she moves to the bathroom, I strap on my prothesis, and put my boot on my other foot. Then, thankful my hair is shorn short and needs only my palms to run over it, I go to her kitchen and get coffee started. It’s decaf, as I expected. Saffie’s been trying to do everything right.

  “You’re still here.”

  I turn around to greet her, disregarding the obvious. “Want coffee?” I ignore that she’s not wearing what I knew was a wig. Her natural hair is dark, far more suited to her complexion.

  Her mouth twists in distaste. “Water will do. I, er…”

  I can see she’s embarrassed and unsure how to greet a stranger in the morning. Assessing her quickly, I see her sleep has done little to refresh her. The shadows in her eyes show the hurt is, quite obviously, still there.

  I don’t ask how she’s feeling, it’s evident.

  She comes closer, wrapping her arms around herself. “I keep thinking this is a nightmare, Niran. I want to wake up, but however much I pinch myself, when I open my eyes, it’s still there.” I go to speak, but she gets in before me, “I can’t wish this away, and I have to deal with it myself. I have to come to a decision that’s mine and mine alone.”

  “I can’t tell you what to do.” I’d come to that conclusion myself.

  “I know.” A brief, self-deprecating smile appears and fades just as quickly. “It would be easier if you, or anyone could.”

  “You going to be okay?”

  “No,” she replies honestly. “But I have to keep going. Maybe I’ll just let nature take its course, or maybe not.” She sits and puts her head into her hands, and then idly draws one down to caress her belly. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do either.”

  “You are,” I tell her, going to crouch in front of her, then taking hold of her hands. “You’ll come to the right decision.”

  She looks at me as if she can’t understand herself. “I didn’t want you to stay but thank you for being here.”

  “I wish I could do more,” I respond, earnestly. I wish I could wave a wand and solve her problems.

  She shakes her head. “You’re stopping me from freaking out. That’s more than enough, Niran.” Her eyes narrow, and she asks, “Am I right to trust you?”

  It’s an unusual question, but one I suppose is valid. “Again, I can’t tell you what to do, Saffie. But I assure you, I’ve no evil intentions toward you. You need someone to support you and I’m willing to play that role.”

  “Why should that be you?”

  I don’t have an answer. “Who knows, Saffie? I’ve never been faced with this situation before. Who knows why I feel like I do? I just know if there’s any help to be given, I want to be the one to provide it.” Maybe there was something in what Kink said—I’ve an innate desire to fulfil a woman’s needs, even if they aren’t sexual. Nah, he was talking out of his ass.

  She gives a half-smile. “And I don’t know why I let you. But you being here, staying the night… I think you stopped me from going crazy.”

  At the back of my mind, I think I might have prevented her harming herself. At least, in that, I was successful. This morning her hurt is no less, but there’s more of a determination about her.

  “You going to be okay today?” Taking back my hands, I pinch the brow of my nose. I could take a day off, but that would set the guys behind. “I should go to work.”

  “Saying I’ll be fine would be a lie,” she admits. “But I can’t give up. I’ve got to carry on, whatever the future will look like. You’re not the only one who’s got work, Niran.”

  “You sure you’re up to it?”

  She shakes her head. “No, but I have to be.”

  “Want me to come back later?” I’m prepared to catch her when she falls. After a day of pretending all’s well in her world, Saffie’s going to need someone to hold her. I don’t need a crystal ball to know that.

  She doesn’t say yes, she doesn’t say no. Instead, she warns me, “I work the late shift.”

  She hasn’t eaten, and I doubt she had a restful sleep. I’m concerned she’ll overdo it. “You sure you’re up to going in?”

  With a shrug, she tells me the facts of life. “I’m not ill, Niran. Whichever way I go, whatever my decision, I’ll need to have money.”

  It’s far too soon to offer to help her out. And why the fuck should I have to bite back the suggestion? She’s nothing to me, just a woman I have the strangest desire to help.

  “What time does your shift end?”

  “I work four to midnight.”

  Late nights are no hardship for me. “I’ll be here.”

  “Why should you?” she asks, her eyes widening. “Niran, I can’t lead you on. I’ve nothing to offer a man.”

  “Fuck woman, I know that.” There’s nothing sexual between us. I don’t even know if there would be if the circumstances were different. But she needs someone, and she’s got no one else. “I don’t want anything from you, but I can be here as a friend.” While she’s got all this shit going on, she doesn’t need to be worrying about someone busting into her apartment, or a doped-up druggie trying to get into the wrong home.

  She takes a moment, then says shyly, “I think I’d like that.”

  Which is why midnight sees me waiting anxiously for her car to turn into the apartment block, breathing a sigh of relief when I eventually see it. Only then do I step out of the club’s SUV and go to greet her.

  When I see the expression on her face, when I can tell that the effort of holding herself together has all but broken her, I hold out my arms. She comes into them and takes the comfort only another human being can offer.

  It starts the pattern for the next few days. Saffie draws no closer to making a decision, and I don’t hurry her. If she wants to talk, I listen, if she doesn’t, I don’t push. I bring food and am pleased as fuck when she eats some of it. I do what I can to help her relax—watching a movie before she goes to bed, or simply sitting in silence holding her.

  While the question burns inside me, I don’t question her about the baby’s father because she still hasn’t brought it up, and I don’t want to cause her distress. Some men, I know, would be possessive about the baby she’s carrying, and might want to influence her. I subscribe to the notion that even if I were the father, it’s she who’s carried the workload for the past months and it’s her who’ll be affected physically by what the future holds. If he were someone who’d support her in whatever decision she made, then yes, I’d want her to contact him, but she doesn’t need more pressure. That she doesn’t mention him is telling. Whatever relationship they had has ended now.

  Perhaps he didn’t want the baby and left her, or maybe it was a one-night stand. If she never told him, I respect the decision she’s made, suspecting she had good reason.

  While I don’t ask for details, I spend our times of silence wondering about it. Little things come into my mind. Though she’s got acclimated to me now, when I first met her, I remember how scared she’d seemed to be of me. Was it a general mistrust of my race, or that I’m male? Whatever it was, she seems to have gotten past it. But that it was there makes me wonder whether a man used his strength against her. Though I hate to think it, there’s a strong possibility s
he could have been raped.

  Knowing wouldn’t help. I wouldn’t be able to disguise my anger and my reaction would certainly scare her.

  While she doesn’t open up, I don’t either. We share nothing personal. The most I glean from her is what food she likes, and what she doesn’t, and which television programs can best distract her. Why should I burden her with my life? She’s got enough on her plate. She doesn’t even ask me how I lost my leg. It seems we’re friends from this point forward, our pasts we keep to ourselves.

  No sharing of history, no understanding of what drives us means for the past three nights, other than the companionable friendship that’s growing between us, we remain little more than strangers. It seems to be what she wants.

  But in that time, I start to value our bizarre relationship. I haven’t asked to share her bed even innocently, and she hasn’t offered it. For my second night, I came prepared with a sleeping bag and a soft mat and now sleep stretched out on her floor.

  During the day, I work, then I stay at the clubhouse until it’s time to set out for her apartment. A routine that doesn’t go unnoticed by my brothers.

  “You staying with that woman again tonight?” Kink asks, as I slowly sip a beer and wait for the time to leave to arrive. At my slight nod, he snorts. “Fuck, Brother, you’ve got it bad.”

  “I got nothing,” I tell him, rounding on him furiously. “I’m there as a friend, helping her out.”

  Un-riled, he nudges me with his shoulder. “Us Doms, eh? Never can resist a sub in trouble.”

  “I’m no fuckin’ Dom. I’m just watching out for her.”

  He shakes his head. “Dominant to a fuckin’ fault.”

  Grabbing my keys, I slam the empty bottle down. “I’m out of here.”

  The next day at work, it’s Grumbler who questions me, even calling me into the office to do it. “That woman of yours, she made her decision?”