If that’s the case, how long do I have?
Chapter Ten
Niran
Always conscious of my promise to Grumbler, I speed away from the neighbourhood that unsettles me and will admit to breathing a sigh of relief as we head into the more affluent area of the city. I might be a hardened biker and have faced more than a few bullets in my time as a Marine, so well used to the rougher side of life, but for the past hour or so I’ve been overly conscious that today I have Mary with me. Grumbler certainly wouldn’t want her hanging around in an area full of druggies and criminals. Judgemental? Perhaps. But never naïve. That knock on Saffie’s door had been a real eye-opener as to the risk she’s in just staying there.
What if it hadn’t been a lone intruder? What if a gang had appeared? Would they have taken my excuse that they were on the wrong floor? Damn it. Grumbler would rightly put my balls in a fucking vice if he knows I put Mary in danger, and that includes just a small rise to her heart rate.
Fuck, but it goes against the grain to know I’m leaving Saffie there, in a home I wouldn’t want to house a stray dog. Those nights I’d stayed with her, I’d been aware of the potential for violence, but was lulled into a false sense of security when all that seemed to affect her had been noise. Today it had come far too close. That caller was so fucked up, he wouldn’t have cared had she confronted him. Faced with an attractive woman, a junkie might have easily forgotten his beef with his dealer and taken something she hadn’t been offering.
On top of that, I’ve left her alone and hurting, and that pains me deep in the gut.
But what could I do? Not only had she asked me to leave, she’d done the one thing guaranteed to make me go.
I glare out of the windshield, only half my attention on the road. Fuck, but I hate leaving Saffie alone.
“I want to go back,” Mary says stubbornly, showing her thoughts are running along the same lines. “We shouldn’t have left her there.”
“Couldn’t risk her calling the fuckin’ cops.” Especially not as she seems to have a deep-seated grievance against motorcycle clubs.
“Pah. What could she say?” Mary asks indignantly. “We weren’t doing any harm.”
“Mary,” I start in exasperation. “Look at me.” Taking one hand off the wheel, I gesture down at my body.
“So, you’re big, but you’re not a threat. I could have told them that.”
Rolling my eyes, it appears I have to remind her, “I’m fuckin’ Black.”
Once I’ve put it so plainly, Mary sucks in a breath. “I didn’t think of that,” she says softly, reaching out and touching my thigh briefly. “I’m sorry, Niran.”
So am I. I couldn’t take the risk the cops turning up wouldn’t ask questions first. It’s likely I’d have been arrested, if not shot on the spot. I wonder if Saffie had realised the implications. Maybe she did, but whether done consciously, she’d made a threat that coming from a White woman, was strongest against a man with the colour of my skin.
Mary huffs and out of the side of my eye I see her twisting her hair. “She didn’t give us a chance to explain about the type of club we are. We could be weekend warriors, fundraising, anything. She just assumed the worst.”
“She was fuckin’ terrified, Mary.” I hadn’t missed how the blood had drained from her face immediately after the facts had become known to her. “And I didn’t only leave because of the threat of the cops, it was as much how our presence was upsetting her.”
I have a dreadful feeling inside me that she’s known a club which doesn’t treat women kindly. As to what type of club we were, what could I have told her? If I were totally honest, I’d have had to explain that yes, we still wear the one-percenter patch. My qualification that nowadays that means we only occasionally step over the line, and not live on the other side of it, would probably have gone unheard.
Everything had been fine until the word ‘clubhouse’ was mentioned. A word that had such bad connotations in her head, it had triggered a severe reaction such that she was only one step away from a full-blown panic attack. It wasn’t hard to immediately understand she had a fear of bikers, making me suspicious of what club she might have previously been associated with, or maybe simply had crossed their path. Of course, not all clubs were as family oriented as ours. Many are violent, many dealing in drugs, guns and heaven help us, women. We would never descend into such depths of depravity. I might be a Devil but I’m not selling my soul. Easy money? You can keep it.
I want to rant and rave. My protective instinct had been brought to the fore the moment I’d first seen her, only intensifying as I saw how distressed she was, knowing something serious had caused it. When I understood the pressure and sorrow she was under, my desire to hold her close hadn’t been able to be denied. That’s why I’d stayed, got to know that part of her that she allowed me to see, and in turn, kept back most of me. In not wanting to upset her, I’d lost my chance to be pre-armed for this situation. Goddamn it! I punch the steering wheel in frustration. I should have demanded to know who the father was or why she was living in a pit only this side of hell. I’ve only myself to blame by not pushing for answers.
Had I been glad the father was out of the picture? I think that’s truer than I want to admit, let alone ponder on the reasons.
Now I’m being forced to leave her behind, and I don’t fucking like it. It’s like being asked to leave a Marine or brother. Her pain might be mental rather than physical, but it’s abandonment just the same. Neither the Marine nor biker in me likes it.
Mary talks on, luckily satisfied with grunts for answers as my mind races as I drive, wondering how I can bring help to Saffie. She needs it, that’s for certain.
I’d hated leaving her but there was no way we could have stayed, particularly having Mary with me. For one thing, our presence would have stressed her more, probably dangerously raising her blood pressure. As for another, even if the cops had stopped to ask questions, if my colour hadn’t been enough, once they’d discovered my connection to the MC, I’d have spent the evening in lockup, and heaven forbid, if they wanted to go all out, Mary as well. Grumbler would have quite rightly killed me.
At the extreme, cops are always on the lookout for any excuse to bring down an MC, and the whole club could have possibly been dragged into it. Forcing our way into a woman’s home and refusing to leave? Yeah, it might not be much to go on, but they’d have done their damndest to have built a tenuous case around it.
Fuck it. There must be some way to get Saffie to realise the last person she needs to fear is me, or the men in my club. Every one of them would drop everything to help her. I’ve no doubt of that.
But what can I fucking do? Right now, I’ve more questions than answers.
Driving up the track, I finally pull up outside Grumbler and Mary’s house. The man himself, comes out to the car, wrenches the passenger door open, and helps his wife out. His eyes examine her carefully, taking her in from head to toe.
“You’re back sooner than I expected.” His eyes narrow. “You look pale. You alright?”
She smiles up at him, albeit a little wanly. “I’m good, but Saffie—”
“What the fuck’s she done?” he interrupts.
“She threw us out,” I input, as it turns out, unhelpfully, as it attracts his wrathful gaze.
“She’s in a terrible situation, Grumbler.” Mary sniffs loudly.
“Fuckin’ hell, Niran. You said it would be alright to take my ol’ lady there! And you bring her back fuckin’ upset!” Grumbler roars, making me take a step back and hold up my hands, palms facing outward.
But Mary’s fist hits him lightly in the stomach before his can swing. “Niran’s got nothing to do with this. He was just doing what I wanted. But Grumbler, once she knew who we were, she didn’t want us to stay. And I’m really okay. I’m just worried about her, and I don’t understand why she made us leave.”
“I want to hear this,” he, well, grumbles. At first, I wonder whether he’d prefer
to hear what had happened from me, but by the way he’s focusing on his old lady’s face, he needs her reassurance she’s as okay as she’d have him believe.
And I’ve got things I want to do. “I’ll head back to the clubhouse.” I incline my head toward Mary. “Your ol’ lady can fill you in on the deets. You know where to find me if you want me.” I’m prepared to stand still if after hearing her out, he still wants to use his fists.
Grumbler lets me take a step, before he snaps, “This gonna be club business?”
On the face of it, no. Unless it’s by accident at another of Mary and Saffie’s hospital appointments coinciding, we may never bump into Saffie again. Or, not soon, in any event. She needs time and space. Maybe if she thinks about things for a moment, she’ll realise whatever she has against bikers doesn’t apply to me. If I have my way, I’ll find some way to get back to her. But fuck it, somehow there’s a connection, whatever it is, with another MC. Could I have unwittingly stepped into something as yet unknown? I can’t rule out it might pit us up against a rival club. “It might,” I answer him eventually. “It’s a fucked-up situation, Grumbler. I don’t feel right leaving it as it is.”
Mary turns from her man to me, her face lighting up. “You’re still going to help her?”
I gentle my tone. “Her situation upsets you, Mary, and it fuckin’ upsets me too. It’s clear to see she needs someone in her corner, so yeah, if I can figure out a way to put someone into it, I will.” But I’m stumped as to how if she doesn’t trust bikers.
Grumbler, noticing his woman’s not quite as upset having been appeased that she’s not the only one worrying, gives me a chin lift before putting his arm around her and leading her into their house. I watch them for a second, noticing how their love and respect is palpable, and wondering whether I’ll ever find anything like that. Could I have found that with Saffie? Nah, no chance. Today has proven how little we know of each other.
Getting back into the driver’s seat, I do a three-point turn and head to the club.
I’m a man on a mission when I arrive, with one thing on my mind and one thing only. Entering the clubhouse, I look around. I see Blaze, Dusty, Scribe—oh there’s Kink, alone again tonight. Reboot and Keeper are deep in conversation. Alex is here with Tyler, her son, and Dart who’s busy trying to corral Isla, their toddler who’s running around seemingly intent on evading her father. Today I’m hard put to find a smile and the one man I’m seeking isn’t in sight.
Striding across, just waving a hand at whoever tries to engage me in conversation, I head for the offices. Opening one door without knocking, I sigh with relief as I see Token behind his computer.
“Got a job…” My words trail off as I notice his head is rolled back, his face contorted, and under the desk I can see legs and a butt.
“Give me a moment,” he rasps, unconcernedly. “Cindy, carry on. I’m close, girl. Oh fuck.”
Rolling my head back on my neck, I half turn to give him some privacy. It’s not more than a few seconds later that a long, satisfied groan shows he’s reached completion, and when I turn around, Cindy’s backing out, wiping her mouth.
“He’s all yours,” she tells me cheekily, and edging past me, goes out through the door. I might not partake of the club girls myself, but I’m not blind to the benefits for some by being in an MC.
Token’s breathing heavily, a cocky, sated smile on his face when he at last looks up. His hands reach down, and his movements show he’s tucking himself away and zipping up.
“Got a mouth like a goddamn Hoover that one.” He gives me a lazy grin. “What can I do for you, Brother?”
I pull out a chair and sit down. My stump is throbbing, so I lean forward and rub the spot where my real leg ends. “Got a name for you. Can you look into it for me?” When he nods, I give it to him. “It’s the woman I’ve been going to see. Saffie Jones.” I add her address which I’d memorised and her place of work which I might have checked out one day when unbeknownst to her, I’d followed her. “I think she’s in trouble, Toke, and maybe needs help.”
“Trouble?” He sits up straighter. “I heard she’s got fucked-up shit to do with her pregnancy. Women’s stuff. There’s no help I can be with that.”
“She lives in a shithole and I don’t feel she belongs there, for a start.” When he gestures give me more, grimacing, I tell him, “I took Mary to see her. Jeez, Toke, we had an up-close-and-personal demonstration that place is the pits. There was an altercation while we were there between a junkie and a dealer—came right to her front door. Mary thought it was best to get her out of there, and I was on board, but as soon as the clubhouse was mentioned, she straight up asked if we were in a biker club and freaked at the answer.”
Token’s eyes sharpen, and his previously dilated pupils return to a more normal shape. “You think she’s had a run-in with bikers and is scared of them?”
Scared? “Fuckin’ terrified is more like it. As for the reason, I can’t think of anything else.” I shrug, adding a head shake to show I’ve put my mind to it.
Token deals with computers and data and spends a lot of time joining dots. I’m not surprised when he poses his next question. He eyes me seriously. “You like this bitch, Niran? Is it personal?”
Leaning forward, I clasp my hands between my knees and frown, not having it in me to lie and seeing no reason for it. “I wouldn’t say I like ‘like’ her. I don’t know her well enough, and I’ve far from seen her at her best. But we clicked. I call, called, her my friend. It hurts that I left her to deal with some heavy shit on her own.” Again, I raise and lower my shoulders. “Can’t say more than that, Brother.”
Raising his chin, he responds, “Fair enough. I’ll do some digging and let you know what I find out. In the meantime, Brother, are you going to try to try speak to her again?” His frown seems to question why the fuck I’m talking to him when I could be with her.
Grimacing, I explain, “She threatened to call the cops, Toke.”
His head tilts, his eyebrow rises, then his mouth opens as he forms an ‘O.’
Yeah. Welcome to my life, Brother.
“Best steer clear.” Token shakes his head. “Unless you want one of us to try to approach her?”
“Nah, Toke.” I brush my hand over my face. “I don’t think she took my colour into account. I got no such vibe from her. Any biker’s likely to upset her.” Even if one of them went minus their cut, most have tats and look just what they are. Even if Dusty or Deuce could hide their ink, now she’s on the lookout, I doubt even they would get past her. “Too risky, Bro. We’d risk her calling the cops on whoever turned up. Lost would fuckin’ love that.”
He would. Not. Prez would be furious if any of us garnered unwanted attention. Cops are always just one step away from getting a search warrant. They’d jump at any excuse.
Whichever way I look at it, I’ve got to put distance between Saffie and me. Maybe if Token can find something to explain her extreme reaction, I could take the risk of visiting her again, this time armed with arguments that would convince her I’d never hurt her. Until then, if I relish my life and freedom and that of my brothers, I’d do best to stay clear away. In any event, just my presence is likely to upset her, and she has far too much on her plate as it is.
I leave Token’s office slightly pissed that I have no choice. Saffie needs help and support, and I very much doubt there’s anyone else to give it. She, herself, had told me as much.
Who’s there to hold her, who’ll mop up her tears? Who’ll make her that disgusting decaf when she gets in from work?
No one. That’s who. Not my fault, I reason with myself. She’s the one who’s irrationally scared of bikers, and who dismissed us without giving us a chance.
What really bugs me is why she hadn’t judged us on our behaviour but rather on a reputation she’d assumed. The only answer I can come up with is that she’s once been badly burned, and still bears the scars from it. Irrationally, I’m irate at the unknown biker who’s scared he
r so badly, and though I don’t want to believe it, I doubt it’s too much of a stretch to think maybe he raped her and bears responsibility for the situation she’s in.
If that’s the case, I’m determined to find out exactly who he is, then tear him apart limb by limb.
Until Token works his magic, there’s nothing I can do. It’s frustrating as hell. It’s not like me to wait stagnant being unable to take any course of action.
I’m an extrovert. I possess the ability to mix with those from many different walks of life, and hence the type of person who likes people around. While I wouldn’t describe myself as the life and soul of the party, I prefer to spend my free time in the clubroom, enjoying making conversation and joining in with games of cards or pool. For me to keep to myself and be introspective is unusual enough that my silence and the ‘leave me alone vibes’ I’m giving off tonight doesn’t pass without comment.
“What’s up, Bro?” Kink comes over to the bar I’m seated at alone and purposefully at a distance from other brothers. Uninvited, he takes the stool next to me and places his beer in front of him.
I’m not in the mood for company, but my innate instinct isn’t to be rude, though I do ask snidely, “No pets again tonight? Must be a record.”
Kink laughs. “I’ve not been to the club. It’s only open from Thursday through the weekend. Right now, I haven’t taken even a temporary sub, so,” he raises his hands, “I’m all yours.”
“Now why does that thought send chills down my spine?” Exaggerating my gesture, I wince.
He chortles and slaps my back. “Not going to put a collar and leash on you, man. I don’t give a damn what others do, but I’m not into dicks.” His brow furrows then he grins. “But I can find you a nice cock and ball cage if you want to torture yourself.”
No fucking way. My eyes widen in horror.
But Kink’s teasing had been to serve a purpose, as he all but admits, “Now I’ve got you out of your head, what’s got you so down in the fuckin’ doldrums?” He picks up his drink, swallows a few times, and finishes it. “Or are you just itching to get back to your woman later, and the hours are passing too slow?”
Avenging Devil Part 1: Satan’s Devils MC - San Diego Chapter #3 Page 10