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

by Mellett, Manda

  She gets me to the point where I question why I’m automatically painting them all with the same brush. Despite my fears, some of the men seemed to be such characters, I start leaning toward wanting to meet them. Her words make me think of Niran in a new light, rather than dismissing him because he’s a biker, and to wonder whether the man I saw without the cut was no different to who he is once he’s wearing it.

  She wears me down, one sentence after another, one paragraph after the next. When she sees me weakening, she plays on my fears. That Duke is searching for me was a certainty. That he might have the ability to hone in on where I am, a strong possibility. It’s a matter of when, rather than if he catches up with me.

  I feel physically sick at the reminder he’s waiting in the wings to come reclaim his property, and that he clearly hasn’t, as I’d hoped, given up.

  When she sees me falter in my objections, she acts fast, instructing me to pack a bag of necessities, and I find myself doing exactly that, such is the force of her personality.

  Her suggestion, though, that I follow her in my own car rather than ride in hers, I welcome. That alone had reassured me, having the advantage, I won’t be trapped and could leave under my own steam if I don’t like what I find. Unless my car falls apart, which is far from unlikely, even after Niran had had it fixed. It had only been given a reprieve, not a new lease on life.

  Being faced with Patsy’s powerful personality and persuasive techniques was one thing, but alone in my car, following her through the streets of San Diego, I begin to have second thoughts. Third ones and fourth soon follow as she takes a turn and starts heading out in the direction of the mountains.

  Duke had driven me to their isolated clubhouse. Hell, he’d persuaded me I was going to my wedding reception. And I, gullible fool, had fallen for his lies. He’d groomed me for months and still I couldn’t tell what an asshole he was. An afternoon chat with Patsy has me similarly throwing caution to the wind.

  Am I destined to repeat the same mistakes over and over?

  Maybe I’m stupid, but somehow, even though a large part of me wants to yank the wheel and zoom off in a different direction, I keep driving in the wake of the Satan’s Devils’ president’s old lady as if I were being towed by an unbreakable thread.

  I want so much to believe her. I’ve been on my own for so long and have been through so much that I’m tired and want someone to guide me. Since I’d lost my baby, I’ve been adrift, just going through the motions, and not thinking about my wants and needs. Misery and depression have settled over me like a brain fog. Someone pointing out a direction to me is almost refreshing.

  Duke told me what to do. So did his brothers. What makes me think this club would be different?

  I’ve no way of knowing, but still, despite all my doubts, I continue to follow Patsy’s car.

  Am I that desperate I’ll do anything just to have friendly faces around me? No, of course I’m not. But people affiliated with this club have apparently proved they can set up my new identity, and from what Patsy said, are already setting out to do so again. This time, knowing the Wolves’ capabilities, maybe they’ll do so more carefully.

  But how were there holes in their plan? What led Duke to me?

  How can I trust the Devils? It could be a trick. Even now Duke could be waiting for me, laughing like a loon that I’m driving to him, delivering myself on a platter.

  What if I enter their clubhouse to find he’s wormed his way in there? I know how charming he can be, he could have gotten them onside by fooling them.

  I whimper, realising there’s a huge risk Patsy has been lying to me. That this MC will turn out to resemble the one from which I’d escaped, and all I’m doing is letting myself be ensnared and returned to the man I’ve been free of for months. They could be working for him, even if Patsy herself is innocent. Bikers don’t keep women in the know.

  I should turn off, disappear. Go where no one would be able to find me.

  My sweaty hands clutch at the steering wheel, my heart beating so fast I can hear the thumping of blood in my head. If I turned this car, where would I go, what would I do? I haven’t enough money to start somewhere new. The only ID I have is in the name of Saffie Jones, and Patsy’s told me Duke knows my alias.

  My parents?

  God, I hadn’t contacted them for years, not my choice of course, but Duke’s. I haven’t a clue what Duke had wanted from them, what benefit he’d gained by marrying me, only that it probably came down to money. If he’d used me to extort funds from my father, I doubt he’d have ever forgiven me. By ignoring the warnings of my parents, I brought it all down on my own head. My father might turn me away from his door. I couldn’t take the chance he wouldn’t nor cope with the disappointment if he did.

  Would Mom be able to see past the fact that I’d left my legal husband? I’m sure she’d known all along that my first husband was unfaithful to me, but in her eyes, marriage vows mean for better or worse, never mind how bad the latter can be. Would that still apply, even though they had no love for the man whose ring I used to wear before I threw it away, and who I promised to love forever? Would it apply when he didn’t, and never had, loved me?

  At the worst, they might tell Duke where I am if only to reunite husband and wife. I can’t risk it.

  No, I laugh mirthlessly at myself, instead, I’m putting my faith in a club full of bikers. I wonder if I need my head examined. Probably.

  Before Duke, I’d been a sociable woman with a wide circle of girlfriends. Some had taken themselves off once they’d seen the man I’d hitched my wagon to. The joke’s on them, I’d thought at the time, convincing myself I’d seen deeper depths to Duke than they had. Any friends that remained, Duke had chased off.

  I have no idea where any of them are now, whether they have their own families or what they’re doing. I can’t call on friends out of the blue when I’ve not seen or spoken to them for five years, and I certainly can’t depend on them.

  My loneliness, together with my lack of options, keeps me following the car in front of me, while acknowledging to myself, if I were in a better place mentally, if I hadn’t had such a recent and devastating experience, possibly I’d never have accepted Patsy’s invitation. But in my current state, the thought of anyone being there to help with my problems is too tempting to ignore.

  One last moment when I could drive straight on instead of turning where Patsy indicates, but instead of taking that route, I blindly follow as she enters through gates guarding what looks like an old airfield. It’s seeing the gate sliding shut behind me and the steel fencing reminiscent of the Crazy Wolves’ compound that starts my brain screaming, what have I done?

  I should never have come.

  My car barely runs, it’s certainly not capable of ramming through metal gates. I’ve lost my chance. All I can do is pull up beside Patsy’s car. I’m trembling, my fingers fumble as I try to take the key out of the ignition. I feel sick and delay so long getting out, that in the end she has to come coax me.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea.” My hands, hell, my whole body is shaking. In front, there are a few bikes parked neatly in a row, not many, but enough to invoke bad memories. There’s a door. My eyes are glued to it. In my head, it morphs into that fateful entrance into the Crazy Wolves’ clubhouse. My palms sweat, my stomach roils, and my whole body shrieks flight as adrenaline floods through it.

  She regards me with a concerned look, and says reassuringly, “It will be fine. Anyway, you’re here now. Might as well come in and meet everybody.” Her eyes scan the parking lot outside the clubhouse. “Well, whoever’s here that is.” As if realising I need further cajoling, she adds, “If you don’t like it, you can leave. All I’m asking is that you give us a chance.”

  Having noticed the small number of bikes myself, unless the Satan’s Devils MC has only a few members and from the names Patsy had told me, there’s certainly more, the rest are probably out doing the legit jobs Patsy had spoken about. Or running drug
s, guns or women. But at least I won’t be faced with the whole club at once. That though, does nothing to slow my racing heart. Flashbacks, one after another, keep returning to me. My mind stuck in the past keeps me rooted to the seat of my car.

  When Duke had at last invited me to the clubhouse, I’d been excited to see where he spent his time and to meet his friends. What a fool I’d been, so naïve. I’d never expected anything like I’d walked into. That doorway ahead is so reminiscent, I could be entering hell once again.

  “Come on, Saffie. You’ll get a warm welcome, I promise you.”

  A warm welcome was what I’d hoped for when I’d first walked into the Crazy Wolves’ clubhouse. I suppose that was what I’d got. They’d been like a pack of lions being brought fresh meat. I would never have gotten within a hundred miles of that clubhouse if I’d had an inkling of what to expect, but Duke had deliberately deceived me.

  Patsy reaches out her hand, and I take it, allowing her to pull me from the car. I bounce on my tiptoes, my keys firmly grasped in my hand. The only thing stopping me from making a run for it is the vain hope that Patsy’s right. Here I could find support and people who’d help me move forward. People like her and Mary.

  And Niran. Heaven help me, but I want to see him again.

  Urging me forward, Patsy walks me through the parked bikes, then, once at the building, leans around me, and taking a firm grip on the handle and pressing it downward, she pushes the door open.

  Unlike when I entered the lair of the Crazy Wolves, I don’t need to wait for my eyes to become accustomed to the darkness. The inside is bright, flooded with sunlight. Nothing is hidden from my eyes.

  There’s a child. There were no kids in the Crazy Wolves’ clubhouse. Not that I doubt the members sired them or thought their fathers purposefully kept them away from the depravity. It was more that the men there wouldn’t have given a damn whether they had offspring or cared what became of them. My eyes widening, I watch as the little girl runs too quickly for her stubby legs to carry her, and crashes into a table. Her scream is heartwrenching.

  Oh no. Kid, be quiet, I scream internally, covering my mouth with my hand as a big burly biker, with overalls shrugged down on his hips, rushes over to her, his face set and tight. Terrified on her behalf, I suck air into my lungs and hold it.

  “You got a boo boo, kid?” The rough biker’s now holding her, and the expression I thought was anger, I now interpret as concern. After he’s run his hands over her, dispassionately akin to a medical way, not anything sexual or predatory, he pronounces, “I think you’ll live. That was a naughty table to hurt you, wasn’t it?” Leaning over, his fist hits the offending object, and he growls, “Bad table.”

  A pretty, curvaceous, but short Black woman rushes over to her, and tries to take what I presume is her daughter from the biker. But he swings the kid up in his arms, holding her out of her reach. Give her back, I internally scream.

  “Momma doesn’t understand, does she, kid?” the biker, says, looking like he’s fighting to keep his face straight. “That table has it in for all of us. I’ve bumped into it myself more than once after a few too many drinks.”

  Though she looks too young to understand half of what he’s said, and hopefully nothing at all about the effect alcohol has, the little girl cups her hands around his face and plants a sloppy kiss right on his lips. Then she leans backward and kicks, in the way children do having absolute confidence that the adult won’t let them fall. Interpreting her desires, the biker carefully puts her on her feet, steadying her until she gets her balance.

  “Bad table.” The toddler copies her saviour, doling out a punishment of her own on the innocent tabletop. Her screams have now abated, and when her actions cause chuckles to burst out around her, she giggles and joins in.

  “Hey, little monster. You done causing damage?” Another biker leans down, making sure himself that she’s now upright and steady.

  “Da-Da.” The child stamps her foot and tries to get out of the grasp of who I gather is her father.

  Another, who’s already got an older boy climbing all over him, casually stretches out a hand, makes a beckoning gesture, and calls out, “Come over here, kid. Let your mom and dad have some peace for a bit.”

  The interaction between the bikers and the children is a real eye-opener, and not a chilling one. I feel something loosen inside me. It had been around the same time of day when I’d entered the clubhouse of the Crazy Wolves, and the air had been rampant with sex and depravity. Here, it’s totally different.

  Maybe it’s going to be alright.

  A roar of bikes approaching the clubhouse reaches my ears, and my heart starts racing again. I knew there would be more to come.

  “Come on,” Patsy encourages. “I’ll introduce you.”

  “Ah…” My voice comes out as a squeak as I half turn, assessing my chances of escape.

  But before I can move, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and looking back see a large and familiar man moving toward me.

  He looks as good as he ever did, if not even better. He’s got an air of self-confidence on his home turf that was missing in my apartment. He’s wearing a tight black t-shirt which hugs his impressive muscles, and his cut, that piece of leather which I so detest, settles on his shoulders as if it was always meant to be there.

  I’ve not put on makeup and know my eyes are red rimmed and bloodshot. Though I’m beyond crying all the time, tears still come daily at times when I least expect them. I’ve lost weight, and my clothes hang off me.

  As he nears me, I see his jaw tighten. Then his judgemental expression disappears to be replaced by a welcoming smile.

  “It’s good to see you, Saffie,” Niran states. He waves to indicate another man over to join him and slings his arm over his shoulders. “This here is Grumbler. He’s Mary’s old man.”

  “Heard a lot about you,” Grumbler states, stretching out his hand and ducking out from under Niran’s arm. “Welcome to the clubhouse, Saffie.” His voice is gruff, and immediately scary, but the smile on his face looks genuine, and not in the least predatory. But as my eyes drop, I notice he’s the sergeant-at-arms, just as Slit had been. And Slit was definitely an enemy. I’d never guessed Mary was married to the sergeant-at-arms. She’d seemed so, well, normal.

  The Crazy Wolves’ sergeant-at-arms had certainly not been a friend of mine. More than once when I’d transgressed, Duke left it to him to punish me while he looked on, raising a drink and encouraging him. In full view of the man whose ring I wore, Slit had violently raped me and more than once. With my eyes focused on the patch Grumbler is wearing, memories slam back into me as if I’ve run into a physical wall.

  Niran’s eyes miss nothing. In a light voice, he offers me something about the man. “Grumbler’s a fuckin’ amazing guitarist and singer. He and his band often play here.”

  For a second, the blood rushing through my ears drowns out what Niran had been telling me, but slowly it sinks in. Grumbler’s a singer and guitarist?

  Still half in flight mode, I try to concentrate on my breathing, taking in deep breaths through my nose and breathing them out through my mouth. Slowly, my panic subsides to a manageable level and I feel slightly embarrassed that both Niran and Grumbler are patiently waiting, giving me time. I belatedly realise Grumbler had dropped his hand when he realised I wasn’t going to shake it. But he gives no sign he’s been slighted.

  Instead, tossing me a quick grin, and continuing as if I hadn’t just had a minor breakdown, Grumbler asks, “You got any favourite songs, darlin’? You just let me know, and I’ll try to work them in.”

  “Yeah, the older that shit is the better.” The man who’d picked up the child has now joined us. “Grumbler’s band tends to focus on the classics. I’m Salem, by the way, as no one’s fuckin’ bothering to introduce us.”

  He takes care to respect my personal space and doesn’t hold out his hand, probably having noticed my treatment of his brother, but gives me a respectful raise o
f his chin.

  I’ve heard many biker handles; indeed Patsy had already spoken about his merits, but not why he’d been named. Suddenly I wonder how he’d come by it. I’m not rude enough to ask, but he seems able to read my mind as my brow furrows.

  Salem indicates behind him to the man who still has two kids crawling all over him, their childish voices and giggles seeming so out of place in a clubhouse. “That there is Pennywise. You wondering about the handles, darlin’?” He snorts a laugh. “Unfortunately, our old prez was a Stephen King fan. I’m just pleased he didn’t call me IT.”

  “Would have suited you, clown face,” Grumbler snarks.

  Salem’s arm snakes out and goes around his brother’s neck, pulling him into him, making the sergeant-at-arms growl and bat him away. “And you got the handle that fits. Saffie, would you believe this man’s always fuckin’ moaning? I have no fuckin’ idea what Mary sees in him.”

  “Oi! What’s the hold up?” An impatient voice sounds from behind me. “Are you fuckers going out, coming in, or just taking up residence in the doorway?”

  The loud voice makes me startle, and I feel like a rabbit trapped in the headlights, frozen to the spot and unable to move. Niran’s eyes focus on me so intently, I stare at them as though they’re a lifeline. “Your decision, Saffie. No one will stop you if you want to leave, but if you come in, you’ll be safe. I promise no one here will lay a finger on you.”

  “Too fuckin’ right,” Grumbler snarls. He taps his patch. “If they so much as look at you wrong, I’ll be on them quicker than they can blink.”

  “Same goes for me, sweetheart. And I enforce the rules around here.” For that, Salem gets an appreciative raise of Niran’s chin.

  Without making a sudden movement, Niran holds out his hand, leaving it hanging in the air, and the decision up to me. “I swear I won’t let anyone hurt you, Saffie. You’ve got my personal assurance on that.” His voice drips with conviction.