by Shyla Colt
Pan’s Salvation
Dueling Devils Book #5
By
Shyla Colt
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, businesses and incidents are from the author’s imagination, or they are used fictitiously and are definitely fictionalized. Any trademarks or pictures herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored by or associated with the trademark owners.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form (electronic or print) without permission from the author. Please do not participate in piracy or violating the author’s rights.
Editor: Leanore Elliott
Cover Artist: Dreams2media
Stock Photo Courtesy of Taria Reed of The Reed Files
Playlist
Hozier: It Will Come Back
Lana Del Rey : Gods And Monsters
Cold Play: Fix you
Give it up : 8MM
Ed Sheeran: Thinking out Loud
The Neighbourhood : Sweater Weather
Take Care of you : Sung by Florence ( Florence + the Machine)
Poison and Wine : The Civil Wars
Safe and Sound : The Civil Wars & Taylor Swift
Devil’s BackBone: The Civil Wars
Let her Go: Passenger
Rolling in the Deep : Adele
Just Give me a Reason: Pink Ft Nate Ruess
A Great Big World & Christina Aguilara : Say Something
Glossary
Cut—vest worn by Motorcycle Club members
MC—Motorcycle Club
Old Lady—Like a wife/ long term girlfriend
Sweetheart/Sweetie—Girlfriend or someone a biker is dating
Sweetbutt—Name of a girl who hangs around the club and is always available for sex. Can be the
“Property of one of the members”
House Mouse—Depending on their temperament they can be given as gifts to an old lady . They are used to clean up and do chores.
Cage—A car or truck or any vehicle which is not a cycle. Deemed despicable and weak by most bikers.
Clubhouse—The main place where all the bikers gather. Gated and protected by Propsects. Usually, with a bar, pool room, bedrooms, offices for the Pres and other officers of the club.
Church—A gathering where important issues are discussed and decided upon, usually when
something important or tragic is happening.
Lockdown—When the club is under duress or been attacked by another club. To go somewhere safe, out of the way and have everyone (family members and old ladys included) under one roof.
Positions
President—Leader of the Chapter
Vice President—Second in charge. Fills in when President isn’t around .
Sergeant at Arms—Basically, the clubs policeman. He enforces club policy and procedures in meetings.
Enforcers—There to help the Sergeant at arms do his job. They often stand guard at meetings Secretary—Responsible for the clubs paper work, including club records.
Treasurer—The chapter’s money man. He collects club fees, pays bills, etc.
The Wise One—He often looks after the clubs spiritual needs. He’s often referred to as the
“Chaplin”.
Road Captain—He’s usually in charge of the logistics of the club. IE: Planning routes, fuel stops, etc.
Asst. Road Captain—Assists the Road Caption.
Patch Members (Riders)—members who’ve earned the right to wear the clubs color after paying their dues as a Prospect. They’re also known as Patches or members.
Nomad—A club member who doesn’t belong to any particular chapter.
Prospect—Man in training to become a member of a Motorcycle club after a probationary period.
Family Trees
Dedication
To my Colts, Wicked Women and all the other fantastic friends and family who offfer up
their support. To God, who made me a most unusual child who spun tales and never lost her sense of wonder or her overactive imagination.
Chapter One
There are moments that shape the rest of your life. Split-second decisions that alter who we are, so irrevocably we can never be the same. If Lark Rosario knew what lay ahead, perhaps she would’ve turned around, got back into her sensible sedan and drove away…Maintaining her safe, ordinary and utterly droll lifestyle. But life doesn’t give us warning and she was about to be thrust into a world she didn’t understand or belong in. For this was one of those defining occasions.
Lark pushed her sunglasses up on her head and stepped out of her four-door gray sedan. The southwest heat rolled over her and she went limp like a flower. She blew a puff of air from her mouth to dislodge the stray strands of hair that had escaped from behind her ear and fallen into her face. The soft cotton material of her shirt clung to her back and her blue jean shorts stuck to her thighs. She tugged them back down and shimmied to set them back in the right place. The joys of living in New Mexico in the summer. You have to love that hundred plus degree weather.
She closed the car door and walked around to the pump.
“Of course.” She shook her head at the long strip of white receipt paper taped to the card reader that read, out of order come inside. She hit the alarm and hurried across the parking lot of the shady gas station. The weathered building had seen better days. The fading white paint peeled from the walls. Dirty, run down cars filled the lot. Their narrow-eyed rough-around-the-edges owners made her skin crawl. Their gazes made her feel indecent. She cursed herself for, not filling the tank before she left the city and picked up the pace. Stepping inside, she heard a chime. Racks of magazines, shelves full of junk food and travel accessories crowded the small area. The dingy, off-white flooring had seen better days. A sticky substance clung to the soles of her shoes.
A burly man with a beard and a flannel button up shirt stood behind the counter. His lips pulled back to reveal yellowed teeth and his brown eyes glinted with mischief.
She strangled the shudder of disgust that threatened to run through her body. Holding her head up high, she continued to the counter while looking him in the eyes. “I need thirty on pump six, please.”
“Is that right?” He licked his lips. His eyes turned to slits and his gaze paused at her breasts as if he could see through her clothing.
Her lip curled up in disgust. She batted away the desire to cross her arms beneath her
breasts. I won’t give the prick the pleasure of thinking he scares me. Five-foot-eleven, a size twelve and the owner of a smart mouth, she didn’t frighten easily. Her fingers grazed the can of mace on her key chain. These days, a woman needed to be able to take care of herself and she made sure she could do just that. “Yep.” She popped the P.
“You see anything else here you’re interested in?” He drawled, leaning across the counter.
The smell of body odor assaulted her. Her eyes widened and watered. “No,” she choked out.
He scowled. “Uppity, ain’t you?”
“Honest.”
He chuckled. “Right, you know I never had a chocolate dime piece like you. Might be time for me to broaden my horizons.” He wiggled his thick brown eyebrows.
She bit her tongue and mentally counted to ten. If I tell him off, this is only going to end badly for me. “I’m sure I’m not the only sister who’ll breeze through here.” She extended her hand and held out her card, staying as far away from him as humanly possible.
He took it, making sure he brushed his thick fingers against hers.
She released the plastic like it was on fire and rolled her eyes.
“Maybe not, but I’m not the type who likes to wait.”
Tough tits, creepe
r.
He slowly rang up her gas order. The printer seemed to take ages.
Thwack. Something whizzed past her ears. Glass shattered. The cashier grunted. A few more tiny missiles embedded themselves into the walls and counters. A bag of chips burst and she broke out of her stupor. She hit the ground. Chaos exploded. Bullets continued to rain down around her. Her ears rang. The smell of gunpowder flooded her nostrils. Tears blurred her vision while she covered her head and curled into a ball. Please God, don’t let me die. Blood rushed in her ears. Her heart beat against her ribs like a bird ready to flee its cage.
A bullet lodged into the counter.
Self-preservation took over. She rolled away from the spray and crawled on her belly across the store to the far wall.
“Sons of bitches!” The cashier let out a roar.
Lark glanced up to see him rise from behind the counter, an avenging angel, hell bent on revenge. A streak of red showed from his shoulder to his belly. He pumped the shotgun, aimed and blew a hole through the front door.
Wood shattered, glass fractured and her stomach sank like a stone. The rumble of bikes
mingled with shots. I need to hide. Her gaze shot around the room. She spotted a bathroom.
Viewing it like her lifeline, she continued her slow slither. She reached the unisex bathroom and nudged the door open.
The scent of ammonia slapped her across the face. She ignored her burning nostrils and
scurried inside. She slammed the door shut, turned the lock and took a moment to catch her breath. I’m alive. Her body trembled and a strange numbness encased her limbs. This can’t be happening. Mind racing, she remained plastered against the door. A bullet slammed into the wall across from her. She jumped. Her heart knocked in her chest. Stumbling away from the entrance, she searched the tiny area for a means of escape or protection. She longed for the mace attached to her keychain. Why didn’t I get my keys? It was bare bones. A tiny window she had no hope of fitting through mocked her from its position high up on the wall. Escape is out. Her thoughts turned to defense.
A cloudy bottle of chemical rested under a grubby white sink with pipes running beneath it.
She grabbed the bottle, backed up into a corner and hunkered down. If nothing else, she could get them in the eyes and make a run for it. Struggling to slow her breathing, she strained to decipher the events taking place outside her front door. More shots rang out. A large thud told her the clerk had more than likely bit the dust. The gunfire died down.
Please just leave.
BAM!
She jerked. The sound of boots on the floor made her muscles tense. Oh, God. She covered her mouth. They’re checking for survivors. Murmurs of voices penetrated the wall that separated them. Her muscles tensed. The door flew open and an older biker with a shock of long gray hair, broad shoulders and a black leather vest stood before her.
His eyes were wide and his gun lowered. He looked as shocked as she felt.
A heartbeat passed.
She lifted the bottle and sprayed. He yelled and she sprang into action, darting around him.
“Get that bitch!” he bellowed.
A group of bikers crowded in on her. She slid around the corner and ran smack dab into a massive hunk of man with dirty blond hair, blazing blue eyes and a scowl that made her think of Vikings of old. “You shouldn’t have run little girl.”
His gravelly growl ruffled her feathers and pushed her over the edge she was precariously balanced on. Anger filled her and exploded forth like a volcano. She slammed her head forward into his. Stars danced behind her eyes and blackness engulfed her vision. She fell back, welcoming the darkness that swallowed her whole.
Lark moaned as she became aware of the pain. Her head and body ached. She blinked,
wincing as the light pierced her eyes.
“About time you woke up.”
The rough growl was a bucket of cold water. She pried her heavy lids open. The events of before returned in a rush. Her chest heaved as she fought to keep her breathing steady. The blurry shape in front of her cleared and she made out the massive frame of the man she’d head butted. She gasped.
The area around his eyes was blackened and puffy. His nose was swollen and slightly off center. “Remember me?”
Terror struck, she jerked and found herself unable to move. A quick glance down showed
her wrists and ankles were bound to a chair. Her shirt was covered with what must be this man’s blood. The thought disgusted and pleased her. At the very least, she’d caused him some pain. It was a thought she would probably cling to when he brutalized her body later on.
“Yeah, you’re what we call a flight risk.” He studied her with narrowed eyes. His blond hair was slicked back and the muscles in his arms twitched as he flexed. His jaw appeared to be carved from granite. He wore a black vest with a wicked grinning red devil. Dueling Devils M.C.
Newson, New Mexico.
“What are you going to do with me?” she croaked.
His hand shot forth with lightning speed. He gripped her chin and squeezed hard.
She cried out.
“I ask the questions, not you. You got it.”
“Y-yes.”
“You’re lucky you’re a woman. Because if you were a man, I’d have killed you for this.” He released her face. “You’ve stumbled into a whole new world. We don’t take lip from women, so I suggest you curb it. I’m the best bet you got of getting out of this alive. I was riding with them as a favor. Hell’s Minions don’t play and you just sprayed a veteran member in the eyes with some shit. Lucky for you, they found a broken nose trumped that. So, you belong to me.”
“I don’t belong to—”
“Are you listening to me?”
She flinched.
“You’re in the one percenter world now girl. Woman are owned, claimed or shared. Which
one you want?”
She shook her head, unable to comprehend the way these people lived. A woman wasn’t a
piece of property. Her stomach rolled up on itself. Right now, she was at his mercy.
“You’re starting to get scared? Good. I admire your courage, but if you’re as smart as I think you are, you’ll know when to go along with things.”
She nodded her head, afraid to speak and get on his bad side. Right now, he was her only chance at survival.
“Let’s come to an understanding. I don’t hurt women. If it were up to me, we’d let you go, but you’ve seen too much and we have no reason to trust you. I’m letting them think I’m making you pay for what you did. You’ll be my bitch while I finish out this job.”
Job. Her eyebrows rose.
“Rule number one, club business is club business. We don’t talk about it with women, so don’t ask. Rule number 2. Don’t go anywhere without me. You’re not my old lady and there are plenty of men who’d have no problem testing out how dedicated I am to my property. I don’t want to go through that. I need to stay on good standing with Hell’s Minions, you savvy?”
She bobbed her head.
“What’s your name?”
“Lark,” she whispered.
“Alright Lark, I’m Pan.”
Pan.
He smirked. “Speak your mind.”
“Like Peter?”
He tilted his head back and laughed. “Yeah, exactly like Peter. What were you doing out here?”
“Filling up. I was on my way to Columbus.”
He frowned. His brows came together. “You got dealings with people I need to know
about?”
She licked her lips.
“Don’t lie to me Lark, it’d be the worst thing you could do.” All signs of mirth disappeared from his face.
“N-not me.”
“Not you?” His lips twisted in a wry expression. “Okay, I’ll bite. Who then?”
She dropped her head. By now, she was already late. They’d take it out of her hide. Tears formed in her eyes. Guilt slammed into her chest. I should be there now. Th
e nightmare should be ending. Her shoulders shook and sobs of despair she couldn’t keep in spilled from her lips.
It’d been a long fucking road and for once, she’d seen the end of it. Now, they were back to square one, if that. Thoughts of not knowing where her sister would be carted to next, brought up bile.
“Start talking, now.” His voice promised violence.
“M-my sister, Robin. I was—t-trying to get her out of a mess her addiction got her into. I was so fucking close.”
“You got drugs in your car?”
She nodded her head.
“Shit.” He ran a hand through his hair and stood from his chair. “How much?”
“Ten kilos.”
“Jesus…Shit. They’re going to come looking for that. This just got complicated.”
“They’re going to hurt her if I don’t do this. They might already—be.” Her voice cracked.
He walked over to her chair and quickly began to unbind her. “Listen to me, we don’t want trouble with a fucking cartel. You’re going to get your phone, call them up and tell them you got detained by a biker brawl, hid out until it died down and now, you’ll bring it to them tonight.”
“W-why would you do this?” she whispered, skeptical.
“Like I told you. We don’t want cartel problems. I’m not going to give them a chance to even suggest we took some of their product and get us caught up in their bullshit. They have the numbers, the soldiers willing to do whatever they say and weapons to back their shit up. Any war with them would be bloody and long.”
Blood rushed back to her limbs. She grabbed her left wrist and rubbed vigorously. Taking the time to glance around, she realized they were in a hotel room. The off-white walls, green carpets and tiny twin beds covered in bedspreads with funky patterns was straight out of the eighties. A stale scent filled the room.
“I need to make a phone call. Go clean yourself up and be ready to travel.”
“O-okay,” she whispered.
Pan walked out onto the patio of the hotel room. They faced a deserted parking lot. He