Satan’s Devils MC -Colorado Box Set: Books 4-6

by Mellett, Manda

  “You see much of your son, Patsy?” Ink asks at last.

  “No.” Her brow creases with the pain I know doesn’t lessen. “Six years ago, he discovered his father. Didn’t care he’d neglected him for most of his life, hit it off apparently. Left home as soon as he turned eighteen and lives with him now in Denver. He’s only been back a few times, full of his father’s praise.”

  “Which you aren’t buying,” Ink observes.

  “Which I’m not buying,” Mom agrees. “Know it makes me sound like a bitch, but I kicked his dad’s ass to the kerb when I found out just what he was into.”

  “Which was?”

  “This and that and anything else that brought the dollars in without him doing an honest day’s work. Money laundering was what I caught him doing, but there’s probably worse.”

  “You kept him away from his children?”

  “Huh,” she scoffs. “He didn’t have much to do with them when he was here. I’d have let them stay in contact, he’s blood after all, but he didn’t make any effort.”

  Ink’s eyes meet mine and soften. I shake my head slightly, any abandonment I’d ever felt was long gone now. Lucky escape was how I saw it instead. I wouldn’t want to be involved in criminal activity, not in the way I’m convinced Connor is. Sure, that’s why I’m dating a biker, I grin to myself, then I roll my eyes, and pull myself up. We’re not dating. I don’t know what would describe it, but it’s not that.

  “What’s your ex’s name?” Ink asks Mom, deceptively casually.

  “Phil Foster,” she supplies.

  Ink’s eyes close briefly, then his head moves side to side. “Can’t say I’ve heard of him.”

  “He relocated to Denver years back,” I explain. “And Connor didn’t sound like he was a fan of the Satan’s Devils.”

  “He certainly knew our reputation,” Ink notes. “Though perhaps more from the old days. Phil ever live in Pueblo?”

  “Until he moved out, yes. He left, what, eighteen years ago now? Connor would have been four.”

  “You get your height from him?”

  Ink has addressed his question to me, but it’s Mom who laughs and replies, “No, Phil’s not much taller than me. It must have come down from my side, a recessive gene or something. Beth’s maternal cousins are all over six feet tall. I used to wonder whether Beth would ever stop growing, and Connor turned out the same.” She pauses, and a glint comes into her eyes. The glint that makes me swallow rapidly. “You’re not on the short side yourself, Ink.”

  “No, ma’am, I am not.”

  Mom’s not finished. “I always wondered whether Beth would find a man big enough for her.” There’s a twinkle in her eyes that shows she’s well aware of how her comment could be misinterpreted.

  I take it the safest way it could be meant, and say airily, “Oh, his club’s full of tall, single men, Mom. I’ve started with Ink, but I’ll be working through them all in time.”

  Ink makes a noise that sounds like he’s choking, then turns to me with steel in his eyes, to find me winking. Mom’s bent over the table wiping tears of laughter from her cheeks.

  Leaning closer so only I can hear him, he whispers, “You’ve earned yourself another punishment with that quip, little girl. One for each of my single fuckin’ brothers.”

  Whispering back, I ask, “Er, how many are there?”

  His eyes close as though he’s thinking, then he gives me his reply, “Eight.” He raises his eyebrows.

  I grin and give an uncaring shrug. Sounds like I’ve been there before. And though it had surprised me, it hadn’t been punishment at all.

  Ink’s still staring at me intently. The next thing he says sotto voce is a complete surprise. “I hope you’ve chosen wisely, little girl, as mine is the only biker cock you’re going to be riding. You won’t be fuckin’ any of my brothers. You understand?”

  I gulp, not completely comprehending. Not that I like any of them more than him, but is he saying once we’re over, I’m out of the club, or, is he suggesting, we won’t come to an end? I don’t ask for clarification, uncertain he’ll provide an answer I want to hear.

  “Who wants dessert?” Mom asks cheerily, completely oblivious to our quietly spoken and entirely, seated as we are around the dining table, inappropriate conversation.

  “I could manage dessert.” But Ink’s eyes are focused on me, and somehow, I doubt it’s my mom’s apple pie he’s contemplating.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ink

  Beth’s mom is a hoot, coming out with inappropriate shit which makes me laugh. I’m enjoying myself being here with the two women, something I’d never have predicted. Rather than wishing I was back at the clubhouse playing pool, I’m perfectly content right where I’ve found myself.

  I settle into their home, fast feeling nothing like a visitor. Patsy suggests we watch a movie, and with my feet up on the coffee table—which apparently isn’t a sin in this house—and a beer in my hand I’m quite agreeable. Though my face falls when they put something called Love Actually on, but it turns out to be hilarious and I’m doubled up half the time.

  The character who visits the United States reminds me of when our chapter went to help Tucson out of some trouble they were in, and I met Wraith, the VP’s wife, Sophie. Part of me had wondered whether he’d married her just to hear her accent every day and those quaint UK English terms. I chuckle as there’s one in particular I remember.

  “What?”

  I enlighten Beth on what’s amused me. “The VP’s ol’ lady in the Tucson chapter is from England. She comes out with some shit. Calls Wraith a wanker when he’s done something foolish and when something’s good it’s apparently the dog’s bollocks.”

  After laughing in disbelief, Patsy asks, interested, “You’ve got other chapters then, Ink?”

  Half watching the film which they’ve clearly seen before, I run through our other chapters. That starts a discussion of the history of the Satan’s Devils. Then we get onto hobbies. I don’t have time for many other than the things I do with the club, so I describe how I love just taking off on my bike. Patsy proudly tells me what I already know, that Beth runs half-marathons. Gets placed regularly too.

  A grin slides onto my face, and my eyes sneak down to her legs, relishing how they feel around me.

  But I’m interested enough to ask for more information.

  Beth replies, “A half-marathon is thirteen miles give or take. I can do that between two and two-and-a-half hours. Want to join me sometime?”

  I work out, but I prefer muscle building. I’m not even certain I could walk thirteen miles without my feet blistering. “Tell you what,” I wink, “I’ll ride along behind you.”

  A gentle snore from the armchair shows even in my stimulating company, Patsy has fallen asleep. Beth and I exchange smiles, and I take it as my cue to leave. Especially when I see Beth try to hide a yawn.

  While I’d love to spend a few hours with my cock buried deep inside her, I have too much respect for Patsy to subject her to hearing me fuck her daughter in her house. As for my earlier idea to take Beth back to the club, time’s gotten away from me, and I know she has work tomorrow. For the first time that I can remember since I was in my mid-teens, I prepare to take my leave of a woman without my dick getting any satisfaction.

  Beth sees me to the door, and stands there, hesitantly. When neither of us move, she says a goodbye and turns to go back inside.

  It’s then I strike. I curl my hand out and grasp her shoulder, swinging her back around to face me, then pull her tight against my chest and bring my mouth to meet hers. It seems lazy, I don’t need to bend, just reach forward and she’s there. For some reason, I find that her body parts mirroring mine as they rest against them, immensely satisfying. We stand, kissing, the only movement being lips against lips and tongues against tongues, our pelvises pressed together, but both keeping still, as if each of us knows a little thrust here or a swerve of the hips there would drive both of us crazy.

 
Her taste is like summer, her perfume as intoxicating as any drug I’ve ever imbibed. Her touch, firm, demanding, her little moans showing her frustrated desire clearly matches my own. She’s beautiful, with brilliant blue eyes which sparkle in the light of the porch lamp overhead.

  When at last we part, I lower my forehead so it rests against hers and run my hand through the loose strands of her hair. “Is it always blue?”

  She laughs, the sound like a stream’s burble, happy and bright. “Nope. I go through the full range. Had this done to match my bridesmaid’s dress. May go purple or pink next time. Or even multi-coloured like a rainbow.”

  “They can do that?” My eyes open wide.

  “With a lot of time and money,” she informs me. I tilt my head to one side and half close my eyes trying to imagine it. Sounds like it could be a good investment.

  The possible reason why she alters her appearance comes to me. “Do you colour your hair to give people something to focus on?”

  “Other than my height.” Her eyes narrow. “Yes. It’s easier to deal with a ‘oh your hair is blue’ than a ‘just look at the size of you.’”

  Because one she can alter, and one she’s stuck with.

  “You are absolutely fuckin’ perfect.” I swallow hard and reach out my palm to place it against her face. “There’s no one else like you, Beth. Or no one I’ve ever met. I like what’s inside of you here,” I drop my hand so it rests over her heart, “and I love the package it’s in. I wouldn’t change anything about you. Nothing at fuckin’ all.”

  She literally shrugs off what to me was a compliment. I suppose up to now I haven’t done anything to make her believe she’s special to me, but she is. I want to explain, but where do I start? I’ve no experience to draw on.

  “I fuck, Beth, I told you that. I don’t go to a girl’s house, meet her mom, watch a god-awful film that actually turned out to be quite good. I don’t leave without getting my dick wet. Never done anything like this before, let alone fuckin’ enjoyed it.”

  I can see she doesn’t know what to make of what I’ve told her. Truth is, I don’t know myself. There’s a notion growing inside me that I’d like to replace the seat on my bike, get one with a pillion pad and sissy bar. Have her riding up behind me? Heading out just the two of us and the open road? Put up with the shit I’ll get from my brothers?

  Well, fuck me, but I think she’s worth everything they’d throw at me. I think of what we’ve got in stock at the shop, sure I can find something and make it work. Payback’s a bitch, as I expect I’ll find out. Pyro and Mace will find me fitting a double seat too big a chance to pass up. For her though, I’ll do it.

  “Want to go for a ride with me next weekend, babe?”

  She looks confused, and I realise maybe Mel has told her of the significance of a woman riding two up on a bike. “What? Where?”

  “A ride. You and me. If the weather allows that is. And wherever we want.”

  She looks down, and I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. “You don’t want to go on my bike? I’m a safe rider, Beth.”

  “It’s not that. Don’t laugh, but I’ve always wanted to ride one myself.”

  What? I frown, then feel my lips start to curve as I wonder why the fuck not? She’s tall enough to be able to handle anything. “Well what’s stopping you? How about I teach you?”

  You’d think I’d offered to buy her the fucking world. She starts jumping on the spot. “Really? When? Wouldn’t I need to buy one first? Where do I start—”

  “Whoa, hold up. One of the prospects has got a Sportster, that’s a good learner bike that you’d be able to handle alright. I’ll get him to let you ride it to see how you get on. And next weekend, if you want.”

  “Ink I… I really like you.” She leaps forward and into my arms. Caught off guard, I stagger back laughing as I catch her.

  “We’ll talk, later in the week, okay? Firm up on arrangements once we know how the weather is holding up?”

  After that we say our goodbyes, then I’m straddling my bike with a huge grin on my face. Never did I think I’d gain the affections of a woman by offering to teach her to ride a motorcycle. I’m still chuckling as I pull on my balaclava, my safety glasses, and bandana, and finally, my riding gloves. Then, with a wave at the woman who’s still waiting at the open door, ride off in the direction of the compound.

  I blow on my hands to warm them after getting off my bike, grimacing at the grit I’ve driven over, but knowing it’s better than ice. Beaver’s at the bar, I go straight over.

  “Bourbon no ice. Oh, and get my bike washed tomorrow. And on Saturday I want to borrow your Sportster.”

  “Sure.” The first request is fulfilled within seconds. Then he replies positively to the second as any good prospect should. “I’ll do it, and for the last request, can I ask why?”

  I shrug. “It’s a Sportster, isn’t it? Got someone who wants to learn to ride and thought yours would be a good one to try on.”

  If I’d thought about it, I’d have had my phone out and ready to take a picture of the expression on his face. I have to try hard not to laugh as his mouth opens and shuts a couple of times.

  Lizard has overheard, and comes over, saying into my ear, “Let’s see how much he wants that patch.”

  Beaver, though, hasn’t heard the worst of it yet.

  He looks from me to Liz, though he hadn’t heard what was said. “Who’s learning? A new hangaround?” His expression shows how little he thinks of a novice touching his ride.

  Keeping my face as straight as possible, I respond, “Nah, Beth.”

  Beaver goes absolutely still. His face slowly goes red. “That tall bitch?”

  I bristle at the term he’s used for her, though fuck knows why. Can’t blame him when I call all women that myself, though Beth’s become more elevated in my mind. My woman has a better ring to it. What the fuck am I thinking? Not coming anywhere near close to claiming her. Unable to offer an alternative description for her, I just nod.

  Lizard snorts beside me, making me look at him. He’s staring at Beaver who’s clearly not keen.

  Then the prospect lets out a defeated sigh. “She’s got the physique to handle it. As long as she doesn’t drop it or put a scratch on it, I suppose it will be alright.” He thinks for a moment. “I was actually thinking of selling it, so if she likes it, she might be interested.”

  Shit. This could work out. While I’ve been coming around to the idea of Beth riding behind me, beside me has just as good a ring to it.

  “What you thinking of getting, Beaver?”

  While Liz and Beaver discuss models that the prospect might be considering, I turn away leaning my back against the bar. Sheila spies me and sashays over. When she’s up close, her fingernails gently rake down my face.

  “Want to have some fun?”

  I remove her hand. “Not tonight, darlin’.”

  Lizard must have finished his discussion with the prospect in time to witness me sending Sheila away. “Think I’ll have me some of that if you don’t want it. You feeling okay? Or have you just been serviced in town?” His eyebrows lift up and down suggestively.

  “Yes, and nope. In that order.”

  His mouth drops open.

  We live on the wild side which means making use of the sex on tap. Not often that a brother’s not feeling it. I’m not surprised when I feel the back of his hand on my brow.

  When I slap it away, he tells me, “You feel a bit heated there, Brother. Why don’t you have a chat with Rusty? May have an infection if your cock doesn’t work.”

  He’s faster than he looks, and my fist, aimed for his stomach hits only air. Though he certainly doesn’t miss my raised middle finger as I walk off to the stairs. I hear his bellowed laughter ringing out behind me.

  For the next couple of days, I find myself in a quandary. I want to see Beth, but I don’t. Just for a fuck, of course, as I could do with one and I promised I wouldn’t go near a whore. Seeing her would ease my itch, sus
pecting as I do it wouldn’t be difficult to persuade her back into my bed. But meeting up again so soon might suggest I couldn’t stay away from her.

  Problem is, I’m finding it hard keeping my distance. As that’s unlike me, I do the extremely unmanly thing and take a few moments out of my day to analyse my strange thoughts.

  The night of Ro’s wedding I’d used my normal ploy, explaining to a civilian bitch that I’ve nothing to offer her except for my cock, and that she was only getting once. Beth had told me that was all she had wanted. I wouldn’t have touched her had I not believed she’d meant it.

  At the time I think we had both been completely honest, but can our wants change? Could I really yield to this craving inside me, and admit it’s her I want to see again, and for more than just to get my dick wet. Has the unthinkable happened and I’ve started to feel something other than just sexual appreciation for her? Or am I, as Lizard suggested, coming down with the flu.

  If I am skirting around the word relationship that would normally give me hives, would she be on the same page? I can’t see her as the type of woman who just wants me as a temporary fuck friend, but can I be sure? I bang my hand against my head. Christ, that would be some retribution if my feelings for her are stronger than ones she’d reciprocate. What a joke if I find a bitch I’d consider claiming, and she were to throw it back in my face?

  Surprised at the direction of my thinking, glancing downward, I check my cock is still there, and that my balls are still attached to my body. Wouldn’t surprise me with the thoughts going through my head that they’ve fallen off and I’ve grown a vagina.

  I make a concerted effort to stop thinking about her and pick up the paint gun to continue my work instead.

  Tuesday I nearly fold but, after a fight with myself, find some resolve and don’t get on my bike and ride to see her. I can’t, however, prevent myself picking up my phone and tapping out a text.

  Ink: What you doing Friday?

  Beth: Sounds like I’m seeing you.

  She got that from a four-word text? Amused, I have a vision of her giggling at her presumptuousness.