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

by Mellett, Manda

  But before any of us can get a chance to put our plans into action, there’s a commotion outside the door. Glances are quickly exchanged. You wouldn’t need to be a genius to gather from the yelling and shouting that as we expected, the cops have turned up.

  Demon takes a moment to let his best prez expression slide into place and then steps purposefully out. The rest of us follow.

  “Down on the floor. Keep your hands where we can see them.”

  Even old ladies and prospects aren’t exempt it would seem. Not my first raid, but it’s hardly top of my list of fun things to do. I catch sight of Beef glaring fiercely as Pyro helps Steph down, Max, dropping beside her gives a lick to her face as though to reassure her he’s close.

  There are cops with guns aimed at us, and two officers going around, handcuffing hands behind backs, and removing weapons. I catch Thunder’s eye and give a little shake of my head.

  “I presume you’ve a search warrant?” Demon asks, refusing to drop to the floor. “If so, I want to see it. If not, you can set my men free and leave.”

  A cop, obviously the leader of the team, steps forward as another wrenches Demon’s hands behind his back. “Oh, we’ve got a warrant alright. Saves us all time if you just tell us where you store the drugs.”

  “Nothing here, or on any of our premises,” Demon says, confidently. “Maybe some grass, but that’s legal in the state.”

  “We know the law,” the SWAT leader growls. “And that piece of paper shows we’ve got the rights to tear this place apart.”

  “And you’ll pay for every bit of damage,” Demon says seriously, clearly meaning it. “You’ve got no grounds to suspect the club of anything.”

  “Judge disagrees. Damon McNeish who’s in custody is a member of this club.” With that, the SWAT team leader turns away.

  Grounds to search Ink’s room, but the whole club? Well, I bet they just love having an excuse.

  Belly flat to the floor, I raise my head and watch as another man enters, accompanied by an excited looking cocker spaniel, his tail wagging furiously. At least someone enjoys their job.

  Max rises to his feet, his hackles rising. I even hear a low growl come from his throat.

  “Keep that dog under control,” a cop barks out, “or I’ll fucking shoot him.”

  “He’s a seeing eye dog,” someone shouts back. I think it’s Pyro.

  “Down, Max,” Steph orders, and Max obeys, while still keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the intruder. He’s still grumbling, and his body’s vibrating. Guess he’s picking up a vibe from us and has taken a dislike to the canine cop.

  “Let your sniffer dog search,” Demon orders. “He won’t find anything here. Devils don’t have anything to do with drugs.”

  “No? Then why is one of your members sitting in jail on a drug charge?”

  “Because he was trying to help you do your fuckin’ job,” Demon snaps back, but his answer is ignored.

  It’s a waiting game now. First the dog sniffs each of us, the hair on the back of Max’s neck rising again when he gets too close.

  He’s just got to Thunder who’s at the end of the line when Bitch appears. Now Max might be able to be instructed to control himself around a four-legged interloper, but Bitch is under no such constraint. She flies across the room toward the strange dog and there’s a loud yelp.

  Followed by a shot and an agonised screaming meow. Fuck no! My reaction startles me. Fucking cat did not deserve that.

  I watch in horror as she gets to her feet, and staggers from the room, a trail of blood left in her wake. She’s not dead. Not yet.

  I think that action stunned us all more than the raid itself.

  “You bastards!” Beef roars.

  “Bitch! What’s happened?” Steph, an animal lover to the core cries out, clearly distressed.

  Someone reassures her that the cat is still alive, for now. Dying, I think to myself, surprised at the amount of anguish I feel for the feline who hates men.

  “Just get the fuck on with it and get gone. We need to take our pet to the vet,” Demon roars.

  “That cat attacked a valuable trained animal,” a cop says unrepentantly.

  “Your fuckin’ dog’s fine,” Demon snarls back. “He just got a scratch on his nose.”

  From the shocked and disgusted growls all around, I know everyone’s feeling the same way. We all pretend to hate the cat who only tolerates women and kids. She’d just turned up one day, such a misfit, we let her stay. We might not want to get close to her claws, but to think of her injured and dying, well, that’s just fucked up. Especially knowing the SWAT team will leave here finding nothing, unless they plant something, of course. That’s always a concern.

  “I’ll go find her,” offers Mel. “If they let me search.”

  “Look, my wife’s pregnant. Let her up,” Pyro pleads. “Let her go find the fuckin’ cat.”

  The pleading doesn’t work, of course, and our general mood worsens.

  Two fucking hours. Two hours they take to complete the search. I don’t even care about the mess they’re making, and I doubt I’m the only one to worry about finding Bitch dead at the end of it.

  The dog, fully recovered from the surprise smack around his nose, still has his tail wagging happily as his handler tosses a ball in the air for him as a reward. I care fuck all about that dog, it’s the cat I’m surprisingly worried about. Had anyone asked me earlier on today, I’d have said I couldn’t give a fuck if she was living or dead. Turns out, I haven’t yet run out of fucks.

  It’s obvious they haven’t found anything just by observing how they’re acting. But we told them from the start, Devils don’t touch drugs. Surely that must help Ink’s case? They’ve left such a mess everywhere, I hate to think what Ink’s room looks like, that they’ll have turned it inside out. Well, that’s what brothers are for. We’ll make sure it’s sorted before he comes home.

  One by one our handcuffs are removed but we’re told to stay down until they make their exit. In case we suddenly jump up and rush them, I suppose. Then, at last, they’re gone. Our weapons, all having been checked they’re legally owned, left in a box by the door.

  “Bitch!” Mel screams. Pyro holds her back, presumably not wanting her to get upset any more than she already is by finding a cat’s dead body.

  “I’ll go,” says Vi, then glares at Demon. “She’ll hate men even more now.”

  But I’m the one in the lead with Judge right behind me and Demon and Vi hot on my heels.

  I’m expecting to find a cold dead fur-covered body. The trail leads into a closet. I thrust the door open wide and find someone’s pushing a flashlight at me. I turn to see Judge, his features fixed, his brow furrowed. I nod, then flick the switch and the beam provides enough illumination for me to see Bitch paused, tongue half out, a paw held up which she’d clearly been in the process of calmly washing. I get a cat’s narrowed-eyed glare as if wondering why she’s being interrupted.

  Vi pushes me out of the way and steps up close, picking her up in her arms. Well, fuck me. The top half of one of her ears has been shot clean off, but otherwise she looks unharmed. It’s even stopped bleeding.

  Incredulously, I shake my head. “That cop must have been a lousy shot. Reckon she’s just lost another of her nine lives.”

  As Vi strokes her, examining whether she has any other injuries, she glances at me. “Doubt it was her first. And I think we need to take her to the vet to get her checked out, she might need a shot.”

  While that sounds a good idea, as Bitch hisses loudly when Vi moves her a little too close to me, I reckon she’ll need to make sure it’s a female vet.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Beth

  “I should go to the police.” I pause my pacing and turn to look at my mom who’s violently moving her head from side to side.

  “And get arrested for something that wasn’t your fault?” Mom spits back. “Anything you could say might just incriminate Ink further. And your brother as well.�
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  “What else can I do? My fingerprints are on the rucksack…”

  “They should have destroyed them after the burglary. They might not have them at all.”

  I roll my eyes. “I don’t think that’s how it works, Mom. Isn’t it better to get in first with my side of the story? Or one I concoct that is.”

  “What would that be?” she interrupts. “That you found a package of drugs and just wondered around Pueblo trying to find the owner? You know what cops are like. They’ll try to trip you up, even if you’re telling the truth. Trying to keep to a complicated story will be too difficult. The truth would be hard enough for them to swallow.”

  She’s right. I know it. But it goes against the grain to think that Ink is sitting in jail for something he didn’t do. If they’re going to be coming after me anyway, there must be something I can do to swing it to free him.

  “Mom, I’ve told you. I had no choice—”

  “I doubt that’s the way they’d see it. We’ve been through this, Bethany. As soon as you feared Connor was in trouble, you should have contacted them. Not tried to sort it out for yourself. You should have at least told me what was going on.”

  “I couldn’t Mom. It would have upset you.”

  Her expression speaks volumes, telegraphing as if I’m not now. Then her shoulders rise, then fall and a quick sad grin covers her face. “I understand why you thought what you did was right. Bethany. I love both my children. I know Connor and I don’t see eye-to-eye at the moment, but I’m hoping in time he’ll become the man I know he can be if he just removes himself from the influence of his father.” Suddenly she stills. “That rucksack. When was the last time you used it, Beth?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Years?” I hate throwing stuff out, always thinking it might come in handy one day. In fact, I’d forgotten all about it until I needed something to carry the packages in. Mom’s tapping her fingers to her mouth. “What are you thinking?”

  “What if it got ‘stolen’ during the robbery?”

  “A fraying, old bag?” I scoff.

  “Thieves could have needed something to carry stuff away in.”

  I pace again, thoughts flying through my head. Suddenly, I stop. “That could work. They couldn’t disprove it. Sure, we hadn’t reported it then, but who’d care about a rucksack worth nothing?” I begin to feel lighter thinking perhaps I could get away with this after all. Simple enough to remember if I just stick to the plain facts. Better than the story I was concocting about throwing it out with the trash. One worry eased, my mind settles on another—my brother and whether he’s dead or alive. I wave toward the phone I’ve barely put down since we’d returned to the house. “I keep trying to call him, Mom. I’m worried about him.”

  She’s quiet for a moment. “I’m worried too about whether he’s okay, and also, well, what do we do if he does make contact? What if he wants the other packages delivered somewhere? Are we going to pretend they’re still here?”

  We’re talking about Connor as if he’s alive, and again, believing that puts me in a quandary. If he’s unharmed, it means he cares nothing about me. It could be me in jail and Connor would have been responsible.

  If he’s alive, he’ll want the rest of the heroin. He knows me and Mom, knows now we know what he left in our unknowing care we’ll want shot of them. He’ll be so angry to find them gone.

  I can’t imagine there’s any excuse to explain Connor’s behaviour. I may not have been arrested, but Ink has. And that’s all down to my brother. I swallow rapidly when I think of the man I lost, the man who, quite rightly, now hates me.

  “There must be something I can do for Ink.” I feel so helpless and useless. Giving myself up would be easier than doing nothing at all. The possible loss of my freedom means little to me, the pain in my heart hurts far worse. I’d found the man perfect for me. Right now, he’s sitting in a cell, cursing my name and that we ever met.

  “I’m sure there is, will be. But right now, I don’t know what.” Mom’s holding her head as if it hurts.

  “I’ll be upstairs if anything happens,” I tell her. I just need some time on my own. Something I haven’t had since Ink was arrested, and I was taken back to the MC.

  I don’t blame Ink’s brothers for being suspicious of me and my involvement in the events of last night. When you think about it, my story is pretty lame. If I’d had more time to think, I might have done things differently. But I’d had none. Connor had made sure of that. On purpose? Or at gunpoint? Whatever, the result wouldn’t have changed.

  My hands cover my face, and I blink rapidly to push back the tears. I’m done with crying, it doesn’t help. But the anguish I feel is all but paralysing.

  I’d hoped to persuade Ink we could have a future. What would it have been like to make my life with him, like Mel has with Pyro? To have his baby like Mel’s pregnant with Ro’s?

  I’d been unlucky in all my relationships, had all but given up searching for my one. Now that I realise Ink may well have been it, our chance has come and gone.

  I sit on the bed rocking back and forth. Demon telling me Ink wanted nothing to do with me was perfectly understandable, but next saying he’d help protect me and Mom seemed at odds with that. Not that anyone’s come around as yet, maybe he’s already forgotten, or reconsidered, and our plight’s been washed off his hands?

  Once again, I wonder why Ink had taken the bag out of my hands when he must have known what would happen. If I could wind back time, I wouldn’t have let him. Or, I’d have stayed by his side so I’d been able to explain. Despite my fight, my eyes again start leaking.

  Vaguely, I become aware of a door being slammed, and loud voices from downstairs. The noises gradually filter through the sadness in my brain. Numbly wondering whether it’s Connor and he’s come in all guns blazing at Mom, I grab a tissue and wipe my eyes, and descend the stairs. The way I’m feeling right now, Connor’s lucky I don’t have a gun to hand.

  But it’s not my brother. It’s worse.

  Mom’s there, examining a piece of paper, and she’s surrounded by three cops.

  She turns when she hears me approaching. “Bethany, the cops have got a warrant to search this house. Do you know anything about it?”

  There’s a message in her eyes, I let mine widen. “Search this house? I’ve absolutely no idea.”

  The two uniformed cops glance at each other and roll their eyes.

  “You’re upset.” A plain-clothes detective approaches.

  Again, wiping my reddened eyes, I ignore his observation. “What’s all this about? What are you looking for?”

  “That warrant,” he takes it back from my mother and shows it to me, “gives us the right to search anywhere and everything. Is there anyone else in the house?” His eyes sharpen as though expecting me to lie.

  “No. It’s just Mom and me. What is this all about?” I repeat my previous question, having gotten no answer before.

  “Ms Bethany Foster?” another cop enters the front door and asks.

  I nod, fear settling in my stomach. “I’ve been asked to take you in for questioning.”

  “What on earth for?” I stare at him, my mouth dropping open, as beside me, my mom gasps.

  He shakes his head. “We think you may have information which will help an ongoing investigation. Will you please come along with me now?”

  “But you’re going to search the house. Shouldn’t I stay here?” I don’t like leaving Mom on her own.

  “Mrs Foster will be here.”

  “Ms Stephens,” Mom corrects from behind me, even now hating the reference she was ever married to my dad.

  “The car is waiting, Ms Foster.”

  “Where are you taking her?” Mom steps beside me, her forehead etched with lines of concern.

  The police officer states the name of the precinct.

  “I don’t understand,” I tell him. “I’ve done nothing wrong.” On the outside I’m trying to convey confusion, while inside, I’m wondering what
and how much they know. It has to be enough for them to have obtained a search warrant. “Am I under arrest?”

  “Not yet,” he tells me ominously. “For now, Detective Barker just wants a word.”

  An innocent person wouldn’t refuse, would they? Right now, I’m not sure what is the right reaction to have, because I am guilty.

  “You go,” Mom says from beside me. “If you’re not back soon, I’ll get someone to help.” She presumably means a lawyer to represent me.

  “If you will, Ms Foster?” The police officer steps to one side, indicating I should precede him.

  I might not be under arrest, but that doesn’t make me feel any easier as I’m helped into the back of a police cruiser aided by a hand on the top of my head. The grill between me and the officers makes it feel like I’m in a cage, and the fact there are no door handles on the inside makes me feel claustrophobic. Luckily this won’t be too long a journey, my hands are already beginning to sweat. I feel like a prisoner, and it’s wearing me down.

  I’m trying hard to maintain what composure I have left as I exit the cruiser and step out, wondering whether I’ll say something to incriminate myself and this will be the last time I breathe in fresh air as a free woman. What is the sentence for being in possession of drugs? A long time, I suspect. The amount I was carrying would earn me more than just a slap on the wrist.

  With the thought that I could be going inside for many years, I take one last deep lungful of clean air, suppress the instinct to turn and run a marathon’s distance away, and step inside the precinct.

  If I thought being in the police car was intimidating, walking into the station is even worse. First, accompanied by the two officers, my purse is searched, then I’m taken through an electronically controlled gate, hearing the thick steel door slam shut behind me. I’m now in a different world. As prisoners wearing handcuffs are escorted along the corridor, I glance around wondering whether I’ll see Ink. There are also men in uniform all heavily armed. People are talking all around me, mentioning numbers which I presume relate to various crimes. I’m a tall woman, but I feel myself shrinking, becoming some insignificant being dumped into an alien world.