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

by Mellett, Manda

  “Look for something you can use as a stretcher,” Beef instructs Judge.

  “I don’t need—”

  “Not for you, asshole.” Beef sounds exasperated. “For Connor.”

  Already on board with his allotted task, Judge looks around, his eyes narrowed. I’m sure they’ll find a plank or something. Getting the unconscious man onto it shouldn’t be hard. Getting Lizard out to the truck without him looking at his hand, more difficult. I only hope the second bandana Judge has wrapped around his wound will do the job.

  I follow Beef back into the room with the table and cards. One man is crying in pain, the other is looking distressed.

  As soon as we walk in, both look up, both scared for their lives. As they should be.

  Again, Beef takes the lead. “We found Connor. He’s dead.”

  Well, will you look at that? If I thought the men seemed scared before, they’re petrified now.

  “No,” cries out the Hispanic. “He’s not. He can’t be. Only gave him a few taps to soften him up.”

  A few taps? They’d used him as a punching bag then gave him a good kicking as well, if I’m any judge. And I’d be surprised if some of his blood hadn’t come from stab wounds.

  “He bled out.” Beef shrugs as if a man’s death is of no importance to him.

  The look that goes between them is interesting to say the least. So are the Hispanic’s words. “We’re in trouble now,” he tells his friend whose injured foot doesn’t seem to be bothering him as much as the words he’s just heard.

  “We’re dead,” his friend replies.

  So, they weren’t supposed to let Connor die? Just torture him so he’d call Beth and then keep him here alive. Trouble is, they got carried away. Enough so, it’s not too hard for them to believe Connor isn’t dead.

  “This Alder want him alive?” Beef asks.

  The look on their faces suggests that he does. But without encouragement, they’re not going to elucidate.

  It’s at that point when my ex-prez jerks his head toward me and raises his eyebrow at the VP. Beef nods, then says tiredly, “Do your stuff, Mace.”

  I do. Conscious we haven’t got much time if we want a chance to keep Connor in the land of the living, I go as fast as I can, figuring out weak points, their greatest fears, and concentrating on those areas which cause maximum pain while leaving them still able to talk.

  Their pleas for mercy quickly change until, with their pants around their ankles and their dicks exposed, they’re giving us more information than I’ve asked for. I think at this point they’d give me their bank account numbers and PINs were I to ask.

  We learn little about Alder, they don’t know much. They’re foot soldiers, left here to make sure Connor didn’t escape. Alder wanted him alive, but for what, they don’t know. But they’d been the ones getting their hands dirty when Connor was forced to ring Beth.

  They’d had ‘fun’ with Connor after Alder had left. We have a description to go with the name, man in his fifties, grey hair almost white, neatly trimmed beard and a slight paunch suggesting he overindulges. Whether Alder’s the first or last name, they don’t know. Or, apart from the obvious drugs, what business he’s in, or who, if he has them, are his partners. I’m satisfied they’ve told me all they know and haven’t held anything back.

  “Finish them off?” Hell suggests, when Judge puts his head around the door saying we’re loaded and ready to go.

  “Nah.” Beef’s eyes land on the pair, and he shakes his head. “Connor’s dead. Reckon Alder will kill them himself once he knows, may as well leave it to him to dispose of what’s left.” He then addresses our captives directly, “We’re taking Connor’s body. Reckon his sister will appreciate having something to bury.”

  Yeah, we’ll leave them alive to get that message across, and hopefully the heat will be taken off looking for a man who no longer exists in this world.

  As we leave the room, I overhear two men speaking in pain filled voices behind us.

  “I told you not to fucking kick him in the head,” says the Hispanic who we now know is called Al.

  Diego—fuck me, when I’d heard I’d laughed thinking it would be more apt were the names the other way around—replies, “It was probably your kick to his fucking balls.”

  I wince on Connor’s behalf.

  When they realised we were leaving, their cries to at least pull up their pants went unheeded. Why cover a target that Alder could aim for? Mind you, as we’ve turned off their heater, there probably won’t be much exposed when he turns up to check on his prisoner.

  We pile back into the truck to go the short journey to get our bikes. Back at the parking lot, Lizard’s ride is soon in the back. We’re practised at loading up a bike and tying it down, and then Pal drives off. We let him go alone, a smoke for me giving him enough time to get clear. An unescorted truck obeying the rules of the road, less likely to be stopped than one surrounded by bikes in the middle of the night.

  Pyro hadn’t wasted time making his call. Two hours later when we draw up at the compound several minutes after Pal, there’s already a man in the back of the truck. It’s Dr Ironside who I’ve met a time or two before. Not for treatment, thank fuck. But there was a time Buzz caught a bullet which had lodged somewhere beyond Rusty’s abilities to pull out.

  Pal is standing by the side of the truck. “Want us to get him out, doc?”

  “Not until I’ve seen what I’m dealing with,” Ironside snaps. “Christ, this man’s more dead than alive. You do this?”

  “No,” Pal replies, sharply.

  No, but if doc can patch him up, it might only be to hurt him again. Depends on what Connor says. But I do admit there are signs that I’d been wrong. Beth had been right to believe her brother was being tortured and could have been killed. May still be the result, if the doc can’t fix him up.

  “Go get some rest, Mace.” Demon’s hand lands on my shoulder. “You too, Hell, Beef. I’ve got this.”

  I don’t take much persuading. Christ, it’s dawn on Monday morning. Been times I thought the weekend would never end. Almost forty-eight hours after I last left it, I’m finally crawling between my sheets and lying my head on the pillow. My eyes immediately close.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Beth

  The cops had let me go, but I’d be a fool to think that was the last of it.

  When I got home, Mom was pacing the room, her eyes widening with relief as she changed direction and ran over to hug me as soon as I entered the door. By the time I’ve completed my second interrogation that afternoon, I’m brain dead.

  I’d had some questions of my own. After the cops had finished searching the house, they’d questioned Mom about where I’d been the night before, clearly taking the opportunity of asking before we’d had a chance to collude and get our stories straight.

  As I’d hoped, she’d told them precisely what I’d said, and what she had known at the time. That I’d been tired, took a book and went off to bed and hadn’t gone out. My alibi, such as it is, stands.

  I may only have been gone for a few hours, but much had happened in that time. After the police had left, Mom had received another visitor who’d ignored the front door and strangely come in over the back fence. It had been one of the prospects from Ink’s club. Under his watchful eye, she’d placed a call to a number he’d given her, telling the person who’d answered that she had a blocked sink. The prospect had disappeared as quietly as he’d arrived.

  Shortly after, Dirt, an apparently qualified plumber, and his assistant Nails, had drawn up in his van to fix said fictional block. A couple of hours later, Nails had driven the van off, but Dirt had stayed. It turns out one or the other will be keeping us company in the house while the club tries to find out who the drugs belonged to, and whether they’d be back.

  As hangarounds, Dirt explained, neither currently have a known connection with the club.

  To complete the cover story, the kitchen floor is now covered with bits of pipe f
rom the sink, as if waiting for a workman to return. It means Dirt could look busy should the police reappear.

  Dirt seems pleasant enough, but I wasn’t keen on having a stranger in the house. I remember him from the party as one of the men Ink had spoken to briefly. My concern then returns to me now. How do they know who they can trust? I know only too well how even the Devils can be deceived.

  “Be careful Mom,” I whisper quietly, out of his hearing. “You remember Skull?” She’d met him when he’d come to one of our barbeques with Mel. When she nods, I continue, “You also know he turned out to be an undercover cop.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Bethany. Now you don’t know who to trust?” Her eyes go to the ceiling and come back down. “Seems you should have been more cautious yesterday. I, for one, am just glad there’s someone here, and that Demon’s thoughtful enough to spare him to help us. Don’t forget, someone out there thinks we’ve still got a king’s ransom in heroin in this house. Your brother for certain, and maybe someone else.”

  I’m tired, worried about Ink, and feeling irritable. I’m not going to give up easily. “What’s one man going to do, Mom? Dirt’s okay, but even I could take on Nails.” Not quite fair, but as he’s around five foot ten, I tower above him.

  Mom’s sighs. “They’re not going to be taking them on. They’ll get in touch with Demon if anyone turns up.”

  “And the club will, what? Send reinforcements? How’s that hiding our involvement with the Devils if a dozen motorcycles turn up outside?”

  Mom places her hands on her hips. “So what do you suggest, Bethany? I send them away? Would you prefer we were here on our own?”

  “I don’t know,” I cry out. And then to my horror, tears start leaking out of my eyes. I had no sleep last night, had to keep my wits about me during my visit to the police station. Have learned the man I was starting to love, now, quite rightly, hates me. As for my brother, he could be dead or dying, or free when it should be him who’s locked up. And I should be allowed to tell the truth, but nobody wants me to. No wonder I’m not thinking straight.

  Mom’s arms are fast around me. “Oh, Bethany, honey, come here. The last twenty-four hours have been hell on you. Come on, cry it out.”

  She pulls me to the sofa where it’s easier for her to hold me, and I lean my head against her chest and just sob. From the moment Connor called me to when the police took my statement, it seems I’ve been existing on adrenaline, reacting rather than doing anything with any rhyme or reason. I’m running on empty now. I cry in the arms of my mother until I’ve no tears left to fall.

  When I finish, my throat feels dry and raw, my eyes are swollen, and my face is red and blotchy. She tries to get me to eat something, but neither of us have any appetite at all. The stress and the long hours during which I’ve been awake have me yawning widely, so when she suggests an early night, I don’t argue.

  But in bed I can’t get my brain to switch off. Instead I keep wondering how Ink is now, trying to accept even if by some miracle he walks free, I’ll have lost my chance with him. Then, when I try to stop thinking of what he and I have lost, my thoughts turn to my brother, see-sawing between hoping he’s alright, to wishing he’s hurting if everything he’d said to me had been a lie.

  He’d set me up. My fingerprints showed I had my hand on the bag if not the drugs themselves. Though Ink’s brothers want me to stay in the clear to make what Ink did worthwhile, all that might fall apart. I thought I’d been careful wearing gloves, I hadn’t. I’d not given a thought to the bag. Huffing, I realise I’m not cut out for a life of crime.

  Eventually, I drop into an uneasy sleep and doze; my dreams are haunted by Ink appearing and taking that bag from me over and over again. I try to run as though through molasses to stop him and take it back, but he gets further and further away, and I can’t catch up to him.

  Three times I’ve woken twisted up in the bed clothes and covered in sweat. This time, it’s something else that awakes me. A quiet knocking on my door, and a man’s voice saying, “Beth.”

  “Hold on.” I reach for my robe and pull it on, at the same time glancing at the clock by the side of my bed. It’s Monday morning, five am? The time makes me worry. What’s happened?

  I waste no time rushing to the door and opening it. “What’s up?” I can tell by the look on Dirt’s face that it’s not going to be anything I want to hear.

  “A car’s pulled up outside. Two men look like they’re checking out the house. I need you to ring the police now, Beth.”

  Call the police for help? After they questioned me?

  “Now, Beth.”

  If that’s what Dirt’s advising, it’s advice I should probably follow. Immediately I run back into the room, pick up my phone and dial 911.

  “I think someone’s trying to break in,” I tell the dispatcher who answers my call fast. I give the address and hear the reassurance that the cops are on their way.

  I hear noises from downstairs, and then, a crash. “What do I do?” I speak into the phone, while quietly opening my bedroom door.

  “What’s going on?” Mom appears, wrapping her dressing gown around her.

  “Shush,” I hiss loudly, then explain into the phone. “Sorry, I wasn’t speaking to you. But there are men here, coming into the house.”

  “You’ve got visitors,” Dirt says fast and softly to my mom. I notice for the first time there’s a gun in his hand. “Beth’s on the phone to the cops—it was Demon’s suggestion—it’s just a matter of staying safe until they arrive.” He pauses, and his brow creases. “Normally you’d lock yourselves away until the cops get here. So, go into your room, or your bathroom if that’s got a bolt on it. I’ll stay hidden and won’t intervene unless things get nasty.”

  The same advice comes down the line and straight into my ear. “Keep yourself and your mom out of the way. The squad car is almost with you now,” the calming voice says. Well, she’s trying to be calming, but it’s not working.

  I’m vaguely aware of Dirt slipping back into the shadows as the hall light is switched on downstairs, illuminating both me and mom standing at the top. There’s a man with a gun, and he’s pointing it our way.

  “Get down here.”

  We’ve dallied too long. No chance to hide away now.

  “I’ve got to go,” I tell the dispatcher fast. “There’s a man with a gun.”

  “Stay on the line,” warns the voice on the phone.

  But he’s seen me. “End that fucking call and get down here.”

  I’ve no choice but to do what he instructs. Dirt must have slipped away unseen, as when I grab hold of Mom’s hand—whether to give comfort or receive it, I’m not entirely sure—and slowly descend the stairs, the man makes no comment about anyone else being in the house.

  “Where is it?” the man almost screams when we reach the bottom step. “Where’s the fuckin’ smack? Connor said it was here.”

  “What are you doing in my house?” Mom sounds scared, and I don’t blame her. I’m shaking too. “I have no idea what you think I’ve got. Please leave.”

  “I’ve called the cops,” I warn him. “They’re on their way.”

  His eyes widen. “You stupid bitch. So you better talk fast. Where is the stash? Where did Connor put it?”

  “Stash?”

  “He’s talking about drugs, Mom. But why the hell he’s asking us, I don’t know.” I open my palms and gesture that I have no idea what he’s talking about, noticing my hands are trembling.

  “There are no drugs here,” Mom states shakily and truthfully. “Please get out of my house.”

  The man steps closer, he looks from me to my mom, then for some reason, homes in on me. He takes another pace which puts him in front, his head only just above the level of my shoulders. As he looks up into my face, I recognise this particular sneer. He doesn’t like feeling at a disadvantage. I’ve seen his reaction often, like many short men, he doesn’t like women being taller than him.

  “Give me what I wan
t, or I’ll kill this one.” He raises a gun and points it at me.

  “No,” Mom screams. “No. And I can’t give you what I don’t have. This is all a mistake!”

  I look at the barrel of the gun, wondering if this is the last thing I’m going to see, wondering whether the police will get here in time. As I stare death in the face, the thoughts which hurt most are that I’ll never have a chance to see Ink and explain, will never be able to tell him how much he means to me, that I understand why he hates me or how I’d give everything to be in jail and him walking free. Those are the regrets I’ll take to my grave.

  Time seems to stand still.

  “You’ve got one more minute, then this one here takes her last breath.”

  “I can’t tell you as I don’t know,” Mom cries out. She starts to move toward me.

  “Stay back!” I swear he’s frothing at the mouth as momentarily the gun points at her before swinging back to me.

  “Leave us alone, please.” Finding my voice, I begin to beg. The thought of Mom being killed worse than if it was me.

  Suddenly another man runs through the smashed front door. “Cops are on their way.” He looks panicked. “Just heard this address on the radio. Have you got the shit we came for? We’ve got to go, now.”

  The cheeks of the man standing close blaze bright red. His jaw tightens. Maybe my senses are all on high alert as adrenaline floods through me, but I read his intention almost before he decides what he’s going to do. No drugs. He’s failed. And that threat he’d made? Well, he’s going to follow it through. But before his finger has a chance to even twitch on the trigger, my arm shoots out and chops down on his with all my strength behind it.

  Not expecting a woman to fight back, he’s not got a tight grasp on it and his gun flies out of his hands.

  Mom might be aging, but she’s not old. She is, however, fast, with all her faculties intact. She’s quick to make a dive for it with a rather impressive improvised roll and has it in her hand and pointed in his direction.