The food, when it arrives, tastes like cardboard in my mouth. I can see Jayden’s uneasy, her eyes flicking around to our audience which is watching us like hawks. I’m finding it hard to start any topic of conversation. All the things I’d wanted to say to her go unsaid. My anger begins to rise. She’s sixteen, almost seventeen. She should be allowed to date. Fine, send one brother or two to provide protection. But half the fucking club?
“Can I show you the dessert menu?”
“No.” I say fast. Then want to withdraw my sharp reply. “Jayden?”
“Not for me.” She leans forward. “Can we go, Pal?”
I ask for the tab, pay it, then stand, seeing brothers at the bar hurriedly finishing their drinks, then following us out of the restaurant.
The bikes surrounding the SUV as we drive back may have been an escort to ensure Jayden’s safety. That Blade, instead of me, escorts Jayden back to her suite is not. Unless it’s me, he’s protecting her from.
This can’t go on. Watching him walk my date away makes my body tense with frustration. I’ve been offered a chance, only to have it snapped away.
Chapter Two
Hellfire
“What?”
Moira’s clipped tone conveys her annoyance that she’s caught me staring. I shrug. Nowadays I’m not certain whether it’s better to keep quiet or change the subject. Commenting or making an observation, is likely to get my head snapped off. Deciding the sensible option is probably to keep my mouth shut, I grab a sweater that’s hanging on the back of one of the chairs in the kitchen. Saying nothing, hoping not to draw attention to what I’m doing, I casually slip it on over my head. It’s mid-February, and while I admit it’s not the coldest it has been, it’s still too chilly to have windows open all over the house. It seems, though, even actions have consequences.
“I can’t fucking help it,” she snarls, as if I’d replied using words. With a loud huff, she leaves what she was doing and walks out of the room.
After closing the wide-open window, I follow her. Moira’s now in the living room, idly flicking through a magazine. Her face red and glowing. How can I make her realise I hate to see her going through this?
“What do you want, Hell?” she sighs, tiredly.
To right the world for her if I could. But some things are beyond me. I go and sit on the armchair, she’s taken the couch. Right now, she won’t want me near her. It’s as though the thermostat of her body is faulty, one moment she’s feeling normal, the next she can be out in the snow wearing just her nightie. It embarrasses her, I know it. So, pulling the sweater more firmly around me, I ignore the temperature in the house.
“Had word from Drummer.”
“The National Prez?”
I nod to confirm it, while thinking it’s probably better we’re here in Pueblo, Colorado, rather than Tucson where the mother chapter of the Satan’s Devils is based. At least Moira can get cool here if she wants to.
Closing her magazine, she tilts her head to one side. “What does he want? You going to be making a trip down to Tucson? They got trouble again?”
Quickly I reassure her. “Nah, nothing like that.” My lips curve briefly as I recall the conversation I’d had with Drummer. “He was feeling me out as to my views on something.”
Her eyes narrowing, she states, “You don’t usually discuss club business with me, Hell.”
She’s right, I don’t. I’ve been the prez of the Colorado chapter of the Satan’s Devils for twenty years now, VP ten years before that. Moira’s been mine since I got my patch, a few years before I started to work my way up the ranks. She’s known the score for a very long time. What the club does remains secret from old ladies and anyone who isn’t a patched member.
I sit forward and place my elbows on my knees, clasping my hands together. “Think I need a woman’s advice on this one, and it’s possible that I’ll need you to get involved.”
Getting up she, thank fuck, closes the window, shivers, then comes back and sits down. I keep my face impassive, but she gives a sheepish grin, then a look full of apology. I wave it off.
“What’s going on, partner?”
Yeah, she’s my partner. Always has been, constantly having my back. I raise my chin. “Bit of a long story…”
Another curve of her lips. “I’ve got time.” She has. Now that our youngest has gone to college, she’s often at a loss for things to do.
I acknowledge her statement with a nod and take a breath. “Trouble is, where do I start?”
“At the beginning?” Moira suggests as she settles back to make herself comfortable.
Another raise and dip of my head. “Okay, the way I understand it, he’s got a member wanting to transfer… Nah.” I break off. “It doesn’t start with him; it begins with what happened to Jayden.” As Moira’s eyebrow rises, I resume. “Jayden’s the young sister of one of the brothers, Slick’s, old lady. Couple of years ago she got caught up in a child-grooming ring. Can’t put this any other way but to say it as it is. She was drugged, raped, forced to have sex with multiple men, and on more than one occasion.” My eyes go to hers to see how she’s taking it. If I’m to do what Drummer has requested, I need Moira on my side, but I’m wary of throwing her back into her own painful memories.
Moira’s hand is covering her mouth; her pupils look large on her face. Of anyone, I know how much she’ll understand what happened to Jayden and will be sympathetic. “How old was she then?”
“Fourteen,” I tell her.
My old lady settles back on the couch, drawing her legs up under her. I take a second to admire the way she’s still as supple as she was when she was seventeen. “Poor kid. Sad story. What’s it got to do with us?”
“Drummer and his brothers broke up the child-grooming ring. But it had been run by members of the local crime family, the Herreras. The fuckers who were molesting kids were all taken out, but the Herreras still seem to have the Tucson Devils in their sights. If it hadn’t been for Jayden, the lucrative business might still have gone on, and those responsible, their family, still alive.”
“After all this time, they still want her?”
It’s hard discussing this shit with her, knowing what to say and what to hold back. This is new territory for me. “There’s been changes with the Herreras at the top, Drummer might be being overcautious, but he knows enough to be worried. He wants to be prepared.”
Her head tilts as she examines me. “I don’t understand where we come in, or what you want from me? You know, Hell, if there’s some way I, or we, can help, you don’t have to ask.” Creases appear on her brow. “You mentioned someone wanting to transfer.”
This is the bit where she might get upset. Our personal history is all water under the bridge now. But it’s not as easy to dismiss as that. Though years might have passed, my old lady still dwells on what had left a permanent scar. “Paladin. He was just a prospect at the time, but he carried that young, drugged girl out of the house. When she came around, she remembered it was him, latched onto him. Paladin, well, he was taken by the kid. Seems a mutual attraction developed between them.”
Quickly she sits forward. “I know Satan’s Devils don’t do everything legal, but shit, Hell. Drummer shouldn’t have allowed…”
My hand slashes through the air. “He didn’t.” I snipe. “Let me fuckin’ finish, woman. Paladin was nineteen, Jayden fourteen. At the risk of losing his patch, Paladin had to promise to keep his hands off her until she reached the age of consent. Which in Arizona, is eighteen.”
“In Colorado it’s seventeen.” She purses her lips, and I can see her mind whirling. “How old is the girl now?”
“Sixteen, approaching seventeen, Drummer said.” I’d asked to estimate how much supervision she’d need. Knowing Mo, though, I can see why she’d think it significant, that’s confirmed by her next words.
“Paladin wants to bring her here so they can have sex.”
“No, Mo. Drummer wants Jayden to come here for protection. Paladin wants
to come with her so she isn’t alone.” My hand sweeps back through my grey/white hair. “Fuck, Moira, I don’t know much more than what I’ve told you. But there’s more to this shit than a boy wanting to get into a girl’s pants. Don’t forget the need to hide her. Reckon Paladin just wants to get her away from Tucson and somewhere she’d be safe.”
“They could have gone to Vegas if they just needed to get out of Arizona.” Moira stands and goes to open the window again, sweat glistening on her face. “I reckon the legal age limit has a lot to do with it.”
“Nah,” I contradict. “It’s because of us. You and me. San Diego is too close so that’s out of the question. Neither Utah or Las Vegas are anything approaching family clubs…”
“And we are?” she scoffs, incredulously.
“Not the club. Us,” I emphasise again. “We’ve raised a family. We’ve got experience with teenagers. That’s the way Drummer’s thinking.”
Again, her lips press together, clearly unconvinced. Yeah, Drummer had walked me through his reasoning. But I have to wonder if my old lady’s on track as to what’s in those youngsters’ heads. There’s not a lot I can do about it. I’ve had a request from the National Prez, I need to get my woman, and my brothers, on board with it. Hard to say no to Drummer.
Standing, I approach, laying my hand on her shoulder. “They’re still assessing the risk in Tucson, don’t want to upend a kid’s life if there’s no real reason. If they come here, and at this point, it’s still a big if, my suggestion is that they stay with us where we can keep an eye on them, and not at the club.”
Moira stares outside, there’s a squirrel searching for something to eat in the yard. Suddenly she turns around to face me. “She can,” she agrees. “But not him. Not until I know what the score is, Hell. I won’t be complicit in a young girl being forced to do anything she doesn’t want, or she’s not ready for.”
A compromise, and a good one at that. The direction of my woman’s thoughts doesn’t surprise me one bit. Gently turning her around to face me, I place my lips to her forehead. “Agreed, Mo. We’ll see how the land lies before throwing them together.”
We stand like that for a minute, then she pushes me away. “You going to be coming home tonight?”
Moving my head side to side I think. “We’ve got church, then I’ll have to be sociable and have a drink with the boys. I might need to stay at the club if the roads get iced up.”
Her face tightens. “Do what you’ve got to do, Hell. I won’t bother to wait up.” She turns fast, but not before I see her eyes glistening.
I say a goodbye to her back, then go grab my jacket, thick winter gloves, and a warm beanie, then back my bike out of the garage. A steady rain is falling, and by the look of the sky, it could turn to snow later. If it does, the sun rising tomorrow should quickly melt any that settles, good thing is, this time of year, snow doesn’t tend to hang around long. But the overnight temperatures will likely freeze it. Hate leaving my old lady alone, especially as our talk is bound to have dredged up thoughts of the past. But I can’t neglect my duties, and that means putting in an appearance at church. Only been a couple of times I’ve missed it in the twenty years I’ve sat in that chair.
I put on the goggles I wear in cold weather and start the engine of my Harley Dyna Glide. Its rumble echoing from the garage whose motion sensor fitted doors are automatically closing behind me, then, facing it in the right direction, shift up through the gears and I’m off.
It only takes twenty minutes for me to ride to the small steel mill that closed when the market collapsed in the early eighties. An appropriate setting for our compound, seeing as it was the resulting unemployment that led to the start of the motorcycle club which, eventually, threw in their lot with the Satan’s Devils. We had to knock the chimney down as it had become structurally dangerous, but the furnace remains. It’s a huge pit, large enough to melt down a train. We kept it, in part as a memorial to the mill’s origins, and by having placed our grills within it, as a talking point when weather permits and we hold club barbeques. In the factory alongside, brothers have rooms and the lower floor has been stripped out to become our clubhouse.
Over the almost four decades that we’ve been in existence, we’ve had the opportunity to mould it just how we like.
Mid-afternoon and the road’s relatively clear, I let my mind wander back, the plight of young Jayden bringing the past back to me, just as much as I suspect it had done to my wife.
In the beginning the clubhouse had been a makeshift affair. Crooked shelving housing drinks behind a couple of planks suspended on brick blocks which had been our bar top. Mismatched tables and chairs, a pool table which had seen better times. But the members, who in time would become Devils, were even then bonding together as a brotherhood, and while the MC was just the bare bones, it was slowly shaping up.
Black Plate, more commonly known as Blackie, had started the club, and had assumed the position of Prez. His friend, another steelworker kicked loose when the steel market plummeted, Furnace, joined him as his VP. Members have come and gone, usually via coffins, over the years. The only two remaining original members, other than myself, are Bomber and Rusty.
Blackie also happened to be my father. Showing me, his son, no favours, I’d joined at the bottom as a prospect. Absolutely no preference given for, or acknowledgement of, our relationship. I’d probably have been treated better if I hadn’t carried his genes. Maybe things might have been different had my mother lived. She’d died with complications from blood loss after having her only child, me. Something I’d felt he’d always blamed me for.
Drug running and moving guns had taken the place of earning an honest wage. Money in your pocket rather than eking a living from whatever you could. I didn’t like it, but had no alternative, with the crash of the steel industry, there were too many people unemployed and chasing after the few available jobs.
It was on one of the days I’d just finished making a delivery to a local dealer, when I first saw her. A sweet girl, walking arm and arm with a giggling friend. As they approached, I saw I was the target of their mirth, or, rather, interested, slightly nervous laughter.
Seeing them eyeing my bike, and the cut that I’m wearing, I pull out a pack of cigarettes, light one, and watch them draw closer.
My greeting, of, “Ladies,” accompanied by a grin and a chin lift has them giggling all over again.
They seem to be in awe as they approach. The one who’d first caught my attention, hangs back a little behind the other who’s got a more hardened seen-it-all look in her eyes.
It’s the bold one who’s assessing me. “You’re one of those bikers, aren’t you? In the new gang?”
“Not a gang, sweetheart. We’re a motorcycle club. We’re just men who love riding motorcycles.” It’s a practiced statement, one I find myself saying often.
The bold one inches nearer. “My name’s Jeannie. This is Moira.”
Moira peers out from behind her, waggling her fingers. She’s fucking adorable, and my cock hardens just watching her. Jeannie’s okay in the looks department, but while I can’t put my finger on it, Moira’s got an aura of innocence about her which, strangely, I find appealing.
“Jeannie, Moira,” I raise my chin and shake out my thick, dark and curly shoulder-length hair.
“You have parties up at your clubhouse, don’t you?” Jeannie brazenly asks.
I grin, answering, “Sometimes.” At least once a week and often more than that.
Jeannie looks at Moira, whose eyes have gone large in her face. Although she tugs at Jeannie’s arm, it has no effect, nor does it stop Jeannie from almost making a demand, “Can we come?”
I’m more interested in Moira, who resembles a rabbit caught in the headlights. A thought hits me. “How old are you babes?”
“I’m eighteen, she’s seventeen.” Again, it’s Jeannie who answers.
I nod, pleased. At least they’re both of the age of consent. Jeannie, I could take or leave, my cock do
esn’t seem bothered at all. But Moira? Don’t know what it is, but there’s just something about her. My cigarette’s burned down to the stub, I put it out against the heel of my boot. “Tell you what, you give me your numbers and maybe I’ll call you sometime.”
I’m not promising anything, but Jeannie’s grin looks like she’s scooped the jackpot. Quickly she delves into her purse, takes out some paper and writes on it, handing me just one number. Uh uh, not yours I want honey. I stare at Moira. “What about you, sweetheart?”
Jeannie glances at her friend, and her grin widens. Then as Moira’s mouth forms a shocked O; Jeannie takes back her note and jots down a second number.
I pocket the paper, and start the engine, it roars loudly making both of them jump. “Later, ladies,” I call out, as I kick down into first, let out the clutch and twist the throttle, and disappear down the street.
Chapter Three
Moira
Of course Hellfire’s going to stay at the club tonight. Oh, if I’m honest, I wouldn’t want him riding in this weather. Already the rain has turned to sleet, and I expect there will be a covering of snow by late evening. The probable condition of the roads is a perfectly rational explanation, and one I would readily accept were it not that it seems he’s staying overnight at the club more and more lately, hardly ever coming home. Or is that just my imagination?
I close the window, the sensation that I was going to explode from overheating having dissipated for now. God, how I hate the changes happening to my body. No wonder Hell doesn’t want to sleep with me, most nights I wake up dripping with sweat and throwing off all the bedcovers. He’ll be in luxury lying by himself in the king-size bed in his room in the compound, no one tossing and turning beside him.
Or will he be alone?
I’m not blind. I know the breasts he used to admire are sagging, my tummy’s no longer flat, and my waist has started disappearing. It’s no wonder he’s not approached me for sex in ages. I couldn’t match up to the sweet butts and hangarounds that throw themselves at my man, all wanting to be the one to bed the president.
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