Amy's Santa: Satan's Devils MC Second Generation #1

by Manda Mellett

  Stopping my torture, I lean down and kiss her sweetly, then raise my head back up. “Now all we’ve got to do is make sure Isabel and Alexis never leave the compound.”

  Her eyes roll. “What is it with men and their daughters?”

  My eyes fall again on the clock which has been mercilessly counting the minutes. “Shit, darlin’, I gotta go.”

  Lines appear on her brow. “Promise me, you’ll come home.”

  She’s not stupid, and I’d rather not say anything than lie to her. I settle for a simple, “I promise. When you see Amy, give her my love, will you?” Knowing it was quite possible I wouldn’t see her this morning, I’d said goodbye to her yesterday evening.

  “I will, Heart. But she won’t be gone long this time.”

  I hope not, trusting that when the month has passed, she’ll be home forever.

  Closing our bedroom door I descend the stairs. When I get to the bottom, Isabel waves a cup of coffee in my direction.

  “Dad, aren’t you getting too old for you and mom to—”

  I put my hand over her mouth. “Never.” The kids are all of age now, and I don’t feel the slightest remorse that she heard me and her mom. I’d rather she heard us making love than growing up with parents always fighting.

  I’m still chuckling at her audacity as I walk down the incline.

  I find the others already waiting outside the auto-shop.

  “Finished getting your dick wet?” Peg calls out.

  “Like you didn’t,” I throw back, and his smug grin shows I’m right. I glance at Wraith.

  The ex-VP shrugs. “Sophie insisted.”

  Blade shouts out, “Tash is insatiable, what’s a man to do?”

  Mouse barks a laugh.

  “You too?” I ask. His smirk confirms it.

  “Alright, alright,” says Drummer. “Enough about your morning fucks.”

  “Sam not put out?” Peg challenges him. “That why you’re in a mood?”

  “I’m not in a fuckin’ mood,” he snaps back. “And as if it’s any of your business, she always does. Likes to see my engine revving.”

  Hmm. TMI. I know he has a V-twin tattooed on his chest, but I really don’t want to think of how that might move when he’s getting down to business.

  “Right, gather around.” When Drummer uses that serious tone, we fall silent, and stand in a group around him, why we’re here taking precedence over any joking. “Mouse has confirmed Flint’s got the day off work, so we’ll assume he’s at home. We all know what we’re doing?”

  We take a few moments going over the plan again. When Drummer’s satisfied we’re as prepared as we can be, he signals we should go to our bikes. My mood changes, and I’m focused on just one thing. I’m going to find the man who hurt my baby girl and get my revenge on him. By tonight, there’ll be one less bastard breathing.

  “Mornin’,” a loud voice shouts out.

  We all swing around. Fuck, if it wasn’t so serious I’d laugh at the look Drummer’s sporting. For the first time ever that I can remember, he’s gone a bright shade of red, and his eyes are shifting to the side. Embarrassment and guilt written all over his face.

  Prez is wheeling his bike down the track. Hawk, his VP, is alongside him, behind is his sergeant-at-arms, Hound, and finally Throttle, his enforcer.

  “Mornin’.” Drummer recovers fast. He leans back against his bike and folds his arms. “You going for a ride out as well?” he asks deceptively casually.

  “Thought we’d tag along, it’s such a nice day.”

  Nice day? I glance up at the sky where dark clouds are forming, glad I’ve got my wet weather gear in my saddlebags. I realise our problem and wonder how the fuck Drummer’s going to get out of it.

  “Nah,” he tells Wizard with a shake of his head. “Us old-timers are going to take it slow and steady. You’ll just get bored.”

  Prez looks around at his companions. “We don’t mind a gentle ride. Be good for us to lay off the throttle for once.”

  Fuck.

  Even Drummer seems stumped about how he’s going to handle this. What can we do? Go for a short ride, say we’re turning back and hope they go off on their own? I really don’t want to cancel. I raise my chin toward Drum, directing a pleading look at him. But he responds with a shrug and a shake of his head.

  Wizard kicks down the stand of his bike to support it, then walks the few steps to join us. Hawk, Throttle, and Hound also leave their rides and gather behind him. A show of support for the prez.

  “I know what you’re doing.” Wizard addresses Drummer first, then his eyes fall on us one by one.

  Fuck.

  “You can’t stop us, Wiz.” Drum lays those steel eyes on him.

  “Can’t I?” he says, deceptively lazily. “What if your prez,” he emphasises the word, “forbids it?”

  Fuck me. I raise my eyebrows in horror. If he did that, there’s no way we can go through with it. Amy, I vow, I’ll get rid of Flint on my own if I have to. But that would mean going against my prez which could lose me my patch and get me thrown out of the club. Fuck. I’ve given thirty years of my life to this MC, could I really walk away from it? What would I do without the Satan’s Devils behind me?

  Wizard’s allowing us a moment to think. Suddenly he barks a laugh and claps his hand down on Drummer’s shoulder.

  “Fuckin’ old men,” he says without malice, then turns his head to address his companions. “Thinking they can get away with shit without needing babysitters.” His face hardens and his voice becomes deep as he looks toward me, then addresses Drummer, “This concerns the woman who’s going to be my old lady. You’re going after the fucker who raped her, for fuck’s sake. You think for one fuckin’ second we’re staying behind?” He knows. Amy must have told him. I suppose it’s a plus they’ve a relationship where she’s able to confide.

  Wizard waits a moment for that to sink in, while I let out the breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding. Finally he finishes with, “So,” he grins evilly at Drummer, “what’s the plan?”

  We discuss what we’d decided for a few minutes, and Wizard makes some adjustments as is his right.

  When we all know what we’re doing, Peg asks, frown lines on his face, “How the hell did you know what we were doing? What gave us away?”

  Wizard glances at Mouse. “I checked what you’d been searching. Flint’s address, his work schedule…”

  “Fuck, Wiz.” Mouse is shaking his head.

  Two hours later, we’re riding around the back of an abandoned office building in Phoenix, stopping at the rear parking lot which is hidden from the road. Mouse had somehow managed to find a suitable place to use at short notice. As we get off our bikes, I notice Peg’s hands massaging the middle of his back and he’s rolling his head to get the kinks out of his neck. Drummer’s shaking out his hands. Blade, having driven the plain white crash truck, grins as he steps down.

  A light drizzle is falling, not enough to make us stop and suit up in our wet gear, so while my leather jacket kept my body dry, my jeans are damp which is playing hell with the leg I’d shattered twice in the past. I flex it, rubbing my thigh and calf when I bend down.

  To give him his due, Wizard and the officers with him give us a moment making no witty comments about old men.

  Wasting no time, Blade’s already switching the plates on the truck.

  Our new plan is that just four of us will go to Flint’s house in the truck with Blade, while the rest stay with the bikes. This many bikers would stand out, even if we’re not flying colours. Wizard had also suggested another amendment, one which made Blade and Throttle exchange grins.

  We’d agreed I would be one of the ones in the truck—well I wasn’t going to miss out on visiting the bastard’s lair. Same goes for Wizard. With us will be the current and ex sergeant-at-arms. It was a good move. No one in their right minds would face off against a big fucker like Peg, and that also goes for Hound.

  The next step in the plan requires me swearing
on my children’s life not to punch Flint in the face immediately upon seeing him. My word had been necessary; we’d agreed that I’ll be the one to approach Flint’s front door as I apparently look the least threatening. That’s okay, I’ve been underestimated many times.

  Having switched plates, Blade checks with Mouse and programs the GPS. Then, with back slaps and instructions to get the fucking job done, we pile into the truck.

  Five minutes later and we’re at our destination. I’m tense as we first take a casual drive up the street to give us a chance to assess the house and the surrounding area. Mouse though, I’m pleased to see, had got it right, and the privacy Flint clearly desires is going to be his downfall. I share a twisted grin with Prez. Blade pulls the truck over and parks.

  “I couldn’t see any cameras, and the hedge will give us some cover,” Wizard offers.

  “When you get there, keep your head down, Heart,” Peg suggests, “in case he has security on the front door.”

  Appreciating the unnecessary warning, I give him a sharp nod. “I’ll keep my eye out.”

  “His car was parked to the side of the house. I couldn’t see any windows along that wall,” Hound comments. “He wouldn’t see the damage from inside.”

  “Then we don’t need to actually slash the tyres,” Prez says. “We’ll just tell him that’s what’s been done. Blade, make sure you’re ready to come on Heart’s signal.”

  “Here.” Hound hands me the overalls he’d grabbed from our auto-shop. Awkwardly, as there’s not a lot of space, I slip into them. Now I’ll just look like a mechanic on his way home from work.

  “You got your head in the right place for this, Heart?” Prez checks, his eyes hardening as they find mine. “Remember, success hinges on you keeping your cool. Trusting you, Brother.”

  Raising my chin, I give my silent promise.

  “Okay. Let’s get this show on the road.” Prez opens the door and gets out, we follow him. “Ready boys?”

  I rise up on the balls of my feet then let my heels down. “Never been readier.”

  “Ready, Prez,” comes followed by two more affirmative replies.

  As Prez bangs twice on the truck, Blade drives off to find somewhere to make a U-turn and will return so he’s facing the right way down the street. Next Wizard, Peg, and Hound start walking sharply in the direction of Flint’s house. While I give them a minute to get into position, in case anyone’s watching, I bend down and pretend to tie an imaginary bootlace.

  Time. I stand and take a deep breath. My job is getting Flint out of the house unharmed and without arousing his suspicion. But knowing the fucker has had his hands on my kid means it’s a mammoth task to remember not to punch him in the jaw at first sight. But I’ve promised my prez, and if I want him dead, and want to live life as a free man, this is the way I’ll have to play it.

  Nonchalantly, I walk down the street. I walk past the house, stop then turn back. Then moving to one side, I make myself look like I’m trying to stay out of sight of the garage. Then I approach and ring the front door.

  It takes two presses of the button before I hear movement inside.

  Fuck. A woman answers, her face tightening at the sight of a stranger. Her presence may be a complication which could fuck up the plan. Then I notice the yellow/greenish signs of a healing black eye and wonder if maybe, it won’t.

  She eyes me up and down and makes her own assumptions from the clothes I’m wearing. “I’m sorry, you must have the wrong house. We didn’t call anyone out.”

  “Is the man of the house home?” I lean forward and almost whisper, “You’ve got a problem.” I jerk my head toward the side of the house where the car is parked out of sight. Behind my back I cross my fingers, if he’s not, hopefully my brothers will find something to use as an excuse if it’s her that goes looking.

  I’m dressed as a mechanic, maybe she thinks I spotted a puddle of oil under his vehicle, but whatever, she doesn’t seem suspicious.

  Instead she half turns. “Malc? Someone for you.”

  When he comes, she sidles away, giving a pointed glare to his back. She’s leaving him to my mercy, not that he’s going to get much of that.

  “Who are you and what do you want?” he demands in an authoritative voice. The sound of someone used to getting his own way.

  I motion with my finger against my lips. “There are three men, they look like they’re trying to get into your car.”

  “What the hell?”

  I nod. “I was just passing and saw them.” I look him up and down. “I didn’t want to approach them by myself, but the two of us can probably chase them off.”

  “Damn right we can.” He puffs up his chest, then pushes me aside and strides off to where his car is parked.

  I follow, surreptitiously sliding my phone into my hand and shooting off a text to Blade.

  Damn but Devils are good. In the few seconds head start I’ve given them, by the time I round the corner it’s to see Flint lying on the ground, tape over his mouth. Though it’s not necessary right now, but will keep him quiet when he regains consciousness.

  “Who hit him?”

  “Peg.” Hound pauses, looking at the front yard which as Mouse had said, has high hedges and a security fence all around. “Fucker went out like a light.”

  He would have. Peg might be nearing sixty, but he still works out and has got a lot of power in his right arm, as I’ve found out when I’ve been pitched against him in our ring.

  Then it’s all action as Blade backs the crash truck onto the drive in such a way as it looks like he’s chosen this driveway to turn around. It goes smooth and fast. Hound fast has the unconscious man in a fireman’s lift and deposits him in the back of the truck while we pile inside. Then we’re off, the whole thing taking only seconds. Our only problem is if the wife is looking out. I’d glanced back, but hadn’t seen any sign of her.

  We reverse our tracks to the parking lot where we left the others and our bikes. Quick as a flash, Blade changes the license plates back to the normal ones, then he’s just driving a plain white truck, no different from a million others on the road.

  “Any trouble?”

  “Nah, Drum. Went like a dream,” Prez tells him with a wide grin. “In and fuckin’ out fast.”

  “The wife was home,” I warn them. “It’s possible she saw us putting him in the truck if she was looking out.”

  “We’re not wearing cuts. She could report the make and model of the truck, but even if she clocked the plate, it won’t matter.”

  I listen hard but can hear no sirens, which is good. She could give a description of me. But hell, I don’t care. We’ve got the fucker who hurt Amy, mission fuckin’ successful. Even if she’s asked to look at a photo line-up, they’re unlikely to find me.

  “I don’t want to hang around,” Prez starts, then turns. “Blade, he’s trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey, gagged to boot. If he comes round, he shouldn’t give you any trouble. If he does, pull over, and we’ll knock him out again.”

  Blade nods and grins at Prez’s instructions. “I can manage that myself.” He waves his hands. “Fists are fine, it’s straightening my fingers out that gives me problems.”

  “Mount up, Brothers. Let’s go home.”

  We ride out, Blade following behind in the crash truck. I grin to myself. Blade looks more cheerful than he has for some time, that arthritis in his hands is a bitch. I hope, when we get Flint back to the compound, Throttle steps back and lets his predecessor have some fun. He deserves it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Heart

  Instead of following through with our original plan to do what we had to do in a discreet location in Phoenix, it had been Prez’s idea to take him back to the compound where we can take our time. It’s safe to say everyone was on board with the changes Wiz had suggested. One benefit of him insisting on coming along with us.

  We ride carefully in formation back to Tucson, Prez and his boys leading the pack, Drummer and Wraith behind, then
Peg and Mouse, and finally, myself. When I hear a siren behind us and a squad car comes into sight, I’m tempted to twist my throttle, but Wizard signals that we’re to go into single file and slow down. Blade pulls over to the side, and the cops go whizzing past, with only a cursory glance in our direction. Then we resume our journey, me with a loud thumping in my chest.

  I sigh with relief when we reach the compound and offer up thanks that before his death, Viper had the foresight to put pavement down all the way to the storeroom. Just for occasions such as this, though as far as the women knew, it was to bring shit in and out without carrying heavy boxes up from the gate. So Blade carries on driving while we back into our parking slots outside the clubhouse.

  I glance in the window, see some of the women looking up expectantly at the door, but as no one enters, they go back to what they’re doing. I grin at the sight of the huge Christmas tree in the corner. What we’re going to do now is incongruous with the spirit of the season. Or is it? Flint’s going to welcome the gift of death in a few hours’ time.

  “Coming?”

  Try and keep me a-fuckin’-way. Alongside the others, full of anticipation, I walk up the track that leads to the isolated and soundproofed storeroom.

  “Fucker’s come round,” Blade informs us as we arrive, but the thumping and banging from the truck render his words unnecessary.

  Hound nods at Throttle, and they go to the back doors, open them, and then together they pull the bound man out by his feet, uncaring as his head smashes to the ground. Watching, I feel no sympathy as he’s dragged into the storeroom, my head full of how he’d hurt my little girl. There, expertly as if they’re masters at this, they soon have him strung up, and Throttle’s slicing off his clothes.

  I raise my eyebrow at Blade and grin. Seems the new guard is just as competent as we used to be, and still are, given half the chance. Blade’s returning grin back is reminiscent of that you’d see on a Halloween decoration. He’s getting ready to go to work.

  Finally, Wizard strips the tape gag off, taking facial hair with it. Again, I don’t wince on his behalf. I don’t give a fuck how much he’s hurting. It will be nothing to how he’ll be feeling soon enough, and less than he deserves.