He goes to retaliate but he doesn’t get a chance to let loose, as Peg, who’s followed us out, grabs him from behind. “Drummer will want an explanation tomorrow as well,” he snarls. “You’ve taken one punch from the VP, it might not be the last. Now suck it up like a man.”
Buster’s arm falls back to his side, but if looks carried any weight, I’d be the one staggering back by now. I take it the feeling between us is pretty mutual, and I won’t be losing any sleep over that.
With a careful eye on Buster, but confident Peg’s watching my back, I turn toward the door, shouting a ‘goodnight’ over my shoulder. It’s late, and I decide to call it a night. I can’t be bothered with a club whore tonight—they’re pretty much being used from what I saw earlier—and for some reason, even if there was one available, I doubt she could interest me. Instead, I decide to go back to my room where I might take myself in hand in the shower, with thoughts of a cute blonde-haired woman in my mind.
Chapter Five
Sophie…
To say this place overwhelms me is an understatement. When Horse said he’d take me somewhere where I’d be safe and protected, I never thought I’d end up in a real-life biker club. Bloody hell! Waking the next morning and remembering my introduction to their clubhouse, I’m not certain whether I’m dreaming or have been dumped into a nightmare. How the hell did I end up on the set of Sons of Anarchy?
All these men, most surprisingly good looking and built, though admittedly some a bit rougher around the edges than others—well, the old Sophie would have been in her element. But the new damaged version? She’s justifiably scared. With restricted movement, I’m helpless, and the wheelchair I have to use makes me feel small and defenceless. What do I know of these people? Only that they’re bikers living on the edge. What if any of them decided to take advantage of me?
Dragging myself out of bed, trying to shake off the jet lag from the seven-hour time difference between here and England, I shower and dress, the whole process necessarily made lengthier by my disability. As I get ready for the day, I think more about the men I met briefly yesterday, still not able to believe the intention is they are going to be my companions for the foreseeable future.
And Wheels! Who would denigrate a disabled person by giving them such a despicable handle? Presumably, men who think it’s funny. I certainly don’t.
I pause in the middle of pulling on my jeans. The man who’d brought Horse and me to our suite, he’s particularly good-looking and seemed pleasant enough―except even he insisted on calling me that god-awful name. My eyebrows pull together as I try to bring his features back to mind. He has a beard, which I didn’t think I’d like but which seems to suit him, shaggy dark blonde hair tied up in a man bun, and gold stud earrings in both ears. I’d noticed him standing at the bar, his face had been quick to darken in anger when he thought the others were crowding me but seemed just as fast to beam with a welcoming smile which transformed him to beyond handsome. Even though I believed I’d become immune to such things, for the first time since my accident, his proximity caused a flicker of excitement inside, the likes of which I never expected to flame again.
Resuming pulling the denim over my good leg, then feeding my stump through, the thought I wasn’t completely immune from womanly feelings makes me want to cry. There’s fuck all point in feeling any sort of attraction. Why would any man who wasn’t desperate want to lumber himself with an inconvenience like me? And especially not now that I’ve seen what else is on offer—the other women in the club—they were stunning, if in a slutty kind of way. And most important of all, they each had two good legs that they could wrap tight around a man. Just like I used to do.
My hands ball in frustration, and then I hit the sides of my wheelchair with my palms. I hate the darn thing; hate everything that was taken away from me. Life’s cruel to have brought me here. If it weren’t for Zoe, perhaps I should have taken my chances or just let Ethan finish what he started. Maybe it would be better to be dead than only half alive. What kind of life is this? It wasn’t fair of Horse, plonking me down in the middle of a club filled with enough eye-catching men that I feel like a starving person wearing a gag at a banquet. Quickly cursing my hormones for causing physical reactions I’ve no chance of following up, I angrily wipe a stray tear from my eye.
A knock on the door startles me, dragging me out of my dark thoughts.
“Hey, Soph. You up yet?”
“Yeah, come on in, Horse. I’m decent.” Decent. Yup. Jeans or jogging bottoms are all I wear now, hiding what I’ve lost from prying eyes. The short skirts and shorts the other girls were wearing last night are things of the past for me, mind you, even the old Sophie would never have gone to the extremes they had. Honest-to-goodness, their arses were hanging out under those skimpy skirts.
“You feeling alright?” His brow furrows as he picks up I might not have woken up in a particularly good mood.
I want to rail at him, berate him for bringing me here, but luckily my brain catches up, and I recognise he’s done his best, getting me out of the country to a place that he thinks is safe, though I have my suspicions it’s anything but.
Truthfully, Horse has been great. He makes no fuss about my disability, just gets on coping with it pragmatically in a way I can’t seem to do. To give him his due, he’s not once made me feel on edge or embarrassed around him and has been quick to my defence when others do so, as demonstrated by his concern for my dignity at the airport.
So I decide to go easy on him. It’s not his fault I feel so out of my depth, he’s doing his best. “Okay, I guess.”
I won’t tell him about the usual nightmare which had me waking, sweating, and panicking in the small hours. After the past months, I’m getting used to that. The sound of metal hitting flesh echoing through my head, lying helpless on the ground seeing the car stop and come back toward me again, hearing the shouts and screams of the onlookers; the dream that’s hard to shake off even when I awake. It doesn’t help give me a positive outlook when morning comes.
To get it out of my mind, I decide it’s time to get some answers. “Horse, you’ve brought me to a fucking biker club for goodness’ sake! How the hell am I’m going to fit in here? How long will I be staying?” Part of me still hangs onto the hope this was just a stopover, and he’s actually going to be taking me on somewhere else.
He heaves a sigh, then comes and sits down on my bed. I wheel over and position myself in front of him. Raising his eyes, he looks into mine and then takes my hands in his. “You’re at the Satan’s Devils clubhouse,” he starts. “I usually spend six months of the year in the States. As you know, I’m an artist; my medium is airbrushing. Seems my skills are quite in demand. While I’m here, I use the clubhouse as my base and travel all over doing motorcycles, helmets, cars, you name it, and for the right price, I’ll do it.”
I nod, from what he’s already told me of his occupation and the examples of his work, I can see how his skills would be popular.
“Anyway,” he continues, “I was due to come over next month. But having met that rather unpleasant gentleman, Hargreaves, I knew we had to get away fast. Just seemed to make sense if I could come a bit earlier this year, as it would be a good place for you to hide out for a bit. If Ethan’s got the reach he’s known for, then you couldn’t be in a better place.” He pauses and the creases on his forehead become more defined. After a moment, his lips curl up slightly. “I guess I didn’t give much thought to how you’d fit here, just seemed a convenient place to bring you. I can see how it might seem a bit alarming to you at first, but know this, Soph—if you’re good to the men they’ll protect you with their lives.”
Now I draw back, pulling my hands out of his. It seems my worst nightmare wasn’t the one I had during the night. As a wave of panic floods through me, I repeat in a soft whisper, “If I’m good?” Then it hits me. “You expect me to act like one of those women last night?” Fuck, I saw one of them sucking a man off right there in the clubhouse. “What
the hell have you got me into here, Horse?”
“No, no!” Horse stands and quickly waves his palms toward me in dismissal. “I didn’t mean like that. You’re not here as a club whore. Fuck no.” He runs his hands over his head, and there’s that familiar gesture again as he pinches his nose. “Hell, Sophie. All I meant was you shouldn’t make waves, cause any trouble. And above all, keep your mouth shut about the club and anything that goes on here.” He paces for a moment, then comes back, and putting his massive hands on the arms of my chair leans over. “I’ve taken responsibility for you, Soph. And these boys take that very seriously. If you said anything to the wrong person, then it would be on my back.”
I gasp. He’s taken responsibility for me? What exactly does that mean? And why and what has to be kept so secret? After staring up at his massive frame for a moment, it suddenly drops into place. My eyes narrow as it dawns on me. “I take it what they do isn’t exactly legal?” They might be even closer to the Sons of Anarchy than I first thought.
Now his eyes fix on mine so forcefully I wish I could move away. “I’m telling you, anything you see, anything you hear, is none of your fucking business. Got it?”
His abruptness has shocked me but has got the message through. I nod, my mouth gaping.
He stands, pulls down the cuffs of his shirt, an automatic action giving his hands something to do, and in a calmer voice he tries to explain, “Soph, I couldn’t leave you in England, it wasn’t safe. St John-Davies is a real threat. Christ, if you’d seen what he’d done to your friend when she turned up at Josh’s garage… then you’d understand.”
“Tell me, Horse.” I obviously hadn’t been told the full story before.
I can see he’s reluctant to share the details, but then, as his shoulders slump, he realises he has to. “Her wrist was broken―she’d bound it with vet wrap that you use for dogs for God’s sake—and was too frightened to get medical attention. Her nose looked broken, and both her eyes were blackened, though she’d done well to disguise them. I don’t know how old she was, but she walked like a fucking old woman, Soph. He’d given her a vicious beating.”
My hand goes over my mouth. Oh Zoe, how could you let it get that far? I voice my thoughts out loud, “Why didn’t she leave him before? I hadn’t heard from her for months. I’d have helped her…”
“He’s got a very long reach, Soph. Drummer’s been digging and has found some stuff out about him. I think she waited until she had no other choice, when it was either make an attempt to escape or stay and quite possibly end up dead.”
“But he couldn’t get away with murder—”
“He got away with your accident.” Horse’s voice is rising again. “And he could likely get away with killing someone. He’s well protected, Soph. Don’t underestimate him.”
If the purpose of Horse’s little pep talk was to frighten me, that’s precisely what he’s achieved. While I might not be hugely enamoured of my temporary home, the picture he’s painted makes the alternative decidedly unattractive.
He gives me a few moments to process what he’s told me, then his tone lightens. “I don’t know about you, but we didn’t get much to eat yesterday; airline food sucks. Now, shall we go and see what passes for breakfast here? With luck one of the old ladies will be cooking.”
Actually, I’d much rather stay here hidden in my room, but if I’m going to be stuck here for months, maybe I ought to make an effort and at least get out to take note of my surroundings. It was dark when we came to the suite. Then the strangeness of his words sinks in. “Old ladies? Do they do the work around here?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. I’m surprised—doesn’t seem the kind of place where old women would want to be employed. All at once I have a vision in my head of elderly grandmothers all standing around a stove with leather-clad bikers urging them on.
He barks a hearty laugh and my eyes crease as I can’t see the joke. “No, love. An old lady is akin to a wife in the biker world. When a biker commits to a girl, they become known as his old lady, whatever their age.”
Now I scrunch up my face in disgust. “What a horrible term.” I’d hate to be called anyone’s old lady.
“Babe, you’ve got a lot to learn.” He shakes his head, still chortling. “To have one of these men give a girl that title, well, it’s a real honour, and in the biker world, at least equivalent to, if not more of a commitment than marriage.”
For a moment I wonder whether the scantily dressed girls I saw last night are old ladies, and whether their biker men are happy with them having it all out on show. Then I shrug, that’s none of my business.
“Are you a member of the club, Horse?” I realise I haven’t seen him wearing a cut.
“Not really. They made me an honorary member out of respect for what I do for them, but I’ve not got the patch,” he explains patiently. Though the way he’s fidgeting on his feet suggests he probably wants to head out for some breakfast.
But while he’s in a talkative mood, I take advantage. “Have you got an old lady?”
His face tightens, and I realise I’ve touched a nerve. “No. Not anymore.” And I know I won’t be getting anything else out of him when he adds, “Breakfast. Now.” Without waiting for my agreement, he moves behind me and starts pushing my chair. Now this is what I absolutely hate, people thinking they can literally push me around without me having any say in the matter.
“I’ve got this,” I tell him firmly while putting my hands on the wheels and starting to propel myself.
It doesn’t take long to get back to the clubhouse and, as there’s a slight downhill to it, wheeling myself gives me no problem at all. The surface is good, so I’m able to glance around, interested to see the remains of the old resort the man called Wraith had described. The majority of the blocs have been repaired or rebuilt while others remain burned-out shells. As the wheels turn smoothly over the ground, I’m glad to note I shouldn’t have too much problem getting around by myself. One plus, I won’t have to rely on other people.
Once I’ve taken in the view, I have another question for Horse. “I don’t know what I’ll be doing here, Horse, but I usually spend my time reading. Is there Wi-Fi here, do you think? I’d like to download some books and stuff.” My life is so boring nowadays, I live vicariously through that of the characters in my books.
“You’ll have to talk to Mouse, he’s the computer guru here. He’ll tell you what you can and can’t do to avoid leaving a digital trail.”
And now we’re at the clubhouse, and even before we enter, I catch the welcoming waft of bacon cooking in the air, and immediately my mouth starts to water. Horse was right, I hadn’t eaten much the day before. Food always seems to taste better when someone else cooks it, so to my surprise, and for lately quite unusually, I start feeling hungry. Horse points the way to the kitchen, and I turn my wheelchair in that direction. Inside, we find a pretty-looking girl, about my age, and a small child running around getting under her feet. She looks up tiredly as we enter, then her face widens into a broad smile.
“Hey,” she greets us, “you must be Wheels. I’ve heard about you.” She’s tall, about five-foot-nine I’d guess. She’s wearing a flowing cream blouse over leggings which have a seascape printed on them. Her auburn hair is tied up in a messy bun with strands escaping to frame a face reddened from the heat of the stove.
“Sophie,” I correct her while wondering whether I should just give up and accept my acquired moniker.
After using a towel, she comes over and stretches a hand out to me. I reciprocate and raise mine to shake. “I’m Crystal,” she introduces herself. “My man’s Heart, and this is our daughter, Amy.” She glances around and spots her child under the large table that is in the centre of the room. “Amy, come here and say hi to our guests.”
A sweet-looking little girl who must be around two to three years old runs over and hugs her mother’s legs, then peers out from behind. “Hi,” comes out in a shy little voice.
I’m not particularly good with ch
ildren, but I summon a smile and respond, “Hi, Amy.”
A little hand comes out and a finger points at me. “Why you in a stroller? Mommy, isn’t the lady too big for a stroller?”
“Hush, child, don’t be rude,” Crystal admonishes her.
The unexpected, innocent question makes me laugh. “My legs don’t work, Amy,” I begin, making the explanation simple for her. “I’m in a buggy as I can’t walk.”
“Oh.” She stares at me for a second as if she’s having difficulty understanding that, and then quickly becoming bored, runs to the other side of the kitchen where she’s got some kind of toy oven set up. Incongruously, there’s a toy motorcycle poking out of a small saucepan.
Crystal looks at me and laughs. “Trust kids to be up front about things. Now, would you like some eggs and bacon? I’ve got waffles as well, and coffee.”
“Coffee!” I giggle at the desperation in my voice, and taking pity on me, Crystal makes sure I soon have a mug of the life-giving nectar in my hand before going back to her tasks our entrance had interrupted.
Breakfast turns out to be delicious, and there’s plenty of it. Necessary, as while I start munching away, various men wander in, some just filling plates and taking them off with them; others joining us and eating at the table. The banter around is light-hearted, and I sit, soaking it all up, wanting to know as much about this strange band of men as I can.
I recognise Dart as being one of the men who picked us up from the airport, and his friendly wink and easy grin encourage me to ask something I’m curious about. “What’s with the strange names?”
The corners of his mouth turn up even more. “They’re road names. When members get patched-in the club gives them a name.”
“So Dart’s not your real name?”
He laughs and shakes his head.
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