Satan's Devils MC Boxset 1

by Manda Mellett

  “Peg had two goes. I’m going again.” It seems his fall hasn’t deterred him.

  And he’s off. This time he’s learned his lesson but takes the uphill faster having watched Peg’s struggles. Back safe and sound, I give him his time.

  “Two minutes twenty.”

  Flipping his finger at Peg, Drum yells, “Put that in your fuckin’ pipe!”

  Dart puts his hand on the bike. “I’m fuckin’ trying this.” They swap places. Like Peg, he has a bit of trouble with the unfamiliar kick-start.

  Drum comes over to me and picks me up, swinging me up and around him. “Now that’s how it’s fuckin’ done!”

  As he plants a smacker on my lips, I laugh and push him away. “Get off me, I’m supposed to be timing Dart.”

  “Babe, he hasn’t fuckin’ figured out how to get it running yet!”

  But just as he finishes speaking, Dart gets off to a flying start, but his attempts at the hill have everyone cracking up. His time, on his second run, is two minutes twenty-five.

  Drum starts to boast, saying no one will beat him. It’s Viper’s turn next. When he comes in the last place so far, Sandy commiserates with him, his booby prize a big smacker on the lips.

  “Getting slow, old man!” Drum calls out.

  “Hush, Drum, that’s your future father-in-law you’re insulting.” I hit him gently on the arm.

  As he turns and his eyes blaze into me, I know it’s not the race he’s thinking off, but the commitment we’d just made to each other. A shout brings me back to my senses and I remember at the last second to time the next man.

  One by one the bikers take their chance, both from the Tucson chapter and Snake and Red’s men. Poor Road looks like he’s having a fit, hardly daring to watch as his bike’s receiving a hammering. Leathers are getting covered in mud, and if the idea was to make this look like a well-used dirt track, it’s certainly succeeding. The bike has picked up a couple of dents, but it’s alright, I’ll get them out. I continue my role as timekeeper, keeping note of the scores.

  Sophie hugs Wraith when he beats his prez’s score by a couple of seconds, and Drum playfully punches him in the chest, enough to make him fall back.

  “Sore loser, Drum?” Wraith’s not hurt, he’s laughing.

  “Fuck off!”

  Bullet starts off as though thinking he’s going to prove his name, but going faster than a bullet has its pitfalls on this uneven ground. He’s out of the race when he comes off and twists his ankle.

  “Fucking bike.” He kicks it as he walks away. “Plastic piece of Japanese crap.” He shrugs off Carmen’s arm and stomps off alone.

  Drum raises his eyebrow, Carmen’s grinning. “I’ll go after him. He’ll come around.”

  Heart’s run is good. When he beats Wraith, Crystal leaps on him, circling her legs around his waist and kissing him as if he’s won a major competition. She’s so pumped up she yells loudly, “My man. Did you see my man fuckin’ go? Did y’all fuckin’ see that?”

  “Fuckin’ go, Mommy,” a little voice repeats in a singsong voice.

  “Oh shit, pet, I, oh.” Crystal realises she better stop talking with Amy picking up her every word.

  “And you blame me for teaching her wrong.” Heart’s laughing out loud, then chuckles even harder as both Drum and Wraith flip the bird at him and he returns the gesture.

  The rest take their turns, Joker’s ahead now by nearly ten seconds. Then it’s almost neck and neck between him and Lady, with the latter only a second behind. Of course, the ex-Vegas boys are slapping their backs and saying how they’ve shown the Tucson guys how it’s done. Red’s beaming with pride.

  Marvel steps forward. “San Diego’s gonna trump both your asses,” he tells them confidently. His starting smile wiped off his face when he completes in a poor two minutes forty-five. Snake commiserates with his man.

  Our lot try hard, but nobody beats Joker. His ex-prez, Red, slapping him harder on the back when each other brother fails. When the final man has completed his run, I step forward. “My turn now.”

  Drum looks at me in consternation. “Sam…”

  “Drum?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Drum, I can do this.” Throwing a look over my shoulder, I see Road giving me a wink.

  Joker steps forward as though expecting to receive a trophy.

  “Not so fast, Joker.” I narrow my eyes.

  “Anyone got a brain bucket? My ol’ lady’s going to have a go.”

  At the roar of laughter, I swing around to Drum, thumping his arm. “Drummer! For goodness’ sake!” With one final glare at him, I go to the bike, mounting it easily and taking it off the stand. It’s taller than the bikes I’m used to, but I’ll be able to handle it okay. Means standing on tiptoes, though. I get it balanced and using the technique I’m well practised in with the Vincent, kick down to start the engine first time.

  “Gears are on the left, Sam!”

  Ignoring him and the chuckling his comment causes, I give Drum the finger and take off.

  The track’s been well used now, so I need to avoid the worst of the ruts. The going’s quite easy in the early stages, and then there’s the downhill—I take it at just the right speed, skidding a bit toward the bottom, but still well in control. Then it’s the uphill, applying a bit more throttle and without falter, I’m at the top. Mud’s spitting up around me, but I don’t give a damn. In my element, feeling free at last, the nightmares of the last few days fading into my rearview, I twist the throttle a bit more and fly over the finish line.

  Drum’s staring at his phone, his eyes wide. He’s shaking his head.

  “Drum, my time?” It seems I need to prompt him.

  But still he stays silent.

  “Yeah, Prez, what was her time?”

  At last, he looks up to meet my impatient gaze, another shake of his head, and then his lips curl. “One fuckin’ minute fifty-eight,” he calls out and then repeats it as though nobody’s heard, “One fuckin’ minute and fifty-eight fuckin’ seconds.” Now he’s racing toward me; I’m still sitting on the bike. He grabs hold of my hand and raises it into the air. “The fuckin’ winner is my fuckin’ ol’ lady!”

  “You cheat, Sam? You done this before?” Peg’s stomping toward me, his nostrils flaring.

  “Nah, Peg. Never done this before.” I pat the bike’s engine. “Might do it again, though. Hey, Drum. Might get myself a dirt bike.” I grin at the expression on his face.

  “Think the track’s gonna become a permanent fixture,” Wraith observes as he steps forward to take the weight of the bike from me. “That was fun.” Then his eyes narrow. “And now we’ve got a target to beat. How the fuck did you manage that, Wrench?”

  Shrugging I tell him, “I speak engine, remember.”

  As Wraith steadies the bike, Drum swings me up and off and into his arms. “Fuck, Sam.” Then he whispers into my ear, “You might have won the fuckin’ race, Sam, you might have beaten me, but I feel like the fuckin’ winner here. I won you. You’re gonna be one hell of a president’s ol’ lady.”

  Yeah, I beat you Drum, but I won you, too. More important than any race.

  Slick Running

  Satan’s Devils #3

  Copyright

  Published 2017 by Trish Haill Associates

  Copyright Manda Mellett

  Cover Design by Lia Rees at Free Your Words

  (www.freeyourwords.com)

  Formatted and re-edited by Maggie Kern @ Ms.K Edits

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book reviews.

  www.mandamellett.com

  Disclaimer

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely
coincidental.

  Warning

  This book is dark in places and contains content of a sexual, abusive and violent nature. It is not suitable for persons under the age of 18.

  Author’s Note

  Slick Running is the third in the Satan’s Devils MC Series, but can be read as a standalone.

  I’ve been overwhelmedby the reception given to the first two books in the series, Turning Wheels and Drummer’s Beat, and the support and encouragement to continue with the Satan’s Devils. I’m having as much fun writing these as I understand you are reading them.

  If you’re new to MC books, you may find there are terms that you haven’t heard before, so I’ve included a glossary to help along the way. I hope you get drawn into this mysterious and dark world in the same way I have done–there will be further books in the Satan’s Devils series which I hope you’ll want to follow.

  If you’ve picked this book up because, like me, you read anything MC, I hope you’ll enjoy it for what it is, a fictional insight into the underground culture of alpha men and their bikes.

  Cast of Characters - Arizona

  Officers

  Drummer – President

  Wraith – Vice President

  Heart – Secretary

  Dollar – Treasurer

  Peg – Sergeant-at-arms

  Blade – Enforcer

  Mouse – Computer Expert

  Patched Members

  Beef

  Bullet

  Buster

  Dart

  Joker

  Lady

  Marvel

  Rock

  Slick

  Shooter

  Tongue

  Viper

  Prospects

  Hyde

  Jekyll

  Marsh

  Roadrunner

  Old Ladies & Children

  Carmen (Bullet’s)

  Sandy (Viper’s)

  Crystal (Heart’s): Amy

  Sophie (Wraith’s)

  Sam (Drummer’s)

  Sweet Butts

  Allie

  Diva

  Jill

  Paige

  Pussy

  Deceased Members

  Adam

  Buster

  Hank

  Cast of Characters - Las Vegas

  Officers

  Red – President

  Crash – Vice President

  Fox – Secretary/Treasurer

  Keys – Computer Guy

  Patched Members

  Titch

  Rope

  Cuff

  Old Ladies

  Rosa - was married to old president who died –

  children – Twins Tristan & Tom

  Tiffany - (Fox’s)

  Chapter One

  Four months ago

  Ella…

  I’d defy anyone who’s a resident of Tucson not to be aware of the Satan’s Devils Motorcycle Club, whether they regard them with fear and hide in the shadows as the sound of thunder announces their approach, or, like me, eyeball them with a mixture of intrigue and curiosity.

  Maybe it’s down to the parts of the city that I frequent, but I often see them on my side of town, wearing leather vests proudly claiming their loyalty to the Tucson chapter. My interest in them is, at least in part, inspired by my being a hopeless romantic and spending far too much of my time with my nose in my e-reader devouring MC romance novels as though they were going out of fashion. My imagination fueled by the rough but tender outlaw bikers I read about, making me wish for an opportunity to discover if fiction bears any similarity to the flesh and blood men I see riding around on their Harleys in real life.

  It’s rumoured they own the Wheel Inn Restaurant and Bar, and whether they do or don’t, it’s an excellent place to find tall, ruggedly handsome, muscular, and tattooed members of the club who regularly drop by, presumably, if the gossip is true, to check in on their investment. Though I’d never gone inside—let’s face it, I can barely afford a takeaway from McDonald’s—I often manage to find an excuse to walk past on my way to work, if only in the hope that I’ll bump into the man of my dreams.

  Just a distant sighting of one of them on their gleaming machines is sufficient to make my mouth and lady parts water, something to store up for the lonely nights in my bed.

  Until one day when I was passing and, so intent on letting my eyes feast on a pair of bikers standing talking, I tripped on the kerb and fell into leather-clad arms. As I flushed red, I made the mistake of glancing up into a pair of the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen, only to be met with a smirk. He’d righted me, patted me on the shoulder and sent me away with a little slap to my butt. I was dismissed. I’d walked on fast to put distance between us, berating myself as to how stupid I was to think little plain old me would ever attract their attention. Shit! I’d literally fallen at his feet and thrown myself at him, but he’d barely noticed, not even pausing his conversation, showing discussing bike parts was clearly far more interesting than me.

  After that, embarrassment had me changing my route, no longer taking the detour past the establishment they apparently own, relegating thoughts of devastatingly handsome bikers to where they belonged—in my dreams.

  There I thought they would stay until the day I bump into Jill.

  The spring sun is gleaming down, a perfect temperature to sit outside and treat myself to a cup of coffee bought with the extra tips I’d earned last night. Leaning back, my eyes closed, a rumbling sound roars up the road, echoing around the buildings until suddenly cutting off. Straightening, I sit up and, shading my eyes with my hand, see a vision parked up on the other side of the road. It’s one of them. The Satan’s Devils. Unable to tear my attention away, I watch as the biker removes his sunglasses and slips them into a pocket in his leather vest before disappearing into the hardware store.

  Honestly, I need to fan myself. They’re just so hot! I’m still gazing across at the black and chrome monster parked up at the kerb, keen not to miss seeing him re-emerge when I hear a sudden shout.

  “Hey! It’s Ella, isn’t it? My God! It is! I haven’t seen you for fuckin’ years!”

  Slightly annoyed at the untimely interruption and at the person who blocks the sight of the bike, my eyes are drawn to an attractive woman wearing almost indecent shorts that showcase legs going on for miles, and a tight t-shirt that brazenly outlines her braless breasts. The sun shining directly in my eyes, I need a second look before I recognise her.

  “It is, isn’t it? Fuck me! How have you been?” As she pulls out a chair opposite me and without waiting for an invitation sits down, her face becomes clear, and it’s only then I’m able to place her.

  My voice comes out as a squeal when I grasp who it is. “Jill! For heaven’s sake. I can’t believe I’ve bumped into you.”

  At once we both stand, pulling each other in for a hug, exchanging comments of “how have you been” and “what have you been doing”, both talking at once and laughing as the words tumble out.

  I haven’t seen her for years. We’d gone to school together and were on the cheerleading team. Always the pair getting into mischief, the ones who’d gotten the notice of the boys. Well, her at least, me not so much. My role was normally just tagging along. I’d acted as lookout on more than one occasion. But remembering the fun we’d had together, before we lost touch, my friendship with Jill has to be one of my best memories about my teenage years.

  Grinning at each other, we sit down again. Now I’m in for my second surprise of the morning. My attention being focused on my companion, I hadn’t noticed the biker leaving the store. But I certainly don’t miss him dodging through the traffic and coming over to this side of the road, approaching us, then curling his hand around the back of Jill’s neck, tipping her head back and giving her a deep kiss on her mouth. It’s like a scene out of one of my novels, and now I really do need to wave my hand briskly in front of my face to cool myself down.

  As my eyes open wide, he murmurs, “Later
, doll.” He gives her a wink that holds promise, then he disappears back to his bike, throws his leg over the seat then looks back over and lifts his chin before starting the engine and heading up the road with an ear-shattering roar.

  “Hell, Jill. Is that your boyfriend?” My eyes are still staring in the direction where he’s disappearing into the distance.

  When I look back, it’s to catch her smirking. “Not exactly.” Her enigmatic reply is all that she says.

  “Well...?” I prompt her, hoping she’ll say more. Christ, I’d give my back teeth to be the subject of a display like the one I’d just witnessed. Who is he to her?

  She shakes her head dismissively and won’t explain. Instead, she changes the conversation back to the rather more boring subject of me and how my life’s turned out. It’s fairly simple to sum up. Boring.

  After another cup of coffee and she gets up to leave. “Hey, I’ve had fun reminiscing about old times. Do you come here often? Shall we meet up again?”

  When I can afford it. “Yeah. I’d like that.” Especially if your boyfriend, or whoever he is, turns up. I’ve enjoyed myself too. I’ll jump at the chance to find out just how well she knows the man in black leather, and whether she can introduce me to his friends.

  It quickly becomes a habit for us to get together. I spend far too much on coffees I can’t really afford, but it’s pleasurable to renew our friendship. However, much to my disappointment, as the weeks pass, while she’s managed to extract the uninteresting facts about my job and my life, she gives little away about hers. I don’t see her biker friend again, nor can I get her to talk about who he is or how she knows him. But I enjoy her company, and she appears to like mine.