Turning Wheels (Satan's Devils MC #1): A Blood Brothers Spin off

by Manda Mellett

  His face softens, “Zoe cares about you, Sophie, and St John-Davies knows that. She’s worried he might come after you out of spite, or use you as a way to force her to return to him.”

  With a quick shake of my head, I dismiss his concerns, “He can do what he likes to me. He can’t do worse than what he’s already done.”

  For some reason my comment makes his face grow red as he tells me angrily, “Don’t underestimate him. He can make your life a living hell.”

  “It already is.” I rasp out, my own temper flaring as I again point to my useless legs. “He’s left me nothing worth living for. If he killed me, he’d be doing me a favour.”

  Horse inhales sharply, his eyes blaze, “Don’t fucking say that! You’re alive, and be thankful for it!”

  Taken aback by the vehemence of his tone, I push myself back into the sofa as though seeking the safety of its comfort. His fierce expression shows me he’s not a man I’d like to cross.

  As quickly as his temper rose, it recedes just as fast. Horse’s stare loses its intensity, and he resumes his explanation in a much calmer tone, “Zoe’s worried about you, I promised I’d keep you safe and out of his clutches.”

  I’m incredulous, “Why the fuck would you do that? And just how do you know Zoe? I didn’t know she had any friends, well, like you.” A huge tattooed biker is what I mean, but don’t say. Suddenly I’m suspicious; Ethan successfully isolated her from all her friends as I well know, and it’s inconceivable he’d let her consort with someone like him. I’m even more sceptical when he gives me an honest answer.

  He shrugs, “I don’t know her at all, I only met her today.”

  Then why is he here? It puts me on my guard, “And I certainly don’t know you either. You’ve delivered your message. Now please get out of my house. Thank you for your warning, I’ll be careful, and I won’t open my door to anyone I don’t know.” I think for a second, “Well, when I have a door that is.” Then I realise, the flimsy barrier hadn’t stopped him.

  Another, shrug, “Nope, sorry, no can do. I promised your friend.” Suddenly he’s back on his feet and pacing around the room. His hands brush his long hair back over his shoulders, and then pauses, holding the back of his neck, “You might not care what St John-Davies does to you,” his head shakes in exasperation. For some reason, my lack of an instinct of self-preservation seems to annoy him. “If you won’t think of yourself, think of your friend. Don’t you want to give her a chance to make a clean getaway? He knows how much you mean to her. If he threatens you, she’ll feel pressured to go back to him.” He breaks off, and astonishingly bright blue eyes seem to stare right through me, “If you’d seen her today, Sophie… If you’d seen what that bastard did to her. If she returns, I don’t fancy her chances.”

  Tears prick at my eyes at the thought of my friend in such pain and realise I owe it to her to keep away from Ethan. But still, I’m cautious. “Look, you say you didn’t meet either of us until today? I’m having a lot of difficulty understanding why you’re so set on helping. Give me something more to help me figure out why you’re even bothering.”

  “It’s simple. You’re alive and breathing, and I want to help keep it that way.” He brings his hands down in front of him, and looks down at his fists which I notice are clenched, “You were involved in a hit and run. You lost the use of your legs. But you’re still alive, Sophie. You’ve still got the chance to have a life, unlike...”

  As his voice breaks off, I see his hands clench and his face tightens. It seems there’s something he’s not telling me, and that something is painful for him. Closing my eyes for a moment, I try to comprehend what could be driving this rough biker to offer me his protection and all in order to let my friend―who by his own admission he’d only met briefly this morning―escape the clutches of the man who’s basically held her prisoner for the last eighteen months.

  Oh, at first Zoe thought she’d landed on her feet, and I was even envious for a while. Such a prestigious man, head of a huge electronics company, ElecComs, with more than enough money to do whatever he wanted and power that’s impossible even to imagine. But I didn’t realise the extent of the hold he had over Zoe, or how difficult it was for her to walk away until she came to me that morning six months ago, the last day I’d had the use of my legs. I never saw her again, and could only surmise Ethan caught up with her. My assumption confirmed four days later when I got those bloody flowers delivered to my hospital bed.

  I realise I’d been lost in my thoughts, when Horse asks gently, “What happened to you, babe?” he indicates my legs, “What did that fucker do to you?” His curiosity brings me back to the present, and I see he’s staring at the bottom of my jeans and knowing exactly what he’s seeing, my spirits plunge. It’s not pretty; the material ending, but there’s no foot sticking out. In fact, all my leg from below my left knee has gone.

  For a moment I say nothing, I don’t want to go through it all again. Everyone always wants to know the gory stuff. Then I sigh loudly. I can show him what he’s up against. Leaning slightly forwards so I can reach into my back pocket I extract my phone, scroll to the correct item, and hand it to him. When his eyebrows go up in question, I point to it the screen, “Play the video. Some ‘kind’ person happened to be taking a selfie that day. Once they saw the action start, they began filming. They helpfully sent me the film in case it was useful for insurance purposes.”

  His eyes sharpened with interest, Horse peers down at the screen. I don’t need to watch with him. As my screams start to fill the air, I know he’s at the beginning when the speeding car has just hit me for the first time, and I’m lying, broken in the road just outside the offices where I worked. Then I hear his gasp of disbelief when the car stops, then reverses, and purposefully runs over my legs for the second time. The shocked shouts of the onlookers drown out my cries of pain.

  “What the fuck?” He’s still staring at the screen, his eyebrows rising almost to his hairline, “That was a deliberate attempt to kill you.” The hand not holding the phone strokes over the stubble on his chin as he throws me a glance, “Babe, I don’t know what to say.” And then he has to ask the obvious, “You give this to the police?”

  What type of idiot does he think I am? “Of course I did,” I snarl, “The car had no number plates and was found abandoned soon after. The sun was shining direct on the windscreen so no one could make out the driver.”

  “There were loads of witnesses…”

  I wave at him to stop, “And they were all looking at me, not the driver. Oh, a few tried to give descriptions, but they all conflicted with one another. Nobody actually saw anything. With nothing to go on, when I couldn’t come up with a feasible enemy, the case was dropped. Eventually deciding there wasn’t anyone to investigate they put it down as a random act of violence or mistaken identity. Oh, and that’s the only evidence. The CCTV cameras in the area were mysteriously not working.”

  “Did you point them in St John-Davies’ direction?”

  Yes, I had done. Much good that it did, “I told them he had a beef with me as I’d helped his girlfriend get away from him. It was then the investigation started to go very quiet.” And when I got the card with the flowers suddenly they weren’t interested at all.

  “Fuck!”

  Yup. That about sums it up.

  A rapping at the broken door startles me. Motioning for me to stay where I am―not that I could move easily on any account―Horse gets up and goes to answer it. I hear another man’s voice and make out from their conversation it’s his friend who’s come to fix the damage Horse had caused. Though I’m uncomfortable with yet another man in the house, I’m glad he was quick, the sooner it’s sorted, the faster this strange man will be gone.

  I frown as the question only just occurs to me as to who’s going to be picking up the tab? I wasn’t the one who kicked my bloody door down. My pulse quickens and my cheeks grow red. After Horse’s explanation as to why he was here my fear of him had dissipated, now my emotio
n swings back the other way as I start to get incensed all over again.

  It’s not long before Horse comes back into the room and stands regarding me thoughtfully for a moment. At last, he asks, a little cautiously having noted my change in mood, “Is it alright if I use your kitchen to make Cut a cuppa?”

  Now there are a couple of things you find out quickly once you’ve lost the use of your legs. One is that you don’t have much option to object when an able-bodied person’s intent on doing something for you, and the other is it’s a pain in the arse doing even simple things like making coffee for yourself. So, it’s a simple answer, “There’s coffee and tea bags on the side and milk in the fridge. And as long as you make one for me as well, knock yourself out.”

  As I hear the sounds of cupboards opening and closing suggesting Horse is finding his way around my kitchen, I think about the things he’s told me. Despite some days not having the will to get out of bed, let alone the desire to continue living, the thought that Ethan could be after me is a chilling one. The sounds of domesticity give me a strange comfort that the massive man is in my house. St John Davies is a nasty piece of work, and now Zoe’s left him again, could she be right to be worried he’d come after me? Suddenly I don’t feel quite as anxious to send Horse on his way. Once more my emotion trips in another direction, to that of concern and worry. What’s going to happen now?

  “Sugar?”

  I answer the shouted question, “No, thanks, just milk please.”

  It’s not long before Horse is back with my beverage and places it on a side table within my easy reach. “Cut won’t be long; he reckons it will only take an hour or so. It’s a standard size, so he’s got a replacement in the back of his van. He’s going to fit a better lock too.” Horse plonks himself down in the armchair again, and I wince on behalf of that poor piece of furniture.

  I don’t have too much spare cash lying around. I haven’t worked for months, my sick pay―which is fast running out―is now half my regular salary, and I’ve yet to receive any compensation as the driver of the car that hit me was never found, so money worries me. “How much is that going to cost?” I ask, wearily.

  Again he pinches the bridge of his nose, “Don’t worry about it. Cut owes me a favour. And it was me who broke down your door, anyway. Hey, you sure you’re alright after that fall? You took a nasty fucking tumble. I straightened up your table, by the way, and put your things back on it.”

  “Thanks. It’s par for the course, I usually use the wheelchair,” I explain, “But stupidly tried to give it a go with the crutches.” I won’t be doing that again.

  “Hmm.” He nods, and takes a mouthful of his drink―he must have a mouth made of iron, it’s far too hot for me even to sip yet. After scrutinising me for a moment, he asks as I thought he would, “That video, fuck, I’m surprised you survived. How badly were you hurt?”

  I shrug, I’ve had time to get used to answering the question, even if I’ll never get used to what I lost, “I’ve lost my lower leg below my left knee, and my right was badly smashed up. They just about managed to save that leg, but it’s weak as hell.”

  “Have you got an artificial limb?”

  I have, and I hate the darn thing. I hate my stump and everything about it. With a shudder, I reply, “A prosthesis, yes, but it’s so darn uncomfortable.”

  “So you make do with your wheelchair?”

  Another shrug, “It’s easier.”

  His eyes glare into mine, “Fuck, that bastard.”

  He’s summed it up, there’s nothing else to say. We continue to sit in an awkward silence, then he goes and chats with his friend Cut for a while leaving me to muse about the stranger who’s come to my house. Before I would certainly have been interested. With that size of body and those hands the size of dinner plates, I’ve no doubts other parts of him would live up to his name. But along with my leg, my sex drive has completely disappeared, mainly, I admit, as a way of protecting myself. Who’d want me nowadays? A cripple in a wheelchair missing half one leg and the other full of steel pins and covered in scars? No one in their right mind.

  The thought of getting intimate with someone, seeing them turned off when they get sight of my stump kills any arousal within me stone cold dead. So I just don’t go there anymore. Leaning forwards, I put my head in my hands, rubbing at the growing pain in my temples. After all these months I’m still unable to come to terms with what happened to me, still find it impossible to move forwards, always looking back and regretting ever stepping out into that road. And regretting I never did more to act on my uneasiness when Zoe first got involved with that fucking Ethan. Her rags to riches story always rang a little too good to be true; a stark lesson to lift the lid of the pot to see what’s inside before diving in with your spoon.

  Heavy footsteps announce Horse has returned. Once again he just stands in the doorway looking at me. For once I don’t see pity on someone’s face, his brow is creased, and as he runs his hands through his shaggy hair, I realise he looks like he’s trying to solve a problem. Then his back straightens, and he walks across to me, crouching down on his haunches. “Babe, your door will be fixed in a few, but we’ve got to decide what to do about you.”

  “You don’t need to do anything about me. I’m not your responsibility. You’ve warned me.” It’s hard to suppress a shiver at the thought that I’ve no idea what I’d do if Ethan came calling. But is there any real likelihood he’d turn up? I can’t decide whether it’s a real possibility or not. Surely he’s got much bigger fish to fry?

  His gaze drops to the floor, when he looks back up at me, his eyes have darkened, and he gives a shake of his head, “Fuck, you don’t get it, do you? I promised your friend I’ll keep you safe, and that’s what I’m going to do. You got a spare room I can doss down in?”

  No. Just no. Despite my earlier thought that his presence was comforting I don’t want a stranger actually staying in my house. Narrowing my eyes, I say waspishly, “You need a place to stay? Find somewhere else. I’m not running a bed and breakfast service here.”

  “What the fuck? That’s what you picked up from today? That I’m taking advantage of you? Shit, I want to protect you!” He pulls away, his eyes flashing.

  If I could have stamped my foot I probably would have done at this point. “I’ve told you! I haven’t had contact with Zoe for months! There’s no reason for St John-Davies to come here.” Why would he bother about me? He’s already left me in a living hell.

  “And how many times do I have to tell you that he could use you as bait?” He stands up fast, his hands raking through his hair again as he looks back at me, clearly exasperated. But whatever he was going to say next is interrupted by shouting in the hallway.

  “Hey, what do you think you’re fucking doing?”

  Christ! What is it about today? Another man I don’t know pushes his way into my lounge. He’s not quite as big as Horse, but at over six foot tall and bulked out with muscles, not someone to be trifled with. His face is scarred, and his nose crooked, the kind of injuries that might have come from a boxing career. He’s intimidating in a way that Horse isn’t, and the vibe he’s emitting is evil. Automatically I realise this is not Horse’s friend, Cut.

  My thought confirmed when Horse immediately puts himself between the man and me. “Who the fuck are you?” he snarls.

  Cut, who I’d heard but not seen before, rushes in apologising, “I’m sorry, I was getting a screwdriver from the van, and he just walked straight past me.” Cut is only slightly smaller than the man who’s assigned himself my protector, and he comes to a halt just inside the doorway at the intruder’s back.

  If I’d been alone, I’d have panicked, but with these two men apparently on my side my lips purse in anger, not fear, and I want answers. “Good question, just who are you? And what gives you the right to barge straight into my home?”

  The stranger draws himself up to his full height, “My name’s Hargreaves.” His voice is full of disdain, and though I already had
the beginnings of it before, I start to get a ominous feeling about him now.

  “Doesn’t tell us much, man.” Horse gets in before I do.

  “I work for Mr St John-Davies,” he continues, “And Mr St John-Davies would very much like to know where his girlfriend is.” His eyes, which I notice are far too close together, seem to burn into me as he spits out the reason why he’s here.

  A feeling of dread settles in my stomach like a stone as Horse is proved to be right. And I’m relieved that Zoe had the forethought to send him. Any idea I might have of telling him to get lost disappears now, as I look at Ethan’s man in front of me and realise how dangerous he could be. Tension is rolling off him in waves; enraged his hands are curled tight by his sides as though it’s an effort to keep himself under control, his nostrils flaring in barely suppressed rage. The only thing that’s comforting about the situation is there are two other irate men in the room giving off equally angry vibes. At least numbers are on my side.

  I’m first to break the silence. “Mr Hargreaves, I have absolutely no idea where Mr St John-Davies’ girlfriend is. I don’t even know who that might be.” As his face grows red and he takes in a deep breath, I continue before he has a chance to speak, “My friend, Zoe, was his girlfriend, but I’ve had no contact with her for months. If that’s who you’re talking about, I assure you I haven’t a clue where she could be or, if she’s left him, where she might go. And I’d be the last person she’d contact for the very reason you’re standing here. She’d know better than to come to me, or confide in me.”

  Hargreaves is making an effort to control himself, his eyes flick to Horse, and then he glances around him. Cut is leaning up against the doorjamb, his legs crossed at his ankles, looking deceptively relaxed. But the fierce expression in his eyes shows he’s anything but. At the moment I couldn’t be safer. But what would have happened had I been alone?

  Hargreaves’ Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows rapidly. When he speaks next, it’s in an even tone that appears to be alien to him, “Mr St John-Davies would like to talk to you in person. He’s anxious about Miss Baker. She’s been depressed lately, and he’s concerned she might do herself an injury. I’d like you to accompany me so I can take you to see him. You might have some ideas of where she would go, so he can catch up with her before she does anything we’d all regret. Miss Weston, will you please come with me?” The way he almost stutters over the wording of his request suggests he doesn’t need to plead very often.