With the worry of how I’ll keep comfortable on the plane in mind, I leave making use of the full sized disabled facilities at the airport to the very last moment, rushing in when the call for boarding is announced.
As it turns out, the flight isn’t quite the nightmare I fear. Horse wheels me down the gangway to the plane’s doorway. I’m then transferred into a smaller chair that they call an aisle seat, and the stewardess pushes me down the aircraft, and I’m able to shift myself over to where I’ll be sitting on the outside of a central block, with Horse beside me. It means the other passengers can get out via the opposite aisle, without needing to clamber over me. I’m so thankful that I’m not sitting on the window side. When the dreaded time comes when I can’t hold off any longer and have to answer the call of nature, I once again use the aisle chair, and Horse accompanies me, helping me get my balance in the slightly larger disabled cubicle before discreetly leaving me alone. It’s awkward, but by using the handrails I’m able to sort myself out, make myself decent and unlock the door. We then reverse the process to get me back into my seat.
All in all, relatively dignified, though I know I’m blushing red as I return to my allocated seat, keeping my eyes downcast to avoid the glances of able-bodied people who can barely hide their curiosity probably wondering what was wrong with me, and how I managed to do my business alone. I hate this! I hate being different!
Halfway through the flight, I’m suddenly gripped by pains in my lower left leg which makes me gasp and lean forwards to rub it. My hand hits the hard metal of the prosthesis. Tears come to my eyes, in frustration at the phantom pain I can do nothing about, and once again reminding me of the loss of my limb. Horse knows I’m hurting, but he wouldn’t understand, so I don’t try to explain. But thank goodness he hands me some Tramadol, which has the side effect of making me sleepy. The next thing I know, we’re coming into land at Phoenix and, at last, I’m arriving in the country which will be my new home. For how long, I have no idea.
It’s new; it’s different. It’s exciting; it’s bewildering. It’s frightening. How the fuck has my life been turned upside down again in only a few days?
Last off the plane, having to wait while they recover my wheelchair from the hold, I’m finally being taken through the unfamiliar but modern and accessible airport. Looking at my Apple watch―the one luxury I’d treated myself to after my accident, I see the temperature outside will be warmer than it was when I left England. Here it’s about twelve degrees Celsius. Or fifty-three Fahrenheit, I see flashing up on a large display. I suppose I’ve got to get used to the American way of doing things, now.
Horse pushes me to baggage reclaim and collects our luggage. I wheel myself from there; he’s got enough to carry with our bags. We go through customs without a problem, and then out into the arrivals area.
Suddenly a loud voice shouts ‘Horse!’, and a man, only an inch or so shorter than my companion and wearing black leather comes across to greet us, slapping Horse on the back and pulling him in for a manly hug. Another similarly clad man comes across and does the same. Loud voices exchange greetings, ‘Good to see ya’s’ fly over my head and, as the men acknowledge each other, I take a moment to get my first good look at what are apparently Horse’s friends and with whom I’ll be staying for the conceivable future.
I’m not naturally a shy or retiring person, but I’m only five foot two and couple that with the fact I’m sitting down, I feel very small and shrink further back into my chair as if it could hide me. When I hear my name, it takes me a moment to respond.
“Babe, Sophie, this is Dart and Slick. They’re here to take us down to Tucson.”
Swallowing a couple of times, I get up my nerve and look up to see two men beaming down at me, their eyes taking me in from head to toe.
“Hey, I’m Dart!” The man with long dark hair tied up in a bun reaches his hand down to me and gives me a wink. I lift mine and shake it. I notice that with his aquiline features and dark brown eyes, he’s a very handsome man.
“Slick.” The other, also a good looking man with a shaved head, does similar. Both look curiously at me. I hate what they see, a disabled woman in a wheelchair. In the old days, I’d have been wondering how quickly I could get one or the other, or both, into bed. And what’s with those strange names?
“Have a good flight?”
At least they’re speaking directly to me, so many people wouldn’t. I nod, “Yes, it was all right.” For once I can’t think of much else to say. I’ve met a lot of men in my life, but, with the exception of Horse, never such tough and intimidating ones as these before. I find myself wary of saying the wrong thing. But I suppose, if I need someone to protect me, they certainly look up to the job.
“Let’s get movin’ then.” Slick’s eyes flick around as if he’s worried about something, and as I see men in uniform eyeing them up, I start to suspect the amount of security around isn’t making either of them feel comfortable.
Without further ado, Dart comes around and starts pushing my chair, and Slick takes one of the bags from Horse. We go outside and a short distance away there’s a black SUV and another leather clad man waiting. At our approach, the new man opens one of the rear doors, reaches inside, and hands something to each of my companions.
Shit! Now, I’ve watched Sons of Anarchy like most people I know, I mean, who wouldn’t lust after Jax? So I recognise the leather vest as the cut it’s called here as soon as one turns his back. The wording across the top reads Satan’s Devils, and across the bottom, Tucson Charter. Horse’s friends belong to a biker club? My mouth goes dry. What the fuck have I got myself into here? I start to wonder whether, after all, it might have been safer to take my chances in England. The Outer Hebrides suddenly sound a decidedly attractive option.
But I have no opportunity to change my mind about going with them as without ceremony Horse lifts me and plonks me into one of the seats, then folds up my chair and it disappears into the back. I just have time to notice the cut of the man who they didn’t bother introducing to me and who’s now in the driver’s seat, says Prospect on the back, before all three get in the car, and we’re quickly on our way.
Chapter 4
Wraith
Glancing at my phone, I notice it’s almost ten o’clock. The clubhouse is relatively quiet as it’s Tuesday. The weekends are our party nights, but there are still a few members around taking advantage of the sweet butts, and Adam’s at his regular spot monopolising one of the arcade machines and, of course, Hank’s behind the bar. Spider will be out manning the gates, and Marsh, our other prospect, has gone down to Phoenix along with Dart and Slick to collect Horse and the mystery woman, Sophie, as I now know she’s called.
Signalling Hank for another beer, I admit that I’m curious about the unknown female that we’ve offered our protection to. I’m also more than a little concerned about the information Mouse has managed to find out about the man who’s apparently after her.
“Whaddaya reckon about the Brit?”
At the distinctive growling voice behind me, I turn to see Drum coming up behind me, not surprised he’s on the same wavelength. We’d met earlier, an emergency church to go over what our internet expert, Mouse, had come up with. I shake my head, “St John-Davies sounds like a bad fuckin’ enemy.”
“You ain’t fuckin’ wrong there.”
Drummer’s on the whisky tonight, Hank gives him a glass clinking with ice cubes, and I wince; in my view, good scotch shouldn’t be drowned. Especially the top-end brand that the prez drinks while other members make do with that on the bottom shelf.
I take a gulp of my beer. “He got any pull over here?”
“Not that I’m aware of. His main base of operations is in the UK, but our military use some of his software, so who knows? He’s good connections in the UK. There have been a few investigations into some of his activities which all seem to have been dropped before they went too far. Nothin’ sticks to St John-Davies it would seem.” Drum taps his fingers on t
he bar, causing Hank to swing around in case his prez might need a refill. Seeing he’s set for now, the prospect goes back to washing glasses.
“We gotta hope he hasn’t got the same clout over here and gets the Feds involved.” As VP I’m worried we might have bitten off more than we can chew.
“Yeah,” Drummer’s face tightens, “A fuckin’ RICO investigation ain’t somethin’ we need.”
That’s my concern, and my face tightens, “You think he’d go that route?”
The president thinks for a moment, “He wants the girl; that’s obvious. But whether he’d go so far as to get the authorities involved I couldn’t say. I suspect it would be a last resort. Surely he wouldn’t want it to be too obvious? Reckon if he finds out where she is, he’ll probably try to take her. If he wants her as leverage like Horse suggests.”
“We gonna let that happen?” I’ve never met the woman, and while I have sympathy for her—fuck, who wouldn’t after watching that video—I certainly don’t want to risk my club or my brothers, to save someone I don’t know.
“We’ll give her protection as Horse wants, as long as it’s at no cost to ourselves. I love Horse like a brother, man, as we all do. But he’s not a full member, heck; he’s not here most of the year.”
As normal, Drum and I are thinking along the same lines, so I nod. Satan’s Devils wouldn’t want to put a woman in danger, but she’s not club property or an old lady. Even though we’ve agreed to protect her, that was before we knew all the facts. If shit gets real, we might have to cut Horse loose to protect our own. “You got a bad fuckin’ feelin’ about this, Drum?”
He closes his eyes briefly, his hand idly pulling on his beard. A sure sign he’s giving careful thought to the matter. And that’s one thing our prez does; he thinks things through. “Not particularly, I think the Devils will prove a match for St John-Davies. Doubt he’s come across folks like us before.”
There is that.
Suddenly the front doors bang open. Swinging around, I realise the moment is here, as the mystery woman we’ve offered our protection to—or at least as long as it doesn’t adversely affect the greater good—comes through, pushed by my old friend Horse. Pulling up straighter to get a closer look I suck in air as I get my first sight of the woman in the wheelchair, to find she’s not what I expected at all. Fuck, she’s fuckin’ beautiful! For a moment I’m frozen to the spot as I examine her, noticing how much she looks out of place.
The Arizona sun makes it impossible for most residents to retain such pale, flawless skin, and there’s a slight pinkish colour to her cheeks. Yellow blond hair cut into a short bob shows off her slender neck and frames an oval face with symmetrical features. Her cornflower blue eyes, currently flicking around the room with concern, are perfectly set, outlined by just a small amount of eyeliner and mounted under arched eyebrows which haven’t been over-plucked. Her lips are made for kissing, full and a natural red. Having been used to the heavy makeup of the sweet butts for so long, she takes my breath away.
She’s small, even taking into account she’s sitting in that darn chair, and I don’t need the clubs’ instruction for my protective instinct to come to the fore. Unlike the other girls in the room she’s demurely dressed in simple jeans and a V-neck sweater, but the top outlines breasts which make me reach out and touch them. A pulsing in my jeans tells me I’m not unaffected, and a quick glance around the clubhouse shows me from the expressions on my brothers’ faces that I’m not the only one. Fuck, we’re in trouble here.
Viper pushes himself off the wall he’d been leaning against and moves towards her, “Hey, Wheels! Good to meet cha! I’m Viper.” The way he’s leering down at her suggests he’s forgotten he’s married. And that he’s almost twice her age. Mind you, that’s quite normal for him. Then I realise what he’s said.
Wheels? Pushing back down the strange feeling of jealousy to where it belongs, hidden and buried, I huff a laugh and exchange amused looks with Drummer. One second into the club and she’s already got a nickname. It suits her. But the way her eyes have narrowed suggests she’s not happy about it at all.
It will stick, though. And the more she protests about it, the more we’ll all use it. We’re cruel fuckers when we want to be. I know my brothers all too well.
The rest of the vultures start hovering, sensing fresh meat. Once again Drummer meets my eyes. That I’m not the only one finding her attractive is blindingly obvious, and we can both sense trouble on the way unless we put a stop to that shit right now.
The prez steps forwards, taking charge. “Hey, you dogs. Give ‘er some fuckin’ space, eh?” He pushes through the men who’ve started introducing themselves, probably overwhelming her on what has to be her first foray into a one percenter motorcycle club. “Hey, sweetheart.” Having cleared an area around her, he leans down and offers his meaty hand, “Name’s Drummer, I’m the President here, and any of these fuckers give you trouble you let me know.”
She takes his hand; I notice hers looks tiny. She murmurs something I don’t catch, but see she doesn’t look at him for long. Again her eyes scan the room as if she’s looking for something, probably a way of escape.
“Horse―good to see ya!” The prez and Horse exchange man hugs. “You both want some refreshment?” Drum’s eyes flick down to include Sophie in his invitation.
Her attention flits back to him, “Not for me, thank you. I’m pretty tired after the flight.” It’s the first time I’ve heard her speak. Her voice is so soft and sweet, and her quaint English accent pulls at something inside me.
I can’t take my eyes off of her and am still staring when her mouth falls open. As I turn to see what she’s looking at, I spot Allie giving head quite openly to Rock who’s about the only one taking no notice of the new arrival. Well, he’s got other things on his mind, or rather his cock at the moment. Then as I look further around, I notice the other three resident sweet butts glaring at the new arrival with narrowed eyes as though weighing up exactly what she’s here for, and it’s then I decide to get her some breathing space.
Pushing away from the bar, I go to stand beside Drum, nodding at Horse before shaking his hand. “I’ve got rooms organised for the two of you. I’ll take you to them.” Swinging around I spot the prospect who’d driven them here, “Hey, Marsh, get their bags, will ya?”
“Do you mind?” I turn back to Sophie and put my hands on the back of her wheelchair. At the shake of her head, I start pushing; Horse walks alongside.
“Horse? Come back when you’ve got her sorted. There’s a beer with your name on it here!”
“Sure thing, Drum!” Horse shouts back over his shoulder.
As clubhouses go, this one’s not bad. There are still signs of fire damage and burned out buildings we haven’t yet bothered with, but we’ve done up a fair amount of the accommodation. Admittedly not to the previous five-star standard, but enough, so it’s comfortable and not too shabby. And, once having been a prestigious resort, there are ramps for disabled access everywhere which we haven’t bothered taking out. Comes in handy when a brother wants his bike in his room for some reason or other. And believe me, sometimes they do.
As I wheel her along, I make conversation with Horse, and after a while, realise I’m not including her. I didn’t exclude her on purpose; it’s just that she’s on another level. So I make an effort, bending over and waving my hand around, “I don’t know what Horse has told you, but this used to be a vacation resort. Got burned out, and the club bought it for peanuts. Disabled access everywhere so you shouldn’t have any problems getting’ around.”
“Horse hasn’t told me anything.” Now that she’s away from the clubhouse I see some of her spirit coming through as she scowls at Horse.
He shrugs, “Didn’t want to frighten you off.”
“Hmm.” I smile to myself, thinking he’s probably going to hear more about that later. Then she looks up at me, “Thank you, er…?”
I realise I should have introduced myself, “The name’s Wrai
th. I’m the VP. The Vice President.”
“Wraith?” She’s intrigued by my name, not my position.
“He moves like a ghost.” Horse explains for me.
She’s scrutinising me as though trying to fit my solid muscular six feet three frame with a mental image of an ethereal creature; then she smiles, and it’s like the sun coming out.
“I’m Sophie.” As she introduces herself in that melodious voice, my cock twitches again. Something it shouldn’t be doing. I might be VP, but I’m still bound by the promise we’d all be hands-off, and in my role, I should be the one championing that instruction and making sure others toe the line. But I can’t help wondering whether her woman bits still work. Then, to get my mind to matters higher than my crotch, I correct her.
“Wheels,” I laugh, “You’ve got a club name now, and I reckon it’s going to stick.”
“That’s sick,” she spits out, and her smile fades, “I’m a person, not this bloody chair I’m stuck in.”
I shake my head, knowing boys too well. “Take it as a compliment, woman. A club name is a sign of acceptance in our world.”
Her deep indrawn breath advises me she still doesn’t like it. “Some fucking compliment,” she adds, half under her breath, so I only just catch it. The thought that there’s still some spirit there in her broken body causes the corners of my mouth to turn up.
We arrive at the block I’d gotten prepared for them; they’ll have it to themselves as it’s used for officer accommodation when we have visiting chapters. Marsh rushes ahead and dropping the bags for a moment, extracts a key from his pocket and unlocks the main door. It’s a two room suite, both with adjacent bathrooms and a small living room in the middle. It would have been one of the most expensive in the old days. But now, I reckon it will do for them both. The prospect brings the luggage in and then leaves.
Turning Wheels (Satan's Devils MC #1): A Blood Brothers Spin off Page 7
