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

by Manda Mellett

  “I’ve put you in together, but if you want to live separate, Horse, just let me know. I wasn’t sure what you’d want.” Suddenly I realise I don’t like the fact he’s going to be staying so close to her, and wonder what exactly what the relationship is between them.

  “No, man, I’m happy with this for now. I’d like to keep Sophie company for the moment at least. That okay with you, Soph?” He would like the arrangement, wouldn’t he? But then it comes back to me how he’s lost his wife. Fuck, I should have more compassion. My face starts to relax as I remember Horse is probably the one man I could trust to keep his hands off of her. Probably. He’s still human after all.

  She’s looking into the suite, noticing the two bedroom doors are open, and that there’s the basic set up of a bed and cupboards and drawers for clothes and shit inside. I don’t have to wait long for her reply, “Yeah, this will suit me fine. Thank you.” Her voice sounds a little lost now, reminding me staying in a biker club is something she hadn’t expected.

  But I can’t resist, “You’re welcome, Wheels.” I grin at the glare she tosses my way as she quickly turns her head around. Ignoring her, I continue, “There’s food in the kitchen back at the clubhouse―just help yourselves. Sometimes the ol’ ladies cook for everyone. If you’re handy in the kitchen, you might want to help out, but there’s no pressure there.”

  “Thanks, Wraith.”

  I nod at Horse, “Okay, I’ll leave you to get settled. Don’t forget that beer, Horse.” I want to hang-around, start to get to know her better but try as I can, I can’t think of any excuse to linger. I make a mental note to question Horse about her later when he comes down to the bar. So with nothing else for it, I leave them to get settled.

  Striding back to the bar I shake my head, trying to rid it of inappropriate thoughts of the woman in the wheelchair, replacing them instead by deliberating how the fuck she’s going to fit in with our lifestyle. Not for the first time I worry whether she’ll be able to cope. The sweet butts will probably give her hell and knowing my brothers they’ll be flirting with her even if they remember the boundaries Drummer has set. I curse Horse for not preparing her better; she doesn’t have a clue what to expect.

  Nearing the clubhouse and despite my best intentions, my thoughts sink lower once more. When I was pushing her wheelchair? Well, it gave me a glimpse of her cleavage, and the memory of the sight now has me sporting a hard-on. As I wonder whether her breasts were natural or enhanced, again I find myself considering just how much her disability affects her in that department.

  After taking the necessary moment to adjust myself before going inside, I find Marsh is already back behind the bar and as soon as he sees me has a beer ready and waiting. I sense he wants the patch as soon as possible, anxious as he is to please his VP or Prez at every turn.

  I take the beer, throw him a scowl as though he took too long to serve me, and turn to my brother who’s come up alongside, “Good one, Slick, Wheels! She hates it, by the way.”

  As he laughs, I get a fist to my arm from another brother, “Got her settled?”

  “Yeah, Peg. Well, I took them up there. Horse will see she’s got what she needs. It’s his responsibility, isn’t it?”

  “He tappin’ that?”

  I shake my head, hoping it’s not just wishful thinking, but there was no sign of them being particularly intimate, “I doubt it. Just doing his good deed, I reckon. Where’s Drum?” I change the subject not wanting to torture myself wondering just what the English couple might be getting up to in the suite.

  Peg gives a hearty laugh, “Gone off with Pussy.”

  Well, that will be the last we’ll see of him tonight, but if any brother walks past his room, doubtful the last they’ll hear. Pussy’s quite a screamer, and Drum certainly knows how to make her screech.

  I shoot the shit for a while, and can hardly suppress my sigh of relief when it’s only a few minutes before Horse joins us. Hank and Marsh fall over themselves to get our visitor a drink, and it’s not long before he’s got a crowd around him, all pressing him for information about the woman he’s brought to seek sanctuary in our clubhouse. It seems I’m not the only one to be intrigued by her.

  “What’s her story?” Peg doesn’t give him much time even to sip his drink before he starts his interrogation. Which isn’t at all surprising if you think about it. “She ever gonna walk again? That wheelchair is a bit basic. It’s not even motorised.”

  Horse swigs his beer―he looks like he needs it―then turns to Peg, but his voice is loud enough so we can all hear, “You see that video?” As the murmurs of confirmation come to him, he continues, “Well she’s lost her left leg below the knee, and her right is pretty busted up. She’s got crutches, and I gather she’s supposed to try to use them, but honestly? I think she’s given up. That wheelchair is just a simple model as it’s only meant to be temporary. She got minimal compensation as far as I can work out as they didn’t find the bastard who did that to her.”

  Peg’s frowning, “She’s got a prosthesis?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She’s got a snatch? That’s all I care.”

  “Tongue!” I swing round snarling, curling my fingers into my palms to stop myself hitting him, “She’s off fuckin’ limits. And that means to you and your namesake too! And that goes for the rest of you fuckers!” I’m incensed at the thought of any of my brothers touching her. Well, we’re all under instructions from Drummer, aren’t we? There’s a general murmur of discontent, but they all knew the score. I have some sympathy; it had been easier to agree to be hands-off before we saw what we were dealing with.

  “Hey, Horse! Been a long time, fucker!” The new voice puts a frown on my face being one I’m not particularly pleased to hear. My fingers curl into my hands as I turn, then, before Buster can get into it with Horse, I grab hold of his arm and lead him outside.

  My hands have formed fists again, and I’m itching to use them. “You fuckin’ missed church. Again!” I don’t like this motherfucker, and I’m done pretending.

  “What the fuck? Church was Friday. It’s Tuesday, you been samplin’ the product or somethin’?” Buster sneers out showing no respect for his VP.

  This time I do let a punch fly. To accuse me of that when he knows my own sister died from an overdose is a step too far. As he stumbles backwards, I yell at him, “Check your phone, fucker. You’ve got no fuckin’ excuse; you missed a text from Drummer. It was an emergency church today.”

  Any other man might have pulled his phone out and checked. Buster doesn’t, and the smirk he can’t quite keep from his face shows me the message had been received, understood and ignored. Christ, my dislike is turning to outright hatred, even though he’s one of my brothers. Something about him just rubs me up the wrong way. Instead of making any apology he starts to draw back his arm, Oh no, you’re not going there, are you? I flex my muscles, bring it on. Before he can prepare himself, I hit him hard in the stomach.

  He goes to retaliate, but he doesn’t get a chance to let loose, Peg, who’s followed us out, grabs him from behind. “Drummer will want an explanation tomorrow as well,” he snarls, “You’ve taken one 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 towards 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 being 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 blond haired woman in my mind.

  Chapter 5

  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 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 more lengthy 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 godawful 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 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 the about the usual nightmare which had me waking, sweating and panicking in the small hours as usual. 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 towards 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 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 towards me in dismissal. “I didn’t mean like that. You’ve 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, as 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.