The Rock Demons had big plans. Not only did they want to take Sophie, but they wanted to take us all out, take over our clubhouse and start up their own Tucson chapter, another city as an outlet for drugs. That was the reason they hadn’t yet made another attempt to grab my woman; they were getting themselves organised for the bigger hit. And before they made a move on us, they were carrying on with business, waiting for a gun shipment to arrive, and preparing for a drugs run to Vegas.
But we were going to hit them first.
That they discussed their plans so openly was nectar to our ears. Drum got onto Red and made arrangements that he would take out the drug running group as they entered his territory. That was going to be child’s play; we had all their routes and waypoints given to us straight from the horse’s mouth. As Dart suggested, the members going on the drug run were probably sampling their own product and had got over-confident on their home turf.
The gun shipment was more of a worry, the members involved in that were obviously more experienced and played their cards closer to their chests, only letting slip the timing, and not openly discussing the route or destination. So we decided on going in before it arrived.
Five members of the Demons were going to Vegas the week after next, and Red would deal with those. That left, to the best of our knowledge, fifteen we’d need to take out.
We started to make plans.
Three days before the final twenty-four hours the Demons would be breathing air, we have another emergency church. We’ve been meeting almost daily this last week to make our final plans, Drum not wanting to leave anything to chance. Mouse is tapping on his laptop, as usual, the info he’s been able to pull down from Google Maps vital in planning our three-pronged attack.
“So, VP, you’ll be leadin’ the first group here,” Drum points to the map we’ve got set out on the table, “Dart, Slick and Tongue will be with you.” He moves his finger to another weakness in their defences that we’ve identified, “Blade, you’ll be…”
“Hey!” Mouse’s shout interrupts the prez; Drum glares at him, “What the fuck is it, Mouse?”
“Ethan St John fuckin’ Davies is dead.”
“What?” That was not the news I expected to hear, but the best fucking news ever as far as I was concerned.
“Yeah,” Mouse’s eyes aren’t on me, but on his laptop screen. I watch them scan left to right as he takes in some news article he’s reading, “There was an attempted coup in some fuckin’ Arab country. Somewhere in Ezirad, though fuck knows where that is. Hang on, it doesn’t say much, the Emir – is that a king or somethin’?―well, Emir Kadar issued a statement sayin’ he regrets the death of the prominent businessman who got caught up in the fightin’.”
“Here, let me have a look.” I go around the table and lean over his shoulder. As I dare to touch his beloved laptop to turn it towards me, Mouse actually snarls at me. I ignore him, speed reading the contents though there’s not a lot more than Mouse has already told us.
“He’s right; it’s Ethan St John-Davies alright. There’s a footnote explainin’ who he is. There can’t be two of his name who run ElecComs.”
“The man who took the contract out on Wheels? Hey, man, this means she’s got nothin’ to worry about now.” Peg looks excited on her behalf.
“Yeah, there can’t be a fuckin’ bounty anymore if he’s not around to pay it.” Even Beef’s nodding enthusiastically. My brothers have all taken my woman to their hearts, and I’m overwhelmed with the relief they’re feeling for her.
“It says here he leaves no heirs,” I’m still reading it through, “So I think it’s safe to assume the contract died with him.” Thank the fuck.
“Demons going to be shittin’ themselves at missin’ their chance. Ain’t heard any chatter yet, Mouse?” Rock questions him.
“News is just hot off the press; they might not be so quick on findin’ out about it. Will be interestin’ to hear what they have to say. They left it too long to make their move.”
“Sloppy bastards.”
“That’s as may be, but we shouldn’t underestimate them, and we can’t forget their other plans. Still, it’s some good fuckin’ news for once,” Drum bangs the table to get our attention, “VP, you’ll want to be off to tell Wheels the glad tidin’s. But brothers, this doesn’t change our plans one iota. Demons already killed one of ours, and it probably won’t make a difference to their plans to get rid of the rest of us. Attack’s still going ahead in three days.”
He bangs the gavel. I leg it out of there fast, the biggest smile on my face.
Chapter 29
Sophie
Wraith is pushing up into me, gently pulling out and then thrusting in again as though he’s got all the time in the world. He’s keeping me on edge, so close to coming, but not quite being able to go over. I’m floating in a state of ecstasy, so aroused, yet feeling so loved.
He keeps on with his slow slides, and gradually my muscles start to contract, squeezing around him.
“Fuck, I can’t hold off,” he groans out, “You’re stranglin’ my cock, darlin’.”
I can’t even answer him; rapidly approaching my peak I let him do all the work. And then I’m there.
“Let it go; I’ve got you, babe.”
He’s spent so long bringing me here that my orgasm is not so much intense as a strong but gentle wave washing over me, seeming to go on for ever. I moan loudly as I slowly come down. Wraith slows his movements, my muscle spasm triggering his release.
“Fuck, oh fuck,” he shouts into my ear, and gives a last few sporadic thrusts “Oh, fuck darlin’”. Bringing his forehead down to mine, he releases my hands he’d been holding above my head and takes his weight on his arms. I pull him down to me, wanting to feel his warmth chest to chest. It was the sweetest lovemaking I’d ever experienced.
It felt like he was saying goodbye.
Tears form at the corners of my eyes, “I don’t want you to go.”
“Darlin’ we’ve been over this.” He nuzzles my face and gently wipes away the tears with his fingers.
“Ethan’s dead, there’s no need to go after the Demons now.” He hasn’t shared club business with me, he’s told me nothing other than that Ethan’s died, but slowly the mood in the clubhouse has been changing over the past week or two, and I know something big is on the cards. Something that involves the all the members, and which has had men looking solemn and cleaning their weapons. As if they’re getting ready for war. The arrival of dozen brothers from other chapters without celebration or partying reinforced my fears.
Wraith hasn’t replied; he’s now kissing my neck.
“Where are you off to today, tell me that, at least.”
All he’ll say is that one of the prospects will be staying with me. Everyone else, except for Mouse and Adam who’ll remain in the clubhouse to protect the women, is going on a run. Yes, with all their weapons prepared and ready. I’m not stupid. Going after the Demons was something I knew they had planned.
He takes my lips, and murmurs against them, “Love you, darlin’”
“Wraith…”
He pulls away with a rueful smile, “Got to get going, Soph. Can’t leave the boys waitin’.”
“Please don’t go. I’ve a really bad feeling about today, Wraith.” A feeling I’m never going to see him again.
He doesn’t answer other than giving a sad little shake of his head, just goes to the bathroom and has a quick shower. On his return, he dresses quickly, and I see him put a gun in his shoulder holster, and another in the waistband at the back of his jeans, and then a third which he spirits out of nowhere and straps to his ankle. He’s usually armed, but never as much as this before.
With an air of finality he comes over to me, “I’ll see you tonight, darlin’. I don’t know what time…”
“Text me, Wraith. Let me know you’re safe.”
He sighs deeply, I know he wanted to keep me away from this; he didn’t want me to worry. But the clues have all been t
here. Something big is going down, and my man will be right in the thick of it. He has to be; he’s the VP.
I care about the other men too, some more than others, Peg, of course, but also Dart and Slick who seems to have suddenly got himself an old lady. But it’s my man I need to come back home.
Without giving anything away he tells me, “We got this, babe, but I’ll text you. Soon as I can, okay?”
Then with one last kiss, he’s gone. As he closes the door, I hear him greet someone outside, telling them if they ever want their patch to keep a close eye on me. It’ll be the prospect who they’re leaving behind.
Silence. Now the tears start falling in earnest, and all I can think of is saying goodbye to Mark that last time, the day he left for the oil rig telling me he’ll be back in three weeks’ time. Remembering that awful telephone call, the waiting, and then the confirmation of his death. And today feels exactly the same, like that dreadful bleak period when I’d been waiting for news.
I can’t lose Wraith. But I’ve a terrible sense of foreboding, of déjà vu. I’ve been here before, and it’s a place I never wanted ever to visit again. This, this was why I tried to protect my heart. I’d failed miserably at that, and am now paying the price.
Closing my eyes I try to go back to sleep. If I can sleep the day away it will go faster. But the ploy didn’t work last time I had to play the waiting game, and it’s clearly not going to work now. My mind churns ten to the dozen, and I can’t switch off.
It must be half-an-hour later that I hear the roar of bikes starting up, usually the sound doesn’t reach up here, but there must be thirty or so bikers going out today, our club and the visiting members, and so the thunderous noise carries. And then it’s silent again, and the lack of sound hangs heavy in the air, an ominous quiet, broken only by the chirping of cicadas, as though something is going to happen.
I can’t just lie here.
Realising the women, Adam and Mouse will be in the clubhouse, I decide to get up and go to join them. Moping around here on my own won’t help ease my mind. At least there I’ll be in the thick of it and with whoever’s the first to get any news when it comes in. Now being familiar with Mouse, at least I know he’ll be monitoring everything as it goes on.
It’s my best course of action if I want to keep in the loop. So forcing myself up I take a tissue and blot the last of my tears, blowing my nose to clear it, then reach for my prosthesis, knocking my crutches as I do so. As they crash to the ground, a worried voice calls out.
“You alright in there, ma’am?”
“I’m fine. Just having a shower and getting dressed. I’ll be out in a few, Spider.” The mode of address, which I’m going to have to put a stop too, has identified the unlucky prospect left to guard me today. Not that it’s necessary now that Ethan St John-Davies is dead―and boy does that take some getting used to that I’ve no further need to worry that anyone’s coming after me―but Wraith’s still being cautious. Spider will probably think he’s unlucky to be missing out on the action, but he might be one of the lucky ones if my fears are correct.
I get myself ready and then walk to the door. Every day I’m getting better at walking, and each time I walk unaided I feel a little bit prouder of myself. I don’t even need to concentrate on every step I take, only when there are stairs involved―and luckily there’s not many of those around the clubhouse―or I’m going over rough ground. Which is more common, as some the club’s neglected to maintain some of the many paths linking the buildings together.
Opening the door, I find, as expected, Spider standing outside. He’s a tall, lanky man, his frame giving rise to his name; his limbs seeming too long for his body. I’ve seen him in the gym, and he’s trying hard, but there’s obviously some way for him to go until he muscles up to be a match for the other men. In his early twenties, he still has the bearing of a boy rather than a man, emphasised by his impish good looks, and the manners the club hasn’t yet quite managed to knock out of him.
“You want to go down to the clubhouse, ma’am?”
“Oh for goodness sake, Spider, called me Soph. Or Wheels if you have to, but don’t call me ma’am again, please. It makes me feel ancient.”
An easy grin comes to his face, “Okay, ma’… Wheels.” Although some of the brothers have copied Wraith in calling me Sophie, most still stick to the now redundant handle of Wheels.
I answer his original question, “Yes, I’m going to the clubhouse.”
He looks around me into my room, and points to the wheelchair, “Let’s get you seated in that.”
My eyes widen, “What?”
“Your chair.”
As my brow creases, he continues, “Wraith told me I wouldn’t get my patch if you so much as broke the nail on your little finger when he got back. I ain’t takin’ no risks. It’s the chair, or you stay here. Your choice.”
I see a touch of the iron he’ll need to develop as a fully patched member of the club, but I still protest, “Spider, I’ve been out of that fucking chair for weeks. I don’t need it anymore.”
He shakes his head, turns his back and stands resolutely in the doorway. He might be a skinny lad, but I doubt I’d be able to push my way around him.
“For goodness sake, I can walk goddammit, hold my arm if you’re worried.”
Turning back, he frowns, “Don’t think Wraith would want my hands on his ol’ lady.”
I can feel blood rushing to my cheeks as I inhale sharply, “Well I won’t bloody well tell him if you don’t.”
Another dismissive shake of his head, “Not riskin’ my patch,” he proclaims adamantly and turns his head away.
I glance at the chair, and then at his back. Oh, hell. If I want to go to the clubhouse, it seems I’m going to have to give in. Unless he straps me to it, once I’m down there I won’t be tied to it. “Okay, I give in. I’ll use the bloody chair. I don’t know why you’re so hung up on it.”
Now he’s looking at me with a cheeky grin, “Perhaps I just like pushin’ women around.”
He’s made me laugh. Still shaking my head and chuckling I go behind the darn chair, grab the handles and push it myself to the door. After his pointed look, I give a sigh and sit in it. I let him wheel me along, and soon we’re out in the bright sunshine and going down to the club, the beauty of the day, the endless blue sky above at odds with my black mood.
There’s always something going on in the clubroom, generally brothers drinking or being serviced by the sweet butts at any time of the day. Sounds of pots banging and cooking smells generally fill the air, coming through from the kitchen. So to find the place completely deserted and quiet is disconcerting. I wasn’t sure what I expected, the old ladies around at least. The sweet butts are probably languishing the day away in their beds; Mouse is probably behind his computer screen, and God knows where Adam is.
“Looks like you’re it for my company for today, Spider.”
“Shush,” he admonishes me fiercely.
It’s at that point the unnatural still and quiet make me realise there’s something wrong. I feel Spider’s hands on the chair give a slight pull backwards, but before he can get me moving, a man steps out into the clubroom from the direction of the offices.
He has a gun in his hand and a face that I recognise. My hand goes to my mouth partly in disbelief, and partly to suppress an agonised howl of distress. I’d thought I was free, had thought I no longer had a threat hanging over me. I was wrong.
Hargreaves, Ethan’s sidekick, is standing flanked by two men. Two men holding weapons as if they know exactly how to use them.
“Stop.” Hargreaves gun points above my head aimed towards Spider. “Take out your weapon and drop it now.”
“Ain’t carryin’.” Spider’s controlled reply comes from behind my head.
“I think you are. Take it out now. It will be easy enough to find after I shoot you in the head.”
At the chilling words, I tremble violently. I can’t have another prospect’s death on my con
science. In a shaking voice, I advise, “Do as he says, Spider.”
He doesn’t react immediately, but as Hargreaves brings his gun up and cocks it, I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding as from the corner of my eye I see a weapon dangling from the prospect’s hand.
“Now, very gently put it on the floor and kick it over to me.”
Spider does so.
Hargreaves stares at the prospect for a moment, “Now the knife you’ve got on you.”
Another slight delay, and then his blade joins the gun on the floor. Hargreaves picks it up, then sneers, “They let some wimps join motorcycle gangs nowadays, don’t they?” He jerks his head at his two men who dutifully laugh, but who don’t lose focus and keep their guns trained on us. Now he’s removed any threat, turns his attention to me, “Well, if it isn’t the cripple. Ethan’s been trying to find you. Thought the Rock Demons were going to bring you in, but never trust a motorcycle gang to do things right.” A sneer accompanies his last comment. “The little cunts were frightened of going up against the Satan’s Devils, so I had to come myself. My lucky day when I saw all the bikes going out this morning.”
Deciding I’ve had enough of listening to his poison; I try to reason with him, “Your employer is dead. I don’t understand why you’re here.”
A twinge of regret crosses his face. If I thought the man capable of any emotion, I’d say sadness was there too. “It’s a pity,” he says, his voice suddenly angry, “The world’s lost an amazing man there. Shot down like a fucking dog. It’s all that bitch Zoe’s fault, and I’ll deal with her too after I’ve finished with you.”
Zoe? The realisation hits me that he’s here to tie up loose ends, there’s no point taking me, there’s no longer anyone to deliver me too. He’s going to kill me. All of a sudden all the reasons I want to live come into my mind, and on the top of that list, is Wraith. My phone starts ringing in my pocket.
“Don’t answer that.” he instructs.
It rings again, and again I’m forced to ignore it. I can’t even surreptitiously use the keys to leave the line open; he’s watching me so closely and he’d see my hands move.
Turning Wheels (Satan's Devils MC #1): A Blood Brothers Spin off Page 31
