by Evelyn Glass
"My god, Nicole; you're serious," Mama said in wonder.
"You're damn right that I'm serious. I couldn't fight back then. I was too young and too scared and you couldn't fight for me. But I grew up, Mama, and it's my turn to help you."
"I don't know what to do," Mama said, bursting into tears. "I don't want you to kill him."
"Then he'll live, but he'll never live off you again. I guarantee you that."
Mama cried and Mama pleaded, and Mama remained in a state of near panic most of the evening, and then she finally exhausted herself and fell asleep in the guest room they prepared for her.
"She might need a psych to deal with this," Cole told her.
"She could have left," Nicole noted. "She could have called a cab, or called the cops and said we were kidnapping her, or she could have just started for the front door. We couldn't have stopped her. But she didn't. She didn't do any of those things or even bring those possibilities up. I think she'll be a lot better in the morning. She just has to really believe that what I'm offering is true and safe."
She turned to Cole, "You're an amazing man, lover. Thank you so much for this."
For the next two days, Mama cleaned and swept and weeded the gardens and cleaned the garage.
"I draw the line at you cleaning the bike, Mama," Cole told her respectively and then gave her a smile. "You know, you really are safe here. I promise."
She nodded, "I believe you. I doubt he even knows how to get back here. He had nothing nice to say about the trip and bitched about how everything was second-rate. It was embarrassing, to say the least."
She looked up at Cole, "I just don't know what to do now. I need to be doing something."
"How about beginning with selling your house?" he asked.
"What?"
"Well, Nicole checked the deeds and titles already. That house is in your name only. You don't even need to be divorced to sell it. It's yours, from a previous marriage. Willed to you. The lawyer in San Diego, who Nicole found through a friend of ours, assures us that all you have to do is sign the papers and he'll sell that house for you. Then you can use that money to learn investing or something like that with Nicole. She's really good at that."
"I think I'm a little too old to learn about the stock market now and, honestly, I don't think I would like it much anyway."
Cole looked around the house and then said, "What about painting and fixing small problems around a house? You seem to relax when you are cleaning."
"You mean, like, become a maid or something?"
"Well, there's that, but what about flipping houses?" Cole suggested. "I have a friend in the club who does that and he would help you get your feet wet."
Gary arrived an hour later and talked with Mama for three hours. By the time he left, Mama was interested and even a little excited. It took her until after they returned from their honeymoon, which since Mama was there, was only a night's stay at a leisure hotel downtown, to say yes, she would sign the papers.
"Wow, that didn't take as long as I thought it would," Nicole smiled and hugged her.
"I think it is being so far away from him and watching you two together. You two remind me what it was like with your dad and how it should be, and how wrong it has been with Martin. It is time to get him out of your dad's house."
Mama looked at her now, watching TV in the living room, relaxed and with no fear in her eyes. She looked five years younger than her age, too. Turning from the newscast she said, "You know I love to stay with Maxy; you don't even have to ask."
"Yes I do. You have a life. Didn't you have a hot date recently?"
"Well, yes; it was a little steamy," Mama agreed.
"So, plans for future steaminess?" Nicole prodded.
Mama nodded her head, "Friday, eight o'clock and… well… if you have shopping plans for Saturday, you might want to call Angie now."
"Mama? You shock me," she laughed.
"Oh, I doubt it, the way you two go at it. I never know whether I should sell tickets or call the police to hear your screams."
"Mama!" Nicole gasped, truly in shock now.
"Aren't you visiting your friend Lou this weekend?" she asked, ignoring her discomfort.
"Um, yeah, Sunday. Think you'll be done with being hot and steamy by then?"
"Probably," she nodded. "He's close to sixty, you know. But still in good enough shape for a one-nighter, I think."
"Watch those older ones, Mama; they got Viagra now and they aren't afraid to use it."
"I dealt with that with the last one. You aren't kidding either," Mama smiled.
Lou was in prison for another two years. His move into running a prostitution ring was profitable in the short run, but ultimately an unlucky one. Once a month, at least, she and Cole went up to visit him. He was doing well, as they expected, but eager for news and visitations. They often took Maxy, whose middle name was Louis, with them in the Jeep.
This time, however, they planned to spend the day on the bike together, stealing some together time, since boy number two was now only eight months away.
THE END
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DEVILS: Cutthroat 99 MC
By Evelyn Glass
I’ll give her what she craves and take what I want
The devils left her shattered and broken.
She needed a savior, but what she got was a monster.
A monster who wants to hear her plead.
A monster who will make her scream
They stripped everything from her and took what little she had left.
She was left broken and hollow—with no-one else to turn to.
When I found out what the bastards did to her.
When I saw how the way they left her.
Something inside of me snapped.
She knew her share of monsters.
She knew men like me.
But I’ll be goddamned if I let her go.
Not before I tame her.
Not before I own her.
Not before I take what I want.
Again and again.
Until she’s mine.
CHAPTER ONE
“Boot,” Kevin’s voice came over the radio.
“You’re going to have to honk it, Murphy,” Dixon said into his headset as he glanced at the stopwatch on the clipboard and wrote the number down. “You’re almost a full second behind.”
Kevin and Dixon’s communications were terse and business like, Dixon only speaking if spoken to. Kevin would call out markers as he traveled around the Green Hell, the seventeen mile loop in the Siuslaw National Forest that the Cutthroat ‘99’s had marked out years before, and Dixon would write down the times. Kevin had lost a lot of time at Kink, a nasty, tight, right-hander that would spit you into the weeds without a second thought if you got in the marbles.
Dixon listened to Kevin grunt, the Yamaha YZF-R1M barking and growling as Kevin banged the bike down through the gears, followed by the rise and fall of the banshee-like wail as the big bike clawed for speed on the exit.
“Cut me some slack, Montague,” Kevin complained. “This bitch is a handful.”
Dixon chuckled. Kevin had traded up from his trusty 2007 Honda CBR1000RR to the Yamaha and he was trying to master the bike. He’d lost twice last year, the aging Honda no longer able to compete against the newer bikes. This was his second trip around the Hell at speed on the new bike, and he’d knocked six seconds off his first pass and was now within a second of his best time, the track record in the over seven-fifty class.
When he got back to the start they would talk about the bike and Dixon would tinker, adjusting preload, damping, rebound rates and tire pressure, trying to squeeze every bit of speed possible out of it.
“Finger,” Kevin said, and once again Dixon could hear the bike banging
down the gears then wail back up to speed. “Goddamn does this thing have brakes. I can’t get used to how deep into the corner you can go, and holy fuck, since the exhaust and ECU flash, does this bitch pull.”
“Hooray for ABS and traction control,” Dixon chuckled as he wrote the number down. “I have you right on.” Using a stopwatch, he couldn’t really tell if Kevin was faster or slower. That would have to wait for the sophisticated timing equipment at the race, but there was no doubt that once they got the bike dialed in and Kevin adjusted to the feel of the machine, he’d be faster than on his Honda. A lot faster.
They would probably make one more run then call it a night. It was mentally exhausting out on the Hell, and after two or three runs the mistakes started. That’s when the speeds went down and somebody got hurt.
Dixon was waiting for the call at Wiggles, the final timing marker, when he heard the crash. “Kevin!” he screamed while his headset roared and banged as Kevin slid and tumbled along the road. “Kevin!” he cried again, his heart in his throat. He could hear Kevin breathing in the silence, but nothing else. “Kevin, speak to me, pal! Kevin! Fuck!”
He dashed the two-dozen steps to the support truck, slamming the Dodge into gear the minute the engine raced. He floored the truck, the rear tires howling as he pulled onto the road, racing to where his friend had gone down. The lights of the truck speared into the darkness as he drove recklessly fast, slowing way down when he reached Wiggles. He knew Kevin had gone down between Wiggles and Finger and didn’t want to run over the man if he were still in the road, and to give him time to see him if he weren’t.
“Fuck!” he snarled, banging his hand on the wheel when he reached Finger. He pulled over to the side, stabbed the throttle and spun the truck around in the road, before driving back the way he came, moving even more slowly this time as he strained to peer into the darkness to the side of the road. There were no houses, no streetlights, and no people this far out in the forest. It made it perfect for illegal street racing, but he’d give anything right now to have more light.
He slammed on the brakes, the truck lurching to a halt, when he saw the scrapes and gouges in the pavement. Grabbing his light, he bailed out of the truck and ran to the side of the road. He swept the light, hoping he wouldn’t see Kevin while simultaneously hoping he would. The brilliant beam glinted off something a vibrant blue. He snapped the beam back.
“Oh…no,” he breathed as he hurried down the slight embankment. Kevin was lying in a heap next to a tree, his body twisted into a position no man could replicate. Dixon knew not to move him, but he knelt beside the broken man and carefully reached under his helmet and pressed two fingers to his neck.
Dixon stood, his teeth clinched tight, Kevin already beyond the help of mortal men. The light resting on his friend, seeing Kevin twisted and bent, Dix could feel his control slipping, so he flicked the light to the bike so he didn’t have to think about his dead friend a moment. The new Yamaha was an unrecognizable twisted lump of silver and blue among the trees.
He stood for many long moments then swallowed hard as he walked slowly back to the truck. He didn’t want to leave but there was no cell service this far out. He sat in the truck for a long time, staring into the darkness as he gathered himself. This was a shitty detail, but had to be done, and he was going to need help. Putting the truck in gear he reset the trip odometer, so he could find the crash site again, and drove out of the forest and back to civilization.
When he was close enough to highway 126 to get a signal, he pulled the truck to a stop. Steeling himself, he dialed the phone.
“Cale,” the voice on the phone said.
There was no easy way to break this. “Kevin’s dead,” Dix said, gritting his teeth hard to stop the tears.
“What?” Cale cried. “How?”
“Twenty minutes or so ago on the Hell. I need help.”
“Oh my God!”
“Yeah.”
The two men were quiet a moment. It’s always tough when you lose a brother. “I need an hour to get shit together,” Cale said softly. “Where?”
“Between Wiggles and Finger.”
“Okay. You doing okay?”
“Yeah,” Dix said, anything but. Kevin was one of his two closest friends.
“Hang tough, brother,” Cale said, trying to give him strength, though Dix could hear the pain in the man’s voice. “We’re coming.”
***
Ninety minutes later, Dix could see lights approaching on the road. It was probably the club, but he didn’t want any witnesses to what had happened here this night, and had parked the truck a hundred yards away from the crash site.
The Cutthroat van eased to a stop beside the truck. “Where?” Cale Johnson, President of the Cutthroat ’99s asked, another truck pulling to a stop behind the van.
“Up there,” Dix said with a jerk of his head before he turned and started walking, the van and truck creeping along beside him. He kept his light in the road until he saw the scars, then pointed the light into the woods.
“Jesus,” Thad murmured as he stepped out of passenger side the van, the destroyed bike and Kevin clearly visible in Dix’s light. Thaddeus Lymongood took Dix’s arm and turned him to face him. “You okay?” Dix was his best friend and he knew Dix would be taking it hard. They all were, but they weren’t here when it happened.
“Yeah,” Dix replied softly.
Thad stared at Dix. He could read the lie in his eyes, but said nothing. “What happened?” he asked as the other four members of the club clustered around. None of them wanted to be here, but they had to move the body and mangled bike. The police in Douglas, Oregon, were wise to what the Cutthroats were doing, but they never knew when or where their street races were held, and they had to keep it that way. They kept the racing out of the town, but a crashed bike in the middle of national forest would bring scrutiny. With the first race of the season so close, they couldn’t have that.
“Don’t know,” Dix said softly. “There’s no reason to crash here.”
While there were no true straights on the Green Hell, this was one of the straighter sections of the track. This should have been one of the last places where someone would go down.
“Do you think something happened to the bike?”
“Don’t know. He didn’t say anything was wrong. One second he was bitching about how he still wasn’t going in deep enough on the brakes, then the next…” He let the words trail off, unable to continue. “The bike sounded fine on the radio.”
“Fuck. Let’s just do this. Goddamnit!” Chuck growled as he stepped from the road.
They placed a blanket over Kevin out of respect then set to work hauling the mangled bike out of the woods. It took them over an hour to wench the bike up onto the trailer and pick up all the pieces, saying only what they had to in order to complete the work.
Bike loaded, they carefully, and with as much respect as possible, placed Kevin in the van.
“This is so fucked,” Dix said softly.
“Go home, Dix. We’ll take it from here,” Cale said softly, placing a hand on Dix’s shoulder. “You don’t need to see this.”
“No. We all knew the risks and what would happen. But it’s still fucked.”
“That it is, brother. That it is. “Thad, ride with Dix.”
Thad crawled behind the wheel of Kevin’s truck as Dix sat down. “It’s not your fault,” Thad said as he dropped in behind the van and other truck.
“I know,” Dix said softly.
“Do you?”
“Yeah.”
“We all know the risks, you most of all. We agreed what we would do if something like this ever happened. It sucks, but it has to be done to protect the club. Kevin was my friend, too. He’d understand.”
“What about Vicki?” Dix asked. “Will she understand?”
Thad nodded. “Marla, Jen and Steph are with her now. She’s hurting. But she knew it could happen, just like the rest of us. We’ll help her, take care of her unti
l she gets back on her feet. You know that.”
“I know.”
Thad knew Dix was in shock, as any of the brothers would be, as they were. They had been running this race since 1999 when the club was founded, and this was the first time they were going to have to execute their emergency plan. There had been crashes, and plenty of them, but this was the first fatality. The Green Hell was an unforgiving bitch and one mistake could cost you, as it had cost Kevin everything.
