Avenging Devil Part 1: Satan’s Devils MC - San Diego Chapter #3

by Mellett, Manda

  There’s something beautiful about it, not sexy at all—this is my brother’s wife—but I find myself envying Grumbler that this is all his. Up to now, the extent of my pregnancy knowledge has been how to avoid one by always using a condom.

  Looking on, half-wondering how I’d be feeling if this was my woman and my baby, I watch as the technician places lube over her belly, then picks up a wand. As it connects with Mary’s skin, a screen starts to display an image.

  I need a bit of help, but once I can see the baby, its form becomes clearer. My hand seems to move of its own volition, sneaking over and touching Mary’s. Mary grabs at it as though it’s a lifeline.

  “Is he okay?” He? My surprise must show on my face. Realising her mistake, Mary quickly recovers and explains, “Grumbler knows we’re having a boy, but we’re keeping it to ourselves for now.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me.” I grin. Grumbler must be over the moon. I’d bet good money he’s already planning on buying motorcycle-themed shit for the nursery, and expect I’ll be roped in to help put Harley decals on the walls.

  “To answer your question, Mrs Winslow, everything looks good. He’s a good size and all is where it needs to be.”

  I hear Mary’s exhaled sigh and don’t miss that the look she throws me is full of relief. I squeeze her hand.

  “Your pregnancy is proceeding very nicely. Nothing to worry about here.”

  I’m transfixed on the screen. That’s Grumbler’s boy in there. A recognisable child, who I’ll hopefully meet in three months’ time. I feel overwhelmed and privileged to have seen him. My throat feels choked, and this time, it’s Mary’s hand tightening around mine.

  Chapter Six

  Niran

  Being a gentleman, I wait outside while Mary pulls some of her clothes up and the rest down and makes herself presentable. After a short period of hanging around while she sets up her next appointment, she’s free to leave and we head toward the parking lot.

  “That went well?” I raise my tone on the last word, making my statement into a question.

  Mary elbows me gently in the side. “I know you’ll report back to Grumbler, so here’s the rundown. My blood pressure is normal, my blood count is what it should be. There’s no protein in my urine, and I’ve put the right amount of weight on.”

  “Hang on.” Scrambling in my pocket, I extract my phone. “Let me take notes.” This time her elbow is sharper. I bark a laugh. “I’ll just tell him baby’s fine, and mom is as well.”

  She opens her mouth to respond, but my hand taking hold of her arm pulls her to a halt, and whatever she was going to say is forgotten as her eyes catch sight of what’s caught my attention.

  “Wait here,” I tell her, then take off.

  A Marine can never turn off his training. As I run to the clearly hurt or distressed woman leaning against a beat-up car, a vehicle I’m surprised to gather, only by the virtue that it must have driven her here, is roadworthy, I’m scanning the environment, checking for danger and wishing like fuck I was armed. As I draw close, I recognise she’s the one who’d captured my attention in the waiting room earlier. She’s propped up against the door as though needing it to hold her up, her head resting against the roof, and her whole body shaking. As I draw close, I can hear her sobbing, and then, to my horror, she sinks to the ground, her arms cradling her belly.

  “Hey.” Making my voice as gentle as possible, I crouch at her side, reluctant to touch her. “You alright?”

  It’s obvious she’s not, but I don’t know what else to say or ask. If it’s a problem with her car, I can help her out. But as I came here with Mary with a dread of hearing the wrong news, considering she’s just exited the hospital makes me fear the worst, and that her problem is one I’m not equipped to deal with.

  She’s sobbing as though she can’t hear me, so I try again. “Darlin’, can you talk to me? Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll see if I can help.”

  When she still doesn’t respond, it worries me. Remembering Grumbler tries to prevent Mary getting the least bit upset, I’m getting concerned. She’s pregnant, and such distress surely can’t be good for the baby. Reaching out my hand, I touch her shoulder, wanting her to acknowledge me. Wanting to know if I should summon help from the building behind.

  At my touch, she rears back, falls on her ass, and starts scrambling away.

  “Hey!” I repeat, holding up my hands and getting back to my feet. I’m a big fucker standing at six foot three, and I’m Black. Even without wearing my cut, to some people, my colour and size are enough to label me as a threat. “I want to help, that’s all.”

  “Niran? What’s going on?” Thank fuck, Mary didn’t obey me and wait. I could do with some feminine help. “Oh, honey.” Awkwardly, Mary covers the gap the woman has put between me and her. She manages to get herself down to the ground and holds out her arms, then hesitantly inches closer and pulls the woman to her. Ms Jones—that’s all I know, courtesy of how she was addressed in the clinic—wails again and lets Grumbler’s wife hold her. Mary’s concerned eyes meet mine, but she simply lets her sob, rocking her like she was as much a baby as the infant she’s carrying.

  My gaze flicks over the parking lot, and then to the hospital entrance. “Should l get help?” I’m feeling more confident now that Mary’s stepped in and has the look of a woman who’s taking charge.

  “Do you need medical help, honey? Is it the baby?”

  Her enquiry makes the woman sob harder, but she shakes her head, and now her first words come out, wailed in utter anguish, “No one can help. There’s nothing anyone can do now.”

  Mary and I exchange glances, both of us clearly thinking the same thing. Even if we’re adding twos and twos together, we’ve got to be close to the right result. Grumbler’s going to kill me, is my selfish initial thought. His old lady who’s already preparing herself for her own bad news shouldn’t be faced with a real example happening to somebody else. She shouldn’t be getting distressed, even if it’s on the other woman’s behalf. But how can I tear her away? The woman clearly needs help, and there’s no one else around to provide it, as evidenced by the way a happy young couple just walked past, hurrying their steps as though not wanting to get involved.

  The woman is being wracked by violent shivers, even though the day isn’t particularly cold, and the coat she’s wearing should be more than adequate. Her face, pale as I noticed before, has whitened further, her eyes, red and raw, stand out in macabre contrast. Whatever news she’s just heard must have been devastating. When I served, I’d seen the result of shock many times before, and she’s showing classic symptoms. Enough to need medical help? I think so.

  “I’m going to get someone,” I say quietly to Mary. My job is to get Mary out of here and away from any angst, to get her home and back into that comfortable bubble that Grumbler wants to keep her in.

  “No.” Hearing me, the woman struggles to free herself from the comfort she’s receiving. “I can’t… not now. I just need to get away from here.”

  Becoming conscious the afternoon is darkening, I look up at the sky, seeing the ominous clouds gathering. Already I can scent rain in the air, and my biker instincts tell me this isn’t going to be a polite gentle shower, but a downpour probably of biblical proportions.

  “Mary, you comfortable with driving the SUV?” I need her out of here now. Grumbler would have my head if she caught a chill or got the slightest bit cold. As for the other woman, no good could come from her getting soaked.

  “What are you thinking, Niran?”

  I nod toward the woman. “That I’ll drive her home.”

  The woman startles. “I’m not going home. I’ve got to get to work.”

  Jeez. That’s the last place she should be going.

  “No,” Mary’s no-nonsense voice addresses her, echoing my thoughts. “You’re in no state to work. You need to look after yourself. Work can wait. They’ll understand.”

  I hope Mary’s right to be optimistic. I’ve worked f
or some assholes myself. But I wait to hear what Ms Jones thinks about it.

  She considers Mary’s words for a brief second, then shudders as she says, “You’re right. I can’t face going to the store.” I think she already knew it herself, but someone else’s confirmation has helped. Placing a hand against the ground, she attempts to push herself up. When she’s standing, she sways slightly, and places her hand on the roof of her car to steady herself. She avoids talking to me but directs her comment to Mary. “I’m fine. I can drive.”

  I’m about to tell her she’ll be a danger to herself let alone anyone else—hell, she’s weak, hardly able to stand, and that pale skin shows me she’s far from recovered from whatever caused the shock—but Mary gets in first.

  “Honey, I don’t think that’s a good idea. How about I drive your car, and Niran can follow us, then after we drop you off, he can take me home?”

  At that point, another couple passes us, the woman smiling widely and caressing her large pregnant stomach. Our woman utters a loud sob, closes her eyes, and a few more tears leak out. When she speaks, her word is barely more than a whisper, “Alright.”

  This is so not what Grumbler would want me to be doing, letting Mary out of my sight with a stranger. But neither would he want her out in the elements. With a resigned grimace, as the first of probably many raindrops starts to fall, I usher the two women into the car, knowing I’d lose any argument. I make sure Mary’s been given the keys. When I ask if she’s sure she can drive in her state, I’m subjected to a withering glance.

  Doing what little I can, telling her to wait until I’m behind her, I go to the SUV, crossing my fingers that junker will make it to wherever it needs to go, and that I’ve not put Grumbler’s old lady in danger.

  In front of me, black smoke puffs from the exhaust, and the car seems to jerk each time we start off having been stopped at a light. I get a feeling of dread I’ve fucked up. I will Mary to drive safely, and for that engine to just keep going. Grumbler would have my balls if anything happened to his wife. Fuck, if it did, I’d chop my own balls off.

  I should be relieved when we reach our destination, but I’m not feeling easier when ahead of me Mary brings the car to a halt and I pull up behind her. Hurrying to get out to be at her side, I lock the SUV and make a run for the car, scanning the area around me. This is one of the worst neighbourhoods I’ve seen in the city, or possibly anywhere in my life. The apartment block is shabby and uncared for, and under my feet I hear a discarded syringe crunch.

  As I open the driver’s side to extract Mary, my intention being to get her back to the SUV and out of here, I hear her saying, “Come on, Saffie, let’s get you inside.” She’s obviously got at least a name out of her on the short journey.

  Uh-uh, no way. “You got a husband or boyfriend waiting for you?” I snap, maybe a little too harshly.

  Saffie looks shocked at the question, and her flinch makes me feel like an ass. “No. There’s no one.”

  Mary releases the seat belt and starts to pull herself out. Automatically, I go to help her and then try to hold her back as her intention is clearly to go help Saffie.

  “Go to the SUV, Mary.”

  She just glares at me. A glare that has me, a former Marine and biker, stepping back. I open my mouth to object, then see by her expression her mind is set, and the only option I have is to manhandle her and force her into the car which clearly, I can’t. Cursing and mentally apologising to Grumbler, I throw up my hands in defeat.

  I’d offer to stay with Saffie myself, and let Mary drive the SUV back home, but from her original reaction, I doubt Saffie would take kindly to me being the one helping her. My stomach rolls as I consider it’s not the colour of my skin that might put her off, it could be my gender. Maybe her baby is a result of a rape? Fuck, I hope not. But the horrors I’ve seen don’t allow me to rule it out. In any case, it’s best if I keep my distance. One thing is for certain, I’m staying. I won’t be leaving them alone.

  Reluctantly, I allow Mary, pregnant herself, to put her arm around the devastated woman and follow them into an apartment building the likes of which Grumbler certainly wouldn’t want his old lady to enter. Once inside, we find out Saffie lives on the fourth floor. Of course, she fucking does. And of course, the elevator is out of commission.

  Fuck this. “Stay here, Mary, I’ll take her up.”

  Without giving her a chance to protest, I sweep Saffie up into my arms and hold her tight so she can’t escape. Then I’m tackling the stairs.

  She’s light, which is lucky as hell, though I’m still struggling, placing each step with care, and hoping like fuck my prosthetic leg can take the extra weight. Knowing I’ll suffer for it later, I labour on. The exertion must show on my face, as when she stops writhing to get free, Saffie goes still in my arms.

  “I’m too heavy.”

  “You’re not,” I refute.

  “Your leg okay, Niran?” I curse as I hear Mary puffing her way up behind us, torn between wanting her to wait downstairs and not wanting her left on her own in this neighbourhood.

  When Saffie’s swollen red eyes pose a question, I don’t hesitate with my answer. I’ve learned it’s best to be upfront when directly challenged, rather than pretend to be the able-bodied man I’m not. “Lost half my leg. I wear a prosthesis. A fake limb.”

  Her eyes widen with surprise, but she doesn’t say more, just holds on tight and seems to be making an effort not to unbalance me. I’m pleased as fuck when we reach a door which she says is hers. By this time, sweat is pouring off my forehead and my stump is screaming like a bitch.

  Only now do I let her down and wait a moment for Mary to catch up. Mary’s carrying Saffie’s purse which it seems she’d forgotten. When she hands it over, Saffie takes a moment to find and extract her key, then attempts to place it in the lock. She’s trembling so much it takes her a minute, but I don’t take over. If my earlier thoughts are correct, I’ve got to stay back and from now on, touch her as little as possible.

  When finally, she has the door open, she places a foot inside, then turns around. “Thank you for bringing me home.” Her tone is dismissive and unable to misinterpret as anything other than she wants us gone, as she should. Why should anyone let two perfect strangers into her home?

  “Honey, you don’t want to be alone, not right now,” Mary states, adamantly. “Is there someone I can call for you? Family, a neighbour or friend?”

  “There’s no one,” Saffie replies, then corrects, “I don’t need anyone.”

  The way she says it makes me believe the first statement was the only one which is right. She has no one to care for her. But my responsibility is to get Mary home and hope like hell Grumbler doesn’t object to our detour today. My eyes continuously flit left and right, and my ears are pricked for any sounds I don’t like. The hallway is full of rubbish I’d prefer not to examine too closely, music plays loudly from somewhere, and filtering down from the floor above are the sounds of angry voices shouting. While I don’t like leaving any woman here alone, the overriding thought in my head tells me my duty is to get Mary out of here.

  But Mary didn’t survive bringing up a teenager without having a mind of her own. The expression on her face should have warned me she isn’t the kind of person who’d just accept being told no, especially when she can see someone is hurting.

  With a directness I wouldn’t have employed, Grumbler’s old lady takes the bull by the horns. “It’s the baby, isn’t it? Something’s wrong.”

  It’s as if up to that point, Saffie had been more focused on seeing us go than on the reason why we were here in the first place. Mary’s brutal reminder has her falling apart in front of my eyes. She sobs, steps away from the door, lurches to a worn sofa and puts her hand on it. Without waiting for an invitation, Mary steps in, and what can I do, but follow her?

  As Mary hugs the woman to her, rocking her in her arms just like she had in the parking lot, I step to one side and taking out my phone, place a call to Grumbler
.

  Chapter Seven

  Saffie

  Wave after wave of guilt goes through me as I shamelessly let myself be held by a woman who I don’t know beyond the first names we’d exchanged on the way to my apartment. I’m crazy to be letting total strangers into my home, but right at this moment, that’s the last thing that worries me. If they turned out to be serial killers it might be a mercy.

  Mary holds me tight, rocking me without asking anything, seeming to know if she did, I’d be incapable of speaking right now. I’m lost in my own head, asking one overarching question.

  What had I done wrong?

  Just about everything, I answer myself.

  The seed had been planted and I’d been pregnant long before I’d found out. In pain and hurting, and yes, seeking oblivion, I’d been doing what I could to take my mind off my misery—drinking and smoking weed. When Duke thought numbing my agony would make me easier to twist to his will, I hadn’t protested when something else was injected into my veins.

  Duke had hurt me. Who could blame me for taking whatever painkillers had been offered to me? Internally wailing, I recall how I’d even relished the dreamy sensation that had taken my agony from me. I should have known better than to placidly accept a cocktail of drugs. But the thought of being pregnant had never occurred to me. If I’d even suspected, I’d have taken better care of myself and my baby.

  The damage, however, has already been done. If it wasn’t the drugs, it could have been the stress I was under. Living with the Crazy Wolves hadn’t exactly been easy, and my blood pressure must have been through the roof. Then I’d witnessed Jude’s killing, which led to the beating. Maybe it happened then?