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

by Mellett, Manda

  Raising two fingers to Curtis who correctly interprets the gesture and appears with two fresh beers, I incline my head toward a table in the corner. Once seated and our throats have had the initial wetting, I proceed to tell him about my afternoon, finishing with, “So I won’t be going to see her again.”

  His face grows gradually darker as I reveal the sad story.

  “That’s fucked up, Brother.” Kink stares at the beers, shakes his head, then calls out a demand, “Two whiskys, Prospect.” Turning to me, he adds, “This calls for the stronger stuff.”

  I wholeheartedly agree.

  When two glasses and a bottle, yeah, Curtis has got a head on his shoulders, appear in front of us, Kink half closes his eyes. “That woman’s suffering hurts the head of a Dominant.”

  “You’ve not even met her.” I’m surprised he’s feeling like that.

  “I haven’t and I’m not speaking about me. I’m talking about you.”

  My eyes crease. “I’ve told you before, I’m no Dominant.”

  “Aren’t you?” He refills his whisky glass which I hadn’t noticed he’d already emptied. “You’ve got all the traits, Niran. What officer position are you most suited for?” None is my initial response; I’ve not served enough time in the club. “You’re the de facto sergeant-at-arms. Sure, Grumbler holds the title, but you’ve been playing the part for almost a year now. You’ve got an innate desire to protect and serve the club, as you previously did for your country.” He shrugs. “The role suits you. If Grumbler ever steps down, I, for one, wouldn’t hesitate to vote you in permanently.”

  Ignoring the compliment as I don’t know how to take it, I chuckle. “You must be fuckin’ crazy if you’re implying the club’s full of submissives I want to protect.” Is it wrong I get a mental image of Salem and Pennywise naked and crawling around on their knees in front of me while I crack a whip? It so is. The vision makes me both want to bark a laugh and simultaneously vomit. Nah, I’d never want that.

  “Dominance, the need to nurture and protect, isn’t something that can be turned off,” Kink says quite seriously.

  “Then half the men in the club, at least, possibly all of them, are Dominant if that’s your definition.”

  He nods. “Very true. But getting back to you. You met a woman, quite possibly submissive, who’s in need of a fuck load of help. You saw that, stepped in, and tried to give your support until you were no longer in a position to provide it. That’s what’s tying you up into knots, Brother. Another man? He’d have walked away and simply said fuck it.”

  I don’t agree. I think most men worth their salt would be worrying about her. “What about you, Kink?” I’m interested in what he would have done or would do in the same situation.

  His eyes meet mine and hold them. “I’d be like you, Brother. I know I come off as a shallow bastard who exploits women to fuck them—”

  “Not after our talk the other night,” I interrupt, realising his activities now make sense. “Your ways might be bizarre, but you’re looking out for them.”

  He winks. “And, getting my Dom kicks, don’t forget that. Just as a sub has needs, Doms do too. If we don’t have the chance to get into that headspace, it takes away part of what balances us.”

  My lips curve as I think I’ve caught him out. “So, if I’m a Dom, where do I get my kicks in the Saffie situation? As you said, I was giving support and not getting anything back.”

  He snorts and shakes his head, making his hair fly around him. “So fuckin’ blind, you just can’t see it. You got yours by knowing you were helping. That eased something inside you. Which is why you’re so fuckin’ frustrated that you can’t go back, and why you were sitting brooding by yourself.”

  I top off my own glass now and think about what he’s said for a moment. While I’ve never considered myself dominant in Kink’s way, it does bring my concerns about being unable to help a woman I don’t really know into some kind of perspective. My desire to protect is being thwarted. I might not label it in the same way as Kink, but I do know whatever this is, I was born with it.

  Suddenly, a hand drops onto my shoulder. I start, my Marine training must have forsaken me, as I hadn’t been aware of anyone’s approach.

  “Lover, I know you’re Dominant.” Susie leans in close. “I’m up to games if that’s what you enjoy. You can tie me up anytime or flog me.”

  “Fuckin’ get lost, Susie.” My rage rises fast. “Don’t interrupt fuckin’ private conversations.” Or even listen to them. Even as a hangaround she should know that.

  Kink adds in a growl and a glare.

  Her hand rises and I’m so relieved at the loss of her touch, I barely resist brushing my shoulder to get the lingering sensation off. “If you want me, I’m over there.” She points to where Cindy is standing, and then walks off to join her.

  Good riddance. “I fuckin’ hate that bitch,” I snarl. “Why the fuck does she keep coming around? Does she want to be a sweet butt or something?”

  Kink’s eyes narrow as he watches her walk away. “More likely an ol’ lady, and you, lucky fucker, are who’s she’s got her eyes on.”

  My gaze snaps to him quickly, but it’s not jealously on his face but disgust. “Once, I went with her, Brother. And that was only when I was so fuckin’ drunk I can’t even remember.”

  “Some mistakes come back to haunt us,” he says sagely, then shakes himself and gets back on track. “Now, where were we? Ah yes, Saffie.”

  The concern in his eyes leads me to admit, “I can’t stop thinking about her, Kink. What she’s going through, how she got there—that she has no man with her makes me think the obvious—and the devastating decision she still has to make.”

  Kink leans back on his chair, tipping it up on two legs, and regards me thoughtfully. After a moment, he asks, “You making the assumption she was raped?” I lift my chin slightly, but also raise and lower my shoulders. I’m assuming, yes, but have no evidence one way or another. “What would your advice be in her situation? Abortion, or let nature play this shit out?”

  My answer comes easily. “Not for me to say, Brother. I’ve got no iron in this fire. It’s not what I think, even if my leaning was one way or another. What I’d like is to be there, maybe as a sounding block just to listen to her. It’s she that’s got to live with her choice. I just want to support her and make whatever route she chooses easier for her.” I pause, then add, “If she was raped, you’d think the decision would be easier.”

  “Or maybe not.” Kink’s brow creases. “How it came into being isn’t the kid’s fault. Nor hers. Maybe she was making the best of it.”

  “She’s strong, Kink.” Then I contradict myself. “Nah, I know she seems weak as hell at the moment, but if I’m right in what I think, she’s already made one torturous decision which as it turns out was all for nothing.”

  “She’s one fuck load of complications. Can’t you just walk away?” He’s eyeing me curiously.

  “No fuckin’ way,” I reply.

  But why? I ask myself. I don’t even know her. It’s as though something inside her calls to me, making me arrogantly believe I should be the one to help her.

  Kink brings his chair back down onto all four legs, and using his glass, salutes me. “Dominant to the fuckin’ core,” he pronounces, as if closing that subject completely.

  His declaration unsettles me. I decide to put him right on a few facts. “I’m not attracted to her sexually. I mean, that shit wouldn’t be right. She’s more than five months pregnant with another man’s kid.”

  “I rest my case.” Kink grins widely. “Dominance isn’t about sex. People think subs serve, but that’s incorrect. As much as subs live to serve their Doms, Doms function best when they’re providing a service to someone who needs it. You spent time as a fuckin’ Marine, serving your country, Niran. You’d have given your life to make some unknown person’s life safer, and sex certainly didn’t come into that. Now, you’re looking out for the club. It’s the knowledge that you ca
n help that makes you breathe easier, not any hard-on you might get. When you can’t, it makes you feel helpless.”

  “I don’t know what I can do, Kink.” I’m not going to argue anymore. Too much of what he says makes sense. Another brother might have told me to move on and forget her, that by throwing me out, she’d made her own bed.

  Kink shrugs. “You’re already doing all you can, Niran. It’s why you went to Token. Depending on what he comes back with, you’ll work out another approach. Hell, there’s a hundred ways this could play out. Token’s a fuckin’ genius when it comes to hacking. He can check into the hospital’s database, see if she’s made an appointment for a termination. Then, you could coincidently be there for her. If she doesn’t want you, if she truly can do that shit by herself, that’s on her. But it might just turn out that once again you’re there when she most needs support.”

  Brightening, I finish my whisky. He’s got a good point. If I were pushed to give my opinion, I’d say nothing was to be gained by her continuing the pregnancy. The only outcome would be that after another three months or so, she’d be burying a dead baby incapable of taking a first breath. If Saffie comes to the same conclusion, I’m sure, via Token, I can find out when, and, if she needs me, be there to offer a shoulder in support, or at least, to cry on.

  While I’m still ruminating on what Kink’s said, Pennywise calls out to get his attention. Soon, Kink’s roped into a game of poker.

  Chapter Eleven

  Niran

  Staring after Kink as he strides over to the table where cards are already laid out, I continue thinking. I might have some Dom traits, but I’m certainly not Dominant in the way that he is.

  His previous description of his life sounds equally complicated and simple. Contracts and negotiations are things that belong in business, not in a relationship. Along with the concerns whether what you’re doing is right, his method also takes away spontaneity and excitement. If you know what you’re going to do before you do it, how can you push boundaries and discover what you both like?

  I might like to take the reins in the bedroom, but surely that’s the role that most women expect of a man? But should the woman want to turn the tables, I don’t give a damn. Nah, while I’m idly interested in the games Kink plays, they’re not for me.

  Knowing it takes all sorts to make the world turn, I shake my head as I return to the bar and tap on it, attracting the prospect’s attention again. There’s been a shift change and now I’m served by our latest addition to the club. Fuck knows what the ex-hangaround’s real name is. From the moment he appeared, he picked up the handle, Kid. Hell, he doesn’t look old enough to shave, but is actually twenty-two. He’s eager and keen, just like any new prospect should be.

  The Satan’s Devils are giving him a chance to turn his life around. He’d done a stint in juvie for hot-wiring a car, and during that time got into a gang. On getting out, he got dragged into some bad shit, and was picked up on a felony charge. This time, tried as an adult, he got sent to the penitentiary and served two years. Finding that no picnic, on getting out, he was determined never to go back.

  Leaving a gang is never easy, and it helps if you have men at your back. Our MC’s reputation trumps that of the kiddie gang he was in. In return for our protection, Kid’s giving us his all. From what I’ve seen, he’s going to be a good man to have at our backs.

  “Beer?” Kid asks, respectfully.

  I nod. “How’s it going?”

  “Fuckin’ love it, man.” Kid leans over as he places the beer in front of me. He runs a hand over his youthful face. “I’m not going to let you down.”

  I raise my chin to him, knowing that feeling. It had been my resolve not so long ago. Now, looking out for the club is ingrained in me. If it were not, I’d have called Saffie’s bluff, let her call the cops and been done with it. But from fucking little seeds, acorns can grow, and before you know it, I could have been charged with assault or attempted kidnapping, or fuck knows what they’d make up. And worse, they could have investigated the club on trafficking grounds. Of course there would be nothing to find, but hell, there’s always a chance they could use the opportunity to pin something on the club.

  Now I’m at a loose end. My gut tells me Saffie needs me, while my head warns me, I’m the last person she wants. All because she’s scared to death of men like me, a biker. Why the hell is she so terrified of any motorcycle club, and to the extent that just the mention sends her into a panic attack?

  I’ve never denied I was one, thought somehow she’d assumed it. But then, not wanting to leave my motorcycle anywhere in the vicinity of her apartment, I’d always used the truck, and as I never wear my cut in it, hadn’t bothered to take it along. There’s also another good reason. In that area, wearing it without backup could well have invited an attack.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. I slide it out quickly, hoping it’s Saffie and that she’s reconsidered. Maybe she’s missing me by now.

  But it’s not her. I frown, noticing two things. One, it’s past midnight, and the second, the caller is my mom who I rarely hear from. The combination is worrying.

  Leaving my beer, I stand and make my way hurriedly, pushing past brothers and club girls doing their thing, and moving around a card game, to head outside.

  “Mom, hold on a sec while I get somewhere quieter.” For her to be calling me this late, it must be serious. I want to be able to hear what she says.

  A few more steps have me out in the night air, another few yards, and the loud music from the clubhouse fades. “Yeah, Mom, I’m okay now. Whatcha want?”

  My mother and I don’t have a normal son/parent bond, just a strained and awkward relationship. A dutiful son, I go back to my hometown from time to time, but never stay long.

  It wasn’t always that way. We might have been poor, but I grew up in a happy home. Dad worked hard to put food on our table and taught me how to be a man. However dire our straits became, he’d never countenance earning money other than doing it the hard way, and however Mom nagged, he’d never raised his hand. He taught me respect for women and those who couldn’t look out for themselves, a love for my country and fellow man, and the ethics that you worked your balls off for anything worth having.

  All was good until a drunk driver crossed over the centre line and took him away from us. At fourteen, I had to step up and become the man of the house. It had been hard; his life insurance couldn’t even guarantee the meagre lifestyle that I’d known. But I’d remembered the lessons he’d taught me, and though my size and strength got me invited to join a gang, I’d resisted. Instead, I studied hard at school, and worked every free hour I had doing menial jobs, bringing in what money I could. Mom and I became extremely familiar with ramen noodles, a dish I can’t stomach today.

  But it was to no avail, my efforts weren’t enough, and the woman whose skills had hitherto enabled her to keep house had to find a job for herself. With no education nor experience behind her, she became a minimum-wage cleaner.

  Still, we jogged along okay, finding solace and support in each other until one of her cleaning contracts was to service a single businessman, ten years her senior. I’d like to say they clicked, but I’d always had suspicions that when he fell for my mother, it wasn’t a love match for her, rather an escape from her circumstances. I didn’t blame her, didn’t resent her from moving on from my dad. A good son, I’d wanted the best for her.

  I grew up as an only child, and still consider myself that.

  Mom had been seventeen when she married the first time, just a year later she’d had me. Three years after my father had died, she’d gotten hitched again. While she’d found a replacement husband, I hadn’t found a replacement dad. Grover was okay, but he wanted his own family and not one he’d inherited. Being thrust in the parental role, he’d gone into it too hard, automatically assuming a kid like me would need firm direction and a heavy guiding hand.

  Having been the man of the house, I’d found his restrictions hard t
o accept. For Mom’s sake, I’d put up with it, but as soon as I turned eighteen, I joined the Marines. I had a new life, and knowing my mother was settled and as happy as she could be, I went out and lived it. I had no regrets, finding I relished my newfound freedom and the opportunity to make my own mistakes and my own triumphs. On visits home, Grover couldn’t stop being heavy-handed. For my sake and my mom’s happiness, I lessened the frequency, and fell into the pattern of returning only occasionally, and only ever for short periods of time.

  She’d been just thirty-five when she’d met Grover, and while one baby had been sufficient for her and my dad, as though wanting to give her new husband everything that he asked for she quickly fell pregnant. In all, three kids—all girls—had appeared in rapid succession. They’d all been born after I’d left home, and I’d never felt they were siblings of mine.

  I talk to my mom at Christmas and sometimes on my birthday. I haven’t been home since I joined the Devils—I don’t want to keep that secret, and me being a biker is something which my stepdad would not approve. All they know is that I’m a mechanic. I do know what Grover appreciates is that despite his wealth, I’ve never asked for handouts.

  As memories flit through my head, I perch on a barrel and steel myself to hear bad news. Had Grover met with an accident or died from an illness? Hell, I hope not. Mom would never survive another such loss.

  Mom doesn’t take long to put me out of my misery. “Niran, it’s your sister.”

  I suck in air, for a moment I’m trying to process what she’s talking about. Oh, yeah, the three girls that I’ve never really felt were related to me because I’ve never been part of their lives. It puzzles me why she’s calling me about any of them. “Who? And what the fuck’s happened? What’s going on, Mom?” The prospect of one of my siblings being injured or worse looms closer.