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

by Mellett, Manda

  Token grimaces. “No fuckin’ idea, Brother. Anonymous contact.”

  Lost taps the desk. “And leaving that aside, what we should be asking is why Utah’s got their panties in knots about us seeking info on her.”

  Token snorts. “Other than the feds, Utah’s the only people I know who could construct a background which would stand up. I’ve got a gut feel they might have had a hand in moving her.”

  “You made contact?” Grumbler asks Prez.

  “No.” Lost shakes his head. “I wanted to know more on what we knew about her before I spoke to them. You know they sometimes work on government shit, and I wasn’t willing to give her up if we didn’t need to.”

  “From what I’ve heard, the last thing that woman wants is the fuckin’ law on her back,” the VP says furiously. “She’s got enough to deal with as it is. I don’t give a shit what she might have done.”

  “I tend to agree,” Prez states, then his eyes meet Grumbler’s. “Which is why I like to know what I’m dealing with before diving in.”

  It’s a good reminder of how Lost works. He never does shit on impulse and always thinks first. Sometimes his level of planning drives us crazy, but it has saved our asses before.

  But Utah knows something, and I want to get a hold on what. “I want to find out what info they have on her.” I fix my eyes on Prez. That she might have the law or other trouble after her could mean she needs my protection even more. “She’s scared of MCs. I don’t think she has done anything wrong, but it is possible that the law might want her to testify or some such shit. Did she report her rape? Have they now found her rapist?” I know Token hadn’t found anything under the name we knew, but now we know that’s a fake one.

  “She wasn’t moved by the feds,” Token stresses. “Else they’d know where to find her for her day in court.”

  I doubt Saffie would want to face this Duke, not even across a courtroom. Not that she’d have the chance, as soon as I’ve eyes on the fucker, he’s dead. Even locked up, I’d find a way.

  “Makes sense Utah’s involved with getting her relocated,” Dart states. “And why else would they make contact?”

  Nodding, Lost takes the phone Token’s holding out to him, and places it on the table. “Guess it’s time we find out.”

  “Prez.” I raise my hand, wiggling it frantically, making him pause from tapping in the number. “Don’t give her away. Not even to Utah.”

  He shoots me a who the fuck do you think I am? look, then continues entering the digits.

  Yeah, he’ll be cautious. He’s using a burner phone for a start, one that Token must have ensured is clean and can’t be traced or hacked into. Utah will soon know who he is and already know where we are, but not any other fucker. The alien number does mean the recipient doesn’t recognise the caller.

  “Yeah?” a gruff, cautious, voice answers.

  I’ve only met two of Utah’s members, Swift, their brother without a dick as we often refer to her, and Bolt, who’s got the most amazing prosthetic hand I’ve ever seen in my life and, as a fellow amputee, one which I’m jealous of. As such, I don’t recognise who’s picked up, but would place a bet this is a chat Prez to Prez.

  “Lost here.”

  “Lost, Brother. I’ve been waiting for you to get in touch. Seems that your man Token has touched on a nerve.”

  With his eyes focused on me, Lost states, “Don’t understand how, Snatcher.”

  “Hang on. Let me get Stormy in here. He’s the one dealing with this.”

  Stormy? Hell, the last time his name was mentioned at church it was during discussions about whether we should kill him on sight. I’d heard he’d wrangled his way back into Utah’s good books, even getting the mother chapter prez, Drummer, to wipe the slate clean. A slate that had gotten very dirty in San Diego, when Stormy had taken the kill shot that should have been Lost’s, and which had erased an opportunity to find out whether his old lady, Patsy, was free from whoever was after her. It had all been fucked up. Our chapter has no love for Stormy.

  Grumbler’s shooting Lost a look of disgust, but Lost shakes his head, holding up a finger, signalling we should wait before passing judgement.

  “Right.” Snatcher comes back on the line. “I’ve got Stormy with me.”

  “Your end clean?” Stormy asks without preamble.

  “As a fuckin’ whistle,” Token growls. “What about yours?”

  For an answer, there’s a chuckle, followed with, “I was impressed with the searches you set off, Token. Just a shame you didn’t close them all down.”

  Shrugging off the patronising compliment, Token responds, “Clearly, I didn’t find anything of importance.”

  “Thank fuck you didn’t. If you had, Snatcher would be offering you my job.” There’s more than a touch of arrogance in Stormy’s voice.

  Lost snarls, “Fuckin’ get on with it, Stormy.”

  There’s a murmuring of voices in the background, then Stormy’s voice comes back on. “Swift and Bolt tell me San Diego’s solid. I, well, I kind of have trust issues, but I’m working on that. But under the circumstances, I need to know why you’re looking for info on Saffie Jones. You asking for you, or for someone else?”

  “Lack of trust goes both ways, Stormy,” Lost coolly states. “But this might help. You’re not the only party interested. Token’s searches were picked up by someone else. Interestingly, they breezed over the name we were seeking, and asked about a Sapphire Marshall instead. They want to know any info we have, and there are dollars attached.”

  “Fuck.” The other end of the phone goes quiet for a moment. “Okay.” When he comes back on, Stormy’s voice is firmer. “She’s not your problem. Leave it with us, and we’ll move her on.”

  “Uh-uh. No can do…” I can’t say the word brother, it doesn’t slip off my tongue. “She’s in no state to move on as you’d have it.” And I’m not ready to have her disappear from my life.

  “She’s hurt?” There’s an urgent note of concern in his voice.

  “Nah,” I reassure him, but don’t want to say more.

  “What is she now, six months? Has she had the baby prematurely?”

  He knows she was pregnant? Lost sees me bristling, and waves me down. “How about you tell us how you know so much about her? We’re fencing around here, Brother, without anyone getting in any strikes. Ain’t no one going to get anywhere until one of us comes clean. I think you owe it to us to go first.”

  There’s another brief period where no one speaks, then Snatcher takes over. “We’re Satan’s Devils, Lost. All of us wear the same patch. None of us tolerate violence toward women. But Stormy here, he’s seen some shit, and his lack of trust isn’t always unwarranted. He needs your reassurance that you’ve got Saffie’s best interests at heart and won’t put her in danger.”

  “I can give that assurance,” I answer for my prez. Personally, if the club doesn’t want to get involved.

  Lost’s mouth quirks, and then adds his reinforcement, “This club doesn’t make money from spilling info on a bitch who’s better off staying lost. You should know that more than anyone, Stormy.”

  At his obvious reference to Patsy, Stormy exhales a breath, his sigh of capitulation audible over the line. “Okay. Here it is. Are you aware that we’re part of a pipeline, a network that helps abused women escape their abusers? Well, we are. Saffie was brought to the attention of the Freedom Trail by a nurse in a hospital in Nevada.” He pauses, before continuing. “If this is news to you, then it’s going to be hard hearing.” He lets that sink in before proceeding again. I take the opportunity to steel myself. It turns out, I need to. “Saffie was in bad shape. She’d been kept by an MC for five years, and there was evidence of multiple previous injuries, but no medical records, suggesting they treated her in house. This time, they’d gone too far, and the damage they’d inflicted was too much for them to handle. Not wanting her dead, reluctantly they had to get her help, and thank fuck for that. A nurse treating her recognised the signs
of abuse, got in contact with the Freedom Trail, and Saffie, having just learned she was pregnant, jumped at the chance to escape.”

  Fuck!

  For a moment I forget to breathe. I’d known it had to have been bad, but this? As my head fills with sorrow at the horrors Saffie’s suffered—so much more than I could ever imagine—a quick glance around shows Dart, Lost and Token are also letting the dreadful facts sink in, Stormy continues, “Saffie’s a pet name, one by which her family called her. Once she became a teenager, she’d ditched it as being too childish. But it’s familiar, and one she has no problem answering to, so we resurrected it for her fake identity.”

  “She was kept as a club whore?” I ask, re-evaluating what I’d thought I’d seen in her, and comparing her to Pearl, Tits and Cindy. She hadn’t seemed like a person who’d flaunt her sex, so probably wouldn’t have gone willingly. Stormy had said kept, which implies she was imprisoned and forced. Fuck.

  “She wasn’t a whore.” Stormy contradicts what I’ve just been thinking. “The MC might not have worried so much if she was. At the time of her disappearance, she was Sapphire Marshall, that was the name she was known by to the club—her surname courtesy of the VP, Duke—real, not road name—to whom she was, and still technically is, married.”

  What the actual fuck? She’d never given any inkling of that.

  At first, I bristle that I’d almost entered a relationship with a woman who was taken, then abruptly come to my senses. Duke is the asshole she’s terrified of and was probably responsible for almost killing her. Marriage licence or not, she owes him nothing, and certainly not her fidelity.

  She wasn’t a club whore but a wife. Duke’s wife. Whatever claim he had, legal or not, doesn’t apply now. He’s going to become separated from his wife voluntarily or not if I have anything to do with it.

  “The VP’s property,” Lost states, his jaw locked, making me glance up. He’s right. A fucking abuser who’d put his wife in the hospital would see her exactly as that—something he owned, and not as the Satan’s Devils do, property to be loved and cherished.

  “Got it in one, Brother.” Stormy growls, adding coldly, “He wants her back, if only to save face, but seeing the lengths he’s going to trying to find her, it could well be other reasons.” There’s a pause, then he adds, so chillingly I almost shiver, “If he finds her, I doubt she’ll stay long breathing, or if he keeps her alive, that her life will be a living hell. He’ll make an example of her. Duke doesn’t have a good reputation.”

  “He know about the baby?” I ask, still not saying it doesn’t exist anymore. No one likes putting all their cards on the table.

  I can hear Stormy’s deep intake of breath over the phone. “The nurse who helped her escape was found dead a few months ago, not long after Sapphire left. She was tortured, so it seems likely.”

  Fuck. This man obviously doesn’t play around.

  “What are the Utah rules on custody?” Dart asks, his brow creasing.

  Stormy’s answer comes quickly. “Fucker would only lose custody and visitation rights if he were convicted for rape. Duke’s her husband, it’s her word against his.” Snatcher says something in the background. “Yeah, he put her in the hospital, but she lied to the cops about why she was there. Coerced, probably, of course, but it would be hard to bring up a rape accusation now given that history.”

  “That’s one thing we don’t have to worry about.” I decide to come clean. “Saffie, well, she’s lost the baby.”

  Stormy sighs. “Fuck, that’s hard on her. But in some ways that makes it easier.”

  Fucking easier? The man doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I recall her abject misery, those first few days when she could barely drag herself out of bed.

  Lost raps his fingers. “What’s the club, and has this Duke got club backing to find her?”

  It’s Snatcher’s voice now. “The Crazy Wolves based in Nevada, and we presume so. Someone’s sanctioned the use of club assets to find her. Though we can’t discount, as he’s VP, he might be directing it by himself.”

  As he’s VP, he’ll have men who’ll follow him, maybe even without the sanction of their prez. As an old lady, Saffie’s club property, and some clubs would go to the ends of the earth to hold on to that. It’s a matter of respect.

  Jesus, Saffie. What have you gotten yourself into?

  She’s his fucking wife! And under the circumstances, it’s impossible for her to ask for a divorce.

  I may have thought I wanted to protect her before, but now that streak inside me leaps to hitherto unknown levels. One way or another, this man’s going to exit this marriage and if it’s by my hand, so much the better.

  Grumbler can keep quiet no longer. “His full name’s Duke Marshall?”

  Without hesitation, Stormy replies, “That’s him.”

  The four of us exchange glances and shrug. That name’s a new one to us.

  “How close do you think he is to finding her, Stormy? Any suggestions on how to play this?” My distrust of the man has been put into the background. To save Saffie, I’ll take answers whatever heritage they have. Except for having them relocate her again. If he’s found her once, he might do so again, and next time she wouldn’t have me.

  Stormy doesn’t hesitate. “Too close if he picked up on Token’s searches. Token, can you mirror an IP address with a location in another state? Throw them off the trail for now.”

  Our computer guy nods in answer, then states, “That I can do. It might deaden the scent for a while. They’re suspicious and looking. I already deleted all my files, closed down the server and moved them to an independent one.”

  “What implications are there for us?” Lost asks sharply. Token’s ability to keep his eyes on the underworld has paid dividends before now. Deleting info doesn’t sound good.

  Both the voice on the phone and Token chuckle. “I copied them first and stored them securely, and I’ve got multiple access points,” he explains calmly. “I can afford to burn one.”

  It’s Snatcher’s gruff tones we hear now. “Sounds like you’ve got your info buttoned down. As for the woman herself, I’d feel happier if you could bring her under your protection, Lost, while we figure shit out and how close he’s got. All we know for certain is that he knows what name she’s now going by. However, that they were able to hit on Token’s enquiry makes me worry they’ve got access to shit we don’t know about. I have no idea of their IT capabilities, but we have to assume the worst.”

  “Prez, if they’ve found the ID she’s using,” Stormy points out, “she’ll have left footprints in San Diego. We have to relocate her.”

  Yeah, she will have. Her job, her apartment, and the hospital records.

  “And this time with a fuckin’ watertight ID,” Snatcher growls. “And where no bugger will try to trace her.” It’s a poke at us, me and Token. “Jeez, what a mess. We need time to sort something out. My request stands, Lost, for you to extend your hospitality.”

  Having been party to this discussion, I want nothing more than to bring her under our wing. But there’s a problem, which I share. “That won’t be as easy as it sounds. Quite rightly, from what I’ve just heard, she’s fuckin’ terrified of MCs.” Now I know, I’m not surprised, at last able to understand why she never quite trusted me, seeing the patch and not the man. I could tell her clubs were different until the cows come home, her extreme experience would lead her to believe otherwise. Not just one rape, but five years of abuse. Fuck, that must have felt like a lifetime.

  Lost’s brow is creased, and he rubs at his temples. Suddenly he smiles. “Your railroad, Snatcher. You ever use any kind of password to help folks along? So they know the contact is genuine?”

  “Sure do,” Snatcher says. “It changes all the time, but the one Saffie knows is…” there’s a brief pause followed by, “thanks, Storm… ‘Did you lose your purse? I found one with X dollars in it.’”

  “What’s X?” Lost frowns.

  “An increment of the la
st number she’d been given. We just need a moment to figure that out, then we’ll get back to you. Why, what you thinking, Brother?”

  “I’m thinking I could send my ol’ lady to check up on her, purportedly sent from the Freedom Trail. As they’ve not met before, she’s likely to trust her if she presents the correct credentials. Patsy could befriend her.”

  “Your woman sound?”

  Lost snorts. “Sometimes I think she’s got a better head on her shoulder than I have, and not only that, as you know, she’s been under witness protection herself.”

  “What’s siccing a fuckin’ bitch on her going to do to help?”

  Lost’s face goes apoplectic, but Snatcher’s taken it on himself to call Stormy out. “Have some fuckin’ respect, Storm.”

  To my surprise, Stormy backs down. “Sorry, Lost. I sometimes slip back into my old ways.” He sighs. “All I remember is Patsy running off to take the heat off her kids and the club. But that shows she’s got spunk, and if that’s half what my own old lady has got, it’s a good call and she’ll do the job.”

  Lost states firmly, “She trusts the club and can vouch for us, and I can vouch for her. Patsy’s not only my ol’ lady, but her son is a prospect, her daughter’s married to Ink from Colorado, and they’ve just had a child. She’s club through and through. Once she’s gained Saffie’s confidence, she can bring her into the fold. I’ve no doubt she can do it.”

  It’s a good idea. I harbour no hesitation about the first old lady’s abilities. And if she fails, I’ll drag Saffie back here myself. Force her to see we’re different. Yeah, like that’s not going to confirm her view of what an MC is. While I’d rather it was me dealing with Saffie, I have to admit, Lost’s idea has benefits, and once she’s here and has an insight into how we run our club, maybe I can take over.

  “Right,” Snatcher starts. “You deal with Saffie and get her under your protection. Token will make contact and try and get them off the trail. We’ll keep digging and see how they figured her alias out and how close they’ve got. You keep her undercover while we get new papers and ID sorted, then plug whatever the fuck hole we’ve got somewhere.”