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

by Mellett, Manda

  I know what bikers think about property. In their eyes, I’m Duke’s. Is she here to persuade me to return to him? Or does he already know where I am? My legs threaten to not support me, but I don’t want to sit down. Seated, I’d feel more vulnerable.

  My baby’s gone but I’m alive. Suddenly, I know I want to live, and not a living death that Duke would impose on me.

  “My son, Connor, is now a prospect for the Devils too,” Patsy continues. “He’d gone off the rails. What happened to him showed him the seedy side of life and taught him it was something to steer clear of. The Satan’s Devils have put him on the right track. He’s now going to college, and learning a trade, all paid for by them.”

  What? Duke would have laughed in anyone’s face if they suggested he sponsor a prospect to go to college. A prospect for the patched Wolves was patched in if they got through their probation period alive.

  Noticing my confusion, Patsy seizes her chance. “Not all MCs are the same.” She pauses, “Saffie, you might not know, but your escape was aided by an MC. They’re part of the Freedom Trail. How else do you think I knew the password that would give me access to you?”

  Her words take a moment to compute. When they do, I flop down on the chair. An MC works with the Freedom Trail? That was totally unexpected. “Why? How?”

  “In cases like yours, they work in the background, make the arrangements, get new identities, alter databases to give you a history which stands up, get any tickets required to you and organise the people who help.”

  “Why an MC?” It’s the first thing I ask. In my experience, MC members are only out for themselves. “Do they get paid?” If so, by whom? I hadn’t been asked for a cent, which is lucky. I’d left with nothing and had still been wearing my hospital gown.

  “They do it because they’re good men and they want to help women like you get free and have a chance at a new life. Why an MC? Well, they straddle the line between right and wrong.” I open my mouth to snark that it’s the wrong side of the line most of the time, but she doesn’t give me chance. “My new ID was set up by the feds as I was legitimately in witness protection. In a case like yours, the cops wouldn’t have helped. Oh, they might have arrested the man who put you in the hospital, but you’d have to have appeared in court, and whether or not he was given a sentence is a matter of your word against his.” When my eyes widen in horror, she nods. “That’s bad enough when it’s just one abusive ex, but when that one has an MC behind them, it would have been signing your death warrant.”

  “But I’ve got a new ID.” I hadn’t thought where it had come from and that it might not be legit. Would it stand up to scrutiny? I’d always had that fear at the back of my mind, now I’ll have to be extra careful.

  She smiles, and her next statement alleviates my concerns somewhat. “You have. And it will be at least as good as anything the feds would have produced.” She chuckles softly. “They’ll have used the same databases and taken the same steps to concoct a history for you. Not that the feds would know of course.” She pauses again as though for emphasis. “People determined to stay on the right side of the law wouldn’t have helped you as much as they have, their hands would have been tied. I suppose the question is, can you condone some illegality if it’s done for the right reason?”

  My brow creases as I think. In my case, I certainly would, and apparently already have. “I suppose so,” I eventually reply, as long as it steered clear of the things that were done by Duke. Those weren’t in a grey area, they were positively black.

  “I can’t give you details on who they are. It’s not that I don’t trust you, Saffie, but if they’re to help others like you, they need to stay under the radar. But I think you can tell they’re good at what they do.”

  I’ll give her that. I nod. It’s been months since I ran, and Duke’s not caught up. So far.

  Looking down at her hands, she shakes her head. “You heard the phrase club business before?” The roll of my eyes gives her the answer she’s looking for. Every fucking day. “I’m not normally involved in the business of the club, but Lost, my husband, wanted to get information to you, and using me seemed the best way. It’s the first time I’ve heard of the Freedom Trail, and I’ve got to admit, I’m proud of the men who help women like you escape.”

  “Was it the Satan’s Devils?”

  She doesn’t say yes, but she doesn’t say no. I don’t push. When something comes under the heading of being the business of the club, they mean it’s the province of the members. Women are better off not knowing and keeping their life can depend on knowing when not to ask. Or at least, that’s so in the Crazy Wolves.

  So I focus on what else she’s said. “What information does… Lost?” She nods, a slight smile appearing at my rendition of the strange name. “What does Lost want me to know?”

  “Okay.” Again, she leans forward. “Niran, who I believe you know, is a member of our club. He’s an outstanding guy. He served with the Marines before he lost his leg, you know about that?” I’d known he’d lost a leg, but nothing more, so I shrug. “He’s a really good man.” She tries to impress his virtues on me again. “It hurt him when you pushed him away.”

  Is she here to plead his case? Knowing Niran, I’d have expected him to come himself.

  Deep down I know what she says is the truth, but there’s one massive strike against him. “He’s a member of an MC—”

  “Saffie, we’ve established not all MCs are the same. Look at me. Do you think I’d be associated with thugs and criminals?”

  Shrugging is my only response. I could have said, hey, look at me. Do you think I’d want to be associated with violence and murder? Yet here I am. But I keep my mouth shut.

  “Niran was worried about you. He knew you’d been raped and wanted to find out by whom for his own reasons.”

  To take revenge. It was what I’d feared, and why I’d given him no information. Is she here to tell me Niran killed Duke, and now I’m free of him? My heart leaps. Oh, please. Let that be what she’s getting around to saying.

  “And?” I prompt, impatiently.

  “We’ve got our own intelligence guy, and he, well, he started looking into your background.”

  And? That shouldn’t matter. Who would link Saffie Jones from San Diego with Sapphire Marshall from Nevada? My manufactured past, I’d been assured, was watertight. It’s ironic, but it appears to have something to do with this woman’s husband’s club.

  When Patsy grimaces, some of my optimism leaves me. “He found nothing except what was left for him, your new identity. But his search triggered another party to question,” Patsy pauses, not for effect, but by the way her face is twisting, to delay causing me pain, “where Sapphire Marshall is?”

  What? There’s my confirmation that anything to do with an MC is bad news, well-intentioned or not. “Did he tell them?” I hiss, my heart threatening to jump out of my chest.

  “Of course not.” She snorts. “Token’s leading them on a wild goose chase, so they can’t even locate where his initial enquiry came from. He’s covered his tracks. But Lost is worried the Crazy Wolves have got technical skills you might not have considered or maybe not have been aware of. But if they’ve found out your new identity, it’s only a matter of time before they catch up with you.”

  Jesus. My heart beats so fast I think it’s going to jump out of my chest.

  “You know Duke’s from the Crazy Wolves?” I manage to stammer out.

  “We know all the information given to the Freedom Trail.”

  So Niran knows. Yet he hasn’t come to see me. Does he know all that happened to me? Everything I’d admitted confidentially? Is that why he sent her and didn’t come himself? Is he disgusted that I’ve been used and abused, not just by Duke, but by everyone?

  I feel faint. My palms sweat, and nausea floods through me.

  Duke’s never stopped looking for me. How could he have found my new name?

  Grit. Damn it. I must have underestimated him. Duke boaste
d about his abilities, but I never knew their extent.

  But if it’s him and he’s come close to finding me, what can I do? Options flit through my mind, but there’s only one that makes sense. “I need a new identity. I need to disappear again.”

  “Yes,” Patsy says gently. “You will, I’m sorry. You’ll again have to leave your friends and start over. I’m sorry to be the bearer of such bad news.”

  The thought of going through relocating all over again, this time without the thought of a baby to sustain me, is terrifying. Supportive friends sound nice, but she’s overlooking that I haven’t got any.

  On that I can set her mind at ease. “I’ve no one to help me, Patsy. I’ll be alone whether I stay or go.” Maybe I should just stay put and not try to run anymore. I’m not enjoying life at the moment, so if Duke finds me and kills me, problem solved. Or he takes me back and tortures me. I shudder. I’ve got to go.

  “You have, Saffie. You met Mary, who’s fast become one of my best friends, and there’s Alex, the VP’s old lady who you’ve not yet met. Alex is actually the club’s lawyer. You’ll like her, I know.” The club lawyer? A woman? As my eyes widen, Patsy continues, “We’re all worried about you. And you’ve got Niran, and all his brothers. I know you’ll be wary, but I assure you, they’re not like the Crazy Wolves. They’d give their lives to protect friends and family.”

  Even if I accept there might be people who would keep popping around to visit me, what happens when I’m alone? I can’t have someone here twenty-four seven.

  “Duke’s the type to break doors down and doesn’t give a fuck who hears him,” I tell her, also knowing the kicking in of the door wouldn’t raise an eyebrow in this block. “If there’s a chance that he’s learned who I am, I can’t waste a minute before leaving this apartment.” I’d be better off taking my chances living rough.

  Patsy smiles. “But you won’t be here, that’s what I’m trying to explain. While your new paperwork is getting sorted, you’ll be staying with us. Lost wants you to move to our clubhouse, temporarily of course.” As my mouth drops open, she adds, “It will give you a chance to decide what you want to do, and for us to know what support you need. Your new ID and background will take time to construct to ensure it’s going to stand up this time.” She looks around and can’t hide her shudder. “And, in the meantime, you’ll have a more appropriate place for you to live.”

  If the situation wasn’t so dire and I wasn’t scared sick about an imminent visit from Duke, I’d have laughed out loud at her definition of somewhere more appropriate. Accepting a visit from a woman involved with a club is one thing, but moving to their clubhouse? That sounds like a case involving a pan and the fire. Putting my head into a den of iniquity that bikers call home? There’s no way I can do that. I’ve already been someone’s property, still am as far as I know. Once I’m there, just like in Nevada, I’ll be trapped, and they’ll prevent me from leaving. What can I say but no?

  “I can’t come to a biker compound.” My voice isn’t strong, but I’m adamant. Never again. The thought alone is enough to raise hives.

  “Yes, you can,” she insists, waving her hand as though wiping away my concerns. “I’ll give you my own promise that you’ll be safe there. Lost, my husband, would never let anything happen to you. The members are respectful.” Her brow furrows as though she’s trying to think, then she chuckles softly. “The VP’s wife, Alex, well, she does pole dancing, to keep fit, you know? There’s a pole in the clubhouse for her to practice on. When she does, all the members make themselves absent, as they respect her, and the wishes of Dart, her husband.”

  Yeah, I knew all about that. There were times when Duke had become possessive about me. He’d use his fists on a man who dared to look at me even fully clothed and in those moods, certainly wouldn’t countenance anyone leering if I’d ever done such a thing as cavorting on a pole. If one of the brothers had looked at me wrongly, I’d feel those fists on me for giving what he’d described as a show. Subsequently, other times, he wouldn’t hesitate to share me. I could never judge which way it would go.

  My face softens in sympathy. “Does he abuse her as well?”

  “What the hell?” Patsy looks stunned. “No, he does not. He might come over as a possessive caveman, but truly it’s because he’s thinking of Alex’s dignity and self-respect. Some of those poses can be quite sexual.” She chuckles again. “I know, she’s tried to teach me a few moves. Not that I’m any good, but I wouldn’t want men looking on either except, of course, for my man.” I notice she blushes and that it looks cute on the older woman. Then she smiles. “It’s because he loves her, wants her to be happy, that he protects her by giving her space.”

  I suppose that’s one way of looking at it, but I’m not sure I’m convinced. Could I be wrong about all MCs? I’d rather not put it to the test.

  Sure, the VP sounds different to Duke, and Niran I’ve already met. Lost, she’s also vouched for. But how many more men have they got? And can she speak for them?

  But Duke’s closing in. A new ID, a new name, a re-creation of the person I am or who I want to be will take time, as it will need to be even more watertight. After considering it for a moment, I ask, “Tell me about the other members.”

  Patsy grins as though she’s got me hooked. She settles back and begins, “Where do I start? Hmm. Well, I’ve told you about Lost and Dart, then there’s Salem…”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Saffie

  I would have said nothing could have persuaded me to voluntarily step into an MC clubhouse again, but Patsy proved a force to be reckoned with. As she’d described her husband’s club to me, finding a counter argument to all my objections, I’d soon come to realise I’d never want to go up against her in any negotiation as it fast became clear I was on the losing end.

  She settles in with only a slight flinch and a glare sent upward to a loud noise that comes from the floor above my apartment, and gives me a rundown of presumably all the members in their chapter of the Satan’s Devils MC. She offers so much detail that some of them I think I’d recognise as soon as I meet them. Bones with his sniffing habit which came from snorting too much cocaine in days gone past, and Dusty, an attractive man whose claim to fame had been catching her bouquet at her wedding. She rattles off names so quickly they seem to run together, but each one she sings the praises of. Neither is she shy on the bad points, though, of those, there aren’t many to name, and everything tamer than what I’d witnessed with the Crazy Wolves.

  The Arizona Chapter, she tells me, has a different vibe, the majority of the men there have settled down and the compound is overrun with kids. In that aspect, San Diego was only just starting out. Their VP was the first to get his old lady, followed by Lost and herself, and more recently with Grumbler and Mary. In her view it wasn’t that the men liked their single lives, but that they hadn’t yet found the right woman. I think she’s being overly romantic. Easy pussy comes with no strings and no sense of being tied down. Freedom-loving bikers are unlikely to want mates.

  That there were only a couple of kids I’d be likely to come across in the clubhouse was actually a bonus. I’m weak, but the sight of what I’d hoped to have but instead lost, makes me envious of anyone else’s baby.

  I don’t take her words at face value. I ask probing questions, hoping to catch her out, suspecting she’s giving me the good parts, and glossing over the bad. But her honesty shines through, and I have to concede, if there are reprobates in the Devils, she’s obviously kept in the dark. She’s even open about the club girls, but tries to assure me they aren’t forced, and able to come and go freely of their own accord. This I certainly take with a huge pinch of salt. Who’d service bikers voluntarily? The idea has me shuddering.

  Patsy is patient, happy to tell me about the Devils for as long as it takes to persuade me. In all, she must speak for a good couple of hours. I soon get the impression that she isn’t going to leave until she’s got the answer she wants.

  D
espite myself, she makes me smile at some of her anecdotes, recalled so fondly, as if she were talking about her kids rather than hard-core members of a motorcycle club. Every word out of her mouth seems so genuine, that I begin to lay aside my misgivings and start to trust her.

  When Patsy finally relates the story of how she came to meet Lost, a man with apparently so many virtues I’ve lost count of them, she’s well on her way to convincing me to give them a chance. As though trying to prove it hasn’t always been unicorns and rainbows, she adds an abridged history of the club, about Snake, the ex-president, who’d gone loco and nearly brought everyone down.

  Lost, she told me, had had his work cut out to keep the club going after Snake and eight others had defected. He’d had to rebuild trust between the members who were left. After a rocky ride, with their bad apples gone, he’s succeeded in reuniting the club. I wonder, of course, whether there were any left still hidden in the barrel, and how he can be sure he’s emptied it.

  When I query their finances, or where their money comes from, I know she won’t know about their illegal activities. But she seems genuinely convinced their money is earned legitimately, and they aren’t about making bank the illegal way. With a quick glance around her as if anyone could be listening, lowering her voice, and sitting forward, she tells how women had been rescued just a few months back from a slave trafficker, and how the club never sought or wanted credit for it.

  As a final attempt at persuading me, she broadens my mind when she lists all the different types of motorcycle clubs that exist. Having been blinded by the Crazy Wolves, the only example I’d had experience of, I’d thought them all much the same. But apparently there are riding clubs, men and women who join purely for the enjoyment of riding their bikes and who meet at weekends just to ride out together. I hear there are women’s only clubs, gay clubs, and even those for people with a religious slant.