“Name it, Brother.”
I meet Lost’s eyes. “I tell her she’s mine in my own time. No one else can breathe a word to her.” I’m fully aware that day might not come.
“Deal,” Prez answers. “We’ll tell everyone at church. Niran, I know you can see the drawbacks, but the one plus is, not one fucker from ours, or any other chapter, will say a single word against protecting her. You’ve just given the Devils a green light, up to and including, going to war.”
“You set me up,” I observe. Fucking assholes.
While a grin spreads across the face of the VP, Lost doesn’t look quite so happy about it. “Don’t want to force you into anything, Niran. But Patsy’s already all but adopted the woman from the looks of it, and she’d have my guts if I didn’t step up.”
“No.” I raise my hand to get him to stop. “You’re right. This is the best way to handle it. Cuts short any discussion about who she is and why we’re prepared to risk our lives for her. I understand.” Brushing my hand down my chin, I add, “I’m just not sure how the fuck I can work this.”
Lost stands. As he moves out from behind his desk and squeezes past Token, he pauses with his hand on my shoulder. “Just play it by ear, Brother. All you need is to be there for her.”
The VP stands and follows the prez out through the door. Token stares at me for a moment before closing his laptop and rises to his feet. When he too has left the room, I stay seated, staring at the Satan’s Devils insignia.
How the fuck did it come to this? I’ve got an old lady. And one who would run a mile if she knew that I’d claimed her.
Staring, thinking, doesn’t give me any ideas about how I should approach her. Answers won’t come if I avoid her. Eventually I stand, and without a fucking clue of what I’m doing, I go out into the clubhouse to find her.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Saffie
While the prospects were tasked with keeping the brothers’ rooms clean and tidy at the clubhouse of the Crazy Wolves MC, they did so with little grace and far less aptitude. If it hadn’t been for me, Duke’s room would have been like the rest, filthy with dust, dirt and cobwebs, and sheets that were never changed on the beds.
I hadn’t given much thought to where I’d be staying, so when Patsy leads me up the stairs, I’ve expectations I’ll be walking into much of the same. The thought isn’t particularly enticing. As we reach the hallway at the top, she turns to me.
“We’ve a few empty rooms. I thought this one would suit you.” She pauses by a door that’s ajar. When she steps back, I precede her into it.
The first thing I notice is that it’s clean. Well, maybe it wouldn’t be spotless if I purposefully hunted for dust, but on first glance, it’s a one hundred percent improvement on any I was used to in the only other clubhouse I have for comparison. The floors are bare wood, with an unblemished rug by one side of the bed. The bed is unmade, and the mattress looks clean and, thank God for small mercies, unstained. There’s a television, a desk, a chair, and a view out of the window. Intrigued, I step up to it. It looks out over the gate of the compound, and as the land drops away, gives me a view of the distant Pacific… and is that the famous Coronado Bridge? I think it is.
“I’ll send a prospect up to get the bed made.”
I turn quickly, my hands held facing her palms up. With memories of Jude coming into my head, I don’t want any prospects putting themselves out for me. Though it’s unlikely anyone here would care as I don’t belong to anybody. I still remember that living nightmare clearly, and I won’t take unnecessary risks.
“If you can bring me some sheets, I’ll make the bed up.” I turn and walk to the door, my experience warning me to check. There’s no lock on the outside, no way for anyone to imprison me. But nothing to secure it on my side either, I’d be unable to keep anyone out. I’ve met a number of the bikers so far, and though they seemed okay, they’re men. And there might be more I’ve not met and not gotten the measure of yet. Anyone could walk in here. I turn around in consternation.
Patsy’s eyes have been following me and must notice my look of dismay as I place my hand against the door. Shrewdly, she interprets it immediately. “I’ll get a prospect to pick up a lock and we’ll get it sorted. But Saffie, no one’s going to be anything other than respectful here. You’ve got your privacy, lock or not.”
It’s evening now. While I know stores are open at all hours, the likelihood is that even if the promised lock is collected, it’s unlikely to be fitted tonight. While the bikers I’ve met seem pleasant enough and so different from their Crazy Wolves’ counterparts, drinks flow freely in clubhouses. Who’s to say they won’t revert to form when they’re drunk? I doubt I’ll have a wink of sleep tonight, and as soon as Patsy’s gone, will search for something with which to defend myself and jam the chair under the door handle.
My hands start trembling. At least most times the only violence and abuse I had to fear was from Duke himself. Though etched on my memory, it was only on rare occasions he’d share me. Here I belong to no one, and my MC knowledge tells me, an unattached woman is fair game.
“Have you got everything you need?” Patsy’s shown me the attached small bathroom, which is adequate if not anything fancy, and I’ve brought with me the stuff that I use.
The one thing I’m lacking is a suit of armour, a chastity belt and a gun for protection, but I keep that to myself. “Yes, I’ve got everything. Thank you.”
The older woman regards me with sympathy. “I know you’ve had so much thrown at you at once, Saffie, hopefully you’ll be able to get some sleep. Try not to worry too much.”
Patsy’s old enough to be my mom, and she’s got her own daughter. Her advice is that which would come from a mother. I’m mentally drained, and appreciate she understands.
“So,” Patsy glances around. “You’ve got juice, water and snacks. It looks like you’re fixed. Lost and I are staying here tonight. We’re the furthest door at the end of the hallway. If you want anything, come and find me. I’ll leave you my son’s number. He’s a prospect so he’s used to being at anyone’s beck and call at all hours. If you need more water and don’t want to go down to the kitchen, just give him a shout and he’ll bring whatever you need up.”
I allow her to program his number in my phone but know I won’t be calling him however dire the situation. Again, visions of Jude being beaten to death go through my head, and I turn away to swallow back my tears, vowing again, I won’t put another prospect in danger.
“I’ll be fine, Patsy. Thank you.” As long as no biker comes to bother me. Oh, how I wish there was a lock on the door. Not that it would keep anyone determined out, but they’d make a racket breaking in, and maybe someone would hear and come to save me.
“Saffie,” Patsy says, hesitantly. “Er, I’d say you’re welcome to go back down to the clubroom, but—” She breaks off, then stretches out her hands and shrugs. “Well, there will be sights that maybe you don’t want to see. As I told you, most of the brothers are single.”
Yeah, I know exactly what she’s talking about. Bikers getting drunk and rowdy, forcing the club girls to meet their deviant needs. Though she hasn’t stated it in those terms, maybe there’s a chance by showing my face I’d risk being treated like a whore. I’ve no standing here, no reason for them to give me sanctuary. Maybe they’ll be expecting payment in other ways than thanks or money.
“I’ll stay up here.” I try a half-smile, knowing it looks weak.
There’s a knock at the door. Patsy goes to open it.
“Curtis. Thank you.” She takes a bundle of bedding from the Black man wearing a prospect patch, closes the door behind him, and places the fresh-looking sheets and comforter on the bed.
As she starts to unfold them, I go over to help. Within moments, we’ve got the bed made. Patsy gives a satisfied nod then comes over, stands in front of me for a moment, then reaches out her arms in invitation. When I step into them, she gives me a quick hug and a peck on my cheek.
>
“We’ll catch up in the morning, Saffie. You try and get some rest.”
“Goodnight, Patsy. And, thank you.” I add the last belatedly, and though I hope it sounded sincere, a little half-heartedly. Right now, I’d prefer to be back in my apartment all alone and not in this nest of biker iniquity.
I shiver when Patsy leaves me alone. Though there’s a television on the wall, and I brought my tablet and e-reader with me, I know I won’t be able to occupy myself with frivolous activities. So far today, my mind’s been engaged on survival, now it circles back to the constant regret in my head.
Does Patsy know I aborted my baby? If she does, would she blame me?
How could she not? I blame myself. If I hadn’t been taken in by Duke, then maybe instead, I’d by now be married to a good man and be raising my family. If I hadn’t been exposed to the Crazy Wolves, I wouldn’t be so scared, and would be taking the Satan’s Devils at face value, trusting them as the good men they appear to be.
But having had the experiences I have, trusting them is far from easy. I’m frightened to relax my guard, worrying doing so would prove I was being blind all over again. My caution of bikers I wrap like a protective cloak around me.
I pick up my e-reader hoping to lose myself in a fictional world, but of course it doesn’t work. Placing it back down, I lie on the bed, thoughts of how I move forward from here vie with fears of the bikers downstairs.
The music has grown louder, and the odd shout filters up, suggesting that alcohol has started to do its work, making me all too conscious I’m in a clubhouse full of men and no way of stopping any of them coming in. I need to find a weapon.
When the drawers and closet offer nothing to me, I look under the bed. I don’t know what I expect to discover, but as no one had conveniently left a gun, knife or baseball bat behind, I’ve come up with zilch.
I’m never going to be able to sleep.
A check in the bathroom finds there’s no lock on that door either. Desperate for a pee, I quickly use the facilities but don’t even consider the shower. As for undressing for the night, nope, I’m going to sleep in my clothes.
My heart is beating far too fast as my mind throws me back to how this would play out in the Crazy Wolves’ clubhouse. An unclaimed female wouldn’t just be molested by one, she’d have them all queued up outside all night, and probably more than one in the room together.
Patsy and Lost are just up the hall. Surely, they’d hear me if I screamed out?
My car’s still outside. Could I escape and go back to my home? Or will I be stopped on my way out?
Sitting on my bed, I rock with my arms wrapped around my stomach. My whole life is a mess, and I’ve no idea what to do for the best.
Suddenly there’s a sharp double tap on the door. I breathe in deep and hold it. But whoever’s outside doesn’t enter. Instead, they knock again.
Maybe it’s Patsy come back to check on me?
At least whoever’s there is prepared to wait for me to answer. Before the knock can come again, I get to my feet, wipe the ever-present tears from my eyes, and shuffle my way toward the door. Reluctantly, I open it just a crack, enough to recognise the man who’s standing outside.
It’s Niran. I swallow rapidly. He looks even bigger than he had in my house. My mouth’s so dry I try to summon enough saliva to speak, but before I do, offering a weak grin, he holds up a pack containing a lock in one hand, and with the other raises a toolbox.
“I know it’s late but thought you’d sleep easier if I fastened the lock straight away.” He holds up his hand holding the new lock, and I see something else. “I’ve also got a sturdy bolt you can use from the inside just for extra peace of mind.”
Bolts in the Crazy Wolves’ clubhouse had been on the outside, designed to keep people in. For a second, his offer makes my eyes widen in surprise.
At last, I find my voice. “Thank you, Niran. Are you sure it’s not too late to fit it now?”
“Nah. Most members are still downstairs. Anyone already in bed will understand.” He waves his hand. “May I?”
He means to come in. Of course he has to if he’s to complete the work. Stepping back, I allow him to enter.
The drill sounds overly loud, and I wince on behalf of Patsy who I suspect is trying to sleep just up the hall, but Niran seems to know what he’s doing. In no time at all, I have keys in my hand, and to my joy, knowing how MC members often have lock picking skills, a sturdy bolt on the inside of my door. Niran disappears for a moment, then returns with a Hoover and soon cleans up the mess he’s just made. Then he steps back and seems to eye me critically.
“You doing okay, Saffie?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Niran
When I ask if she’s doing okay, Saffie’s tired eyes meet mine. A moment passes, then she admits, “No.”
It’s confirmation that at least once, we were friends. With me, she doesn’t need to keep up a pretence.
When I’d bumped into Connor on his return from the store, I gave mental thanks to Patsy for watching out for her. Of course she needed the control of who she let in through her door.
I’d hoped she’d feel safer once I’d attached the lock, and sure, there was an expression of relief on her face, but not enough. Fuck, her experience of bikers was so fuckin’ bad, she must have been terrified to think anyone could walk in, even a flimsy lock wouldn’t keep a determined man out. How can I reassure her no one is like that around here? That she’s as safe—safer—than she could be anywhere.
Bikers drink, we get rowdy, I admit I’m no exception. It’s far from unusual to hear raised voices and the sound of bodies banging into walls and doors late into the night. Without her door secured, it’s easy to imagine her lying awake worried. And hell, she wouldn’t have been wrong to, even if the only intruder would be someone mistaking hers for his room. Only last week I’d had a visit from an inebriated Pennywise who’d been convinced my room was his. I’d only just managed to persuade him otherwise before he’d joined me in bed. I shudder just thinking about it, and where his meaty paws might have roamed in his drunken sleep.
I’d hoped she’d relax with the lock keeping people from coming in, and the bolt that gives her the security that visitors are hers to decide whether to admit. But her answer to my casual enquiry as to whether she’s alright, I feel like a blow to my gut.
Of course she isn’t. She’s lost a baby and has a bastard of a husband after her. I fucking wish I could refer to him as her ex, but in the eyes of the law, he’s very much in the present. On top of all that, she was faced with children tonight, a reminder, at least in the short term, of what she’s not going to have.
I wish there was some way I could take her pain from her, but I don’t know how.
“You want to go to sleep? Or would you like to talk?” My presence is the only thing I can offer her. Perhaps I’ve got some ideas about her not needing to get a divorce—dead men don’t tend to have much influence in their widows’ lives, but something like that will need to be considered carefully, and a death sentence time to be carried out. Her other issues, now I’ve fixed her lock, I’ve no idea how to deal with.
She hangs her head like a dog which has just been kicked. “Coming here was a mistake. I’d like to go home.”
In my view that’s the biggest error she could make. Firstly, we’ve no idea how close Duke is to finding her location and secondly, I’ve already let her spend far too much time alone. The state she was in when she arrived testifies to that. Without me looking out for her, she’s not been taking care of herself.
Purposefully leaving the door ajar, I step further into the room. “If you really want to leave, no one will stop you. You’re not a prisoner here. But Saffie, it is best you stay. That way, I, we, can protect you and give you a safe place to think on your next move.”
Still looking down, she starts to pick at her fingernails. “My next move is simple. I leave San Diego.” Even with her head bowed, I can tell she’s only just ho
lding back tears when she sniffs.
My eyes narrow, sensing something deeper is going on. “What’s worrying you?”
“Where can I go where I’ll be safe? Duke’s found me once. There’s nothing stopping him from finding me again.”
I wonder whether on some visceral level the idea that she’s my old lady has taken root in my brain when the acknowledgement flits through my head that I really don’t want her to leave. Not the clubhouse, and not San Diego.
“Then the answer is to get Duke off your back,” I suggest.
She shoots me a look as if doubting my ability to do that. “I thought he wouldn’t be looking,” she states, shaking her head. “Sure, I knew he’d be angry, but after all these months, why’s he pulling out all the stops? I didn’t think he’d try that hard to find me.”
Grimacing, I tell her the brutal truth. “Men like that don’t want to lose, Saffie. With him in the picture, you’ll never be able to stop looking behind you.”
“Where did I go wrong?” Her voice turns to a wail. “I thought I did it right, Niran. I did everything that the Freedom Trail people told me. Then I trusted you, and your guy betrayed me.”
“You did nothing fuckin’ wrong,” I growl, angry at myself as she’s right. If it hadn’t been for me, Duke would still be in the dark. “As for us trying to get info, well, we do that on anyone who the club comes across. Token knows what the fuck he’s doing. Duke must have a fuckin’ good hacker on his payroll or access to one.”
She huffs. “Duke has everything on speed dial, but in this case it’s closer to home.” Her brow wrinkles in disgust. “Grit. He’s the security man for the Crazy Wolves MC. He’s ex-FBI if you can believe that. He got kicked out when he was consorting too closely with White supremacists and found something he liked with the Wolves. When he joined, the club gained all the skills they needed.” Her voice breaks off, and she shakes her head. “Whether he’s good enough to track down my new name, I wouldn’t know, but he’s all I can think of.”
Avenging Devil Part 1: Satan’s Devils MC - San Diego Chapter #3 Page 29
