Devil on Your Back

by Max Henry

“What’s going on?”

  “Oh, hey dude. My mind was elsewhere for a moment there. I’m just working through some stuff,” he says, with a smile that quite frankly creeps me the fuck out. “Needed fresh air. Isn’t it nice, feeling the sun on your face?” He tips his face to the sky, and closes his eyes.

  “King . . .”

  “What, man?”

  “It’s not sunny.” I look at the grey clouds rolling around on the horizon.

  He eyes me, and then checks the sky. “Fuck man, you’ve got some serious voodoo magic going on there. How’d you make it so stormy like that?”

  I swallow thickly, unsure how exactly to handle this. Sawyer was angry crazy, jaded by a bad parent. That was manageable. But this? It’s plain out eating-scones-on-your-front-lawn nutty.

  How the hell am I supposed to fucking converse with that?

  “Wanna come inside?” I ask. “I’ll see if Sonya has time to fix you something to eat.”

  “Nah, nah.” King waves me off, and resumes his walking.

  Shaking my head, I look around at the empty yard, at the fact nobody else sees this, and grumble. What the fuck is wrong with this place?

  THE MUSIC ripples through the walls in steady beats, and people yell in an effort to be heard over one another. The party is well and truly alive as I stand and toss back another bourbon, watching Sonya mingle. Her cheeks are flushed, and her smile wide. It’s a fucking beautiful thing to see—her so damn happy and excited to be ‘noticed’.

  The other old ladies usher her around, clamoring for her attention. I guess she really did win some sort of trophy by bagging me, even if it was a metaphorical one.

  “She’s loving it, hey?” Callum slips between a couple to stand beside me.

  I nod. “Sure is.”

  “You know what’s up with King?” He nods towards the chair our pres is seated on, folding paper napkins . . . into swans.

  “Really not sure, man, but he’s got issues.”

  “You don’t say.”

  We stand in silence for a while, watching him make two of the paper birds ‘talk’ to each other.

  “Any ideas on how I can get him to take a leave of absence without ruining his rep?”

  I sigh, and look down at Callum. “I think he’s ruining it just fine on his own, don’t you?”

  “He needs a doctor.”

  “He needs a fuckin’ straitjacket.”

  Callum takes a mouthful of his beer, and watches King arrange the swans. “I’ll see if I can lure him into his office. Meet me there and we’ll talk this through with him.”

  He wanders off, and I return my gaze to Sonya. One of the prospect’s girlfriends is showing her their baby, and Sonya’s cooing over it. My chest constricts when I realize we haven’t discussed why she doesn’t have kids. I was so caught up with my own, with Alice, to even wonder why a woman as attractive as her, and with such an obvious love of children, has none.

  I look back to where King was seated and find him and Callum gone. Making my way through the partiers, I head towards King’s office and spot the two of them talking as I approach. Callum has his hands stamped on his hips, shaking his head, as King stares at papers on his desk.

  “Just let it go, King,” Callum pleads while I shut the door.

  King shakes his head furiously. “You don’t get it.”

  “Get what?” I ask, throwing my hands in the air. “You’re talking to yourself, playing fuckin’ origami games with napkins. You’re going to snap soon if you don’t take a step back.”

  “You. Don’t. Get. It,” he seethes.

  I flex my fists, at my wit’s end with his crazy and ready to smack some sense into him, when Callum holds a hand up to me.

  “How about you explain it to us,” he urges quietly. “Maybe if you talk it through we can help you figure out where you’re stuck.”

  King appears to think it over, still as a statue. Both Callum and I jump when he springs back into action, rifling through the stacks of papers on his desk.

  “There’s something I haven’t told you guys about me.”

  Callum and I exchange glances.

  “I have a kid.”

  “What?” Callum blurts out. “When?”

  I act shocked, avoiding having to explain that I already knew after our meet up with Carlos.

  “He’s seven. Product of a fucked-up love triangle that never should have happened.”

  Callum meets my concerned gaze. “And how does this affect what’s going on now?” he asks King.

  “Carlos knows about him.” He thrusts some photographs at us. “I’ve had a P.I. following him and his mother—Elena. She won’t let me near him—and the guy gave me those.”

  I look at the image in my hands and shudder at the promise behind it. There’s a kid riding his bike on the street and in the background, several houses down, is one of Carlos’s vehicles.

  “Is this because of the deal we made?” I ask.

  “No.” King shakes his head. “Not ’cause of that.”

  “Then why?” Callum hands his image back.

  King drops his head into his hands, ripping at his blond hair that is getting longer by the month. “Past grievances.”

  “King. I heard the name after Apex passed and wondered.” Carlos holds his hand out. “Now I know.”

  “That you do,” King says, shaking his hand firmly. “It’s been a while.”

  “What did you do?” My back finds stability against the wall. I’m not sure how much more of this shit I put up with—especially tonight, when I’m supposed to be celebrating with my girl.

  King eyes us, guilt dripping from his expression.

  “You fuckin’ sly dog.” Callum chuckles. “You fucked Carlos’s missus!”

  “Shh,” he hisses. “Don’t fuckin’ tell the whole club.”

  “How did he not know about it until now?” I ask, moving to lean on the front of his desk. “Did she run?”

  He nods. “When he found out about the affair, I helped her start afresh, bank-rolled her to begin a new life away from him. He never knew she was pregnant.”

  “So what changed?” Callum asks, eyes narrowed. “How did he find out?”

  King chuckles, and swats at the back of his head with one hand. “Would you believe it if I said his kid—the one he has with his current woman—goes to the same school? He did the math.”

  “You fucked up that relocation, man.” Callum walks around the office, staring at the shit on the walls as he shakes his head.

  “I didn’t want her too far from me,” King explains. He stares me square in the eye. “I didn’t want to miss out on my boy growing up.”

  I swallow back the flood of emotions that threaten to take me over. I can relate, too well, and he knows it.

  “Carlos has been sending Elena messages,” King continues. “Started with vandalizing her car, moved on to killing the family cat, and now he’s sending her artwork of bent and mangled bodies.” He scrubs his face with both hands. “I think the guy doesn’t take to infidelity well.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Mm-hmm.” King stacks the files on his desk, and pushes them aside. “I don’t know how to fix it, guys, and I’m going out of my mind.”

  “Elena—is she safe?” Callum reaches across the desk and picks up a photo of a Hispanic woman, carrying bags of groceries.

  “She won’t listen. She doesn’t want to leave the house in case it startles Dante . . . my kid,” he explains when he finds both of us staring at him. “The woman’s stubborn as a mule, and then some. She thinks she can settle this with Carlos without Dante having to know.”

  “Yeah, right,” I mutter.

  “What if somebody else talked to her? Would that work?” Callum asks.

  “Another biker?” King scoffs. “Hardly.”

  “Another woman, then,” I say. “What if we sent Ramona, Sonya, both of them even?”

  He shrugs. “I guess, maybe . . . look, I’m not doing anything that jeopardizes anyone else. I�
��ve had enough of sending lambs in for the slaughter.”

  The room falls quiet while we all retreat into our heads. Sending the girls to talk reason into this woman could work, but I see his point—placing Sonya at risk like that doesn’t sit well with me.

  But the risk is slim, and at the end of the day it’s their decision.

  Choices.

  “Be back in a minute.”

  I head out and round up the girls, walking them into King’s office less than ten minutes later.

  “No, Lynch,” King protests.

  I hold up a single finger, scowling at the guy. “You can’t handle this on your own—that’s abundantly clear. Tell them.” I nod towards a confused Sonya and Ramona.

  “Tell us what?” Sonya asks, looking toward me. I nod at King, silently redirecting her attention.

  King hesitates, rolling a pen under his palm. “I made a mistake several years ago that’s put someone I care a great deal about in danger.”

  “Layman’s terms,” Ramona prompts.

  “I had a child with a woman . . . Carlos’s woman.”

  Jaws collectively hit the floor.

  “No way!” Ramona exclaims. “Why haven’t you said anything until now?”

  “It’s not exactly something I’m proud of.”

  “What do you need to tell us this for?” Sonya questions, looking amongst the three of us men.

  “Elena—the woman—won’t leave her house. Carlos has been threatening her and I want her safe.”

  “You want us to try and convince her?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Sure,” Ramona says without missing a beat. “I’m in.”

  I stop in the scuffing of my boot, realizing Sonya hasn’t answered. Her blue eyes are on me, silently asking for permission.

  “You do what you feel comfortable with,” I say.

  She nods, and looks back to King. “I’ll do it.”

  The five of us spend the next half hour talking through the details. Watching Sonya as she runs through the information with King and the gentle way she handles him in his current state leaves me nothing short of proud. Yet again, she’s willing to help others out without a second thought for her safety.

  Ramona exits the office with Callum once the girls are briefed on Elena’s quirks and personality, leaving us alone with King.

  “While we do this,” Sonya asks of him, “where will you be?”

  “I’ll hang about here, waiting on a call. It goes well or it doesn’t—either way, I expect to be kept informed.”

  “Wrong,” Sonya states clearly. “You, my dear man, will be resting—no phone, no Internet, nothing.”

  “What if you need me?” he exclaims, eyes wide. “Who’ll look after the place?”

  “Callum’s more than capable,” I say, joining in on this plan of hers, “and we can send a messenger if you need to know anything.”

  The man is one twitch shy of a nervous breakdown. Dealing with yet another nerve-wracking task such as this is bound to push him off that cliff.

  He scours the desk for anything and nothing, then stalls to look at us in turn. “Okay. But only because I know you bastards wouldn’t let it fuckin’ lie otherwise.”

  “Call it an intervention,” Sonya says, smiling at him.

  I look at the two of them curiously as they laugh at some private joke.

  Well—at least she got him to laugh.

  That’s something.

  “WHAT WAS that all about?” I ask Sonya once we’re back in her room, which consequently is now our room.

  “Nothing,” she says, waving me off.

  I let it lie for now, and catch her off-guard as she heads for the dresser to get her sleepwear, tugging her onto the bed.

  “How does it feel?” I ask, searching her bright eyes.

  “Nice,” she replies, rocking her pelvis into me.

  I laugh and shake my head. “As much as I agree, that’s not what I meant.”

  “What then?”

  “How does it feel,” I try again, “to be officially my old lady?”

  “Like it’s where I should have been all along.”

  My lips curl into a grin, and I take her head in my hands. “How did I get through everything before this club without you?”

  She gently brushes a stray strand of her hair off my cheek. “With a great deal of suffering.”

  “But look at this,” I say, giving her a little squeeze. “Look at what it brought us.”

  “I know.” She smiles, and leans down to lay a quick kiss on my forehead. “Sometimes the pain can make the reward that much sweeter.”

  “I don’t expect you to forget him,” I remind her. “Mike was your first real love.”

  “I get that,” she affirms. “And I’d never expect you to feel like Julia isn’t a part of who you are today, either. We’ve moved on, Vince, and you know? That’s okay. We’re allowed to, and if we weren’t then why would it feel this good?”

  “I really do love you, woman.”

  “And I completely tolerate you,” she teases.

  Her eyes tell me it’s more, though. My hand glides over her golden hair, and she shivers when I pass my palm over her neck. Sonya’s eyes slip closed as I continue to trace her curves with the flat of my hand.

  We roll together, swapping positions so she lies splayed beneath me, her hair fanning out around her. I take a moment to appreciate her; this woman who’s dug deep to find that man who enjoys nothing more than showing his woman how much she’s loved.

  I lost him for a while there, but he never went away. He was simply disillusioned by the world, by the injustice of losing something so precious.

  But seeing that low come full circle, I get it now. Just because what I had and what I loved came to a close, just because Julia was taken from me when I wasn’t ready to let her go, doesn’t mean the world stopped. It kept turning. And on it, out there, equally as lonely as I was, there was a girl. A girl who didn’t realize it yet, but who would suffer the same loss as I did.

  And we fit.

  Without those losses we wouldn’t know two valuable things: that true love can exist more than once in a lifetime, and that it’s okay to start again, no matter how old you are.

  If there’s one lesson I can take away from all of this—it’s to value what you have, for however long you get to keep it.

  BUTCHER BOYS SERIES

  Devil You Know

  Devil on Your Back

  Devil May Care (Novella, coming May, 2015)

  Devil in the Detail (Coming July, 2015)

  Devil Smoke (Coming September, 2015)

  BANJAXED SERIES

  Pistol

  Loaded

  Recoil

  OTHERWORLD DESIRES (Paranormal)

  Battle to Become

  Methods for Mayhem

  I started this journey a little over two years ago, hammering away at the keyboard during the day while my eldest napped, and hiding my secret from my husband. And it was a secret. I wondered if I could do it; be one of these self-published romance authors that were cropping up all over social media. But more-so, I wondered if I would ever get taken seriously.

  I won’t pretend those first drafts were magic, but with my heart in my throat I sent one to my mother—an avid reader—to gauge her reaction. She told me it was fantastic, which when you remove the rose-tinted mother glasses, meant I had promise.

  And that was enough.

  So I wrote some more, and thought of a way to tell my husband that I was doing this ‘whimsical’ thing, and ‘wasting my time’ when I could be doing something else productive like housework, walking the dog, or gardening. There were walls in our semi-renovated house that needing stripping, and landscaping we hadn’t quite completed, but those hour long bursts when our son slept were mine, my time to enjoy.

  Finally, I broke it to him, and strangely enough he didn’t disappear to the pub, thinking I’d lost my mind. He gave me one of those ‘yes, dear’ nods instead, and I took it as a si
gn I could continue. I’m pretty sure he just bit his tongue when I moved my writing to the bed at night and would key a few hundred, directionless words. But as they say: happy wife, happy life.

  I don’t think either of us knew where it would take us back then, but we persisted.

  We, I say, because as you’ll know if you’ve read each and every one of my acknowledgements, he is the biggest part of my success.

  Without you babe, you know I’d get lost in the mess that is all the ideas running about in my head. I write, you direct. I’m production, you’re public relations and marketing. We’re a team, and as long as we keep plugging away at this, then we’re winning. No effort, no gain, right?

  So thank you, babe. For what you’ve done, what you do, and what you’ve yet to do for me. Love you long.

  Secondly though, every author has behind them a group of people that support, and encourage them. Fellow authors, readers, and industry professionals who understand how hard it is—and I mean bloody hard—to get from the first written word, to the book you have in your hands.

  There are A LOT of people who have reached out, aided, and supported me, but in the name of keeping this from becoming a novella in its own right, I’ll keep it to those which mean a bunch to this particular book.

  Lauren McKellar – you, my dear, are one of the few genuine people left in the world. You tell me how it is, let me know where I’m getting a little far-fetched, and gently nudge me back on course when the ramblings in my head don’t quite translate to paper. I told you that this was the hardest book to write, and I swear, the points you gave me have been the saving grace. When I first got that file back from you I looked at the sheer number of changes, and comments and could have cried. But, I stuck it out, and this story is by far my favourite.

  Thank you, love.

  Michael Meadows – I discovered you the day that AMAZING shot of Lance showed up in my news feed, and I think my dedication to you cemented when you gave me Tommy. You are a true gentleman, and one of the few people who understand that business is more than just a transaction. I love working with you, and look forward to many more cover images yet.

  Bel Burgess – I swear when I sent you the first rough draft of this story, I was certain you’d message me back asking me if I’d sent you the right file. That, or meet me with radio silence when I asked how you were getting on. But, you came back to me with some great points; small things that needed to be fine-tuned, but would make all the difference. Without your input, I wouldn’t have been able to get over that last hurdle and figure out what it was about this story that was giving me so much grief. Thank you, and yes, Sawyer is next ;)