Devil's Due: Satan's Devils MC Colorado Chapter #3

by Manda Mellett

  “Yeah, sure. Thanks.” But my unexpected action has shocked her, I can see how her breathing sped up.

  “Stevie, I’m going to make a lot of mistakes, okay? I’m going to fuck up.”

  She must use the sound of my voice to guide her, but her hand finds my arm, then slides down until she’s gripping my hand, squeezing it gently. “You’re doing fine.”

  “I’m gonna get you on the bike now, sweetheart. Take a step to the side and put your hand out. There, lower. Got it. That’s the seat. I’m going to get on, then when I do, put your leg over it, okay?”

  “I’ll help her if she needs it,” Pal offers.

  But she’s got the idea of it, swinging her leg over like a pro. She hadn’t lied, she has done this before. As she doesn’t weigh much, the bike hardly notices her extra weight on it as I kick up the stand and balance it. Before turning on the engine, I give her a few instructions about hanging onto my waist and moving with me around the corners just in case she’s forgotten. I take a second to admire her bravery and trust, she’s on a bike with a stranger, but offers no plea for me to take it carefully.

  “Okay. Let’s get moving. You going to tell me where we’re going?”

  “We’ll see you back at the clubhouse,” Pyro says. Then he and Pal take off.

  She gives me the general idea, then fine-tunes the directions as we draw closer. It takes a lot of communication, me describing where we are, then her telling me which way to turn. When we arrive, there’s a drive I can park on. It’s a pleasant house from what I can see of it in the darkness, set back a little from the road, flowers lining the driveway. As I help her off and hang the helmet on the handlebar, I notice a perfume in the air as I walk her down to the front door.

  She takes out her key and uses it, then steps inside, placing her purse and key on a table near the door.

  Then she turns. “Thank you, Beef. Thank you for everything. I don’t know what would have happened had you not been there…”

  “Fuck, babe. Someone would have helped. Just glad I was there. I hope Max does okay.” I don’t tell her, but I’ll be checking up on him myself.

  It’s awkward. I don’t know her, she doesn’t know me. Just strangers really that met in the night. I’ve got this strange impulse to know more about her, how she lives her life, what she does for a living. There’s no one at home, so presumably there’s no husband or kids, but she may have a boyfriend. Woman looking like her must attract interest. I’d love a peep into her home, wondering if it’s drab and dreary, or whether she has a colour scheme. Fuck knows why she would, she can’t see it. Is it fancy or plain and utilitarian? And why am I so fucking interested?

  She’s not inviting me in, and there’s no reason for her to. “Well, I’ll be off. Stevie, I took the liberty of putting my number into your phone. If you need anything—”

  “Thank you, but I’ll be fine, Beef.”

  I start leaning in with the intention of placing a kiss to her cheek, then pull myself back. Not got that kind of relationship. Not got any kind of relationship at all. As I realise this is the last I’ll see of her, I feel a pang of regret.

  “Okay. Right. Goodnight.” Nothing else to say.

  “Goodnight, Beef. And, thank you again.”

  She steps forward, reaches for the handle. I step back, and the door closes.

  Some bizarre instinct has me glued to the spot. My protective nature would have liked to check out the house before she stepped into it. What if there was an intruder inside? How would she know? It’s not like me to just walk off and leave someone, but I’ve not had an encounter like this before. If I’ve ever taken a woman back to her house, it was with the intention of fucking her. That’s not the situation here. Not that I wouldn’t have turned down the offer, but it wouldn’t have come. She’s not the type to want to casually take a ride on a biker’s cock.

  Why is my mind going there? Last night, like a dumbass, I’d made a commitment to Sally that I wouldn’t touch another woman. Even had she offered, I wouldn’t have been able to take her up on it.

  I stand there, staring at nothing, thinking about the difference between the woman I’d left and the woman who’s behind the other side of the door. I might not know much about Stevie, but am impressed as hell about how well she’s able to cope. Her independence shines through, and she’s brave. Didn’t balk at riding my bike, didn’t fear falling off. Trusted me to keep her safe.

  Sally might think she needs me, but it dawns on me that’s what is missing. Trust.

  I’m brought out of my reverie by a disturbing sound. A distraught wail followed by weeping.

  I’m frozen to the spot, uncertain of my next actions. Do I quietly go? Leave her to her privacy? Or, do I try to offer comfort and help? Would me witnessing her breakdown cause embarrassment, or would she welcome the support?

  Before I have second thoughts, my hand lifts and my knuckles knock against the wood. Getting no answer, I rap louder, then call out, “Stevie, you alright?”

  The cries fade, then I get a response. “I’m… fine. I’m…” Each word is punctuated with heart wrenching sobs.

  “Babe, let me in. You’ve had one hell of a shock. You shouldn’t be alone.” She must have a friend I can call for her.

  “Beef, I…”

  “Let me in.” Bracing my arm against the wood, I lean forward and gentle my voice. “Open the door, babe.”

  For a moment nothing happens. I’m just accepting I’ve done all I can when there’s the sound of the deadbolt being slid back and the latch turning. The sight I see on the other side breaks my heart. Already her eyes are red, tracks of tears running down her cheeks and those not yet fallen are glistening in her eyes. She looks the picture of desperation. It’s natural for me to take the step that closes the distance between us, kicking the door shut behind me with my boot, and pulling her into my arms.

  Her hands clutch at my cut as she avails herself of human kindness. Her sobs that she was trying to hold back come forth. I rub my hands up and down her back.

  “Let it out, babe. Let it all out. I’m here, Stevie. I’m here. You cry babe, you need it.”

  Loosening her fingers, she’s now gently beating at my chest. I don’t think she’s got a clue what she’s doing. “Why, Beef, why? Why did Max get hurt? Why did that car run us down? What was it doing on the sidewalk? Why Beef? Why?”

  Well fuck me. I’d been so tied up in dealing with the aftermath, I hadn’t given the why much thought. An accident or lack of concentration was what I’d put it down to, but I’m a biker used to a criminal world. Now she’s got me wondering whether there could be more to it.

  “I don’t know, Stevie. But I do know Max is a fuckin’ brave dog who saved your life.”

  “I don’t know what I’ll do without him.” Her tears might have started to dry, but her voice still breaks at the thought.

  “You’ll have him back. He’ll be fine, Stevie.”

  “You don’t know that. You told me yourself.”

  “Look, why don’t we sit down? I’ll call James—he’s the vet. Get a progress update, how about that?” Anything to give her some hope. And if the dog’s taken a turn for the worse, at least I’ll be here to help her deal with it.

  “At this time of night?”

  Somehow I think James will have been true to his word, and will be keeping a close watch on his canine patient. “I’ll give it a try, okay?”

  Another sob, this one less violent, and she takes out a tissue blowing her nose noisily. Her hands touch my chest again. “I’ve made your cut wet.”

  “Not a thing for you to worry about. Where are we going to sit?” I fumble for a light switch and when I find it by the side of the door, flick it on. She might be able to find her way around in the darkness, but I’ll break my neck.

  She lets me go, then points to a sofa. She makes her way unwaveringly to it, avoiding the low coffee table in her path. Before she sits, she turns back. “One rule in this house, Beef. Don’t move anything. No furni
ture, not even the waste basket. Leave everything in its place, okay?”

  She’s clearly used to issuing that instruction. The reason why is obvious. I nod my head. Then realising the futility of the gesture, give her words instead, “Got it.”

  She sits at one end of the three-seater sofa, leaving the other two seats for my bulk. It dips as I place my ass on it. True to my word and mentally crossing my fingers, I waste no time in calling the vet.

  “You got James.”

  “How’s Max?” I ask without even an introduction. I doubt he’s caring for more than one animal of that name.

  “Resting comfortably. Have you seen the owner?” James is equally brief.

  “Yeah, I’m with her now.”

  “She alright?”

  Stevie’s making gimme gestures, and I guess she wants to hear the update herself. I pass the phone over, carefully wrapping her fingers around it.

  “James, sorry, I don’t know… Ransom. Got it. Yes, I’m fine. Not much more than a headache. How’s Max?”

  I’m only able to hear her side of the conversation which consists mainly of, uh huhs and okay and yeah, I got that. I take the opportunity to watch her face. She bites her lip, grimaces, frowns, then there’s a small smile. Then her brow creases again.

  “What time are you open?” she says at last. Followed by, “I’ll be there. Thank you. And yes, I’ll be prepared.”

  When she holds the phone out to me I take it, watching as she leans her head into her hands.

  “Well?”

  “He used a lot of medical jargon, but at the end of it you were right. Good news is that so far he hasn’t deteriorated. I’m going to go in at eight tomorrow and see him.”

  The words, “I’ll take you,” immediately come out of my mouth.

  Her head comes up, and she stares at a point just over my shoulder. “You don’t need to do that.”

  I don’t know what drove me to make the offer. “You got family or friends that can take you?”

  That streak of independence appears again. “No, but there are things called taxis.”

  I may not know her, but she’s cute and pretty. It’s hard to imagine she’s got no one to call on. “No friends who support you?”

  “I’ve got family, yes. But they’re not close by. I only moved here fairly recently, so I haven’t got any contacts yet.”

  “Workmates?”

  “No, what I do, I do from home.

  I’m interested. “What do you do?”

  “I’m a computer programmer.”

  Don’t you need to be able to see to do that? My respect for her grows. But so does a feeling of responsibility for her. I settle back on the couch. “Well, you do now.”

  Her brow furrows again. “I do now what?”

  “Have a friend who’ll be there for you.”

  She laughs incredulously. “We’ve only just met.”

  I shrug. Then use words. “Doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s because I know how I’d feel if something of mine was hurt, maybe I took a liking to Max. No doubt he’s a hero and that I can respect. Maybe it’s because I think we’ve connected. Look, you don’t know me, but I’m no threat. I don’t want anything from you. You want the truth? This is strange to me too. I’ve only moved to Pueblo today myself. Perhaps I could do with a friend too.” It’s true. Especially as I’ll be in a new clubhouse. Sure, I’ll have brothers, but there may also be times when I need privacy and a break. The Pueblo clubhouse isn’t like Tucson with acres of room on the compound and the suites with only one neighbour. Here my room will be in the midst of all the others.

  “You moved here today?”

  “Yes. I rode up from Tucson, was on my way to the clubhouse when I saw that car hit Max.”

  She swings her body around to fully face me, one leg drawn up beneath her. “Let me get this straight. You rode up from Tucson. How long did that take?”

  “Eleven hours, perhaps a bit extra for stops to stretch my legs.”

  “Your luggage? That was what your friends took off your bike?” At my look of confusion, she explains, “I heard sounds, elastic pinging. Heard them struggling to get, what, bungee cord done up?”

  “That’s right.” Her ears, her interpretation of what she’s hearing, are fucking amazing. I’m stunned she was able to tell.

  She looks thoughtful, and her head moves to one side and back. “You spent all evening at the vet’s because I asked you to, then brought me home. Then came in to make sure I was okay.”

  For the umpteenth time I shrug.

  “Am I right?”

  I feel like slapping myself around the head. Must remember to speak. “Sums it up, babe.”

  “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Stupid question. Of course you are. How about I make you a sandwich? And I’ve got beer.”

  “I’m alright,” I reply automatically. My stomach, seeming to have heard the mention of food, growls loudly.

  She giggles, then gets up. “I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll help—”

  “You stay here.” After issuing an instruction in a tone I can’t argue with, she strides confidently across the room and into a kitchen. There are sounds of something opening and closing, then two opened bottles are brought back and placed in the exact middle of the coffee table. Then she’s off again.

  Beer. At fucking last. And it’s a brand I like. I raise the bottle to my lips and take a long thirst-quenching swallow. Stretching out my legs I hear my knees creak. Getting old. The couch is comfy, the back just the right height for me to rest back my head. Closing my eyes, I breathe out, feeling tension seep away.

  “Your sandwich.”

  It’s said quietly but is enough to make my eyes open. Pushing down on my hands I pull myself upright. “Nearly drifted off there for a moment.”

  “That’s why I spoke quietly. Didn’t want to wake you if you were asleep.” Again, she interprets my unspoken question. “Your breathing, it was different.”

  “You notice a fuck of a lot, don’t you?”

  She resumes her place at the other end of the couch as I tuck into a ham, cheese and lettuce sandwich. Good shit it is. “You’re not eating?”

  “I just had a piece of cheese while I was making that for you. I’m not hungry.”

  I eye her critically. What she hadn’t added out loud was that she was too concerned about Max. She doesn’t look tired, just worried. Maybe it will take her mind off things she can’t control if I get her talking. I could talk about bikes, my favourite topic, or I could ask about her.

  Choosing the latter, I begin. “So, you recently moved to Pueblo? For work?” For a lover?

  “Something like that.” Her legs, which she had curled up under her, straighten out. She’s tense, I can see it. Okay, I don’t know her well enough to pursue a topic she’s uncomfortable with. It’s none of my business.

  “Are you alright, I didn’t ask. Hurting?”

  “I was just bruised and shocked, Beef. I’m fine. I’ve got a bit of a headache, but nothing too bad. Probably more tension than injury. And God knows bruises don’t bother me. I get enough of them. You should have seen my legs when I first moved in.”

  “This your furniture?”

  A shake of her head, making her hair fly around her shoulders. “No, I… rented it furnished. Didn’t know where anything was.” She chuckles. “Spent enough time on my hands and knees mapping it all out.”

  “You’ve got amazing hearing.”

  “Yes. I’m lucky that way.” When I think that’s all I’m going to get, she tilts her head on one side. “I don’t mind you asking, if you’re interested.”

  I am. “Have you always been blind?”

  Her head moves side to side. “I’ve got a condition called retinitis pigmentosa. It’s an inherited condition, but for generations it hasn’t appeared in the family. I was born fully sighted, but my vision started to deteriorate early on. I was about five when my parents acknowledged something was wrong with me. If they approached from the side, I did
n’t notice them until they were right in front of me. They took me for tests and got the diagnosis. Nothing to be done, and eventually I’d lose more of my vision. Some people retain some, I’ve lost most. In good daylight I can sometimes make out shapes, but not always. I was lucky though. My condition is often related to another that also causes deafness.” She shudders. “Thank God I don’t suffer from that.”

  “When did you lose your sight to the extent you have now?”

  “When I was in my early twenties. You mentioned my hearing. Going back to when I couldn’t see people in my peripheral vision, I started listening more. Because I had some vision it helped to distinguish what made what sound, if that makes sense? It helped when I lost my sight entirely.”

  “You have Max to help you. What will you do while he’s recovering?”

  Her lips purse. “Be a hermit?” Her comment is followed by a self-deprecating laugh. “I have a white stick, but it’s not as good as a dog.”

  Putting down my empty plate I ask, “Why not? Not all blind people have dogs, surely?”

  “They don’t. Looking after a dog is too much of a chore for them, and they manage with just a stick. But have you seen someone waving one? Weaving it back and forth to see what’s in front of them?”

  I nod automatically, then give myself a mental slap. “Uh uh.”

  “Imagine a table. Imagine trying to walk through a restaurant, an unexpected chair pushed out in front of you.” She laughs again, a sound I find endearing. “The stick hits empty air if I’m waving it between the legs. Told you, I’m no stranger to bruises, tripping up or falling down.”

  I can’t help it. I’m interested, but tired. I yawn.

  “You’re half asleep. Anyone would be after that long ride. Rather than heading on to your clubhouse, why don’t you stay here tonight? I’ve got a spare room.”

  I look at her sharply. “You wouldn’t mind?”

  “Why should I?”

  “You don’t know me at all. I could be an axe murderer or jump your bones in the night and molest you.”

  That laugh again. The one I prefer over her tears earlier. It’s followed by chuckles, and then she can’t seem to stop. “I’m not afraid of you, Beef. I don’t really know why. Not offering to share my bed, but something tells me it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to have your hands on me. Not an offer, but no, I don’t think you’re a threat. As for being an axe murderer? I’ll take my chances.” She chuckles again.