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

by Manda Mellett

  I’m no stranger to bullets flying, and half expect one day one will take me out. Living this life, no one would think it extraordinary. What I hadn’t realised was that it would be something invisible to the naked eye that could take me down. I could neither evade nor fight it. Having done the impossible and unexpected and come around, it’s left me with various considerations. One, how fragile life is, another how I should relish every moment now given to me, but there’s a part of me which wonders, why? Why was I saved? Why was I brought back? Was there a purpose or reason, or was it just how my cards fell?

  Not wanting to waste any precious minute was part of the reason I got involved with Sally so fast. My mortality had been brought home to me, and I live every day thinking I’m on borrowed time.

  The memory of how close I’d come to leaving this life makes me appreciate today’s ride even more. I notice the little things, like how it gets noticeably warmer as I descend in altitude. By the time I reach the city I’m wiping sweat from my brow. The sweater I’m wearing over my t-shirt too heavy now. First thing I do when I reach the compound is tear it off.

  “Beef!” Pyro calls out, also just pulling in on his bike. “How are the mountains?”

  “All good,” I reply. I wait for him to draw closer. “Getting to feel like home already.”

  “It strange living with a blind bitch?”

  Strange? Nah. “Half the time you wouldn’t know there was anything different about her,” I tell him, seriously. “I don’t want to kill her yet if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Dutifully, he laughs. “Oh, by the way, been checking in with the vet. Max is progressing nicely, as he put it.”

  I thank him, then, following his lead, I grab a beer from Beaver who’s bartending, then walk into church. As I take out my phone to drop it into the basket, I notice I’ve made it just in time.

  Pyro and I are the last in. Planting my ass on the spare seat at the bottom of the table, it hits me this is my first time in the Colorado church. Things have happened so fast in the week that I’ve been here. I wait to see how different or similar it is to the ones we hold in Tucson.

  “Ok, settle down.” Demon’s mild knocking of the gavel on the table has the desired effect. “Some of you,” he looks pointedly at Thunder and Mace, “already know why I’ve interrupted your Saturday. The rest of you need to be brought up to speed.”

  I sit up straighter. What’s coming for us now? I get a twitchy feeling in my gut, especially when the prez’s eyes land on me.

  “You got any more information out of the woman?”

  I respond to his direct question, “Nah, sorry Prez. I’ve tried pushing her, but she’s staying dumb.”

  “There’s a good reason for that.” Demon pinches the bridge of his nose, then shakes his head. “Had a visit yesterday. The local prez of the Wretched Soulz. Filled me in on a few details.”

  My eyes sharpen. What the fuck has Stevie got to do with the dominant MC whose area covers a large part of the states and beyond? Any MC setting up in the dominant’s territory does so only with its blessing. Satan’s Devils coexist by permission, and for the most part, have a friendly arrangement with them.

  Having let the importance of his visitor sink in, Demon resumes, “You’ve all heard of the Warped Jokers?”

  “Club out of LA, aren’t they?” Cad asks. “Into some bad shit from what I’ve heard.”

  Most, including myself, nod. Unlike the Satan’s Devils who’ve got a rep we don’t nowadays deserve, the Warped Jokers live up to every citizen’s nefarious expectations of what an MC gets up to. Drugs, guns, extortion. If it can be named they’re probably up to their necks in it. We might not approve, but we turn a blind eye. Live and let live—our motto as far as clubs like that are concerned. As we don’t have an LA chapter, we don’t often cross paths with the Warped Jokers.

  “Feds have busted them. Half of them are in prison awaiting trial, the rest out on bail.”

  That’s news I haven’t heard. I sit up straighter, the dots joining fast in my head.

  “It’s a RICO indictment.”

  Christ! That will take out the whole club if proven. Every fucking member will go down and for a very long time. RICO. The word no MC wants to hear. It’s the way feds take down organised crime. Doesn’t matter if he never had his hand anywhere near a gun, if they think a killing or robbery was planned from the top, everyone in the club is guilty by association in the eyes of that law. Twenty-year sentences will be handed out, the club’s assets seized.

  I’ve got a horrible feeling I’m right, enough signs are there. Hoping I’m going to be contradicted, I state, “Stevie’s a witness in the case.”

  Demon nods. “The star witness.”

  I don’t like this. Don’t like it at all. “Why come to you, Demon? Why tell you?” The bad feeling in my gut worsens.

  “We knew there was a leak somewhere, and that someone knew where she was and had eyes on her. Beef, you were clocked when you rode her around town as we thought you might be.”

  I swear my heart stops beating. “You confirmed where she is?”

  “Nah. Not until I had this meeting. I wanted to get us together to decide what to do.”

  With a thump my vital organ starts working again, and my lungs take in oxygen once more. But maybe it’s just a temporary reprieve.

  I hardly dare ask the question that’s on the tip of my tongue, but I need to know the answer. “Why are the Wretched Soulz involved, and why are they trying to find her?”

  Chapter Twenty

  It’s not just me who wants to hear the answer. Everyone’s sitting forward, their heads craned to face the prez sitting at the top of the table. The answer most likely is that they want her taken out of the equation so she can’t testify, the least possible response is that the dominant is fed up with the Warped Jokers and want her kept alive, and use her to get rid of a thorn in their side.

  Demon’s eyes flare, and his mouth twists. “They want to make sure she doesn’t turn up in court.”

  My hand smashes down on the table. “Why, Prez? Why are they protecting those motherfuckers? We all know what they’re like. Wouldn’t we be better off without them?”

  Demon lurches ending up hunched over the table, both his fists come crashing down on the wood. “We’re all bikers, aren’t we? We’re all living on the wrong side of the line. Some of us just with a foot or two over it, but the spectrum is wide. The Warped Jokers just happen to be at the far end of it. Feds get one success, they’ll be looking for more. No one wants eyes on our business, no one wants dirt being dug up. Whether we like it or not, the Warped Jokers are a legitimate club set up with the dominant’s permission. They’re our biker brothers.”

  They’re not my fucking brothers. And there’s one thing we haven’t discussed.

  “What did they do, Prez? You’re suggesting we off a woman to let them walk free. What fuckin’ crime are you proposing we help cover up?” I realise there’s something else too. “And how can a fuckin’ blind woman be a credible witness? Surely their lawyer could shred her in court. Surely you aren’t suggesting we hand her over?”

  Demon stands so fast his chair falls over backward. His palms flat on the table he looms over making me pleased there’s distance between us. Beside me, Hellfire, Demon’s dad and previous president sucks in an audible breath.

  “I’m not suggesting fuckin’ anything. If you think for one second I’d condone killing an innocent woman, or anyone, who’s done nothing wrong but tell the truth, then you’re not a fit for this chapter. I don’t care if Drummer sent you here, I’ll be sending you back.”

  The rest of the brothers look like they’re watching a tennis match, their heads turning one way and the other, checking me then Demon. I suspect they’re wondering if we’re going to settle this with our fists.

  Thunder’s hand shoots out and grasps Demon’s arm. “We’re not on the side of the fuckin’ Jokers, Demon. Think you ought to explain that. And you, Beef,” he turns and
meets my stare head on, “you don’t know the workings of this chapter, don’t know Demon’s approach. I suggest you hold back on your accusations until after you’ve heard everything Prez has got to say.”

  Hellfire speaks from beside me, “If this club raised a finger against an innocent, I’d be the first to walk out.” He doesn’t face me as he says it.

  I realise I’ve jumped in too fast. They’re right, I don’t know this chapter or how Demon leads it. I took the silence around me as agreement for anything he proposed, including harming Stevie. I drop my head into my hands, then look up. “Coming to a different chapter isn’t easy. You’re all brothers, but you roll a different way. Likewise, you don’t know me either. I apologise, Demon. I meant no offence.”

  Slowly, very slowly, the tension leaves Demon’s arms. As he straightens, Mace slips out of his seat and discreetly picks Demon’s chair up. When the prez is re-seated, he dips his head. “Apology accepted. Now, if you let me, I’ll answer your questions with what I was able to find out.” His hand pushes his long hair back from his face, and he sighs. “Got some discussions necessary to decide, as a club, where we take this. But for that, you need facts.”

  Lizard gets out his cigarettes. Mace wiggles his fingers and the packet is slid across the table. Before it returns to the tattoo artist, Sparky and Ink each take one out. Demon waits until the air’s become tinged with blue, and Mace has taken two ashtrays from a shelf behind him.

  “Fuck knows why they thought it was a good idea, but the Warped Jokers decided to go down the old-fashioned route. A bank holdup. Things didn’t go as planned, one of the customers decided to be a hero, received a bullet for his pains. They’d taken their eyes off the cashier who got shot when she went for the panic button. Another customer tried to disarm one of the Jokers and managed to pull his mask off.” Demon breaks off and looks grim. “There were five customers and two cashiers in the bank at the time. Seven potential witnesses. The Joker whose face was revealed decided he didn’t want any left alive, except for the blind girl who couldn’t see anything.”

  “They were right, weren’t they? She couldn’t see. Couldn’t tell who they were. Whether they were black, white or fuckin’ purple,” Rusty says, his brow creasing. “How the fuck could she be a witness?”

  “It’s not what she saw, but what she heard,” I tell them, not even having to think about it. Living with her, seeing how her other senses compensate for the loss of her sight, I can well understand it.

  “Heard, felt and smelled,” Demon agrees. “It’s not like RIP to be chatty, but I get the feeling he was impressed. I asked the question, he answered. Smell, leather, oil and sweat. They weren’t wearing cuts but had been. She suggested they could be bikers, which got the cops looking in that direction. There was more than that, her memory is spot on. They hadn’t realised, but they’d used a name, One-Eye. Cops homed in on the Jokers. Got them in a line-up, she identified them by their voices.”

  “Would that stand up in court?” It seems flimsy at best.

  Demon catches my eye. “They left her alive but impressed on her she had to stay silent. One hit her around her face, his ring left bruising. Another grabbed her in her struggle to get free, she felt his hand, it had one finger missing.”

  “They weren’t wearing gloves?” Buzzard asks incredulously, shaking his head, as though he’s an expert bank robber.

  “Yes, but only thin latex ones. That too, she said.”

  “Her info? That’s enough to get a conviction?” I ask.

  Demon nods. “She’s convincing as hell. Feds think yes.”

  I could easily see how she could convince them. Sure she couldn’t see the bank robbers in the same way as I could, but those details she remembered using her other senses were presumably just as reliable.

  “No other witness?” I’m grasping at straws. “Anyone outside see the getaway vehicle? The driver?”

  A shadow falls over the prez’s face. “No one. Anyone inside was dead. They’d used silencers and picked a quiet time. If anyone did see anything, they haven’t come forward as a witness.”

  Probably wouldn’t. The Warped Jokers are not a crew you’d want to get on the wrong side of. And if anyone had, they’d be suffering the same fate as Stevie—moved away from everything they’d ever known.

  “What are we going to do, Prez?” Rusty asks the direct question I wanted to. My eyes shoot to Demon to see how he’s going to handle it.

  Demon’s head is moving side to side. “Fuck knows,” he responds after a moment. “Here’s the situation. The dominant, our dominant, wants the feds’ attention off MC clubs in LA and beyond.”

  “Fat fuckin’ chance,” I scoff. “They’re always looking to bring us down.”

  “I agree. But the heat has intensified with the Jokers’ recent caper.”

  “They’re fuckin’ criminals,” Hellfire says scornfully. “They might call themselves an MC and ride bikes, but they’re way out the other end of the spectrum to us. Satan’s Devils, even the Wretched Soulz, would never be so crass as to rob banks and certainly wouldn’t gun down innocent citizens if there was any way to avoid it.”

  “But,” Demon plays devil’s advocate, “they are an MC. Do we want a reputation of turning rat on our biker brothers?”

  I want to vomit at the thought of calling any man who wants Stevie dead my brother, but technically, that’s what they are. My fingers tap on the table, my head spinning. “As long as clubs have existed,” I start, “we’ve been fighting each other.”

  “Sure have,” Rusty agrees. He nudges Ink who gets out his cigarettes and passes him one. “Big clubs fought it out in Denver back in the day.”

  Demon’s eyes have narrowed. “You’re suggesting we go head-to-head with the Warped Jokers?”

  “With half of them inside that wouldn’t be hard.” Bomber’s got a gleam in his eyes as Pyro nudges him appreciatively.

  “You’re forgetting something,” Thunder observes. “They’re in LA.”

  I hold up my hand. “Not suggesting we get physical, just that we help bring them down by keeping Stevie out of their way. Let her turn up in court and see where the cards fall.”

  In a move reminiscent of Drummer, for a second making me homesick, knowing there’d be a different vibe if we were talking around the table in Tucson, Demon runs his hand over his short beard. “So let’s start there. We refuse the request of the Wretched Soulz, pitting us against the dominant club.”

  “We’re not here to do their bidding, Prez,” Sparky interjects.

  “You’re right,” Demon says calmly, “but we’ve always co-existed with the dominant. Couldn’t be here without their approval to set up the club.”

  That’s spot on. Any club wanting to establish themselves in the dominant’s territory has got to jump through a number of hoops. Technically we don’t need approval, but if we hadn’t allowed them to review our charter and regs, then, well, ride with a patch not recognised by the Wretched Soulz? Any biker who does that is facing a severe beatdown, or even death. Satan’s Devils have done it right. Have given our support to the Wretched Soulz a time or two as well, and sometimes, they’ve helped us out. What none of us want is an out-and-out war. We’d have no chance of winning.

  “Beef’s a nomad. Yet he’s brought this bitch to our door and landed us in this shit. Why don’t we just leave it to him to sort out? We can wash our hands of him.”

  There’s quiet as Mace lays out the cold facts. He’s completely right. Trouble is, if Stevie’s and my presence is bringing trouble to this club, it would follow to any other chapter who took us in. I’m not going to leave her unprotected, whatever they decide. I’d be out on my own with a blind woman to protect. Hate thinking of her as disabled, but I have to face facts. There are things a fully sighted woman can do which she can’t. The main one being, she can’t see trouble coming.

  I hold my breath, waiting for the answer. “I vote to dismiss that,” Skull, unusually pipes up. “That’s signing both her death wa
rrant and our brother’s. I know he’s not of this chapter, but he’s a Satan’s Devil all the same.”

  “Drummer would never agree to it,” Ink observes.

  It’s Demon’s reaction I’m interested in, inwardly squirming during the moment he takes to voice his opinion. “While Beef’s here, he’s one of ours.” His tone is final.

  Grateful for that, I’m still aware my actions are bringing down heat on a chapter I don’t even belong to. Now Demon’s given me support, I can’t suggest I take the problem back to Tucson and Drummer, as that would be disrespecting my new prez, however temporary that situation is. But there is another solution.

  “I go it alone,” I find myself suggesting. “Sure, I’m staying at the cabin owned by the club, but you needn’t know who I’ve got with me. Could be I just needed time to decompress. I’ll get more out of Stevie now that I can tell her I know most of it anyway. Cad?”

  Cad glances up from his tablet.

  “If I find out who she’s dealing with, her handler and stuff, can you dig up the info? Now we know the facts, there’s no need for her to keep things quiet.” When he nods, I continue, “We try to find out where the leak came from, then locate someone who isn’t going to rat on her. When Max is back on his feet, we pass her back to the marshals and they can take over her protection. At that point, the club’s clean.”

  “In the meantime, I lie to the Wretched Soulz.” Demon’s brow furrows.

  “Plan’s a good one, Prez,” Thunder observes. “And it’s not lying, just concealing the truth. You just need to be inventive. They don’t know we’ve got the girl. Sure, they know we had contact, but we could let them assume we washed our hands of her.”

  Slowly Demon grins. “I can make that work. I just omit some of what’s pertinent.” He picks up the gavel, turning it over in his hands. “We continue to help Beef in his sojourn at the cabin. That’s the motion on the table. If he’s got a bitch there, well, it’s none of our business.”

  The ayes around the table are resounding, More than one brother glances at his neighbour and nods. It saves us from an outright war with either the Jokers or the Wretched Soulz. Of course, it also means we’re helping the feds with their business. But in this instance, if it means Stevie stays breathing, they’re the lesser evil.