Colt: Demons of Destruction

by Jacqueline M. Sinclair

  Maci open her mouth to speak but her voice faltered. She swallowed, rethinking what she was about to say. “Do you have a phone I can borrow?” she asked, her voice trembling. “I need to call my work.”

  The man didn’t hesitate to pull the phone off his clip. He unlocked the screen and held it out to her. Maci reached for it, remembering too late the cuts and bruises on her hand. “Thanks,” she squeaked, and stepped away, hoping he wouldn’t see how badly she was shaking.

  She punched in the number to the diner, and asked for Shaun when Denise picked it up.

  “Please don’t tell me you’re not coming in today,” he said by way of a greeting.

  “I-I’m sorry, I’m sick. It’s probably going to be a few days.”

  “Good grief, Maci. If I’d known an extra shift was going to put you in bed for a week, I wouldn’t have let you work it.”

  Maci didn’t have the energy to argue. He might fire her when she got back, but at the moment she didn’t care. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  She didn’t wait for more. She ended the call and passed the phone back to the plumber. “Thank you.”

  He fished a card out of his shirt pocket and passed it to her. “You need to get a phone. Don’t be afraid to call if you need anything. I live ten minutes away. If you get into trouble, I’ll make it in five. I guarantee you; I’ll be quicker than the sheriff’s department.”

  Cringing at his brutal, and invasive, assessment of her situation, Maci nodded. She could imagine what was going through his mind.

  She slipped the card into the pocket of her robe, wishing she’d never opened the door. “Thank you.”

  He tipped the brim of his baseball cap, took one last look around, and walked out. Maci stood, waiting, until she heard his van start up. When the sound of his engine faded down the path that would take him to the two-lane road, she collapsed into one of the two kitchen chairs at the metal table.

  Once again, she considered the police, but the thought brought her no comfort. She couldn’t get past the fact that if she told the cops what happened, the rest of those bikers would find out about her. Then what? Deep down, her fear of them outweighed her faith in the cops.

  Maci considered the situation. It had been close, but the worst he’d done was beat her up. She was alive at least, unlike the man in the bathroom. She would heal. She just needed to file away the memories, put them out of her mind, and get herself together.

  It had to have been random. They couldn’t have known she’d be at the store that night. She would heal. I’ll be fine. She just needed to focus. She needed to commit to getting through it, and do it.

  With a resigned sigh, Maci pushed herself up from the chair. She followed the short hallway to the tiny closet that served as a bathroom, flushed the toilet, and looked at her ruined uniform that still lay crumpled in the floor of the shower. It was still wet and the smell of mold was filling the room. In fact, the entire trailer was starting to smell. That would be a problem, for her and the landlord.

  Maci knelt and pulled the plastic grocery bag from the small trashcan that sat by the toilet. She pinched the ruined uniform between her fingers and stuffed it into the bag. Gripping it in one hand, she pushed herself up, and caught a glimpse of herself in the tarnished mirror.

  Even with the distortion, it was easy to see the blue and purple bruises, the gash on her cheek. Her lips were swollen and the bottom one was split at the corner. Her blonde hair was a matted mess, and her blue eyes were dry, and sunken into her pale face.

  Ugh. Maci was surprised the plumber hadn’t taken one look at her and called the police. Nothing but time would take care of the damage to her body. She needed to focus. There was nothing to be done about it. Right now, she needed to move.

  Determined, she went outside, opened the cheap grill that sat at the end of the trailer, and spread the material over the rack to dry.

  Turning back, she caught sight of her car. Blood smeared the window, covered the handle, and part of the door. She could just imagine what it looked like inside.

  Hurrying, she went back in, rolled open all the ancient windows to air out the smell, and then filled a bucket with soapy water. She grabbed a dishrag from the sink and went back out. Thankfully the old Cavalier was parked at the far end of the trailer and the plumber hadn’t seen it.

  Working quickly, she cleaned the window, then moved inside and wiped blood from the steering wheel, gear shifter, and everything else she could reach.

  Finished, she went and got fresh water and started scrubbing the blood from the seat. By the time it was as clean as she could get it, the tattered remnants of her uniform were dry. She marched back inside and changed out of her robe for the first time in days. It went on the grill too, and then it was all doused in lighter fluid.

  Standing back, Maci tossed the match, drawing away from the burst of heat that swooshed up with the flames. Watching, she waited until there was nothing recognizable left in the grill, then vented the lid, and put it back on.

  That done, she went back inside, took a deep breath, and tried to decide what to do next. Her attention fell to the stack of books piled on the small table by the love seat. The trailer was too small to hold anything bigger, but the worn piece of furniture had become her favorite place to do school work.

  That’s what she needed. Routine. To rewind her life to what it had been before that night, and forget it all. She could focus on the future. She could act like it never happened. That’s how she’d survive.

  She slipped her trembling arm through his and leaned the full weight of her body against him. His mom was shaking, taking in full, deep breaths, fighting to keep her composure. It broke his heart and fueled his hate.

  Colt laid his thick hand over hers, but his attention was drawn to a man just across the fresh-dug grave. His gaze locked with Hank, whose eyes reflected the same rage burning inside of Colt.

  Hank cut his eyes toward the path that wound its way through the cemetery, giving Colt a tight nod. Colt turned, as discreetly as he could, taking in the media trucks that were parked by the entrance.

  Goddamn vultures. They didn’t give a shit about his father. All they wanted to know was how his murder would affect his draft status. Colt already knew. He didn’t owe the goddamn world an explanation.

  Straightening in his seat, Colt shook his head at the Demons’ president, expressing himself the only way he could at the moment. Fuck them. They needed to be out covering his father’s unsolved murder. Assholes.

  His eyes roamed the mass of people, wondering if whoever had killed his father had shown up today. Clubs, the Demons’ allies, had come from as far away as Chicago to pay their respects. It was possible that the traitors were hiding among them.

  His muscles tightened at the thought, or maybe it was the sudden way his mother’s body flinched beside him. Patting her hand, he pulled his thoughts back to the service as Tex stepped up beside the preacher. Colt could see he was doing his best to get through his eulogy. His voice was low but strong, and seething with the same hate Colt had pulsing through him.

  Colt got through the rest by concentrating on his mother and thinking about what lay ahead. He was still a million miles away when someone stepped in front of him, and blocked out the blazing sun. He blinked away the daydream and looked up, his thumb still idly rubbing the back of his mom’s hand.

  Untangling himself from her hold, Colt stood, grasping Hank’s outstretched hand. “Come by the clubhouse. We’ll talk.” Hank patted him on the shoulder and then the president of the Demons of Destruction knelt in front of his mother.

  “Anything you need, anything at all, you call.”

  His mom had gone quiet, but silent tears were rolling down her face. She managed a nod and Hank patted her hand as he stood. He was the first in a long line of people who filed by, and it was almost an hour before they escaped to the solitude of his truck.

  He tucked her hand between his. “We’re going to make this right.” he promised her.r />
  She didn’t say a word. She couldn’t. A fresh wave of grief erupted, and for the hundredth time since all this began, Colt was ready to tear the world apart. He couldn’t stand to see his mother hurting like this. He started the truck, trying to separate himself from where he was, for just a moment, or he’d lose all reasoning.

  He drove to the clubhouse, got his mom settled with Vanessa, Hank’s ol’ lady, and went straight to Hank’s office.

  He’d hung out with the Demons all his life. He’d rode with them. Their way was ingrained in him, but he’d never committed to the club because by the time he was old enough to understand what it meant, really meant, his life was leading him to other things. Football. It had been his life. Right up until his mom had called. He listened, feeling like a completely different person, as Hank brought him up to speed.

  “The investigation is going nowhere, if you believe the cops. No evidence, unless you count the twenty years of fingerprints they found in that nasty ass bathroom.”

  “You said there were fingerprints in his blood.”

  “And nothing to match them to,” Hank sighed. “They’re not going to do shit.”

  Colt didn’t have to reflect on Hank’s words. He’d felt the same way about the cops since he’d found out. He moved on to something else that’d been bothering him. “Why was he even out that way?”

  Hank straightened and strummed his fingers on his desk. He wasn’t one of them, and Colt knew Hank was trying to decide how much to tell him. Finally, he said, “There’s a small club out in Charlotte wanting to patch over.”

  Colt stopped his pacing and glared at Hank. “He went alone?”

  Hank waved him off. “It wasn’t like that. Pops knew the guy. Vouched for him, himself. He wanted to ride out and reacquaint.” Hank leaned back in his chair and linked his hands behind his head. “This happened too close to home for them to be involved.”

  Colt wasn’t convinced.

  “I talked to him before he rode back,” Hank said. “He was fine and was nothing but impressed with their setup.” He scrubbed his hands over his face before folding his arms on his desk.

  “It wasn’t them. In fact, they called after it hit the news, and offered their services, any way we see fit to use them.”

  Taking a seat in one of the mismatched chairs across from Hank’s desk, Colt asked, “So what are we going to do?”

  Hank froze, eyeing Colt. “You got a mouse in your pocket? What the fuck do you mean, we?”

  “You knew this was coming. I want in,” he argued, but he could tell the Demon’s president wasn’t convinced. This was why he’d put Colt off, telling him to take care of his mother and the funeral first. “You know the only reason I didn’t prospect is because of football. That’s gone, now.”

  “And next week? Next month? How are you going to feel a year from now?”

  “The same,” Colt snapped. He had no doubt that he was supposed to be there, with the Demons. “Have you considered that football is the reason I wasn’t with him? Had I been home, I would have been right there. He wouldn’t have pulled out without me.”

  “Your dad would beat my ass for letting this happen.”

  “My dad would understand.”

  Hank’s resolve fractured. Colt could see it in his face. “The brothers are out for blood,” he warned.

  “So am I.”

  Hank poured himself a shot, drained the glass, and slammed it on his desk. “Anything we do, we do as a club,” Hank pressed.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “You do this as a Demon, or you don’t do it at all.”

  Colt clenched his hands into fists. Who knew how long it would take him to earn his colors? He could go out on his own, but if he was looking to rain down hell on an entire club, he’d need the Demons. Besides, his father was their brother. They deserved a piece of the revenge.

  Hank studied him as he nodded his agreement. He then poured two shots, pushing one toward Colt. “I’ll put it to the brothers.”

  It had taken two more days, but Colt finally got the call. There’d been some grumbling about his timing, but it was done. Colt listened while Hank warned him, again, that he’d be prospecting just like everyone else. There’d be no retaliation until he was a full-fledged Demon, even if the opportunity presented itself to Colt. He was warned that he was not to act without the full support and knowledge of the club.

  “Everything you do reflects us. Understand?”

  “Yeah.” Colt tried to keep the frustration from his voice. He’d expected it, but he still didn’t like it.

  “We need to let this media shit blow over. Too many eyes,” Hank warned.

  The more he watched the news, the more Colt came to agree. Every sportscaster on the planet seemed to have been making predictions on whether he’d be returning to college, and if he’d move on to the draft. He was being watched, and so were the Demons.

  It wasn’t until his coach announced he wouldn’t be returning that the fuckers started disappearing, but not before a shitload of innuendo was tossed around on what his leave meant.

  Let them wonder. By the time he earned his patch, he’d be old news. There was plenty to do in the meantime. They had no idea who was responsible. They needed Intel, and some distance between them and retaliation, so there’d be less heat.

  It would come. His anger was just as sharp as it’d been a few days ago when he’d locked gazes with Hank over his father’s grave. He knew his life would never be the same. He could live with that.

  “He must have a hard on for you.” Denise grinned, nodding past Maci to someone she couldn’t see. “He asked if he was in your section,” she said with a wink. “He got up and moved when I told him no.”

  Her coworker gave her a sly smile, but with the room swaying in her vision, Maci ignored her. The blood drained from her face. She had an idea who it was, and her hands were already shaking.

  Denise took a long look at her, confused at Maci’s reaction. “He ain’t a prize, but it doesn’t hurt to have a friend.” Maci nearly gagged at the way the woman’s eyebrows danced suggestively on her forehead.

  It was the second time this week he’d been in the diner. The first time Maci had managed to hide in the kitchen, and Renee had taken her tables, but this time Shaun was working. He’d shoo her back out onto the floor. That one time might have been a coincidence. She’d convinced herself it was. Not today. Today he asked for her.

  There was no way in hell she would serve him. She risked a quick glance, hoping she was just being paranoid. She wasn’t. It was him. She needed to move, to hide. Ignoring the customers who called out to her, she made a beeline for the kitchen.

  She burst through the swinging doors, spinning around a time or two, trying to decide what to do. Her heart was racing and she couldn’t think clearly. His second time here. He was after her. Again.

  “We’re too busy for you to be hiding out in here. What’s wrong with you? If you’re not sick, get to work.” Shaun barked at her as soon as he saw her standing there, wringing her hands.

  She was going to be sick. Her stomach was already churning. Sweat dampened her hands. Grabbing on to the counter, Maci closed her eyes and tried to stop herself from getting sucked into the past.

  God, I should have gone to the cops. But it’d been too much for her to face, to repeat. She’d survived the days after the attack on autopilot, blocking out the worst of the memories, but they were back full force: The stench of smoke as he huffed in her face, the feel of his cold fingers wrapped around her arm as she’d tried to run away, the sound of her uniform ripping as he’d slammed her to the ground. The memories brought a wave of nausea that had her emptying the contents of her stomach into the trash can.

  She heard Shaun gasp as the second wave hit her. He grabbed the trashcan, shoved it into her hands, and pushed her through the propped open door to the back side of the diner. Maci couldn’t hear him over the ringing in her ears, but his high-pitched whine didn’t stop u
ntil the door closed behind him. If she was panicked before, the realization that she was left out there alone kicked her emotions into overdrive.

  Diving for the door, Maci cried out to find it locked. She banged on it, but stopped when she realized it might alert the man that she was trapped outside.

  Forgetting the door, she hurried around the building, stopping short when she reached the parking lot. He was leaning against a huge motorcycle, one booted foot crossed over the other. He looked right at her, his fingers grazing his goatee, a cigarette dangling between them.

  The cigarettes. She’d smelled them that night, mixed with alcohol, suffocating her as he panted breath after breath in her face. The memory brought bile to the back of her throat. A knee to his groin had given her the leverage to push him off her, to gain the few seconds’ head-start she needed to get away. What was he going to do now, after all this time?

  Her chest heaved with every breath, but Maci squared herself up. It was broad daylight. He’d be crazy to come after her again, but he didn’t seem inclined to leave, either. He just kept staring. Waiting.

  Shit. There was nowhere for her to go. All her stuff was in the diner. She didn’t even have keys to her car. She’d have to walk right past him to get inside.

  Taking a deep breath, Maci kept her eyes forward, and tried to keep from running as she approached him, but instinct drove her faster. She practically fell into the door, pushing inside with a groan. She ran straight for the back, grabbed her purse and keys, and was headed out as Shaun came through the doors.

  The same time he appeared, the deep rumble of a motorcycle shook the building, sending the wound-up nerves pooled in her stomach throughout her body.

  Shaun, standing with his hands on his hips, blocked the door. Without thinking, Maci drew back her free hand, aimed for Shaun’s nose, and punched him as hard as she could. She never stopped moving. Not until she was in her car with the doors locked, the cool AC from the vents blowing on her heated face. What the hell did I just do?