Targeting Dart (Satan's Devils MC #4)

by Manda Mellett

  “And helping in the shop,” Salem puts in.

  “And making us smile.” Eva laughs.

  I’ve been around the club for a while now. I like all the men, and even got a grip on how to handle the club girls. But this is the first time it’s really sunk in. It is one big family. They’re not just here for Dart, they’re here for me and my son too.

  “Now who’s going to shift their ass and give Alex a seat?”

  Pennywise stands and waves me over. Dart gets there first, and I sit down on his lap, Tyler’s cut in my arms, and Dart’s hands on my hips.

  “Everyone’s here.” I breathe.

  “Niran’s downstairs watching the bikes. He wanted to be close, doll.”

  “And Lloyd and Dave are back at the compound. They sent their best wishes for good news today.”

  I thank Lost, and again look around. Businesses are running without the Satan’s Devils, or must be closed up. The thought’s overwhelming. Everyone’s here for Tyler? If the outcome could be influenced by the good vibes coming his way, he’ll sail through this.

  “Right, who wants coffee? Seein’ as I lost my fuckin’ seat,” Pennywise pauses to look down and wink at me, “I might as well make myself useful.”

  “Could do with visitin’ the head. I’ll come with.” Salem gets up, and Blaze and Kink stand too. Having taken the orders, including one from me, everyone being here is helping to settle my nerves, the men depart.

  A cup of coffee later and the hour hand of the clock on the wall shows that it’s time. Dart and I stand and go to keep our appointment. I pass Tyler’s cut over to Lost for safekeeping.

  When we come back I open the door to see that Grumbler has started a poker game with Brakes, Bones, and Kink. Somehow, they’ve managed to squeeze four chairs around a low magazine table and look very uncomfortable. Pennywise is looking through a bike magazine, and the others are chatting in low voices.

  All their faces look up expectantly as we walk into the room and go quiet. I feel completely stunned, unable to get my head around the news I’ve just heard. What I most wanted to hear, but what I didn’t dare expect.

  “Well?” It’s Grumbler who’s the most impatient. “What did the doc say? How long until Tyler comes home?”

  Lost waves him to be quiet. “Is he doing okay? Dart? Alex? What’s the verdict?”

  “His blood count is up,” I start to say, flicking my eyes up to Dart. “He’s got to have regular checks and follow-up appointments, but he’s turned a corner and…”

  “He’s fuckin’ comin’ home today!” Dart can’t keep quiet any longer. “My son’s comin’ home!”

  I’m surprised no one from the hospital comes to investigate the noise in the room. They cheer, holler, slap each other’s backs, hug me, Dart, and each other. The club girls are laughing, and Eva comes over and clutches me tightly.

  “Anything I can do, Alex, you’ve just got to ask. I know you won’t want to leave him yet and he’s still got a long way to go, but when you’re ready and you want a babysitter so you and Dart could get out, just call me, okay?”

  “I will do, Eva. Thank you.”

  It’s a few minutes before I can escape and go tell Tyler the good news.

  The leaving procedure is lengthy, paperwork to be completed and signed, instructions given and prescriptions filled. When I go to the pharmacy, I notice through the open door that the waiting room is empty, but I’m not surprised. The men have given up more than enough time already today. No point everyone hanging around as we go through the formalities.

  It seems like ages before Tyler gets dressed in street clothes and a wheelchair is brought in to take him out. For my part, I can’t wait to escape. I don’t think I’ll ever get the smell of antiseptic out of my senses, but it’s worth all we’ve been through just to see that big smile on Tyler’s face.

  The nurse wheels him down to the reception area and pushes him through the doors. As she comes to a complete stop, Dart takes over. I bump into the nurse’s back and, looking around her, see what brought her to such a sudden halt.

  There’s a double line of Harleys all waiting, with the brothers sitting on them waiting for us, the club girls up behind some of them. There’s clapping and cheering, and they start the engines up, twisting the throttles, increasing the sound of roaring around the hospital parking lot.

  Dart goes to Lost and collects something which he holds behind his back. Then he marches back to Tyler. As he hands him the leather cut, my little boy, already smiling at the bikers lined up, slips his arms through the sleeves with the biggest grin I’ve ever seen. As Dart wheels him through the bikes lined up as a guard of honour over to the waiting car, Tyler waves at the men who throw chin lifts back, rev their engines again, and give him a thumbs up.

  We get Tyler in the car, and while Dart disposes of the wheelchair I get in the passenger side. When Dart comes back he gets into the driver’s seat, but turns to look over his shoulder before driving off.

  “Ready to go home, Son?”

  “You bet, Dad.”

  Dart grins at me and then waves his hand out of the window. Eight of the bikers come and position themselves in front, the rest, with Niran at the back, pull in behind. Lost, in pole position, signals above his head, and then we’re all moving.

  Tyler looks around, his eyes open in wonder as we’re given a Satan’s Devils escort to our new house.

  “Dart?” I don’t know what to say. I can’t thank him or his brothers enough.

  “You’re mine, and so’s Tyler. And that,” he points forward and then back, “that is our family. Nobody wanted to miss out on this.”

  Yes. That’s family.

  There’s still a long way to go until we can say Tyler’s been cured, but with the goodwill surrounding us, I’m feeling more optimistic as I’m driven toward our new home and new life. And with this man by my side, I feel together we can conquer anything.

  “Family,” I repeat.

  “Family.” Dart nods.

  I look at him, his long curly hair tamed into a bun, his eyes shining with hope, still wondering how it is I’m so lucky to have him fall for me. I didn’t realise I’d been musing aloud until he barks a laugh.

  “Doll, I tell ya. I might as well have had a target plastered to my back. The first time I saw ya up on that pole, it was like someone had shot an arrow straight through my fuckin’ heart.”

  I glance over my shoulder at my son, who’s entranced by the bikes in front of us and behind, seeming unable to stop looking forward and back to keep them in sight. A sob comes to my throat as it sinks in, perhaps for the first time, that he’s now got a chance to live like any normal boy. Dart reaches out his hand, takes mine and squeezes it. When I look at him, he just nods, and I swear his eyes are glistening.

  We continue to hold hands as we drive to our new house and our new life.

  Heart

  When you find your soul mate and make them your old lady, you don’t expect they’ll go before you. Losing Crystal destroyed me, and I wanted nothing better but to join her. I didn’t have it in me to take my own life, but if I kept taking chances, I might get my heart’s desire.

  Banished from the club for my outrageous behaviour, I head off out on the road, a lone biker, one man against the world. And I wouldn’t have survived were it not for one person who kept me sane. A voice on the end of the phone.

  Marc

  I know only too well what it’s like to lose everything you hold dear. There one minute, gone the next. It was easy to tell Heart was close to the edge that first time I spoke to him, and I did what I could to help him back down.

  Over the months we became friends.

  When I knew he was missing, there was only one place to go for help. The Satan’s Devils MC. But cops and bikers don’t mix, so how could I even get them to listen to me?

  Satan’s Devils #5: Heart Broken

  A sneak preview of

  Book 1 in the Blood Brothers series

  Prologue

&
nbsp; Three years ago

  Oh shit! Not again, please. Rubbing my hand across my face, I notice she must have undone the top two buttons of her uniform blouse before leaving the galley. I’m left in no doubt about her intentions as she approaches me with a seductive smile, and that gleam in her eyes I can’t fail to recognise. Being no stranger to such situations, I rapidly assess her predictable proposal in the time it takes for her to reach me and have my well-rehearsed response ready, but I wait and let the scene play out before speaking. As she leans forward, making sure she’s providing me with an eyeful of her artificially enlarged breasts, I smell her freshly applied perfume. Whispering the expected words discreetly into my ear, she confirms her intentions by waving toward the bedroom at the far end of the plane. Suppressing my exasperated sigh, I take her hand and plant a kiss on the back, letting her down gently with a smile.

  “Thank you, sweetheart, but I’m just fine here.”

  My rejection wasn’t unexpected and she takes it in her stride tossing me a cheeky smile as she walks away.

  Lifting an eyebrow, I smirk at Jon Tharpe, who’s seated further down the aisle of the Kassis family jet. He grins back, raising his glass in acknowledgement of the blatant offer that I’d just turned down. I’m not tempted. I don’t, as they say, shit on my own doorstep, and fucking an employee would certainly fall into that category. As she walks away, presumably to get on with her flight attendant stuff, I tilt my head and nod, indicating the seat opposite me. Jon accepts the invitation.

  “Not in the mood, Nijad?” Jon chuckles as he sits down.

  He’s as much friend as bodyguard—no, more than that, he’s another brother to me. A blood brother. We may not share the same heritage, but I owe him my life, and he owes me his fortune. There’s little formality between us.

  Wryly I remind him, “It’s the family jet. She probably thinks fucking her employers is a clause in her job description.”

  He grimaces, and then sniggers. “So you’re worried you might not measure up to your brothers?”

  My expression gives his comment the contempt it deserves, and then I add dryly, “My father uses the plane the most.”

  Jon snorts, not at the best of times as he has just taken a mouthful of beer. I bark a laugh at his predicament then relax back, enjoying the luxury of the private jet. I’m the spare part of the triumvirate of sons whose father is Emir Rushdi, the absolute ruler of the small Arab state of Amahad. My status, being akin to a prince, makes me one of the richest men in the world, with more money than I can spend in one lifetime, and little to do but play the role of a typical playboy sheikh with no real purpose in life. Oh, of course, I don’t get away with it that easily; I have to fight for my independence. The family keeps dragging me back, trying to involve me in the business of running the country. But I am not the heir designate nor the second option, unless my eldest brother gets himself assassinated or run over by the proverbial bus, so my opinion counts for little, and they give me nothing tangible by way of responsibility. Two weeks in Amahad were enough for me. Just like my brother Jasim, I find the country stifling, with its outdated traditions and laws, and live for the moment I can escape. Though right at this moment I’m not particularly looking forward to landing in Paris either.

  “So, Ni, Chantelle. What the fuck are you going to do about her?”

  Was it the sudden scowl on my face that alerted him to the direction of my thoughts, or is Jon so attuned to me that he can read my mind? Whatever, he’d hit the nail right on the head with his question. Turning my head I gaze out of the window, taking a moment to gather my thoughts before formulating a response.

  At the bottom of it, of course, is the big question of how I’d come to lose my bloody mind just before I left for Amahad two weeks ago. I pride myself on my control, so what on earth had compelled me, the very epitome of a fuck-’em-and-leave-’em guy, to suggest to a woman that she could stay at my apartment? At the time it seemed simpler than arguing. Her case that she needed a place to stay while seeking a new home I found less persuasive than the fact that she literally had me by the balls at that moment. Hmm. I had most definitely been thinking with the wrong part of my body, the one her mouth was hovering over and then swallowing deep into her throat. She’s certainly got some skill in that area, there’s no denying that. But being three thousand miles away has helped me realise that being able to give good head isn’t a good enough reason for me to give her house room, nor have I any desire to be with her twenty-four seven. So here I am, heading back to Paris with mixed feelings about arriving. This time, there would be someone waiting for me. Shit!

  “Fuck knows why I agreed to her staying.” I’m shaking my head in sheer bewilderment as I give my belated reply.

  Jon’s brow creases. “I’ve done some security checks. She’s not got a criminal record and there’s not much substance in her background. I couldn’t find anything of immediate concern.”

  “Huh! There’s not much substance to her at all!”

  I know that’s a bit cruel, but Jon’s met her, so the fact I’ve elicited yet another snort from him doesn’t surprise me.

  “Jasim didn’t seem too impressed with the idea?”

  I’m well aware Jon had been party to the conversation, and though posed as a question it’s really an observation. And he’s absolutely right; my brother had flown off the handle when he heard about Chantelle, and he had every right to do so. Although, as the co-owner of an exclusive BDSM club in London, Jasim lives mainly in England, we share the apartment in Paris, making it our joint French base. I’d left Amahad having promised she’d be on her way pretty damn quick. I’d not appreciated the accusation I’d been led around by my dick, especially as I couldn’t deny that’s exactly what happened. Jasim also queried why, recently, I’ve been acting impulsively, making bad decisions, and exhibiting a lack of control. I’d been subjected to a right ear-bashing from him, pointing out the shortcomings of my behaviour. Sometimes it sucks being the youngest brother; your elders, even if only by eighteen months, automatically tend to think they’re your betters.

  I stare out of the window again, my mind getting back to the current issue of Chantelle. She knows this is just a temporary arrangement, and while I’m her current fucking partner, nothing serious could come of it, even if I was madly in love with her. The emir envisages me ending up with a wife with blue blood running through her veins and, even if I wanted her to, dear Chantelle really won’t come up to scratch. I have to admit she looks the part and can hang off my arm well enough at the events I’m compelled to attend as an unofficial ambassador for Amahad. But she’s not got a lot going on up top, and while, at first, her ignorance and inability to understand even simple current affairs seemed amusing, it grows old fast. Even the few days we’ve spent living in close proximity have had me tearing my hair out at times. I mean, who lives in Paris without knowing who the fucking president of France is?

  I realise my mood has made me nasty. What Chantelle has got going for her is the spectacular body of a catwalk model, a suppleness top gymnasts would envy, and stamina that matches my own—and, of course, not forgetting the aforesaid talent for sucking cock. I shift in my seat, now uncomfortable as my thoughts start descending in the obvious direction. Maybe coming back to Europe isn’t such a bad thing after all. I chuckle, imagining her reaction when I turn up unexpectedly a day early. One thing I can bank on, Chantelle is always ready and willing for, what numerous women have told me, are my talented attentions.

  “So he’s not pursuing charges against you?” Jon again breaks the silence, referring to the telephone call I’d received shortly before boarding the plane.

  His voice makes me start, and I take a second to come to grips with his sudden change of subject. My brow furrows as I get myself up to speed. “Bastard can’t afford it. He’s got his reputation to think of.”

  Jon shakes his head, his expression thoughtful. “I can understand why you reacted that way, Nijad. Fuck, anyone would have done. But you went too fa
r …” His voice trails off.

  I have to agree, but there were mitigating circumstances as I now remind him. “He was a wannabe Dom, Jon. He ignored his sub’s safeword – not once, but three times! He was using a fucking whip! One of the lash marks needed fucking stitches, it was so deep. She’ll have the scars for life!”

  The incident in Jasim’s club had been shocking. Yes, the culprit had to be pulled away from the woman, but it should have stopped there, with the appropriate punishment of his membership revoked. But I’d been the one first on the scene and I did a lot more than snatch the whip from his hands. His lawyers described it as a vicious attack, and even I had to agree with that description.

  “There was no permanent injury.” If I sound like that was something I regretted, it’s just unfortunate.

  “You’re lucky St John-Davies cares more for his rep than any revenge.” Jon lifts one leg, resting his ankle on his opposite knee. “I thought you had more control than that, Ni. You should have left Jasim to deal with it in the normal way. You’re lucky you got away with it.”

  I have to agree. Ethan St John-Davies, the man with the pompous attitude to match his pretentious name, didn’t want either the circumstances or the rationale for my actions to be discussed in open court.

  “He’s accepted my apology.” Though the gist of the email I’d received that morning was welcome, because it let me off the hook, I can’t help gritting my teeth, letting Jon know just how much it cost me to make even that small act of contrition. I doubt St John-Davies had apologised to the woman.

  “I know it must stick in your gut. I can understand why you got so fucking mad, but you let your fists run away with you. Is anything the matter, Ni? Anything I can help with?”

  I’m shaking my head while acknowledging Jon is right. I thought I’d left violence like that behind when I’d left active service. I know I should have handled myself better. And I’m not going to admit I might have killed him, had others not stopped it going too far. The sight of that woman’s flayed back, well, I just couldn’t help myself; it was as if a devil had got inside me. And I don’t want to be reminded of my father’s reaction when he was drawn into the legal battle. He didn’t try to hide his disappointment in his youngest son, clearly thinking the fruit of his loins should have shown more restraint. That the echoes of the incident still reverberated within the palace walls was just one more reason I wanted to get back to Europe.