Slick Running (Satan's Devils #3) (Satan's Devils MC)

by Manda Mellett

  “Marvel ‘cos I’m a marvel.”

  “Don’t believe a word of it, sweetheart. Marvel likes fuckin’ comics. Fuckin’ kid.” The man introduced as Joker laughs and then steps back smartly to put himself out of reach of a playful fist from the comic-loving man.

  After the thirty-something kid mock-places a light punch on his friend, he looks down to me. “Pleased to meet ya, Ella.”

  I want to summon up the courage to ask about Lady’s handle, but as I can only manage a squeak of acknowledgement at the introductions, I’ll have to remain in ignorance for now. He’s certainly a pretty man though, with the type of defined facial features any woman would be grateful to have.

  As we walk on through, I get nods and greetings from the men I do recognise, even if I can’t put names to the all the faces. Jill’s sitting with the other sweet butts, who seem to have increased their ranks from the last time I was here. If looks could kill, I reckon I’d be dead about now.

  When we reach a clear space, Slick turns me to face him. “I really am fuckin’ glad to see you here, Ella. What made you pluck up the courage?”

  “Hunger forced us down. Jayden needs feeding.”

  “Well if that’s the case, let’s go get you somethin’.” He spins around and whistles. “Paladin, get Jayden over ‘ere. She needs somethin’ to eat.” He heads into the kitchen where Carmen is busying herself with pots and pans.

  “Got anythin’ edible?” he jokes. “My girls need food.”

  “There’s still some bacon and waffles? I can do you some eggs?”

  “Don’t go to any trouble,” I say at the same time as Jayden licks her lips and says, “Yes, please.”

  Carmen laughs and waves a pan toward Slick. “Shoo, I’ve got this. Ella and Jayden can visit awhile.”

  After a glance down to make sure I’m going to be okay, and my tentative smile showing I’ll try, he moves his lips over the top of my head, then heads back to join the rest of the men.

  Within moments my sister and I are tucking into plates piled high with food and drinking cups of very welcome coffee. Carmen stops what she’s doing and sits down beside us, taking the opportunity to have a break.

  “Slick’s a good man, Ella. I’m glad you’ve come back. It destroyed him when you left.”

  Jayden’s eyes are wide open. “You’ve been here before?”

  Briefly I give her the PG story and bring her up to date. Then turn to Carmen. “I didn’t think he meant it. Didn’t realise he’d miss me. We didn’t even…”

  As my voice trails off she barks an incredulous laugh and she completes my sentence in her head, then indicates my empty plate and that Jayden’s still eating. She gestures with her head. Getting her meaning I stand up and walk to the rear of the kitchen. “You didn’t fuck him?” she whispers.

  I shoot a quick apologetic glance toward Jayden, glad she doesn’t seem to have overheard. I try to explain, “I wasn’t ready.”

  “And now you are?”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be.” I say the old refrain. But part of me wonders whether that’s still true. By taking things so slowly, Slick may be wearing down my defences.

  Carmen’s kind eyes soften. “Give him time,” she says. “I’ve known Slick years and I’d trust him with my life. And that goes for the rest of the men here. Sure, they can be rowdy and rough with the sweet butts, but you won’t hear any of them complain. Ella, Bullet’s told me you did something important for the club. No one here is going to hurt you. They wouldn’t anyway, but seeing as they owe you, that makes you special.”

  Our conversation’s interrupted by Slick entering with a man I haven’t seen before. They sit at the table and Slick pulls a piece of paper out of his cut.

  “This is what I want, Horse.” He starts to sketch.

  Jayden leans over to watch—well, she always was nosy.

  “That’s not what you asked for before,” the man Slick addressed as Horse comments in a very English voice. “But there’s no problem changing the design.”

  Intrigued, I walk over—well, if my sister can look I can too. Without consciously realising what I’m doing, my hand rests on Slick’s shoulder. Reaching up his, he covers my fingers with his own, and turns his head. “Horse here’s an artist. He’s gonna paint a design on my bike.”

  I stare at the paper. I think I know what it is, but…

  Without being asked he gives me the confirmation. “It’s a phoenix risin’ from the ashes.” He pushes back from the table and indicates his lap, a question in his eyes. Without giving it a second thought, I slide onto him.

  “You and me, our relationship, and Jayden too. Buildin’ somethin’ better from our past.”

  Placing my lips on his, for the first ever time I initiate a chaste kiss, and a warm feeling lights me from the inside. As the man with the English accent and Slick continue their conversation, I relax back in Slick’s arms, the feeling creeping over me how right it feels to be here like this. I feel safe and protected, and know it’s more than that. Soft voices wash over me, Slick’s fingers squeeze gently from time to time, giving tactile encouragement even while he’s focused on the other man’s words.

  Secure in my cocoon, I let my mind wander, going over what he said, the design linking him, me, and my sister together, planning for it permanently to be marked on his bike. This isn’t fleeting, this isn’t sympathy or misplaced guilt. Slick is offering me the real thing. From beneath lowered eyelids I sneak a peek at this beautiful man, finally understanding and accepting that there’s one thing I can be sure of. Slick would never hurt me.

  Chapter 23

  Slick

  Living in the midst of the desert on the outskirts of Tucson, it’s often hard to remember that the city, just sixty miles from the Mexican border, is home to just over half a million people. Difficult, that is, until you come into the downtown area where you’re surrounded by high-rise blocks. Perhaps not as many, nor as tall as in other cities, but plenty enough for me to be claustrophobic. The air seems hotter here, and dustier.

  Peeling off from the rest of our brothers, who meander on past, twisting those throttles causing the loud sound of the pipes to bounce off and echo from building to building, Drum and I come to a stop and, still straddling our bikes, we walk them back until the rear wheels touch the kerb.

  “Ready to do this?”

  Hmm. It might be what we’d all agreed on in church, but I can’t be sure exactly what we’re walking into here. Nonetheless I hold onto my doubts and keep my uncertainty quiet. “Yeah, Prez.” I’m grateful he’s let me tag along. I’m his chosen companion as he knows how much I need to sort things for my old lady.

  At that precise moment, another swathe of a dozen bikes rides past, shattering the mid-week peace. Looking across at Drum, it’s hard to keep the grin off my face.

  Wasting no more time, we enter the glass and chrome doors. We’ve done this official, set up a fucking appointment. Not our normal modus operandi—normally we don’t bother to announce ourselves. As we swagger over to the desk the receptionist’s jaw drops to the ground when she takes in our cuts.

  “Drummer to see Leonardo Herrera.”

  Flustered, she hurriedly turns to her computer. Glancing to check our backs, I see a security guard looking concerned. But there’s two of us, and only one of him. As I toss a glare in his direction, he gives me a nervous jerk of his chin. Naw, don’t think he’ll be trying to throw us out. Fucking pansies they employ here, he looks not long out of diapers. Wondering whether he’s even started to shave yet, I spin back around in time to see a bemused receptionist calling someone while pointing in the direction of the elevators.

  Fuck. I hate being closed in. Those things are worse than riding in a cage.

  Giving me a look that suggests he too is not looking forward to the upward journey, Drum steps across briskly and presses the button for the top floor. It fucking would be, wouldn’t it?

  “Fuckin’ hate these things, Prez,” I murmur.

  “
Not so keen on them myself,” he replies.

  It seems either a very long way up or a particularly slow elevator. Or maybe that’s just me, as I know it’s only eight floors. We jerk to a halt, then wait for the doors to decide whether or not to open. Stepping out, we find ourselves in another reception area, this one far more opulent than the first. And another girl seated behind a desk, though she’s more composed than her colleague in the lobby. She stands as we enter and shows us a pleasant, professional smile.

  “Mr Drummer? Mr Herrera’s expecting you. This way please. Can I get you any refreshment?”

  Declining her offer, I wonder how many times she’s said those exact same words, with a name change of course. It seemed smooth and practiced.

  She knocks on a door and then pushes it open, standing aside to let us go past.

  The windows rattle as yet more Harleys thunder by.

  The man seated behind a desk tips his head toward the glass side of the building. “Friends of yours, I presume?”

  Ignoring his question, Drummer steps forward. “Drummer, President of the Satan’s Devils. And this is one of my brothers, Slick.” Drum holds out his hand. After a momentary hesitation, Herrera offers his to shake. Following my president’s lead, I do likewise.

  Herrera points to the chairs in front of the desk. “Please take a seat.”

  As we do so, Drum answers what he’d initially asked. “We’ve got brothers visitin’ from other chapters,” he explains. “They’re takin’ in the sights of the city.”

  Yes, we have other members arriving. And support clubs too. There’s over a hundred additional brothers who’ll be bunking down at the compound tonight, and will stay as long as it takes. They’re the ones driving past in waves today, out to give a show of force. It might give the Mexican family second thoughts about taking us on.

  “You asked for this meeting, and I agreed. I can’t think of a reason why we should meet, so your request intrigues me. I’m unaware of any problems between our organisations, and I’m a busy man. I’d be grateful if we can get to the point.”

  Leonardo Herrera, the patriarch of the family, picks up a coffee and takes a long sip. He might be an old man, but his eyes are sharp and intelligent as they focus on Drum before shifting to me. He’s sussing out the opposition. I keep my face expressionless.

  Reaching into his cut, Drum pulls out some pictures, placing them on the desk in front of him.

  The old man puts down his cup, then extends his right hand and slides them toward him with his fingertips. When he has them in front of him, his eyes quickly narrow as he scans the photos. His face grows dark as he spits out, “What the fuck is this? You’re brave men bringing these to me.” He takes off his bifocals and picks up what I assume are better reading glasses and peers at the glossy images again.

  “You know who this is?” he points to the first picture.

  “It’s one of your grandsons, Diego.” Drum doesn’t deny it. The picture shows a man with a young girl, her mouth open in an obvious scream.” Mouse had provided us with stills.

  “And these people?”

  “We’re hoping you can tell us that. But we suspect other members of your family, with their friends or customers.” This one was taken from one of the other tapes and shows indescribable acts. And children.

  Herrera drops the pictures, and a flicker of what could be disgust crosses his face. Perceptive eyes examine Drummer. “Where did these come from?”

  Drum shrugs. “They fell into our hands.”

  The old man sits back, he steeples his hands under his chin. I notice they’re shaking. Whether it’s the effect of the photographs or old age infirmity, I can’t be sure. “Diego and his brother are missing. What do you know about that?”

  Declining to answer the question, the prez leans forward and taps the first photo. “I know I don’t care for the subject matter of these pictures. My men might not be choir boys, but we take exception to anyone rapin’ young girls.”

  We’d taken a gamble coming here today. The Herrera family is vast and has its hands in almost every organised crime in Tucson, together with connections to the cartel across the border. Far too big for us to take on, even with the support of the additional brothers. But further investigation by Mouse has found they don’t have a name for dealing with the skin trade, that’s left to the cartel. Wondering whether his nephews had embarked on a little side business not endorsed by the man at the top, it had been my idea to reach out to the head of the family. A man known for shady deals, but also for some integrity. A strange combination for someone who’s the patriarch of such a notorious family.

  I’m holding my breath as I wait for a reaction. But he gives nothing away. The silence suggests a lot of wheels are turning in his head.

  For a few minutes you could have heard a pin drop in the room. Then the old man raises his eyes. Looking directly at Drum he asks, “What exactly do you want?”

  “I want this stopped. Wiped out. Eradicated. No more Tucson kids to be groomed and trapped into this business.”

  “You’re taking a risk coming to me.”

  “You’ve a reputation, but not one for this.” As Drum waves toward the photos again, another flicker of repugnance crosses Herrera’s face.

  Proving he’s as hard as they say, Herrera queries, “And if you disappear?”

  Drum nods toward the windows. “Plenty of others to take our place.” He sounds nonchalant, my breathing quickens at the implied threat. “We’ve got more tapes, more photos. They’ll be released. Along with the information there’s others involved.”

  “More family?”

  “Yes. We’re pretty confident on that.” I note Drum didn’t say we got the information from Diego. “We will release other photos and you can see for yourself.”

  Herrera whistles in air through his teeth and wraps his knuckles on his desk, but that’s his only reaction. His face remains impassive. Suddenly he gets to his feet, one hand used to push him up from the desk, the other reaching for a walking stick. “Leave these with me. And I would like to receive the other pictures you have.”

  I notice he doesn’t thank us for bringing it to his attention, and that it’s impossible to read whether he’s already aware of what’s going on or has been kept in the dark. I suppose you don’t get to be head of a crime family if you haven’t perfected your poker face.

  “Gentlemen, I have another meeting. I’ll be in touch.”

  Following Drum’s example, I stand. Hesitant to turn our backs on this wily old man, we back up toward the door. I reach my hand for the handle as Drum says, “One last thing. Detective Archer.”

  Leaning on his stick, Herrera frowns. “A distant cousin. One not connected to the family business as I’m sure you’ll understand.” It’s a reference to both of our criminal activities. Though compared to the Herreras I reckon we look as white as the driven snow.

  After the prez gives him a chin lift we at last escape the room. Alive. I count that as a plus.

  We make the reverse journey, getting on our bikes and our engines started without delay, and easing out into the midday traffic. Some of our brothers are waiting just past the next junction, our escort home. We’ve just pulled the tail of the tiger, and we can’t predict how he’ll react.

  Drum takes the lead, Wraith and Peg behind him. I find my place behind, alongside my brothers as we return to the compound. Hyde’s ready and waiting to slide the gate open.

  Our places have been left vacant outside of the clubhouse, Road and Jekyll are directing and trying to organise the remainder of the other hundred or so bikes that are still coming in. People are standing, drinking, smoking, or simply sharing a joke. Others are wandering around the back of the clubhouse where grills will have been set up over the fire pits. And I can hear shouts and splashing—when other chapters arrive they often take the opportunity to wash off the dust and cool down in our swimming pool. The prospects will have an unenviable job cleaning it later. Having done my time I know just what it wi
ll be like.

  Red, the president of the Vegas chapter, and Snake, the prez from San Diego are first to greet Drum, exchanging hugs with the noisy sound of palms hitting leather cuts.

  “What the fuck is it with the mother chapter? You need us to protect your scrawny asses again?” But the gleam in Red’s eyes suggests he lives for moments like these.

  “Can’t help it if your life’s borin’,” Drum replies, good-naturedly, and probably only I can see the relief in his eyes that our brothers from out of state have come to have our backs. He then turns to greet the presidents of the Colorado and Utah chapters, and thanks them for answering his call.

  “Sounded fun,” the Colorado prez says. For the fucking life of me, I can’t remember his name.

  “We’ll drink and eat,” he tells them, “then we’ll meet and I’ll bring everyone up to speed. After that we’ll party!” As he shouts the last word loud cheers go up. Fuck me, the sweet butts will be busy tonight. Don’t see any women have come with our visitors.

  I spare a glance to my saddle bag and what I’d picked up on the way into town. Ella’s my worry. With so many strangers around I need to make sure everyone knows she’s mine. With that thought in mind, I spot Paladin. Knowing he won’t be far away from Jayden, I go over to him. “Know where Ella is?”

  He breaks off his conversation with one of his friends just long enough to say, “Kitchen.”

  Pushing through men I regard as brothers, whichever chapter they’re from, I enter the clubroom, pausing just long enough to snag a beer, and then continue through to where the women are gathered. The table is strewn with salad bowls, dips, and the like. It looks like they’re preparing to feed an army. And they probably are.

  Ella’s looking anxious. When she sees me her face fills with relief and I can almost hear her exhaled breath from where I stand. Crossing to her quickly, I take her hand and pull her outside. The picnic tables are full, and delicious smells of cooking meat fill the air, making my mouth water.