Spike: Satan's Disciples MC

by Zoey Parker

  His chest felt like it was suddenly four sizes too small as he struggled for air. Black spots appeared in front of his eyes and he heard ringing in his ears.

  “Are you gonna get that?”

  Spike looked over, startled. His vision zoomed in on an older woman with heavy black eyeliner.

  “What?”

  “I said, are you gonna get that?” she repeated, annoyed. “Your phone? It’s only been ringing for the last five minutes.”

  Spike dazedly reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Georgia. Not now. He ignored the call, muting the phone as he shoved it back where it came from. Looking around the room, he saw a dozen pairs of eyes all staring back at him. I have to get out of here, he panicked.

  He turned abruptly and walked out of the house. A small voice reminded him that in a couple of hours, Ivan and his men would know Spike wasn’t planning on turning Georgia over to them. If they had blown up Joe’s with no provocation, there was no telling how Ivan’s mob would react to a direct insult like this.

  What Spike wanted to do right now was throw caution to the wind and storm Ivan’s all by himself, but he knew that would be a suicide mission, and he refused to abandon Satan’s Disciples in their hour of need…not again.

  He took a deep breath and turned to go back inside. Plunging his hand into the cooler of ice, Spike dug around until he surfaced with something suitable to drink. Part of him yearned for the stronger stuff to numb his pain, but he knew he needed to keep his head clear.

  “Glad to see you decided to stick around,” Cleo said from behind him.

  Spike closed his eyes in exasperation, pivoting to look at her. Surprisingly, Cleo’s face seemed sincere. Her eyes were red, but Spike could tell she still had yet to shed a tear. That was to be expected.

  Cleo didn’t tolerate weakness, least of all in herself, and she wanted a man who would be just as tough as she was. Her attitude regarding what she considered to be weak was in no small measure why she and Spike fought so often.

  As the leader of Satan’s Disciples, Spike had to make some hard choices. Sometimes he wanted some validation that the choice he had made was the right one, and if he tried to seek this out from Cleo, more often than not, she would accuse him of being insecure and unstable.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket, and Spike pulled it out to look, though he already knew who it was.

  “Who is that?” Cleo asked accusingly, correctly imagining it to be Georgia.

  “No one,” he said, turning the phone off and shoving it back into his pocket.

  It tore Spike’s heart in half to say that, but he knew what the gang needed from him right now, and he was going to give it to them, no matter the cost to himself or his own personal happiness. He would send someone to guard Georgia instead.

  This is where you belong, he reminded himself as he looked at Cleo’s wavy black hair. What you had with Georgia, whatever it was, it wasn’t real. This is real. This is your life, now and forever.

  Chapter Nine

  “How about a steak? Can I order that?”

  Georgia flashed a smile at Jimmy. “Of course! You can get whatever you want. In fact, why don’t you order me one too,” she said. “I’m just going to try Spike again really quick.”

  She turned back to the hotel phone, dialing the number Spike had left her. This was the fifth time she’d tried to call him in the last two hours and so far, there had been no answer. This time the call went straight to voicemail.

  Putting the phone back in its cradle, Georgia sat on the bed, wondering why he wouldn’t answer. The most obvious reason was that Spike couldn’t answer the phone because he was currently being murdered to death by Ivan and his mob, but Georgia didn’t want to think about that.

  He could just be busy, Georgia tried to reason with herself. Busy searching for Ivan.

  Maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to you, that horrible, self-critical side of her suggested. Maybe now that he’s had everything he can get from you, there’s no reason for him to stick around. He probably doesn’t give two shits about Ivan, Felix, or you.

  “Everything okay?” Jimmy asked, shaking her from her dark thoughts.

  Georgia flashed a smile, bigger and brighter than ever before. “Absolutely! Did you order that food?” she asked, filled with false cheer.

  “Uh, yep. Should be here soon,” he told her. “Did you get ahold of Mr. Turner?”

  Keeping her tone light, Georgia waved a dismissive hand. “No, but that’s fine. We’re having a good time without him, right?” she said.

  Jimmy smiled. “Totally!”

  Georgia tried calling Spike once every two hours for the rest of the night, but it continued to go to voicemail. Jimmy had fallen asleep at this point, and Georgia woke him so that he could get home before his parents worried.

  She slept fitfully that night. Georgia was plagued with nightmares, some where Ivan was torturing her brother, some where Ivan was torturing Spike, and some where all three of them were tied up and tortured together.

  She woke suddenly the next morning with the feeling that she hadn’t slept at all. She glanced at the clock. It was close to ten in the morning, but when she checked her phone, Spike still had yet to call her back.

  A knock came from the door and Georgia ran to it, thinking it was Spike, but when she opened it, she came face to stomach with an incredibly tall, good-looking black man.

  “Vince?” Georgia said confusedly. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come to guard you,” he answered. “You should not have answered the door so quickly. You did not ask me who I was, or check the peephole,” Vince said, pointing to the small security measure.

  Georgia’s blood ran cold. Vince was right. She had completely forgotten that she was also a target.

  “Please go back inside now, so you are not seen,” Vince instructed her.

  “Where’s Spike?” Georgia asked, ignoring him.

  “He is busy with the gang’s affairs—as he should be,” he added pointedly.

  Georgia took the hint that her question was not going to be answered and stepped back into the room. She wasn’t happy that Spike couldn’t at least call her, especially when he said he would, but she knew that after last night, there was no way Spike could be accused of using her.

  It had been everything she thought it would be—Spike had been so gentle at the beginning, so tender. And then they had flipped the script, and Spike had shown her exactly what she had been missing all these years. There was no doubt about it in Georgia’s mind—that was how people were supposed to have sex.

  Still, when several hours had passed, and she and Jimmy were well into the afternoon marathon of Law & Order: SVU, Spike still hadn’t contacted her.

  “Vince?” she hesitantly called through the door. “Could you call Spike for me? I haven’t been able to get a hold of him.”

  “Spike knows what he is doing. He will call you when the time is right,” Vince replied, his deep voice muffled.

  Georgia went and sat back down on the bed with a huff. She briefly wondered if perhaps Spike was avoiding her, but dismissed the idea quickly. She didn’t think many of the members of Satan’s Disciples particularly liked her; Vince might be the one blowing her off instead of Spike, not that she preferred that scenario by much.

  “Are you okay, Mrs. Turner?” Jimmy asked around a mouthful of ice cream.

  “Sure,” Georgia said, not bothering to fake any enthusiasm.

  An hour later, while Olivia Benson was delivering her snarky one-liner to the arrested criminal, someone knocked on the door—pounded, actually.

  Georgia and Jimmy exchanged nervous glances, and Georgia hurried to the door, making sure to check the peephole this time. It was Vince, but he was accompanied by another man. She opened the door cautiously.

  “Something has happened and I must go,” Vince said hurriedly. “This is Andre; he’ll make sure no one comes near you, okay?”

  Georgia looked at the second man. He c
ould have sat in the dictionary next to the word “biker.” He had an enormous chest that sloped into a respectable beer belly. His black shirt had the sleeves ripped off, displaying arms that were entirely covered with tattoos—many of which were naked ladies and skulls.

  “Nice to meet you, Andre,” Georgia said politely.

  Andre grunted in return. Vince took off without a word, leaving Georgia awkwardly looking at the man next to her, who did not seem to notice she was there.

  Unsure of what to do, Georgia stepped back into the room and slowly closed the door.

  Georgia rejoined Jimmy in watching Olivia and Elliot bust bad guys, but Georgia couldn’t get it out of her mind: Where is Spike?

  Two episodes later, right before the confession, Georgia decided she couldn’t wait around any longer. She picked up the remote and switched the TV off.

  “Hey!” Jimmy protested.

  “I’m sorry, Jimmy, but I need your help with something,” Georgia said solemnly.

  “Sure, Mrs. Turner, what’s up?” Jimmy had been calling Georgia that for the past two days, and she had let him, partly for simplicity’s sake, partly because it had been fun to pretend to be Spike’s wife.

  “I think Spike might be in trouble. Do you have a car?” she asked.

  “Well, yeah,” Jimmy said. He had a Toyota that was only a few years younger than he was, but it got him from A to B without too much trouble. “But how do you know where he is if he’s not picking up his phone?” he asked.

  “I have an idea,” Georgia said, “but you’re not going to like it.”

  Half an hour later, Stacy was knocking on the hotel door.

  “’Sup,” she said to the giant biker beside her.

  Andre grunted.

  Georgia opened the door. “Come on in!” she said brightly.

  “Good talk,” Stacy said, waving to Andre as she stepped inside. “So, what am I doing here, and who’s the kid?” she asked, pointing to Jimmy.

  “That’s Jimmy, and I need your help getting out of here,” Georgia explained.

  “Oh, okay,” Stacy said. “So, you don’t call me for days, and now you need my help?”

  Georgia rolled her eyes. “Stacy, please. It’s not like I blew off plans for a slumber party, people’s lives are in danger. Let’s keep it in perspective, okay?”

  Stacy pouted for a minute. “Oh, fine. What do you need me to do?”

  “I need you to be me,” Georgia said.

  “Is that was this is for?” Stacy opened her bag and pulled out the long black wig and pair of heels Georgia had asked her to bring. “Are you going to be me? No offense, but I don’t think that’s gonna fly. What about you, kid?”

  Jimmy cleared his throat. “You’re not very…well, what I mean is, neither of you are…um…no,” he finally finished.

  It was true, Georgia and Stacy had completely opposing body types; Stacy was tall and lithe, Georgia was short and curvy.

  “I know,” Georgia said. “I’m not blind. But that guy might as well be.” She jerked her thumb towards the door behind her. “You saw him coming in. He barely even looked at you. All he saw was tall,” Georgia pointed at the heels, “and dark,” she said, pointing to the wig.

  “You have a point…” Stacy said slowly. “Okay, I’m in. What’s the plan? I pretend to be asleep when he checks on me or something?”

  “Pretty much,” Georgia shrugged.

  “Simple,” Stacy said. “I like it.”

  Twenty minutes later, Georgia was moving down the hallway as quickly as the heels would let her. If everything went to plan, Jimmy would join her outside in another twenty minutes to take her to Spike’s house.

  Andre was just as oblivious as Georgia had hoped, and almost a half an hour later, Jimmy came out looking like he was trying very hard to keep himself from running.

  “Thanks, Jimmy. You’re a life saver,” Georgia told him.

  Jimmy slowly drove down the dark street as they made their way to Spike’s, nervously looking around. Almost all of the street lights were busted, and sirens constantly echoed in the distance.

  “Does anything look familiar?” Jimmy whispered to Georgia, despite the fact that the windows were rolled up and there was no one around to hear them.

  “Yep,” Georgia said grimly.

  Two houses ahead, Georgia saw a familiar red and matte black motorcycle parked in an overgrown yard. Dozens of bikes surrounded the place, but, for once, Georgia didn’t feel intimidated, she felt furious.

  Jimmy, on the other hand, was feeling very intimidated. He unconsciously slowed the car to a stop. “You want to go in there?” he said.

  Music and shouting could be heard even at this distance. There was obviously a major party happening, and who knew what that might entail.

  “You can wait in the car, Jimmy,” Georgia said dangerously. “This will only take a minute.”

  She got out, slamming the door behind her, stamping toward the thumping house with the vibrating windows. Jimmy stared after her miserably for a moment, then resignedly unbuckled his seatbelt and got out to follow her. He pressed the button to lock his car, listening to the sad, futile honk.

  Georgia threw open the door, her head whipping left to right as she searched for any sign of Spike. Jimmy cautiously entered after her, completely terrified, but determined to make sure Mrs. Turner was okay.

  With her limited knowledge of the house’s layout, Georgia began to work her way room to room as she looked for Spike. Suddenly her ears pricked up, hearing a bold, familiar laugh coming from the kitchen.

  Squeezing her way down a crowded hallway that seemed to be entirely made of leather and hair, Georgia finally popped out in what appeared to be more of a mess hall than a kitchen, with Jimmy close behind her.

  A long wooden slab about eight feet long served as a table to over a dozen people, all indifferently scattered around it. At the far end, Georgia saw Spike sitting on top, his boots resting on the bench, laughing uproariously with his friends—Cleo being one of them. She was sitting on the bench next to Spike’s legs, leaning against him as she raised her can to empty it of its contents.

  Georgia’s face burned with anger and humiliation. She didn’t know whether she wanted to tear Spike apart or run away and hide. What was I thinking? He used me! Stacy was right. Everything he ever said was a lie. She remembered her fantasies of being “Mrs. Turner” and a sick shame washed over her.

  “Come on, Mrs. Turner,” Jimmy said softly, his hand gentle on her shoulder. “I’ll take you back to the hotel.”

  Closing her eyes against the embarrassing sting of the title Jimmy had given her, Georgia turned to go with him. Stopping at the doorway, she looked back and saw Cleo’s gaze boring a hole into her, a wild, victorious smile spreading across her face.

  Georgia stared at the other woman as she stood up to whisper something in Spike’s ear. Giving Georgia one last look over her shoulder, Cleo walked towards the back of the kitchen, Spike trailing obediently behind her.

  Georgia’s embarrassment disappeared, and a hot, territorial fury began to grow inside of her. Shaking Jimmy’s comforting hand off of her, Georgia tried to follow, but the crowd of people was too great, and before she could catch up to Spike and Cleo, they had disappeared.

  She whirled around angrily, searching for any sign of the man who had betrayed her, but there was nothing. Fine by me, Georgia determinedly thought to herself, I’ll search this place inch by inch if I have to.

  And with Jimmy still following her, that’s exactly what she did.

  ***

  “Cleo, I know you want to go over the plan again, but please,” Spike begged as he walked up the back steps behind her, “can we just go back to the party?”

  Cleo looked back at Spike and smiled wickedly. Spike paused mid-step, realizing she was not bringing him upstairs to talk plans. Taking a deep breath, he followed her into her bedroom and carefully shut the door behind him.

  “So, er, what did you want to tell me that you couldn�
��t downstairs?” Spike asked, still trying to pretend that Cleo hadn’t lied to him to get him alone.

  Cleo responded by peeling off her tight black crop top. She wasn’t wearing a bra underneath, and Spike instinctively averted his eyes, even though Cleo’s breasts were something he had seen a hundred times before.

  “What are you doing?” Cleo asked him curiously. She stepped closer and Spike turned away from her. “Come on,” she said, reaching out to wrap her long, slender fingers around his arm. “It’s been too long for us, that’s why we’ve been off lately.”