Burnt: A Devil's Spawn Novel

by Natasha Thomas

  For the most part it has; we have a routine that works for us, Lexi is happy, Dec is happy, and that makes me deliriously happy. All the rest will come with time, or at least that’s what my mom said yesterday when I had a mini-bitch session with her over the phone.

  What’s even more exciting is, Trig and his crew breaking ground on the new extension tomorrow morning. When Dec laid out his plans for what he had in mind I was filled with ideas and suggestions. His look of pleasure at my excitement is worth the pain in the ass I’m sure construction, and living with a five-year-old will cause.

  Pushing open the glass door to Skin Fusion, I’m immediately assaulted with the smell of the anti-bacterial we use to wipe down all our work surfaces, the buzz of tattoo guns going at full throttle, and the sound of clients goofing off with Toby. I sigh, I finally feel like I’m home. The sound of heavy boot falls, and the feel of muscled arms picking me up, swinging me around until I’m dizzy, snaps me out of my trance.

  “Uncle Max, put me down you fool.” Laughing into my hair he does what I ask, not quickly though.

  “Fucking stoked you’re back, Tiny.”

  Smiling I reply,

  “Glad to be back boss.” He chuckles. He hates me calling him ‘Boss’, as far as he’s concerned he’s my Uncle Max ,or Reaper, nothing else. I can’t help picking on him occasionally, it’s so easy to do.

  Uncle Max has called me ‘Tiny’, for-freakin-ever, he actually started everyone else doing it I think. Seeing he’s a full foot, and a couple of inches taller than me I suppose it fits. I didn’t like the nick-name when I was younger. I’m aware of how petite I am, and drawing attention to it felt like a kick in the teeth each and every time. As I said before, I don’t have a hang up over it, I just don’t like people to make reference to it all the time. When I turned twelve, I gave up telling people not to call me that and embraced it. What could I do? It isn’t going to change, so I might as well learn to live with it.

  Uncle Max made his way back to his station that our front desk manager Veronica had cleaned down and prepped, and Toby yelled a, ‘thank fuck you’re back girl’, to me as he continued laying down ink on his latest victim. Veronica ran up giving me a big hug, while still being careful of my ribs. Veronica is an odd one. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a lovely woman, and she’s beautiful too; possibly the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen actually, but there’s just something so sad about her all the time.

  Veronica’s about five foot six, with dead straight red hair down to past her shoulder blades, all natural Lou found out when she went into the salon for a cut one day. She has gorgeous hazel eyes that are almost catlike in appearance, and a body that just doesn’t quit. Meaning, she’s curvy in all the right places, and has the best legs on a woman I’ve ever seen, with the exception of Priss. Veronica is the full package, any guy would be lucky to catch her.

  When she started working here about eighteen months ago, I tried to include her in our circle; made up of, Lou, Janet, Priss, short for Priscilla, and I. Priss is the light on a dark day, and so sweet she could rot your teeth. Sometimes I wonder how she keeps her spirits up when there’s so much in her life that has the ability to bring her down. It certainly would have broken a lesser woman.

  Priss’s mom, Sally, and her dad, Jones, who was a brother in Devil’s Spawn MC, were killed in a car accident just over four years ago on their way home from visiting relatives in Boulder. Because Sally had been sick the week before, Jones didn’t want her travelling even the hour to Boulder on the back of his bike, so they took their old F250 truck. Sometime after eleven PM on the highway between Boulder and Blackwater, a truck driving well over the speed limit, crossed the median strip hitting them head on. The paramedics that attended the scene said Sally and Jones died instantly, and wouldn’t have suffered. That was of little consolation to a grief stricken Priss who at nineteen, was now the soul caregiver and provider for her younger sister Tilly, aged eleven. Thankfully, Tilly stayed at home with Priss instead of being in the car that night. The horrific sight of the truck when it was towed through town confirmed, that if Tilly had been with them she wouldn’t have made it either.

  In a show of strength that I know I wouldn’t have had, Priss pulled herself together within days of the funeral. She increased her shifts at the diner, cancelled her college enrolment in Boulder, arranged counselling for a grieving Tilly, and attempted to put the shattered remains of her now two person family back together. Dad made sure the club helped as much as they could too. Dad approved paying off the four-bedroom ranch style home they lived in, made sure ol ladies were available to watch Tilly when Priss worked, got brothers to do home repairs, maintenance, yard work, and convinced my friend to re-enrol in college, taking the classes online from home to complete her Accounting degree instead of on campus. Priss told me repeatedly over the years that she would be forever indebted to my dad and the club, for everything they’d done for her. Needless to say, dad set her straight and told her she owed him nothing, she’s family, and family looks after family.

  The aura surrounding Veronica reminds me of Priss in some ways. They’re both strong women, but it’s obvious that Veronica has gone through some kind of trauma, causing her close off the way she has. That’s where the similarities end however. Where Priss is like a diamond shining bright and beautiful, Veronica is like an onyx; still just as beautiful, but darker, more mysterious.

  We invited her to Rough Shod for drinks a few times, to the movies, even a couple of BBQ’s at the club, and a girl’s night at my place we threw for Priss’s twenty-third birthday, as a way of bringing her out of her shell. Sometimes she accepted, but most of the time she begged off with some excuse, or other. It didn’t bother me, her coming up with excuses not to come, I just wished she’d take the time to see she could have some good friends in us, and didn’t have to be alone all the time. About eleven months ago, she agreed to come out with us to Rough Shod one Friday night for a drink after work. Unfortunately, after that night she has declined every invitation we’ve extended her.

  Arriving at around 9 PM, after changing at work, and closing Skin Fusion down for the night, we found the booth Lou, Janet, and Priss managed to score for the night. Rough Shod is the proverbial biker bar, right down to the scarred timber floors, cracked high-back leather booths that sit eight, scattered high-top tables and stools, framed prints of Harley’s and engine parts, and of course a few of the Harley prints with the mandatory half naked chick straddling a bike, made up the entirety of the seating area. There’s a small dance floor, and juke box, which is throwback from the sixties, next to the stage that’s set up for live music Saturday nights and Sunday afternoons. With a mirrored wall, inclusive of glass shelving behind the bar which is a forty-foot long, waist height, scuffed behemoth. And, of course last but not least, what biker bar would be complete without a lusty busty bar wench? Ours is called Wanda; as in, her hands, eyes, and tongue are Wanda-Ring.

  Another thing I noticed early on about Veronica is; she hates to be boxed in. She hardly ever stays behind the front desk at work, unless it’s absolutely necessary, preferring to work at the end of the desk near the swinging doors through to the tattoo studio floor, and she definitely doesn’t sit anywhere, but at the end of the booth closest to the exit. That night was no different, with Janet and Priss on one side, and Lou, I, and Veronica sliding in last on the other.

  Most of the guys from the club showed up at one time, or another during the night. Friday’s and Saturday’s being the busiest, the girls were lucky to get a booth, but on the wall, kitty corner to us, I could see Dec, Tank, Victor, Reaper, Pipe and Arrow. It’s not a surprise they got a booth, they always do. Priority seating and all. With a quick wave, we placed our drink order with the waitress, who I took the time to notice she was new, but didn’t bother to learn her name because one thing Rough Shod is known for is the revolving door of waitresses. Originally, most of them loved the idea of waiting tables and serving drinks for bikers; in reality, the wandering
hands, ass slaps, and filthy mouths outweighed the quality and quantity of the tips, most leaving within a week or two of starting.

  Sometimes I felt sorry for Cal, the poor guy is forever training new staff and putting out help wanted signs. Cal has been managing Rough Shod since his dad passed away about eight years ago, and is in his early forties. He’s a good looking man with a full head of brown hair, goatee, and a build like a security guard that has spent the last decade munching down steroids. Dad tried recruiting him for the club a while back, but unfortunately the amount of work the bar takes, and the lack of reliable employees meant that he declined dad’s numerous offers. Even after dad hooked Cal up with an assistant manager, he still declined to join Devil’s Spawn ranks claiming that he was getting too old for that shit. He’s not quite as old as dad, but I can see what he means, starting out in an MC at forty-something would suck.

  After a few rounds of drinks, and a lot of laughter, Veronica loosened up, and we even succeeded in learning a few more details about her life before she moved here eighteen months ago.

  Coming from a mid-sized town in Texas, we knew she was twenty-seven, but we didn’t know she graduated Texas U with honours as an art major. Before moving to Blackwater, she worked as an art gallery manager, Veronica didn’t enlighten us as to why she left, and decided to take a position that practically amounted to that of a receptionist that she was way over qualified for, but that’s her business, so we left it alone. She left behind her mom, dad, and twin sister, and most of her other relatives had migrated closer to Dallas years ago, so there wasn’t a lot by the sounds of it to stay for. From the little bits she did say, her and her sister are NOT close, and that’s putting it mildly. Four shots of tequila will loosen nearly anyone’s tongue, the theory held true with Veronica too. Well, unless you’re a big ass biker, then you need the bottle, but it’s still possible.

  The condensed version of the story goes; she had a best friend from when she was nine and he was fourteen that lived across the street from her. They got on like a house on fire, both loved the outdoors, the same type of music, movies, and had the same dry sense of humour. As it always does with boys and girls, they grow into men and women. This boy, Nate, short for Nathaniel, grew into a smoking hot piece of man meat, got interested in girls, insert first childhood broken heart for Veronica here, eventually moved away for work when he was eighteen, and she was thirteen, and never came back to visit. Apparently, things were awful for him at home, Veronica didn’t elaborate, but we could guess from the little she did tell us.

  When he did come back for a visit the summer Veronica turned eighteen, before she left for college herself, he was more mature, a bit harder, and a whole hell of a lot hotter according to our chatty, tipsy friend. They spent time together over the course of the three months he was home, and as they do, things progressed and she gave him her virginity. He was sweet, kind, and patient with her. What changed everything and prompted Veronica to leave for school a week earlier that she’d planned; was her sister Verity, pretended to be her, dressed in her clothes and everything, got Nate into bed, not just for sleep mind you. Veronica walked in on them, both fast asleep, spied the three used condoms tied off on the floor, noticed the fact they were both naked beneath the covers, and ran. Can’t blame her, I’d run like the wind too. She ran home, packed her stuff depositing it in her little VW Bug, kissed her parents’ goodbye, and left for college. When she got there, she dumped her phone and changed her number, deleted her email accounts, and made sure her fixed line phone, when she got one, was unlisted. Her never returning home again after that day upset her parents’, especially when she hadn’t told them why she wouldn’t come back, but they made provisions visiting her at her two-bed apartment on college campus, then in her studio apartment above the gallery she managed when she graduated. The only caveat Veronica placed on her parents’ visiting was, they were not to bring Verity, and they were definitely not allowed to pass on her contact information under any circumstances. The one time, Donna and Dave, her parents’, dad mention Nate, Veronica told them she had no interest in hearing anything about him, going as far as to tell them she didn’t even want them to mention his name around her. Insert end story here. Veronica hasn’t been home, hasn’t seen her sister, and hasn’t seen Nate in nine years, and has no intention of doing so.

  It explained a lot about why she is how she is. It was clear to me that night she was still in love with this guy Nate, she also deserved the opportunity to punch her boyfriend stealing, hoe-bag sister in the throat.

  Before I could pull her into a hug to comfort her, the guys passed by on their way out. Amongst the ‘hello’s’, and usual stupid ass comments about tits and ass, I heard a rumbled, ‘Ronnie’. Twisting around, I saw the man it came from, our very own Arrow. Clearly the two of them knew each other, and if the speed of which Veronica snatched up her stuff, and ran out of the bar was anything to go by, they knew each other very well. Arrow stared after her with a look of shock, and a hell of a lot of guilt mixed in. He didn’t stick around for long, but he did stay long enough to answer where he knew her from.

  It turns out; our thirty-two-year-old, dryly funny, dependable, brother of Devil’s Spawn MC, Arrow, also answers to the name Nate. Funny, I didn’t realise until that night that I had no idea what his given name was. Obviously, that’s why Veronica refused our invitations, even if we promised her Arrow wouldn’t be with in a square mile of her. She made herself scarce every time Arrow came to the shop to look for her, one of the brothers must have told him she works at Skin Fusion, and walks in the opposite direction if she sees him on the street. It’s sad really. Young loves suck, I know this first hand, but something else I learnt was; if you want something bad enough, you fight for it.

  Walking over, I pull Veronica in for another hug, and ask her quietly,

  “Hey honey, everything floating with you?” I say floating because, once Veronica told me that’s what she felt like she was doing, floating. She didn’t have any ties to anything or anyone, she was just coasting through life.

  Nodding as we broke the embrace she replied,

  “Still floating Kenny, but it’s better than falling at least.” Inspecting me closely she enquired, “How are you doing Kenny? You look fabulous, and I hear congrats are in order?” This she said with a small smirk and a raised eyebrow.

  “Sure are honey. I’m doing okay. Better than okay, excellent actually. What’s the damage here though? How far am I booked out really? Uncle Max said it was all good, but he’s a lying asshole, so how about you fill me in.”

  Laughing she hooks her arm in mine, and takes me over to the appointment book.

  “Your description is scarily accurate oh wise one. You’ve got bookings starting first thing next week, through the next five months lovely. As soon as your clients got wind you were coming back, I’ve been inundated with calls snapping up all your available spots.”

  Holy fuck, five months fully booked is unheard of. Unless you’re on Ink Masters, or you’ve been in the industry for decades you never get that kind of schedule.

  “Wow.” I exclaim. Turning towards Uncle Max I yell, “I knew you were a big ass liar Reaper,” I try to call him Reaper in the shop seeing he wants to keep his tough guy persona in here, I fail epically a lot of the time though.

  Grunting back at me he says,

  “Get your ass over here Tiny, V’s got me all set up, and if you want this ink done before Cage gets back you better haul ass.”

  I’m surprising Dec with his name tattooed along with a stunning grey and black calla lily on my inner thigh tonight. When I first called Uncle Max about doing the piece for me, he almost lost his ever-loving-mind. It wasn’t that he didn’t think it would turn out beautifully. No. His issue is the placement of it. After spending ten minutes reassuring him I will indeed, wear a pair of short workout shorts while he works, he relented. I knew he would, the big softie.

  “Slow your roll, I’m coming big man.” He hates waiting, for anyth
ing or anyone. Poor guy. He has no idea what’s in store for him when he eventually finds a woman to settle down with.

  Winking at Veronica, or V as we all call her now, I make my way over, strip out of my jeans that are covering the cotton/lycra workout shorts, as promised, and hop up onto the adjustable high-end tattoo chair at Uncle Max’s station.

  “You sure you want to do this, Tiny?”

  He looks amused and cautious at the same time.

  “As sure as you are tall big man.” Chuckling he gets to work.

  Two and a half hours later, with a thigh that feels like it’s been rubbed raw with sandpaper, a dressing and anti-bacterial cream applied, and my jeans back in place, I settle at my station opening my work email, and scroll through the upcoming clients request for changes and additions. I begin sketching and a feeling of peace washes over me, just like every time I sit down to draw.

  Uncle Pipe walks in about twenty minutes before I’m due to head out bee lining straight for me, and squeezing the hell out of me. Did I say I love Uncle Pipe’s bear hugs? Because I really, really do.