Satan’s Devils MC -Colorado Box Set: Books 4-6

by Mellett, Manda

  “No, you won’t,” Demon says, his tone broking no argument. “Ink made the choice. He knew what would happen.”

  “But maybe he didn’t,” I protest, trying to justify Ink’s actions. “He can’t have known the cops were so close.”

  “Ink knew exactly where the SWAT team was positioned tonight, and what they were looking out for. Odds on that he’d be arrested. If,” he holds up his hand as I go to speak, “if Ink thinks enough of you that he’d do the time instead, then I’m not letting his fuckin’ sacrifice go to waste. You go to the cops? They’ve got you both. You’ll probably achieve nothing, and I doubt that they’ll let him walk.”

  “But it wasn’t his fault. It was mine.”

  Demon shrugs. “He handed the drugs over. That’s what they saw.”

  I turn away, my hand covering my mouth feeling as though I’m going to be sick.

  “What the fuck’s going on?” A new voice, one I know well. It’s Pyro. “What’s this about Ink being arrested and that it’s Beth’s fault?”

  I zone out as I hear Beef explain. Since Connor had called the first time today, I’ve been running on adrenaline, caught up in a world I know nothing about. Suddenly thrust into a universe where people use torture to get what they want, narrowly escaping it being used on myself. I’d got my lover arrested, and all for what?

  “Mel’s upstairs, love. Come on, let me take you up to her.” Pyro’s voice sounds close to my ear. “Come on,” he repeats, patiently, when I don’t move.

  “Mel shouldn’t have come,” I say, absently. “She’s pregnant.”

  “Yeah, but not fuckin’ ill. I couldn’t keep her away once she heard something was up with you and Ink.”

  “Ro,” Demon attracts his attention, “I know your wife and Beth are close, but in other circumstances, Beth would be a fuckin’ enemy of the club. She’s no friend of ours, but it appears she might mean something to Ink.”

  “We’re offering her our protection?” Pyro gives me an assessing look.

  Demon’s statement hadn’t surprised me, I’d be a fool not to sense the animosity in the air. Shifting a little uneasily, I don’t blame them and can appreciate the conundrum they’re now in. They might offer protection to me and my mom, but it’s not out of the hand of friendship.

  “Yes,” Demon tells him, having come to a decision. “For now, Beth and Patsy are under our protection. At least until we know what’s happening with Ink, and what part this Connor played in the drugs flooding into Pueblo.” He turns to me. “If I get word you turning yourself in could help Ink out of his predicament, I’ll take you to the cops myself. And,” his voice deepens, “if you’ve been telling me a pack of lies, you’ll be taking your last breath.”

  I gulp. Knowing he means it. But my only danger is him catching me out in a lie, and all that’s come out of my mouth is the truth.

  Pyro nods as if a message has been telegraphed and understood, but warns, “I need something to tell Mel if we’re keeping Beth away from her.”

  “Nah. She can talk to Mel.” Demon turns to me. “But for fuck’s sake do not give her any details of what happened tonight. Can I fuckin’ trust you on that?”

  It’s Mel’s man who persuades me. “Keeping ol’ ladies out of club business is keeping them safe. You get dragged into this mess? Your friends might be questioned. If she doesn’t know anything, she can’t implicate herself or the club. Got it?”

  I nod. I’ve got it. “She’s pregnant, Pyro. I won’t hurt her again. I promise I’ll keep my mouth shut. I’ll do nothing and say nothing that could upset Mel.”

  “Yeah.” Pyro gives a twisted smile. “Just say it’s club business, and she’ll give you sympathy without questions.”

  I suppose that makes sense, but I highly doubt Mel will be able to stop herself from interrogating me. But as I don’t know what’s going on myself, there’s little I can give away. If I’m honest, I’d prefer not to admit I have a brother I never talk about, who’s tried to get me involved in criminal activity carried out by the man who, however much I dislike it, is my dad. Not quite the kind of family you bring up in idle conversation.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ink

  As a Marine, I was used to making split-second decisions. I’d been a sniper and it’s ingrained in me how to quickly assess what is a threat and what is not. Any hesitation might mean the death of my comrades. I see a situation and sum it up fast.

  Her stature and figure were immediately familiar, and then that telltale blue hair left me without the slightest doubt it was Beth. I didn’t even stop to think why she was there. One split second was all it took to realise that I couldn’t let her get taken in by the cops. I didn’t stop to rationalise anything, just acted entirely on instinct to save the woman I must have serious feelings for. Else, why would I put my freedom on the line?

  I was brought to the station and searched. My cut, wallet, phone and belt had been taken from me—my gun and knife had already disappeared when they’d handcuffed me at the scene. I’d been photographed and fingerprinted even though my prints are already on file, as previously, I’d been rounded up before with other members of the MC for something we hadn’t done.

  Beth’s appearance, my arrest and processing, it had all happened so fast, moving me along like a stone crashed against the rocks by the tide. Now the action has stopped, I have the first chance in hours to consider what’s happened. As my situation catches up with me, I realise what a fucking bind I’m in.

  Pushed inside with the door clanging behind me, I get my first taste of where I’ll be spending the remainder of this god-awful night. It’s a Saturday, the station is crammed and busy. Clearly no cells are available, I’ve ended up in the drunk tank of all fucking places.

  Most of the inmates around me are currently sleeping off their excess, those that aren’t, I intimidate with a glare and a flex of my muscles. Then, confident I’ll be left alone, I sink down onto my haunches and, ignoring the snores, belching and farting as best I can, take a moment to process and think.

  Beth. Fuckin’ Beth. What the fuck was she doing there? If she were here standing in front of me, it wouldn’t be my palm on her ass she’d be feeling, but my hands wrapped around her neck as I shook whatever it was that had gotten into her out.

  Fucking hell. I’d all but decided to claim her, and she was carrying drugs to a drop-off point. Is she the one fucking with my club?

  Too frustrated to rest, I abruptly stand. One of the drunks staggers to his feet.

  “You fuckin’ kicked me,” he slurs.

  “I’ll fuckin’ kill you if you don’t sit back down.” I’m longing to hit out at anyone, and he’ll do if he doesn’t shut up.

  My rage gets through his alcoholic haze, and wisely for him, if disappointing to me, he sits once again.

  What the fuck was Beth doing there?

  Beth supplying drugs?

  No. That’s not the woman I’ve come to know, that’s not her, is it? I rake my hands through my hair, trying to understand, thinking back to what I saw. She’d emerged from the alley nervous and on edge, not as though this was something she did all the time. When I took the drugs from her, she’d tried to protest, had been hesitant when I told her to run. That’s not the reactions of a supplier of drugs. Why was making the drop so important?

  Why the fuck was she there?

  Why did I set myself up?

  My fist hits my palm.

  A loud window-rattling snore reminds me where I am. I’ve given up my freedom, for her. For a bitch who most likely doesn’t deserve it. A fucking bitch who I thought of making my old lady. Well, being locked up has at least saved me from making that mistake. Women, never good news.

  I glance around, almost hoping one of these fuckers gives me a hard time. I won’t start a fight, but it sure would be me as the last man standing.

  I’m in jail. I’ve done nothing wrong. Cops will never believe me.

  I may not get out. Unless I can come up with a story that’s conv
incing. How the fuck do I do that?

  My—I snort at the idea I refer to her as mine—woman may have let me down, but my club will never desert me. I can depend on them and know they will already be arranging a lawyer. Sykes, if I’m not mistaken. Maybe between us we can work out something that the cops will accept.

  Fucking Beth. And fucking me. My desire to protect her had me doing just that, when more thought may have stopped me acting impulsively.

  Why had Beth appeared, at that time of night and at that place and carrying what I know now, and at the time assumed, were drugs? Is she not the innocent civilian I’d thought her to be? Nothing about her behaviour seemed to suggest otherwise. But I could be wrong. Take Skull, for example, he’d lived a double life which none of us had ever expected. Was Beth an undercover cop? No, unlikely. She works for the government, yes, but does something with Mel in the land registry department. From what she’d said, and Mel would have caught her out in a lie, she’d worked there since she’d left school.

  Was she not as innocent as she’d appeared? Was she in cahoots with her father and was he responsible for the drugs flooding into Pueblo? Unlikely. The way Beth and her mom had talked about Phil, nothing would have convinced either to get involved with him. Unless both women were good enough actors to be nominated for an Oscar, there’s no way they had me fooled.

  Had Beth known I was going to be there behind Tits Up tonight? Devils run the strip club, it was obvious some of us would be around. But unless there was provocation, and in this case, the drug dealing which I hadn’t told her about, we were unlikely to frequent the alleyways behind the club. So, no, my presence had to have taken her by surprise.

  How did she know the dealer was going to be there? Is she earning extra money by being a courier, or even dealing? After all, working for the government is not the highest paying of jobs. While I hate drugs with a passion, having seen a childhood friend get hooked and finally overdose and die, she might think they’re fairly innocent. Fuck it, no. Who could look at that shit in a rosy light?

  My head drops into my hands as my brain goes around in circles. Connor. That waste-of-space brother of hers. It makes more sense he’s involved. Both him and his father he thinks so much of and works for. Could he have put pressure on Beth? Persuaded her to drop drugs off with the dealer? Was Connor there himself tonight? Was it an associate of Connor’s who I’d passed the stash over too? If so, why the fuck is he involving his sister in that shit? Or, are they in it together? And why the hell hadn’t I insisted Cad drop everything else and investigate him and his father?

  Fuck my life, which now as I know it could be over. The cops are going to throw the book at me. After all, I was found with drugs in my hand. Enough witnesses in uniform to properly finger me for whatever they want. They won’t go easy on a Satan’s Devil. Fucking hell. I’m done for. Will I ever see the outside of a prison cell again? Age wise there’s every possibility, not that I know offhand how long a sentence for possession with intent to sell would carry, but say even if it was thirty years, I’d be sixty. Christ, Hellfire’s age or thereabouts. Trouble is, while I’ve not been inside, I’ve known people who have, and some who’ve never gotten out. Being a Devil would plant an immediate target on my back, everyone wanting to be the big man and take a member of an outlaw MC out. It’s quite possible I, too, wouldn’t be alive at the end of my sentence.

  I didn’t serve my country to go to prison for a crime I didn’t commit. But it now seems, because of Beth, I might.

  I should have stood by and let Beth take responsibility for her actions, but I hadn’t. Now I’ve got to live with that. I only hope she knows how she’s fucked up my life.

  Would I rewind the clock if that were possible?

  Of course I fucking would.

  A drunk rolls over, falls off the concrete slab covered with only a thin plastic mattress that serves as a bed. He’s so out of it he doesn’t even wake up. I move over to take advantage of the suddenly vacant space. An automatic action which doesn’t interrupt my train of thought.

  I imagine Beth sitting in a similar cell, along with whores and drunken women. I see her cringing, her arms wrapped around her long legs as she tries to make herself invisible. I can almost hear her quiet whimpering of fear as she faces the unknown. Then she’d go to jail and become someone’s bitch and be bullied and ridiculed. She wouldn’t fight back, she wouldn’t know how. It wouldn’t take long for that sparkle in her eyes to dim, and for her joy of life to seep out of her.

  She’d deserve it.

  I conjure up Beth’s face, but surprisingly it’s not the image of her lying beneath me as I thrust into her that’s the strongest memory I have. I’m not recalling the way her tight cunt squeezes my cock. No, I’m remembering just talking and listening to her, the way she smiles, the feel of that long silky hair, and thoughts of that evening I spent with her and her mom.

  I’m in here because my instinct was to protect her, like an old man does his old lady. Rhythmically, I start banging my hand against my head. She’s not my old lady, not yet. But it seems a part buried deep inside me believes that she is, and it was my duty to care for her.

  I’d known in an instance Beth wouldn’t be able to cope, locked up. Me? Well, I’m better equipped. I can look after myself. Mentally, would I last? I’d have to.

  If Beth is the woman I believe her to be, if she got caught up in something it was impossible to stop, then no, I wouldn’t want to turn back the clock. My only regret is that she didn’t feel she could come to me.

  It’s just sex, I’d told her. How was she to know it had turned into more?

  But if—again I bang my hand against my head—if she’s involved in running drugs. If I’m taking the rap for something she did willingly, then… I grin evilly to myself… the club is going to make her life a fucking misery, or what’s left of it. Her life, for the best years of mine.

  She must have an excuse.

  A man, clearly locked up for being drunk and disorderly, awakes and noisily uses the open toilet on the other side of the room. The sound wakes a couple of others, one rushes to push him away and vomits, but misses the bowl. My surroundings are dirty, disgusting, probably vying with some places I’d been on my tours for the worst I’ve ever seen.

  The thin plastic mattress I’m sitting on feels sticky with substances I don’t want to imagine when I accidentally touch it with my hand. The jeans I’m wearing, I’ve already decided, will go straight into the trash.

  That’s if I have the choice. I may be exchanging them for an orange jumpsuit any day now. All for the sake of one woman. A woman who should be here instead of me.

  Tonight should have gone smoothly. Tomorrow, I should have been teaching Beth how to ride a bike, then, taking her to my room and fucking her. If it had gone to plan, I’d have suggested us starting a relationship, and one day soon, asked her to be my old lady. What would she have said?

  Ignoring the unpleasant sights, sounds, and odours around me, I let my mind run amok.

  “Yes, Ink. I’ll be your ol’ lady.”

  “Ink, I’m pregnant.”

  “Ink, we’re having a son.”

  As I summon up the words that I once thought would make me run a mile despite my environment, there’s an unidentifiable feeling churning inside. Something that has a kernel of excitement, of expectation and… longing. Now when my future is distinctly likely to involve me doing serious time and I’ll have lost any chance of ever hearing those words from Beth, I admit they wouldn’t make me jump on my bike and ride as far away as I could. No, I’d want to stay and hear her repeat them. If, that is, she’s the woman I thought.

  Could there be a good reason why she was there tonight? Could I forgive her?

  I imagine myself doing just that. Imagine holding her in my arms.

  How would her voice sound when she tells me she loves me for the very first time? Would her hoarse whisper echo the emotion and reverence in mine?

  Love?

  What a fuck of a
time to admit that’s where my feelings were going. Maybe had already arrived. What other emotion would have driven me to step in last night except for an affection so deep I’d do anything for her.

  Her blue hair made me look at her twice. Her personality a third time. Her shapely, athletic body kept my eye. Her love for her mom, support for her brother even though he’s an ass, everything about her showed me Beth’s one in a million. I’d have been a fool to turn my back on the woman I’d thought she was.

  A dream snatched out of my reach.

  It was my perfect woman herself who tore it into pieces.

  I huff a mirthless laugh. Always knew bitches were bad news. Best I forget all about her.

  Despite my misgivings about the mattress, exhausted after the long night, I lie down and turn on my side, my eyes closing as I tune out the disgusting sounds around me and my traitorous mind conjures up thoughts of riding with the wind in my hair and Beth’s arms tight around my waist. Or, better still, her on her own Sportster riding along beside my Fat Bob, glancing at each other, sharing the enjoyment of being free and out with just nature and our bikes.

  Jeez. For fuck’s sake get out of my head woman.

  Who’s going to teach her to ride now?

  There may be a chance I’ll get out.

  Yeah, and I just saw a flying pig through the bars of the too high up and too small window of the cell.

  I turn on my other side, but it still doesn’t put a brake on my thoughts. Wishful thinking or not, maybe Beth’s innocent. Maybe it was her brother who got her into something way over her head. Would it be too much of a leap to assume her brother had something to do with the drugs in Pueblo and somehow persuaded her to get involved? If he’d heard word the cops were out in force tonight, last night, I correct seeing daylight brightening the room, he could have set her up. I think back to when I’d so briefly met him. Was he a man to throw his sister under a bus to save himself? Yeah, I could believe that he was. I’m going to fucking kill him if he did, or, as it’s unlikely I’ll get the chance to do it myself, get the club to dispatch him to meet Satan by proxy.