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

by Mellett, Manda

  “How do you want to play this, Beef?”

  He looks around. Dusk is falling fast, and the last citizen car has pulled out of the parking lot and gone. “We’ll leave the bikes here. Everyone will squeeze into the crash truck, then we’ll take the road that runs along the rear. Didn’t notice much traffic using it, but I saw at least one car. Pal, you drive. Drop us off, then come back here. If they’re listening out, that shouldn’t be too suspicious.”

  Pal nods.

  “We’ll go through the back fence. Everyone see that gap?”

  I nod, and so do my brothers. Seems we’re all as sharp-eyed as the VP.

  “Put those fuckin’ vests on,” says Thunder. “Don’t want anyone going back with a hole in their chest.”

  “We don’t know what we’re heading into,” Beef agrees. “They’re into drugs. If they’re sampling their own product, they could be unpredictable.”

  “Or have a fuckin’ good reason to protect their investment,” Hell observes.

  “What about damage?” I ask as I slip into my Kevlar armour. “Do we mind if they get holes in them?”

  “We need to have a conversation, so disarm and capture if possible,” Beef instructs. “We definitely want Connor alive if he’s there to be found. Ink’s freedom may depend on what he says.” He focuses his gaze on me and Liz. “You up for going first and doing some reconnaissance?” Both of us nod. “Right. Once you report back what we’re dealing with, we’ll firm up on a plan.”

  It all goes like clockwork. Pal drops us off then zooms off with the crash truck back to where the bikes are parked. Though the car park was empty, none of us like leaving the bikes unattended for long. Pal had joked it was like being a prospect again, but he needn’t feel bad about being away from the action, he’s played his part well today. That drone had been a fucking good idea, the information it fed back meaning we’re not going in completely blind.

  Liz and I slide through the gap, while the others stay outside. Under the cover of the now darkness, we carefully pick our way across the uneven ground. It was concrete once, now that’s cracked and overgrown with weeds. If we hadn’t seen the man and two bikes with our own eyes, we would have dismissed this place as totally deserted.

  Lights go on in two of the windows. Lizard and I glance at each other and nod. We now have a destination to head to.

  Once I estimate I’m within range should anyone look out, I drop to the ground and begin the military leopard crawl. Dressed as we are in black, it’s unlikely anyone would spot us as Liz copies my action, and on our bellies, we approach. I take one window where a dim light glows from inside. Liz takes the other.

  There are two men that I can see. They’ve got a bottle of amber liquid in front of them, and cards in their hands. Two metal cups alongside. As I watch, one takes a long swig. I study them hard, but neither looks like Connor. The drinking man is Hispanic which immediately rules him out, the other is white, but his hair is dark.

  I glance toward Liz who makes a few hand signals that show he’s seen no one inside, in response I hold up two fingers. Again, he makes signs, this time letting me know he’s going to circle the building going around to the right, I reply I’ll take the left side.

  I peer in windows, then edge along cautiously with my back to the wall as I move to the next. By the time I meet up with Liz I’ve seen no other sign of life. It appears he hasn’t either.

  Jerking my head toward the fence where Beef and the brothers are waiting, I drop and start crawling again, just able to hear Liz doing the same right behind me.

  When we’re at the point where it’s safe to stand up, I notice Liz holding his hand.

  “What’s up?”

  “Fuckin’ piece of glass. Put my palm down hard right on it. Pierced straight through my glove.”

  Shit. “Deep?”

  He holds out his hand and looks the other way. The shard is still in there. Shielding the beam from my Maglite by turning my back to the warehouse behind us, I examine his injury. “That needs to come out.”

  “Pull it,” Liz instructs, still with his head turned.

  “Fuckin’ pussy,” I tell him. But I waste no time. As soon as it’s out, I take his glove off to get a better look, but blood is now flooding out.

  “Is it bad?” he asks, sounding like he’s talking through gritted teeth.

  “Nah, just a scratch. Give me your bandana and I’ll wrap it up.”

  He does. I do.

  “Can I look?”

  I remember and chuckle softly as I reassure him, “My temporary bandage is doing its job, Brother. Nothing to see now.” Well, only a slight reddening where the blood’s seeping through.

  Doctoring done, Liz and I make our way back to Beef and the others.

  “What happened to you?” Thunder asks, noticing how Liz is cradling his injured hand.

  “Liz got a piece of glass in his palm,” I explain. “Went in deep.”

  “Fuck,” says the sergeant-at-arms with feeling. “You need to stay back, Brother?”

  Beef steps forward, his flashlight landing on Lizard’s hand. Then he turns to Thunder. “What the fuck you talking about? Man’s got a scratch, that’s all.”

  Like I’d done moments before, Thunder chuckles. “Liz might pass out if he sees his own blood.” Yeah, Lizard tends to faint if he gets cut. If someone bleeds out in front of him? He doesn’t blink an eye.

  Beef looks at Lizard, he’s shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re a fuckin’ tattoo artist. You see blood all the time.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not mine,” Liz protests, shifting awkwardly on his feet. “And I’ll be fine, Thunder, thank you for fuckin’ asking. Now we doing this, or what?”

  Beef’s still staring at him incredulously, then after a moment, asks, “Well, what did you find?”

  “Two men. Drinking and playing cards casual as you like. No sign of Connor.”

  Beef exhales loudly. “Still need to talk to who’s there. They might know where he is.”

  I nod sharply. If they do, they won’t be keeping that information to themselves. Not when I apply my trade.

  “There’s a door at the back, flimsy looking.” Liz notes what he’d found.

  “Can we pick the lock?”

  “What fuckin’ lock? It’s hanging off its hinges. One kick and I reckon the whole place would come down.”

  “Good enough. Where are the men in relation to that point of entry?”

  Liz bends down and draws a diagram in the sand. “Don’t know about internal walls, of course,” he taps at a point where he’s drawn an X, “but that’s where we should be heading for once we’re inside.”

  He’s seen more than I did. Useful shit too.

  “Okay,” says Beef, his head turned toward the building we’ll be entering, “me, Ro, Liz, and Judge will take the front entrance. Mace, you, Thunder, Wills and Hell will come in the rear. We’ll go in at,” he checks his phone, “nineteen hundred zero five.”

  This time it’s eight of us crossing the open ground carefully. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, half expecting to be spotted any moment. By the time I get into position by the rear door, which, as Lizard had said, looks like a strong gust of wind would blow it in, my forehead is covered in sweat, even though the evening air is chilly.

  My heart is beating fast with anticipation, along with a kernel of excitement and hope. Right now, my brother’s sitting in a cell which is down to the man I’ve come to Denver to find. I’m determined I won’t be going home without him. He might not be in this tumbling down old warehouse, but the men who are will give me their secrets. I’m the enforcer, and everyone does, in the end. I’ve got a one hundred percent success rate at making people talk. Lizard might be immune to other people’s blood, in my role I’ve become impervious to their pain. Administering my torture with surgical precision when it’s the safety of my club, or one of my brothers, at stake.

  Thunder’s got his eyes trained on his phone. “Thirty seconds,” he mouths
. Then “Ten, nine… one.” I turn to face the door and push on it. It swings open with a slight creak. With a mental image of the hastily drawn diagram in the sand, I move forward alongside my brothers.

  This place is indeed falling down. There’s a big open area for storage, and presumably what were once offices off to the side. Drywall has come away and fallen so the wooden partitions are almost see-through. The room where I’d seen the men is probably in the best condition. Maybe they’re there because they can keep it heated.

  Beef’s approaching from the other direction. When he signals with the gun that’s in his hand, Judge, Wills, and Ro fan out to check the hidden areas of the interior. The rest of us wait outside what looks to be another weak door.

  Beef kicks it hard with his steel toe-capped motorcycle boot. It puts up no fight.

  The two occupants are taken completely by surprise. From the way they stagger as they stand, I reckon most of that bottle of what I can now identify by the smell is whiskey, has gone down their throats tonight. They reach for guns, but their hands drop as they belatedly notice ours are already pointing at their heads.

  Quickly, Thunder and I step forward and relieve them of their weapons, searching to make sure they’ve no second piece or knives concealed on them. Then, I zip tie the hands of mine behind him, and none too gently.

  From the protest by the other, I take it Thunder has done the same.

  “Who are you? What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “Hellfire, can you find Ro? Tell him he can search with lights now and to tear this fucking place apart.”

  Hellfire snaps to it. If the situation wasn’t how it is, I’d be amused at how my ex-prez takes orders from the new VP. Another reason why it was good to appoint someone from a different chapter. I think the years when it was ingrained we had to obey him would make it hard for any of us to dare tell Hell what to do.

  A quick glance behind me shows lights have now come on in the warehouse.

  “Right. Where’s Connor Foster?”

  “Look, man, don’t know what you’re talking about. You must be in the wrong place.” The one who asked who we were looks shiftily at his companion, his expression making me not trust him one bit. “We’re just two dropouts finding a dry place to stay for the night.”

  “Not buying it.” Beef picks up the whiskey bottle. “This is malt. Dropouts would buy a cheap blend.”

  “Dropouts wouldn’t have that kind of dough either.” Thunder points to a pile beside the cards. I can see at least one fifty-dollar bill.

  Beef growls. “Connor Foster. Where is he?”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Mace

  “We don’t know any Connor Foster, man. Why would we? We’re just squatting here for a few nights.” The Hispanic looks scared. It’s the worried look in his eyes which keep going to the area that Pyro and the others are searching that makes me think there’s something here to be found.

  “Look, just let us go. We’ll collect our things and be out of here. Didn’t know this place was owned by… who are you anyway?”

  Out of our territory we’re not wearing our cuts so we could be anyone.

  Beef gives me a tired look. I’m not the only one who’s been awake for thirty-six hours. “Mace.”

  My name, spoken in a tone of voice which only means one thing. I look from one to the other, quickly assessing which man can least handle pain. The Hispanic looks scared, but the white man? He’s all bluster, I’m sure.

  “Sit him down,” I snap to Thunder. “Hold him tight.”

  Taking my pliers out of the utility belt I’d thought to bring with me, I kneel on the floor and roughly pull off the man’s right boot. When he tries to kick out, Beef’s there with two sets of handcuffs. The VP soon has the captive’s legs fastened to the wooden legs of the chair. I nod my thanks at him when he stands.

  When I remove the man’s sock, I could puke, and wish I’d started with his hands. But trying to breathe through my mouth and not my nose, I take a strong hold of his ankle. As I’d hoped, his personal hygiene isn’t good, and he’s neglected to trim his toenails for some time and gives me something to get hold of. Yes, I might have done this a time or two before.

  “What the fuck you doing?”

  “Where’s Connor Foster? Who are you working for?” Beef’s barking questions at him. “Start talking and we’ll stop this now.”

  “I don’t know anything,” the man protests.

  Glancing at his face, I see his eyes widening as the pliers approach his smallest toe. “You can hurt me all you like. I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

  I’ve heard similar words before, from Skull. Then, they were true. I hesitate only a moment. As things had turned out, if I could go back, I’d do it all over again, and this time, I’d kill him. Save one hell of a lot of pain that was to come. My remorse at what I’d done has gone. There is no such thing as an innocent man.

  I attach the pliers firmly, then with a practised upward pull and a twist of my wrist, the yellowed nail comes away from the nail bed. Blood floods the area immediately.

  The man lets out an unholy scream, and tries, unsuccessfully, to pull his restrained leg up toward his body. It will burn, sting, and then throb. Even stubbing your toe hard seems to cause a disproportionate amount of pain.

  “Where’s Connor?”

  “I don’t fucking know who Connor is,” the man wails.

  “Who owns this warehouse? Who’s your boss?”

  Silence. Right. Toe number two it is.

  The man is crying with pain. It’s only when I have worked my way along to his big toe that he screams out, “Alder. It’s Alder. We’re working for Alder.”

  “Beef? Mace? You need to see this.” Ro appears in the doorway. The expression on his face is grim.

  “Thunder. Hell. Stay here,” Beef orders.

  I follow Ro. He leads us across the main floor and into a maze of passages and storerooms beyond. There in the last is a pile of bloody rags on the floor. Next to that, lying prone, is my brother.

  “Liz?” I start forward, filled with concern.

  “Never mind him,” Ro says, tersely. “He saw blood dripping from his hand. He’ll be fine. It’s him.”

  The light in here is dim, so I switch my flashlight on. Shit. The bundle on the floor has a head. A very, bloody, unrecognisable head.

  “Is he dead?” I’m making the presumption he’s a man. It’s hard to tell from here.

  “Not quite,” says Ro.

  The body groans as if to confirm it.

  “Is it Connor?”

  “Man,” Ro’s face twists, “I can’t tell.”

  Christ, it is impossible to identify him, I realise, stepping closer. Even hair colour is difficult to determine as it’s all a combination of bright and dark red, some fresh blood, some dried.

  “Pal, get here fast. Need to take someone to the hospital.” Beef is already on the phone.

  “No… no…”

  “Hey. You’re Connor, right?” Making the assumption, I sink down to my haunches, wary of even touching him. There doesn’t seem any part of him that’s not hurt. We need to fix him to the point he’s capable of talking. Beef’s made the correct call, if he’s going to live, which at the moment seems doubtful, only an expert could help.

  “Ye…” I take it he’s trying to say yes.

  “Looks like he was telling the truth,” Beef says dourly. “If we want questions answered, we need him alive.”

  “No hosp… No…”

  I realise he’s passed out. Or possibly, dead.

  “What are we going to do with him?” I ask. “He didn’t want a hospital.”

  Beef looks at Pyro. “We got a doc on speed dial?”

  “Yeah. Rusty’s our medic, but this is beyond what he can handle. I know a man who’s dug a bullet or two out for us before now. Decent doc, but expensive.”

  “If he’s got info that could free Ink, don’t care about the cost, Brother.”

  “We’
re taking him back to the clubhouse?” Staring down at the unmoving bundle at my feet, I doubt if he’ll still be alive when we get there. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t already taken his last breath. “I still say we drop him at a hospital.”

  Beef turns stern eyes on me. “Then what? State he’s in, the cops will get called, and we lose our chance to talk to him. Taking him back, fixing him up—if possible—means we get the info that he’s got for ourselves. You get to do your job, Mace.”

  Fix him up so I can hurt him. From the state of him, there’s not much more I can do that someone else hasn’t already done. Seems I’ll have to get inventive. The reference to my skills reminds me we’ve got another problem. Well, two of them.

  “What about the men tied up back in that room?”

  “Pyro, Wills, go and get the main entrance open so Pal can drive straight in. Mace, you come with me.” He pauses and looks around to where Judge is kneeling beside Lizard. “He okay?”

  “I’m okay,” Liz answers for himself with a hand to his head. I take it he must have knocked it when he went down.

  “I’ve bound his hand again,” Judge says, shaking his head. “I’m worried about him being able to ride.”

  “Of course I can fuckin’ ride,” Liz objects.

  “You’re not riding. In fact, you’re staying sitting down until Pal arrives. Not risking you keeling over again. We’ll load up your bike. Look at it this way, Pal’s driving. Need someone to keep an eye on him.” Beef points to the bloody heap on the ground.

  It’s not a moment for mirth, but the thought of how sheepish Liz must be feeling makes me suppress a grin. It’s far from the first time Liz has been struck down because he’s injured himself, but Beef has made a good observation. Pal will need to concentrate on the road and can’t doctor his passenger at the same time. The thought he might be pulled over with a dead or dying body in the rear seat, well, it wouldn’t just be Ink who’s looking at life on the inside.