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

by Mellett, Manda

  Still, looks like I’ve got fun to look forward to tonight. When the club business has been dealt with, of course.

  In the kitchen, Jeannie puts my to-go breakfast in my hand, a bacon sandwich with lashings of ketchup spilling out, and pushes a cup of coffee across the table toward me. Various other breakfasts are being prepared. It’s like a conveyor belt with men walking in, taking their normal preference, which Bomber’s wife knows well, eating fast then disappearing to our various businesses.

  “Thanks, Liz.” Prez enters and sends me a chin lift. “Vi was worried about letting you down.”

  “No problem, Prez. Schedule’s not overflowing today, and Jonah can get Whale in to help with the walk-ins if there’s a sudden rush.”

  Prez glares at me. “Weston,” he reminds me, sternly. “Jonah’s brother’s called Weston.”

  I’m unrepentant. “Where there’s a Jonah, there has to be a whale,” I insist, grinning broadly.

  “He’s threatened not to take the full-time position,” Demon warns. “Came to see me himself.”

  I bristle slightly being the manager of Devil’s Ink with full responsibility. I let Demon know. “Whether or not we take him on is down to me, Prez. If a man can’t take a joke, well, maybe he’s not a good fit.”

  “He’s a fuckin’ good artist from what I’ve seen, Liz.”

  “I’ll reserve judgement until I see him in action, Prez. All I’ve seen is his portfolio.” Which looks fucking ace, I admit, but still, it’s more than what ink he can lay down, it’s the way he treats the customers, together with his general demeanour. If he goes running over my head for every slight, that shit won’t settle well.

  Prez eyes me, reading me in that way he does. Then he gives a sharp nod. “I’ll make sure he knows that I have full confidence in you, Liz.”

  In return, I give something back. “I’ll curb it a bit, Prez.” But it will be hard. Weston must weigh close to three hundred pounds and is only five foot ten. Whale suits him.

  Stuffing the last bits of my sandwich into my mouth, I suck remnants of ketchup off my fingers. Then, fed and watered, I go to my bike.

  It’s not long before I’m pulling up behind Devil’s Ink. As I normally do, I take a moment to reflect on how much better located our new premises are. We moved from a shop in a bad part of town a year back, and now attract not only customers who’ve come to us for years, but a whole new crowd, hence the need to have more hands on board. Business is booming. The amazing designs Vi comes up with haven’t hurt at all, and our reputation is gaining ground all the time. That’s also got a lot to do with the Instagram page that Vi manages. Demon did the club a solid when he took her as his old lady.

  I’m not surprised that Jonah’s right behind me when I put my key into the lock, enter, and insert the correct code to turn off the alarm.

  “Vi can’t make it today,” I tell him over my shoulder. “Sick kid.”

  “We’ll manage,” he confirms, not fazed in the least. “I’ll take a look at the books, see what was scheduled and what I can take from her. Any piercings?” He adds the last with a gleam in his eyes.

  “If there are, you can have them.” It’s not that I mind getting my hand on a clit but prefer it to be in a bed with my dick ready to get some action. Vi normally handles that shit. I’m more than happy to leave that to Jonah—along with the dicks, ears, and nips. Unless a particularly nice pair of tits walk in, that is.

  Knowing I’ve a client booked later for a full back tat, I go to my station and pull the drawings I’ve already sketched toward me, making a few minor alterations I thought of during the night. It’s going to take a few sessions to make this work, but I’ll get the outline done today, and start the infill the next time. As normal, when I have a new client coming in, I wonder how they’re going to react. Even the biggest man can get scared, and the smallest woman not flinch one bit. Not knowing what this one’s like, I select a place where I can start, and still produce something he’ll be happy with if he decides the whole piece might be too much. I’d noticed his skin is so far unmarked.

  “Walk-in, boss,” Jonah’s voice calls sometime later. “Can you take it?”

  Although I’m used to tuning out sounds, I’d registered Jonah’s gun cutting out. Knowing he’s obviously in the middle of a job, I respond without concern, shouting out, “Sure, send them on back.”

  I make one final adjustment to the drawing on my table, before swivelling around on my chair to see my new client is a woman, late twenties perhaps.

  I’ve been a tattoo artist for years and am used to reading people fast, but I don’t need the experience to know this customer is nervous. First tat, perhaps? I react accordingly.

  “Take a load off.” I point to the client’s chair. “What is it you’re after? Tattoo or piercing?”

  She’s pretty enough, hair cut in a neat bob, but her eyes are the most remarkable thing about her. They’re currently wide in concern and dark. Solemn, as though there’s a wealth of hurt and pain there.

  “What can I do for you?” I prompt, once more, wondering if she’s suffered a loss and wants a remembrance tattoo. I’ve done far too many of them. My sympathy rises to the forefront.

  “I, er…” she starts, then tries again, “Er, do you cover up tattoos?”

  Okay, so I was wrong. But it still could be a loss of some sort. Again, wouldn’t be a first to cover up a heart with two names which aren’t linked anymore. “Sure do,” I respond. “Would you like to show me what you’ve got? Then I can tell you how we can turn it into something else.”

  She takes a deep breath, then stands, placing her hand on the back of the chair as though needing its support. She turns. Her hands are shaking as she undoes her jeans and pushes them down over her hips until the top of her ass crack comes into view. Then she raises her t-shirt.

  As soon as she’d started to rearrange her clothes, I suspected it would be a tramp stamp of some sort. What I didn’t expect was what I saw.

  It’s an intricate design, swirling lines in various colours, not a small or amateur job. No this was inked by an expert hand. And there, across the middle, in flamboyant text the words, “Property of Major.”

  I stare at it for a moment, then buy myself some time. “You know, the best person for you to speak to is Vi. You see the examples in the window out there?” I’m sure she probably has. “She’s got this eye for how to turn an existing tattoo into something else so you can’t see what was there before.” I can too, but I’m not admitting that.

  “Can I speak to her?”

  “I’m sorry, she’s not in today,” I tell her, truthfully. “But hopefully she’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “Oh.” She lets her t-shirt drop, pulls up her jeans and refastens them, then turns around. “I was hoping this could be done today.”

  “I’m sorry. But turning what you’ve got there into something else will take some work. You’ll need to go through what can be done with Vi, then she’ll have to book you in. This something you’re doing on impulse, sweetheart?” I’m wondering whether she’ll rethink it given time.

  She huffs a mirthless laugh. “No. But I have been working up the courage to come to you.”

  Her phrasing and her nervousness start alarm bells jangling. “Well, I’m sorry, but Vi’s the best person for you to see. Look, let me get the book and we’ll book you in for a proper consultation tomorrow.”

  I make the appointment for Shayla Yonovich for eleven o’clock the next morning, then as she leaves with a dejected look on her face while my pre-booked client walks in the door. I lead him back to my station and put the morning’s visitor out of my mind. For the next few hours, I concentrate on the man lying flat on my table, glad to find he relaxes fast and is easy to work on. The whirr of my tattoo gun and the necessary one-hundred-percent concentration means the time passes fast.

  Soon, it seems, my client has gone, and another day, at least for me, is over.

  “You okay to lock up?” As I ask it, I know it’s a
dumb question. I always head off early on a Wednesday as that’s the day we have church. Jonah’s well used to staying late on his own, or, as I notice tonight, with Whale by his side. I hadn’t noticed him come in.

  “W… Weston.” I raise my chin toward him. “You made a decision yet?”

  The big man shuffles his feet. “Yeah, I’ll take the job if you still want me.”

  “No more running to the MC prez.” It’s Jonah who says this, pointing the tattoo gun at his brother. “The boss,” he now points at me, “can call you what he darn well wants.”

  Weston’s eyes darken, but then he shrugs and nods. Seems like he wants this position.

  Bending under the reception desk, I pick up some brochures I knew were there and chuck them at Jonah’s brother. I might have told Prez I was undecided, but in truth, had already made up my mind. Jonah’s vouched for him and wouldn’t tell me wrong. “Have a look through for equipment you want to order. Vi will sort it out for you.”

  As he takes it with thanks and a nod, I realise just how much difference Vi has made to this place. Publicity for certain, and a semblance of order to the routine stuff too. Yeah, Prez did well bringing her on board.

  Chapter Two

  Lizard

  I get back to the compound with time to spare for a beer before heading on into our meeting. I also have a moment to pick up a letter that’s come in the mail for me. It’s from the VA and gives me an appointment date and time. As I read it, I purse my lips. Fuck knows why they insist on seeing me to offer help I no longer want or need. I am what I am, got my life fixed, brothers around me. Nothing more they can do or that I want them to. I can put one foot in front of the other, ride my bike, fuck, and do my job. What more do I want? There must be many others far more deserving than me.

  “You got problems, Brother?”

  I’m used to nosy fuckers, and Mace having perused the letter I left carelessly on the bar is nothing new.

  “Nah,” I tell him without any ire at all. “I’m fine, man. They probably just want to check I’m still alive.”

  “Are you?”

  I thump his arm. “I’m no fucking ghost. What the fuck, Ink?” I snap at the man who’s not just giving my letter a casual glance, he’s picked it up and is reading it thoroughly too.

  “Hey, say’s they’ve got to check your dick.”

  “It does not!” I rise to the bait, snatching it back in case I’ve missed something.

  “Hope not,” mumbles Mace. “Got plans for later. Unless you…?”

  Ink laughs and shrugs off the invitation that had been directed his way. “Nah. Happy with Liz taking my place. I’m with Beth now, Brother.”

  He’s been one-hundred-percent faithful since he got together with her. I can’t understand it myself. “Surely, you miss fucking the whores?”

  Ink slaps me on the shoulder. “Can’t say that I do, Liz. Can’t say that I do. Beth’s everything I want.”

  “Aww.” Mace draws the word out, then stage whispers to me, “Pussy whipped.”

  After giving a snort to indicate my agreement, I ask, “Heard anything from Beth’s mom or brother?”

  “Nah.” Ink shakes his head. “We won’t, either. The only way they can stay safe is to become their new identities and live their new lives. It’s hard on Beth, but she understands she can’t contact them.”

  “But you know they’re alright?”

  “Yeah.” Ink grins at Mace. “Lost has a man who keeps check now and again, nothing to link him to us. Least we know they’re living and breathing.”

  “Beth accept that?” Bitches can be tricky. They say one thing but mean another. Sticking with whores means no such complications.

  Ink’s quick to pick up what I’m putting down. “She knows she has to, but she doesn’t like it. The wound’s still raw. She misses her mom, but I’m trying to fuck that out of her.” He winks. “So far it’s working, you know?”

  A loud whistle interrupts before I can respond in the affirmative; my view is a good fuck can work wonders. Placing my now empty bottle on the bar, I waste no time following everyone else into our meeting room.

  The citizens I was thinking about earlier, who believe our life’s all about riding bikes and coming up with nefarious moneymaking plots or discussing how to dole death out to our enemies, would be shocked to sit in on church, I muse, as Buzzard our treasurer runs through the finances as competently as any finance director in a company would. Money’s coming in well, so we’ll all have a little extra in our paychecks this month. I exchange a fist bump with Paladin, both of us with our eyes on new parts for our bikes. Me, I’m addicted to Screamin’ Eagle shit.

  As a manager of one of the club businesses, I’m expected to report on how things are on the ground at Devil’s Ink. When it’s my turn, I give credit to Vi for the increase in revenue, not missing the gleam of pride in Demon’s eyes.

  “Any update about Weston?” he asks.

  “Yeah. Whale’s on board.” I wink as Demon looks up to the ceiling then down. “He came into the shop before I left to tell me he’s accepted the job.”

  “He’s going to fuckin’ murder you,” Ink grins, “you keep calling him that.”

  “Smother him more like,” offers Mace. “All he needs to do is sit on you and you’d be a goner.”

  “Don’t fuckin’ care about the size of his girth.” Prez glares down the table. “Weston will be a great addition from what I’ve seen.”

  The VP waggles his fingers to get our attention. “Since shit went down with Beth and her family, we still got Dirt and Nails hanging around. We going to give them their prospect rockers?”

  “Don’t see why not,” Mace says thoughtfully. “They’ve proved they can be trusted to keep their mouths shut.”

  “I kind of like them,” Thunder puts in. “They’ve got that military experience that works well with the club. I’m happy to bring them on board.”

  Ink raises his hand. “Been talking to Nails. He suffers PTSD, but that’s not unusual.” A rumble of sympathy goes around the table. It’s certainly not unusual in anyone who’s served. Ink nods, and continues, “That dog of theirs is basically a support dog. If they’re going to be around more, I think we’ll be seeing more of the mutt.”

  “The dog’s probably got PTSD himself,” Hellfire states, but not unkindly. The dog lost a leg in Afghanistan in the same incident that made Dirt and Nails leave the Army.

  “I reckon Nails and the dog probably support each other,” I observe. “We’ve already got Max. Another dog won’t be a problem, will it?”

  Beef grimaces. “We’ll just have to see how Max takes it.” He’s referring, like I was, to the seeing-eye dog that belongs to his wife.

  “I don’t know how Bitch will take it,” sighs Prez heavily. “Fuck. When I’m not worrying about you fuckin’ lot, it’s dogs and cats I have to contend with.”

  Prez has a good point. Though we pretend to hate her, we’ve all got a soft spot for the cat who wandered in off the street one day. When she decided to stay, we let her, and her behaviour had earned her that name. Fuck knows what had turned Bitch that way, but that cat hates men with a passion. She doesn’t much care for canines either and puts them in their place. One thing for certain, she makes life interesting.

  “Right. Quick vote. We bring Dirt and Nails on board as prospects.”

  Prez counts the ayes and doesn’t have to ask who objects. Just like that, we pick up two new prospects. Good timing, as Karl and Beaver will be patched in soon if I’m right. Got to have someone to do all the shit work.

  “Ink? What’s happening with the gym?” Demon asks for an update, moving on from our four-legged residents, or three in the new prospects’ dog’s case.

  Ink tosses a glare at the enforcer. I smirk. Converting part of the disused factory buildings had been Mace’s idea when we thought Ink would be going inside for a few decades. We’d have been doing something for a brother who couldn’t be here. When Ink returned, it had become his baby. At
first Ink had been excited, then his initial enthusiasm had faded once he realised just what was involved with it.

  “Your own fuckin’ fault,” Mace throws back. “You hooked on to the idea of running it commercially.”

  “Think that was you, Brother,” Ink snarls.

  “Well, you ran with it,” Demon barks. “Where are you at, Ink?”

  Ink’s eyes shutter. “If it was just us, Prez, no one would give a damn. But opening it up to the public means getting all the right building permits. Feel like I’m drowning in paperwork and regulations. Health and fuckin’ safety.”

  “Beth helping?” I ask, knowing she is, and for some reason, wanting his woman to get recognition. Of course, as she works in the government offices, she’s used to the way officials think.

  Ink throws me a look of gratitude. “Couldn’t do it without her, Brother. She speaks their language. Anyway, we’re getting there. The outside is basically sound now, and we’ve finally got approval for the number of heads, showers, shit like that.”

  “Keeping to budget?” asks Buzzard.

  “Just about,” confirms Ink.

  Shit’s bandied around a little more, like Thunder wishing Ink would get a fucking move on and Ink protesting that he’s doing his best.

  Prez signifies he wants to move on and it’s then I recall what I wanted to bring up. Leaning forward, I clasp my hands on the table. “Don’t know whether this is a problem or not,” I start, making sure I’ve got everyone’s attention. “Does anyone here know a man, possibly in an MC, named Major?”

  There are shakes of heads, and shrugs of shoulders.

  “Why, Liz?” asks the VP.

  I like and respect Beef. I answer him directly. “Woman came in today, wants a ‘Property of’ tat covered up. Fancy work, not cheap.”

  Cad’s looking toward me now. “The woman’s name?”

  “Shayla Vonovich.” I note he’s tapping it onto his tablet.