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

by Mellett, Manda

  Pyro stares at Ink, and murmurs, “Thanks for that thought, Mace.”

  “Shut it,” Ink growls, but laughs.

  Finished with her game, Beth wanders over. Leaning in, she gives Ink an open-mouthed kiss. Now there’s one brother I thought would never get caught. There’s no doubting how happy he is with her though, despite the troubles they had to go through to get together.

  “See you later, Ground Pounder.”

  “Later, Leatherneck,” I respond, as he at last lets her go, and hand in hand they walk out the door together.

  I notice Shayla’s tidying away the pool cues and racking the balls for whoever wants to play next. She’s doing it hurriedly though, as if without female company she’s going to escape back to her room.

  Deciding to go over, I approach. With eyes that have learned to be aware of her surroundings, she notices me as I draw close. Hoisting my left buttock onto the pool table, I fold my arms and face her.

  “How you doing, Shayla?”

  Her shoulders move up, then down. “Good?”

  “Are you asking or telling me?” I chuckle softly, while examining her face. Her eyes still look like there’s no life in them.

  Another shrug. “It’s hard for me to feel safe anywhere, Mace. My gut tells me I can trust people here, but I’ve time on my hands, especially as Jayden’s taken Esme under her wing. I think I’m only just beginning to process what happened to me.”

  I can understand that. Like a soldier in a war, she’s been doing what had to be done. It’s only after the bullets stop flying, you check to see what damage there is. As for thinking time, we’ve made her give up what really was a shit job. I’d ridden past the dive where she worked and wasn’t comfortable with her being there at all. A suggestion that it was best if she kept out of sight was the only persuasion it took for her to tell Andy and his shotgun a final goodbye.

  “If time’s hanging on your hands, why not help Jeannie out in the kitchen?”

  An almost there smile appears. “I tried, but Jeannie hates me.”

  She’s not exactly right, but I remember now that she allowed a pie Jeannie asked her to watch out for burn when she’d left it too long in the oven. Thereafter, her offers of help were turned down. Prospects clean and tidy, so there’s not much else for a female to do.

  “Jeannie’s okay.” I defend Bomber’s old lady. “She just likes to be in charge in her domain. Perhaps you could help by peeling vegetables or something?”

  She holds out her hand with a Band-Aid wrapped around one finger. “Tried that. Failed. Blood on the potatoes is apparently worse than a burned pie.”

  I have to laugh at the crestfallen look on her face. “Can’t you cook at all?”

  “I can open a can and pour it into a saucepan. I can put bread in the toaster, er,” now there’s an actual grin, “some of the time without burning it. And I can microwave. When I remember to remove the tinfoil first.”

  I snort. “Thought women were born with the cooking gene.”

  “Obviously my genetics are wrong. I must be partly a man.”

  My eyes view her up, then down. “Well that part must be in your head. You look all female to me.”

  Damn. Fuck it to hell. Why did I go and say something like that? To cover the moment of awkwardness when I realise given her situation I shouldn’t have been looking, and she, clearly linking my statement to how she’s been objectified for the last year, bristles. I make a swift change of subject.

  “What are you good at?”

  “Machinery.”

  Well fuck, I didn’t expect that. The expression on my face must show my surprise, as she nods sharply. “Give me something mechanical that doesn’t work, and I can usually fix it.”

  Well colour me surprised. “You work on bikes? Cars?”

  Her hands move a foot apart, then widen. I frown, then realise she’s indicating bigger. “Tractors?”

  “Large farm machinery, yes. Oh, I could find my way around a smaller engine, but I’m more used to something larger with the torque to drive a combine harvester.”

  “You trained?”

  “Graduated in mechanical engineering, so yeah.”

  My eyes widen in admiration. But before she can latch on to that, I shake my head, forcing the corners of my mouth to turn down. “Shame it doesn’t make up for the fact you can’t cook.”

  She stares at me. Just stares. Then, when my lips twitch, she snorts a laugh, then another, then she’s doubled up laughing. When she straightens, she wipes tears from her eyes. “Asshole,” she tells me.

  Four days ago, she wouldn’t have dreamed of calling me that, or anything like it. Progress. I have a warm feeling inside that it’s me she’s growing more comfortable with. Rather than analyse why I should feel that sense of pride, I nod to the pool table.

  “This one of your talents?”

  “That would be telling.”

  “Want to be beaten?” Poor choice of words.

  But she’s got a sly look on her face. “I’ve got nothing else to do. I don’t mind standing bored while you work the table.”

  Huh. Minutes later, it’s me standing looking on as she expertly sinks ball after ball, eventually getting a short turn which, I completely fuck up, then, for the second time in less than a week, my pool playing ability is brought into question by a woman. Aren’t women supposed to know their place? Which is, of course, allowing the man to win. But she certainly doesn’t, and I find I don’t care at all.

  I love the little jump of triumph she makes as the final ball sinks into the pocket. Without thinking, I place my arm around her.

  “You’re a ringer, sweetheart.”

  I’m a big man, my arm, like everything else about me is muscular. I’m totally unaware I’ve trapped her until she goes stiff by my side.

  “Let me go.” There’s desperation in her voice. “Let me go!” she repeats.

  Immediately my arm drops, and I look down to see her shaking, her face white. “Oh, baby,” I tell her quickly, “I’m so fuckin’ sorry. Deep breaths, babe. Deep breaths. Look at me.” My gentle voice has panicked eyes staring my way. I take a deep breath, hold it, then exhale. Then I repeat my actions. “Breathe, babe.”

  She looks like she’s struggling to do that simplest of action, but tries, eventually inhaling sharply, and then, mimicking my movements, holds it before letting it out. She copies me again and again until finally I see her relax and her shoulders slump.

  “Come and sit down.” I indicate a couch, and when she sits, putting her head into her hands, I take a chair opposite.

  “I’m sorry.” Her apology’s offered in a low weak voice.

  Dismissing her words, I tell her, “Shay, you were forced to do things you didn’t want for the past year. No wonder you don’t fuckin’ want a man’s hands on you. It’s me who should apologise. I didn’t fuckin’ think.”

  “I’m fucked up, Mace. I don’t think I’ll ever be right again.”

  “Darlin’, you’ll get there. May need some help, but you’ll get through this.”

  “Help?”

  I nod. “Yeah. You and Esme both. I think you need some therapy. What I saw just now was a classic PTSD response, and Christ knows you’ve been through trauma.” As her face tightens, I wave my hand around the room. “If brothers here haven’t got it themselves, they know men who have. The way you reacted is nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “How come you knew what to do?”

  “I served, babe. I’ve seen things no man should have. Yeah, I know a bit about what you’re going through.”

  “I’m scared I’ll never get over this. That I’ll always panic when a man gets too close.”

  I fucking hope not. “It’s about learning coping mechanisms, babe, and that’s why I think therapy could help.”

  She’s quiet for a moment, then she says, “I was surrounded by broken women. Each time a man would enter the room, it was to torture us, or take us to get dolled up so we could go service one of their clients. In my
head, I equate men with pain, or being forced to do something I don’t want. Just telling you this, hurts, Mace.”

  I wish I could wave a wand and wipe away her past, but I can’t. “You won’t forget. But you can learn how to deal.”

  “After my panic attack just then?” Her eyes open wide. “I can’t see how.”

  “You’ve been free of him, what, three months? All that time you’ve been running on adrenaline, looking over your shoulder, doing your best for you and Esme. Fuck woman, have you any idea how strong you are? You got out and stayed free, and all with a disabled kid.”

  “If I’m as strong as you say, why do I feel so weak?”

  “Because we’ve taken the load off you, baby. You’ve got a roof over your head and food to eat. You’re protected and safe. That adrenaline that built up inside you, now has nowhere to go, but your body’s still programmed to fight or flee.”

  She flops back on the couch and brushes both hands down her face. “I suppose that makes sense. I still feel responsible for Esme.”

  “Where is she now?” I ask, although I already know.

  “With Jayden in the kitchen. She’s helping her draw. Or, just watching while she does it. She’s trying to get Esme to say something.”

  “She’s such a good kid, Shayla.” Hoping to put a smile on her face, I tell her of my plans. “Esme’s fuckin’ talented. That picture of a stallion she drew? I’m having that airbrushed on my bike.”

  “Mace!” The delighted grin shows I’ve startled her, but now in a good way. “She’s going to be so proud of that. When are you doing it?”

  “When Ink can get around to it. He’s our airbrushing expert. I’d attempt it myself, but don’t want to fuck it up.”

  A critical humph sounds from behind me. Shayla’s eyes rise over my head, and I swing around to see Esme standing there with her hand held out. And fuck me, in a soft, sweet voice with a scolding tone, she takes a breath, then says, “Pay up.”

  There’s a gasp from Shayla, and I’m feeling as though I’m on the top of the world as I give an exaggerated huff and reach into my wallet, but I wink as I hand the dollar over. I watch as the kid walks across the bar and drops the bill in with the others in the jar.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lizard

  As she wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t walked into my shop, I feel some responsibility for Shayla and Esme, so when I return from work and see the woman sitting alone, I at least feel I need to check in with her.

  “Hey, Shayla. How’s it going?” Some responsibility, not enough to cater to any of her possible whims, so her nod gives me all the answer I need, and I hardly break step as I continue my walk toward the bar.

  Once again, I’ve left Jonah to close up. Tomorrow, being Saturday, will be one of our busiest days, which means I’ll have to go slow at tonight’s party as always on a weekend. No one wants a tattoo artist who’s bleary eyed with a hangover working on them. Of course, I’ll have a few beers, but will resist the urge to overindulge, and concentrate instead on my other method of relaxation, sinking my cock into any available whore.

  Tonight, there will also be girls up from Pueblo, wanting to dip their toes into the wild side of life, but I tend to avoid them. I’m not in the market for a woman, and some of these girls want to attract a biker of their own. Club girls know the score and just want a good time.

  “Lizard.”

  My name makes me turn. Shayla’s followed me to the bar. “Want a drink?” I nod at Beaver and get his attention.

  “No, I’m fine. I, er, just wanted to know when Vi could do some more work on my back.”

  I grin. I happen to know she’s already been pestering Vi. “Week after next, babe. Sure, we can put the sessions closer together, but it’s best that the outline is properly healed before she continues.” A thought occurs to me. “You are sticking around, aren’t you?”

  She shrugs. “I’ve been in Pueblo a month now.”

  I take it she’s getting itchy feet. I turn to face her, so she knows I’m being serious here. “No one knows where you are. You might have noticed we keep ourselves to ourselves and don’t go divulging our business to strangers. You’re safest where you are, doll. Where else would you go? You got family or friends you can stay with?”

  She huffs. “I do, but back in Vegas, and I’m not going anywhere near there.”

  She’s right to steer clear of anyone from her old life, of course. If Major’s looking for her, her known contacts are the first place he’d go. Means she’s totally alone now, though.

  “Well, you’ve got us now. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, and if Vi is going to complete your tat, that’s one more session at least.”

  “Lizard.”

  I lift my chin to the man who’s just joined us. “Ro.”

  “Just who I was looking for.” But he’s not talking to me, he’s addressing the woman by my side. “Mace says you know your way around engines?”

  My lips press together. Now that’s something I didn’t know. I raise my eyebrow toward her.

  “Big ones, yeah,” she replies.

  “What about cars and bikes?”

  For the first time I’ve seen, she becomes animated. “They work on combustion?”

  “Well we’re not talking electric ones. Not yet.”

  She frowns. “Lots of mechanics are going to be out of work when those get more popular.”

  Pyro grimaces. “Tell me about it. A completely new set of skills will be required. Mechanics like us will be relegated to swapping out tyres. Might need Cad to replace us with his knowledge of computers as we won’t know how shit works.”

  “Can’t you retrain?” I ask, interested.

  It’s Shayla who replies, “For electric cars it will be all about the electronics. Some people may be able to learn a new trade, but engines won’t be the same anymore. Mind you, it’s already getting increasingly more computerised. Which is why I like working on farm machinery.”

  “But you do know your way around gas engines now?”

  “Yeah, I can fix them. Why?”

  “Because Mace is a fuckin’ pain in my ass and he wants Ink to paint his tank. Spring’s here and everyone wants their bike serviced now. Don’t like turning work away, so an extra pair of hands would help.”

  Shayla’s eyes have more life in them than I’ve seen so far. “Sure, I’ll help. I, er, don’t have access to my qualifications…”

  “Don’t give a shit. I’ll tell you what I want doing and supervise, at first at least. The way you work, darlin’, will tell me all I need to know. Get Mace to bring you to the shop on Monday, and I’ll show you around. We’ll talk rates then, dependent on what you’ll be capable of doing.”

  “No,” she says fast. “You’re housing and feeding me and Esme. I don’t want anything more than that.”

  “You ain’t working for nothing, babe, and that’s final. Mel?” Pyro’s already walking off toward his wife.

  As Shayla’s mouth drops open, I laugh. “I wouldn’t argue with him. If he wants to pay you, why turn it down?”

  Her reaction to Pyro offering her work that she was trained for seems to have given her back a spark that she’d lost. We’ve been tiptoeing around her, but perhaps this is exactly what she needs, something to occupy her and get her out of her head.

  “Lizard? Shayla? Can you come to Demon’s office now?” Cad yells out, and waves frantically toward the room he’d suggested.

  “Oh shit,” Shayla breathes. “Is it Major? Has he found us?” Just like that, her pleasure in Pyro’s offer disappears.

  “Don’t borrow trouble,” I warn her. “Quickest way to find out is to go and talk to Demon, now.”

  But when we reach Demon’s office, he waves us out with the explanation. “Gonna get a few heads in on this, we’ll use the meeting room instead.”

  It’s been a while since a woman has entered our hallowed room where we hold church. Shayla walks in and stands for a moment, taking in the leather-seated chair
s and the table with the Satan’s Devils’ insignia carved into it. She shivers as though she finds it intimidating.

  Demon follows us in and points Shayla to a seat. She sits, perching on the edge, looking uncomfortable, as well as nervous.

  The door keeps opening and shutting. Mace enters, followed by Beef and Hellfire. Cad arrives carrying his computer, and Thunder takes his place to Prez’s right-hand side.

  Demon flashes a glance toward Shayla, taking in her shaking hands, and starts, “Won’t draw this out. No need to worry, Shayla. But Cad’s got some good news, or at least, we think he has.”

  When Demon gives Cad a nod, he takes over. “Found this out and brought it to Prez. He wanted to make sure it checked out, so I’ve dug as deep as I can.” He pauses and opens his laptop. “Pretty certain I’ve found Esme’s parents. In Flagstaff of all places.”

  “Flagstaff, Arizona?”

  “Is there another, Beef?”

  He shrugs. If the VP doesn’t know of one, I certainly don’t.

  “Their kid disappeared on a shopping trip,” Cad continues. “One minute she was supposed to be with them, next it seemed she’d wandered off. They searched for her, involved the cops, but nothing ever turned up. That was four months ago, which tallies with your timeline, Shayla.”

  Shayla’s head nods vigorously, but her brow is scrunched as though she’s trying to process this information. “Major took her from them? What was he doing in Arizona?”

  Cad looks blank. “I’ve no fuckin’ idea. More likely to be opportunist rather than planned, or maybe he did target her, who the fuck knows? Esme’s a pretty girl.” He grimaces. It’s easy to see why Major thought she’d be worth something. “I don’t take anything at face value, and neither does Prez. A kid like Esme is bound to be challenging. I wanted to check that the parents weren’t involved, that they genuinely lost her and want her back. I’ve checked their bank accounts and recent purchases, and nothing suggests they came into money at the time. Quite the opposite, in fact. Once the cops turned up nothing, they re-mortgaged their house to fund private investigators.”