Satan's Devils MC Colorado Boxset 1 Books 1 - 3

by Manda Mellett

I shrug, not deigning to answer. Nor reminding him what goes on in the club, stays in the club. Nothing a son should tell his mother. The tightening of his face conveys his opinion.

  I rap on the bar top. Runt, our newest prospect comes running over, quickly fulfilling my request for a drink. I’ll only have a couple, even if I’m not riding tonight. Being president I’m always on call, and need to stay relatively sober.

  “Prez.”

  Swinging around I greet my brother. “Pyro. How’s it going?”

  He grimaces slightly. “Yeah, well, I might have picked up a ticket.”

  “Might have, or have?” My eyes roll. Seems it should be pretty clear-cut one way or the other to me.

  His mouth curves, “Have.”

  “You get caught carryin’ or something?”

  “Nah, only had just under an ounce on me.” He’s over twenty-one, he can legally carry an ounce of marijuana in Colorado.

  “So what’s the problem?”

  A shrug, “Left me a bit short, that’s all. Can I get an advance on my wages?”

  I jerk my head toward the treasurer standing in a group across the other side of the room. “Ask Buzzard.” Why the fuck he came to me is beyond me.

  It’s always the same when I stay in the clubhouse. One by one brothers approach, all wanting to share their problems. Lizard’s got a bitch problem, Ink’s bike’s got a weird noise, and Rusty, well, the winter’s making his arthritis act up. Yeah, they all look to me as some kind of god who can solve all their problems. It starts to grate that there’s no one here who wants to know mine.

  Another slowly drunk beer, and I feel I’ve given about as much of myself as I can. “Runt. Get a bottle of whisky up to my room.” I’ll only drink one or two, but feel I deserve a nightcap.

  “Shall I send Bella up?” Demon asks through gritted teeth.

  Slapping his back, I take pity on him. Leaning into him, I speak quietly into his ear. “How many times have I cheated on your mom, Son?”

  His eyes narrow. “Not seen you with anyone, Dad. But Mom thinks…”

  “I know what your mom believes,” I reply with a sigh. “Gonna have words with her soon.”

  “Don’t like seeing her upset.”

  Demon, despite his name, has always been a good son. I’m glad to know he sticks up for his mother, but in this case, there’s a good reason he’s got no need to worry at all. He couldn’t be barking up a more different tree. I just haven’t yet decided how to explain it to my wife, and she’s the one who needs to know first. It’s no one else’s business.

  Runt’s left the bar. A good prospect, there’ll already be a bottle of my favourite spirit waiting for me. One more nod toward Demon, and I’m making my way across the room to the stairs, my progress happily unimpeded.

  I half-smile as I watch Bella giving Mace an enthusiastic blow job on the couch. Guess she hadn’t been waiting for a summons from me after all. Then, none of the club girls would expect anything different. For thirty-six years I’ve remained faithful to my wife.

  I climb the steps and make my way to the President’s Suite. It’s not the same one my father used, and doubles as my bedroom and office. My father. There’s not been a word invented to describe just how much of a bastard he was, I reflect, stripping out of my clothes. I take the bottle and glass over to my bedside table then pull back the covers, pouring myself a shot before getting into bed, and leaning back against the pillows, my arms folded behind my head.

  I’ve never cheated on Moira. I never would. There’s a good reason that when I became president, I had all the shit in my father’s room burned, the room turned into storage. The memories can still make me seethe with anger, a rage that will never be quenched. It should never have happened.

  I hadn’t waited long to call Moira after I’d first met her that day when she’d been with Jeannie. Our first date, a ride where I had no problem having her up behind me on my bike. I already knew she was special and was going to mean something to me. I also quickly realised she was no club girl, and I needed to take things slow.

  So I’d dated Moira. Courted her. Yeah, me, a burly biker. From the moment she first rode with her arms held fast around my waist, she was going to be mine. She’d have to wait, I was only a prospect. Prospects weren’t allowed near club girls, or permitted to take an old lady. Instead they had to make do with their hand until they were patched in. With my father being President, all eyes were on me to slip up. I needed the members to be certain my sole focus was gaining my patch and becoming a full member of the club.

  I wouldn’t have started anything with Moira had I not known I was close, I knew it, sensed it. Even though Blackie, my father, had ensured I was given a rough ride, I’d come through every piece of shit tossed at me with flying colours.

  Soon I would be patched in, and then I’d bring Moira to the club as my old lady, and everyone would know she was mine.

  She was a virgin, I wanted her first time to be special, was willing to wait, even though my cock tried to persuade me differently every time I saw her. I was proud of the way I held back, but she was unlike anyone I’d ever met. That look of innocence and wonder in her eyes? Never wanted that to go out. Never wanted her to feel anything other than the only person in the world to me. She was precious. Priceless.

  Chapter Six

  Hellfire

  Thirty-six years ago…

  Bartending. Not my favourite pastime, but one I stoically undertake, ignoring the full-patched members partying around me. The air thick with the smoke of illegal substances, men partying hard in all different ways. Sweet butts casting snide glances toward the hopeful hangarounds flooding in from nearby Pueblo, some already being fucked in the open, some being taken into brothers’ rooms. Drinks are flowing freely, I’m rushed off my feet to supply them. A couple of brothers who’ve started early are already swaying on their feet. But I won’t be cutting them off, not in the bar of an MC. In the morning I’ll just clean up the mess, clear away anything broken, mop up any vomit or blood that’s been spilt. It’s all in a day’s work for a prospect. I’m just hoping my time of being at everyone’s beck and call is drawing to a close.

  I’m pouring shots when my eyes are caught by two girls entering the clubhouse. Surprised, and more than a little concerned, when I recognise Moira, Jeannie, her friend, leading her by the hand, well, almost dragging her. As soon as I saw the other girl, I knew this hadn’t been Moira’s idea. I didn’t need that look of apology when she caught my eye to explain it to me.

  Jeannie pulls Moira toward the bar. “Hey, lover boy. The mountain wouldn’t come to Mohammed, so I brought her to you instead.”

  Putting down the cloth I was holding, I lean over. “Not a good place for you to be, darlin’.” I ignore Jeannie as I talk to my girl. Her friend doesn’t care, her eyes are scanning the room. I recognise that look, see it on most of the hangarounds who come to our parties. All looking for a ride on biker cock and hoping to snag a man.

  Moira, though, she’s different. Her wide eyes are only on me. She looks like a startled doe, she knows I didn’t want her here. At least she’s dressed in a fairly conservative style, okay, her white jeans are figure hugging, but the baggy top keeps her other assets from being on display. Jeannie, on the other hand, is dressed to kill, her short skirt and tight, low necked top leaving little to the imagination.

  “I’ll go.”

  “Best if you do.” I want Moira out of here and fast. “Look, I’ll call you later. We’ll do something tomorrow if I can get some time.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Mo. Let your hair down for once. Look, there’s dancing. I’m in the mood to party, you can’t leave me alone.”

  For fuck’s sake, Jeannie. Let her go. I start leaning forward to suggest that in no uncertain terms, when we’re interrupted.

  “Hey, what’s your name, darlin’?”

  I tense as Bomber comes over, but he’s got eyes on Jeannie, and not on my girl. Thank fuck.

  “Prospect! Why’s t
his lady not got a drink yet?”

  Because she’s underage, I want to tell him. But it’s not my place. The MC doesn’t give a fuck about citizen shit like that. With his sharp eyes on me, I pour a tequila for her at her request, and pass Moira a soda. Bomber reaches over to pick up the shot, his arm brushing against Moira’s friend’s breast as he passes it to her. Not receiving any discouragement, his arm loops around her shoulders.

  “You here for some fun…?”

  “Jeannie,” she supplies, her eyes widening as she takes in his ripped chest, his low-slung jeans, his short tee forming a gap where the skin of his lower stomach shows. If I’m not mistaken, he’s already sporting a large bulge in his jeans. Of course, my eyes don’t linger there for long.

  “I’m Bomber, darlin’. First time here I take it. I’ll look after you.”

  Bomber’s okay. He’s already told me I’ll get his vote when my patch comes up at church. I beckon him to come closer. “Bomb, this here’s my girl.” I point to Moira. “She shouldn’t have come to the club. I’m going to escort her out. Can you watch the bar for me?”

  His eyes narrow as he looks from Moira to myself. “Hangarounds are fair game. She’s yours? Prospects ain’t got no rights, son. Best take her out. I’ll stay here while you’re gone if you make it quick.” He pulls Jeannie closer to him. “This one and I have got business to attend to, isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

  Jeannie’s beaming. She’s obviously got no more use for her friend now she’s used her to get into the clubhouse, bagging herself a handsome biker in the process.

  I start to raise the flap of the bar when a voice roars. “Where you off to, Prospect. I need a drink.” It’s Blackie, my father. His name coming from the black plate he worked with before the steel mills closed.

  Sighing, I signal Moira to wait. As I get back into position, she hops on a bar stool. “What do you want, Prez?”

  He hadn’t missed the look I’d given Moira. His mouth curves. “I think I want me a bit of that,” he says as he steps closer to my woman. “Up for some fun tonight, sweetheart?”

  Moira’s gone white as she struggles to find her voice. “Er, no. I’m with him.”

  Later I’d come to think that was the moment that sealed her fate. Especially when I confirmed it. Pulling my back straight, I reinforce her words. “She’s my woman, Prez. Soon as I get patched in, I’m going to claim her.”

  “Well, you’re not patched in yet, are you, boy?” His grin broadens as he turns back to Moira. “My son’s busy for now.” My eyes widen as he claims the relationship he usually prefers to forget, but as his head tilts indicating the queue of men forming, I can’t deny he’s not right. Then he continues, “I’ll let him take a break soon, but in the meantime, why don’t you and I get acquainted, particularly if we’re going to become family.”

  She looks at me. I shrug. He’s acting out of character, but I’m in no position to argue. All I can do is take it at face value, and hope all he’s up to is questioning her to discover whether she’ll be a good fit for the club. For me, as the president’s son.

  He doesn’t really give her a choice. His firm grip on her arm all but pulls her off the stool.

  I have an uneasy feeling as she goes off with him, but while I don’t particularly like my father, I’m certain he wouldn’t hurt her. I told him she’s mine. As my president, and according to club rules, he’s right not to accept it. As my father, he should.

  It seems everyone’s glass is empty. I lose sight of her as I’m run ragged trying to satisfy all their requests. When at last the pace slows, my eyes search the room, I’m unable to see her. But I’m the sole bartender tonight, I can’t leave my post, can’t go looking for her. Jeannie, I do see, sitting on Bomber’s lap, her skirt up around her waist, and though the material hides what they’re doing, their mutual groans suggest she’s getting what she wanted. A good fucking from a biker.

  But where’s Moira? Half an hour? An hour? How long has she been gone? I’ve got an uneasy feeling, so strong it makes me think to fuck with this. It might mean I lose the patch I’ve worked so hard for, but I’m leaving this bar. Right now. My gut churns with urgency to find her as I slide out from behind the wooden planks which make up the bar top.

  Fuck! There she is. Christ! She’s stumbling down the stairs, moving awkwardly, hanging on to the railing. Completely dishevelled. She’s crying.

  I head over in her direction fast, roughly pushing brothers aside to get to her. “What the fuck?” I scream as I reach her.

  Her eyes meet mine, she flinches, then she quickly looks away. No one stops her as she heads for the door. As she passes me, I can see her white jeans reddened with blood around the crotch.

  “Noooooo!” I roar, as everything drops into place. “Moira! Moira!”

  My screaming has caused the room to go silent. Even the music’s stopped. Jeannie’s jumped off Bomber’s lap, and is moving toward her friend, her hands straightening her skirt, her own pleasure forgotten in Moira’s obvious anguish.

  “Moira.” I reach her, grabbing her arm.

  “Leave me alone!” she screeches, shaking my hand off. “Don’t touch me!”

  “I’m taking her home,” Jeannie snaps at me.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “No. NO!” Moira is struggling to make her way out. “I never want to see you again.”

  I try to go after her, Furnace, our VP is holding me back, his face is grim. “Let her go, Prospect.”

  I shrug out of my cut, disrespectfully throwing it down on the floor. “I’m no prospect for this fuckin’ club!” How can I get my head around the only obvious conclusion, that my own father has raped my woman? The girl who was mine. The girl saving herself for me. How can I start to deal with something like that? There’s no doubt in my mind, that’s what has happened.

  If I wasn’t in the club, she’d be mine already. He took her. Because I was going to make her my old lady.

  If I can’t go after her, there’s only one thing that can be done. “I’m going to fuckin’ kill him!”

  My hand goes to my waistband, and I take out my gun, heading toward the stairs that my father is just descending, a satisfied grin on his face as he finishes buckling his belt.

  He sneers at me, before shouting, “Why’s the fuckin’ party stopped? Put the music back on. Prospect, get back to your place behind the fuckin’ bar.”

  I raise my gun and step forward.

  His eyes go wide, then he laughs. “You haven’t got the fuckin’ guts. Couldn’t even keep hold of your woman. Hadn’t even fucked her, you pussy. Now you’ll have to measure up to what I’ve got. Doubt you can do that. You’ll always be wondering, won’t you?”

  I chamber a round, the sound echoing in the still quiet room. Before I can fire, Furnace’s hand covers mine. “Not this way, Son. We do this proper.”

  “VP?” Blackie snaps.

  “You’ve gone too far this time.” Furnace is shaking his head. “Party’s over, Brothers. Women out of here. Church. Now.”

  “You can’t call church.” Blackie tries to bluster, his back straightening and his face looking like thunder. “You’re not the prez.”

  Furnace stares at him, then says loudly. “Raping a girl? Taking a claimed woman from a brother? You don’t deserve your place at the head of the table. Anyone here got a problem with that?”

  Apparently nobody has. The murmuring is full of cries of derision for what Blackie has done. No voices of support. Men have enough sex to take when it’s offered, seems they’re not happy with someone being forced.

  Blackie gets pushed into church, he continues protesting. I hang back, my hands quivering with anger, deciding I’ll shoot him on the way out.

  Furnace beckons me. “What you doing standing here?”

  “Fuckin’ prospects don’t attend church,” I remind him.

  “Put your cut back on, Brother. And come with me.”

  I do, unsure what Furnace is up to. Or why he called me Brother. Want
ing only two things, to see my father take his last breath, and to go find Moira. Talk to her, comfort her. Fuck! He’s taken her from me, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to get her back. My own father fucking raped her. Would she ever want to even talk to me again?

  I go into the normally forbidden territory, sitting in a chair Furnace brought in and placed at the end of the table. It puts me opposite my father who’s gone to his normal seat. The fucker’s still grinning, doesn’t seem worried at all.

  In fact, he starts the meeting off. “I want to know why a prospect is sitting at the table. Boy’s got no right to be here.”

  Furnace isn’t the slightest bit cowed. “He’s been here long enough. Proved himself. I vote him in.”

  Before Blackie can protest further, the votes gone around the table. Everyone but my father says ‘aye’. All throw looks of support toward me, sympathy too. Looks of disgust go in the opposite direction.

  “Brotherhood,” Furnace starts, “is what we’re all about, Brothers. And brotherhood means looking out for everyone else, having each other’s backs. It doesn’t include the right to a man’s woman, whether prospect or patched member. Anyone disagree?”

  “Too right, VP.” Comes from all directions.

  “Fucking right. Can’t take another’s woman.” This powerful endorsement from Rusty.

  “She wasn’t fucking willing. Anyone could see that.” Bomber sends me a look of apology, as if he’s wishing he could have done more. The problem is, even knowing my father could be a bastard, none of us thought him capable of that. Even I hadn’t realised how much he must hate me.

  “Prospects can’t claim women.” Blackie protests.

  “Whether or not, you raped her. Disrespected her. Disrespected your son. You can do that to your flesh and blood? Makes me wonder how the fuck any of us can trust you.”

  “Got it in one, VP.” Bomber says it first, but others are quick to agree.

  “I vote Blackie out.” Rusty says it plainly. “Ain’t no place for a man like him in this club.”