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

by Manda Mellett

  “Prez, what’s going on? I ain’t done anything.”

  He could be right about that. Lazy bastard that he is. But that’s just one more thing to suggest he’s not giving his all to the club.

  “Sit,” Demon instructs, his loud voice booming. When Runt doesn’t obey, he says louder, “For fuck’s sake, do what you’re told. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be. Either you sit, or Mace and Thunder will put you in the fuckin’ chair.”

  As the sergeant-at-arms flexes his not inconsiderable muscles, Runt, lacking in that department, has a look of defeat in his eyes. He takes the couple of steps necessary, his feet tapping against the plastic, and, at last, sits, perching on the edge of the chair looking decidedly uncomfortable.

  I lean against a workbench. It’s covered in tools, all used for one purpose. To get information. I’m only hoping we won’t be using them on an innocent man. Folding my arms across my chest, I let Demon take the lead.

  He doesn’t waste time in asking his first question. “Why did you leave a dead body behind Tits Up?”

  Runt startles. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. I examine his face, watching for any sign of guilt.

  “What the fuck are you talkin’ about, VP? I didn’t.”

  “Where did you find him? Did you go lookin’, or was it just opportune?” Thunder asks questions of his own.

  I’d like to know if it was premeditated too.

  “I didn’t find him. I didn’t go lookin’. Why the fuck are you asking me these questions?”

  Demon looms over him. “Who are you workin’ with?”

  If I hadn’t had such strong suspicions, I’d have believed his half-sobbed response. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ about. I’m workin’ my ass off for this club to get my patch. I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

  The prospect’s eyes are flicking wildly between us. It’s debatable how much damage he’s doing to his ass with the amount of work he does, but he’s still trying to get us to believe all he wants is that patch he’s chasing.

  “Fuckin’ funny way to try to get your patch, Prospect,” Thunder approaches him. “Causin’ trouble for the club.”

  “I’m not causin’ trouble for the club.” Runt’s voice rises. “The dead body had nothing to do with me.”

  “Who did you sell those parts to?”

  “What fuckin’ parts?” Runt cries out.

  “The parts stolen from the auto-shop. You knew they’d been delivered. You were the fuckin’ one to unload them.”

  Runt looks distressed. “I did what I normally do. I helped Pyro when he added them to the stock. Then I didn’t touch them again.”

  Demon leaves him and crosses to me. “Without an admission, we’ve got nothing concrete on him.”

  I wipe my hands over my face, drawing my cheeks down with my fingers. This isn’t something I’m going to enjoy. “Won’t get anything from him without persuasion, VP.” I spare a glance for the man in the chair. “He’s not stupid. If he admits it was him doing that shit, he’ll end up hurtin’, or dead.” We don’t take betrayal lightly. We can’t. It would make us look weak to simply banish him from the club. “We’re on lockdown because of what he’s done. Need to clear this up so people can start living their lives again.”

  “It might not be him,” Demon reminds me.

  “It might not. At the moment, I don’t believe him.”

  My son, brother, stares at me, then after a moment, he raises his chin. “I’ve not heard enough to make up my mind one way or the other. Thing is, it all points to him, doesn’t it?” He lets out a sigh. “Let’s fuckin’ hope we’ve got this right.” Without turning, his eyes still on me, he calls out. “String him up, Brothers.”

  “What? No!” Runt starts protesting loudly. “I’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve got to believe me. I’d never hurt the club. No, please.” The last is almost a scream as Mace and Thunder, none too gently, loop a rope through his already bound hands, and winch his arms up behind him.

  As Thunder kicks the chair away, Runt’s leaning forward. In that position it won’t be long before his shoulders are screaming.

  “I’ve done nothing wrong,” he shouts. “Nothing.”

  “Need the fuckin’ truth.” Demon’s now moved over and is facing him. “Might not have anything to link you to the body, but you were one of the few people to know those custom parts were delivered, and you were the only person who was out front when you got shot.”

  “I was shot,” Runt repeats in a screech. “You can’t be suggestin’ I put myself in the line of fire? The way those bullets were flyin’ I could have been killed.”

  “Could have shot yourself.” Thunder shakes his head. Yeah, Demon and I had shared our suspicions. “Fuckin’ lucky the drive-by happened when everyone else was out back.”

  Demon nods at Mace, who yanks the winch.

  Runt screams in pain. “My shoulders. You’re fuckin’ dislocatin’ them. Oh, man. Let me down. It fuckin’ hurts.”

  “One way to get us to stop, Prospect. Give us something to make us believe you.”

  “I can’t,” Runt sobs, then cries out, “I don’t know anything. I didn’t do anything. Oh, fuck, no. Please stop.” Tears, either of pain, or in realisation of the seriousness of his situation, start to leak from his eyes and roll down his face.

  Mace steps over to the workbench. The look he gives me is full of distaste for what he’s about to do. Christ, torturing our enemies is bad enough, but one of our own? Someone we thought we could trust? I acknowledge the expression he’s wearing, then step to the side to give him room to choose which implement he’s going to use.

  “No!” Runt screams as my movement has brought his attention to the tools I’d previously been hiding. “No, please God, no!”

  The VP holds out his hand, motioning Mace to stay where he is. “Runt. A dead body on our premises, a theft of a few hundred dollars of shit. A shootin’ where only you got hurt. Apart from the resultin’ lockdown that’s been inconvenient, you haven’t brought serious damage to the club yet.” He pauses, to let that sink in. “Admit it was you. Give us the reason. Tell us who you are workin’ with. You won’t make a patched member, but you’ll leave here alive. I promise you that.” Another brief period of silence. “Tell us the truth and this stops right now.”

  Runt’s shaking his head. Demon indicates Mace to come forward. Suddenly Runt’s shouting again. “I can’t fuckin’ tell you what isn’t true. I can’t make up the reason I did what you accuse me of as I didn’t fuckin’ do it. I’m not workin’ with anyone so I can’t tell you their fuckin’ name. You’re going to kill me for no reason. However much you hurt me, I can’t say anything you want to hear.

  “I’ve not been the best prospect, I know that. But I fuckin’ love this club. I’ll do anything to become a member. This is the life I want. I’d never do anything to jeopardise that.” He pauses, looks between us, pleading eyes resting on us one by one. “Don’t do this. There’s nothing I can tell you unless I make shit up. You don’t want me as a prospect? Will fuckin’ kill me, but I’ll leave today. You just got to believe me, I’d do nothing to hurt this club.”

  I don’t believe him. That’s the problem. Demon looks at me, sadly I shake my head. Then Mace is moving forward again. Seeing what he’s holding, Thunder nods, moves behind Runt and takes a firm hold of his hand.

  The enforcer’s carrying pliers. “One last chance, Runt. Or say goodbye to your fingernails. Hurts like shit, or so I’m told.”

  Runt’s sobbing loudly, aware there’s nothing he can say to convince us. Reluctantly I’m impressed as his resolve to stay quiet.

  “Wait,” says Demon. Mace pauses. “Anyone got a hold over you, boy? Someone you’re afraid of more than us? You working for someone with a grudge against the club?”

  As Runt’s mouth opens and closes, for a second I wonder if Demon’s on the right track. But when he shakes his head, I can’t tell if there is someone who he’s not
naming, or if he’s innocent of everything we’re accusing him of. It’s that doubt that turns my stomach. But there’s only one way to find out.

  “Get on with it, Mace,” I instruct.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Paladin

  “Jeez, Brother. You okay?”

  I take the hand Shooter’s holding out, gratefully accepting his help to get to my feet. Gingerly I shake out my arms, and check out my legs, flexing my limbs. I’ll have a good selection of bruises to come I expect, but nothing’s broken or permanently damaged.

  My bike though, that’s a mess. It’s scraped up badly. As I’ve been checking out my limbs, Shooter’s picked it up, and kicked down the stand. It leans forlornly.

  “Looks rideable,” Shooter says.

  “Stupid fuckin’ thing to do,” I curse myself. Should have been riding more carefully. But I’d been so anxious to get back to the club. The bend had been sharper than I’d expected.

  “Got a fuckin’ graze on your face, Brother. You bang your head?”

  Probably, yes, if the ringing in my ears is any indication. But I brush it off. “I’m fine to ride. Need to get back.”

  He looks at me carefully, then, clearly seeing nothing to worry him, goes to his bike. “Let’s get going then. We’ll take it easy. You feel dizzy we’ll pull over and stop. Not any real need to hurry, Pal. Taser won’t know we’re onto him.”

  Touching my hand to my scalp, I’m not surprised to feel the stickiness of blood. I ignore it, paying attention instead to the sense of urgency that’s eating away at my gut. Despite what Shooter’s said, I feel a strange need to get moving. I’ve got to get back. Point the finger in Taser’s direction. Let everyone know he’s gone bad. I have no idea of the reason, but expect there’s something in his closet that maybe others who’ve ridden beside him for longer will be able to find.

  Grimacing as I see the dent on my tank and fender, I start the engine. It roars, nothing, luckily seems wrong with it. Ignoring the various pains in my body, knowing they’re just superficial, I take off again, this time, keeping the speed down.

  I need to take this to an officer. Mace or Thunder. Demon if he’s around. I’d rather not go straight to Hellfire, but will if I have to. The burning intuition suggests there’s no time to waste. I’ve never trusted Taser, now I know he’s responsible for at least the break-in. The body dumping makes sense as well, he’d have fucking known those cameras weren’t showing the dumpster. As for who he was working with? Probably his cousin who benefited from the parts.

  While I don’t know why, I suspect his actions are going to escalate to something worse. No one goes against the club without good reason. It’s far too risky. Once started, it’s something that needs to be finished. He’s got some plan, it’s down to me to make sure he doesn’t complete it.

  Wills opens the gate allowing Shooter and I onto the compound. We park.

  “Got to make sure someone knows about this, Brother.”

  My chin raise is the only answer he gets.

  Hellfire had called church for later, so the number of brothers milling around doesn’t surprise me. Pyro acknowledges me with a raise of his hand. Taser’s holding court by the bar with Lizard and Ink. One by one my eyes roam over my brothers, but I see none of the four men I want. I do notice music is playing loudly.

  Shooter raises his eyebrow; I shake my head. Rusty is sitting by the end of the bar, his sharp eyes have spotted my injuries. He stands and approaches leaning in close so he can be heard over AC/DC. “What the fuck happened? What does the other guy look like?”

  Shooter grins. “The ground came off best.”

  “Huh. Landed dirty side down?” Rusty’s hand lands on my shoulder, and his eyes examine me. “You alright, lad?”

  I don’t respond wanting to waste no time reassuring him, neither have I time for him to check me out. I brush away his touch and concern. “Rusty, I need to speak to one of the officers. Is Hell in his office.”

  The old-timer tilts his head. “Urgent?” It must have been in the tone of my voice.

  “Nothing more.”

  He leans in closer. “These old eyes see a lot. Can put two and two together. Reckon Prez has found our traitor. Saw him, Mace, the VP and Thunder a while ago, looks like they had their man.” He taps his head. “After all these years, not much passes me by.”

  But Taser’s at the bar with a drink in his hand. Unless there’s more than one, Prez is questioning the wrong person.

  “Rusty. I need to see them. Now. Where the fuck are they?”

  His hand points downwards. “In the basement. Doubt they want to be disturbed.”

  “Shoot, you with me?” Then I leave Rusty with his jaw dropping, and push my way through brothers and women, heading for the cellar that I know is set up in a remarkably similar way to our storeroom back in Tucson.

  With my brother at my heels, I race down the steps. The door’s locked. I bang on it loudly. When that doesn’t work, I try to kick it down.

  Just when I’m wondering about the ricochet if I try to shoot the lock out, the door opens. Prez is standing there, a thunderous look on his face.

  “No interruptions,” he snarls.

  Looking past him I can see Runt strung up, tears rolling down his face, Mace, Thunder and the VP surrounding him. Their faces, turned toward me, all look furious.

  Leaning forward, I tell Prez, “You’ve got the wrong fuckin’ man. Runt’s not behind this. Or not the lead, anyway.” Belatedly I admit he could have played a part.

  “Who the fuck is then?” Prez’s eyes blaze. “You better have something to back yourself up.”

  “Oh, I’ve got evidence,” I tell him. “It’s Taser.”

  He rears back. Then gets into my face. “You’ve had a fuckin’ downer on Taser since you’ve been here.”

  “I need to tell you what I know, Prez. Shooter was with me. He can back me up.”

  “What the fuck’s holdin’ us up, Prez?” The VP’s walked over.

  Hellfire turns. “Pal thinks Runt is innocent. Says he’s got shit to prove it’s someone else.”

  “Yeah?” Demon turns, looks at the man who’s strung up and weeping. He pinches the bridge of his nose as he spins back. “Think we ought to hear it, Prez.”

  I wait. Hellfire thinks. Then he calls to Thunder and Mace. “Get him down. Tie him to the chair so he can’t escape, then come to my office.”

  Only minutes later, Shooter and I are standing in front of Prez’s desk. The spare chairs occupied by Demon and Mace. Thunder’s standing at my back. From the things they’ve been saying, I got back just in time to stop Runt being tortured. Now I know what that feeling of urgency driving me was. I may not like the prospect, but he doesn’t deserve to be put through a fuck load of pain if he’s innocent.

  “Talk to me,” Prez instructs.

  It only takes a few minutes to go over my story.

  Demon lowers his head into his hands. “So,” he glances again at the pictures on my phone. “You’re pretty certain these are the parts that were stolen.” He looks at the Prez. “Only proves he was responsible for the break-in. The other shit happening the same night could be a coincidence.”

  Hell’s shaking his head. “How much were those parts worth again?”

  “Two, three hundred dollars.”

  Thunder speaks up. “Not a lot in monetary value, Prez. But we lost business because of it. Promised a customer we’d deliver, didn’t have the parts to put on his bike. Loud-mouthed asshole, been bad-mouthing us across the city. Says we’re a bunch of cowboys who don’t know shit about running an auto-shop. He wanted those parts as he was showing his bike the next weekend at some festival or other.”

  “Bad luck it was him, or…”

  “Or Taser knew the effect it would have.”

  Prez doesn’t seem convinced. “Pal, you’re new here. You might think you’ve added two and two together correctly, but you don’t know our brother like we do.”

  “Hang on a moment, Prez.
” Mace raises his hand. “Taser was pretty cut up when he didn’t make Enforcer.”

  “But he’s moved on. Got over it,” Thunder objects.

  “Has he?” asks Demon. “He was quick to throw his hat in the ring after Ingot died.”

  “Ingot was your old enforcer?” Shooter asks.

  Prez throws him a look as if wondering why he’s spoken. But Drummer always encouraged all members to speak up. He answers him anyway. “Yeah, we lost Ingot about six months back.”

  “How did he die?” Shooter continues.

  “Fuckin’ hit and run. Never found the fucker who killed him.” Mace sounds like he’s still upset about it.

  “So your, our, troubles started then.” I throw in.

  Four sets of eyes find me. “It’s not linked.”

  “Are you sure?” I hold my hands up in a submissive gesture. “Look, I know I’ve not been here long. I’m lookin’ at this objectively.” Thinking I look like Drummer—well, perhaps I learned from the best—I start pulling at my fingers. “One, the enforcer was killed, two, Taser wanted to become an officer, he didn’t get the position. Three, someone wants to cause trouble for the club. Four, you don’t know of anyone on the outside with a grudge, so are looking inwards. Five, we’ve got Taser linked to at least one incident, and in my mind two as Taser wasn’t particularly happy I’d found the body.”

  “Someone else would have,” Thunder breaks in.

  “With rubbish being thrown on top of it? We’ve gone through this before. It was lucky I found it when I did, and before the dumpster was taken away and emptied.”

  The VP’s looking at me carefully. “You don’t like Taser. He accused you.”

  “Six,” I pull on another finger while watching Demon, “Taser accused me. Which he would if he was responsible, to get attention away from him.”

  “Runt?” Hellfire tosses the name out, it seems hopefully.

  “I don’t particularly like the fucker, but that’s personal. Remember, he got shot. I heard the gunshots from the drive-by. It was an automatic rifle on rapid fire. The shooter couldn’t have aimed accurately. Only answer is that he shot himself, and I don’t think he’s got the guts to do that. I wouldn’t have.”