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

by Manda Mellett

  He inhales, then breathes out smoke. “What did you think?”

  Taking a moment to give his question some serious consideration, I glance around me. Devil’s Ink was one of the first businesses to be opened back in the eighties when the motorcycle club became established in Pueblo, even pre-dating the merger with the Satan’s Devils. The building itself has seen better days, and the location, well, life has moved on, leaving the shop behind, with the result that it’s no longer getting the foot traffic it once attracted. Lizard, as manager and chief ink-slinger, is on the right track with his proposal to move into a more affluent part of town.

  “Tattoos are more popular than ever.” He fills the silence, mistakenly believing I’m not seeing things in the same way as him. “It’s no longer just bikers and military types. People from all walks of life, a lot of women as well. We need somewhere modern, with more room. Extend our piercing services, too.”

  His last suggestion, offered with a wink, makes me grin. Yeah, clit and nipple piercings are definitely on the up. Cock piercings, too. Personally, I say fuck that shit. I can satisfy a woman enough without putting my dick out of commission for a few months and taking the risk of having to spend the rest of my life pissing sitting down. But there are a few of the brothers that swear by them.

  “If we move, Liz,” I speak at last, “I’d definitely like to look at expansion. Get another artist or two. A woman to handle some of the more personal shit.”

  “You spoil all my fun.” But he’s said it only because it was expected. Lizard’s a good man. His throwaway lines hide a seriousness underneath. Previously a Marine, he earned his handle for his ability to stay so still he fades into the background, then to move and pounce startlingly fast. He gave up objecting to how we often shorten his name to the ill-fitting female form years ago. Whatever his moniker, Liz lives and breathes the club, always putting his brothers’ interests way ahead of his own.

  It doesn’t take long to make up my mind. “Bring it to the table. I’ll back you.”

  His quick up-and-down of his head shows my response hasn’t surprised him; it would be hard to find an objection. “Already spoken to Buzzard. He’s looking at the financial implications.”

  I’m not unhappy that Lizard has approached the treasurer before speaking to me. If we couldn’t afford the move, it would be a non-starter. “You looked at the projections?”

  “Yeah, I reckon we could increase our takings enough to pay for a couple of extra hands. Buzz agrees.” For years now, it’s just been Liz, another tattooist and a part-time receptionist.

  “Should be a formality, then.” I watch as Liz makes sure he’s locked the door. “You gonna show me this new place now?” My question needs no reply. It’s the reason I’ve come along after all.

  Getting on our bikes, we ride the short distance to the new mall in town. It’s a mix of large businesses with some artisan shops as well. Lizard is proposing we lease one on the end. It’s located close to a hair and makeup salon. Not too near to put more manly types off, but with the right displays in the window, we could attract the feminine trade as well. Liz is already adept at inking unicorns and fairies.

  The club’s tattooist opens the door with the keys the real estate agent had given him. There’s not much to see. The shop’s devoid of anything inside, bare walls still smelling of paint, plain concrete on the floor. It’s a good size and the rent isn't extortionate; priced to attract new business, not to put it off. Liz starts pointing out where the drywall would go to give privacy for the cubicles, still leaving a good-sized reception area as well. It will be his baby, and I let him rattle on as, excitedly, along with lots of gesticulations, he brings his vision to life already knowing he’ll have my vote if Buzzard is indeed on board with the costings.

  When he runs out of steam, I slap him on the back. “Good work finding this, Brother,” I tell him at last, when he’s run out of things to offer to persuade me. “Bring it up in church. We can do the internals ourselves.”

  Lizard beaming, pleased that my endorsement is one step closer to bringing his project to fruition, we at last exit what, hopefully, will be our new premises, stepping outside into the sunlight. While I glance around, noting that the large parking lot would be good for customers, he bounces the shop keys in his hands.

  “Best get these back to the agent.”

  I nod, distracted. My attention has been caught by a blonde head walking past pushing a stroller. Is that…? My eyes crease. I’m sure it is.

  “Liz, I’ll catch up with you later,” I toss quickly over my shoulder.

  Whether it’s who I think or not, I know I’m going to have to make sure. I didn’t know she had a baby. Maybe looking after it for someone else? Fuck. How many years since I last checked up on her? I wouldn’t know if she’d gotten married or not. If it’s her, what’s she doing back in Pueblo? And, why didn’t I know she was here?

  As Lizard nods and goes off in the other direction, I quicken my step, heading the way the woman had gone. It certainly looks like Violet Palmer, but I need to get closer to make sure. I’m assailed by guilt, remembering the promise I’d made to her brother to look out for her. I’d followed her progress through college from afar, getting information from mutual friends. When she graduated and moved out of state, appearing to be settled, she’d gone out of my mind. It dawns on me I probably haven’t spared her a thought for what must be all of three years, if not more.

  The blonde-haired woman pauses to look into a shop window. My steps come closer together in an effort to catch up. In profile, she even more resembles the sister of my dead friend. So intent on a display she’s examining, she jumps when my shadow falls over her.

  “Violet? Is that you?” I say quickly. A large tattooed biker would likely scare a young mother if she’s not who I think she is. If I’ve made a mistake, I’ll back off fast.

  She swings around. One glance into those vivid blue eyes and I know I have the right woman. I’m perplexed when she looks scared, those brilliant orbs looking right and left as if seeking an escape route. Her reaction is puzzling, I’d have expected a welcome. But then, it has been a few years. What do I know of her nowadays? I’m wearing my cut and she might not want to be seen with a biker.

  My promise to her brother, however much overlooked, means I don’t want to leave without some kind of conversation, at least a belated check-in to make sure she’s okay.

  “Violet.” I repeat her name. “I didn’t realise you were back in Pueblo. Why the fuck didn’t you let me know you were here?”

  A purse of her lips, a little sigh of capitulation as she sees she’s not going to be able to evade this confrontation, then words finally leave her mouth. “Dave,” she acknowledges, for some reason more than a little reluctantly. “I’ve been back a year and a half.” Her hands gesture meaninglessly. “I didn’t know I had to check in with you. Nathan was the only connection we ever had between us.”

  My fingers pinch the bridge of my nose. For some reason, her statement and the tone in which it’s delivered, upsets me, leaving me with the feeling I’ve let her down.

  “It’s on me, Vi, I should have made more of an effort to stay in contact. I promised Nathan I’d watch out for you.”

  She startles, and a frown shapes her features. “Whether you pledged that or not was between you and him, and in the end, you didn’t.” Pain covers her face for a second, then with another little shake, she shrugs whatever is troubling her off. “There was no need. I’ve done fine without you, David.”

  I can’t read her. It’s as if I’ve annoyed her. As if I’ve failed her. The thought doesn’t sit well with me.

  Her hands take the stroller again, and she begins to wheel away what a brief glimpse showed me is a sleeping baby. I don’t want to let her go, not until I’m satisfied that all’s well in her world, just as I’d have wanted Nathan to do for my own sister.

  “Hey, wait up.” Again I follow her, and wrap my fingers around the handle of the stroller, halting her prog
ress. Pointing down to the quiet bundle, I pry for information. “You’re married?”

  “No.” She doesn’t offer a lie, but the truth without explanation, while looking a combination of cross and apprehensive as her eyes scan our surroundings. Mine do likewise. If there’s a security guard or cop in the vicinity, a burly biker in his cut might be questioned as to why he’s upsetting a young mother.

  Having expected an exuberant welcome, this reaction is not what I predicted from Violet. While I knew what she was doing for the first few years, I hadn’t actually seen her in person since the funeral. When I’d approached, I’d anticipated her delight at seeing me again, that her behaviour would have resembled what it would have been all those years ago. Back then, she’d been an annoying kid sister trying to tag along with her older brother and his friend. I’d been the same age as Nathan, Violet ten years younger; the gap large enough to be both frustrating and amusing. The kid had had a crush on me from the time she’d turned a teen, her efforts to flirt at that time irritating. Now it seems such attraction has faded in the intervening years. That should have been comforting, but seeing her today, grown into a beautiful woman, for some reason her lack of interest annoys me.

  Wanting to continue the exchange, or at least to leave on better footing, I peer down at the blanket covering the bundle in the stroller. “Boy or girl?”

  She replies hesitantly, as though not even wanting to give me that much information. “Boy.”

  Age? Name? Father? A multitude of questions sit on the tip of my tongue but remain unasked. To let them spill would be more like an interrogation. But I can’t let her walk away, not like this. Now I’ve seen her, it won’t be possible to forget her so easily. Not now I’ve got a sense of unease warning me something isn’t right. Quickly I scan my surroundings. There’s a coffee shop newly-opened across the way. I point to it. “You got time for a quick coffee, Violet? Or have you got somewhere you need to be?”

  She’s reluctant, but she could never lie to me or Nathan. Oh, she’d tried, but her tells always gave her away. Her cheeks would redden and her eyes would refuse to meet ours. “Mom said to tell you, you had to take me with you.” Yeah, right. The memory makes me smile. She’d tried that one more than once, both her brother and I knowing their mother had issued no such instruction. But often, her pout would sway us, and we’d more often than not let her tag along.

  For a second her cheeks flush, then her shoulders slump in defeat, accepting that now I’ve made contact, she won’t easily get rid of me. “Yeah, okay. Just a quick coffee. He’ll be waking soon and will need feeding.”

  I’ve not been around babies, never seen any in my future, so am relieved the bundle in the stroller remains quiet as we enter the coffee shop and place our orders. I’m not surprised we both order the same. My taste for black with one sugar was honed when I was a teenager, and a copycat child developed a liking for the same. It’s odd, but I find I’m pleased. At least in this, she hasn’t changed over the years. My lips curve as I recall her grimace when she’d taken that first long-ago sip. But she’d obviously persevered, and now it seems to be habit.

  We find a table with space for the stroller. The silence is awkward.

  “He’s good,” I point out, for lack of anything else to say.

  From my limited experience, I don’t know if it’s not unusual that she doesn’t at least move the blanket to check he’s okay, but then I suppose it’s probably as true for babies as it is for dogs: if they’re sleeping, you let them lie.

  “He has a good set of lungs when he’s hungry.” Without one glance the baby’s way, she picks up her coffee, blowing on it to cool it.

  I’ve leapt to assumptions, I realise. “Is he yours?” I belatedly enquire.

  Another unreadable expression, then, slightly fiercely, an odd response. “All mine.”

  “What’s his name?”

  She takes so long to answer, I start to think she might have forgotten, or be thinking up a lie. But if that’s so, for the life of me I couldn’t think of a reason. Eventually, just before I have to prompt her, she quietly replies, “Theo. He’s five months, to save you the bother of asking.”

  I’m curious. There’s so much she’s not telling me. I take a few swallows to re-caffeinate myself. “The father?”

  “Not in the picture.” This response comes quickly.

  Too quickly? I vacillate between an unexpected elation that she has no man tagging after her, or not the one that’s fathered her child at least, and rage that someone impregnated her and presumably left her. A hundred things come into my mind that I want to say.

  I settle for a casual, “Want me to kill him?”

  A laugh’s startled out of her. Another one of those vacant expressions follows her momentary mirth. Then she gives my question the weight it deserves. Absolutely zero. In her world, the citizen world, killing is not the answer. In mine, it often is the quickest way to get a problem under control.

  I turn to a safer subject. “You were living in New York, last I heard. Thought you were settled there?”

  She sighs. “Dave, I know Nathan asked you to look out for me, but that was when I was still a little girl. He’s been gone nine years now.”

  Her reminder makes me frown. I’m only too well aware of the time that the calendar says has passed, though often it seems just like yesterday. My childhood friend, best friend since kindergarten, had followed his dreams. While I’d gone into the motorcycle club, to eventually rise through the ranks to become president, Nathan had become a Marine. He’d been destined for good things, was going to be in the service for life. It had been all he’d ever wanted. He’d lasted eight years until he’d been taken out by a sniper over in Afghanistan. He’d been twenty-six when he died. His sudden and unexpected death shocks me to this day. His life cut so short, mine left with a fucking giant hole in it. A loss to me, his family and his country, while I, an outlaw biker, still breathed. The universe must have a warped sense of humour.

  “I promised Nathan, and I let him down.” My lips thin. “I’m sorry, Vi. I should have made more of an effort to stay in contact.”

  A glance at my face shows there’s no point in her again denying it. Instead, she focuses on offering absolution.

  “Dave, I’m a grown woman. My life has nothing to do with you.” She sips her coffee again. “After Nathan died, I moved on. As you said, I ended up in New York. Okay, so yeah, I was settled and happy. Got my degree and the dream job. Shared an apartment with a girl friend. Then, my roommate found a man and moved out. It became a bit of a struggle, rents being what they are, but I was managing. Meant I couldn’t save, though.” Her hand smooths back her hair which has dropped over her face. “So when the axe fell and the company had to cut jobs, last in, first out, you know how it goes. Well, I hadn’t any funds behind me, couldn’t afford to stay in New York, so I came back here.”

  “You working in Pueblo?”

  Her eyes close briefly. “Couldn’t find much, took shifts as a barista while I was searching for something where I could use my skills. Then…” Her nod at the stroller tells me all I want to know. “Well, he wasn’t in the cards when I first came back.”

  I do the math. Nine months pregnant, five months born. Fifteen months? She’s been here for that long and I hadn’t known it?

  Sending up a belated apology to Nathan for having neglected her, I continue my inquisition. “You living with your folks?”

  A blank look, then a nod, a half-smile. I raise and dip my head in return. At least she’s not on her own. Whatever the situation, her parents are decent enough and will look after her. See, Nathan? I’ve checked in. She’s fine. I won’t leave it so long next time. But she’s doing okay.

  Both our coffee cups are empty. There’s a twitch from under the blanket in the stroller. Violet notices. “I’ve got to go.”

  She wastes no time standing. I cover her hand with mine as she goes to manoeuvre the stroller.

  “Here, Vi. Take my number. If you need anyth
ing, let me know.”

  Looking more like she wants to refuse, but fast realising it’s easier to give in, she takes out her phone, which I notice is a cheap basic model. As I rattle off the digits, she taps them in. There’s no offer to give me hers in return, which, after the way this meeting has gone, doesn’t surprise nor bother me. I’ll get our computer guy, Cad, onto finding out all there is to know about her. Any secrets she’s buried, he’ll ferret them out.

  I stay seated at the table as she disappears into the street. I hadn’t offered to escort her to her car, sensing she’d already found my presence too intrusive.

  Instead, I take a moment to gather my thoughts.

  I’d felt elation when I realised it was her, then sorrow at a reminder I’d been remiss in my duties. Pleasure that I had a chance to belatedly fulfil the promise I’d made to her brother, followed by disappointment when my pleasure hadn’t been reciprocated, then puzzlement at her attitude toward her baby and her reticence in providing any information. As my eyes watch her until she disappears from sight, I realise that young Violet has evolved into both a beautiful woman and a mystery to be solved.

  Chapter Two

  Demon

  As prez, I, of course, head for my seat at the head of the table. While doing so, I glance around at all the filled seats, my eyes settling for a moment at the occupant of the chair at the opposite end to myself. He’s grinning, looking completely relaxed as he jokes with Rusty. The packet of cigarettes which would normally have been close to hand are nowhere in sight. Hellfire, the man who raised me, and the man who’d sat in the president’s seat until only recently, has made many changes in his life. Not least, stepping down from being president of the club.

  The changes have been good for both him and my mother.

  At first, I’d had doubts he’d be able to make a clean break. But after a couple of months in the top seat, I’m convinced there’s no way he’d say he made a mistake. In some ways I’m jealous he’s been able to walk away without looking back; only a madman would want to head up this particular asylum.