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

by Manda Mellett

  She sobs, then tries to angrily wipe the tears away. “You don’t want me, do you?”

  “It’s not you, Sal, it’s my job.” She’s given me an out, I’m a weak man, I can’t take it. I don’t want her to think there’s anything wrong with her.

  “You’ll come back to visit?”

  I can’t even promise her that. “I don’t know if I’ll have the time.”

  “And how long will you be away for?”

  “I don’t know.”

  A little gasp, then she forces the issue. “You’re not coming back, are you?”

  “I’m coming back.” My tone is positive at that.

  “But not to me.”

  “Let’s see how things go, shall we?” I give a half smile. “You might not miss me at all.” When her mouth drops open, I step closer, gentling my voice. “Sal, I don’t want to lead you on, but it’s not working out how I thought. Maybe I’m not old man material.”

  But when she scoffs and says, “The old ‘it’s not you it’s me’ talk.” I realise I have to give her some of the truth.

  “It’s not you, it’s not me, it’s us, Sal. I know you think it’s working out, but it isn’t. The man I am around you, isn’t the man I want to be.”

  “Look, my last marriage wasn’t perfect. Maybe I’m trying too hard to be the good wife I thought you’d want. I can change Beef. Give me a chance.”

  But she couldn’t change into the woman I need her to be. Someone more adventurous, someone who wants to be part of my life rather than just fitting me in as part of hers. “If nothing else, Sal, this time apart will give us a chance to examine our feelings for each other.”

  “I know mine. I love you.”

  But she doesn’t, not really. She loves the idea of a man who comes home to her each night. And the most I’ve got going for me is that I don’t use my fists on her. Not the ideal for a perfect relationship. I don’t reply. I can’t say I love her back. I never have, and while I tried hard, now I know, I never will.

  Had I led her on? Maybe. But as Drummer said, she was the one chasing me. I’d agreed to move in until she settled and got comfortable, not realising that time would never come. I’ve got my escape route now. I’m going to use it.

  “Let’s sleep on it. Things will look different in the morning. I’m going to bed. You coming with me?”

  She doesn’t get it or won’t accept it. A few hours aren’t going to change my mind. I don’t reply as she walks down the hall leaving me feeling like the biggest heel in the world. My brothers had made relationships look easy, but this experiment proves they’re not, at least for me. I’m taking this experience as a serious warning not to let another woman get close. I’ll do okay on my own. I’m off to a clubhouse of mainly single men. Sweet butts on tap. That will do for me. I never want to be in this position again. Nah. I gave a relationship a chance once, and it’s shown it isn’t for me. I wonder how my brothers do it, being at their old lady’s beck and call? Nope. Definitely not for me.

  The sounds of her using the bathroom fade, water running into the sink, a flush, then the bedroom door opens and shuts. I start walking around, looking at the shit of mine I moved in. A few Harley magazines, they go in the trash. A parts manual, that I’ll take. I open drawers and cabinets slowly realising how little of me is here. The remainder of my clothes I hadn’t already taken to the clubhouse, I’ll pack in the morning. Shooter volunteered to bring the truck to take what I can’t fit in my saddle bags and put it into storage at the club, but to be honest, there won’t be much.

  After puttering around for a while, I sit down on the couch, lean back my head and try to sleep.

  “You didn’t come to bed,” her accusing voice wakes me the next morning.

  “I thought you’d prefer to be on your own,” I lie. Then stand and stretch. “Shooter will be here soon, I’ll go grab my shit.” I don’t want to rehash last night’s conversation. I want to get out of here as fast as I can. It doesn’t take me long to get my toiletries from the bathroom, then separate my clothes into those I’m taking and those I’m leaving behind. There’s just one more thing I need to do.

  I take out my knife and slice the Tucson Chapter patch off my cut, then, raiding Sally’s sewing kit get a needle and thread and sew the Nomad one on instead. Christ, by the time I’ve finished I’ve pricked my finger more than once, as it’s hard to see through the tears that had fallen when I took off the Tucson insignia. The residual wetness on my face reminding me, I’m shedding none at the thought of leaving her.

  She tries one more time. “Am I still your old lady, Beef?”

  “Beef, you ready?” Shooter shouts from outside the door.

  “Give me a minute,” I respond, then turn back. “Sal. It’s been…” Good? Interesting? A lesson learned? “Say goodbye to the kids for me.”

  “Beef. Don’t go.”

  “I have to Sal. It’s what I’ve been asked to do. And to be honest, it’s best for us to have a break too.”

  “Will you be faithful?”

  What? Oh fuck, why did she have to go there? I’m itching for my cock to get the sort of workout it loves. I’m already salivating at the thoughts of the sweet butts in the Colorado club. “Sal, babe. I’ll be gone a while.”

  “No, Beef. You said we’re on a break, not that we’ve broken up. My feelings for you won’t change. I don’t want you sleeping with anyone else.”

  Not sleeping I can promise her. But that’s not fair.

  “Beef?” Shooter yells.

  “I’ve got to go, babe.” One more look at her face, and I know I have to leave her with something. With a silent apology to my dick, I offer the words she wants to hear. “I promise.”

  She goes on her tiptoes to kiss me. I turn my cheek so her lips press only against my skin, then, I open the door and leave. Shooter takes a bag of clothes and throws it in the back of the truck.

  I stand wiping my brow with my hand, then pass it down my face. I’m a fucking idiot with no one to blame but myself. I could simply have said the words, it’s over, yet couldn’t force them out of my mouth. I’m postponing the inevitable, not cancelling it. Well, I only got what I deserve.

  “Man, you look like shit,” Shooter tells me when he catches sight of my face. Thanks for that, friend. “You going to be okay for the ride?”

  I just toss him a glare. I could ride in my sleep, I’ll be fine. Right now I’m trying to get my head around the fact that I, an oversexed biker, have just promised to be celibate. For a woman I’ve no feelings for. She’ll never know. But I will.

  What a fucking mess.

  Rock and the others had wanted to give me an escort out of our territory, but I’d turned them down, wanting to start as I am meant to go on. I’m now nomad, a biker riding alone, best get used to it. It was tempting to ride one last time alongside my brothers, but I’d preferred to say my goodbyes at the clubhouse. There would never be a good time to part company.

  I follow Shooter as he drives back to the compound, but when he turns off, I carry straight on. I swear I have to fight my bike for a moment as it seems to want to steer in the direction of what I consider my true home.

  Instead, I resolutely face my bike north and keep my hand to the throttle.

  It’s an eleven-hour ride to Pueblo. I know, it was only a few weeks ago that I last rode there. At first, the sun on my face, the wind cooling my body, the pavement rolling by beneath my wheels gives me the sense of freedom I need. Slowly though, I’m twisting the nut to hold the throttle in position, as my hand starts to cramp. My ass begins to feel bruised, and the loneliness of riding without companions gets to me. I can’t remember when I last made a journey this long without riding with a pack, or at least one brother for company. But that’s what being a nomad means. I knew this when I accepted.

  Has it all been for nothing? Damn. My hand slaps my leg as I realise Sally’s still got me in her hold even though I’ll be eight hundred miles away.

  Nope. No old lady for me. Never again. Ne
ver letting someone close to me. My one example is still controlling me. Stupid, stupid Beef. I should have made the clean break then and there. Now I’ve committed to only my hand being on my cock.

  I pull over when a rainstorm gets too heavy, taking the opportunity to top both me and my tank off with fuel. Then it’s back on the road again as steam from the fast evaporating standing water starts to rise when the clouds clear.

  Weary, almost in a trance I arrive in Pueblo just when the sun’s beginning to set. A clock above a store front tells me it’s six-forty pm. I get lost and have to backtrack, see a distant sign and take a shortcut up a backstreet, wondering if I’ll be here long enough to feel familiar with the layout of the roads. I’m stopped at a junction, waiting for a safe gap in the traffic that’s steadily going past, knowing I’m too tired to take chances right now, when to my horror I take in the sight on the opposite side of the road. A car, moving fast, and mounting the sidewalk.

  “Get out of the way!” but my roared instruction is drowned out by the traffic. It’s as though I see it happen in slow motion. A girl, a woman, who the fuck knows, with her hand on a dog’s harness… Christ, the car’s heading straight for her. The vehicles continuing to roar past on the main road cause almost a strobe effect. My eyes can’t look away as I see the dog react, it pushes the woman, she falls…

  A woman’s startled cry. A piercing, ear-splitting heart-rending scream from the dog. The squeal of brakes, the shouting. I’m off my bike and tearing across the road dodging traffic that hasn’t bothered to stop. The woman is half sitting, half lying against a brick wall.

  I reach her before anyone else and appear to be the only one getting involved. The car which struck her is disappearing in the distance, hopefully someone took note of the licence plate.

  “You okay?” I snap.

  “My dog! Max. My dog.” She’s crying hysterically, repeatedly calling out the name. It’s when her hands start touching the pavement, feeling around her that I realise she’s blind, and that the dog who’s gone silent isn’t just a pet, it’s her lifeline.

  “Someone call a fuckin’ vet!” I yell out. “It’s an assistance dog.” I stand, the woman doesn’t seem to be badly hurt, more concerned and upset than anything else. Touching her briefly on the shoulder, I then go to the canine, expecting to find it dead. It saved her. If it hadn’t seen what was going on, she’d have taken a direct hit. She couldn’t have evaded it, literally wouldn’t have seen the car coming.

  The dog’s breathing. I don’t want to move or touch it. A man’s injuries I could assess, but the closest I’ve got to a dog is Grunt back in the Tucson clubhouse. I walk to a man who’s got his phone in his hand.

  “You called a fuckin’ vet?” I grab his jacket.

  “You’ll need to find one and take the dog to him,” a woman with her hand over her mouth tells me. She looks like she’s trying not to be sick. “Vet’s don’t come out.”

  “I called an ambulance, man.” The guy I’m holding looks scared out of his wits but manages to convey disgust that I seem to care more about the dog than the woman. But I’m pretty sure the car didn’t hit her, and that the dog has the more serious injuries. I’d had a prime seat from across the other side of the junction after all.

  With a wailing of sirens, an ambulance appears. The medics examine the woman and get her up.

  “Max. Max. Max? Where are you, boy?”

  “Ma’am, we’ve got to take you in. You seemed to have banged your head.”

  “I’m not leaving my dog. Where is he? I need to go to him.”

  “Ma’am.” I don’t know why I offer, it’s none of my business at all. But of the few people who’ve stopped, they all seem to lose interest now the woman’s got help. “I’ll stay with the dog, I’ll make sure I get a vet for him. Find out how he’s doing, then I’ll let you know. Where are you taking her?” I direct my question to the paramedic, and then mentally note his answer of the name of the hospital I’ll need help to find.

  “You promise?” Her head is tilted in my direction, locating me only by the sound of my voice, hers is full of desperation as she repeats. “You really promise? You’ll see he gets help?”

  “I promise.” My teeth are gritted. I’ve no reason to help. I’m tired as hell and want nothing more than a beer and a bed. But something about this situation gets to me, and I know I can’t walk away.

  “Is he, is he…?”

  “He’s breathing—” I start answering the question I know she’s asking in the only way I can. Then I pause. She seems to realise I’m asking a question.

  “Stevie.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s breathing Stevie. But unconscious.”

  “He’s my, he’s my…”

  “I know,” I say firmly, knowing she was going to tell me he wasn’t just a pet. “Believe me, I know.”

  “I want to stay with him.”

  I see the medic shaking his head, and again I find myself repeating a promise while half of me wonders why the fuck I’m getting involved. “I’ll stay with him. I’ll update you as soon as I know anything, but I won’t leave him alone.”

  What am I getting myself into? Instead of drinking with brothers in the clubhouse, I’ll probably be sitting in a waiting room. That’s if the dog survives a visit to the vet. A journey which at the moment, I’ve no idea how to take.

  She sniffs, loudly, making an effort to hold back the sobs which I can tell aren’t too far away. She holds out her hand in my general direction. When I grasp it, her fingers wrap around mine and squeeze. “I don’t know who you are, but I trust you. He, he’s my everything. Please do what you can to help.”

  As the medic takes her arm to lead her to the ambulance, I feel a loss when her hand leaves mine.

  Chapter Five

  It wasn’t how I envisioned my arrival in Pueblo. I wouldn’t have been surprised, as no biker turns down the opportunity for a party, that my visit to Pal may have been sufficient for a celebration to have been arranged. Satan’s Devils don’t need much of an excuse to break out the drink.

  Even if it was just to be a quiet night that would have been fine. What I hadn’t anticipated was to have taken responsibility for a Labrador retriever who’s currently lying injured or quite possibly dying at my feet. Quickly I compute my options and know I can’t do this alone. Taking my phone out of my cut, I place a call.

  “Pal… Yeah, look. I’m here… Yes. But I fuckin’ need help.” I go on to explain the situation. Pal might be young, but as soon as he knows what the emergency is, thank fuck he stops asking questions and simply wants my location. Looking around, how the fuck do I know what street I’m on? I give him enough clues to guess, and he agrees to come meet me.

  He pulls up with another brother on his bike, and a prospect and someone else in a truck. It’s my luck the clubhouse isn’t far away, and they arrive fast. I’m relieved help has now arrived, as my bike’s still where I left it, abandoned on the opposite side of the junction. I couldn’t move it as I didn’t want to leave the dog. I recognise Pyro as the man who’s come with Pal and nod my thanks as he immediately goes over to wheel it across the road.

  “I brought Rusty,” Pal points to the man beside him. I nod, recognising him as someone I’d fought beside just a few weeks back. “He’s our medic. Thought he might be able to help.”

  Wasting no time, Rusty kneels beside the stricken dog. After a moment he looks up. “He’s still breathing, but I’m no vet. Wouldn’t know where to fuckin’ start.”

  “Know where we should take him?”

  Rusty scratches his head. “Not had any reason to go see an animal doctor.”

  Pal’s tapping at his phone. “According to Google, there’s one quite close. Whether he’s any good or not…”

  “Let’s go.” Having stated my intent, I eye the dog. If it had been a man, I’d have been able to assess better how to pick him up without doing more damage. A fucking dog? I’ve no idea. All I know is my promise to Stevie, a blind woman who I’ve only jus
t met.

  Rusty’s looking at me and shaking his head as I hesitate. “Thought we were going.”

  “I don’t want to hurt him worse,” I reply lamely.

  “Fuck, man.” He throws me a scathing look, and immediately bends down, huffing as he picks up the eighty or so pound dog.

  The dog makes no sound or movement as he’s lifted into the air, then placed on the rear seat of the truck. That, to me, doesn’t seem to be a good sign.

  “Just called the vet.” Pal’s in the process of sliding his phone back into his cut. “It’s good timing. He’s finishing up his consultations and will be ready for us.”

  “He sound like he knows what he’s doing?”

  Pal’s eyes widen. “How the fuck should I know?”

  I have no idea what to do with an injured animal, or whether a service dog should go to a specialist hospital or not. I go to my ride that Pyro had rescued from the other side of the road and am right behind the prospect and the truck as he pulls away, glad to see he’s got the sense to move off gently. I’m surprised when two bikes fall in behind me. While Rusty’s making his way back to the club, it looks like Pal and Pyro are coming to keep me company. Can’t say I object to that. Whatever chapter we’re from, Devils are Devils, it’s good to have my brothers at my back.

  “Leave him,” I instruct the prospect sharply, when he opens the back door of the truck after we arrive at the veterinary hospital. Not wanting to move Max and hurt him further, I walk inside to see if I can find someone to help. It’s only a small place. There’s a woman in scrubs at reception, it looks like she doubles as a nurse.

  Her eyes widen when she sees me, and I’m not surprised. I’m a big man and I’m wearing a leather cut, clearly denoting I’m a member of an MC. It’s such a common reaction I barely register her taking a step closer to the phone as if ready to summon help.

  “Er, can I help?”

  “Got a dog outside. Hit by a car. Needs attention. We rang…”

  “That the service dog?” At my nod she becomes all business. “Hang on, I’ll get James.” Now she knows we’re not here to rob the place, her attitude completely changes. A man rushes out of the back and passes with barely a glance at me. Within moments they’ve got Max on some sort of gurney and are wheeling him inside.