Ink's Devil: Satan's Devils MC Colorado Chapter #5

by Manda Mellett

  “Before 2015?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  The magic date. Seems like she could be in the clear. I ask another question to make sure. “Have you ever been arrested and fingerprinted?”

  “No,” she replies quickly, “I have not. Why the questions, Mace?”

  “Thank—” I start to say, but she’s speaking again. Now she sounds timid and scared as the implications sink in.

  “I haven’t been arrested but have had my fingerprints taken. A couple of years back we were burgled. They took both Mom’s and mine for the purpose of elimination.” She gives a squeak. “But surely they won’t have kept them?”

  Well, fuck. From what Cad says, nowadays once they have them, they go onto AFIS.

  Now she’s continuing, she sounds thoughtful as though she’s thinking back, “I wore gloves, Mace. My fingerprints aren’t on the packages. I made sure of that.” Her voice lightens as she remembers.

  “The bag. Where did that come from?” I want to cover all bases.

  “Oh, shit. The rucksack was mine. I’ve had it for years.”

  I think fast. “What was it made of?”

  “Canvas. With a plastic handle and strap.”

  Jeez. They can lift fingerprints from that. She might as well have placed a flashing neon sign over her head.

  “Will they be able to tell it’s mine?”

  Yes. “Look, Beth. Try not to worry. If they examine the bag, all they can tell is that you touched it, but not the drugs, okay? Let me take this back to Demon.”

  “Try not to worry?” Beth huffs, her incredulity coming down the line.

  “I, or someone, will call you back.”

  Returning to the meeting, I don’t waste time, knowing Beth and probably by now her mom, will be worrying themselves silly now they realise there’s something that links Beth to the crime.

  After I deliver the bad news, the prez and VP seem to have a conversation without words. Incongruously, it strikes me how well they’ve adjusted to working as a team, almost as smoothly as Hellfire and Demon used to. Thunder, while a great sergeant-at-arms never wore the VP hat so comfortably, whereas Beef seems a natural.

  At last Demon speaks, his forefinger touching his nose. “We could hide Beth and her mom which would scream their guilt, or they could stay home, and Beth could continue to go about her daily routine. She already knows she’s got to deny she had a relationship with Ink.”

  “How good an actor is she?” Hellfire asks. “If she can act normally, she could get away with it. There’s nothing for the cops to find if they search the house. And nothing to link her or Patsy to any wrongdoing.”

  “Except for the rucksack that would take them there in the first place,” I point out.

  “They threw it out? Good enough story, nothing to disprove? Or lost it?” Sparky suggests.

  Beef nods. “Yeah. Weak, but might throw them off the scent. I can’t see how they can charge a civilian with no record, no obvious need of money, nor signs of a habit with being in possession of heroin.”

  “She could say she gave the rucksack to Connor. Drop her brother in it?” Cad suggests.

  I purse my lips and shake my head. “If she’s telling the truth, she got into this as she thought her brother was in trouble. Doubt she’d want to offer him up, unless she has proof he set her up.”

  “We’ll deal with Connor,” Demon says tersely. “Don’t like any man, family or not, setting up females. Doesn’t matter if he had an excuse.”

  “Which leaves us with the problem of what happens when Connor finds the rest of his drugs are missing,” I observe. “Or whoever else is looking. Just how are we going to provide protection for Beth and her mom when the cops may turn up any moment, and we’re trying to deny there’s any relationship between them and the club?”

  Demon again does that characteristic thing where he’s thinking, then suddenly raises his chin. “I told them we’d send them protection, but I don’t like using any of us. Cops find a Devil in the house, it links her straight back.”

  “You’ve already got something cooking, haven’t you, Prez.” Beef leans back on his chair and waits.

  “Yeah. The new hangarounds.”

  “Dirt and Nails?” The VP waits for Demon’s nod. “Hmm. Early days, Prez. But Cad’s looked into them, seem pretty legit. Very intent on joining, even after Karl told them what they could expect. He laid it on pretty thick as well. I like your thinking. The benefit is, so far there’s nothing to link them to the club.”

  Thunder gives the Prez an ‘are you mad?’ look. “We haven’t been able to test them.”

  But Hellfire’s looking interested. “Dirt’s actually a plumber. A blocked sink gives him an excuse to be at that house if the cops turn up. All they need to do is be on-site to alert us to anything suspicious, and we’ll muster up support. And Beef’s right. Currently, they’ve nothing at all to do with us.”

  Prez thinks for a moment. “I can’t see anything else for it. Ink’s asked us to protect them, but we can’t give visible support. I want the records correct though. Get Patsy to place a call to Dirt’s business number asking for a plumber. Nails can go as his assistant. I want one of them there around the clock. Cops take their time to come? The excuse is that they’ve just arrived back with a part or something. Let them know, Beef, if they screw this up, there’s no chance of them wearing the Prospect rocker.”

  “Heaven help us if one of them is another Skull.” Thunder shakes his head.

  Cad waggles his hand. “Learned lessons from Skull. Dug deeper. That I couldn’t turn anything up doesn’t mean there was nothing to find, but I’m satisfied I’ve done what I can.”

  “Pyro can go visit with Mel. That wouldn’t look suspicious. Mel and Beth are best friends.”

  “I’m going to Denver,” Ro points out. “Not having Mel go there on her own, not when there could be someone searching for their stash.”

  No, he wouldn’t. Mel’s pregnant and he’s rightfully treating her like she could break. He wouldn’t risk this baby.

  “You’re right, Ro. Point taken.” Demon stands. “Let’s get all our pieces in place. Those of you going to the warehouse, get ready to roll. You’ve got a two-hour ride ahead.”

  But before any of us can get a chance to put our plans into action, there’s a commotion outside the door. Glances are quickly exchanged. You wouldn’t need to be a genius to gather from the yelling and shouting that as we expected, the cops have turned up.

  Demon takes a moment to let his best prez expression slide into place and then steps purposefully out. The rest of us follow.

  “Down on the floor. Keep your hands where we can see them.”

  Even old ladies and prospects aren’t exempt it would seem. Not my first raid, but it’s hardly top of my list of fun things to do. I catch sight of Beef glaring fiercely as Pyro helps Steph down, Max, dropping beside her gives a lick to her face as though to reassure her he’s close.

  There are cops with guns aimed at us, and two officers going around, handcuffing hands behind backs, and removing weapons. I catch Thunder’s eye and give a little shake of my head.

  “I presume you’ve a search warrant?” Demon asks, refusing to drop to the floor. “If so, I want to see it. If not, you can set my men free and leave.”

  A cop, obviously the leader of the team, steps forward as another wrenches Demon’s hands behind his back. “Oh, we’ve got a warrant alright. Saves us all time if you just tell us where you store the drugs.”

  “Nothing here, or on any of our premises,” Demon says, confidently. “Maybe some grass, but that’s legal in the state.”

  “We know the law,” the SWAT leader growls. “And that piece of paper shows we’ve got the rights to tear this place apart.”

  “And you’ll pay for every bit of damage,” Demon says seriously, clearly meaning it. “You’ve got no grounds to suspect the club of anything.”

  “Judge disagrees. Damon McNeish who’s in custody is a member of this club.�
�� With that, the SWAT team leader turns away.

  Grounds to search Ink’s room, but the whole club? Well, I bet they just love having an excuse.

  Belly flat to the floor, I raise my head and watch as another man enters, accompanied by an excited looking cocker spaniel, his tail wagging furiously. At least someone enjoys their job.

  Max rises to his feet, his hackles rising. I even hear a low growl come from his throat.

  “Keep that dog under control,” a cop barks out, “or I’ll fucking shoot him.”

  “He’s a seeing eye dog,” someone shouts back. I think it’s Pyro.

  “Down, Max,” Steph orders, and Max obeys, while still keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the intruder. He’s still grumbling, and his body’s vibrating. Guess he’s picking up a vibe from us and has taken a dislike to the canine cop.

  “Let your sniffer dog search,” Demon orders. “He won’t find anything here. Devils don’t have anything to do with drugs.”

  “No? Then why is one of your members sitting in jail on a drug charge?”

  “Because he was trying to help you do your fuckin’ job,” Demon snaps back, but his answer is ignored.

  It’s a waiting game now. First the dog sniffs each of us, the hair on the back of Max’s neck rising again when he gets too close.

  He’s just got to Thunder who’s at the end of the line when Bitch appears. Now Max might be able to be instructed to control himself around a four-legged interloper, but Bitch is under no such constraint. She flies across the room toward the strange dog and there’s a loud yelp.

  Followed by a shot and an agonised screaming meow. Fuck no! My reaction startles me. Fucking cat did not deserve that.

  I watch in horror as she gets to her feet, and staggers from the room, a trail of blood left in her wake. She’s not dead. Not yet.

  I think that action stunned us all more than the raid itself.

  “You bastards!” Beef roars.

  “Bitch! What’s happened?” Steph, an animal lover to the core cries out, clearly distressed.

  Someone reassures her that the cat is still alive, for now. Dying, I think to myself, surprised at the amount of anguish I feel for the feline who hates men.

  “Just get the fuck on with it and get gone. We need to take our pet to the vet,” Demon roars.

  “That cat attacked a valuable trained animal,” a cop says unrepentantly.

  “Your fuckin’ dog’s fine,” Demon snarls back. “He just got a scratch on his nose.”

  From the shocked and disgusted growls all around, I know everyone’s feeling the same way. We all pretend to hate the cat who only tolerates women and kids. She’d just turned up one day, such a misfit, we let her stay. We might not want to get close to her claws, but to think of her injured and dying, well, that’s just fucked up. Especially knowing the SWAT team will leave here finding nothing, unless they plant something, of course. That’s always a concern.

  “I’ll go find her,” offers Mel. “If they let me search.”

  “Look, my wife’s pregnant. Let her up,” Pyro pleads. “Let her go find the fuckin’ cat.”

  The pleading doesn’t work, of course, and our general mood worsens.

  Two fucking hours. Two hours they take to complete the search. I don’t even care about the mess they’re making, and I doubt I’m the only one to worry about finding Bitch dead at the end of it.

  The dog, fully recovered from the surprise smack around his nose, still has his tail wagging happily as his handler tosses a ball in the air for him as a reward. I care fuck all about that dog, it’s the cat I’m surprisingly worried about. Had anyone asked me earlier on today, I’d have said I couldn’t give a fuck if she was living or dead. Turns out, I haven’t yet run out of fucks.

  It’s obvious they haven’t found anything just by observing how they’re acting. But we told them from the start, Devils don’t touch drugs. Surely that must help Ink’s case? They’ve left such a mess everywhere, I hate to think what Ink’s room looks like, that they’ll have turned it inside out. Well, that’s what brothers are for. We’ll make sure it’s sorted before he comes home.

  One by one our handcuffs are removed but we’re told to stay down until they make their exit. In case we suddenly jump up and rush them, I suppose. Then, at last, they’re gone. Our weapons, all having been checked they’re legally owned, left in a box by the door.

  “Bitch!” Mel screams. Pyro holds her back, presumably not wanting her to get upset any more than she already is by finding a cat’s dead body.

  “I’ll go,” says Vi, then glares at Demon. “She’ll hate men even more now.”

  But I’m the one in the lead with Judge right behind me and Demon and Vi hot on my heels.

  I’m expecting to find a cold dead fur-covered body. The trail leads into a closet. I thrust the door open wide and find someone’s pushing a flashlight at me. I turn to see Judge, his features fixed, his brow furrowed. I nod, then flick the switch and the beam provides enough illumination for me to see Bitch paused, tongue half out, a paw held up which she’d clearly been in the process of calmly washing. I get a cat’s narrowed-eyed glare as if wondering why she’s being interrupted.

  Vi pushes me out of the way and steps up close, picking her up in her arms. Well, fuck me. The top half of one of her ears has been shot clean off, but otherwise she looks unharmed. It’s even stopped bleeding.

  Incredulously, I shake my head. “That cop must have been a lousy shot. Reckon she’s just lost another of her nine lives.”

  As Vi strokes her, examining whether she has any other injuries, she glances at me. “Doubt it was her first. And I think we need to take her to the vet to get her checked out, she might need a shot.”

  While that sounds a good idea, as Bitch hisses loudly when Vi moves her a little too close to me, I reckon she’ll need to make sure it’s a female vet.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Beth

  “I should go to the police.” I pause my pacing and turn to look at my mom who’s violently moving her head from side to side.

  “And get arrested for something that wasn’t your fault?” Mom spits back. “Anything you could say might just incriminate Ink further. And your brother as well.”

  “What else can I do? My fingerprints are on the rucksack…”

  “They should have destroyed them after the burglary. They might not have them at all.”

  I roll my eyes. “I don’t think that’s how it works, Mom. Isn’t it better to get in first with my side of the story? Or one I concoct that is.”

  “What would that be?” she interrupts. “That you found a package of drugs and just wondered around Pueblo trying to find the owner? You know what cops are like. They’ll try to trip you up, even if you’re telling the truth. Trying to keep to a complicated story will be too difficult. The truth would be hard enough for them to swallow.”

  She’s right. I know it. But it goes against the grain to think that Ink is sitting in jail for something he didn’t do. If they’re going to be coming after me anyway, there must be something I can do to swing it to free him.

  “Mom, I’ve told you. I had no choice—”

  “I doubt that’s the way they’d see it. We’ve been through this, Bethany. As soon as you feared Connor was in trouble, you should have contacted them. Not tried to sort it out for yourself. You should have at least told me what was going on.”

  “I couldn’t Mom. It would have upset you.”

  Her expression speaks volumes, telegraphing as if I’m not now. Then her shoulders rise, then fall and a quick sad grin covers her face. “I understand why you thought what you did was right. Bethany. I love both my children. I know Connor and I don’t see eye-to-eye at the moment, but I’m hoping in time he’ll become the man I know he can be if he just removes himself from the influence of his father.” Suddenly she stills. “That rucksack. When was the last time you used it, Beth?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Years?” I hate throwing stuff out, always
thinking it might come in handy one day. In fact, I’d forgotten all about it until I needed something to carry the packages in. Mom’s tapping her fingers to her mouth. “What are you thinking?”

  “What if it got ‘stolen’ during the robbery?”

  “A fraying, old bag?” I scoff.

  “Thieves could have needed something to carry stuff away in.”

  I pace again, thoughts flying through my head. Suddenly, I stop. “That could work. They couldn’t disprove it. Sure, we hadn’t reported it then, but who’d care about a rucksack worth nothing?” I begin to feel lighter thinking perhaps I could get away with this after all. Simple enough to remember if I just stick to the plain facts. Better than the story I was concocting about throwing it out with the trash. One worry eased, my mind settles on another—my brother and whether he’s dead or alive. I wave toward the phone I’ve barely put down since we’d returned to the house. “I keep trying to call him, Mom. I’m worried about him.”

  She’s quiet for a moment. “I’m worried too about whether he’s okay, and also, well, what do we do if he does make contact? What if he wants the other packages delivered somewhere? Are we going to pretend they’re still here?”

  We’re talking about Connor as if he’s alive, and again, believing that puts me in a quandary. If he’s unharmed, it means he cares nothing about me. It could be me in jail and Connor would have been responsible.

  If he’s alive, he’ll want the rest of the heroin. He knows me and Mom, knows now we know what he left in our unknowing care we’ll want shot of them. He’ll be so angry to find them gone.

  I can’t imagine there’s any excuse to explain Connor’s behaviour. I may not have been arrested, but Ink has. And that’s all down to my brother. I swallow rapidly when I think of the man I lost, the man who, quite rightly, now hates me.

  “There must be something I can do for Ink.” I feel so helpless and useless. Giving myself up would be easier than doing nothing at all. The possible loss of my freedom means little to me, the pain in my heart hurts far worse. I’d found the man perfect for me. Right now, he’s sitting in a cell, cursing my name and that we ever met.