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

by Manda Mellett

  I’d spent the night trying to come to terms with the idea I wouldn’t ever have my freedom again, would never watch the pavement rushing past under my wheels, or feel the wind in my face as I rode.

  I thought I’d accepted that the first night but must still have had a kernel of hope. It hadn’t come as a surprise that bail had been denied. Anyone who wears a cut of an outlaw MC can expect no mercy once they’re in the clutches of the law. But for my sanity I’d held onto the notion that I could have some time to ride my bike, and to give Beth a fucking she’d remember forever before I went inside for the best part of my life. That I wasn’t even going to be able to say goodbye properly had hit me hard.

  I’m a hardened biker, a veteran, but last night I’d had to wipe tears from my eyes. If I’d deserved such a punishment, maybe it wouldn’t be so difficult to accept. I’m doing it for Beth.

  Does she deserve it?

  Yeah. She does. I might not know the ins and outs of it, but she wouldn’t have been there that night without good reason. I’d already known it in my gut. Demon’s message via Sykes had only confirmed it. I’d feel worse if I was the one on the outside, and she was locked up.

  Have I really claimed her as my old lady? Seems like I have. A small smile curves my lips as I dream about a future I’ll never have with the tall woman who it seems I’ve become fonder of while we’ve been apart. Outside, I’d never have allowed myself to think of a wife and a family. Now I no longer have a chance, that’s all that I want, along with my bike and club, of course. Like I know the Satan’s Devils are the brothers I want to ride with, the only woman I want by my side is Beth.

  But I can’t have her.

  She thinks I hate her. Was I wrong to shut her out? Yes, because I miss her. No, because cutting her out of my life might keep her safe. Might. The rucksack and her connection to it has been going around and around my head.

  My smile which had already slipped disappears completely as the door opens, and two men step inside. Detectives Barker and Hastings.

  I sit back and fold my arms, preparing myself. Have they found more evidence they can twist and use to stitch me up?

  Barker doesn’t look as full of himself as he had two days ago. He sounds tired, when he states, “Fender Childs. What’s your relationship with him, Mr McNeish?”

  “I don’t know the man. Never heard his name before you brought it up last time.” Nope. They’re not going to trip me up and make me contradict myself.

  “Do you know this man?” He slides a photo across the desk.

  I take it and study it, keeping any emotion from my face as my mind whirls fast wondering how much to admit. I decide to go with the truth. “It’s Connor Foster,” I say at last. “I’m pretty certain, though I only met him briefly once that time I went to Beth’s house.” Staring at the photo I realise how similar the siblings are. Same height and same facial features, though Beth’s are softer and more feminine.

  “Was that the man you took the drugs from that night?” Barker asks.

  I stare at the photo again. I have a moment of guilt before I speak next. He might not have been there, but it was his drugs in that bag. He deserves to be locked up far more than me or his sister. “It was dark,” I begin. “I couldn’t see his features. But from the build it’s very likely. How tall is he? The man who was there was almost as tall as me. And slender. But I couldn’t swear to it.”

  Barker looks down at his notes. “Foster is six foot three.”

  “Then quite possibly.”

  “There’s a good chance?” he presses.

  I shrug. “As I said, I didn’t get a look at his face and might not be able to pick him out in a line-up, but it’s not beyond the realm of possibility.”

  “But you definitely saw Connor Foster at Ms Foster’s house?”

  “I did.”

  The detectives exchange glances.

  It’s Sykes who makes the suggestion, “If Connor Foster was seen at Ms Foster’s house, then he would have had the opportunity to take Ms Foster’s rucksack.”

  They remain impassive, but what he’s said makes sense.

  “Fender Childs has been talking,” Hastings suddenly speaks. “He’s told us he was to pick up a package that had been in the possession of Connor Foster.”

  Fender’s been spilling everything? That’s music to my ears as he has nothing to implicate me or my brothers.

  “I take it you’ve made a plea bargain with him?” Sykes question is also an explanation.

  Again, they make no comment.

  My lawyer, though, speaks, “Have you spoken to Mr Foster?”

  Barker presses his lips together. “Connor Foster is apparently dead. His death certificate, dated last Sunday, came up when we searched for his name.”

  “What?” The question’s surprised out of me. Beth will be in pieces. Anyone would be, even if they were estranged. Losing a blood relative isn’t easy. Her mom will be beside herself. Fuck that I can’t be there to support them and help. “How?”

  “He was beaten and stabbed. Died of his injuries.”

  Briefly I wonder whether the club had had a hand in it but dismiss that fast. If they’d tortured and killed him for a part he played in getting me arrested, no one would ever find his body.

  I suppress a smile at how frustrated these detectives must be. They’ve made a bargain with Fender Childs, but the only person he’s presumably fingered, has turned up dead. I’d laugh if I could get away with it. Then my mental amusement fades. Connor dead? Oh, Beth, you’ve lost so much. All I want to do is be there and hold her. But it’s impossible. Fuck.

  Sykes taps the table. “I can’t see how you’ve got any case against my client. Any jury or judge would agree that it was more likely Connor Foster took the rucksack from his sister’s house. He was the one who brought the bag to the drop, and Mr McNeish’s story holds water. Mr McNeish scared Connor Foster off and was taking the bag and contents to the cops, having made the reasonable assumption that anything being brought to that location on that night was likely to be something the police would be very interested in, the police who I’ll remind you, Mr McNeish was very aware of being close that night.”

  I know they are going to argue.

  But they don’t. Barker looks at Sykes rather than me. “We are not intending to proceed with bringing any charges against your client at this point in time.”

  What? I shake my head fast in case my ears need clearing.

  “We may, however, wish to question Mr McNeish if our inquiries show he might have something useful to offer. But for now, Mr McNeish is free to leave.”

  As the detectives pull their papers together, get up and go, I remain seated, unable to believe the words I’ve just heard.

  “You going to just sit there?” Sykes is looking at me with something akin to amusement on his face.

  “I can go?” It seems like a dream.

  “You can go. You want a lift to the compound?”

  I’m still trying to process how my fortunes have turned around. Yes, the clubhouse first, see my brothers, pick up my bike. Then I’ll go see Beth and commiserate about the death of her brother, then when she’s in a better head space, find out how she’d feel about becoming my old lady.

  “Too fuckin’ right I’d like a lift,” I tell him, a grin now splitting my face.

  I have to go through the formalities, first signing the forms to regain my possessions, carrying my cut as I’ll be leaving in a cage. I experience an incredible sense of relief when I’m on the right side of the steel door and security gates. It’s not until I’m out in the open that I start to relax and begin to lose the feeling someone’s going to run out from behind me and say letting me go was a mistake.

  The skies are grey and there’s a cold winter drizzle falling, but it doesn’t prevent me raising my head and just staring at the open expanse of sky above me. Only minutes ago, I hadn’t thought to see such a sight again, or not when it wasn’t framed by prison walls.

  “You comi
ng?” Sykes is standing by his open door, unlike me, he seems to object to getting wet, as after his question he quickly slides into the driver’s seat.

  Yeah. I’m fucking coming. Don’t want to stay here any longer than necessary. As I turn and walk smartly to the passenger side of his Lexus, I start to believe I really am free.

  Sykes puts the car into gear. As he draws away, part of my mind wonders just how much we’re paying him for him to be able to afford a high-end model car. But part thinks however much it is, it’s worth it if he had anything to do with getting me out.

  During the short journey, I try, not totally successfully, to rearrange my thoughts. I’d spent the last few days convincing myself I could cope with being locked up for the rest of what could be a short life. Bikers are in danger in the penitentiary. Now I’m apparently a free man.

  A free man who’s got a ball and chain. A man who’s claimed an old lady. Well, as far as my brothers are concerned, I have. Beth, though, she’s ignorant of my intentions. Guess I’ll let her grieve some for Connor, then I better try to ease her back into a relationship that she thought I’d rather forget.

  On the inside, there was some comfort in knowing everyone thought she was mine, a dream to cling onto. Now it’s reality and I’ve got to face it. Is that still what I want? Now when I’ve got back my freedom, will I find my mind changing and our relationship disappearing like smoke?

  I want to fuck her again, no doubt about that. My dick’s already stirring in anticipation. But live with her?

  Could we make it work?

  Do I even want to try?

  What if someone’s let slip that I claimed her? What if she knows and she’s all starry-eyed because she’s got what she wanted, a biker of her own like Mel snagged Ro. What if she clings if I don’t want to make a go of it? What if she holds me to promises I made inside?

  I’d done it to give her protection. Had my brothers known it was a sham? Would they be let down if I unclaimed her just as fast as I’d told them she was mine?

  And what if I did? Judge had been sniffing around her, Sparky too. As a woman with no patch on her, someone as beautiful and sexy as her would be fair game and wouldn’t be on her own for too long.

  “You okay?” Sykes gives me a strange look. “I swear you just growled.”

  But I’m saved from giving an answer. Karl opens the gates, his eyes widening as he recognises me sitting next to my lawyer, but like any good prospect, doesn’t ask anything to satisfy his curiosity. All he does is give me a chin lift, accompanied by a wide grin.

  “You coming in?” I ask Sykes.

  “No. Just tell Demon he’ll get my bill in good time.”

  I hold out my hand, he does likewise and shakes it. “Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

  “Cops have your number now. Stay out of trouble, Ink.”

  “You can bet on it.” I never want to go through the last few days again.

  Then I’m out of the car and opening the door to the clubhouse as Sykes does a three-point turn and heads out the gate.

  I expect the clubhouse to be fairly quiet, it’s Tuesday night after all, and not a day we’d have a party. Of course, there’ll be club girls around doing what they’re there for, brothers drinking or playing pool, but those who live off the compound will probably have gone home. I’m just looking forward to seeing any friendly face, have had it up to the back teeth with drunks or the police. But when I step inside, I’m surprised to find it’s crowded, and noisy. Well, until people turn to see who’s come in the door. Then silence descends like a switch being thrown.

  I stand, hold my hands out to my sides, and grin widely. “Hey, honey, I’m home,” I call out loudly, then chuckle at my own joke. It’s only seconds before I realise nobody’s laughing.

  “Hey, I didn’t bust out. They let me go,” I say, wondering why no one’s rushing up to greet me.

  “Ink.” Mace moves at last, coming forward and pausing, then his arms come around me in the bear hug I’d expected to be the first of many. But as we exchange back slaps, he doesn’t say how good it is to have me back. Instead he tells me, “I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

  Pushing him away, I hold him at arm’s length. “What the fuck you talking about?” I go to the only explanation for his behaviour that I can think of. “Who’s fuckin’ died?” I already know about Connor, but even so, can’t think Beth’s brother would cause my brothers’ sorrow. They didn’t know the man, unless, Beth’s too distressed.

  “Beth…” he starts.

  Beth’s dead? She can’t be.

  “What’s happened?” I ask, at first quietly. Then start shouting, “What the fuck’s happened to Beth?” Beth can’t be dead. We never had a chance to find out what we were to each other. Pain slams into me at the thought I’m free, but it sounds like she’s still lost to me. “What the fuck is going on?”

  “Beth’s been taken…”

  “She’s not dead?” I ask hurriedly, wondering if my interpretation’s wishful thinking.

  The VP comes up and pushes Mace to one side as if realising he’s making a mess of telling me what’s going on. “She’s been taken by her father. He wants to exchange her for the drugs.”

  “What drugs? What the fuck is going on, Beef?”

  Nothing makes sense. Beth doesn’t have anything to do with her father. And what the fuck is all this about drugs? The police had gotten what she was carrying that night.

  “I left her under your protection, Beef.” My voice is growing louder. “What the fuck do you mean she was kidnapped? When? Where fuckin’ from? Who do I kill as they didn’t protect her?”

  “I’m sorry…” he starts.

  I interrupt. “Sorry? Fuckin’ sorry?” My hand slashes through the air as all everyone seems to be doing is apologising. “What are you fuckin’ doing about finding my ol’ lady?”

  “We’re just about to meet about that,” the prez’s voice says, sharply and loudly. “Welcome home, Ink.” He draws closer, clasping my hand and pulling me to him. “So fuckin’ glad to have you back. I’m just sorry you’ve got out only to have to deal with this.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Beth

  Sandwiched between my sperm donor’s two henchman does not make for a comfortable two-hour journey. They’re big and muscular, and I’m not a small person, being so squashed, the invasion of my personal space is claustrophobic.

  My father isn’t even in the same car, so I can’t appeal to him. Instead, another of his men is driving, and a fourth is in the front passenger seat.

  I keep quiet. I have no expectation that anything I could say might appeal to any better nature they may, or probably may not, possess. It’s my father who’s in charge of the purse strings, he’s the one paying them. I’ve nothing to offer, except the one thing I couldn’t even bring myself to suggest. It’s not lost on me that the man next to the driver was the one who’d already made lewd comments and said things which made my blood run cold. When he glances over his shoulder and views me up and down carefully, the whole time leering, I want to shrink and disappear. Phil would never let his men touch me. Or would he? What do I know of the man who hasn’t cared he had a daughter for eighteen years?

  He said he’d exchange me for eight kilos of heroin. He didn’t promise to give me back unharmed or unmolested.

  Phil scares me, and with good reason. I had made myself believe Connor was still alive and breathing, the fact that Phil has come after me instead, means my optimism was for nothing. If he was convinced Connor wasn’t dead, it would be him he’d be going after. That he knew what had happened to my brother strongly suggests he had a hand in it. Condoned it? Quite possibly.

  What will Mom do? I run through her options. Go to the police? And say what? That I’m with my father? I’m twenty-seven, not a kid, and Phil would probably say I’d gone willingly. To give all the background would drop all of us in it. Go to the Satan’s Devils? But she’s put them in Phil’s sights. How I wish Mom had kept her mouth shut,
but I know she was only trying to keep me safe, taking a gamble which hadn’t paid off.

  Maybe the Devils will just hand the heroin over. The only problem with that is they might have destroyed them already. I feel myself pale. If there are no drugs, what would happen to me and the Devils then? I’m not naïve, I can guess how much money those drugs were worth. Maybe not put a precise value on them, but it has to be one heck of a lot. More than I’ve got or am likely to ever possess.

  Phil’s got at least five rough-fighting men working for him. I have no doubt he’s got more, or even a small army. Would he go after them for revenge, the Devils and my friends, their old ladies? Mel’s already lost so much, oh God, I hope no more harm or worry is heading her way. Heaven forbid she loses the baby she’s carrying. They’re Ink’s family. I’ve taken his freedom from him. If Phil starts a war, I could be taking his family as well.

  How the hell has it come to this, me being abducted by my own father? I didn’t need Mom to spell out that he lacks empathy, he didn’t so much as turn a hair at his son being dead. No, his only concern is the drugs and therefore the money he’s lost.

  I thought Ink being in jail and Connor dead was enough punishment inflicted on me. Now more people might die or be hurt because of the wrong decisions I made. Everything I touch seems to turn sour.

  Maybe it’s best Ink’s locked up. Free, he might have tried to save me, and could have ended up killed instead.

  The car rolls on. The men discuss a game they plan to watch at the weekend. Then, purposefully to unnerve me, they discuss their favourite sexual positions. I try to ignore their talk about women taking it in the ass. When I’m asked if I’ve tried it, I pay them no attention, focusing instead on my memory of Ink suggesting the very same thing. I hope, if I’m ever brave enough to try, it would be with the man who’d treat me carefully. I’ve no doubt I’d be forced if Phil lets his men have me. He wouldn’t, would he? He’s my father.