Avenging Devil Part 1: Satan’s Devils MC - San Diego Chapter #3 Read online

“She’s not my fuckin’ woman.” I shut that down fast. “She just needs someone to be there for her. Her situation couldn’t be worse, Brother.” I sit down on the chair on the opposite side of the desk. “What she does next is something she needs to decide for herself, and I can’t stand the thought that I can’t help her.”

  Grumbler’s jaw clenches. “There but for the grace and all that. This could very well be me and Mary, you know?”

  I do know, but if it were, they’d have each other to lean on. Maybe that’s why I’m driven to be something like that for her. Because I know the rock he’d be for his old lady.

  He shakes his head. “Mary’s worried as fuck.”

  “I’m sorry, Grumbler…” I know Saffie’s situation has to have hit hard with them both. Are they thinking, this could be us?

  Suddenly he sits forward. “I’ve tried to dissuade her, fuck knows that Saffie might not want a pregnant woman around right now, but Mary would like to go see her.”

  Grumbler’s first instinct could well be right. Saffie might not want a glowing, happy, pregnant woman in her space. I start to dismiss it and hope he can dissuade her. Then I remember, Saffie already knows Mary is hypothetically grappling with similar issues, and it’s just possible Mary’s thoughts might help. I do what I can, but it’s not the same as having another woman to speak to.

  “Saffie’s got the day off tomorrow,” I tell him, coming to a decision. “I’ll ask Saffie. If she’s says it’s okay, I’ll take her with me. It’s up to her, though.” I add, warningly.

  “If you take Mary, you fuckin’ look after her,” Grumbler growls, showing he’d rather I had turned the offer down. “She’s told me about that apartment block—”

  It’s horrendous I know and hasn’t improved by my increased familiarity. “Trust me,” I interrupt.

  “’Course I fuckin’ trust you, Brother.” Grumbler turns away and breathes deeply. When he turns back, his eyes plead with me. “Keep her safe. She’s my fuckin’ life, Niran.”

  I’ve seen them almost from the start of their relationship, been there through their highs and lows. I envy them for their happiness with each other. There’s no need for him to explain.

  Chapter Nine

  Saffie

  Is it wrong that I’ve grown to depend on Niran being here for the past few nights when I get off work?

  That first night, I don’t know what drove me to let him back in after he’d seen his companion out. I put it down to being at the lowest point in my life, and uncaring what happened to me. The news I received had been the worst. Nothing could hurt me more than that, not Duke’s fists or anything else he’d done to me.

  So I hadn’t been cautious. While I knew it was far too early to trust Niran and some sense of self-preservation screamed I was doing wrong by letting him stay, I’d opened that door to him.

  Niran is far stronger than me. He could overpower me easily. I wouldn’t be able to physically throw him out. Balanced against that there was something about him though, a sense of caring which I’d never experienced from a man before—giving without thought of receiving.

  He hadn’t made a move on me. Well, of course not, I’m pregnant with another man’s baby, and with a constantly tear-streaked face, hardly look my best. That first morning when I appeared without the wig I use as a disguise, he hadn’t even noticed. If I needed more indication than that, he didn’t really see me at all. There have been no lewd glances, no checking out of my body. I don’t care if he regards me as unattractive, if I thought otherwise, he’d have been met with rejection. I certainly don’t want him as a man, but as a friend who seems to want nothing from me? Yes, I was desperate for that.

  Despite how caring he seemed, I’d expected him to reconsider. I hadn’t expected him to be waiting for me that first day after work. But he was.

  I’d had the worst day, battling to keep an insincere smile on my face, trying to deal with time-wasting customers, pretending all was well in my world when it was anything but. The act I’d kept up for eight hours immediately dropped the moment he put his strong arms around me.

  I’d leaned on him, physically and emotionally, as though he was my rock, and he soaked it all up.

  He didn’t probe, didn’t ask questions to which I wasn’t prepared to give answers, and in return, I settled for what I got. I didn’t need to know any more about him, other than he saw nothing wrong in me using him for a prop.

  I’ve become used to him being here, used to just sitting without talking, giving me time to unwind and unpack my thoughts.

  One moment, I think I’ve come to a decision, that I should take the sensible course and end what can have no future. Then, the doubts come into my head. What if, despite the odds, the doctors are wrong?

  Perhaps I need to get a second opinion. But I keep putting that off. I know I’ve got to do something, but part of me prefers living in limbo, delaying the soul-destroying choice I must make.

  When he tells me Mary wants to come visit, I hesitate at first. What good would it do to see someone in my situation, but unlike me, someone who’s carrying a healthy baby? I’m not sure I could cope. But then, I remember she’s told me she’s faced a similar question since she first knew of her pregnancy. While things are looking good now, she knows there’s a chance she might end up like me.

  Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to get a female’s perspective, to listen to someone else’s thoughts. A bit reluctantly, knowing such a conversation would make me face things I’d rather not face, after some hesitation, I’d agreed.

  Now it’s like the first day again, both Mary and Niran in my space. At least this time I’m up to playing hostess. I place some cups in front of them. Decaf for her and me, the real stuff that Niran had bought and now resides in my kitchen cupboard, in front of him.

  “How have you been?” Mary asks politely, trying to draw me out as she discreetly addresses the elephant in the room.

  “I…”

  But whatever I was about to say is interrupted by a commotion in the hallway outside my apartment. Loud voices, then a thump against my door, followed by fists hitting the wood gets Niran launching to his feet.

  “What the fuck’s going on here?” he yells, opening the door, then closing it behind him as he disappears.

  My widened eyes stare at the closed door in horror. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “Niran can look after himself,” she tells me quickly, but I can sense her unease. “This really isn’t a good place for you to live, Saffie.”

  I shrug, still concerned about my friend, but finding some solace in that nothing bad has happened to me. Yet. I keep my comings and goings to a minimum, my head down, and don’t get involved in anything that I see. “I just stay out of everything, Mary. It’s less dangerous than you’d believe.” But then no one had actually banged on my door before. While I try to act nonchalant, inwardly I admit, that had scared me.

  To my relief, when the door opens again, it’s Niran using the key that I’d given to him. As if he heard what Mary was saying, he utters a warning himself.

  “Hell, Saffie. That was a fuckin’ drug deal gone south. A demented druggie was on the wrong floor, wanting to take it out on his dealer.” He pinches the bridge of his nose in the way that he does and shakes his head. “I wish you didn’t live here.”

  I don’t much like it myself, but beggars don’t get much choice. “I’m fine, Niran.” I go to mention especially now he’s staying with me, but I’m too well aware that he’s sleeping on the floor, and that can’t continue for long, so I keep my mouth shut. To date, have I just been lucky? Is someone breaking in only a matter of when? The incident has rattled me.

  “You can’t think straight here,” Mary starts, her frowning face turning up at a thump and a roar of rage from directly overhead. Idly, I wonder whether that’s where the drug-crazed person has found the right man to take it out on. She shudders, glances at Niran, then suggests, “Look, why don’t you get away for a while? I’d love for you to stay with me and
Grumbler. We’ve got a spare room.”

  I shake my head and try to refuse politely. It’s the worst thing I can think of. I know Mary carries a worry that her pregnancy might also come to an end, but in the meantime, they’ll be happy prospective parents. It would kill me to constantly compare their situation to mine. “I wouldn’t dream of imposing, Mary.”

  “It wouldn’t be an imposition—”

  “Mary,” Niran says sharply. “Perhaps staying with you isn’t what she needs.” He’s right, how could I think straight when I see her preparing her nursery? For a moment, a wave of sadness rolls over me, and I almost miss what he says next. “Fuck, I wish that she could stay with me, but I haven’t got my own place.”

  “There are spare rooms at the clubhouse.” Mary’s eyes gleam. “Maybe she could stay there? Then she’d be close to you, Niran, and I could come around every day. And there’s Eva…” For some reason she looks at him knowingly.

  I start to consider whether changing location would help me decide when their actual words filter through to me. Clubhouse? My heart skips a beat. Surely not. It’s too much of a coincidence. It’s only my experience that makes me think of the only type of place that matches that description.

  “What did you say?” I hold my breath, certain my mental leap must be wrong, but needing the confirmation.

  “That here isn’t the place for you, not right now,” Niran says unhelpfully, looking like he’s considering Mary’s suggestion.

  “No, the clubhouse,” I prompt, hoping there’s something wrong with my ears. Or if that’s what they said, that it’s not the type I was only too used to.

  “The clubhouse?” He frowns in confusion and shrugs. “Sure, it’s not ideal, but it’s not here. It might not be quiet, but you’re used to that.” His eyes shoot to the ceiling in emphasis where some kind of argument is still going on. “But my brothers would treat you with respect.”

  Brothers? What. The. Fuck? Time stops. My blood chills in my veins, my heart misses a beat. My lungs cease taking in oxygen. No, no, I’m internally screaming. They can’t mean what I think they do. Words come into my memory; I’ll get one of my brothers to pick me up. At the time, I’d just assumed he has a big family. But brothers can have more than one meaning, in the context I’m used to, one that’s chilling.

  Shivering, still hoping I’m way off the mark, I enquire with trepidation, “What clubhouse?”

  “Oh,” Mary says airily. “My old man and Niran are in a motorcycle club. It’s their clubhouse—”

  I launch myself to my feet. Why hadn’t I seen this before? Why hadn’t I guessed Grumbler was a road name? Niran had never worn a cut and had always arrived in a truck. He’s been deceiving me. “Get out of here, now!” I scream.

  Both my unwelcome visitors stay where they are, looking shocked, exchanging worried glances with each other.

  “Get out! Get out! Get out!” A loud banging comes at the paper-thin wall of my apartment, but that doesn’t deter me. “Get out of my home, now.” I’m shaking, my stomach’s rolling with a fear so intense it makes me feel like I’m going to throw up. Has Niran been playing me all this time?

  Stunned that they’re not moving, and becoming more afraid, I glance for a weapon of some kind. Spying my phone, I snatch it up, key in the code, tap in three numbers and wave it threateningly. “I’m calling the cops.”

  “Whoa.” Niran’s on his feet now, looking worriedly at Mary then in utter consternation my way. “Saffie, listen to me.” His hands are moving as though to soothe a spooked horse.

  There’s no pacifying me. “No, you listen to me!” I scream.

  “Saffie—we’re friends, aren’t we?”

  “No,” I refute loudly, my voice showing I’m losing control of myself. “We’re far from fucking friends. Give me your key and just leave!”

  “Saffie…” He comes closer, and I take a step back, holding the phone out of his reach.

  “Key!” My voice is shrill. Why won’t they leave? If he tries to call my bluff, I’ll dial 911. Surely, someone will be sent to help me?

  He could overpower me, forcibly take my phone from me. I take another step back, increasing the distance between us, my finger hovering over the green button.

  With a worried glance toward Mary, Niran shakes his head, takes my key out of his pocket and holds it out. When I don’t move close enough to take it, he places it down on the table. “We’ll leave, okay? Though there’s really nothing for you to worry about. I swear to you, Saffie, no one in our club would hurt you.” His calm voice has no effect on me.

  Showing my finger is still over the keypad of my phone, I give them one last warning. “Last chance. I mean it, I’ll call the cops.”

  “Saffie,” Mary pleads.

  But if over the past few days Niran has learned to read me at all, it’s to see when I’m serious. He reaches for her hand. “Come on, Mary.”

  Unwillingly, but seeing I’m set on the action I threatened if they don’t walk through my door, her face falls and she steps up beside him. “Saffie…” She tries one last appeal. “Niran’s given you my number. If you want anything, just call me.”

  “No.” I don’t want anything from her, or from anyone in a motorcycle club. They’re all evil, twisted, demented. I’ll never be safe from them.

  They know where I live. I’ll have to move. For all I know, they’re associated with the Crazy Wolves and Niran’s been here just waiting for Duke to come get me.

  Duke might already be on his way.

  Even as I have that thought, a voice inside me asks, Why should I run? Why, when I’ve already lost everything worth living for? Why should I try to survive when all I want to do is die?

  I watch the door close behind them, not feeling any relief. If only they hadn’t been connected to an MC, they’d both still be my friends. The woman I envy, and the man who was starting to mean something to me.

  History’s repeating itself. It’s happening again. I thought I could trust him.

  Why is it I keep getting in with the wrong people? What is it about me that makes the same mistakes over and over? Have I got a faulty gene which stops me reading people correctly?

  What the hell does a biker want from me? And why did he hide what he was? He never arrived on his bike, never wore a cut, and never talked about his club with me.

  We didn’t talk much about anything.

  I fall to the sofa, put my head in my hands, and howl out my sorrow and frustration as I let my thoughts flood through me.

  When I learned I was pregnant for a second time, my initial reaction was how the hell even a small embryo could have survived me being beaten so badly. I hadn’t been convinced it was real until I heard the cells vibrating against each other, that sound that people refer to as a heartbeat.

  I knew immediately Duke must never find out.

  I’d lain in the hospital bed thinking about the new life in my womb. It was alive despite all the odds. It was my duty to carry it to term. Despite who the father was, I was confident that with him out of the picture, I could bring my child up to be nothing like his sperm donor. It was a miracle, and I already loved him or her. Despite my best efforts to give my baby the best start in life, I’d failed. A baby I found out was a boy at the exact same time I discovered he had no chance.

  This place has been okay up to now. I haven’t been robbed and don’t expect to be. I drive a junker which I pray for before starting each day, hoping it’s not about to fall apart. No one in their right mind would expect to find anything worth stealing from someone who chooses to live here.

  Now, there’s even more to add to my plate. A member of a freaking MC has befriended me. I know I’d be wrong not to question why.

  I’m not stupid. I know if Duke finds me my life won’t be worth living. I ran, which is one black mark. I’ll have earned another by keeping his son a secret. That there’s something wrong with his development would again be down to me. It’s not death I’m scared about, it’s the manner in which he�
�ll deliver it. Duke’s honour will depend on how he dispatches me, and I’ve heard him boast how he can keep his victims alive for days.

  If he doesn’t kill me, I might end up wishing he’d stolen my final breath. He could give me to his club brothers. I know of a whore who was choked to death, and another disfigured for fun. I could be sentenced to years servicing the club.

  It might be a bit of a stretch to immediately make the leap from meeting a stranger who admits he rides with a motorcycle club to think Duke will be given information about where to find me, but I’ve spent five years with a one-percenter club. I know there’s often rivalry between MCs, but also some which are friendly to each other. If the tall, Black man called Niran belonged to one of the latter, befriending me might not have been accidental.

  What do I do?

  If I could, I’d curl up and die. How can the universe be so unkind to me? I’ve still not come to terms with the idea I’ve lost the chance of holding my newborn baby in my arms. Even if I decide to continue the pregnancy, if he’s born alive, from his birth and for all of his short life he’ll be hooked up to machines. I won’t be there cheering on when he takes his first steps or holding his hand as he starts to toddle along. I won’t need to equip him with life skills and eventually send him out into the world.

  My son will never have a chance of any of that, and I won’t play my part as his mom.

  I feel like a mother already. From my first step on the Freedom Trail, I’d been doing everything for the baby. I hadn’t even had a preference for what sex it would be.

  Every decision I made was about what was best for him. My own wants and desires had come way down the list.

  I’d weakened when I’d allowed Niran to comfort me.

  There’s only one conclusion I can come to as to why a biker has been keeping in such close proximity.

  However unlikely, he has to have been working for Duke. It would be just like him to send someone I wouldn’t suspect.

  He was waiting for Duke to come and get me.