Page 4 of Taming the Demon

Darrow sat at the table, alone. He’d been sitting there for a little while. The two empty beer bottles in front of him were evidence of such. All he could do was stare forward at the doors, running so much through his head at once.

The door opened and Linc came in, followed by Slade, Custer, Monte, and Deed. Cyrus was last. He stood in thedoorway, covered in blood. His face splattered. His hands crimson death. His leather cut and shirt smothered. His eyes looked as evil as ever.

Darrow didn’t want to know a thing about the guy chained up in the garage. Alive. Dead. Incinerated. Dumped into a trunk of a car in the junkyard to rot away. The table was far from full now.

Nico’s normal seat remained empty, as agreed upon by the outlaws. There were reasons. They did not matter right now. Two other seats were empty now.Priest.Beaten into a coma. The reality so dire that nobody wanted to face it or speak it.Fitz. The rat. The scumbag, fucking rat.

Chances were both men would never sit at the table again. Only difference being, Priest would get a proper sendoff. He’d be laid out on the table, for all members to pay respect, including all the other charters.SOFRAS, SOFRAN, SOFRAE.

“I made a decision,” Cyrus said, breaking up Darrow’s thoughts. “If anyone here wants to take it to a fucking vote, try me. We don’t have time for debate. We know what’s at stake out there. What’s happening. It goes beyond what he did to Priest. It’s about who he’s with and who he’s talking to. It’s about who is protecting him.”

“We’re on your side,Prez,” Linc said. “All the way.”

“No fucking doubt,” Slade said.

“Ever,” Monte said with a nod.

Darrow didn’t speak. He just stared at Cyrus. Their eyes locked tight. So tight that Darrow felt his stomach churning again. Stone-faced. Steel-like jaw. The deadly eyes of an outlaw.

“Fitz has someone inked,” Cyrus said with a smirk. “And we’re going to find out what his wife knows. And what she doesn’t know. By any means necessary. Anyone here have a problem with that?”

“No,” Darrow said, standing up.

The rest of the table agreed. It might not have been fair to Mara to be a target of the motorcycle club, but that’s how it went in this life. The man who inked her was now the man who turned on the club as a rat. According to the unwritten rules, she was as much of a rat as Fitz was. And she was going to pay for it.

Cyrus had nothing else to say. He turned and went to the bar where Maggie waited with her perky tits, soft smile, and a bottle of whiskey.

Darrow worked his way out of the clubhouse and climbed onto his motorcycle and rode off. He cruised the streets of Cielo back to his apartment. He parked around the back of the building like he always did. He climbed the back steps up to the third floor and walked to his apartment.

Three-sixteen.

He unlocked the door, opened it and stepped inside. As expected, he was greeted with someone holding a large knife, ready to stab and defend.

“It’s just me, babe,” Darrow said.

He locked the door behind himself and then walked up to Mara and took the knife from her hand. He gently cupped her face as she blinked, shedding a tear. Darrow swallowed hard.

In some ways he was no better than Fitz. Hiding the wife of the rat in his apartment…?

Darrow had signed his death warrant, simple as that.

Chapter Two

He Wants Cheese, She Wants Out

The only way Mara could calm herself down was with pills. Xanax did the trick. She knew tolerance would become an issue and that could lead to addiction. In her mind, what the fuck did it matter… the second Cyrus got his hands on her, she was as good as dead.

Wearing the ink for a rat? Being married to a rat? She might as well just have been a rat herself. Even with the comfort of Darrow’s hands touching her face, it helped only a little. Darrow swiped away the stray tear that ran down her cheek.

“Fuck, Mara,” Darrow whispered. “You’re panicking.”

“I’ve been in a state panic since this all happened,” she said.

Darrow leaned forward and kissed her forehead. She felt her body tingle and melt. Her toes slightly curled and she reached forward. The second she touched Darrow’s leather cut, her hands recoiled. It made her think of Fitz. Her husband.The rat.

Her throat clenched for a second and she spun around and ran toward the kitchen. At the last second she grabbed her hair with her right hand and held it back so she could vomit into the sink. Her life consisted of downing coffee, Xanax, wine, the occasional meal, plus a good bout here and there of vomiting.Mara’s teeth chattered as she turned on the water and began to splash her mouth.

“Darrow,” she groaned.

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