Page 15 of Devil's Due

“Short, and to the fuckin’ point,” Pyro mumbles beside me.

Ignoring him, I continue, “How the fuck did you know it was me? Can you see?” Had I been wrong? Is she not completely blind after all?

“Your voice and you smell of engine oil and leather.” Her explanation is as succinct as my assessment of Max’s diagnosis. “Is Max going to be okay?” Her voice falters. “His leg, is he going to lose it?”

Crouching down to her level, I take both her hands in mine, squeezing them gently. “I stayed until we had news, now the vet and nurse are with him, he’ll be monitored all through the night. We won’t know much more until tomorrow or the next day. At the moment, the vet doesn’t know if there are problems that haven’t materialised yet.” And don’t I know all about those. It wasn’t the bullet that had almost killed me. “He didn’t say he’d need to amputate.”

Her head bows, I think I hear a sob, then she does that strange looking straight at me thing again. I take the time to notice her eyes are beautiful. “Thank you. Have you got the vet’s number? Can you put it into my phone for me? Name it Max Vet?” She fumbles in her purse then passes her phone over.

As I tap the number in, copying it off the card the vet gave me, I ask my next concern. “How are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine. Bruised but not broken. Oh, and a cop came to speak to me.”

“Any leads on who ran into you?”

“Who are you?” Her brow creases and her head tilts toward my left.

“Pyro.”

Now her hand reaches out toward me. For a second I’m puzzled, until she says, “Can I touch you?” As her hand traces my face as if trying to memorise the shape of it, I realise this is her way of discovering what I look like. “I don’t even know your name.” She says it as though surprised that it’s only just occurred to her.

“I’m Beef,”

“Beef?” While her principal emotions are worry and concern, there’s an undercurrent of mirth in her tone as she repeats my name.

“Yeah,” I grin. “Because I’m a big ugly fucker.”

Her fingers touch my face again. “No, you’re not ugly.” A fleeting smile curves her mouth, and I realise I’m enjoying her touch.

“You can’t see him,” Pal interjects bluntly, contradicting. As her head tilts, he adds, “I’m Paladin.”

Now her smile is larger. “Like the knight?”

“You got it.”

“Are you from an MC?”

I’m still crouching, and my muscles are complaining, but her comment makes me look at her sharply. “What do you know about MCs?”

“Nothing.” Her skin has got a pink tinge. “Only what I picked up from watching Sons of Anarchy and the books that I read.”

I note the strange use of the wordswatchingandreading, but now’s not the time to question her. I just want to put her mind at rest. “Yeah, we’re from the Satan’s Devils MC, sweetheart, but mean no harm to you.”

“I know that. I know there are people here frightened of you, but I’m not. You looked after Max, Beef. You’ve taken the time to come to tell me about him when you could have called. You’ve got friends with you. That’s what I know of you. I heard people move aside as you were coming over, the whispered comments they made. But actions speak louder than anything else.”

The more I talk to her, the more she impresses me. Maybe it’s because she knows who I ride with and accepts it, not from any pre-conceived notions, but only judging from experience. Extrapolating from a man spending a Saturday evening at a vet’s, that he must be a good person. I might not be able to say I haven’t got a stain on my character, but I don’t think of myself as bad. It’s refreshing to find someone who doesn’t start with poor judgement as soon as they know who I ride with.

A shift by my side. Glancing up I see Pyro glaring. The room’s filled up more since we’ve been talking. The man Pyro’s directing his expression at holds up his hands, but his eyes indicate the room around him. Yeah, probably wasn’t his fault that he bumped him. I don’t need to hear what Pyro’s murmuring to Pal to know they want to get out of here.

“You got anyone coming for you?” My attention turns back to Stevie.

“No, I’ll call an Uber to take me home.”

No family or friends? I frown. What will she do when her ride arrives? Ask someone to take her to the entrance? Ask the Uber driver to come in and collect her? How will she know she can trust whoever comes along? She could end up getting in a car with anyone.

“You up to riding a bike?” I surprise myself with the question.

“A bike?”

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