Page 29 of Devil's Due

I became tired. Worn. My head, buzzing with club problems, I wanted to relax when I came home. Not go through a shopping list for a week.

I hadn’t realised at first, hadn’t diagnosed the problem. Until one night she’d been sitting beside me on the couch, her eyes slowly closing, then she’d jerk back awake, and force a smile onto her face, and ask if there was anything I needed. I’d told her to go to bed. When I’d stated it clearly, she’d got up and done what I said. Yeah. She was actually waiting to be instructed. My head shakes as I remember. Even after I’d explained she didn’t need me to tell her what to do, she’d ask for permission instead.

If I ever dip my toe in the water again I’d want the woman by my side to be my partner, just like Rock, Mouse, Peg, hell, all the brothers with old ladies have. It had been too exhausting, when all I wanted to do was be me, not the man she wanted.

That’s why I’m so leery of getting involved again. There’s no way I want to be caught in the same trap.

I’m not late, but when I pull up outside, the front door’s already opening, and Stevie’s standing at the door. As I approach, my eyes look her up and down. She’s got on tight narrow-leg jeans which hug the curvature of her perfect thighs, boots more suited to winter weather but perfect for going on the bike, and another of her tight tees that shows she’s got more than enough breast for me. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail. She might not have been prepared for yesterday’s ride but has made up for it today. Surprisingly, she looks a biker chick in every way. I’m not complaining, I love the look on her.

But I have to admonish her. “Shouldn’t open the door, babe. Not before checking who’s come knocking.”

Shit, how can she do that? She can’t look out.

“Beef,” she sighs, and points. “Intercom right there. Not one hundred percent if someone really wants to fool me, but I can probably tell more from a voice than most people. And I knew it was going to be you, Beef.”

“Babe, just because you knew I was coming—”

“Your bike. The engine is unique. When you shift down into first, there’s a tiny rattle.”

My mouth drops open. I’ll be fucked. I hadn’t even noticed that myself. Doubt it’s anything to worry about, I’d have heard it if it was serious.

“Not much gets past you, does it?”

She grins at the compliment. “I think my brain uses the processing power it used to apply to vision to understand what my other senses are telling me. I see the world, just in a different way than most people.”

“Do you visualise shit?” I don’t know why I ask her. But when she sayssee, what does she mean by it?

“I’ve a memory of what a motorcycle looks like, but no, I don’t bother translating what I hear or touch anymore. To me something is what it sounds like, feels like, smells like.” She leans in and sniffs. “Leather and diesel. Beer and cigarettes. Do you smoke?”

“Nah, well, the odd joint. But the men in the clubhouse here do.”

“Here? Not where you came from?”

I laugh. “Too many kids around.”

“Lots of changes to get used to.” Her head dips as though she understands. I suppose she does, she’s in a new environment too.

She’s right, but I don’t comment on it. “You need anything? Or are you ready to go see how Max is?”

“I can’t wait to see him. Let me just get my purse.” She turns, confidently walks back into her house and within moments comes out with a strap slung over her shoulder. “But I know how he’s doing. I rang James just now. I didn’t want any nasty surprises.”

I can understand. “How is he?”

“Holding his own and fighting.”

Good boy.

Chapter Eleven

Max is indeed holding his own, I’m certain I can see an improvement. His eyes look better and more focused, and he licked Stevie’s hand more than once. James wasn’t on duty, but another vet who seemed to be just as competent was there. While Stevie was with her canine friend, I took the vet to one side.

“Will James be able to operate tomorrow?”

“In my professional opinion, yes.” He glances at me, then at Stevie. His eyes soften as she gently runs her hands over her dog’s fur. “He’s a service dog. He’s got an important job to do. You can be sure that we will do our best to get him back on his feet. Normally I’d warn this is expensive, but in the circumstances, I’d be surprised if he doesn’t have a very good insurance plan. Maybe from the organisation that supplied him.”

I might have won a few dollars earlier, but the vet’s assumption makes me feel better.

“I’ll get the details from Ms Nichols before you go. We’ve gone this far on your assurance to pay.”

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