Page 15 of Ink's Devil

If I hadn’t gone with Ink at the wedding, I’d have leapt at the chance of going to the compound to get a deeper insight into the biker life. But I had gone with Ink and seeing him again is going to be awkward. Isn’t it?Only if I make it so.

I stare over at Mel who’s already got her head down hard at work. Between now and then I’ve got to put thoughts of Ink right out of my mind. If I go to the party and he’s there, I’ll greet him politely, of course, but will make no reference to how we got together on the night of Mel and Pyro’s wedding. Most of all, I won’t show for a moment I’ve got any regrets.

Maybe another biker would catch my eye? Do they all make love—fuck—like Ink? Perhaps taking another for a test drive would get Ink out of that rather annoying place he seems to have cornered for himself in my head.

Just for a moment I let myself imagine being a girl like that. A girl who could divorce her heart and jump from one bed to the other just for sex. Oh, yeah, I know Ink’s very familiar with those, his club calls them sweet butts.

Problem is, I’m not sweet butt material, and there’s only one biker I want. Damn it. I wish Ink had never caught my eye at Mel’s wedding. Maybe I’d be better off dreaming what he’d be like, rather than knowing. However much I try to fool myself, there was more to our encounter than sex. I felt we had a connection. If it hadn’t been on one side only, it would have been Ink inviting me to the club and not my friend.

I start to wish Mel had never suggested the party, because there’s a devil on my shoulder whispering in my ear that perhaps if Ink sees me again, he’ll want a repeat of that night. Huh, the angel on my other shoulder replies, more likely, he’ll simply give me one of those chin lifts the men do, and then ignore me.

Far worse, Mel warned me bikers aren’t shy, and I’m likely to see them fucking in public. How would I feel if I saw Ink with one of their club girls?

Maybe that’s just what I need to stop thinking about him, I even dreamed of Ink last night.

It would break my heart to see him with someone else.

One minute I want to go, the next I don’t. When Thursday comes around, and I see Mel approaching my desk, I know I’ve made up my mind. I’m not going. I’m just opening my mouth to tell her when she gets in first.

“I was right. Vi said she’d love you to come along. She took a liking to you, Beth. She said she can’t wait to see you again. Steph’s looking forward to seeing you again too.” She falters. “Well, hear you in her case I suppose. And Jay said to tell you hi.” She stops at last, her face beaming.

How can I get out of this now?

“I don’t know,” I start. “I’ve been rethinking this.”

“Overthinking it,” she says sharply and intuitively. “Look, forget about Ink. Just come and have a good time with friends. Vi will be so disappointed if you don’t turn up.” She then turns on the guilt. “Pyro’s keeping Demon out of the way, so we can set up the party as his surprise. I was banking on you to help me carry the stuff that I’ll have baked.” And then, I swear, she turns on her puppy dog eyes. “Please?”

How can I refuse? I’ll never turn down a request for help from family or friends.

I can’t. “I’ll come.”

She hugs me tight.

That’s how I find myself Saturday afternoon helping Mel load enough cakes and desserts to feed an army into her car. As my eyes widen when she brings out tub after tub, she laughs.

“This will all disappear. They’re hungry men.”

“They must be,” I mutter under my breath, helping her carry out another load.

When we arrive at the compound, I don’t see many bikes and wonder where they’re stored, until Mel enlightens me. It’s luckily a mild day for once, and the men are all out on a run taking advantage of the weather. It’s just the women and prospects inside.

I feel relieved at my slight reprieve, so follow her in. Vi organises the men wearing cuts with the word prospect on the back and who I discover are called Beaver and Karl, to bring in the stuff Mel’s brought. The clubhouse is already decorated with balloons, and a banner’s waiting to be put up.

Having exchanged hugs with Vi, Steph and Jay, I point to the banner. “Where do you want that?”

“I thought above the bar.”

No sooner are the words out of Vi’s mouth, I’m pulling up a step stool that’s already been brought in and pinning up one end of the ‘Happy Birthday’ sign.

“Be careful,” says Mel.

“No worries, I got this.” I don’t mind heights, nor balancing precariously on rickety old steps.

Once they know I’m happy to pitch in, I’m given other tasks as they take advantage of my height, and soon the room starts to take shape. In the centre of it all is the amazing birthday cake that Mel has made.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” I catch hold of Theo as he toddles toward it with his hands outstretched, and I chuckle as I swing him up in my arms. “Rascal.”

“Thank you.” Vi’s grateful comment is heartfelt.

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