Page 26 of Avenging Devil: Part 1

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.

If that’s the case, how long do I have?

Chapter Ten

Niran

Always conscious of my promise to Grumbler, I speed away from the neighbourhood that unsettles me and will admit to breathing a sigh of relief as we head into the more affluent area of the city. I might be a hardened biker and have faced more than a few bullets in my time as a Marine, so well used to the rougher side of life, but for the past hour or so I’ve been overly conscious that today I have Mary with me. Grumbler certainly wouldn’t want her hanging around in an area full of druggies and criminals. Judgemental? Perhaps. But never naïve. That knock on Saffie’s door had been a real eye-opener as to the risk she’s in just staying there.

What if it hadn’t been a lone intruder? What if a gang had appeared?Would they have taken my excuse that they were on the wrong floor? Damn it. Grumbler would rightly put my balls in a fucking vice if he knows I put Mary in danger, and that includes just a small rise to her heart rate.

Fuck, but it goes against the grain to know I’m leaving Saffie there, in a home I wouldn’t want to house a stray dog. Those nights I’d stayed with her, I’d been aware of the potential for violence, but was lulled into a false sense of security when all that seemed to affect her had been noise. Today it had come far too close. That caller was so fucked up, he wouldn’t have cared had she confronted him. Faced with an attractive woman, a junkie might have easily forgotten his beef with his dealer and taken something she hadn’t been offering.

On top of that, I’ve left her alone and hurting, and that pains me deep in the gut.

But what could I do? Not only had she asked me to leave, she’d done the one thing guaranteed to make me go.

I glare out of the windshield, only half my attention on the road. Fuck, but I hate leaving Saffie alone.

“I want to go back,” Mary says stubbornly, showing her thoughts are running along the same lines. “We shouldn’t have left her there.”

“Couldn’t risk her calling the fuckin’ cops.” Especially not as she seems to have a deep-seated grievance against motorcycle clubs.

“Pah. What could she say?” Mary asks indignantly. “We weren’t doing any harm.”

“Mary,” I start in exasperation. “Look at me.” Taking one hand off the wheel, I gesture down at my body.

“So, you’re big, but you’re not a threat. I could have told them that.”

Rolling my eyes, it appears I have to remind her, “I’m fuckin’ Black.”

Once I’ve put it so plainly, Mary sucks in a breath. “I didn’t think of that,” she says softly, reaching out and touching my thigh briefly. “I’m sorry, Niran.”

So am I. I couldn’t take the risk the cops turning up wouldn’t ask questions first. It’s likely I’d have been arrested, if not shot on the spot. I wonder if Saffie had realised the implications. Maybe she did, but whether done consciously, she’d made a threat that coming from a White woman, was strongest against a man with the colour of my skin.

Mary huffs and out of the side of my eye I see her twisting her hair. “She didn’t give us a chance to explain about the type of club we are. We could be weekend warriors, fundraising, anything. She just assumed the worst.”

“She was fuckin’ terrified, Mary.” I hadn’t missed how the blood had drained from her face immediately after the facts had become known to her. “And I didn’t only leave because of the threat of the cops, it was as much how our presence was upsetting her.”

I have a dreadful feeling inside me that she’s known a club which doesn’t treat women kindly. As to what type of club we were, what could I have told her? If I were totally honest, I’d have had to explain that yes, we still wear the one-percenter patch. My qualification that nowadays that means we only occasionally step over the line, and not live on the other side of it, would probably have gone unheard.

Everything had been fine until the word ‘clubhouse’ was mentioned. A word that had such bad connotations in her head, it had triggered a severe reaction such that she was only one step away from a full-blown panic attack. It wasn’t hard to immediately understand she had a fear of bikers, making me suspicious of what club she might have previously been associated with, or maybe simply had crossed their path. Of course, not all clubs were as family oriented as ours. Many are violent, many dealing in drugs, guns and heaven help us, women. We would never descend into such depths of depravity. I might be a Devil but I’m not selling my soul. Easy money? You can keep it.

I want to rant and rave. My protective instinct had been brought to the fore the moment I’d first seen her, only intensifying as I saw how distressed she was, knowing something serious had caused it. When I understood the pressure and sorrow she was under, my desire to hold her close hadn’t been able to be denied. That’s why I’d stayed, got to know that part of her that she allowed me to see, and in turn, kept back most of me. In not wanting to upset her, I’d lost my chance to be pre-armed for this situation. Goddamn it! I punch the steering wheel in frustration.I should have demanded to know who the father was or why she was living in a pit only this side of hell.I’ve only myself to blame by not pushing for answers.

Had I been glad the father was out of the picture? I think that’s truer than I want to admit, let alone ponder on the reasons.

Now I’m being forced to leave her behind, and I don’t fucking like it. It’s like being asked to leave a Marine or brother. Her pain might be mental rather than physical, but it’s abandonment just the same. Neither the Marine nor biker in me likes it.

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