Page 40 of Avenging Devil: Part 1

When it’s been a week, I tell myself to stop thinking about her. All I’m doing is driving myself crazy. When I weaken and want to say to hell with it, and go visit, all I have to do is remember her sheer terror when she found out I belonged to a club.

I’ve gone from friend to someone who scares her. It should be no surprise she doesn’t make contact.

The ball is in her court and there’s no sense me trying to retrieve it. She knows how to get in touch.

I’ll just have to deal with the fact that me being a biker is too big an obstacle for her to get over.

Chapter Thirteen

Niran

“You persuaded her then?” Pennywise yells out.

Shaking my head despairingly, I walk toward the group of my brothers waiting by their bikes. “Eventually. With Alex’s help.”

For the past week, Cyn’s taken more of my time than I’d expected, playing the little sister card far too often for my liking.

She doesn’t need me as much as she thinks. She’s fine to be left alone in the clubhouse. The old ladies are happy to take her under their wings, and even the club girls make time for her though the jury’s still out on what I think about that. My brothers treat her with the respect she deserves, sometimes taking the time to entertain her so I can have a moment to myself. I mean, a man’s got to take a piss sometimes. But even then, she seeks my attention.

“Niran, did you see that shot?”

“Niran, come look, see what I’ve done.”

“Niran, what card would you play?”

She’s no closer to leaving than she was a week back, and not having expected her to make an appearance in my life, I’m starting to feel suffocated.

It’s got to the extent my brothers are feeling sorry for me. Last night, Salem suggested we head out and see where the road takes us as we had a week or so back—just us boys and our bikes out on the road for a while. The problem being Cyn expected to come with us.

It had been when I told her she couldn’t I’d gotten an inkling of what my mom had meant when she’d described her as ‘difficult’, and that word was an understatement. Gone was the simpering girl idolising her big brother when she’d thrown a tantrum, including tears and much stomping of feet, and then pulling out thenobody loves mecard.

I’d tried to reason with her, in the end resorting to pointing out in no uncertain terms, what I’d tried to tell her more gently before—I never wanted a woman on the back of my motorcycle and sister or not she wasn’t going. Adding that, fuck it, while I was her brother, I needed some time to myself.

It wasn’t my argument that ended her tirade, it was when Alex had suggested they have a girls’ outing and that she’d take her shopping and to get manicures or some shit. I’ll be owing Dart my marker for that.

Alex’s suggestion had Cyn preening as if she’d gotten one over on me. She hadn’t, of course, she’d simply made me resolve to call Mom again and see how quickly we could persuade her to go home.

It’s not that I never want to be a family man, I just want one of my own making. Is it wrong to say that Cyn might carry fifty percent of the same blood, but the jury’s still out on whether I like her, let alone feel any type of sibling love? She’s hard work, and definitely an acquired flavour.

Instead of taking my mind off Saffie, Cyn makes me think of her more. Before she’d known I was a biker, Saffie had accepted my help, albeit reluctantly, as if the world owed her no favours. Her, I want to support and help. Cyn who demands it as a due, I do not.

The day is sunny and warm with a gentle breeze blowing. I shake my head again, clearing my head. I’m determined for the next few hours to think of nothing but the pavement beneath my wheels and the wind in my hair, where the only decision I have to make is whether to change gears up or down.

It works to some extent. The day stays fine, the company’s good, and the food when we stop off may not be the most satisfying, but critiquing it occupies our minds, as does the overt advances of one of the waitstaff who simpers and seems overly entranced with our quintet of bikers.

“She’s looking at you.” Salem nudges Pennywise. “Reckon you’ve got a chance to tap that.”

“Nah, it’s you,” Pennywise informs Dusty. “If you want to take her up on it, we’ll wait.” He pauses, winks, then adds, “We’ve got time. I mean, what’s your average? A couple of minutes tops? Oomph!”

The last is in response to Dusty’s sharp jab to his ribs.

“You’re wrong,” Snips informs us, gumming the soft pasta he’d ordered. “Clear as fuck it’s me she wants.”

“Keep on dreaming,” Salem retorts.

“Maybe it’s Black meat she’s after?” Dusty suggests with a grin in my direction.

I know it’s cruel, but I can’t stop myself pointing out, “It would help us work out who if both her eyes looked in the same direction.”

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