Page 88 of Avenging Devil: Part 1

Maybe it’s Patsy come back to check on me?

At least whoever’s there is prepared to wait for me to answer. Before the knock can come again, I get to my feet, wipe the ever-present tears from my eyes, and shuffle my way toward the door. Reluctantly, I open it just a crack, enough to recognise the man who’s standing outside.

It’s Niran. I swallow rapidly. He looks even bigger than he had in my house. My mouth’s so dry I try to summon enough saliva to speak, but before I do, offering a weak grin, he holds up a pack containing a lock in one hand, and with the other raises a toolbox.

“I know it’s late but thought you’d sleep easier if I fastened the lock straight away.” He holds up his hand holding the new lock, and I see something else. “I’ve also got a sturdy bolt you can use from the inside just for extra peace of mind.”

Bolts in the Crazy Wolves’ clubhouse had been on the outside, designed to keep people in. For a second, his offer makes my eyes widen in surprise.

At last, I find my voice. “Thank you, Niran. Are you sure it’s not too late to fit it now?”

“Nah. Most members are still downstairs. Anyone already in bed will understand.” He waves his hand. “May I?”

He means to come in. Of course he has to if he’s to complete the work. Stepping back, I allow him to enter.

The drill sounds overly loud, and I wince on behalf of Patsy who I suspect is trying to sleep just up the hall, but Niran seems to know what he’s doing. In no time at all, I have keys in my hand, and to my joy, knowing how MC members often have lock picking skills, a sturdy bolt on the inside of my door. Niran disappears for a moment, then returns with a Hoover and soon cleans up the mess he’s just made. Then he steps back and seems to eye me critically.

“You doing okay, Saffie?”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Niran

When I ask if she’s doing okay, Saffie’s tired eyes meet mine. A moment passes, then she admits, “No.”

It’s confirmation that at least once, we were friends. With me, she doesn’t need to keep up a pretence.

When I’d bumped into Connor on his return from the store, I gave mental thanks to Patsy for watching out for her. Of course she needed the control of who she let in through her door.

I’d hoped she’d feel safer once I’d attached the lock, and sure, there was an expression of relief on her face, but not enough. Fuck, her experience of bikers was so fuckin’ bad, she must have been terrified to think anyone could walk in, even a flimsy lock wouldn’t keep a determined man out. How can I reassure her no one is like that around here? That she’s as safe—safer—than she could be anywhere.

Bikers drink, we get rowdy, I admit I’m no exception. It’s far from unusual to hear raised voices and the sound of bodies banging into walls and doors late into the night. Without her door secured, it’s easy to imagine her lying awake worried. And hell, she wouldn’t have been wrong to, even if the only intruder would be someone mistaking hers for his room. Only last week I’d had a visit from an inebriated Pennywise who’d been convinced my room was his. I’d only just managed to persuade him otherwise before he’d joined me in bed. I shudder just thinking about it, and where his meaty paws might have roamed in his drunken sleep.

I’d hoped she’d relax with the lock keeping people from coming in, and the bolt that gives her the security that visitors are hers to decide whether to admit. But her answer to my casual enquiry as to whether she’s alright, I feel like a blow to my gut.

Of course she isn’t. She’s lost a baby and has a bastard of a husband after her. I fucking wish I could refer to him as her ex, but in the eyes of the law, he’s very much in the present. On top of all that, she was faced with children tonight, a reminder, at least in the short term, of what she’s not going to have.

I wish there was some way I could take her pain from her, but I don’t know how.

“You want to go to sleep? Or would you like to talk?” My presence is the only thing I can offer her. Perhaps I’ve got some ideas about her not needing to get a divorce—dead men don’t tend to have much influence in their widows’ lives, but something like that will need to be considered carefully, and a death sentence time to be carried out. Her other issues, now I’ve fixed her lock, I’ve no idea how to deal with.

She hangs her head like a dog which has just been kicked. “Coming here was a mistake. I’d like to go home.”

In my view that’s the biggest error she could make. Firstly, we’ve no idea how close Duke is to finding her location and secondly, I’ve already let her spend far too much time alone. The state she was in when she arrived testifies to that. Without me looking out for her, she’s not been taking care of herself.

Purposefully leaving the door ajar, I step further into the room. “If you really want to leave, no one will stop you. You’re not a prisoner here. But Saffie, it is best you stay. That way, I, we, can protect you and give you a safe place to think on your next move.”

Still looking down, she starts to pick at her fingernails. “My next move is simple. I leave San Diego.” Even with her head bowed, I can tell she’s only just holding back tears when she sniffs.

My eyes narrow, sensing something deeper is going on. “What’s worrying you?”

“Where can I go where I’ll be safe? Duke’s found me once. There’s nothing stopping him from finding me again.”

I wonder whether on some visceral level the idea that she’s my old lady has taken root in my brain when the acknowledgement flits through my head that I really don’t want her to leave. Not the clubhouse, and not San Diego.

“Then the answer is to get Duke off your back,” I suggest.

She shoots me a look as if doubting my ability to do that. “I thought he wouldn’t be looking,” she states, shaking her head. “Sure, I knew he’d be angry, but after all these months, why’s he pulling out all the stops? I didn’t think he’d try that hard to find me.”

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