Page 1 of Avenging Devil: Part 1

Chapter One

Saffie

Four months ago

How did it, or rather I, come to this?

My hands twist in my lap as I sit on a filthy couch in the clubroom of the Crazy Wolves MC in Nevada, scared and nervous, with every fibre of my being on alert. Flinching when I hear his voice, I try to keep my eyes lowered, but they rise automatically as I hear his tone. I look down again fast.

He’s angry.No good ever comes of that. My quick stolen glance at least shows, for once, his ire isn’t directed at me. Instead, his focus is on a poor prospect standing, shaking in front of him.

“There’s a scratch on my bike,” Duke sneers. “What the fuck did you do to it?”

Around him stands Knife, the prez, Slit the sergeant-at-arms and other members of the MC looking on. Their arms are folded, and all have the same expression of anger on their faces. I know immediately, the prospect won’t get any sympathy or support from them. No one goes against Duke.

Jude, a pleasant young man who’s only been trying to earn his patch for a couple of months, holds out his hands in supplication. “I cleaned it, VP, that’s all.” When his voice croaks, he clears his throat, but he’s not successful in hiding the tremor. “Th-th-there was already a scratch on it. I didn’t do it. Honest to fuckin’ God, I didn’t.” He glances around as though looking for help, but no one steps forward.

Duke moves fast, his large hand circling Jude’s throat. The prospect stands stoic and valiantly pretends he’s not choking. “You’re a fuckin’ liar.” Holding Jude in place, Duke’s eyes encompass the men standing impassively around. “Anyone here want a man who can’t tell the truth as a fuckin’ member?”

“Or who takes the Lord’s name in vain.”

“You fuckin’ what?” Slinger throws at Stoat, who shrugs and goes red, while a few others snort.

Yeah, God and the Wolves don’t have much of an understanding. I reckon He abandoned the club when it was founded and there’s no chance of Him listening in, let alone being offended. I know, none of my prayers have been answered, and I’ve sent up too many to count.

Slit spits on the ground. “A man who can’t admit the truth has no fuckin’ business in an MC, VP.”

Since when?I ask myself cynically.

But I’m the only doubter as, “Too fuckin’ right,” is echoed around him.

As though coming to realise he’s in danger of losing the chance at his patch, and maybe more than that, Jude tries to defend himself, stressing again, “It was already there. I left the bike how I found it.”

I could have told him it’s not worth the breath he’s wasted. Once Duke’s mind is made up, nothing will change it.

As for the scratch, Jude was right, I could confirm it. I’d noticed it yesterday and had almost asked Duke how he’d gotten it last night. Almost. Luckily, I know better and had kept my mouth closed, as I do now. I’m probably the undeserving woman God thinks I am, as heaven help me, but I stay dumb, even though I suspect I know what’s coming.

This isn’t about a scratch, real or imagined. This is something worse. The signs are all there. The muscle in Duke’s jaw ticks, a sure sign he’s itching for violence. Prewarned by my prior experiences, it’s certain if I declared the prospect was right, it would be me feeling Duke’s fists raised in anger. Call me a coward, but those I’ve felt too many times before to speak up and face them again.

I’m Duke’s old lady. I wear his patch. My more correct title would be his punching bag.

How did I get here?

Inwardly, I shake my head as I ask myself the question again, zoning out of the here and now, which is something I wish I could escape from.

Five years back, I had met a different man, one who in no way resembled the man in front of me now. One who was kind, charming and loving, and who’d appeared in my life at the exact right time. I suppose, having already been let down by my cheating ex-husband, I was ripe pickings for anyone who’d appreciate me. All it had taken were a few kind words, special smiles seemingly only for me, and all given by a handsome man who behaved like a gentleman and was generous with compliments as well as his money. That was the man I’d met, not the monster in front of me now.

I had known that Duke was a member of a motorcycle club from the start, and it hadn’t bothered me. My ex had been a banker and his respectable profession hadn’t stopped him from taking off with his PA ten years his junior.

When I’d told him my sorry story, Duke had declared he’d never trade me in for a younger model, assuring me I was the only wife he’d ever need. Over the past five years, he’s proved himself right. Duke didn’t need to cut me loose or try to deceive me. No, he was completely up front, having both his cake and eating it. He kept me, and if he wanted to plant his dick elsewhere, he never bothered to make a secret of his infidelities, often using the club whores in front of me. More than once he’d suggested I could learn a lot from them.

Why did he want an old lady? I’ve never really figured that out. The one benefit I could see was my use as a shield to stop any other girl from getting ideas above their station. I was some kind of trophy, someone good brought into his evil world. Someone he could corrupt and treat however he wanted. Or at least that’s what I supposed. He’s never enlightened me as to the truth of the matter. I know part of it was to punish my dad, something I wasn’t responsible or asked for.

While my mind’s been wandering, Duke has been letting the prospect’s torture play out. It’s not the first time I’ve seen him use this ploy as he stands silent, his eyes focused on Jude, giving him time to wonder if he’s going to be offered some way to make recompense for his imagined crime.

Knowing Duke too well, I hold no optimism on that count. If anyone heard my story, they’d ask why I stay, why I put up with the moods, the anger, the striking. Why I allow my body to be a mass of bruises and healed broken bones from the too-many-to-count beatings. Do you think it’s by choice?

If I had a way out, I’d take it. Truth is, I’m trapped. I’m Duke’s property, not my own person anymore. I’ve no other identity except that of his old lady and wife. None of the Crazy Wolves MC would so much as lift a finger to help me get away.

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