Page 105 of Avenging Devil: Part 2

A voice comes through the car speakers immediately. “Gears has the drones up. Honor and I are into the local CCTV cameras. There’s nothing suspicious that we can see.”

It’s Snatcher’s voice we hear next. “Exit the gates. There’s a parking lot up the street. Pull in there and we’ll regroup. We’ll escort you from there.”

“Got my boys checking it out. It’s safe,” comes another voice I don’t recognise.

“Thanks, Red.” Bolt inadvertently gives me the name.

My hand trembles as I reach for Niran’s. He glances quickly at me. “Don’t be scared, Saffie. We’ve got this.”

“The car’s got bulletproof glass.” Bolt catches my eyes in the rearview mirror. “It might not look like it, but it’s built like a fucking tank. Red knew what he was doing when he hired it.”

We pull up where Snatcher had instructed. It’s only a moment or so before we set out again, this time escorted by trucks carrying the Utah members, and bikes with those from Vegas.

Christ, it’s nerve-racking. We know somewhere out there is Duke. How will he stop us? Will I hear bullets bouncing off the car, or will he ram us? I worry about the men on bikes. They must be so much more vulnerable than us.

“He might have given up seeing how Saffie’s protected,” Bolt suggests, his eyes constantly moving, looking ahead, then in the mirrors to the side and our rear. “There’s only two of them against all of us.”

Niran huffs. “That’s why I expected a hit on the parents’ house. That’s where he knew we’d be, and we were discreet. Nothing would have looked out of the ordinary. I don’t know why he didn’t choose to play that hand.”

“He’s got Grit, remember?” Bolt sounds thoughtful. “We tried to be careful, but something might have shown up on the CCTV. Grit might have noticed something didn’t look right.”

“So you think he might have given up today?” I ask, half hoping, half fearing the answer. If not today when the situation is under control, when will it be? Then more optimistically, I offer, “Maybe he’s given up on me?”

Catching Bolt’s expression in the mirror, I see him frowning. “Could be he’s given up.”

“You believe that, Brother?” Niran asks, his voice laden with incredulity.

Bolt snorts. “Well, if there was an investment attached, I wouldn’t place money on it.”

“Maybe he thinks I’m dead?” I don’t know how they were so sure Duke knew where I’d be today, but maybe that’s the part of the plan which fell through.

“We could have fucked up,” Niran, says, half to himself. “Made assumptions and leaps.”

“Maybe,” Bolt agrees, obviously catching the meaning that eludes me.

“He’s out there.” Niran clenches his teeth. “Somewhere.”

Somewhere. But it seems, not here. We reach the airport and the plane without incident. Preacher checks with Grinch and Goofy who’d come along to provide security for our mode of transport home. There’s been no sign of anyone, and no attempted interference.

“Hey, adopted daughter, com’ere.” When Grinch holds out his arms, I pull away from Niran and run into them. “I’m fuckin’ glad you’re safe,” he says as he hugs me. “I’ve been worried out of my mind. You okay?” He pushes me away and examines me carefully.

“I’m fine, Grinch.” Though I hate to admit it, in a few short weeks, Grinch has become more of a father to me than my real dad’s ever been. This wizened, battle-scarred biker has wormed his way in and has become family.

A lone biker rides up to the plane, making me realise the others have peeled away from our escort at some point. He walks up to Snatcher, and they do that man hug thing.

“Got my boys surrounding the airstrip.” He explains the other bikers’ absence.

“Thanks, Red. I owe you.”

Red brushes that off, then walks over to Niran and me. Niran balances both crutches under one arm to allow Red to shake his hand, then Red reaches around him, careful not to push him off balance, and slaps his back. “Good to see you back on your feet.”

“Getting there,” Niran says, with a grin. “Thanks for—”

“Thanks for fuckin’ nothing. You’re a brother,” Red says, almost violently. “We ride for each other, remember?” He waits a beat for that to sink in, then turns to me. “Hey, little lady. I’ve been wanting to meet you.” As I take his offered hand, I muse the reason for his name is more than apparent. His hair is flaming red. “As no one’s fuckin’ bothered to introduce me, I’m Red. I’m the prez of the Vegas club.”

Prezes to me are people like Knife, cruel with the power of life or death, or intense, like Snatcher and Lost. Red though, there’s a hint of mischief about him, and a boyish grin as he smiles at me. But there’s also something, a depth in his eyes, which warns me to keep on his right side.

“I used to love going to Vegas,” I tell him, conversationally.

---