Page 82 of Avenging Devil: Part 2

“I can’t believe this is an MC,” she says, still grinning and perching herself on the bed. “Sure, the clubroom’s a bit old, but that kitchen?” I nod, having been impressed myself. “You need to take those and get your ass moving.”

“What’s so amusing?” As I ask, I tap out the tablets I need to take, and swig them down.

“Because eggs Benedict is on the breakfast menu.” When she sees my eyes widen, she raises her chin. “I kid you not. That Cowboy is something else.”

Sure is an improvement over the sweet butts who cook for us back home. My lips twitch as I imagine Patsy and Eva trying to teach them advanced cookery skills.

“Is there anything normal on offer?”

She chuckles. “Eggs, bacon, waffles, which are homemade, sausage links. Apparently, whatever the,” she pauses and puts the next in air quotes, “’heathens’ want. But we’ve got to be quick. He starts serving in fifteen minutes.”

Forgoing my shower, that’s an ordeal I’ll put myself through later, Saffie gets the clothes that I need and leaves me to dress, while she disappears into the bathroom. After her, I make a pit stop there myself.

The first full day in the Utah clubhouse goes well. After a breakfast which puts most I’ve ever had to shame, and yes, we both tried the eggs Benedict, Saffie seemed to be a little more relaxed. It could be more that there’s nothing to worry her. Grinch, Mystic and Goofy disappeared to the attached auto-shop, and the brothers who remain seem ultra-focused, going in and out of their comms room, or pouring over plans in the bar area.

I, myself, feel like a fish out of water. They all wear cuts with the same patch on the back as the one I left in San Diego, which I’d last seen hanging on the back of Saffie’s front door. But there the resemblance with our club ends.

With nothing practical to do, I can only focus on healing. Saffie gets out an e-reader Cat had lent her and gets lost in a book, and I play mindless games on my phone. It irks an active man like myself not to be in the thick of things. Even the fuckin’ dog, App, has a job. The one thing stopping me butting in and asking to be included is that I feel outclassed. The brothers in Utah all have roles and know what they’re doing, whereas I wouldn’t have a clue where to start. My way of tracing someone is to get out and start looking, not sitting behind a computer screen.

Despite my boredom, we fall into a routine.

Church, minus the old-timers, takes place every day to make sure everyone is kept updated. It bothers me that not much progress is being made, and Duke, Grit and Susie all remain elusive.

Was Susie dead, or had she gotten away? Honor’s concentrating on trying to root out the name of the fed to whom she’s related but has so far failed to marry them up. The daily updates at least serve to let me know my new brothers are putting all their resources on it. While I miss the fuck out of my brothers back home, I can’t deny staying here serves a purpose.

Being here is doing Saffie good too. She seems to become more at ease as the days pass. Stormy’s woman has a lot to do with it. Cat takes her shopping, bringing back necessary but basic clothing and other items for me and her. Gradually, Saffie’s starting to come out of her shell and is becoming more confident.

In the evenings when the old-timers come in, Grinch regularly monopolises her attention. The three of them often assing around and making her laugh with some of their outlandish stories, not many of which I believe. But I note her entering an easy relationship of these men wearing leather, and have on occasion thanked Grinch, as I know he’s doing it purposefully.

I spend a lot of time on the new phone Utah supplied, calling brothers in San Diego. Mary, Grumbler says, is still hanging on. Bored as fuck being confined to a hospital bed but doing the best she can to keep their son cooking inside. More serious conversations ensue with Lost, where we try to assess the danger Duke poses. Lost tells me the minute he thinks Duke might have the Satan’s Devils in his sights, he’ll be locking down the club.

Of course we discuss Cyn. I don’t know what the fuck I want to do about her. I’m livid that my injuries and Saffie’s new nightmares can be laid at her door, and I can’t shake my impulse to have her face some retribution. But I want to talk to her first, get to the bottom of what the hell she thought she was doing, and what the purpose was behind it. While on one hand she deserves the truth dragged out of her, I can’t ask Salem to question her on my behalf. I hope I’ll be returning to San Diego sooner rather than later and can resolve the question of Cyn once and for all.

I concur with Lost that Cyn could be a danger and it’s best to have her close. I don’t envy him the problem of daily telling her, no, she can’t contact me, and he doesn’t know when I’ll be returning. On my part, I don’t trust myself to speak to her, not until we’re face-to-face and I can see whether I’m getting the truth out of her.

Time drags heavy, I’ll admit that. A week’s gone past and we’re no closer to finding Duke, Grit or fucking Susie. They seem to have dropped off the face of the earth.

I hate being confined to a wheelchair. So when Bolt tells me he’s got me an appointment to get a new prosthesis, I’m elated and eager to get started on the rigmarole to get it ordered. I’m already sick of being pushed around everywhere.

That day, I’m impatiently waiting with Saffie as Bolt seems to be taking his time getting ready to leave, when my phone rings. As she’s taken to doing, Saffie steps away to give me privacy.

“You got Niran.”

“Curtis here. How are you… Brother?” I knew who was calling having seen the prospect’s name on the device.

“I’m—” I break off. There’s only one reason for that form of introduction. “Brother?”

“Yup.” That one word is tinged with pride. “Patched in last church. Picked up a new handle. Sharpshooter.”

That’s great news. I knew he’d make the grade. “I’m happy for you, but fuck. That’s a mouthful.” I chuckle.

“That’s what she said,” he responds, making me laugh from my belly.

When I’ve recovered, I ask the reason for the call. “So what can I do for you?”

“It’s about Cyn.”

Damn. My good mood is shot. “What’s she been up to now?” I growl.

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