Page 88 of Avenging Devil: Part 2

Chapter Twenty-Four

Saffie

Cat walks into the clubroom with Stormy. He kisses her, then goes off toward their comms room. She comes over and sits beside me.

I take the opportunity to ask a question I’ve been wondering about. “Do you consider yourself Stormy’s property?”

She sits forward, and her eyes open wide. “Well, that’s an odd opening. You’ve obviously got something on your mind. But to answer your question, I’ve got a cut with those words on it, so yeah.”

My eyes crease. “I’ve never seen you wear it.”

“Ha. Well, being six months pregnant might have something to do with that. I mainly wear it when we’re out on his bike.”

That’s a good point. Giving her a sheepish look, I continue, “Don’t you mind? Being called property?”

Sitting back, she sighs. “It was odd to start with, but no, I really don’t mind. To these bikers, having an old lady is more of a commitment than saying ‘I do’ in front of a judge. It means I’m Stormy’s, and he’d kill any fucker who touched me.” She meets my eyes. “I feel cherished, cared for and valued.”

“What are you two talking about?” Swift comes over and pulls up a chair. Her hearing dog settles down beside her. Her appearance makes me realise church must be out, though some of the men, including Niran, seem to have stayed behind.

“Being property,” Cat enlightens her.

I glance at Swift. “You don’t wear a property cut.”

She snorts. “No, I don’t. But that’s because I’ve got my own cut in my own right. Doesn’t mean I’m not property, just as Road is property of mine.”

I widen my eyes. “Really?”

“Sure. Property is important to us. Road is mine.” She shrugs. “It’s a word, Saffie. No difference to us than saying you’re a man’s wife. Both convey ownership. Our way is to have no written contract between us, no spoken vows. Just a commitment, ‘til death do us part. A property cut is just a visual sign you belong to your man. Nothing much different to wearing a wedding ring, except it specifies whose you are.”

Unable to suppress my shudder, I explain, “It has different connotations for me.”

“Only because it was the wrong man,” Swift replies sharply. “There are abusive husbands around, Saffie. We’ve seen enough wives escaping assholes who think they own them and who want to control every aspect of their lives. Duke didn’t treat you badly because he was a biker. Even if he didn’t wear a cut and ride a bike, he’d have still been an abusive, cruel motherfucker.”

“The whole club was like that.”

“Like attracts like.” When my head tilts as I consider her response, she carries on. “Take the Satan’s Devils’ chapters. I’ve no doubt anyone like Duke or his cohorts would soon be weeded out. The men, and woman,” she waves to herself with a grin, “treat their partners right. Any prospect showing such disrespect wouldn’t get his patch.”

“The Wolves only patched those who were ruthless.”

Swift beckons to Brute to bring her a drink. “That’s because of the trade they were in. What right-minded man would want to flood the streets with drugs that were just as likely to kill as to provide a high, or kidnap and sell innocent women? You’d have to have a cruel streak a mile wide to be involved in anything like that. Anyone with a hint of humanity about them wouldn’t have a chance of joining Duke’s club. Your problem is, Saffie, you saw the worst, and connected it to anyone who rides a bike.”

She’s right. “I’m trying to get past that.”

Her eyes fill with sympathy. “You’ve got PTSD, Saffie. And bikers are your trigger. It will take time to get over that.”

“You’re going to have to,” Cat comments, but not unkindly, “if you’re going to have a life with your old man.”

I want to admit I’m living a lie, that I’m nothing to Niran, but part of me is jealous of what these two women have, something I’ve never had. A man who openly cares and obviously loves me. When I’d met Clive, I didn’t know what love was, and then there was Duke, and what I had with him was all illusion.

Could I find that in Niran?

If I was to list the attributes of my ideal man, I would find more than enough in him. For the first time, I start to think rather than pushing him away, whether I’d be able to draw him in. I wonder what he would say if I suggested I wanted to become his old lady for real.

Could I live this life?

Could I? If the alternative was to say goodbye to Niran and never see him again?

But to be an old lady means not just overcoming the block in my mind about being referred to as property. It would mean giving him all of me. Could I do that? A shiver runs down my spine. Maybe Niran would accept a relationship without sex.

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