Page 69 of Devil's Due

“What do you do?”

“I’m designing a program to make doing taxes easier for blind people. Most of the time I work on my own, but I give email reports and updates. As I haven’t been able to do that, well, I suspect they’ll be looking for someone else now.”

They may well be. “The marshals got you that job?”

“Yes.”

“Then I suspect they’ll help you get something else. It was on their watch you almost got killed.”

She looks thoughtful and brightens as if I’ve given her hope.

My phone pings with a text. “Prospects are coming tomorrow,” I tell her as a warning. I haven’t been back to church, but Demon’s given me updates. Wills and Dan were ecstatic to be patched in, something I’d have loved to have witnessed. Always a good feeling bringing new brothers to the table. As a result, Beaver and Karl were given prospect cuts.

“I’ll make sure I’m ready,” she acknowledges. We’ve found a place where she can stay out of sight. Not very imaginative, just the spare bedroom. I’ve piled up furniture so it looks like a storeroom. No reason for anyone to go looking, but if they did, a cursory glance wouldn’t reveal her inside. Before they arrive, I’ll make sure there’s no feminine shit hidden around.

The next day I’ve got Stevie comfortable in her secret nest, well before our visitors are due. She’s going to listen to her book until she hears the bikes, then will just have to wait it out. I need to get her new headphones as the cheap ones she’s got leak sound. I promise to get rid of the prospects as fast as I can, but she waves me off, telling me to take as long as I need. She’s right, I’ve got to be careful not to raise suspicion, or for the prospects to suspect I’m not here alone.

It’s almost exactly the time Demon had told me when Beaver and Karl come driving up in the truck. Immediately they get out and drag on their brand-new cuts proudly displaying that they are Satan’s Devils prospects.

Beaver’s next action is to light a cigarette. Belatedly he waves the pack toward me, putting it back in his cut when I shake my head. I’ve never smoked, and the fresh mountain air immediately seems tainted. I step around him, putting myself upwind of the stench. Karl shakes his head at his traveling companion, then walks around to the back of the truck. I notice his eyes scanning the surroundings.

Looking for someone?Nah. Stevie arrived in Pueblo long after these two started hanging around the club. No one could have predicted Satan’s Devils and her paths would have crossed.

“This is the back of beyond,” Beaver says, conversationally. “Ain’t you going stir-crazy out here?”

“Not at all.” I don’t need to explain myself to a prospect. Oh, in time, if he looks like he’s going to make the grade I’ll look on him as a friend before he advances to being one of my brothers. Right now and just starting out? I need to see what he’s made off. “My bike got dusty coming up the dirt road. Go and clean it.” I point to the lean-to where it’s currently protected from most of the elements.

I’m pleased to see he stubs his cigarette out on the heel of his boot, pockets the stub, and steps smartly off in the direction of my Harley.Learning already.Good sign. Of course, I could have asked he clean the outhouse with his toothbrush. Maybe I’ll tell him to bring it with him next time. My lips curl behind his back. Always good fun fucking with new prospects.

“Beef!” Karl’s deep voice draws my attention to him.

He’s still leaning in the back of the truck, sorting out provisions I suspect. Well, if he expects a patched member to help his sorry butt carrying shit, he’s got another think coming. If he hasn’t learned the crap part of being a prospect yet, I’m happy to teach him. If I’d truly been alone, I could have asked him to cook me dinner and he would have to jump to it. Probably wouldn’t be edible though, unless he’s got hidden talents.

Prepared to educate him on the facts of prospect life if all he wants is help, I move around to the back of the truck, coming to an abrupt halt when I see what he’s brought.

Staring at the contents, Karl shakes his head. “Fuck knows why you want this beat up piece of shit. Think Demon thought you might be lonely.”

Curbing my instinct to put my fist in his face at his disrespectful mode of speaking, I crouch, then reach out my hand. A long pink tongue comes out to lick it. “Hey, you remember me, boy? You were in a fuck of a state when I last saw you.”

Max has got a cone thing around his head, his back leg is bandaged, and he’s got shaven bare bits on his front legs, presumably where the catheter went in. But his eyes are alert and bright, and when I reach behind his ears to give him a scratch, he leans into me.

Karl reaches into his back pocket. “Got instructions here from the vet. He told you to call him if you’ve got any problems.”

I hold out my hand. When the piece of paper is in it, I unfold it. Max is to be kept quiet and rested. The prospects have brought a crate for that purpose. There are instructions for his meds, and for his maintenance diet so he doesn’t eat too much and put on weight which would stress his healing leg.

“Okay, boy,” I mutter, half to myself. “Let’s get you inside.” It’s not the first time I’ve been close to him. Whether he remembers me or not, he doesn’t protest or struggle as I pick him up and take him inside.

Behind me comes Karl carrying a folded-up crate, and some blankets. There are other bags full of treats, toys, food and his meds, but at least the prospect’s got a head on his shoulders. We need to get Max settled and comfortable first.Stevie’s going to go ape-shit when she sees him.

“Don’t know why you want the mutt,” Karl mumbles as he sets up the crate. “Doesn’t the seeing-eye dog place take them back or something when they can’t work?”

Damn. He knows it’s Stevie’s.Well of course, he would. He’d have heard the talk around the clubhouse that I was the first on the scene of the accident. I wonder what I can say, and come up with, “You’re right, he can’t work. His mistress has moved on. I liked the mutt and offered to take him.”

“Your bike’s done, Beef. Got off all the dust.” Beaver points to the dog who I’ve placed in his crate. “I suppose the bitch left him as he was no good to her.”

“That’s right,” I say, firmly, keeping up the pretence, but unhappy to have even a fictional slur on her character. “A guide dog’s no good if it can’t work.”

“So, you, what? You wanted company?”

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