Page 122 of Avenging Devil: Part 2

Chapter Thirty-Three

Saffie

I’ve had to pinch myself a couple of times during this meeting. For five years I was an old lady with the Crazy Wolves. Never was I allowed to be involved in club business, let alone invited into church. I’d have got a fist in my face for even the suggestion.

Yet here I am, seated in yet another members’ only meeting.

If the reason wasn’t so serious, I’d be enthralled at the insights into the dynamics. Both Utah and San Diego have similarities, but each are different, much down to the personality of the presidents. Snatcher rules more with a rod of iron, Lost has an edge, don’t get me wrong, but there’s also something about him that suggests he listens as much as commands.

The more I think on what Duke has done, the more I don’t see any other way out than to sacrifice myself to him. Mary doesn’t deserve what’s happening to her, and Grumbler deserves his old lady and his son back where they belong.

My first introduction to this club had been Mary being so determined to help a fellow woman in distress, so how could I abandon her now?

While it would kill me to lose Niran, and while I’d kill myself rather than return to Duke, it’s the only thing that will mean Mary will be returned unharmed.

My reasoning? Well, if the support clubs aren’t behind him, as Stormy had just suggested, who’s Duke got on his side? Only one man, Grit. Duke might be impetuous, but he wouldn’t take on a whole club on his own. And harming Mary would make him a wanted man, by not only this chapter, but all the Devils, whatever territory they come from.

On the other hand, if he’s trapped like a cornered rat, he’s going to fight back. And rather than lose a bargaining chip, if he’s going down, he’ll take anyone with him, including Mary.

“You got that, Saffie?”

Having tuned out, I jump when I hear my name. “Sorry.” I feel my cheeks burn. “Could you repeat that?”

Niran takes my hand and links his fingers with mine. “We’ll arm you, Saffie, so if Duke gets close to you—which he won’t—” he breaks off then warns everyone with a scowl, “then you’ll be able to defend yourself.”

“We’ll have snipers around the vicinity,” Pennywise puts in. “While we’d prefer to take Duke unharmed, I’d prefer him dead than have a chance to take you.”

I notice Lost’s eyes keep returning to the silent phone in front of him. I take it we’re just waiting for a call from Duke now. Or, hopefully, contact from Stormy, to say that the drones have done their jobs.

“I think that’s all we can cover for now,” Lost says. “As soon as I hear from Duke, we’ll reconvene.”

As the men start to stand, Niran leans into me. “I’ll take you up to our room. Hopefully a prospect has taken our bags up already.”

Why unpack? I’ll probably be gone in a few hours. But I know better than to say that to Niran.

I wait while he gets his crutches beneath him, then follow him out.

The clubroom is busy with all the men hanging around, but for once the smell of leather is comforting, knowing as I do, they’ll all put their lives on the line to save Mary, and if possible, me.

The club whores are passing plates of sandwiches around, and Patsy, catching sight of me, gives me a finger wave.

I’m wondering whether I should go over and talk to her when someone comes barrelling up.

“Niran! Oh my God, no one told me you were back.” Cyn launches herself at her brother, almost bowling him over.

“Cyn,” Niran says sharply, getting his balance again.

Cyn seems to notice he’s got one leg in a cast. “No one told me you were injured!” she screeches. “You come off your bike?”

“Something like that,” Niran says grimly.

His sister seems to notice me for the first time. “And what the fuck are you doing here? No one wants you here.”

“I fuckin’ want her,” Niran starts to growl.

“Hey, Cyn,” another voice interrupts. “What have I fuckin’ told you.” The Black man who’s now wearing three patches on his back, and who I remembered as a prospect, marches up. Without breaking stride, he picks up Cyn, tosses her over his shoulder, and gives her ass a resounding slap. Instead of thinking abuse, inside I’m cheering.

With Cyn batting at him with her hands, looking like a mouse trying to fight off a cat, the man walks away, just calling a, “Sorry about that, Niran,” over his shoulder.

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