Page 17 of Avenging Devil: Part 2

While his eyes roam over me, Duke greets him with a respectful chin lift and one word, “Prez.”

The man’s stare pierces me as if trying to see into my soul. I return his gaze steadily, not wanting to cower in front of him. He’s a man in his forties who’s kept himself fit. A man who normally I’d be wary of. His hair is greying, but his eyes are sharp, His lips are thin, and there’s a cruel twist to his mouth. Part of his left ear is missing. I suspect lost in a knife fight.

“So you’re the man who wants to prospect for us,” he says at last. “I’m mystified as to what the hell you think someone like you can offer the Crazy Wolves.” He catches his VP’s eyes and smirks.

“Loyalty to the type of club I want to ride with,” I say, managing to keep any irony out of my voice. “I reunited your VP with his woman. Kind of proves I respect the fuck out of a club’s property. Not like the rest of the brothers I used to ride with.”

“Ah, yes. The Satan’s Devils. I’ve heard of Drummer, of course.” He would, he’s the prez of our mother chapter. “Heard they’re into legal shit, but still fuckin’ wear the one-percenter patch.”

Yeah, just because we earn money legitimately doesn’t always mean we stay on the right side of the law. As he’ll find out soon. That’s if I’m right, and the Satan’s Devils are coming.

“As I said to the VP,” I incline my head toward Duke, “they’re fuckin’ pussies.” I sigh, heavily. “You found me without a piece. They don’t like us riding tooled up, just in case we’re stopped by the cops.”

In truth, we’d learned that the hard way. My weapon is hidden in its secret compartment on my bike, a bike now left abandoned outside Saffie’s. I’ve resigned myself to not finding it in the same state I left it in. That’s if I find it there at all.

Duke nods. “I wondered why you weren’t armed.”

Their prez still regards me thoughtfully. “When the Devils find you gone, they going to declare you out bad?”

“They might.” I shrug. “You going to have a problem with that?” He’d catch me out in a lie if I said they would not.

He shakes his head. “Not on the face of it. We have nothing to do with the SDMC. But whether we give you a home is something we need to discuss.”

“I’m willing to prospect.”

“What are you thinking, Knife?” Duke asks, giving me the name of their prez. Knife for the knife wound that took his ear? Maybe, but I’ve more to worry about than how the man got his handle.

“I’m thinking we’re short one prospect. Jude’s dead and we haven’t replaced him.” Knife pulls at his short beard thoughtfully.

“Fuckin’ Jude,” Duke spits, making me wonder what the poor prospect did, or what was done to him, which makes my fists clench as I remember what happened to Kid. Life’s certainly cheap around here.

As will theirs be in time. These two men standing in front of me are as good as already deceased. They just don’t know it yet.

“I know what prospecting’s about.” I add my bit for what it could be worth. “I’ve done that shit both with the Marines and with the MC. Whatever might be asked of me doesn’t faze me one iota.”

“I hear you’re missing a leg. That give you any problems?”

“Put me in the ring, I’ll take any man down.” It’s a boast and one I hope I can live up to. It’s maybe rash seeing as I don’t know the men in this club.

Knife chuckles. “I’ve heard of a club where prospects earn their way in with a fight to the death. Last man alive gets the patch. You’d be up for that?”

I’d be a fool to say yes. To say no would make me look weak. While I stay silent, letting the rise and fall of my shoulders be my non-committal answer, I feel an unfamiliar trickle of unease as I get the feeling it might not be an MC he’s heard about, but that it happens here. Still, being given a literal fighting chance has to be better than a bullet to the head.

“Let me be straight with you, Niran.” Knife pauses and gives a twisted grin. “What’s that, anyway? Some nigger name?”

“Fuck knows.” I shake my head. “Seems I was born with it.” That trickle becomes a fast-moving stream. I’m in a White supremacist club and they’re doing a great job of reminding me.

“Well, Niran. You’ve run out on your club, and that means you broke their trust. Seems like you’d have a long way to go to earn ours. You spat on the patch you were given. Who’s to say you won’t betray us? No, Niran, we’re not letting you prospect. You have to prove yourself to us before we even take that step.”

I don’t know why they’re wasting time talking to me. All this is only pretend—on my part and theirs—that they’d ever consider letting me patch in. My skin’s the wrong colour. Still, I’ll play the game. It’s not like I’ve anything else to do.

“What are you suggesting, Prez?” Duke asks, sounding bored, as if he couldn’t care one way or another. “Hangaround?”

Wondering why they’re continuing this ruse, I raise my chin, letting them know if that’s the way in, I wouldn’t refuse. Standing stoic, I let them decide.

Knife looks me up and down, his gaze starting at my face, going to my feet, then back again. It’s as though I’m being stripped naked. After a moment, he raises his chin. “This is the one and only chance I’m going to give, understand? You do the fuckin’ grunt work around here, answering to everyone including the prospects, yeah? The nitty gritty, so to speak.” He pauses to chuckle, then adds, “If we tell you to dance a jig, you’ll do it with a fuckin’ smile on your face. You’ll be our boy. You got me?”

Oh yeah, I got him. Loud and fucking clear. As I breathe in, I have to work hard not to let my nostrils flare, and struggle to keep my fingers stretched out. With those few words, they’ve let me in on exactly what type of club this is and what they expect of me. They said boy. They might as well have said performing monkey.

If I refuse, I’ve no doubt they’ll kill me, and get some enjoyment out of my demise, probably marked as some kind of experiment to see if my blood runs red. Whatever way they choose, at the end of it, I’ll be dead. If I’m not here, Saffie will be on her own. Though I still can’t see what I’ll be able to do to protect her, if I keep breathing, a chance might present itself. That alone is worth jumping through their hoops.

Boy, nigger… If I’m honest, I’ve been called worse before. I swallow my pride but don’t let them off scot-free. They might think me a fool, but even an idiot wouldn’t give in blindly. I make a counteroffer. “I’ll be your boy. I’ll let you see you can trust me. But let’s give it a time limit. One month, and then I’ll be wearing a prospect patch.” Heaven help me, I’ll have killed myself before then, even if they don’t do it for me. Ride with the Wolves?Call them brothers? Never.

“You’re in no position to bargain, but hey, I’m a generous man.” Knife stretches his arms above his head and attempts a friendly grin. It doesn’t work. “If you work hard, prove you’re a man we can trust, in one month you’ll get a prospect patch. Now I can’t be fairer than that, can I, Boy?”

Reminding myself we called Kid, Kid, because of his deceptive youthful looks, I try to tell myself that my new name has no worse connotations than that. But it does, and it fuckin’ hurts. I don’t give them the satisfaction or show they’ve gotten a rise out of me. For now, I’ll focus on the prize while promising death to them later.

For Saffie, I’ll put up with one hell of a lot, the least being racial slurs.

Words, I remind myself, don’t hurt.

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