Page 3 of Avenging Devil: Part 2

“Marine, huh?” Duke pulls at his short beard. After staring at me for a moment, he looks over my head. “What d’you reckon, SAA?”

Another thing learned. Slit is their sergeant-at-arms.

“We didn’t replace Jude,” the man remarks. “And he’s a Satan’s Devil with no reason to stay loyal.”

“Good points.” Duke looks at me, calculating. “I don’t tend to trust niggers, nor men who turn their backs so easily on their clubs. And, as you’ve seen, Croak has no problem killing a man with his bare hands. No need to get the cops involved.” He finishes with a kind of ‘there you go’ smug grin.

I ignore the racial slight, it’s the least of my worries right now. Having the sense this isn’t going well, I decide to stop taking it all lying down. I’m no stranger to working out, have had to compensate for my missing leg, and kind of got hooked on going to the gym. To counterbalance my missing limb, I’ve tons of upper body strength. While I’ve been talking, I’ve also been assessing the weight of the man leaning on me, and I’m pretty sure he’s more fat than brawn.

Tensing, I bunch my muscles. Rolling swiftly to take him by surprise, I hook my good leg around his, forcing him to stay on the ground. Now it’s me pinning him with my bodyweight as I grab the gun from his loosened grip and turn the tables on him. When he raises his hands, I stand, but keep the weapon firmly pointed at his head.

“Seems like your sergeant-at-arm’s life is in my hands,” I tell Duke coldly. By now, Duke, Croak and Grit have all drawn their pieces. I’m gambling on how much they value this man’s life.

“Impressive,” Duke remarks. “Maybe you should just shoot Slit now, seeing as he couldn’t hold you down.”

“Not many men can,” I respond, continuing to sell myself. “And if you need a new sergeant-at-arms, then I’m your man. Stood in for ours when Grumbler came off his bike.”

“Can’t see that’s a recommendation, seeing as it’s a pussy club,” he sneers.

“Yeah?” I find an extra weapon in my arsenal and don’t hesitate to use it. “But it’s a pussy club who was keeping your property away from you, and they’re the pussies I know everything about.”

“VP?” Slit sounds hesitant, as though he doesn’t really trust Duke to stop me from shooting him. A situation I can understand. I find nothing attractive about him myself, and wouldn’t, even if I wasn’t aware of Saffie’s history.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Duke barks a laugh and holsters his sidearm and indicates the other two men should do the same. “Let the man stand and give him his gun back. You might be a man I could use.” He considers me carefully. “Need to start at the fuckin’ bottom, of course. You’ll need to prove you’re not going to step out on us like you have with the Devils.”

I shrug. “It’s not like I don’t know what I’m stepping into. But have no doubts, I’ll prove myself.”

Now released, Slit walks over and speaks into Duke’s ear. Duke grins and in a way I really don’t like. He chuckles and turns to me.

“Slit’s just reminded me it’s time to get moving, Boy.” He chuckles when he uses the slight. “Just in case those Devils of yours have more backbone than you’ve described and start trying to locate their missing member.” Which is obviously what I’ve been hoping, of course, but luckily Duke can’t read my mind. “Bring the bitch and make sure she does nothing stupid.” He tilts his head to one side, as if wondering whether I’m going to obey.

I have to. I have to jump to his every command as though I really am a new recruit desperate to prove myself. If only I could take her and run. But having given Slit his piece back, I’m unarmed and faced with four men wearing guns.

I harden my voice, and even smirk, an expression of which I know Duke will approve. “I’ll keep her quiet.” Knowing she’s going to hate me, or even more than she already does, I walk straight over to her and jerk her up roughly by one arm, ignoring her wince as I must have touched a bruise. “You gonna behave?”

“Fuck you,” she spits.

I could admire her spirit, but Duke wouldn’t like it. Knowing what’s expected, I twist the arm I’m holding painfully behind her back. When she yelps, Duke looks on in approval.

Never, ever have I hurt a woman before. My own behaviour sickens me. The only justification I can use is that at the end of the day, keeping her safe is all that matters. And I’ve achieved my first objectives—to stay alive and at her side.

“Behave, bitch,” Duke tosses at her. “You, my little socialite, are coming home where you were always meant to be.”

She makes a valiant effort to struggle out of my grasp, but I’ve got hold of her with a tight grip. She kicks my ankle but gets the prosthetic instead of flesh. I shake her and say sharply, “Fuckin’ behave, woman.”

“Fuck you! Fuck all of you,” she spits out again.

Saffie, I’m so fucking sorry. We should have protected you from all this. But outwardly, I laugh as though I find her tussling with me amusing. Inwardly, I’m hoping like fuck the Satan’s Devils will figure out what’s wrong and come after us. Until then, she’s only got me to protect her, and I can only do that if I stay alive. Which means doing anything these fuckers ask, even causing her harm if I have to, though I’d be dying inside.

She’s kicking and screaming, but in this block it won’t matter. Nevertheless, once outside the apartment, I stoop, elbow her in the stomach, making her breath leave her in a whoosh, and toss her up over my shoulder in a fireman’s lift. Once again, I get Duke’s smirk and sharp nod.

This time she doesn’t take into account my prosthesis, nor does she relax or do anything to make my life easier. She kicks out, tries to bite, and does anything to make my task difficult. While harbouring an internal sense of pride and hoping my leg will stand up to the punishment, carefully I make my way down the stairs.

I’m praying someone will open their door and see this situation is all kinds of wrong, that a woman is being kidnapped right off her doorstep. But of course, no one interferes, and the only shouts of disapproval I hear are those directed at Saffie, telling her to keep her screaming down.

Even the drug dealers seem to be absent, and the parking lot is empty except for vehicles. To my disappointment, no Devils are waiting in sight. Not that there’s any reason they should be, but I’d been optimistic. There is, however, a big truck. Slit speeds up to get ahead, then opens the door and points me to the third row of seats, the ones with no doors beside them. Then Grit sits in the middle row along with the Kid-murdering-Croak, and Slit takes his seat beside Duke in the front.

Grimacing, feeling it like a kick to my stomach, I notice Kid’s bike beside mine, waiting patiently for its owner who will never return. I’ll avenge you, Kid, I silently promise him. I’ll make them fucking pay. I’ll make them regret the day they were born and every day of their life since. It’s a vow to a dead man, but one I’m determined to keep.

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