Page 38 of Avenging Devil: Part 2

Chapter Thirteen

Grumbler

By the time Drummer had wound up the meeting, it was late in the evening. Though my initial impulse was to wait no longer and head straight out to rescue Niran and Saffie, most of us had been travelling all day, and to be at our best, needed to reboot our bodies and get a good night’s rest. I knew that myself. My leg was aching, and the yawns I couldn’t suppress betrayed my own tiredness.

I caught up with a few old friends, traded stories with Thunder, Indian, Peg and Preacher. Whatever state we’re from, being a sergeant-at-arms is fairly standard fare, and our complaints are all similar. Preacher came in for a bit of a grilling, but apart from the fact he pilots the Utah plane, his role is surprisingly familiar.

True to our role, most of us spend the night glancing around, checking on our own club members, but none of them seem to be drinking too much. Mind you, having the five of us glaring on is enough to put most people off overindulging.

Sleeping bags are brought in and start being laid on the floor. I bid my fellow sergeant-at-arms a goodnight and start walking across the clubroom to collect mine off my bike. I pause once outside in the dark, stare up at the star-studded sky and think about my old lady. I’d called her when I’d first arrived, of course, as I didn’t want her worrying, then again straight after the meeting, knowing she’d be waiting for my goodnight call, and not wanting her to stay up late on my account. In both she’d assured me she was fine.

I told her I loved her, and during the second, that I’d see her tomorrow, or failing that, no more than a day later. As I’d ended the call, it felt good having a woman like her waiting for me. Both her and my baby. While I can’t influence fate, I’ll take care like I’d promised and try my fucking hardest to return to her.

Shaking off thoughts of what could go wrong, I collect my sleeping bag and return inside.

“Grumbler.”

I turn at Lost’s voice.

He leans in close. “Prezes have been given a room. Want to share?”

And spend the night on a mattress and not a hard floor? Fuck, yeah. “What about Dart?” As VP, his claim is prior.

“Dart’s suggestion,” Lost offers. “He said us old-timers should bunk down together.”

Another time, another place, and I’d have bristled about having my age pointed out, but hell, I am old and tonight feel my age, and I’m not too proud to admit it. These old bones would likely let me know all about it come morning were I to sleep on a hard floor.

The bed’s at least king-size, more than enough for me and the prez to each have our space.

“Miss Mary?” he asks, as he turns off the light.

“Like fuck. You Patsy?”

“Like I’m missing a limb, Brother.” Lost sighs and pumps his pillow, trying to get comfortable.

“Do me a favour, Prez?”

“Yeah. What?”

“Just don’t reach out for her in the night, Brother.”

Lost snorts. “G’Night, Grumbler.”

It’s hard to sleep in an unfamiliar bed, and with a man who snores. I try not to toss and turn, which seems to make matters worse. When noise awakes me, it feels like I’ve only just dropped off.

The clubhouse doesn’t come to life with a quiet murmur, it bursts into it with a roar. From downstairs comes loud sounds of voices, shouts, bursts of laughter, and many pairs of feet stomping past our door.

Sitting, balancing back on his hands, Lost glances at me. “This is it, Grumbler.”

“Yeah.” I scratch at my chest, then start pulling on my pants. “Let’s go get our brother.”

Rosa must have called catering in again, as a breakfast feast is already laid out when I get downstairs.

The mood is one of anticipation—men bouncing on their feet, eager to get underway and go rescue their Satan’s Devils’ brother. Last-minute plans are discussed, copious cups of coffee are drunk, and the place thrums with the sound of cutlery scraping against plates.

As I stand, chomping on bacon, Red comes up alongside me.

“Niran and you are particularly close, aren’t you?”

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