Page 7 of Avenging Devil: Part 2

Token looks up from his laptop as I stick my head around the door to his office, then gets to his feet.

“Anyone respond yet?” I demand.

“Cool your fuckin’ tits. Give ‘em a minute. Only just sent the darn message. Let’s go see Prez.”

Lost looks up sharply as I rap on the door, then push it open. As Token walks in behind me, Lost peers past us as though expecting someone else.

“Thought you wanted Niran here?”

“Can’t raise him, Prez. His damn phone’s on the blink again.” Token takes one of the seats in front of Lost’s desk.

“This about Saffie?” Lost has clearly put two and two together fast. “You got new info, Toke? Her papers ready to go?”

“Her new ID’s been set up. Just waiting for confirmation on accommodation. But it’s not about that.” Token leans forward and places his laptop on the desk but doesn’t open it. “Stormy’s a clever fucker, you know?” His comment about the brother from Utah is clearly rhetorical, so neither Lost nor I answer. “We’ve got eyes out for Crazy Wolves heading our way on bikes. Stormy went one step further. He’s looking at all routes. He discovered a flight plan was filed earlier this morning from an airbase near where the Wolves are located to San Diego. Private plane registered to a Bartell Enterprises.”

“And what’s that got to do with the Wolves?” Lost presses. “Stormy think they were on board? What’s he got to go on?”

“Winston Bartell is Saffie’s father,” Token declares, in such a way as I suspect a ta-da to come after it.

My brow creases and I sit forward. “What?” I’m confused. “If she’s got parents, why the hell didn’t they get her away from that bastard?” Frowning, I continue, “Could it be the father coming to get her, and nothing to do with the Wolves?”

“If she had a loving family, wouldn’t it have been them she’d run to?” Lost asks, perfectly reasonably, but looking perplexed.

I haven’t lived the life that I have without being aware of the seedier side. “Not all family is loving. Shit, they might have traded her to Duke to pay off some debt. Can’t assume rich folks are on the up and up.” In my experience, not following the straight and narrow was how they often became loaded in the first place.

Lost grimaces. “You’re right, of course, Grumbler. But I’d like more than that before we assume we’ve got a pack heading for us.”

Token slides his laptop toward him and flips it open, then turns it to face me. “That good enough? Stormy hacked into the security footage.”

Leaning over, I focus my eyes on the image. There are four bikes parked up close by a plane that yeah, is emblazoned with the name he’d just told us. On at least one of the motorcycles a decal denoting the Crazy Wolves MC can be seen clearly.

“Good enough for me.” I push the laptop around so Lost can get a closer look and slip into my sergeant-at-arms role as if putting on a comfortable cloak. “Is this a battle we’re fighting, Prez?”

Lost stares at the screen, but his eyes lose focus, as if he’s mulling things over in his head. It takes a moment before he speaks. “Niran claimed Saffie. In our books, is there anything that says that’s aborted if the woman doesn’t say yes?”

Token snorts loudly. “Not that we’d ever enforce it, but you’re right, of course, Prez.”

Damn straight we wouldn’t enforce it. I tilt my head up as if to better listen to what Lost says.

“Then it’s our fight,” he pronounces.

“There’s no way they know her address,” I tell them. “They can only be on a fishing expedition.”

Lost narrows his eyes. “I wish I could be so fuckin’ certain. Who flies to San Diego for no damn reason? They’ve hardly come to visit the zoo, world famed though it is.”

He’s got a good point. “What do you want us to do?” I ask.

He’s tapping his chin with his fingers. “Get ready,” he starts, then expands, “Saffie is Niran’s, she’s club property. We need to keep her safe. And just four Wolves roaming the streets of San Diego?” he muses aloud. “We’ve got the numbers. I don’t mind taking them on and letting them know they’ll not find their lost mate in my fuckin’ town.”

Now that’s what I want to hear. I exchange a fist bump with Token, whose laptop pings at the same time. Taking ownership of it again, he suddenly straightens. His jaw tightens.

“Kink just responded to the group text I sent. He says, and I quote, ‘If Niran’s got any sense after what I said last night, he’ll have gone around to see Saffie.’”

All a sudden I’m not so sure of my assertion they can’t know where she lives, and equally wondering again whether I was too fast to blame Niran’s dodgy phone’s battery.

Token’s already tapping on his phone. As he does, he says, “I’m calling Saffie. I’ve been communicating with her about the paperwork.” When I go to speak, he holds up a finger. I can hear the ringing tone coming from the device.

When the voicemail comes on, he shakes his head, and gets back onto his laptop. Within moments, he’s rubbing his cheek, and saying quietly, “Fuck.”

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