Page 73 of Avenging Devil: Part 2

“Ma’am.” The equally bearded man called Goofy tips an imaginary hat toward her. “Your man can leave you with us. We ain’t like those young bucks.”

“Young bucks?” Two men appear. One lays his hand over the other one’s shoulders. The speaker snorts. “Young bucks he’s called us.” He raises his chin toward his companion who chuckles.

“I’m Honor.” He turns and pouts as though blowing a kiss. “This ‘ere is Duty.”

Saffie at last finds her voice, curiosity spurring her to ask, not unjustifiably, given their posture, “Are you together?”

Behind me, Rascal starts choking. Grinch is grinning widely, and Mystic is doubled over.

It’s the one called Goofy who answers her. First, he turns, gives a calculated look toward the two men, then one back at her. “Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t. Truth is, we’ve never asked.” He turns again, raising an eyebrow toward the pair.

Totally unconcerned, Honor removes his arm from Duty’s shoulder, and reaches out his hand. Winking, he tells her, “Well, we don’t share a bed if that’s what you’re asking.”

Duty raises his eyebrow at his friend who barks a laugh. Saffie, though, seems more bewildered than scared.

“Whatcha thinking?” Goofy asks, allowing me to see how he got his name. He’s got a big fucking goofy grin on his face, making him look totally harmless. Being the hardened man that I am, I suspect it might be an act.

It works on Saffie though. She answers, “You really are a different club.”

“To the Crazy Wolves?” Rascal asks. “That we fuckin’ are.”

“Come on, darlin’.” Again, Grinch reaches for her hand, and despite her earlier experience, she allows him to take it.

Once he’s got her moving, he tugs her under his arm. “Let’s get you introduced to the rest of the fuckers.”

“You up to a tour?” Rascal bends his head to my ear.

“Got nothing better to do,” I respond, my eyes narrowing. “I want to stay with Saffie.” Grinch might be old, but hey, he’s still a man.

“Understandable.” He begins to push me in the direction Grinch has taken.

“Right, Saff.” My eyes narrow. If that fucker wasn’t so old, I’d be taking him on. Not only has he appropriated my woman, he’s shortened her name. “You know much about our club?” When she shakes her head he continues, “Me, Goofy and Mystic are part of the old guard. We’re your typical love riding bikes, bikers. Can’t be doing with all this modern tech and fancy stuff. When the chapter changed direction, they built a new clubhouse, all glass and steel. It wasn’t for us, so we stayed here, keeping up pretences Utah was an old-fashioned club.”

“Yeah, that would have suited you better,” Mystic puts in with a nod my way. “Fuckin’ elevators in that place.”

Grinch gives him a glare as if he’s taking away his right to explain. “Most of the club lived there.”

“Do they now?” Saffie asks, clearly wondering as I am why we’re not being housed in a building more suited to wheelchair access.

“No.” Grinch snorts. “There’s nothing of it left now. Well, not after Stormy blew the place sky high.”

“Fuck it, Grinch. For the last time. How the fuck was I to know how many explosives they brought in?” A man, striking looking, one side of his hair growing out, the other shorn short, comes striding up. He glares at the older man, then winks at Saffie. “He’s partly right though, the explosion destroyed the clubhouse. I’m Stormy by the way, and it’s good to meet you in person. I was responsible for sorting your paperwork out.”

So this is the infamous Stormy that caused so much trouble for the Devils. A sniper to rival Pennywise’s abilities, and a total ass. Though I have to admit, he’s not acting like one at the moment.

As I look at him curiously, the woman who’s not said anything after greeting us at the doorway, nudges my shoulder. “If you’re wondering about Stormy, I tamed him.”

Stormy tenses, and from what I know of his reputation, I don’t think he’ll put up with that. Fuck it. Just when Saffie was starting to look more interested than worried.

In two strides he’s next to Cat. He puts his arm around her, pulling her tight to him, nuzzles her hair with his nose, and states, “Too fuckin’ right you have.” He runs his hand over her swollen belly, then gently places his lips over hers. There’s a fleeting heated look in his eyes, which fades fast as he glances to Saffie, and asks, “You want to see where everything goes down?”

When she gives a hesitant shrug, he takes it as acquiescence. “This way then.”

There’s one thing I’m fast starting to hate about wheelchairs, I’m not in control. Rascal doesn’t even ask if I want to tag along, he just takes charge of the handles and we’re following. Not that I’d object, I want to stay close to Saffie, and am curious myself, but hey, I’d like the choice.

We go down a corridor which morphs from the fifties-style building into something recently built. Stormy stops at a door with a camera above it, looks up and simultaneously touches his finger to a keypad. When the door opens, Saffie gasps.

I can see why. It’s like mission control in here. Banks of monitors, computers, workstations seemingly equipped with all types of high tech, some of which I can’t even name are all crowded in. There’s a background hum, and lights flash on various equipment.

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