Chapter 18

Marc

I’ve been to the compound on a few prior occasions, but never to see more than the clubroom or Drummer’s office. The one time I could have explored, when Archer had somehow fabricated a search warrant, I’d stayed with Drummer, too embarrassed to take part in what was really an excuse for cops to go to town, destroying the possessions of a ‘gang’ they despised. Half of me knew they were handpicked by Archer, and not here because they wanted to uphold the law. No, in part it was getting their own back on men who lived a lifestyle they envied.

Oh, back at the station they’d expressed disgust at club whores on tap, the vast amounts of alcohol found and the drugs that they didn’t. Truth didn’t matter, rumours abounded that they’d got one up on the whoring, drunk, drugged-up to the eyebrows detested bikers, it had fuelled many a conversation for the following week.

I’d seen some of the damage they’d caused to the clubhouse, and knew they’d done the same to the living quarters too. I remember Drummer clearly asking me who were the criminals that day? I’d had no answer for him, or none that my job would allow me to put into words.

And now this same compound seems to have become my temporary home.

As soon as we arrived, and I’d seen my bikes unloaded and wheeled away out of sight—heaven forbid anything should sully their Harleys—Drummer had whisked his men away off to a meeting.

As a cop I’d received basic education on bikers, and now I’m about to be thrown into their midst. On the way here, I’d been tempted to question the prospect who’d been driving the crash truck, knowing from my reading the training material what being patched into a one-percenter club usually involves. Is this one of the clubs where at the initiation ceremony all members urinate on prospect’s cut? Or make prospective members kill someone as part of their induction? I found myself unable to ask, already thinking it seemed unlikely. It wasn’t just that I knew he wouldn’t give me the answer, but their cuts looked so clean, I couldn’t believe they’d stoop to the first. And as for the latter, the clean-cut young biker driving didn’t seem like someone who’d kill in cold blood.

Other excerpts come back to me. They pass their women around. Old ladies earn money on their backs… Maybe the Satan’s Devils are different, or maybe the fear factor amped up during my training sessions was fuelled by the same envy as the cops who’d destroyed the compound that day. Misinformation, making them seem more like the enemy.

The police have problems with the cartels, slave trafficking rings, and organised crime and protection rackets litter our streets along with the day to day robberies and violence. Yet we still seemed encouraged to focus on biker gangs as our biggest enemy. Nothing in my dealings with the Satan’s Devils has to date given me answers to understand why. Oh, they killed the Demon Sons right in front of me, but as I’d also been holding a gun, and Heart had been lying there dying, it hadn’t been difficult to determine right and wrong sides.

As I stand just inside the clubroom pondering the rapid change in my circumstances, realising my colleagues couldn’t have got me to a safe house so fast, I feel the rush of adrenaline fading, and go weak at the knees as it starts to sink in the lengths someone is going to kill me. They shot up the house where I was staying.

“Hey, you must be Marcia. I’m Sam, Drummer’s old lady.” I recall meeting her before, but it must be getting on for a year ago now.

I glance up to see a woman carrying a baby in her arms. I’m not surprised to see him wearing a Harley t-shirt. It’s definitely a boy, I can tell that from here. Supressing the normal pang that goes through me, I focus on the woman rather than the child she’s holding. “How old?” I ask politely.

“Five months,” she replies, planting a loving kiss to his head. “Meet Eli, Drummer’s son.”

“Hi Eli.” I feel silly speaking to a child. But as he turns my way there’s no doubt to his parentage. Already steely grey eyes look knowingly into me, but then his face splits into a grin and he starts babbling.

“Drummer’s asked me to get you settled in. There’s a suite been prepared for you in the compound. No, leave your bags. Jekyll? Can you grab them and follow us?”

The prospect takes my bags out of my hand. “Where we goin’?”

“Dart’s old room. Come on, Marcia, let’s get you settled.”

Taking it for granted that I’ll be following, she moves toward the door. A bubble of fear and anticipation goes through me as I take my first real step into this biker world.

I’ve read up about the Satan’s Devils, and know this compound used to be a vacation resort. When a wildfire came too close and swept through it, the owners sold up. So badly damaged no one else wanted to buy it, the club bought it cheap. As I go up past adjoining blocs, each looking like they contain a couple of suites, I can see what a good job they’ve made of it—and that they’ve still got room to expand. There are still some burned-out hulks I see off to one side. If they filled those with bikers we’d have a massive club on our hands.

Should I be thinking like a cop now? Somehow that feels insensitive. These men are protecting me from an unknown foe. Drummer could have been killed alongside me this morning. I pause my steps, knowing I’ve got to make a conscious decision. Either I do my job and soak up as much information as possible, or I suspend that part of my brain. For the moment it’s not clear what direction I should be taking. Deciding to leave the choice to be made a little later, once I understand what I’m stepping into here, I start walking again.

Sam stops in front of a bloc and Jekyll puts down my bags, opens the door, then picks them up again and carries them in. There are two doors separated by a small hallway. The prospect repeats the process as he opens the one, and then hands me the key that was hanging in the lock.

I turn to thank him, he accepts my words with a fast nod, eyeing me a little suspiciously. As he walks off it brings home my position. Turning to Sam, I sigh. “I’m not welcome here, am I?”

As befits the president’s woman, her eyes narrow. “You here to bring down the club?”

Her direct question makes me come to the resolution I thought would take longer. How could I betray the people who were trying to help me? I glance at the baby still held in her arms. “No. I’m not.” And then I qualify it. “Unless I see something I can’t turn a blind eye too.”

“And what’s your definition of that?”

I think quickly. “Mass murder?” But haven’t I already witnessed that in LA? And I didn’t point the finger then.

Her grin is fast and genuine. “I hope I can assure you, you won’t see anything like that.”

I like her, this woman who according to her cut is the property of Drummer.

I’m still thinking on the dynamics of that ownership as we enter the pleasantly furnished suite. From what I’d been told bikers share their women around, prostituting them out. Or even when they commit to one can move on to another, leaving their ex old lady to service their brothers. Or they might keep her and just be unfaithful by going with the club whores. From what I’ve seen of this woman already, I don’t think she’d be someone to put up with that type of behaviour, or allow herself to be passed around. Once again, my training manual appears to be wrong.

“Fresh linen is on the bed. Towels and toiletries in the bathroom. I think you’ve got everything you need. If not, just give me a shout. Or one of the other old ladies. You’ll be meeting them soon.”

As I lift my suitcase onto the bed, ready to start unpacking, I’m surprised when she comes in and sits herself down on the mattress, laying a now sleeping child next to her. After a fond look in his direction, she glances at me, impishly.

“So, your Suzuki 7/11. That can do nearly two hundred, can’t it? And the cornering. Wow, just thinking about it makes me wet.”

I start in surprise, and laughter bursts out of me. Setting aside the task of unpacking for now, I push the case over and sit down beside her, hoicking one leg onto the mattress so I can talk to her face. “Haven’t had it long. Put the new engine in myself. And wow, yup. When I can let it go, it’s fucking ace.”

Her eyes sharpen when I tell her I worked on it myself. “I’ve got an old Vincent. Rebuilt it from scratch. Apart from my men, it’s the love of my life.”

Now this is someone I could be friends with. “Hey, a Vincent Black Shadow? Can’t recall seeing one in the flesh. I’d love to try it. Gears are on the opposite side, right? How do you find it?”

“It’s a devil to ride.”

I’ve heard that, and my respect for her grows. We talk bikes for a while, and my offer for her to ride my rat sometime has her glowing. We’re getting on like a house on fire, laughing so hard tears are falling from my eyes as she relates the story of the dirt track behind the compound, and how she showed up the men by beating them all, when there’s female voices at the doorway.

I turn to see who the newcomers are while half of me is still trying to process how Sam’s prowess with her riding skills didn’t faze any of these hardened bikers, again something my education hadn’t prepared me for. It takes me a second to process a woman entering carrying yet another baby. My god, haven’t they heard of birth control here? Have they all got kids? It’s another thing I hadn’t expected to find at the compound.

“Marcia, this is Sophie. She’s Wraith’s, the VP’s woman, and her baby’s just a month older than Eli.”

“Olivia.” Sophie beams as she looks at the child in her arms.

“Ollie.” Sam throws back at her. Sophie sticks her tongue out, and I gather it’s an inside joke I can’t yet understand.

“Oh, good.” She spies Eli on the bed, sleeping, and without asking permission goes and puts her daughter down alongside him.

It’s only then I notice the other women behind.

“Hi, I’m Ella. I’m with Slick.” A woman with her hair in a short attractive bob gives a little wave as she introduces herself.

“I’m Sandy—Sam’s mother-in-law and Viper’s old lady.”

“And I’m Carmen, Bullet’s my old man.”

“Watch Carmen, she’s a hairdresser and always on the lookout for more victims.”

Carmen throws a mock punch toward Sam.

“Hello!” a smaller, less confident voice says behind them, and I look up to see a young girl still in her teens. “I’m Jayden.” Jayden? The Jayden? She looks so sweet and innocent, I immediately wonder why Archer had her in his sights. And whether there’s still any danger to her. It’s only then I notice she’s holding the hand of the most adorable child I’ve seen in my life. She’s got reddish blond hair that I suspect will grow darker as she gets older. She’s sucking her thumb, but when she turns her blue eyes toward me, I recognise them with a start, and realise I’ve seen her once before, many months ago when she was a bit younger. This is Heart’s daughter.

Jayden sees me looking at her and glances down fondly. “Meet Amy,” she says, pushing the shy child my way.

“Pretty.” Amy comes over and touches my long blond hair, which has escaped from its bun with all the action today.

Carmen barks a laugh. “Think she’s been watching me.” Although I’m still out of the loop, their infectious laughter and giggles have me joining in.

Obviously not a shy child, Amy holds up her arms to be picked up, and it seems natural to scoop her onto my lap. She fits into my arms and turns her face to inspect me. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Marcia.”

Sam looks curious. “Is that what you prefer to be called? Heart told us you liked Marc.”

“Marc’s the name my brother gave to me. No one else ever used it but my family.”

Damn, I’ve become too relaxed. Sam’s picked up on it, I can see by the way her eyes sharpen. In recent years, Heart’s the only one I’ve willingly allowed to call me by my childhood nickname. And to this day, I have no idea why. As her eyes query me I shake my head in a silent plea, but watching her face I see her lips curve into a small, knowing smile.

As the women come and surround me, taking up what seats they can find, a male voice barks in an amused voice. “Christ, you lot are like vultures sensing fresh fuckin’ meat. Now scat, I need to talk with Marc for a while.”

Glancing up I see Drummer leaning against the door, his face softening as he spies his woman and his son. Sam gets to her feet. Scooping up Eli, she grins, nods at me, and then goes to the door, pausing so Drummer can take a kiss from her lips, so hot it almost makes me swoon, before he places a more chaste one on his son’s head. “She prefers to be called Marcia by the rest of us.”

And I’m slightly stunned she picked that up so quickly and thought to tell him.

One by one the others leave, Sophie collecting her daughter, and Jayden trying to pry Amy from my lap. Amy protests, and her little hands grip me.

While we’re trying to gently extract her, another voice sounds. “Amy, sweetheart. You can visit with Marc later. Go with Jayden now, darlin’.”

“Daddy!” The child squeals and wriggles away, running over to her father. Heart balances crutches on his arms, and while he obviously can’t pick her up, pulls her in against his legs and hugs her to him. My stomach clenches as I get my first sight of father and daughter together. Memories come back to me of our conversations on his journey, as he went through the myriad of emotions, first wanting nothing to do with her, feeling he wasn’t good enough for her, and then his longing to come home and see her again. I feel pride in my small part at bringing them back together, and discretely I wipe water from my eye.

After a cuddle and a tickle and a promise to see her later, Amy at last takes the teenager’s hand and allows herself to be led away.

The temperature in the room seems to drop by a few degrees now I’m left with the two bikers.

Drummer moves into the middle of the room and Heart steps just inside the door, heavily leaning on two crutches. He may still have some way to go, but he looks a darn sight better than when I last saw him in the hospital. It’s his face, though, that I notice most as a myriad of expressions crosses it, moving through gentle while interacting with his daughter, now settling into a frown as he looks toward me.

For six weeks I’ve tried to put him out of my mind. Now the fact that I’ve been unsuccessful slams into me. Particularly as I’m seeing him as if in full technicolour, rather than my previous sightings, looking pale and laid up in a hospital bed. He’s tall, taller than I expected, attractive long dirty-blond hair reaching just past his shoulders. Piercing blue eyes which look bright and clear, well-defined tanned cheeks, and a full mouth, making me want to lick my lips. Girl, pull yourself together.

“Marcia,” Drummer says sharply to get my attention. As I turn to look at him, I immediately stand. It’s like being dragged into the principal’s office. His smile for Sam has completely cleared from his face.