Satan’s Devils MC - San Diego Chapter #2
Contents
Production Acknowledgments
Cast of Characters
Satan’s Devils
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Other Works by Manda Mellett
Acknowledgments & Author’s Note
Stay in Touch
About the Author
Copyright
Published 2020 by Trish Haill Associates
Copyright © Manda Mellett
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book reviews.
www.mandamellett.com
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Warning
This book is dark in places and contains content of a sexual, abusive and violent nature. It may not be suitable for persons under the age of 18.
Production Acknowledgments
Cover Design by Wicked Smart Designs
Edited and formatted by Maggie Kern @ Ms.K Edits
Proof reading by Melanie Darrow
Photographer: Golden Czermak of Furious Fotog
Model: Fred Dibella
Cast of Characters
Officers
Lost – President
Dart – Vice President
Grumbler – Sergeant at Arms
Salem – Enforcer
Scribe – Secretary
Bones – Treasurer
Blaze – Road Captain
Hard Token – Computer Expert
Patched Members
Brakes
Deuce
Dusty
Keeper
Kink
Niran
Pennywise
Reboot
Snips
Prospects
Connor
Curtis
Wrangler
Old Lady’s and Children
Alex (Dart’s): Tyler, Isla
Patty (Lost’s): Beth, Connor
Club Girls
Cindy
Eva
Pearl
Tits
Members Out Bad
Bastard
Crow
DJ
Rattler
Tinder
Deceased Members
Bird (ex-Prez)
Gator
Poke (ex-SAA) Dispatched to Satan
Shark
Smoker
Snake (ex-Prez) Dispatched to Satan
Chapter One
Grumbler
The whirr of the tattoo gun ceases as Blaze switches it off. “Gotta say that looks good, Brother, even if I do say so myself. Here, what do you think?”
Covered with tats as I am, the only spot I had free was under my left shoulder blade. As I can’t see it myself, Blaze takes a pic then passes me his phone. I eye the image he shows me and give a satisfied nod. It turned out better than I’d hoped, though I should never have doubted Blaze’s skills. In addition to my other tattoos, I now sport a skull smoking a cigarette, a tribute to the much-loved brother we’d lost a few weeks back.
Jeez, how I miss Smoker. He’d been my club brother for nearly thirty years. After the business with Snake and losing nine members three years back, he and I had been all that remained of the old guard. It was easy to figure out how Smoker got his handle. I can’t remember seeing him without a pack of cigarettes close at hand. Unsurprisingly, it had resulted in him receiving a terminal cancer diagnosis shortly before his death, but that hadn’t been what killed him. He hadn’t faded away, which had been the eventual outcome as he’d refused treatment. It had been his time, he’d accepted that. But instead of having those last few months with him, time I needed to prepare myself for his loss, he’d been shot. I’m still smarting from being robbed of those last weeks with him, a few more rides together, and evenings spent just shooting the shit.
Truth be told, I’m not sure if a couple more months watching him go downhill would have helped either me or him, seeing him suffering and being unable to do anything to help. Smoker would probably have preferred the end that he had. He’d died sacrificing himself for the club. Doesn’t mean I don’t still miss him like fuck though, which led me here today, honouring him in the only way I can.
“You know the drill. Want me to go through it again?” Blaze asks while cleaning his workstation.
Barking a laugh, I shake my head. With more tattoos than I can count, I don’t need him to go through the aftercare routine. I could probably teach him a thing or two about looking after newly inked skin.
“You heading straight back to the clubhouse?” He squirts more disinfectant onto a rag.
“Fuckin’ right. There’s a beer with my name on it. You ready to come, Blaze?”
“What d’you think I am, a part-timer like you?” Blaze chuckles at the expression on my face. “I’ve got another client coming in soon.”
Blaze does good work, with the result that the tattoo parlour brings in good money for the club. Seeing him preparing for said new customer to arrive, I wave my hand in a mock salute and leave. Bypassing the reception desk with just a nod at the pretty young thing sitting there—Blaze does the brothers tats for free—I emerge into the brilliance of a late summer’s day in San Diego.
Taking my shades out of my cut, I slide them on, then go to my Harley that’s parked patiently waiting for me outside. For a moment I stand, admiring it from a distance.
I’ve no woman or family, never wanted one if truth be told. The only thing I need in my life is my bike. All my spare money goes to maintaining it. A few months back, I’d had a spill and ended up dirty side down, hurting my baby as well as nastily breaking my leg. I don’t know which wound was worse. As usual, I inspect the Harley with a critical eye, seeing if I can spot a remaining scratch which hadn’t been fixed, or a dent that’s managed to hide up until now.
My brothers joke with me for having every Harley accessory known to man and then some. Each chrome addition I polish until it gleams. My normally dour expression lifts at times such as now, when I spot the sun glinting off the ‘Live to Ride’ plate covering the air filter.
It’s a beautiful machine, my sole mode of transport, and the love of my life. Without my cherished motorcycle or my club, what would I be? A grumpy old man growing sourer by the day.
I saunter over to it, swing my leg over the saddle, grimacing at
