Page 17 of Demon

I watched the bar again, Ciara stacking the last of the cleaned glasses. It was time to go. She came out of the club a few steps behind me, Terry behind her, locking the door. And to my right there was a shadow, dark in the night. I walked to the car park, to where I left my bike, still gleaming under the dull streetlights. The bike roared to life, stark and angry in the almost deserted carpark.

Pulling out, I watched Ciara walk across the road, the dark figure of Tez catching up with her. Which was odd because Tez was normally parked out on the street. I slowed the bike, rolling along the road, watching in my mirrors. She was tense, checking behind her, her steps becoming hurried, and Tez moved quicker too. She glanced behind her again, pulling her bag from where it had hung from her shoulder to across her front. She was almost running now, her hand digging through her handbag.

The hairs prickled on the back of my neck, a dark feeling creeping over me. I pulled off from the curb, turning the bike round the roundabout and heading back towards the carpark. By the time I’d turned around, she was almost at the car and the man following was a stride away. I revved the engine, flying down the road, and flinging the heavy bike round the corner as much as I could without dropping it. The sleepy, deserted neighbourhood was now alive with the angry roar from the Harley Davidson.

I stopped it just at the back of her car, kicking out the stand and jumping off, barely checking it had time to settle and not hit the ground. Ciara whipped round, panic in her eyes, the man behind her stopping abruptly. I was there in four strides, my fist launching at his face, sending him staggering backwards. If Ciara shouted or screamed or said anything at all, I couldn’t hear it. The anger was pumping in my ears, hot, surging, and deafening. I grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, forcing my fist into him again, as if I could push it entirely through his head and out the other side.

Blood spilled everywhere, exploding out of him like I’d cut a major artery. And even under the red spilling from his nose, I recognised the fucker.

“Thought we’d made ourselves clear earlier?”

I barely recognised my own voice. It was a growl, a muddle of guttural, angry sounds.

“I should fucking kill you for even thinking about touching her! What the fuck were you gonna do? Huh?”

The rage simmering in my blood was boiling over. I knew exactly what he had in mind. What he was going to do. And there was no fucking way he’d ever get another chance.

“You think you’re so fucking tough, you dirty fucking bikers,” he gurgled. “Think you own the town.”

“Ya know? That’s the only thing you’ve been right about all night.”

The glass shattered, and I heard Ciara scream. I pulled his head backwards through the broken window, dragging him sideways and launching his head into the next, a dull thud followed by clinking as shards of glass spilled over my feet.

“Demon!”

Chapter Nine

Ciara

The man dangled through the back passenger window, his blood dripping into my car and Demon standing over him.

“Demon! Stop! You’ll kill him!”

His hand released from the collar of the jacket, slowly, as if he wasn’t sure he had finished with him yet. And then he turned, staring at me with the darkest eyes I had ever seen. Windows to hell, threatening to suck my soul into the underworld with him. He was terrifying, high on blood lust, logic and reason lost in the carnal part of his brain, battle high.

But gradually his face relaxed, an eery calmness washing over him. There was no surprise when he glanced back at the man bleeding over my seats.

“Oh God. There’s a dead man in my car!”

“He’s just having a little sleep.”

“My windows.”

“I’ll fix your windows, Ciara.”

“Fuck, Demon! I haven’t even paid for that tyre yet,” I groaned, looking at the mess of my car. The driver’s side and back passenger window had been taken clean out by the man’s head, glass covering my seats and spilling across the carpark.

Demon pulled out his phone from somewhere deep inside the leather bike jacket, pressing it to his ear and waiting.

“Gonna need your van, brother,” I heard him say to someone else. “Aye. Got a fella who needs a lesson or three in how to treat the ladies… yeah, I’m outsideTrouble… see ya in a bit.”

*****

The dark van with the identity crisis pulled up in the carpark, its exhaust shouting angrily as it turned the corner, stopping next to my brutalised car.

“You lot like loud, don’t ya?” I grumbled, trying to mask my nervousness.

I watched two men in dark clothes jump out of the van. I recognised the first, with his opposing height and long dark hair, but the second I’d never seen before. His thick hair was streaked with grey, pushed back lazily over the side of his head as if he had just got out of bed and a beard covered his jaw, the same mottles of grey and dark grey tones as his hair.