Page 67 of Demon
Dropping my arm from around Ciara I stepped forward, putting myself in the path of the raging Pitbull that was Magnet, before he could bite off far more than he could even fucking nibble. Fury would annihilate him, and I didn’t want Suzy fussing over the husband who might be soon sparked out at our feet. I wanted to know what was fucking going on.
“Steady, mate,” I cautioned, receiving a murderous look from the man whose chest was pressing against my arms as I kept him out of Fury’s reach.
“The Bloody Hand,” Suzy blurted, now looking more flustered than ever.
“What about them?” I was confused.
“They’re here. At the rally.”
“Are you sure?” Indie moved closer, shooting a look at me and Fury.
“I’ve just seen them. Just going down to the food.”
“How do you know?” I asked, watching Suzy whirl round to face me, frustration and anger now replacing her fear.
“Because he’s got a giant fucking bloody hand on his back!”
“He?” I stepped closer. “So, there’s only one?” I glanced up at the men who had now surrounded us.
“There’s never only one,” the growl of my father’s voice came from behind us. “The fuckers hunt in packs. Where there’s one, there’s at least four more.”
“The Vandals said they thought they were here in the UK again.” Indie ran a hand around the back of his neck, tension showing in the strain of the muscles that ran either side of it. “Fuck! Why here? Why now?”
I glanced at my dad, catching Indie’s eyes on him too. They’d smelt weakness long before we’d even got the first whiff. And that meant the coarse peace we’d been living in for the last few years was looking more and more brittle. The fact they were hanging with the Notorious was nothing new, but it was significant. And we all knew it.
*****
“Who is the Bloody Hand, Demon?” Ciara shouted in my ear over the heavy music of the main stage.
We weren’t in the middle of the melee, but sitting at one of the bench tables on the periphery of the crowd dancing and jostling in the middle of the flattened grass. There were more than a thousand bikers here, and we were yet to see either the Notorious or the Bloody Hand, but I was alert.
“They’re an international MC. They’ve been trying to get a foothold in the UK for years, and about twenty years ago they’d managed. The Notorious wanted to join them, an honorary chapter, but that would have brought them too close. The MCs in the area were already warring with each other anyway, but with a foothold in the North East and their international influence, the Bloody Hand would have wiped us all out in no time. It was probably the first time we’d ever come together. But it wouldn’t last.”
“So how did your dad manage to get peace this time round?”
“Me.”
She looked at me, confusion in those rich brown eyes.
“Those dirty deeds I told you about. I was deployed. That’s all you need to know. The consequences of anyone stepping out of line was being whisked away to a warehouse with just me. That sent a message.”
“DDC,” she said suddenly. It was a whisper, words to herself that I couldn’t hear above the heavy cover of AC/DC’s Back to Black. But I could see those beautiful lips move, and I could see what she had said.
I nodded.
“Dirty Deeds Club.” I knew she’d seen it on my jacket.
“And what does that mean, exactly?”
“Do you really want to know?” I cautioned, a glimmer of hope her curiosity would not get the better of her.
Ciara shut her eyes, holding them closed for a second, although it felt far longer as I waited for her to respond. And when she opened them, all she did was nod her head.
“It means I’ve killed for the club.”
She bit her lip, a hard chastising nip, and I suspected she wished she hadn’t asked. Yet she didn’t look at me in horror, but pity. And I think that was worse.
We sat for a few more minutes, gazing around at the crowd, drinking and dancing. The music changed, and as if the universe was mocking me as the heavy tune picked up, a cover of the Australian rock band’sDirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap. Ciara looked at me and then laughed. A big hearty laugh, lighting her face, the scar on her cheek moving in the shadows, pulling at her skin, and that same fuzzy warmth that I felt every time I looked at her filled my chest. She made me less empty. More human. And somehow, she chased the crazy away, like she balanced me out. I pulled her towards me, pushing my lips against her forehead, inhaling the perfumed scent of her hair.