Saving marvel satans dev.., p.2
Saving Marvel (Satan's Devils MC Second Generation Book 4), page 2
“You going to pull your fingers out of your asses and get us out?” I hate relying on anyone, least of all, anyone in authority. The only people I trust are the brothers I ride with.
“Yes, sir.” He says the “sir” as if it’s going to choke him. “We’re already putting together a SWAT team. Just hold tight, and we’ll have you out of there as soon as we can.” He’s full of shit and from his tone, he knows it.
I end the call but keep the phone in my hand. Taking a deep breath, I realise I’m not confident in living out this day. I suppose I’ve had over five decades and that’s more than a lot of people who ride with an MC get. Thirty years back, I took the patch, knowing I’d forfeit my life to save my club or my brothers. It would suck if I died because someone was greedy.
One thing’s for certain, if it comes to it, I’ll make sure to take at least one of the assholes with me.
“Virginia, huh?” I gaze at my companion. “You got a phone? It will need to be put on silent too. You want to call anyone?”
She shrugs. “There’s no one to call.” She slides her phone out of her pocket and clicks on the right keys to turn it off completely.
I glance at her curiously. She seems to be in the same age range as me. That she’s got no one to call who could comfort her seems odd. Or maybe it’s that she doesn’t want to cause anyone distress. Whatever, it’s none of my business.
Pressing my back against the drawers of the desk, I pull up my knees and use them as a prop for my chin. Guess we’ve got to settle in for a wait. My ass is already complaining, reminding me I’m not as young as I was.
Doesn’t mean I want to die, no sirree. Prior to joining the MC, my life was nothing to write home about. That changed when I joined the Satan’s Devils and became even better once I’d transferred to Tucson and put my past further behind me. That definitely counts as one of the better decisions I’d ever made.
Leaning my head back, I let my mind drift, much like a drowning man sees his life flashing in front of his eyes.
If it wasn’t for the Satan’s Devils, I’d have been dead long ago. No one would have mourned me. If I die today, there’d be standing room only at my grave. The whole fucking club would turn out, maybe other chapters as well. What’s more, some of those fuckers would even miss me. The thought brings a smile to my face. I might not have blood family, or a special woman tied to me, but I’ve brothers aplenty who’d mourn my demise.
It makes me realise that while this is one situation where my brothers can’t help, my prez might want to know what’s happening to me. Or at least, when I don’t return to Angels, that I haven’t run off with the float. My lips quirk as I know that’s one thing he’d rightly never suspect of me.
Raising my phone, I hold it to my lips for a moment, wondering what to say, then realise I might be better off keeping as quiet as I can. I’ve never been one much for texting.
Laboriously, I stab at the letters.
Marvel: Bank holdup. I’m here.
Before I can put my phone away, it vibrates silently.
Wizard: You safe?
Marvel: Yeah. For now.
Thinking for a moment, I add,
Marvel: Cops know I’m here. I called it in. They’d already clocked the bike outside.
Wizard: They suspect club involvement?
Marvel: Tried to shut that shit down. If it was us, we wouldn’t have been caught.
Wizard uses a laughing emoji, those symbols being something else I’m not a fan of, never certain which one to use.
Wizard: We’ll work from the outside, see what we can do.
Marvel: Cops have SWAT on the way.
Wizard: Keep your head down. Hang in there.
Leaning my head back, I take a deep breath, holding it in for a moment. There’s a lump in my chest. Hopefully, breathing exercises will clear it. I don’t do fucking emotions, but I feel lighter now I’ve spoken to the prez and know there’s someone on the outside rooting for me.
The thought makes me consider my companion. As before, I put her into the mature bracket. Unlike many, she’s giving gracefully to the advance of grey hair, and I find the silvery blond colour quite attractive.
Her skin is pale, but that’s understandable. She must be fucking scared. Men like me, when we join an MC, we know the only way out will be in a box. We live hard, ride hard, take life right to the edge. The knowledge that any day might be the last of our life ever present in our minds. So, we seize every opportunity and run with it.
Doesn’t mean we’re reckless, which is why I’m hiding away. This is not my battle, not my brothers at risk, so I’ll sit back and let the cops sort it.
And, if at the end of the day, I die, I’ll face Satan with my shoulders pulled back, accepting I’ve had a good run.
Virginia, though? While she said she had no one to phone, I decide my suspicions were probably right. She seems the kind of woman who wouldn’t want to worry anyone. She’s probably got kids, grandkids too, and has no thought other than staying around to see them grow. She’ll have reasons to live, while most of my family would ask why I’m not dead yet.
She must be fucking terrified.
I realise things could be worse. I could be sitting here with a hysterical female, but instead, she appears to be holding it together, at least for now. Thank fuck.
Chapter Two
Virginia…
Getting caught in a bank heist may end up competing as one of the worst things that’s ever happened to me. It’s not how I’d have chosen to spend my day.
I shiver, realising it had been pure luck, an accident of timing, that I’d been begging with the loan adviser for money to replace my piece of shit car and ended up hidden in this room, instead of being in the bank lobby with the other customers.
Though I hadn’t felt lucky when the man, now hiding beside me, had entered the room. I’d immediately thought he was one of them, coming to kill me, or at least round me up with the rest of the customers. But as it turns out, despite his roguish looks and the leather vest that he wears, he’s as much a victim as I am.
I’d been annoyed with myself. I, out of all people, ought to know not to judge. Outward appearances, hell even actions, can very successfully disguise what lurks beneath. A monster can all too easily be hidden in respectable clothing.
What had I done in the few moments since the loan manager had left the room? Hid and shook. The biker might have decided discretion is the best part of valour today as he snuck in to join me, but unlike me, he’s tried to do something to help, though he couldn’t hide how tense he was while having that whispered conversation with the police.
It was interesting how his demeanour changed so quickly once he’d started to text. As he pokes away at his phone, his face is more relaxed. When he finishes and subsequently leans his head back with his eyes closed, it suggests that whoever he’d contacted had brought him some relief.
His posture gives me a moment to surreptitiously examine him. I guess him to be a similar age to me, pushing fifty at least. Blond, maybe in his youth, but again, like mine, his hair has turned a silvery grey. His beard, which appears neatly trimmed, well, that’s almost pure white.
Courtesy of living and presumably riding in the Arizona sun, his skin is tanned and weatherworn. His mouth seems set in a permanent scowl. Even when he was texting, his only expression had been a frown. Something tells me he’d be very attractive if he ever smiled.
Strangely, I look forward to seeing it. Perhaps I will once the police arrive and we’re free. I don’t feel much like smiling myself. This situation wouldn’t make anyone happy.
The fact he’s here is calming, but he could be anyone. That some of my initial terror has receded is more down to the fact that I’m no longer on my own.
At first, I’d thought him as scary as the bank robbers I could hear but not see. All I could take in was his leather vest that proudly shouts to the world he rides with the Satan’s Devils MC. But I soon felt the vibe coming off him wasn’t threatening, or at least, not toward me. Toward the bank robbers, I suspect, that’s a different matter completely. I think he’s truly pissed at how they’ve interrupted his day.
My musing is interrupted when there’s a sudden uproar from the lobby. Yet another shot, shrieks, remonstrations, and the robber’s voice shouting loudly for them all to sit the fuck down. Female wails begin to escalate along with a baby’s distressed screams.
I startle, rise to my knees and anxiously look toward the door, stuffing my fist to smother my automatic response to cry out.
It’s not until my companion takes a firm hold of my free hand that I realise I’m trembling. For a second, his touch comforts me, then I remember myself, and automatically pull mine away, clasping it to me and rubbing imaginary dirt away.
He frowns slightly, then shakes his head dismissively, as though someone finding his touch repugnant is a natural occurrence for him. “Keep calm. We’re safe,” he murmurs gruffly, piercing me with his blue eyes. “As long as we don’t draw attention to ourselves, we’ll be fine.”
My eyes are drawn toward the door, and I hold my breath until I’m sure it’s going to stay closed. The shouting dies down, but I can still hear crying and that baby wailing. It feels wrong that we’re in here and relatively safe.
I feel so useless, but maybe he… “Can’t you do anything to help?”
His head tilts to the side and his eyes widen. “What the fuck do you expect me to do? There are two armed robbers, at least, out there.”
“Haven’t you got a gun?” If he’s not armed, there goes all my assumptions about bikers.
He shoots me a patronising look. “I have. But what are you thinking? That I run out there like some kind of sharpshooter and take down the bad guys? What if the civilians get in the way? And what’s the likelihood that I’ll take down one, but the other will get to me first?”
He’s right, I suppose. I just hate hearing hell breaking loose outside the door and being unable to do anything.
Then I notice he’s possibly not as calm as he appears to be, as he grimaces, picks up his phone and glances at it, then shoots off a text.
“Fuckin’ cops,” he mumbles. “They heard the shot and asked if I can see what the fuck’s going on.”
“Perhaps we could take a peek through the door and let them know,” I suggest.
He rolls his eyes. “That’s fuckin’ frosted glass. Won’t be able to see fuck more than shapes. If I try and one of the assholes sees me, what then?” I suppose he’s got a point, but I’m frustrated we’re doing nothing. It’s not in my nature to sit still and wait. I suppose I’m not the world’s most patient person.
I see his phone move in his hand again. Turning away, I expect it’s another contact from the detective he’d been speaking to before.
Marvel taps me on the shoulder. “That was Mouse, a guy from my club. He’s just informed me it’s a siege situation now. The robbers are trying to negotiate their way out.”
“Will they succeed?” The only experience I have of situations like this is watching them on television dramas.
“Nope.” His voice, while still low, is confident. “They’re going to end up dead. Question is, how many innocents will they take with them?”
I shudder, not wanting anyone to die, and definitely not me. “How long do you think it will take?” I ask, but doubt he has any idea of the answer.
Marvel leans his head back again. “Hours, I expect.”
My eyes narrow. “How does this Mouse know what’s going on?”
He chuckles and smirks. “Mouse is a hacker and an excellent one. He and Wiz, my prez, will be listening in on the police frequencies and delving into their systems. They’ll be able to let us know what’s happening so we can be prepared.”
That’s something I suppose. Again, I’m grateful that he’s in here with me. I’d go crazy if I was alone. But if I were able to choose my companion, a member of an MC wouldn’t be my first choice.
My legs are tingling from me sitting still for so long. I want to get up and pace but am conscious of the window in the door. It might be frosted, but it would be possible to see shapes moving about. I can’t do anything that risks letting the robbers know we’re in here.
I try to straighten my feet out, circling my ankles in an effort to get the circulation back. In the process, I knock into his leg.
He jerks. “Can’t you keep fuckin’ still, woman?”
“My legs are going dead. I’m not as young as I was, and I easily get stiff.”
“Tell me about it,” he growls, then his mouth quirks. “But maybe not so much the getting stiff part. I don’t complain about that.”
My eyes widen. Did this grumpy man just make a joke? If so, it wasn’t a very polite one. I decide to ignore it.
The sounds from the lobby have quieted down. The baby has ceased crying at last. I pray that it’s because she’s sleeping and not something worse. Though the eerie silence isn’t complete, if I strain my ears, I can still make out a woman softly sobbing.
The robbers must be discouraging talking, as when I hear a voice, it’s immediately followed by a loud, “Shut the fuck up.”
I wouldn’t have said before that I was claustrophobic. Small, confined places don’t normally bother me at all. But being trapped, not knowing what’s happening, and trying to cope with the idea that today could be the last day of my life, is slowly getting to me.
I try to envisage how this will end. In my mind, I act out a SWAT team bursting in, and the robbers using this room to try to escape. I whimper softly, knowing we’d be sitting ducks. The robbers presumably have nothing to lose.
But Marvel’s got a gun. Surely that’s when he’d use it?
Even if the robbers didn’t shoot us, we could be hit by stray bullets from the police.
It’s not pleasant thinking today could be the day I die.
I don’t have much left to enjoy in life. I’ve never had kids. I’ve not even anyone who’d remember me fondly. So, as it turns out, it’s probably a blessing in disguise that no others were ruined by the turns I’d taken in life. Oh, yes, I’ve regrets aplenty. So much so, I’ve often wondered why I couldn’t simply curl up and die, though I’d never contemplated suicide. But for some perverse reason, now death’s quite possibly in the cards, I want to stay alive.
Why do these things happen to me? Why am I always making the wrong choices? Wrong places, wrong times, and to top everything off, the wrong freaking man.
Does that apply to the man who’s with me now? I give a sideways glance toward the biker. What type of man is he? When push comes to shove, would he save his own skin while having little regard for mine? Or is he a protective male who’d push me behind him?
I brush an errant tear from my eye. Protectors don’t exist in real life. They’re only in the books that I like to lose myself in. Most men are assholes, and this one has shown me nothing other than how he could fit the bill.
Why couldn’t it have been an off-duty Marine who’d rush out to save the day?
But no, I wouldn’t be that lucky.
“Hey, you’re alright. We’re safe.” I glance up to see Marvel looking at me with concern on his face. “Just keep it together, okay?”
Keep it together? Does he think I’m going to go crazy and try and make a break for it? I narrow my eyes at him.
He’s still looking at me, his mouth pinched as though unnerved. When he speaks next, his soft, gravelly voice is obviously trying to get me to keep my composure. “Virginia, huh? Is that what everyone calls you, or do you use a shortened form?”
It’s a question that, unknowing to him, brings back memories which make me shudder. “My parents always called me by my full name.” My mouth twists. “Mom said if she wanted to call me anything different, that’s what she’d have christened me.”
“So, no one’s given you a pet name?”
“Yeah.” Indeed they have. The thought brings a bad taste to my mouth.
“Yeah?” His brow rises quizzically.
Raising and lowering my shoulders, I simply tell him, “If no one again ever calls me Ginny, I’ll be grateful.”
“Bad connotations, huh?” He seems to be quick on the uptake.
I shake my head and simultaneously nod, then turn the tables on him. “So do I call you Cash or Marvel?”
“Fuck, it’s Marvel. Ain’t been Cash in a good few years.” His mouth clamps shut.
I’m silent for a moment, then as it’s bugging me, I can’t stop myself asking. “Why Marvel?”
Shooting me a quick look, one side of his mouth tips up, and he starts, “Because I’m marvellous in…” As if realising what he’s about to say might be inappropriate, he breaks off and shrugs. “Used to read a lot of Marvel comics.” Then, again, he clams up.
Well, apparently, the niceties are over. I lower my face into my hands, and start wondering how, or if, I’m ever going to get out of here. As my body starts trembling again, Marvel’s voice rumbles.
“Got to find some way to pass the fuckin’ time. Tell me something about yourself, Virginia.” The four syllables of my name roll almost musically off his gruff tongue.
My teeth close on my lip. Why should I tell this stranger anything about me, when in hopefully a few minutes, though more likely a few hours, we’ll part and go our different ways? Why would I want him to know anything about me? It’s not as though we’re likely to become friends.
Once he knows all about me, he’ll probably move away as far as he can, and not want to have any further conversation. Most people shun me, once they hear my name, or even if that means nothing to them, when someone with a better memory, explains who I am.
“Why would you want to know anything about me?” I hiss.
He shrugs his shoulders. “Just to pass the time. You already know something about me. I ride with the Satan’s Devils MC.”
If he wants details from me, I want to know more about him. It’s him who wants to talk, so it’s him who can start. “Are you married, have you got kids?”
He doesn’t seem to mind my questions. “Never married. No kids. Not of my own, anyway.”
