Demon (The Northern Kings MC #1)
Chapter One
Ciara
I weaved the little car through the traffic, my exhaust roaring loudly from the hole I hadn’t yet fixed. It sounded like a race car; guttural, loud, head turning. The type of car that the northern chavs would have been proud of - a red Ford Fiesta with a massive spoiler on the back. It had been a cheap buy, because it was already falling apart, and it was all I could afford and even bus travel these days was getting expensive and slow. And I didn’t have time for slow.
Pushing the pedal to the floor, the car whizzed on, gliding through the queues of vehicles, changing lanes each time I came to something slower. My watch ticked closer. Closer to 2pm and the time of my meeting. Fuck this traffic.
The lanes in front of me slowed, the red glow of traffic lights ahead stopping my progress. My hands tapped the steering wheel impatiently, drumming in time with the music from the radio. One of the few things that still worked. The vehicles behind me purred, an impatient mix of engine types idling at the lights. I hated being sat here. Surrounded. Unable to escape. Memories rushed back, flooding through me. Terror. Terror like none I’d experienced before. Raw and real. I turned up the music, drowning the outside noises, distracting the anxiety snowballing in my head.
The lights turned to green, the traffic alongside me edging forwards, keen to get away and I let the car roll, easing the clutch up carefully so I didn’t stall it. I didn’t need it to decide it wasn’t going to start again. Not today. It could be as temperamental as me, this car. But today it was playing ball. And I needed to keep it that way.
I peeled off to the left, pulling away from the streams of cars passing through the busy junction next to Heworth Metro station. It wasn’t much clearer towards Hebburn; delivery drivers taking up the entire road. Another line of cars in front queued, waiting for oncoming traffic to clear so they could pull out around the huge wagon hogging half the street.
It had pulled up on double yellows, the back doors wide open as a bed, or some such large shit was dragged out of the back by the two lean men, bracing themselves to catch it before it landed on the wet road. A line of cars came from the other direction, unrelenting, no space to pull around the obstruction. The drizzle continued, covering the windscreen with a fine mist, insistent and fucking annoying when my window wipers were long overdue replacing. The water smeared across the screen, mingling with dirt and grime. In front of me, the stream of cars stopped. A gap. I pulled into it, changing gears angrily, the car barrelling forwards.
I hadn’t seen the bike. The big truck obscuring my view and my impatience clouding my judgement. And suddenly it was right in front of me. Big and shiny, swerving to the side of the road as I narrowly missed clipping it. Shit!
I checked my rearview, watching the bike pull over, before turning in a big wide ‘U’, and then I heard the throttle open. An angry roar as the heap of heavy, shiny metal came flying up behind me. I shook my head, glancing in the mirror. I hadn’t actually touched it. And I couldn’t see for the wagon, but it looked like the biker was going to be a complete knob about it. I drove on, trying not to get distracted by the angry noises from the motorbike now following me. He’d get bored soon, remember he had somewhere else to be. And yes, it was definitely a bloke. Reacting to my lowly driving mistake like a wanker was definitely a bloke thing to do.
Houses drifted past. Big old Victorian terraces, lining the streets with bulging bay windows and pretty over-door canopies. And the bike still followed, sitting tight on my arse. In front, another set of traffic lights loomed, taunting me with the chance of getting through on green, but changing to amber just as I got to them. The bike pulled around me, slowing to a crawl as it got alongside my window, the man peering through the dark visor of his helmet, faceless. Here we go.
He flapped his hand, a gesture to wind the window down. But I wasn’t that stupid. I waved instead, smiling smugly, safe behind the glass and the metal frame of my car. His hand moved some more, angrier this time, pointing and jibing and I added some hand gestures of my own, closing my fingers around an imaginary cock and shaking it at him.
I couldn’t see his face, but I’d bet he was shouting from behind that visor. Tit! The lights in front of me changed. Red and amber together. I turned, stared straight into the black visor at the face I couldn’t see and then lifted my first two fingers separating them into a ‘V’. That would show him. The car engine growled, vibrating under the bonnet, and I moved forward. And then beside me the bike erupted, roaring to life, the engine bellowing with anger as if the Harley Davidson itself was offended.
The biker kept up alongside me, only an inch between us. Any tiny movement from the steering wheel and I could clip it. Any small deflection from a pothole and I could collide straight into him. And neither one of us wanted to give way to the other. The biker glanced at the road and then stared through my window, his faceless presence oppressive and intimidating. Eyeballing me with anger through the blackened glass covering his face. Arsehole.
I kept up for a moment, not wanting to lose this battle of wills. But I didn’t want to lose my license for flattening him with my car, even if he was one giant ball bag. And I didn’t have the money to fix my car or his monstrosity of polished silver metal if I clipped him. I braked suddenly, letting him get ahead. Something clattered off the side of my car, my heart jolting, making me jump in my seat, bolt upright. Had I hit him? I scanned in front of me, watching the bike glide away, the biker intact. Had I driven over something in the road? I searched in my rearview mirror. Nothing. And then my wing mirror. Nothing. No, wait.
That fucker!
The wing mirror was dislodged, hanging from a wire, dangling down the side of the car. My temper bubbled, boiling over, my foot suddenly heavy against the accelerator. It didn’t take long to catch up with the motorbike, racing up behind him, the heel of my hand pushing into the horn in the middle of the steering wheel. One long drone of the bellow from my car. He flicked his head, checking his mirrors. At least he still had his, wanker. And then he took his left hand off the handlebars, waving over to the side of the road and pulling the motorbike into a side street.
A few metres down the street and away from the main road, he stopped, kicking out the stand with a thick-soled boot. I yanked on my hand brake, hardly waiting for the car to come to a complete stop, and launched out through the door.
“What the fuck?” I shouted, slamming the door, and instantly regretting it when the last strand holding the wing mirror snapped and the thing hit the floor, the mirror itself shattering into a million pieces all over the mottled tarmac.
Great. My luck was shit. Add on another seven years and I was now truly fucked.
The man in front swung his leg off the bike, tauntingly slow, blue denim jeans tightening over a pert arse, before straightening up to a good six feet in height. His leather jacket was plain black, padded thickly over the shoulders, giving him a broadness I doubted was actually underneath. And then he pulled his helmet off, exposing a crop of short dark hair.
I stalked forward. My face was hot with anger and a whole load of expletives ready to tumble off my tongue.
“Hey!” I continued, “look what you’ve fucking done to my car!”
“You crazy bitch. You nearly wiped me out.”
He hung his helmet on the handlebar, turning, moving towards me. Big long strides, covering the ground quicker than I’d anticipated, and suddenly we were right in front of each other. His face was tight. Thick dark eyebrows pulling together in anger. Big dark eyes, so dark there was hardly anything in them other than black, boring down at me.
“I didn’t see you, moron. There was a lorry in the way.”
“Then you shouldn’t have pulled out. Should have waited, shouldn’t you?”
“I made a mistake. I was nowhere near your stupid bike. Or you. There was no need to rip my wing mirror off. You’re going to pay for it. Right now.”
He leaned in closer, intimidating me with the space he was taking up, glaring at me with those dark, soulless eyes. No. Not soulless. Soul eating. That’s what they were. Demonic. Frightening.
“I didn’t rip it off. I kicked it off.” His voice had quieted, low and gravelly and dangerous, sending the hairs at the back of my neck prickling. And now I was very aware that I was in a side road with the stranger. Alone. My fight reflexes dissolving, my run urges firing up.
“You’re gonna have to pay for that.”
“Who says?”
“I say so.”
“And who are you? Huh?”
He’d stepped closer, his body inches from mine. The back of my legs hit the bonnet of my car. I’d not even realised he’d walked me backwards. I was too busy staring him out, my eyes distracted by his face. By those brutal eyes, and the long thin nose that ended in a point, down to his lips and the two-day-old black stubble covering his jaw.
And suddenly I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t tell him my name. Couldn’t even remember where I was, or who I was.
He lowered his head, the stubble of his jaw scratching my cheek, hot tingles of breath brushing my ear.
“Watch who you pull out onto in the future, darlin’. Then you won’t go losing any car parts.”
He straightened. Stepping away. And I grabbed his arm.
“Fuck, no. You’re paying for that, you arsehole.”
The man wheeled round, rage flashing in his dark eyes, his hand whipping up towards me, grabbing the back of my head, pulling me towards him, his lips crashing into mine. They moved across me, the stubble prickling against my flesh, and I inhaled in shock, creating the smallest of gaps. His tongue took the advantage I’d created, plunging into my mouth, his lips plucking at mine. Intimidating me with a kiss. But I wouldn’t be fucking intimidated. No. Fucking. Way.
I pushed back against him, my tongue matching his. Fighting for dominance. Fighting for control, my lips pulling against his, nipping with my teeth until he hissed in pain. But the pain didn’t stop him, only sent him wild. His hand moved across the back of my head; the fingers cupped around the back of my head now scratching across my scalp. He grabbed a hand full of hair, pulling my head back, forcing me back at an angle that might almost break my neck. But his lips and tongue never stopped. Punishing. Fighting. Duelling.
Then, he let go. His mouth stilling, his tongue slipping from mine. And for a moment I stood there staring at him, my lips scratched and irritated from his stubble, but swollen and hungry for more of him. Fuck. What was I doing? And yet he still stood glaring. Like he might just eat me whole. Or tear my clothes off. Or maybe both. I swallowed, dumbstruck.
Turning, I scooped my wing mirror from the ground, jumping back into the safety of my car and turned the key, praying that on this occasion she wouldn’t let me down. I needed to get out of here. The car spluttered to life, as shocked as I was, and I wrenched it into reverse, moving away from the biker and up the street until I could reverse into the back lane and turn around.
From my rear-view mirror, I watched him get smaller. And not once did he turn away. Just stood with his leather arms folded across his leather chest, watching me leave. And fuck. Now I was late.