Demon (The Northern Kings MC #1)

Chapter Eight

Demon

I’d clocked the man at the bar the minute my foot went over the threshold. He was leaning forward, his eyes fixed on Ciara. I didn’t need to be any closer to see where he was staring, or to see the disgusted look on her face as he spoke something to her. My heckles were already rising, prickling at the back of my neck uncomfortably. And as I focused on the man at the bar, I barely noticed Billy Carmichael.

The tattooed man turned, his attention suddenly torn away from Ciara, now on the grey-haired regular that was moving towards him. And then suddenly, Billy was staggering backwards, his hands clutching his face.

“Fuck. That arsehole has just clobbered Billy!” One of the twins shouted from behind me.

We bounded forward together, rushing at the man who was pulling back his arm, his fist wrapped tightly into a ball. Launching myself on top of him, I wrapped my arm around his neck, spinning him away from Billy and slamming his forehead into the bar. His arms flailed, punches thrown wildly, a scattergun approach, an attempt to hit anyone coming towards him. I pulled my arm tighter round his neck, but it only seemed to fuel his temper more, and now I was clinging onto him like a bull at a rodeo.

He whipped around, smashing me into the bar top, a bolt of pain shooting through my ribs, shaking Cade off his other arm like he barely weighed a thing. The man was mad or fuelled with roids. Not that either was relevant. Cade scrambled back to his feet, crashing his elbow into the side of his head, the thud audible over the music pumping from the speakers. It was enough to make the big man falter. A half-step. A wobble. I dragged him backwards, Cade and Caleb pulling on the arm at the other side, taking him out of the club and around the side of the building, just out of eyesight of cars passing on the main road.

And there we dealt with him. Throwing him to the ground and sending the toes of heavy boots slamming into his side, in a tag-team type of approach. We only stopped when he’d finished trying to fight us off and the only signs of life from him were the raspy short breaths and the groans of pain.

“Ya barred, mate,” I said, nudging him with my toe to rouse him enough that he got the message. But then I think he’d already figured that out.

Back inside, Billy was still clutching his face as the other barmaid, Stacey, mopped him up. Across the bar Ciara just stood, her arms wrapped around herself, watching Stacey care for the man in front of her with far-away eyes.

“You ok?” I asked.

She jolted from wherever she was, her eyes scanning around wildly. No real focus on me. It was as if she couldn’t see me.

“Ciara!”

She stared at me blankly, then looked back at Billy. The blood was slowing and the floor underneath him looked like a murder scene. His white shirt was soaked in red, catching under the lights that would bounce around the club, reflecting off his middle, where the shirt was too saturated to soak up any more blood.

I moved around the bar, flicking the hatch up and opening the gate. And still she stared at Billy. Gently, I touched her shoulder. It was the slightest of touches, a little nudge to let her know I was there. Her head snapped towards me, her eyes opening wide. Her pupils dilating in terror as her mouth dropped open, like she was just about to scream but stopped herself.

“What’s wrong, darl’?”

“I…I…Billy’s hurt,” she answered eventually, fear still gripping her face. “You should go help him.”

She backed away, shuffling one step at a time, a slow retreat, hoping that I couldn’t recognise what she was doing. But I could see it. I could see the panic and fear on her face, and I recognised the way she withdrew to protect herself emotionally and physically. Those fucking counselling sessions I’d been forced to pay for were affecting me.

Ciara spent the last few hours keeping busy and not making eye contact. Not that it mattered. I hadn’t taken my eyes off her all night. I’d totally intended to just collect some takings tonight and then crawl back into bed for an early one. But the minute I’d seen how frightened she was, I couldn’t help but stick around. She’d always been so prickly. So strong. And now suddenly she looked vulnerable, fragile. And I didn’t like that. I liked the girl that was a pain in the arse. The girl that challenged everything I said just to piss me off. And right now, she wasn’t that girl. That fucker had snuffed the light and the fight right out of her eyes. If I could go out there and give him another kicking for that, I probably would.

“What you fucking moping about?” one of the Twins said from my side, not taking his eyes off the busty red-head wrapping herself round the pole on the stage.

“I’m wondering why Tez keeps relying on us to put out the fires.”

It was a half-truth.

“Thought that was part of the deal. We put our King’s name on the place, and it keeps all the daft cunts out.”

“Nah mate. Ste was more interested in the cut he’d get from this place. We’re only supposed to swing by and pick our money up. Tez probably needs to get some security. Tyne Thunder is not feared enough to run it without. If it was solely ours, then that would be another story.”

But the thought played on my mind. At some point, something pretty major would kick off and that would alert the licensing department. We’d help buy Tez by the license, but that decision would be scrutinised if Trouble couldn’t control its own trouble.

We stayed all night; the Twins watching the women, who flocked to our table after each set. Flesh, ass and tits swarming around us. They were in their element. I was bored. And tired. And Ciara kept busy, quietly working, her usual spunk tamed to a quiet smile to the punters she served and nothing much else.

“We’re gannin yem, mate,” Cade said as the last girl finished on stage and the lights in the building brightened.

“Nee bother. See ya later.”

The club was quick to empty. Punters going home to wives and girlfriends or empty flats. Billy Carmichael had left a few hours before, his nose swollen and shirtless.

“Tez!” I shouted at the bearded man as he walked past, his arms full of dirty glasses. “Think you need to think about some better security in this place.”

He frowned, and I knew what he was thinking.

“It’ll eat into the profits. Do you know how much those companies charge?”

“Aye. But if you don’t the Council will be all over this place like flies round shit and that investment you took out with the club will cost you more.”

Tez looked deflated. Other than the basics, he’d hardly spent a penny on the place. It had been given a lick of paint, new lighting and an eclectic mix of second-hand seats and tables.

“Look,” I continued, “I’ll see what the club can do. Maybe there’s a deal to be had?”

He nodded, a look of relief on his face.

“Thanks mate.”

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!”