Demon (The Northern Kings MC #1)

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 outside Trouble … 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.

“What the fuck have you done this time?” The grey-haired man complained.

“This fucker was about to attack Ciara.”

“So, you took her car windows out with his head?”

Demon shrugged.

“Fucking hell. One day, you’ll learn to control that temper,” he grumbled, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Right, Fury, get him in the van. What we doing about the lass?”

My heart jolted. Had I seen too much? Would I end up in the River Tyne with bricks tied to my ankles?

“I… I won’t say anything to anyone,” I squeaked.

The grey-haired man looked at Fury, who’s face cracked into a wide grin and then suddenly the pair of them were laughing loudly.

“I meant about getting you home, love,” grey-hair said eventually after he’d stopped chortling at my expense.

“I’ll get her home safe, Indie, if you and Fury see to this twat.”

“Please get him out of my car,” I asked, turning to Demon, the only one who hadn’t laughed at me.

Demon tipped his head at the other men and then together, they pulled him out of the back window, blood dripping a wet trail, before sliding the unconscious man into the back of the van.

“Alright, we got this. Get her home before the police or unsuspecting passer-by rocks up,” the man Demon had called Indie instructed.

I felt like I was driving a convertible with the top down all the way home. The wind whipped my hair around, and the constant thudding in my ears from the two open windows on the right-hand side of the car was giving me a headache. Behind me, the low growl of a motorbike accompanied me. All the way home. Closely. In fact, he was so far up my ass I was going to have to charge him. Guess it would get my windows fixed.

Any hopes the neighbours might have had for a peaceful sleep were probably shattered when we slowed at the door, the offensive noise from the bike’s exhaust even louder in the surrounding silence. I locked the car on getting out. A habit. Because it sure as hell wasn’t going to do anything towards keeping my car safe now that it was gaping open on one side. Good job I owned nothing worth stealing. And now who would want to steal that? I was probably more at risk of the police passing by and impounding it because it looked like the sad victim of the ASBO kids in the area.

Despite the late hour, or early, depending on which way you looked at it, I scanned the street, watching for shadows moving. For people watching. Today was almost too coincidental to be a coincidence. The woman in the coffee shop and then the attack at the club. My brain scrambled to add the odds up and came out with a fifty percent chance they were coming for me. Overreacting much? But I still couldn’t shake the unease that had been taking hold inside me from this morning.

“Ciara, what’s wrong?” Demon said suddenly from behind me as I stood on the last step at the door to the property, staring down the street into the darkness. “You’re really jumpy tonight.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Maybe I should be just totally blasé about some fucker who probably intended to rape me?”

“We don’t actually know what his intentions were.”

“No. Because someone knocked him out with a car window, or two, before we could even ask him.”

I was angry. And I knew that anger was seriously misplaced. If Demon hadn’t have come back for me…actually, it really didn’t bear thinking about. I pushed the key towards the lock, my hand suddenly shaking so much that I couldn’t hold it steady.

“Here, darlin’. I’ve got it.”

His voice was as soft as I’d ever heard it. Not a hint of mockery or exasperation. Just a quiet calmness. And I let him take the key from me, sliding it into the lock and pushing the door open, nudging me inwards and stepping in right behind me.

The hallway inside the shared house was dark, and I reached for my phone, turning on the torch and shining the little beam of light in front of me.

“There no lights or summit?”

“No. Lightbulb popped a few days ago. Stu hasn’t fixed it yet.”

“Stu’s the landlord?”

“Aye. Sleazy Stu. Or Stingy Stu, depending which mood he’s in.”

“What do you mean, sleazy?” Demon caught me by the elbow just at the bottom of the stairs, spinning me round to face him.

“Nothing. He’s just… It doesn’t matter, Demon. It’s not important.”

“It is to me.”

And in the shadows, we stood looking at each other, working each other out.

“Tell me, Ciara,” he said eventually.

“He’s just leery. That’s all.”

I’d seen Demon react tonight. And I was pretty certain if he set about my landlord, I wouldn’t have a place to live once he was done. So, I kept quiet. If Demon bought the explanation, I couldn’t tell because those eyes never left mine.

“I’m home now, Demon. Thank you.”

He didn’t answer, just continued to stare at me. And now, after the cold drive home, I felt hot. Really hot. And there was certainly no heat spared in this house. My cheeks felt like they were burning, that scratchy feeling you get when you stay out in the sun all day. And deep in my chest, my heart beat out a bounding rhythm, fast and furious.

He lifted his hand, reaching towards me, and I winced, drawing a breath at the sudden movement. A sudden irrational fear he would strike me, even though despite all the violence I’d seen tonight, and the aggressive bike riding I’d seen when I’d first met him, he’d never shown any sign that he would hurt me. Not with his hands, anyway.

His fingers brushed the skin on my cheek, touching across my scar gently, but even the lightest touch fired the nerves underneath and, instinctively, I pulled away.

“Who did this to you?” His voice was a whisper, the gentleness masking something underneath.

I shook my head.

“I… I… It doesn’t matter.”

“Tell me, Ciara.”

I pulled his hand away, the back of it catching under the light from my mobile, knuckles red and swollen and as I turned it over, the flesh on the underside was torn, gaping open.

“Demon! That needs seeing to.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. Upstairs. Now.”

I turned, wondering for a moment whether he would follow, but the stairs creaked behind me. Outside my door, I faltered. I should probably leave him in the corridor. Use the light from my torch to clean him up and send him on his way. The minute I opened that door, he would see where I lived, and I didn’t want to see pity all over his face. I’d had enough people look at me with sympathy in their eyes my entire life. And that had never made anything better. Only I had done that.

He watched me expectantly, but never pushing me to open the door, letting me take my time to decide what I was going to do. And eventually I pushed the key into the lock, feeling for the bolt springing back and the door nudging open. Clicking on the light, I ushered him in, trying to ignore the way he scanned my room, his head moving slowly as he took everything in. I passed him, moving the few steps to the far side to the tiny bench that housed a kitchen sink, a portable hob, and a cupboard underneath. At the very back was a first aid kit. It wasn’t often used, but it was well stocked.

“Sit,” I said, gesturing to the edge of the bed when he looked searchingly around the room. “Yeah. I don’t have a sofa.”

“Wasn’t gonna say a thing.”

“Hand.”

He passed his left hand over and I dabbed the antiseptic across the grazed knuckles, sneaking a peek at him to see if he reacted, but he didn’t do a thing, not even a little wince. His eyes watched me diligently, focused on where I held his hand, pulled in towards me as I sat next to him on the bed. The cut on the other side was deep and dirty, little shards of glass poking out the ragged flesh.

“This might need more than antiseptic and steri-strips,” I warned.

“No, it won’t. Just stick something on it.”

I shook my head, jumping off the bed and to my wardrobe, pulling my make-up bag down off the shelf.

“Don’t think mascara’s gonna work either,” Demon’s voice rumbled from a little way behind me.

“I’m looking for my tweezers.”

And I found them right at the bottom of the bag, covered in eyeliner and a myriad of colour from an exploded eye-shadow palette. Nothing a quick rinse under the tap couldn’t solve.

“Hold still,” I said, sitting back down and pulling his hand into me again.

Carefully, I picked out the glass from the cut, running the tip of my finger over it gently, feeling for anything rougher than torn flesh. Then I dabbed on a shit load of antiseptic. More than was really necessary, all just to see if he would flinch under the sting.

“Good job,” Demon said when I finished, holding his hand up in front of him and inspecting the little strips, pulling the sides of the cut back together. “You could be a nurse.”

“I don’t like blood. Or shit or piss. Or vomit. I’ll stick to Social Care.”

“Is that what you’re going to uni for?”

“You know I go to uni?”

“Your books were in the car. Didn’t know what they were, but guess the Sunderland University stamp was a giveaway. Or you thieved them.”

“How did you get my car back, anyway? You didn’t have the keys.”

Demon shrugged. “Nothing a little rubbing of wires in the dash couldn’t sort.”

“You hot-wired it?”

“Well, when you don’t have the keys…”

“And how did you get into it in the first place?”

“Fords have never been made to keep people out. A little wire wedged into the window, and it didn’t take much to pop the lock.

“Where did you learn to hot-wire a car?”

“When I was a kid. What else do you do when you’re bored?” Demon shrugged.

“What? You couldn’t find some random guy’s head? Seems that’s more effective.”

“Well, when you’re a qualified social worker then you can get a decent car. That doesn’t have some guy’s head in it. Tough job, though,” he continued. “Think the vomit and shit sounds better. Why a Social Worker?”

“If I can help that one other kid, like that Social Worker helped me that day. Then it’s worth it.”

I stood up, cutting that conversation off, stuffing the first aid kit back under the sink, and turning around to walk straight into him. His hand wrapped round the back of my head, firm but gentle, his dark eyes on mine, connecting.

“You’ll make an incredible social worker.”

“You don’t know me, Demon.”

“Then show me who you are, Ciara.”

His thumb stroked my left cheek, hot tingles chasing across my skin and down my neck. And then he dipped his head. And this time, the kiss was gentle. Not aggressive, not dominant. It was hesitant, slow.