Chapter Three
CHAPTER THREE
I TURNED ONTO the old dirt road that led to our secluded, if not unusual clubhouse, my lights hitting the many warning metal signs of no trespassing, private property, and we shoot then ask questions— that is if you can answer any.
The Devil’s House MC clubhouse, located just outside Charleston, South Carolina, once an old mansion, loomed at the end of a long, winding dirt road, framed by a tunnel of ancient oak trees draped with Spanish moss. Once a grand house, that was willed to one of the founders of The Devil’s House MC—South Carolina chapter, by his grandaddy, it had seen better days, and after years of abandonment, it had been reborn with a new purpose.
The club’s renovations left enough of the old charm intact, blending the history of the property with the grit of the club’s lifestyle.
And we’ve kept it that way just like old Jaybird would have wanted.
Outside, the property surrounding the mansion sprawled across several acres. To one side, the marshland began to take over, its brackish waters would reflect the late afternoon sun. A large dock jutted out into the water, a place where club members could relax. On the other side of the property was an old barn that had been converted into a garage for the club’s bike maintenance. That’s where you will find me most days working. There were also several other buildings on the property used for various things.
In the distance, you could hear the hustle and bustle of Charleston, but out here, it felt like its own world. The thick air, heavy with humidity and the scent of magnolias, carried the quiet sounds of the Lowcountry—the croak of bullfrogs and the distant buzz of cicadas. The towering oaks and scattered palmetto trees lined the property, offering a mixture of shade and privacy.
God, I loved it here.
I hopped off my bike and gazed at the wide, wrap-around porches supported by tall columns, though the paint was no longer the original white, but painted in the club’s colors of red and black. Large, arched windows lined the front, some of the glass original and wavy, offering glimpses of the sprawling interior. The front steps creaked underfoot as I walked up them, and the thick wooden double doors, heavy with iron knockers, stood resilient, as if welcoming the comings and goings of the club members.
Inside, the main hallway opened up into what we call our common room, where once a chandelier might have hung. Now, industrial-style lighting flickered overhead, casting a warm, yellow glow. The hardwood floors, scarred from decades of use, and the original fireplaces still stood in each room, though now outfitted with leather couches, bar stools, and motorcycle gear and memorabilia everywhere.
The air inside was thick with the smell of old wood and tobacco, a smell from by-gone days that never seems to fade.
Developers had been trying to buy this property for years, but once word got out that it wasn’t a good idea to come snooping around, they stopped coming.
The bass thrummed through the walls of the clubhouse, making the floor vibrate beneath my boots. “Jacob, a bottle,” I called out to the prospect as I leaned back against the bar, the beer in front of me before I could look away. I took a slow drag from my bottle of beer, my eyes scanning the crowd around me. Laughter, alcohol, brotherhood, this was the life.
My life and at thirty-seven had been for a long time. It should be enough to keep the demons at bay so I could be that happy-go-lucky guy everyone thought me to be.
It usually did.
But not tonight.
Tonight, things felt off, strange.
Jenny sidled up next to me, her hand sliding down my arm as she pressed her warm body against my side. “Hey there, sexy,” she purred, her voice dripping with honey. “You look like you could use some personal attention.”
I barely glanced at her, still feeling so fucking weird. Normally, I’d be all over that—no strings, no expectations, just a quick escape from the noise in my head. But tonight, it just wasn’t happening. The familiar itch under my skin wasn’t going away, no matter how much I tried to scratch it.
“Not tonight,” I muttered, taking another swig from my bottle.
Her smile faltered, but she wasn’t deterred. She leaned in closer, her breath hot against my ear. “C’mon, Bolt. Don’t be like that. I’ll make you feel so fucking good, just like always.”
I shot her a sharp look for being pushy. “Jesus Christ, Jenny, I said, not tonight.”
She huffed, pulling back with a pout. “Your loss,” she threw over her shoulder as she sauntered off, her hips swinging in a way that was meant to entice. But I was already looking past her, my mind a thousand miles away.
I should’ve been in the mood, a quick fuck to relax me. Fuck, I felt like a caged animal, restless and pissed off for reasons I couldn’t quite pin down. I’d been this way since getting back from West Virginia, watching my brothers from that chapter and Pennsylvania settle down, not just taking ol’ ladies but getting fucking married and having kids.
It made me feel those familiar stirrings I’d been having lately for something I promised myself to stay away from, to avoid at all costs. You’d think after growing up watching that fucking shitshow it would be enough to crush any rumblings of wanting a family.
I shook my head, trying to shove those thoughts back where they belonged, and scanned the room. My brothers were scattered throughout the room, shooting pool, tossing back drinks, shooting the shit, or getting cozy with the sweet butts who lived for nights like this. This was our sanctuary, our world, and I needed to remember this is what I wanted— what kept me sane .
The front door slammed open, and the noise in the room dipped as everyone turned to see who was coming in. I straightened up when I saw Horse, one of the older members, striding in with a look on his tan weathered face that sent a jolt of unease straight through me.
Something was going down.
“Bolt,” he barked, his deep voice loud, even over the music blaring. “I need a word.”
Without hesitation, I put my bottle down and pushed through the crowd toward him. All my dark thoughts were forgotten, wondering what the hell I did to Horse. You never wanted a beating from him. The brother didn’t just look mean; he was built like a fucking tank and fought old school—dirty and with fists of steel.
“What’s goin’ on?” I asked, my voice cautious as I reached him.
Horse’s eyes were dark, his face worried. I’d never seen him like this. “It’s my girl, Fiona. She’s in trouble. Real trouble. You got a truck, right?”
My chest tightened. I didn’t know Fiona well, could barely remember her. She wasn’t around the club much. Horse kept her far from the MC’s rough edges. But now, seeing the fear in Horse’s eyes, I knew this was bad.
“Yeah. Where is she?” I asked, already bracing to go into battle with him.
“With that bastard she married,” Horse spat, his jaw clenched. “I knew he was no good, but she wouldn’t listen. Now she’s callin’ for help, and I’m not lettin’ her down. We’ll go in your truck since I don’t know if she’ll be able to ride on the back of a bike. Plus, we can bring her shit back.”
“I’ll keep you out of jail while I’m at it,” I said, not even thinking of saying no. Loyalty ran deep, and Horse was family, a brother with one hell of a hot temper. “Let’s go,” I said, my voice hard, all business now.
We moved fast, the party fading into the background as I grabbed my keys and followed Horse outside.
We rounded the clubhouse, passing all the motorcycles surrounding it, and jumped into my old blue 1975 F-250 truck, a classic. The truck spun dirt as we barreled away from the clubhouse, not wanting to waste a single second
This wasn’t just another rescue mission for club family. There was something about it that felt heavier. It may have been the way Horse’s voice had trembled as he worried about Fiona, or maybe it was the memories of my own past clawing their way back to the surface.
I gave myself a shake, trying to clear it as we sped into the darkness. I couldn’t afford to get distracted, not now. Fiona was in trouble, and whatever it took, we’d get her out of it. That was all that mattered.
The truck rumbled beneath us as we sped down the highway, the headlights cutting through the darkness. Horse sat beside me, his jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth might crack. We hadn’t said much since we left the clubhouse.
“How long has this been goin’ on?” I asked, breaking the silence.
Horse gave a weary sigh, his eyes looking out the window. “She’s been married to the asshole for five years. The last time I saw her was three years ago... and I knew... I could see it in her eyes. So, I cornered the bastard and had a word.”
“Oh yeah? What happened?”
“James moved Fiona two hours away to Wilmington, North Carolina and cut off contact. She would call and text me here and there to say she was okay, but I never believed it.”
“You never went after her?” I asked, curious because Horse wasn’t the type of guy to let this shit slide.
“Fucker made sure she never told me where they lived. I didn’t even know she was in Wilmington until tonight.” Horse gave a bitter laugh. “He knew I’d kill him and he’s right.”
“Well, tonight we just get her out,” I reminded him. “We’ll take care of him later, in a way that won’t get your ass landed in the state cage.”
Horse gave a grunt and got quiet again and I prayed Fiona’s husband wasn’t around, because there was no way I could stop Horse. If he decided to send James straight into hell’s flames tonight, there would be no stopping him.
My mind struggled to see Fiona, and what I remembered was the picture of a quiet, shy girl who kept to herself. The kind of girl who’d bake cookies for the neighbors and call everyone “sir” or “ma’am” like she was straight out of some old TV show. It didn’t make sense to me. How could a woman like that end up in this kind of mess?
Just like my mom.
I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Why wouldn’t she just leave? Why would anyone stay with someone who treated them like that?
The thought ate at me, rubbing up against memories I didn’t want to dig into. My mom’s face flashed through my mind—bruised, crying, always making excuses. The anger I thought I’d buried flared up, hot and raw, and I gripped the steering wheel tighter, trying to keep it under control.
Horse’s voice broke the silence. “He’s got her scared out of her mind. She’s never called me like this before, Bolt. Never.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Part of me wanted to ask why she hadn’t called sooner, why she hadn’t packed her bags and gotten the hell out of there the first time he laid a hand on her. But I kept my mouth shut. This wasn’t the time for my questions, and it sure as hell wasn’t the time for my judgment.
The houses started to blur together as we entered the neighborhood, each one as silent and dark as the last. I kept my eyes on the road, but my mind was racing, trying to piece together what we’d find when we got there. Memories of my mom’s bruises and broken spirit as she lay on the floor came to mind.
We pulled up in front of a small, yellow, nondescript house. One light on, no movement inside—just the kind of place you’d never notice if you weren’t looking for it. I killed the engine, and the sudden silence pressed down on us, thick and heavy. Horse was out of the truck before I could even unbuckle my seatbelt, moving toward the front door with a kind of determination I hadn’t seen in him before.
I followed, the gravel crunching under my boots as I approached the house. My gut was twisting in knots, and I had to fight the urge to tell Horse to hang back because maybe her husband was inside. But this was his daughter we were talking about, and there was no way in hell he was going to wait outside and cower like some yellowbelly.
“Fiona,” Horse called out, his voice low and urgent as he knocked on the door. “It’s me, honey. Open up.”
For a moment, nothing happened. The house remained silent, and a cold dread started to creep up my spine. What if she was too scared to open the door? What if she was hurt so bad she couldn’t get to the door? What if that bastard was still inside, waiting for us?
But then, the door creaked open, just a crack, and I saw her. Fiona. She looked even smaller and more fragile than my fuzzy memory remembered, her brown hair hanging around her pale face. Her eyes were wide, red-rimmed, and full of fear, and I could see the bruises marring her face.
She opened the door wider when she saw for certain it was Horse, and her lip trembled as she stepped aside to let us in. I followed Horse into the house, the air inside oddly heavy with the smell of cooked food, and something else— fear . Most folks wouldn’t believe fear had a smell, but it does, a strong one. I scanned the room, half-expecting her husband to come barreling out of the shadows, my hand on my revolver, but the place was empty.
“Where is he?” Horse asked, his voice tight as he looked around, itching to kill the man who hurt his girl.
My eyes landed on the blood on her neck, a knife wound, no mistake, and my jaw tightened in anger. The fucker had held a knife to her throat, and I knew right then he wasn’t just a casual abuser, a man who drank too much and became mean. Nope, her husband was a sadistic asshole who got off on her pain and her suffering.
“Gone,” Fiona whispered, wrapping her arms around herself like she was trying to hold herself together. “He left a while ago. I—I don’t know when he’s coming back. We should hurry.”
I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, relief mixing with the fear that had been building since we left the clubhouse. No confrontation, no bloodshed—at least not tonight. But that meant he didn’t know she was leaving. Which meant he’d come looking for her, eventually. That was a problem for later, if Horse let him live that long.
Horse pulled Fiona into a hug, holding her like he was afraid she might slip away. “You did the right thing, honey. We’re gettin’ you out of here.”
She nodded against his chest, but she didn’t say anything. I could see the fear in her eyes, the uncertainty, and I couldn’t help the flare of frustration that surged up again. Why hadn’t she done this sooner? Why had she let it get this bad? It was my mom all over again.
Horse pulled back, his voice gentle but firm. “Bolt’s gonna take you to the truck. I’ll pack you some things, and we’ll head back to the clubhouse. You’ll be safe there, okay?”
Fiona glanced at me, her eyes wide and uncertain, like she didn’t know if she could trust me. I didn’t blame her. I’m sure my eyes were cold since I was letting the past surface, trying to keep a lid on my own shit while dealing with hers. But I nodded, trying to offer some kind of reassurance.
“C’mon,” I said, keeping my voice soft as possible. “Let’s get you out of here.”
She hesitated, then nodded, stepping away from Horse and moving toward me. I couldn’t help but notice how scared she looked. Fiona was a small woman with the biggest and deepest blue eyes I had ever seen. She made something twist in my gut—something I didn’t want to examine too closely. I was here to get her out, plain and simple.
As we stepped outside, the cool night air hit us, and Fiona shivered, pulling her thin sweater tighter around her. I led her to the truck, opening the passenger door for her. She climbed in, her movements slow and hesitant, like she was expecting something to go wrong at any second.
I slammed the door shut and walked around to the driver’s side, my mind still spinning with questions. She shivered again, and I pulled a blanket from the back, handing it to her. “Wrap in this to get warm,” I said, starting the truck and turning on the heater.
“Thank you,” she murmured, wrapping the warm blanket around herself.
I found myself just staring at her, trying to figure this out, shit her old man would protect her with his life, why she hadn’t just left the first time he raised a hand to her? I knew I shouldn’t be thinking like this—I knew there was more to it than I understood—but it pissed me off all the same. It brought those old memories out that I tried so fucking hard to bury. My mom always making excuses, always staying when she should’ve run.
But this wasn’t about me or my mom. This was about Fiona, and I needed to remember that and stop fixating on the whys of her situation, it was fucked up to be thinking this way.
Horse came out of the house with a suitcase and threw it into the bed of the truck. Fiona moved over to the middle when Horse got in, her warmth seeping into my side. “Let’s get rollin’,” Horse said, his arm going around Fiona.
I gunned the engine; the truck rumbling to life beneath us, and started the drive back to South Carolina and the clubhouse. Fiona sat beside me, silent, her hands clenched tight into the fabric of the blanket. I could feel the tension rolling off her in waves, and it only made me grip the steering wheel tighter.
“Why didn’t you call sooner?” The question slipped out before I could stop it, my voice sounding harsh to my ears.
She didn’t answer right away, and I could feel her eyes on me. When she did, her voice was barely a whisper. “I was scared. I... I...”
“It’s okay Fiona,” Horse said, jumping in to speak for her. “I’m just glad you finally did and you’re never going back to that bastard.”
“Just know,” I said after a long silence, realizing it wasn’t my place to ask shit about her reasons and needed to back off. “you’re safe now.”
She nodded, but she didn’t look at me again, probably wondering why I asked such a question with an almost hostile tone. Hell, I was wondering the same thing, why I couldn’t just shut the fuck up.