Satan's Revenge

By: Celia Loren

A Satan’s Sons MC Novel



Chapter One



Violet





I swirl the last of the lager around in my glass as I check the clock over the bar. Drifter’s boss has been running his crew pretty hard to finish up a remodeling job in the next town over. He knows that tonight is important, but he wasn’t sure what time he’d be able to get away.

It’s been one whole year we’ve been together, and we’re celebrating our anniversary tonight at our favorite restaurant, the Avery. I already checked in, and decided to wait at the Station House, a bar I like across the street.

It was tough to decide when to measure the first year from. We met when I was technically still married, so today is the anniversary of our first real date, which we also had at the Avery. Even measuring from that date was a bit strange, since I’d already moved in with him by then. Though I suppose nothing about our relationship has really been normal.

We met after my ex-husband Rooster, president of the Devil’s Army MC, gave me to the Satan’s Sons MC as collateral for a deal. I guess I have a little weight to my name, as my father, Ox Avery, was one of the most powerful MC presidents in his day. Against my will, I went to live in the Sons’ clubhouse and act as a sort of “den mom” to the club.

While I was there, I met and fell in love with Drifter, and learned the truth about Rooster, including the fact that he was responsible for my father’s death. When the Sons were betrayed and the Army attacked the Sons’ clubhouse, Rooster was killed. I became Drifter’s old lady, and we moved into his new house, where we live with our dogs Kalb and Scout.

My phone flickers to life on the bar where I set it. Message from Scott Burrell, the screen reads. I grin at the sight of Drifter’s civilian name and flip my old phone open to see it. Be there in 15, his message promises. I rarely call him Scott, but it makes me smile to have it as his name on my phone. At Station House, I text back.

I glance up at the mirror behind the bar and tuck my blonde hair behind my ear. I look a little tired—the early shifts at the hospital are killer—but I put some concealer on the bags under my eyes when I stopped by the house, so I don’t look too bad.

My eyes flick across the mirror to a man sitting at a cocktail table behind me. I thought for a second he was Drifter, but his hair is a shade too dark. Drifter’s hair is driving him crazy right now, actually. I buzzed it off for him when we first met and now it’s growing back, but he thinks his current wavy locks, combined with his chiseled features, make him look like a matinee idol or something. He’s grown his beard out to compensate.

I toss back the rest of the beer and signal Sam, the bartender, for another. I’m looking forward to having a night out. I started at the hospital a couple months ago after finally getting my nursing degree, and as if that weren’t enough, Drifter just finished redoing the living room. He wanted to knock out the wall between the living room and the dining room in our house. I told him it wasn’t important, but he wanted everything to be perfect for me, for us. And of course, life got in the way, so as soon as he started to make a little progress on it he’d have to go on a run for the Sons or his hours with his construction crew would pick up.

But now it’s finally done, so we’ll at least have a little peace and quiet at the house. I wouldn’t have thought that the remodeling would have caused so much stress, but my sigh of relief at its completion was genuine. And of course Drifter did a great job with it.

I glance up to the mirror again. That guy with the dark hair seems to be staring at the back of my head, though he probably can’t tell I can see him in the mirror. I adjust my cut a little over my airy white blouse. I’m proud to wear it, but it does attract some attention. The back is emblazoned with the Sons’ symbol, and the front reads “Property of Drifter.”

Because of my dad, I grew up in the MC culture, so the whole “property” thing never seemed like a big deal to me, though I can understand it would to some women. To me, it means that I belong to Drifter, and he belongs to me. It means we would do anything for each other, and it’s the truth.

Sam drops off my beer and then walks out from behind the bar, making a pass around the rest of the place. In the mirror, I see him clean off a couple tables and chat with some of the other customers.

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