Blade's Edge Read online

  Published 2019 by Trish Haill Associates

  Copyright © 2019 by Manda Mellett

  Edited by Maggie Kern

  Proof reading by Astronima’s On Pointe Proofreading

  Cover Photographer Paul Henry Serres

  Cover Model Will Taylor

  Book and Cover Design by Lia Rees at Free Your Words

  Satan’s Devils patch by Taufan Fajar

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  www.mandamellett.com

  Disclaimer

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Warning

  This book is dark in places and contains content of a sexual, abusive and violent nature. It is not suitable for persons under the age of 18.

  ISBN: 978-1-912288-38-0

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Cast List of Characters

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Epilogue

  Teaser: Demon's Angel

  Other Works by Manda Mellett

  Glossary

  Acknowledgements

  Stay In Touch

  About the Author

  Cast List of Characters

  Road Name – Role/Status – Other Name

  Old Lady – Children

  ***

  Drummer – President – Rick Felis

  Sam – Elijah (Eli)

  Wraith – VP – Scott Remington

  Sophie – Olivia

  Heart – Secretary – Dale Norman

  Marcia – Amy, Jacob, Isabel

  Dollar – Treasurer – Todd Bishop

  Peg – Sergeant-at-arms – Ronald Rinter

  Darcy – Noah

  Blade – Enforcer – Jack Sharples

  Joker – Road Captain – Josh Wilkinson

  Mouse – Computer expert – Tse Williamson

  Mariana

  Adam – deceased

  Beef

  Bullet

  Carmen

  Buster – deceased

  Dart – transferred – Colin Lowe

  Alex – Tyler

  Fergus – Prospect

  Hyde

  Jekyll

  Lady – Scott Flintstone

  Marvel

  Matt – Prospect

  Paladin – transferred

  Roadrunner

  Rock

  Becca

  Slick – Jeff Andrews

  Ella

  Shooter – (was Spider)

  Tongue – deceased

  Truck – Prospect

  Viper

  Sandy

  Drew – Mariana’s brother

  Prologue

  “Jacky boy, get your ass moving.”

  Startling, then turning sharply, I pout at my older brother, Jonah. I hadn’t heard him come in, being far too engrossed in what I was doing. Whining like only a twelve-year-old can, in my still high and unbroken voice, I plead, “Do I have to?”

  “Money doesn’t make itself.” Impatiently he swipes back his hair. “Look at you. Wasting all your time drawing pictures. Fuckin’ pansy.” But his expression and wink belies his words. His frustration is at the situation and not with me. “Dad left. It’s up to us now. You’re twelve for fuck’s sake. Love you Jacky, you know that.” He shakes his head. “I know you’ve got dreams and I’ll do what I can to help you follow them, but there’s a limit to how much time you can spend playing with pencils and paper like a fuckin’ three-year-old. Need you to come with me now, lil’ bro.”

  Glancing down at my handiwork, I know the drawing I’ve just completed of a rearing stallion looks nothing like the scribbles of a toddler. It’s not that Jonah doesn’t appreciate the finer things in life, it’s that it doesn’t put bread on the table. A two-dimensional image holds no practical interest for him, while all I want to do is commit the pictures in my head to paper. He’s right, it doesn’t help now, but I’ve been led to have expectations that it will one day bring me in money. Even at my age, encouraged by my art teacher, I already have dreams of being an illustrator. Despite his lack of aesthetic appreciation, Jonah’s proud of me though he doesn’t always show it. There’s no doubt, due to the way we are forced to live, he’d be happier if I was more like him instead.

  There couldn’t be a greater difference between Jonah and myself. Six years older, he spends all his time at the gym, doing odd jobs there for free membership. He’s muscular and athletic, while I’m pasty and thin from spending all my time huddled over my artwork.

  “You want to eat tonight?” He gets right to the heart of the matter. I’m twelve. Of course I do. As he’s reminded me, Dad’s long gone, and we can’t rely on Mom. Searching for a replacement man to look after her is all that’s on her agenda. Most of the time she prefers to forget she has two sons, a betrayal of her true age. In her view, we’re old enough to be both an embarrassment to her, and to be able to fend for ourselves. But she reappears often enough to eat the food we’ve begged for or stolen. Or bought with the money Jonah manages to come up with from time to time.

  I always blame her, thinking a parent should be someone you can depend on. Jonah shushes me when I complain about her. Some women, he tells me with the wisdom his age has taught him, aren’t able to function without a man. We’re her children. We should be enough.

  Reluctantly, I carefully put aside the pencils I’d been using, tidying up the stack of paper, leaving the picture of the horse on top. Giving it one last glance, appreciating that in my view, the anatomy is just right, you can see the movement, know he’d reached the zenith of the rear, and was about to come crashing down. Standing, I hesitate.

  “Will Mom be home tonight?”

  He huffs. “Haven’t seen her for a couple of days, have we? Fuck knows, lil’ bro.”

  Our eyes meet in sympathy. His read sorrow, for me growing up without adequate parental guidance, mine holding pity for him. He’s doing what he can to look out for the burden of a younger brother, teaching me, as best he’s able, the ways of the world. His expression suggests he shares the fear that’s at the back of my mind, that this might be the time she’s left forever. That my one parent will never return home.

  Jonah’s not a bad brother, I muse as I follow him out of the house, and unchain my bicycle as he does his. Two rusted and just about serviceable modes of
transport. He might yank my chain, but he has my back. Though he doesn’t understand my hobby, and I’m not a fan of doing the more physical activities he enjoys, he does his best to make sure I’m clothed and fed. He could have upped and left by now, but he hasn’t. He’s stayed, and I know it’s only to care for me in the absence of our mom. Even when she’s home, she’s little more than a figurehead. In return, I do what I can to support him albeit, reluctantly at times.

  We ride to the city centre and then turn into the seedier part of town. Stopping at the end of an alley, I hold out my hand, grabbing the handlebars of the bike he’s just dismounted. It’s my job to stand and guard them, ready to make a quick getaway if we need to. Turning so his body’s in the shadows, I hear the familiar sounds of him checking that his gun is loaded. Then, with a nod at me, he moves away, the darkness quickly swallowing him up.

  A standard pick-up. A collection round I’ve accompanied him on a hundred times before. My job—to wait until he’s completed his business. It’s cold, I’m bored. My fingers itching to get back to that drawing, the unfinished hoof needing shading. I’m seeing it in my mind’s eye when I hear a shout. More than one.

  Then my brother’s voice. “What the fuck, man?”

  A startled oomph as though someone’s been hit. Was that Jonah? Nah, even at eighteen he’s big from working out at the gym. No one could take my brother down.

  Scuffling noises make me grow scared and less confident in Jonah’s invincible abilities. I stand, frozen, not knowing what to do. Jonah said stay here and not move. Would he want me to go see if he needs help? I can’t call out; my shout might draw attention. Jonah’s business doesn’t need interested onlookers around. If anyone’s going to help him, there’s only one person who can provide assistance.

  The sounds of a definite brawl decide for me. Gently and quietly I rest both bicycles against the wall, then keeping my back against the brickwork, make my way into the alley. Fuck. My eyes analyse the scene. Jonah had come prepared to meet one man. Instead there are four. Two holding him by his arms, one bouncing on his feet, prepared for any attempt at escape, a fourth standing menacingly in front of him. It’s this one who speaks.

  “We’ve warned you before, Sharples. Ain’t going to be payin’ you anymore.”

  Jonah spits blood and a tooth out of his bleeding mouth. “Nothing to do with me. I just collect.”

  “Well, you’ve made your final collection.”

  Unintentionally, as I try to move closer, my foot kicks a stone. It draws the speaker’s attention to me. His eyes widen, whites showing in the weak overhead light. “Get out of here, kid. This isn’t any of your business.”

  “He’s my brother,” I protest, my voice high and squeaking. “Let him go.”

  The man whose features I’m drinking in, shakes his head. “Sorry, kid. But we can’t do that.” His eyes go back to Jonah’s. “You understand, don’t you? This is just business. Nothing personal.”

  Jonah seems to understand alright. His shoulders slump, his face toward me, his expression blank, he instructs tiredly, “Go home, Jack. I’ll, I’ll see you later.”

  Even to my twelve-year-old mind something isn’t right. Something tells me I won’t be seeing any more of Jonah after tonight. I clench my hands into fists, knowing I’m no fighter, but comprehending there’s only me here to save my brother. As I start to step forward, another man puts his arms tight around me, holding me back.

  “Warned you, kid,” the man facing my brother says. There’s sadness, reluctance in his voice, but also, finality as he takes a wicked-looking knife off his belt, the light strong enough to glint off the sharpened blade as he holds it pointing toward Jonah.

  “No,” I scream, but a hand quickly covers my mouth. I struggle, but I can’t get loose. Have no idea how to get out of the hold I’m in. Don’t know what to do. Try to ineffectually kick but it does no good as I watch the knife enter and twist in my brother’s neck, believing I can hear the grisly tearing of flesh and muscle. Jonah stands, a look of shock on his face, then a horrific gurgling sound comes out of his mouth before he falls back against the wall, then slips slowly, surely, down to the ground.

  I’m released. Their job done, the men disappear into the black of the night, as I fall to my knees, trying in the dim light to find life in my brother’s eyes, but they’re open staring at nothing. Blood’s pooling around us as I scoop up and hold my brother’s dying, maybe even now dead body tight against me.

  “No,” I wail into the darkness. “No, no, no no no!”

  I can’t move. I can’t leave him. I cry, useless tears, pleading and begging that the universe corrects its most dreadful mistake when I know it’s already too late. I sit there for hours. Eventually the sky begins to lighten as daylight arrives. When the sounds of the world waking up start to reach me, a man appears with a bag to throw into the dumpster. Seeing me, recognising a bloody dead body, he backs quickly away. Shortly after there are sirens.

  “Stand up. Put your hands in the air. Step away from the body.”

  Two police officers are standing, their guns drawn.

  Tears still streaking down my face, I do as instructed, reluctantly and gently placing Jonah’s body down. “He’s my brother. They, they… killed him.” Sobs wrack my undeveloped frame as I try to explain.

  It’s the first time I’m questioned by the cops. Those hours of non-stop intimidating interrogation marked the point where my hatred of authority began. My brother was already associated with a criminal gang, me, obviously involved too, as I’d been with him. It hadn’t helped I’d told them all that I knew, it hadn’t been enough. I must have known more even though I didn’t.

  I’d described the man who I’d seen clearly. When they hadn’t brought in the police artist to sketch my description, I’d done one myself. That they recognised my technically perfect drawing had been easy to see. That they weren’t going to act on it, equally apparent.

  I’d been taken home, told they would investigate, even though I somehow knew they wouldn’t. They’d told me they were watching me. I’d entered my room, torn up the picture I’d drawn of the stallion, broken my pencils and shredded my paper, vowing I’d never draw again.

  If I had been bigger, stronger, more streetwise, I could have saved Jonah. The one talent I did have hadn’t been able to help him. Not even to get retribution for his death.

  My mom collapsed when the cop had told her what had happened. I’d tried to help, but I sensed somehow she blamed me, even when I was the one wishing most I’d been able to save him. The day after Jonah was killed she’d gone out and didn’t come back.

  I mourned Jonah alone, for days. Eventually hunger drew me out. I found the gym, the owner took pity on me, allowing me to take over the jobs my brother had done. My mom never reappeared and I wasn’t particularly interested in what had happened to her. Jonah’s duties at the gym weren’t all legal, but sufficient for me to be allowed to bunk down in a storeroom when my home was eventually repossessed.

  Years later I’d learned it was a group of police vigilantes who’d killed Jonah, when it emerged he wasn’t their only victim. Bodies had piled up until they were no longer able to continue to hide their involvement. It had been a big case at the time. Jonah, just one name in a long list of victims. Another reason for me to hate the cops.

  My mom? I presume she’d found a man who hadn’t wanted to be saddled with kids. She hadn’t even turned up at the funeral for her elder son, nor, it appeared, gave a damn about her younger.

  I became an adult with a hatred of authority, and a deep suspicion of women. I didn’t trust either.

  It was the former that led me to join the Satan’s Devils MC. The latter that led me to live my life alone, getting urges satisfied by the club bitches.

  Chapter 1

  Blade

  My mouth twists as I stare critically at the picture in front of me. Prez is kneeling, his hands reaching under his bike, the muscles in his face clenched as he fights with an overtight nut.
His old lady, Sam, is standing watching him, baby Zane in her arms, a slight quirk to her lips as if she’s itching to get hands-on and show him how it’s done. Toddler Eli crouches with a serious look on his face, his eyes fixed on what his father is doing. There’s life, movement and emotion that’s been created by my fingers. I don’t need to be told it’s some of my best work, the figures look like they could move, a moment captured in time, a drawing that needs no words of explanation.

  One more moment to admire my creation, then I pick up the sketch, take my lighter from my cut, and set fire to a corner. When I feel the heat of the flames getting too close to my skin, I drop it into a metal trash can to mingle with the charred remains of other pieces.

  For some reason, I’ve never been able to stop drawing, but nothing ever remains of what I produce. Every burned piece a memorial to the brother I lost so long ago. He was right. There are more important things in life. Each picture I burn a reminder of what can go wrong if you make the wrong choice, take a wrong direction in life, trust the wrong person.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. Without looking, I stand, stretch, then slide on my cut. Time for church.

  Thunder rolls in the distance as I walk down the incline from my suite to the clubhouse, pausing to light a smoke, taking a moment to admire the view I never get tired of. The desert punctuated with saguaro surrounding the compound, the mountains rising in the distance. I check, but can see no signs of tell-tale smoke, unable to forget just a year ago my MC, the Satan’s Devils, had been threatened by an enemy we had no control over. A wildfire. I eye the firebreak we now keep well maintained, hoping we’ll never be faced by such flames again.

  Ironically, it’s how this old vacation resort became our home in the first place, decimated by fire, only a group of bikers wanted to buy it up and restore it. The home we’ve got now is the envy of all our other chapters.

  Though clouds are assembling and a summer monsoon will probably not hold off much longer, as I enter the clubhouse I hear excited screams and splashing from the pool out back. Yeah, it’s no wonder our fellow bikers are jealous.

  Our facilities don’t make us soft though. Far from it. I should know. I’ve been the enforcer for the club since Drummer took the helm as President, fourteen years or so back. My role to keep discipline amongst the brothers and to deal out retribution for those who cross us.