The Devil's Moon (The Road Devils Motorcycle Club 6)

Prologue

Limon Correctional Facility

Limon, Colorado

Eleven years ago

Nala Porter fumbled with her purse, trying to find her wallet so she could have her ID to hand. It never ceased to amaze her how she could put something right at the top of the damn bag, just right there, and how the object promptly disappeared into it, like it had just gracefully dived into an ocean’s murky depths.

She wasn’t really paying attention to her surroundings, since she was focused on sifting through the junk that seemed to just appear without any effort on her part, and anyway, she was seriously distracted by the news that had been confirmed just that morning. She was happy about it – thrilled, actually – and she hoped that her husband would be, too, despite the present circumstances, which were, admittedly, less than ideal.

The autumn colors on her journey down from Denver had been spectacular, all gold and orange and red, and had just amped her mood up ever higher. It was an easy ninety minute drive from the city to the prison, and she’d done it every week for two months now, managing around her work as a dental receptionist and the strict visitor times and rules.

Nala was hopeful that her husband would be out in six months, maybe a bit sooner. He’d assured her that he’d been on his best behavior, and she believed him. After all, this was his first time in jail ever, and considering his personal, professional, and social associations, that was pretty amazing.

“Hey,” a gruff voice said now, startling her mid-stride. “Wait a second.”

She gasped, and looked up from her purse, her driver’s license in her hand; she now wished that it was her pepper spray instead. Then she saw who was speaking to her and she relaxed. Marginally.

Wheels Jordan, President of The Road Devils MC, was standing in front of her. He was a tall, bald man with a huge beer gut and a wild black beard flecked with gray, and the coldest eyes that she’d ever seen, except for that absolute fucking monster Ice Johansson. Right now, he was standing between her and the door into reception, and she had to deal with him quickly. She only had an hour to visit, so every minute was precious… especially with what she had to talk to her husband about today.

“Hi,” Nala said in a small voice; she knew how Wheels felt about someone like her being married to one of his boys, and she was always unsure quite how badly he’d treat her. She cleared her throat, opted for friendly small talk. “Are you here to see Cole too?”

“Yeah,” Wheels told her brusquely. “But first, you and me need to talk.”

“Is it – can we –” she faltered under his withering gaze, gathered up some courage to finish a sentence. “Can we please catch up after I visit Cole? I have something kind of important to –”

“No,” Wheels interrupted. “And you won’t be seeing him.”

Nala paused, her thoughts running wild suddenly. Maybe Cole was hurt? But then how would Wheels know that? Surely the prison would have called her if something had happened.

“You mean I can’t see him today?” she asked. “Is he –”

“I mean you won’t be seeing him ever again,” Wheels cut her off once more. “Here.”

He thrust a bunch of papers at her, and she took them, mystified. She skimmed them, saw that there was a bunch of legal jargon but it all seemed to fly over her head – until she saw the words ‘dissolution of marriage’.

Nala looked up at Wheels, utterly stupefied. “What is this?”

“You’re getting divorced,” he informed her. “You’re signing these papers right now, and then you’re getting in your shit little car, and going home to pack. I don’t give a fuck where you go after that, but you’re not staying in Denver. Don’t even try, you stupid bitch, because I’ll get you to leave the city one way or another. It’s your choice if you go easy or you go in pieces.”