Stormy's Thunder: Satan's Devils MC Utah

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Stormy's Thunder: Satan's Devils MC Utah Page 23

by Manda Mellett


  Frowning, I ask, “Why didn’t you know he hadn’t died with the rest? Wouldn’t he have gotten into contact with you?”

  He shrugs. “Being a SEAL was all that I wanted from life. When I got kicked out, I didn’t want any reminders of what I’d lost. Tailor, apart from Pooh, was the one I was closest to. He tried to keep in touch, but I blew him off. It was he who contacted me to tell me about Nazia.” He thinks for a moment. “Even Tailor didn’t know I’d joined the Satan’s Devils, and didn’t know where I was. All he had was my phone number. On my part, I didn’t ask about the team, and he didn’t tell me Gun hadn’t re-signed up. I don’t think Gun ever forgave me for getting Pooh killed, so he would never have contacted me himself.”

  The lines on my brow deepen. “I’ve listened to your story, Finn. You’ve told it a few times. But there’s one thing I can’t get straight.”

  “What?” As always, he turns, his eyes focused on me. It’s one more thing I like about him—he never discounts I might have anything to add. Even, when most times, I don’t. When he tells me why an idea doesn’t have legs, that too appears useful, as it seems to help him get things straight in his head.

  “Pooh was with you. He was there when you set the explosives.” I try to put my thoughts into words. “Did he have a headset too? Could he hear what Smythe had to say?”

  “Yes.” As with any discussion about his friend’s final hours, he turns away, as if not wanting to be reminded.

  “In that case, wouldn’t he have told you if he thought you were wrong? He helped you rescue those girls. Did he suggest for a moment that wasn’t what you should be doing?” I move slightly so I can see his face.

  Finn’s mouth opens, closes, then opens again.

  “Well?”

  The words when they finally come seem to be forced out through gritted teeth. “Pooh acted as if it was the right thing to do. There was no way he was going to leave those girls.”

  My shoulders slump. It’s a question that’s been going around my mind, but will Finn accept the implications? “Pooh died as a hero, yet you were thrown out. Surely he was as equally guilty as you were found to be?”

  He shakes his head. “You don’t understand, I disobeyed a direct order.”

  “So did he.” My words seem to bounce around us, echoing at least in my head. Finn doesn’t move, he doesn’t even blink. I continue to press my case, softening my voice. “You’re lucky to be alive, Finn. You might have been killed as well. Anyone setting off an explosion while not giving you time to get clear, well, the assumption might have been you both were killed.”

  He needs time, I give it to him. When the silence drags out too long, I ask, “Want a beer?” Without waiting to see if he does or does not, I move away. If it hasn’t occurred to him before, he’ll need time to process my point of view. What do I know about how SEALs work? As a civilian, I just can’t help but feel something was wrong. Finn got punished for being alive. It was Smythe who killed Pooh, not him.

  I take my time in the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of wine and taking a few sips before returning to the man who looks like he’s barely moved. I place the beer down in front of him. When I do so, he grabs hold of my hand, holding onto it as though it’s a lifeline.

  “Pooh and I gravitated together as we both had the same type of minds. Smythe already hated us. He didn’t have much time for any of the team, but me and Pooh, we had smarts that Smythe didn’t have. One time, we didn’t hold back pointing out a huge fuckin’ hole in a plan, and Smythe had to backtrack. Pooh, I always thought was destined for promotion because of the way he thought outside the box.” He pauses. “Both of us, well, we’d join dots together. He was into computers like myself, and it was almost a game to us to work through a mission, discussing what if this, and if that, then what.”

  “You were the thinkers.”

  He stares at nothing, thinking back. “Tailor, Gun, Slice and Buster, they weren’t slouches, but they were more likely to look for the obvious, while Pooh and I would dig under that. Smythe hated us. In hindsight, probably more so than the rest of the men in the team.”

  “So it could have been deliberate.”

  Haunted eyes meet mine. “I wish you’d never suggested that. I thought it was a fuckup, accepted Smythe was a coward and out of his depth. Never dreamed it could have been premeditated.” His hands push back the long hair which has flopped over his forehead. “Fuck, Cat.”

  The thought that Pooh could have been deliberately killed seems to have hit him hard. “Can you leave it now and come to bed?”

  He ignores me. “At the time, we never knew who the girls were, or how they came to be there. They disappeared in all the confusion. I only knew their first names. What…” His words die off, he swallows, and begins again, this time more firmly. “What if they were innocent victims? What if the setup was to delay Pooh and I getting away?”

  Suddenly on his wavelength, I realise what’s so horrific for him. If the terrorists didn’t plant the kids there, it must have been someone working with the SEALs. Someone who set up what was essentially murder.

  His hands slam down on the table. “All the blame was put on me for keeping Pooh back. But you’re right. It wasn’t just me, it was he who agreed. Maybe tacitly, but he wasn’t going to be able to leave Nazia and Marjan. I accepted the blame though I had no control or rank over him. I never fuckin’ questioned it. I didn’t defend myself—”

  “You were in shock, Finn.”

  He grimaces, and then nods. “I wanted to be punished. Pooh had never seen his kid. Three lives torn apart, one literally, but his wife and child, how could they get over his loss? I didn’t argue, didn’t let my lawyer put up a defence, as I thought I had none.” He purses his lips. “I could never have blamed a dead man.”

  “Neither of you are to blame,” I tell him firmly.

  His head moves to one side and back to the other. “I took it all on my shoulders. Even when they gave me the chance, I didn’t even point the finger at Smythe. I didn’t ask fuckin’ questions, Cat. It didn’t cross my mind.”

  He rolls back his chair and pats his lap. I’m more than happy to accept the invitation. Parking myself on his lap, I wrap my arms around him. He breathes in deeply, and for a moment, I let him take my strength.

  “I couldn’t understand,” he starts after a moment. “It makes no sense. If the terrorists had planted the girls there, it was to raise an international incident. Fighting would have escalated, and more, not fewer, US forces would have been sent in. Us rescuing the girls meant there were no civilian deaths.”

  “You’ve said that before,” I remind him.

  “But if they were nobodies? Maybe no one would have cared, and me, and Pooh would be dead, and the death of the kids covered up.”

  “The girls had family, surely?”

  He raises and lowers his chin. “They did. Fuck, Cat. All I’m doing is going around in circles.”

  22

  Stormy…

  As the weeks have passed, I’ve become more and more comfortable living here with Cat. Since the talk a week or so back about whether I was wrong to take sole responsibility for Pooh’s death, I’ve let go of some of my grief about his loss, and focused more on that night instead.

  Cat had been right. Pooh was equally responsible, though it irks me to blame the man who paid with his death. But instead of pushing him to the back of my memory, I’ve resurrected him instead. Although I’m known as a loner, it was him I’d trusted to bounce ideas off. A position that’s now been taken by a woman.

  Cat might not have the background or experience that we had, but I’ve been impressed by her mental agility.

  Clouds are starting to build overhead as I start my way down the ladder. Once on the ground, I take a few steps back. Looking up, I feel a sense of pride. The roof looks solid now, and I did it all by myself—with a few tips from YouTube videos of course.

  Rubbing my palms, one against the other to brush the loose mortar off, I turn and make m
y way back into the house. I’m heading to the bathroom to wash up when I hear Cat’s voice.

  “Yes, it was nice to catch up… No, I doubt I’ll hear from him, but if I do… I’m sure he’ll turn up… Bye.”

  Though she’s entitled to talk to anyone she wants, so far, no friends have been in touch. Seems her childhood friends had moved on, and those from the city hadn’t stayed in touch as she’d been gone for over a year. I raise my eyebrow in question.

  She sighs and places her phone back on the side table, then pinches the bridge of her nose. After a moment, she looks up. “That was my aunt. Someone’s been looking for Weston, and they’re worried as he hasn’t been in touch.”

  Well he wouldn’t have been. Satan’s Devils know their stuff. Weston is beyond the reach of anyone now, and not where anyone can find him.

  “Who was asking for him?”

  She shakes her head. “No one my aunt or uncle knows. I did ask.” Worried eyes meet mine. “I may have done wrong. I told her he came here six or so weeks ago, but obviously didn’t say anything else.” I breathe in sharply, but before I can suggest whether she’s done wrong or right, she carries on, “After all, we did go to Brook’s Diner together. If they start circulating his picture saying he’s missing, there was a girl I vaguely knew from school there and she might remember.”

  I immediately come down on the side of right. “You did good, Cat.” Approaching her, I put my arms around her. “It’s unlikely anyone will do much about Weston, but you were correct. If there’s a chance of exposure, you minimise it.”

  She leans into my chest. “My aunt thought it strange he would come visit. If anything, it worried her more. It was out of character.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I suggested he might have wanted to see whether there was a chance he could get money out of the house. But my parents didn’t leave a will and the inheritance laws would be hard to challenge.” She huffs. “It wasn’t a reach for her to accept that excuse. She knows exactly what Weston is like.” She pulls back a little, looking into my eyes. “There is a danger though. Before he went inside, Weston was a boxer. A good one as well. Though objectionable, he won fights. People might remember if she starts a search.”

  I know she’ll think I’m changing the subject, but I’m not. “The roof is all fixed, Cat. Maybe it’s time you approach a real estate agent and put this place on the market.”

  “And get away from any heat?” She catches on fast. “But are you ready to go back to Utah?”

  That’s the question I keep asking myself. Releasing her, I turn and start to pace, thinking aloud. “I wanted to find out more to take back, even if it was something I needed their help to solve, but as you know, I keep finding more questions than answers. The only headline is you’re no risk to them anymore. They’ll have already found that I fixed it so it looks like a fake account was set up to rent the fishing cabin, presumably by the perpetrators themselves. They won’t be worrying about that.”

  “Will you ever be able to find something to justify you not just leaving, but staying gone?”

  If Utah was a club full of men who loved their old ladies like Tucson, maybe I would and they’d understand. Love? That pulls me up. Old lady? Pressing my lips together, I get distracted for a moment, asking myself if I want to live a life with her in it, or returning to being my lonely self. As if a lightbulb has been switched on in my head, I realise not having her with me would be like losing part of myself. I want to keep her. Which means I need to build a future with her in it.

  The world’s my oyster, but what would I be without my brothers at my back? I thought I could do it, but as more time has passed, I feel a restlessness inside of me. I was never meant to be a civilian.

  But how can I go back to the Devils?

  Cat walks toward me, her hands reaching for my biceps, her fingers curling into the muscles. “What if you had an excuse for your behaviour?”

  I snort. “I don’t think there’s any excuse for me being an ass.”

  “Yes, there is,” she says, adamantly. “I think you and Pooh were set up. If you can find out why, that would explain why you felt so helpless and did what you did.”

  Me? Helpless? I bristle and straighten, ready to contradict what she’s just said, but as I open my mouth, I wonder if she’s right. I hadn’t trusted anyone because I didn’t understand how everything had got so fucked up.

  Cat moves closer again, raising her hand to cup my face. “It’s classic PTSD, you know? Pushing people away who can help. That might be enough of a sympathy card.”

  I don’t have PTSD. I don’t. “Is that your official diagnosis?”

  “Yup. Something happened you had no control over, so you protected yourself by making sure it could never happen again. A therapist would suggest you look at what you can control and try to cope with what you cannot. In your own way, you tried to do that. You say your brothers served. They’d understand.”

  Damn it. She makes sense. But I’m not a man who runs crying to anyone else. But what if I discovered a reason for why it had all gone so wrong and returned to explain? It wouldn’t stop the beatdown nor that I’d have to prospect for six months, but maybe I’d once again have brothers at my back and actually want them there.

  “I need you, Cat,” I tell her.

  “I’ll be right by your side.” It’s a promise.

  “I’ll start digging again. I’ll go back to the beginning. See if I can find anything. Or at least get my thoughts in order.”

  “I’ll begin to get the ball rolling here, starting with trying to find a good home for Star. There’s a local farmer who’d take the chickens, he might take him as well.”

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her, knowing how much she’ll hate leaving her horse, particularly after she lost her dog. I know she still misses him.

  It’s her turn to straighten her back. “It is what it is, Finn. He can’t move with us, and I can’t stay here just to look after him in his retirement. If I find him a good home, I’ll still be able to come back and visit.”

  And I’ll make sure to scare the shit out of the person who takes him on. If that horse isn’t properly cared for, they’ll know they have me to answer to.

  “Come here.” I wrap my arms around her, leaning down to take her mouth. My cock, which always seems to harden around her, starts to swell. There’s more than one benefit to living with Cat.

  I’ll never get fed up with her pussy. Never before have I wanted to go back, but having experienced hers, I know I have no need for another. As our encounter starts to become heated, and I call it a day and lead her to bed, I realise that I’ve changed since I’ve known her. For the better, I’d definitely say.

  “Need me to do anything today?” I ask the next morning. Things I’ve thought about in the dead of night still going around my head.

  “No, you go do your thing. I’ll go get some groceries and call on Seamus to see whether he can take the animals for us.”

  “You okay doing that alone?”

  Predictably, she rolls her eyes.

  I grin. Of course she is. Cat is made of strong stuff and doesn’t need me to always be behind her.

  When she leaves, I note the healthier sound of the truck, now running much better since I serviced and tuned it. I make myself a coffee and take it over to the desk. Time to start digging.

  Gun. Why did he get out before the rest of the team was taken out? When I first found out, I had no suspicions. Now I wonder whether I was wrong to discount the coincidence. I start to dig, and then dig deeper.

  At one point I sit forward, my eyes blinking fast, trying to understand the information I’m reading.

  Gun, or Jeffrey Morgan, had a half-brother. Unlike him, Ike hadn’t followed a straight path. I get most of the information from a transcript of his trial when his felonies caught up with him. He’d been lucky to survive so long outside jail, but when he was sent down, he got twenty years having been caught moving product.

  Did G
un know? Were they close? I can’t remember him ever talking about a brother. But maybe he’d been in ignorance of how Ike earned his dollars. The court case was after I’d been kicked out.

  Now that’s interesting. Ike Morgan had been sent to the same pen as Saul Kincaid and Weston. But as far as I knew, their crimes were violent, but had nothing to do with drugs.

  Drugs. Drugs. I tap my fingers against the desk. Afghanistan is a huge producer of heroin.

  I start delving deeper, hacking into the database that keeps records of all military operations.

  Interesting. At the time of Pooh’s death, I’d already known our troops were being pulled back. After his death, they remained in the region. Another withdrawal had been planned, but again abandoned when Nazir tried to blow US soldiers up. Another coincidence? Rubbing my temples, I think maybe I’m making too much of troop movements in a volatile environment.

  “I’m back,” a voice calls out. Moments later I feel arms around me. I lean back into her touch. “Have you made any progress?”

  “I’m not sure,” I reply honestly. “I think I’m jumping at shadows right now.” I just need to keep finding the dots, seeing how, or if, there’s anyway to join them up. “How did you get on?”

  “Good, actually. Seamus is more than happy to take Star. He said his granddaughter would love him. He showed me a paddock and an old stall he’s going to do up. He’s happy with the chickens too.”

  “That’s great.” I turn around, staring into her face. “You really happy with this, Cat?”

  She gives a shrug. “I’d have had to do it anyway, Finn. I can’t stay here, you know that. Oh, and I also went to see the real estate agent. He’s coming out later to get the details to list this place.”

  “You’ve been busy,” I tell her, surprised at how much she’s achieved, before noting the digital numbers on the screen in front of me. She’s literally had hours while I’d lost all sense of time.

 

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