Stormy's Thunder: Satan's Devils MC Utah

by Manda Mellett

  I’ve never been dependent on anyone, not like I am on her. She’s as important as air to me. If I was a praying man, I’d send up a prayer right now, but all my life I’ve felt there’s no omnipotent being watching over me, or if so, he’d been looking the other way too many times for my thinking. He’d never been there to halt my father’s fists, or to stop my mother leaving. I wish I had faith now. Instead I can only trust in my flesh and blood brothers to find Cat and return her to me.

  “Here. Made you some coffee. You want your painkillers?”

  I thank Igor automatically and shake my head. No, I want as clear a head as possible, and these aching injuries? Well, those I’ll suffer gladly as though by punishing myself I’ll be saving her.

  Honor and I had pulled an all-nighter. I think he wanted to sleep, but when he saw I wasn’t giving in, he stayed up as well. Now he’s coming in yawning, his hair wet from a shower.

  He examines the results of a program that had kept running. “I reckon that’s all of them now. All the haunts of Jeffrey Morgan. We should be able to close in on him.”

  I tap the screen I’m looking at. “I’ve found offshore accounts.” The size of the figures make me grow cold. “Deposits started a few months before Pooh was killed and continue up to when Gun left the SEALs. Then there’s a short gap, a huge payment, then more money rolling in.”

  “You think he had to lie low for a while?”

  “Could be,” I agree. “Maybe someone was getting too close?”

  “Hmm.” Honor looks thoughtful. “What happened to Marjan, Nazia’s sister? Could she have been a threat to him? I think you’re right, he killed Nazia himself.”

  “Maybe he got to her too. She was,” I think back, “twelve or thirteen at the time. But kids grow up fast in that environment, they have to. Maybe Nazia told her something, and maybe he did kill her, or maybe she got away.”

  “If she had info, she would have come forward.”

  “Maybe not. I mean, how could she know who to trust?”

  We both ponder that for a moment and are still deep in thought when the door bangs open.

  “They’ve got her,” Pip announces, sounding out of breath. “They’re bringing her home.”

  Swinging around too fast, I make my head swim. “Say again?”

  “Cat’s safe, Stormy. They’ve got her. Went like clockwork according to Snatcher.”

  “She’s alive?” I pull my stick toward me, wanting to stand up as though being seated isn’t good enough for this momentous news. I don’t get far, and slump back down again. “Is she okay? Is she hurt?”

  Pip’s eyes become hooded. “Physically, she seems uninjured. But mentally…” he shakes his head. “She had to be sedated as no one could get close.”

  I rest my head into my working hand, as pain of the emotional sort rushes through me.

  “You got this Stormy.” Pip comes closer, his fingers land on my shoulder and squeeze. “She’s coming back to you. It might take time, she might be dealing with some bad shit, but you’ll have her home. You’ve got this.”

  But have I? Christ, she’d been bad enough after being locked in her own cellar, but now? I can’t run from the idea that she’s been abused, subjected to things no woman should suffer. What do I know about making her right? What if I fuck up and say a well-intentioned equivalent of ‘pull yourself together’ or ‘you’ll be alright’? Have I got the backbone for this to be what she needs?

  I only know I have to try, and just hope this isn’t going to be another thing I’ll fuck up.

  It’s not good news she had to be sedated. “Didn’t Swift try and talk to her?”

  Pip’s lips press together. “She did, but she’s not sure who Cat thought she was. Someone trying to trick her perhaps. In the end, they were worried she was going to hurt herself. That’s all I’ve got, Stormy.”

  I suppose I’ve been dumb. I’d hoped once they’d got her free, I’d be talking to her on the phone, reassuring her and myself that everything was going to be fine. Cat’s in a worse state than I had imagined.

  “What do I do, Pip? What do I fuckin’ do?” I plead for help.

  Before he can answer, a knock sounds at the door. When it opens, it reveals a prospect and the club’s doctor. Pip nod, clearly having summoned him.

  “Come on, Storm. Let’s go to my office.”

  The doc might be here to give me a lecture. Maybe I deserve one. I’ve been awake so long I’m running on fumes now. My body is one mess of agony, parts aching that I’m trying my best to ignore.

  But I can’t rest. Won’t be able to close my eyes until Cat’s here, and I see for myself that physically she’s unharmed. Mentally? Christ, I don’t even want to go there. I’ve never considered myself an emphatic man, how can I help her?

  I focus on Pip, opening my mouth to tell him it’s not me who needs medical help, but if he’s here to work up a plan for Cat’s treatment, I’ll listen to him. I get no further than opening my mouth when I feel a prick in my neck.

  My hand swings up to bat it away, but I’m too late. Already I feel my eyes closing.

  When I awake my mouth feels dry and I’m disorientated. I open my eyes, noting I’m in my room, in my bed, and that I’m wearing only my boxers. I feel violated, I’ve been drugged against my will and someone, presumably a prospect, has undressed me.

  Cat.

  How long have I been out? Is she back? I sit up so fast the world spins around me, and my chest, arm and leg make their protests known as I ignore the pain of the still healing bones.

  “Whoa. Take it easy.”

  I don’t know that voice. The thought alarms me, and my eyes snap to the origin of the sound. It’s a biker who’s sitting in a chair next to me, but not one I’ve seen before. Or have I? In the scope of my rifle?

  “Who the fuck are you?” I rasp, wondering if my eyes are playing tricks on me.

  The man eyes me. “The name’s Mace,” he pronounces.

  Mace? The only man of that name I know and who’d be wearing a cut is the enforcer of the Satan’s Devils MC Colorado chapter. A man who could have little love for me, hatred, yes. I killed the man he wanted to torture himself. I had seen him through my scope. Moments before I shifted my sights to Major.

  Still seated, I try to inch my hand toward the drawer of my bedside table when my firearm is normally stored.

  Mace notices, the bastard. He shakes his head, and pulls out a gun of his own, holding it loosely in one hand. “I wondered what your reaction would be.”

  “How the fuck did you get in here?” Has the compound been breached? Is this to do with Drummer? Has his patience run out?

  “You going to kill me?” Either gun or fists would succeed, I’m as weak as a kitten.

  Mace barks a laugh. “There was a time when yeah, I’d have shot you dead soon as I had you in my sights. But I’ll hold off on that for now.”

  “Torture me?”

  “Christ. You’re full of your own fuckin’ importance, aren’t you, Stormy? All you can think of is that I’m here for you. But I’m not.”

  It must be whatever sedative the doctor had given me, but my brain can’t make sense of the words. My brow furrows. “Who are you fuckin’ here for, Mace?”

  He steeples his hands under his chin, and grimaces. “I’m here because I know about some of what you’re going to go through. Drummer contacted my prez, Demon spoke to me. I had a chat with my ol’ lady, and well, here I am.”

  It’s a convoluted explanation that my injured brain’s having difficulty following. Drummer, though, seems to be behind his presence.

  Taking pity on me at last, Mace finds more explanative words. “My Shay was abused.”

  Bells ring, dots start moving into a line, but I don’t understand why anyone would help me. But I remember he said he wasn’t here for me. He intends to help her.

  “No one’s getting near my woman apart from me,” I snarl.

  Now he holds up his hands. “Too fuckin’ right.” He leans forward
getting into my face. “Shay was fuckin’ broken when I first met her. You know what that bastard Major did to her, no one could expect anyone to come out unscathed. I’m not forcing anyone to let me stay here, but Drummer suggested I might be able to help. Not your woman directly, but as someone who’s been through it themselves, I might be able to give you some pointers.” He pauses, sits back, and draws his hand down his face. “I’ve been there, Stormy. I know you just want to wrap her in your arms and tell her everything’s going to be alright. That you love her, whatever. That just those words will make everything right.”

  They will, won’t they? Of course, I’ll have to convince her. Nothing that happened to her was any fault of hers. It’s not as though she set out to cheat on me. I don’t give a damn, she’s mine. Nothing will effect that. But Mace has made me think.

  “Isn’t that what she needs to hear?”

  Mace grimaces. “Hearing is one thing, believing it another. If she’s like Shay, she’ll feel unclean. Fuck, man, she might not even trust you.”

  “It was my fault,” I tell him, looking down at my hands. “If I hadn’t been there, Gun might not have taken her.”

  Now the Colorado enforcer nods. “Pip filled me in. Maybe, maybe not. But you were, and it’s possible he took her to have leverage over you. Only, you got free before he could use it.”

  “Is there any more news?” I ask him, belatedly. “Is she back yet?”

  He shakes his head. “They’re in US airspace,” he tells me. “She’s safe, and nearly here. Preacher’s ETA is in an hour.”

  I’ve got to get moving. It’s a process that I need to take slow. Surprisingly, Mace goes about helping me without being asked. He goes to my drawers, asks what I need and gets it out.

  “I don’t understand,” I tell him, as he holds the t-shirt so I can get my cast through it. “Don’t you hate me for what I did?”

  He sighs. “I did. At the time I was blinded by being robbed of the chance to torture Major. He didn’t deserve a clean bullet to the head. Good fuckin’ shot though that was.” He winks at me. “But in the end, he’s dead. I could spend time with Shayla, rather than spending hours in the basement torturing the fuck out of the man.”

  “Is she okay? Your ol’ lady?”

  Mace grins now. “Shay’s fine. I won’t say she doesn’t still have nightmares at times, but I remind her she’s safe and she’s mine.”

  He’s made me think. I’d assumed it was going to be easy. Get Cat here, tell her I’d never let anything hurt her again, hold her in my arms and everything will be right. Mace has shown me it might not be as easy, and that I’ll need to be patient. Patience, though, is something I’m not known for.

  When I’m ready, Mace brings over the wheelchair.

  “I’ll use the stick.”

  “Don’t be a stubborn ass,” he snaps. “You know why Pip called the doc? Because you were overdoing it. What good are you going to be with Cat if you don’t look after yourself?”

  After that, when he brings the wheelchair closer, I slide into it without further argument, but I stop the wheels with my working hand. Turning my head, I look at him over my shoulder.

  “I appreciate this, Mace. I don’t know what to say to thank you.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m just pleased to see you accepting help. Let us in, man. Then one day, perhaps, I’ll be calling you brother.”

  Now it’s back to waiting, so I take the chance to interrogate Mace, who’s open enough to tell me how he made headway with his woman. I take mental notes, the circumstances weren’t exactly the same, but some of his suggestions might work. The main result is that he’s got shit straight in my head, my focus needs to be on my woman, and not on whatever relief I feel myself. Patience, kindness and understanding, that’s what she needs. None of his pep talk lands on deaf ears.

  When we get news that the plane has landed and Cat’s only minutes away, Mace stands.

  “I’ll get back to my woman, leave you with yours. But Stormy, you want to pick my brain? I’m at the end of a phone, remember.”

  “Mace? Thank you. You came a long way.”

  He shrugs. “Didn’t ride it man, I took a plane. Anyway,” his expression changes and now he smirks, “it’s given me the chance to see the man I’m going to be taking down, once you’re fit again, of course.” When my brow creases, he adds, innocently. “What? You surely didn’t think I was letting you off the hook, did you?” With two fingers he points to his eyes, then my own. “You and I got unfinished business to deal with.”

  Great. So once I’m healed I’m facing a beatdown from my brothers, and now another from Mace. It’s also unlikely that San Diego won’t want in on the act.

  31

  Cat…

  I keep my eyes closed tight, concentrating on making my breathing even, given away no sign that I’m starting to wake. Over the weeks I’ve learned waking never holds anything good for me, and the only escape I can get is when I’m asleep.

  The bed feels different. There’s a sheet and a blanket covering me, while I’ve become use to being allowed no dignity even when I’m alone. Kept naked at all times, and available for the time when my master needs me.

  It’s not only the bed that doesn’t feel the same, I’ve woken without the aching to remind me how much I’ve been abused, and for once I’m not sore between my legs. At least today, I don’t feel dirty and sticky.

  Has there been a night when he hasn’t come to me, or directed his men to use me? For the past two weeks since Gun had sold me, I’ve had no relief. It’s not just been the night, but during every day. His one aim to break me.

  I want to die.

  I should fight. But I tried that, it got me nowhere, now any objection has been beaten out of me.

  Am I alone? Listening hard, I can’t hear anything. The room is light, not dark like the cell where I’ve been kept. And my back, well, that’s not stuck to the sheets with blood as it had been.

  I’d refused to call him Master. He’d whipped me.

  There are other differences today. There’s a scent in the room just reaching my nostrils, something tantalisingly out of reach but which seems familiar.

  I’m dreaming that I’m awake. Or, maybe I’m already dead. I’d known it wouldn’t be long before he went too far and killed me. If I’m dead, I’m not sure what I expected from the afterlife, but it’s heaven lying covered in a comfortable bed.

  My mind circles back to the last thing I remember. Strangers. Men, who the master would give me too, and a woman, hell, she was trying to trick me. I fought, I remember. Maybe that’s what killed me? I should be covered in bruises, maybe broken bones, but my body doesn’t feel sore, all the pain is in my head.

  If this is death, it’s better than being alive.

  What do I do now? Maybe I should risk opening my eyes.

  Cracking them open, I can see I’m in a bedroom of some sort. My first thought is that it’s utilitarian, a closet, a desk, a chair in front of it. White painted walls. Well, white fits with the afterlife, doesn’t it? Maybe I should stir myself and get out of bed. It’s funny, I never believed in a hereafter.

  Someone clears their throat beside me. My body freezes, but I manage to turn my head. When the figure comes into focus, I heave a sigh of relief, and a smile curves my lips. I’d never thought to see him again, but it’s Finn. He’s sitting beside it.

  That confirms it. I know he’s dead. Gun showed me his body. There must be a benevolent God, and now we’ll spend eternity together.

  Finn’s hand touches mine. I jump, snatching my hand back. It’s Finn. No. It’s a man. It’s my mind playing tricks.

  “Cat, sweetheart, look at me.”

  I squeeze tight my eyes. Demons can change their shapes, can’t they? This may be another ploy.

  “Cat, darlin’,” he pleads.

  “You’re dead.” I state the obvious.

  He snorts. “I’m very much alive, darlin’. Hey. Look at me.”

  “Gun showed me your bo
dy. He told me he’d killed you.” The words come out on a monotone. I’d collapsed at the sight, I hadn’t cared what had happened to me, seeing the man I loved beaten and bleeding, the limbs that used to go around me, broken and awry, a deep stab wound bleeding out. Gun had kicked him hard, and Finn hadn’t flinched. There had been no doubt in my mind I’d lost him.

  At that moment I hadn’t cared what happened to me. It had been easy for Gun to take me away. I’d been compliant, thinking the worst had already happened to me. I’d been wrong.

  “Cat,” he pleads again. “Look at me.”

  When I do, my first thought is why I am feeling no pain after whatever punishment I’d taken to kill me, when he… His face is taut, stitches across his cheek and on his forehead. His nose is not the shape I remember. Continuing my assessment I notice one arm is in a cast, and he’s not in a normal seat, he’s in a wheelchair. As my eyes continue a downward journey, it’s easy to see why. One of his legs is stretched out in front of him and covered with yet another cast.

  Why heal me and not him? It doesn’t make sense. Unless this is his purgatory.

  The shorn side of his head is stubbly, it’s a strange thing to note.

  “I’m not dead, sweetheart.”

  But I am. I must be.

  “Is she awake?”

  This time my eyes snap open as the door opens and a stranger appears. The only thing I notice is that he’s a man and that’s all I need to know my slice of heaven has turned into hell. Screaming, I dig in my ankles and push myself back, holding out my hands to ward him off.

  “Don’t touch me,” I beg.

  “Cat.” Finn’s voice is firm. “Cat. It’s alright.”

  But it’s not.

  “Cat, calm down, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

  “Ms Beeswick, Catherine. You’re safe,” the stranger’s voice says, but I barely hear him over my own keening.

  This is another torture, making me think I’m safe, when it’s a trick and he must be here to use me. Finn? Well, my subconscious must have summoned him up, if he’s here, it’s his spirit haunting me.