Road Tripped: Satan's Devils MC Utah #1

by Manda Mellett

  Igor raises his hands, his grin disappearing fast and his face going taut. “It was a joke. And he said it first.”

  “He’s a patched member,” Preacher reminds him. “Who—” He breaks off as Road slides to the floor, his legs outstretched in front of him. He’s chuckling quietly to himself, oh, and then belches loudly, which sets him off laughing again. The sergeant-at-arms shakes his head, then continues, “Who’s fuckin’ had too much to drink. Come on.” Preacher releases me, then stretches out a muscular arm to help Road to his feet. “Let’s find somewhere for you to crash for the night.”

  “You clean my bike with your fuckin’ toothbrush tomorrow.” I glare at Igor. “Then you can use it to scrub the heads.”

  “Ma’am.” He salutes me.

  Glaring at him, I grin when my back is now turned toward the prospect. Guess fun times are ahead when… if, Igor patches in. I’ll enjoy taking time to teach him some manners.

  At least Road seems to be an affable drunk, that’s one thing going for him. I wonder if he’ll remember making a pass at me when he wakes up?

  I hope he doesn’t. It will be embarrassing if I have to brush an apology off. At least I don’t have to worry about him going off with one of the girls tonight. Tipsy? Sure, he’d still get it up. Passed out drunk? Different matter entirely. My mind can be at ease tonight.

  “You off?”

  The voice coming from the shadows off to my left doesn’t startle me. Years of training have my senses always on the alert, and I’d seen the man there long before he’d started speaking.

  “Yeah.” I raise my chin toward Rascal. “I’m heading to my place tonight.”

  “Need some peace and quiet?”

  At that moment, the music inside is turned up, and I grimace and nod. Yeah, Rascal’s right. Despite them keeping the jukebox at a respectable volume while I’d been around, just the sheer level of noise from people talking louder the more they had to drink and bottles and glasses clinking was starting to get too much for me, and a headache is beginning to kick off.

  “See you tomorrow,” I call out as I step toward my bike.

  “Pip wants to meet at eleven.”

  I raise my hand in a half-wave, half-salute. “I’ll be there.”

  Turning my hearing aids down with one hand, I switch on the engine with the other, then kick down into first and head out across town. It’s a nice clear summer night, warm and peaceful after the din of the clubhouse. Half of me wants to keep on riding, but the rest of me is tired and sleepy, so I head straight home and turn into my driveway. I point the remote, and the garage door opens. Soon, my bike is parked next to the jeep which I use in winter.

  Home is a small single-storey house with just two beds and one-and-a-half baths, just the right size for a single person like me. It’s quite quaint looking with shutters on the windows, and I’d fallen in love immediately after I’d seen it. It’s on the edge of the city with daylight views out across the farmland toward the distant mountains beyond.

  While I was in the army, I’d lived mostly in barracks and was used to having people around. When I lost my hearing, I also lost living among others at the time I needed them most. One of the carrots Pip had held out when he wanted me to join the MC had been living in the clubhouse where I wasn’t alone.

  From the moment I joined as a prospect, I could relax at night, confident that someone would wake me should there be an intruder or a fire. But I was also aware that I was an adult and needed to learn to cope with what I had lost. Being weak isn’t in my nature, and I was determined not to let fear rule my life, so I pulled up my big girl pants and bought myself a house.

  At first, I’d felt uneasy living here on my own, and stayed infrequently. During the daytime it’s no problem, but at night I’d lie awake, worried I was going to be taken unawares, every one of my soldiering instinct telling me I had to be conscious of my surroundings at all times.

  The MC stepped in once again. Without asking, Honor and Duty had scoped out some equipment and helped me to install the security system an ant would have difficulty getting in without my tactile alarms waking me. A fire? Again, I’d be jolted awake and lights would also flash to warn me. Should the main electricity fail, I had a backup generator to make sure all my systems continued functioning normally.

  Looking around now, a smile comes to my face. I had had to stop Honor’s technical skill being combined with Thor’s mechanical genius to make the ejector bed that I hadn’t been one hundred percent certain they’d been joking about. I wanted to be woken, I’d objected, not shot up into the air. I grin at the memory that enters my head. It had been a joke, surely?

  Each time I stay it’s with less trepidation. Having the confidence to live alone is like becoming an adult all over again. My vulnerability no longer defining me. I’m proud at what I’ve achieved, and how I don’t let my PTSD beat me.

  I’m safe here. It’s my sanctuary. This is my space, my home. As I enter the living room, I glance around and smile at the photographs I have on display—the ones of my mum and dad in the pub where I grew up. I remember those times so fondly. I really need to take some time off and go visit them. It would be good to see them again, and I know they’d love to see me. I don’t regret making my new life so far away, but at times, I do get homesick. Like any kid, grown or not, I miss my mum’s cooking.

  Leaving my keys in the dish on the table by the door that I’ve placed there for that purpose, I grab a bottle of water and take it into my bedroom and place it beside my neatly made bed. Old habits die hard, and I still make it exactly the same way that I had to in the army. In fact, my whole house is clean and tidy. I can’t abide mess.

  All my dirty clothes go straight into my laundry basket, and I shower, then find a tank top and sleep shorts I wear to bed. As I do, thoughts of Road come into my head. Why do I find him so attractive? What is it about him that gets to me the way it does? Why did I feel so jealous tonight? Why should I care who he takes to his bed? That’s so unlike me. As Thor had reminded me, if any other man hadn’t taken my first no as a response, drunk or not, he’d have felt my knee in a place he definitely wouldn’t like.

  I admit, the main reason I came home tonight was I didn’t trust myself. Had I remained in the clubhouse, I have the sneaking suspicion I might have gone to his room. Maybe I’d have used the excuse he was too drunk to sleep alone. Whatever, he pulls me to him like metal toward a magnet. I had to put distance between us.

  I bet he’s good in the sack.

  Huh, I’ll never find out. If he stays, he’ll be part of the MC and unavailable to me. If he decides to go back to Tucson, hmm. Maybe, before he goes…

  Mentally, I slap myself, get into my bed and beat my pillow into submission, making a concerted effort to get the disturbing man out of my head. Then I take a deep breath and complete my preparation to sleep and remove my hearing aids. The hum of the air conditioning disappears as complete silence descends, and I try to suppress the feeling of panic.

  I’m fine. I’m alright.

  Nothing and no one can get to me. I might not have my ears, but there’s a vibrating alarm under my pillow which will warn me a smoke alarm is going off, or if there’s someone on the perimeter. As a backup, the security system will send signals to my watch which will continue to pulse until I turn it off. Lights will flash and disturb me. Someone will be monitoring all our security in the comms room back at the clubhouse, and that will include my house as long as Igor gives Pip and Snatcher the message. And if he wants his patch, he won’t fail me.

  I should have brought Road back here to sleep his drunken stupor off.

  Crazy idea. But it would have meant I wasn’t alone.

  As my body starts to tremble, I focus on running through everything I’ve got to keep me safe, knowing my PTSD is creeping up on me. I breathe deeply, reminding myself all the gadgets I have are at the leading edge of technology. The prospects test that the backup generator works once a week, and they were here yesterday, I believe. />
  Breathe in, breathe out. Mentally, I try to still my body and push the bile rising in my throat back down. Gradually, the violent shaking wracking me slows as my relaxation techniques begin to kick in and work.

  Remembering, I smile to myself when I recall what Road had diagnosed my uncontrollable trembling to be. Well, he’s right in that it’s one way I can relax enough to totally switch off and sleep. And if it’s Road’s face and muscular body I think about as my hand moves down and begins to massage my clit, that’s not going to hurt anyone. It’s also far safer than having the real thing in my bed.

  20

  Road…

  The old clubhouse is a place where I definitely feel more at home. In no way does it feel like an upmarket hotel which makes me think I should be on my best behaviour, no, it’s a place where men can be men, fart and scratch their asses if they get the urge. Earlier, Snatcher had passed a key card to me with the explanation this would get me into the new clubhouse and into my room, but I’d already decided not to use it tonight when I was told a place to crash here was available. This is my type of place.

  And the three old timers, Grinch, Goofy and Mystic are more my kind of men—men who talk my language, and not of missions and rescuing kidnapped people. But then, as the night draws on and the talk turns to motorcycles, other members approach our table and join in. I start to see a different side of men like Bolt, Piston and Rascal. Like me, they love bikes and want to live free.

  As far as I’m aware, there’s nothing in our written regulations that stipulates the Satan’s Devils have to ride American-built bikes, but unwritten ones mean any that Peg would call plastic-built crap are heavily discouraged. I, myself, had fallen foul of that when I’d had to pick up a cheap Harley to gain entry into the Tucson club. Here, in Utah, while the majority of men are faithful to Indians or Harleys, the speed and handling of Japanese or European bikes were discussed, not dismissively, but with admiration. I found it a refreshing change.

  The Kawasaki model Grinch had spoken about is one of the fastest street legal bikes, and to be honest, I couldn’t wait to put it through its paces. I started riding trials bikes, then progressed to off-road Enduro. Trials require the skills of controlling the bike when you’re going slowly, a question of throttle and clutch control and maintaining your balance. Enduro is that, but with the additional requirement of high speed and the ability to cover long distances. A bike such as the Kawasaki ZX14R has the ability for fast cornering as well as high miles per hour on the straights. I couldn’t wait to try it out, having never ridden such a fast bike on the road. The main thing to take into account is unlike most fast bikes where my leg would need to be bent up around my ears—something difficult after my injury—this bike doesn’t require the riding position where I’d be hunched over, but still provides enough speed and manoeuvring to satisfy me.

  Whether it’s because I’m a new face and everyone seems to want to find out more about me, or put some story to the facts that Swift had managed to dig up, one by one all the brothers come to speak to me, and each one brings me a beer or a shot. I don’t want to appear rude, so I drink them. I know I pass my limit early, but my guard is down. I don’t get the impression anyone wants to hurt me. But after numerous beers and chasers I start to think, even if they did, I’m so drunk, I wouldn’t care.

  The girls here, well, they’re eyeing me like a prize to be won, but none get my head turned their way. There’s only one woman I want, and she’s the one who won’t give me the time of day. Or, at least, not in the way I want her to. Even when I’ve been deep in conversation, my eyes have been following her. I watched her ass flex as she played that games machine, and darn near got a chubby when she bent over the pool table. I’d quickly looked away before my mind could conjure too much up, like ideas of ramming my cock deep inside her.

  The girls who’ve come to the party are pretty enough, but Swift has them beat in every department.

  I know how to party, and can normally control myself better, but after the number of drinks that I have had, even I know I’m drunk off my ass. When I see her at the bar, I stumble my way across the room, my inebriated self having decided it’s a great idea and the perfect time to approach her.

  I don’t remember much more. But I don’t recall getting a knee to my junk for which I’m grateful. I struggle for consciousness, not sure where I am or how I got here. There’s an external sound competing loudly with the heavy thumping of my head. It takes me a moment to place it. When I do, it’s the sound of a fucking fire alarm ringing loudly.

  Shit. This place is on fire. I’ve got to get out of here.

  Rolling out of yet another unfamiliar bed—clean sheets but the room is shabby as hell—I switch on the light, blinking in the sudden brightness, then pull on my t-shirt and cut which seem to be the only items of clothing I removed last night. Sliding my feet into my boots, I put my hand to my head.

  Fucking shut up with that screeching sound. It’s not a constant ringing, just a few short blasts, and then it repeats.

  Opening my door, I sniff, but can smell no smoke. I do hear loud voices and follow the direction they’re coming from.

  “What do we know?” Pip snaps as I enter the clubroom.

  “Not a lot. After the power was cut, not one damn camera was working.”

  I have no idea what they’re talking about, and why we are all hanging around if there’s a fire? Just as I’m thinking that, the alarm thankfully shuts off.

  “Backup generator?”

  “That’s out too.”

  “Fuck. Anything else?”

  “That’s all we know so far.”

  I shake my head trying to clear the vestiges of the hangover fogging my brain. Ah, it’s probably a new case we’ll be working on. Hoping I won’t have to damage my knee again this time, I listen out for what duties I’ll be assigned. Another hope is that we won’t be using the plane. I fucking hate flying.

  Pip bows his head, his fingers pinching the brow of his nose. It’s only a few seconds before he raises his eyes again and starts barking his orders out.

  “I don’t like this. I don’t like it one bit. Snatcher, Stormy, Thor, Preacher and Road. You get over there and check the place out. Keep your eye out for any fuckin’ thing. You know your jobs, report back anything you find. The rest of us will get back to base and start digging around. Hopefully it will all be for nothing, but it’s too much of a fuckin’ coincidence that all the electronics were taken out.”

  I don’t know what part I’m supposed to play, but I’m sure someone will tell me. I glance around for my partner, but Swift isn’t around. Did she say she was going home, last night? My memory isn’t clear, but I think that she had. If so, maybe she’s been contacted and is on her way now.

  “Anything for us to do, Prez?”

  “Nah, Grinch. Just keep things here going for now. I’ll let you know if there’s anything I need.”

  Snatcher starts making a move to the door. Bleary-eyed, I go to follow him out, wishing I’d taken the time for a piss before leaving, but I’d feel like a kid were I to have to ask permission. They’re in a hurry to get wherever we’re going. I just hope it’s not too far.

  Preacher pushes a gun into my hand as I go past him. “Not sure what we’re heading into, Brother. Need you tooled up.”

  I start to sober. Whatever’s going on, it’s serious.

  “Could be a fuckin’ trap,” Stormy murmurs, walking past.

  “So I want you set up. Duty tell you the vantage point?” Snatcher’s surprisingly patient.

  “Yeah. And I’m equipped.” Stormy taps his ear for some reason, and I notice he’s got some kind of device in it.

  As far as I’m aware, he’s not deaf, so it must be a communication device.

  I could ask what this is all about, but it seems I was late to the party and everyone else knows. So a bit sheepish that I appear to be the only one under the weather, I just follow them out, hoping it won’t be too long until I can relieve my bladde
r.

  My tongue licks my teeth as I ride. They feel furry as hell. But having seen the brothers with hair uncombed, something’s so urgent there’s no time for us even to go through the briefest of morning routines. For one, I’m in desperate need of a shower. Last night’s beer seems to be seeping through my pores.

  Glad it appears to be somewhere local as we’re not heading out toward the airfield and the plane, I just tag behind the other four men who seem to know where they have to go. Pip said her. But is it a woman or child we’ll be rescuing, and shouldn’t we have discussed a plan?

  Although my hangover headache still throbs, my adrenaline has started to rise. I’m part of a team and we’ve got a job to do. The feeling is similar to that which I used to get when I was poised on the starting line.

  After about a mile or so, Stormy peels off, but not having been issued with any other instruction, I follow Snatcher and the rest of the pack.

  We come to a house on the outskirts of town. It’s small, the yard looks in good order, and the building itself is full of charm. But one thing it doesn’t shout is money. If someone’s been kidnapped from here, I can’t think that there are dollars behind any motivation. Unless, of course, there’s a rich relative somewhere in the wings. Hey, look at me, I’m starting to think like the Utah members.

  Snatcher leads us straight onto a driveway, parking right outside the house. I note we’re not trying to be discreet and wonder why the difference. In Santa Barbara, we never met the family involved.

  Bracing myself to find distraught parents who’ve lost a child or a husband beside himself missing a wife, or even a woman in tears if her man is missing, I cut my engine at the same time as the others and dismount.

  “Careful!” Snatcher holds up his hands. “Thor, Preacher. Fan out. You’re searching outside and be fuckin’ careful. Someone could be setting us up. Road, you’re with me.” He puts a hand to his ear. “You getting this, Stormy?” He listens for a moment, then turns to us. “He’s got a good line of sight. He’ll let me know if we’re likely to have visitors.”