Road Tripped: Satan's Devils MC Utah #1

by Manda Mellett

  Again Road’s head moves side to side. Did Road follow a clue and stupidly not let anyone else know?

  Road’s moving nearer, flopping like a landed fish on the floor. It would be comical were the situation not so dire. He’s close enough for me to touch him now, and he’s mouthing something at me, using exaggerated movements.

  Yet again berating myself that I never learned to lip read, I shake my head. He starts thrusting his hips up toward me.

  Oh God. Typical man. Well, if he thinks I’m in any mood for… Road wouldn’t. Despite our last conversation, Road wouldn’t be asking me to give him a hand job, not in the situation he’s in, and not with that look of desperation on his face as though he’s trying to get through to me. Chained as I am, I can’t get my head close enough to him so I can hear him speak, and something tells me he wouldn’t want to shout anyway.

  He mouths the words again, this time jerking his head at his groin area. My eyes look down. His zipper is up, his button buttoned, his pockets… I try out the word, “Poc-ket,” feeling my lips form the same shape as his had done. “Pocket? Something in your pocket?” A handcuff key would be great about now.

  I indicate his right, he shakes his head, and nods to the other side. I’m conscious my hand’s getting very close to the part of his body I’ve been thinking far too much about when I feel something that I didn’t expect.

  My eyes go wide. I don’t dare breathe as I slide them out, feeling something totally unexpected and amazingly wonderful as well. My precious hearing aids. They must have searched him. How the fuck did he manage to keep them from finding them? Sloppy, not a mistake I would make, but I’m not going to complain at being kidnapped by amateurs.

  I don’t hesitate to put them in and turn them on.

  But Road’s not yet done with his surprises. “My left boot,” he states, then rolls onto his stomach and flip flops closer until he can get his boot in reach of my hands. “No, not the boot itself, the heel. See that pin head? Pull it out.”

  I do. My eyes growing even wider as what emerges from his boot is a long, thin stiletto. I waste no time cutting through the zip tie holding his feet to his hands, then freeing his feet. He changes to a sitting position, stretching his legs in front of him with a groan, then manages to offer me his hands. When I release them from their ties, he stretches his arms, flexing his muscles.

  As soon as he’s shaken life back into his hands, he meets my eyes and says the words which come as music to my ears. “Let’s get you free.”

  I jangle the chain and pull at the iron ring in the wall. “Believe me, I’ve tried.” But maybe between the two of us we could succeed.

  But he grins and shakes his head. Instead of helping me tug, he sits beside me, taking my hand and placing it in his lap. It draws my eyes to his fly, and I try to concentrate on the cuff around my wrist, realising his intention.

  “Can you pick it?”

  “Let’s find out.” His brow creases and his eyes narrow in concentration as he places the tip of the stiletto into the lock. I sit stock still, already knowing the weapon is sharp.

  Hardly daring to breathe, I watch. It’s only a second until there’s a snick, and the cuff opens. Immediately I rub my wrist, then, realising I’m free, I fling my arms around my rescuer.

  “I love you right now,” I declare, immediately wanting to snatch my words back. I don’t hug or make emotional declarations.

  “Only right now?” His voice is full of amusement, and he smiles.

  Taking my arms back fast, I let them drop by my sides and redden, remembering all the hours I spent thinking about him. “Well, at the moment you’ve made me feel pretty good.”

  His eyes sharpen, and his mirth fades, but still his tone is light as he leans in. “When we’re out of here, I could make you feel even better.”

  As if moving all by itself with my brain incapable of getting it to follow a more sensible instruction, my now free hand touches the side of his face, noting how his skin feels soft and warm to the touch. My breath comes unevenly. “That would be a huge mistake, Road. I’m not looking for a relationship.”

  His larger hand covers mine, holding it to his cheek. “What makes you think I am? Fuck, Swift, you make me horny as hell, and I may be being overly optimistic, but I think you feel the same way. What’s worse? Partners who dance around each other, getting distracted because we’re turned on, or partners who’ve fucked and got it out of their system?”

  That’s one way of looking at it. But would we ever be able to work together again? The last thing I want is a man who thinks he has to put my needs first. Who labels me as a little woman needing to be protected.

  When I fuck, I’m in charge. I dictate the when and how of any liaison. With Road, we’d come together as friends, as equals. Would he cede his control, or would he expect me to give up mine? Unlike my other sexual encounters, I don’t think it would all be on one side. It would change us irrevocably.

  He’s staring at me as though awaiting an answer that I don’t know how to provide. Hell, I don’t even know which one to give. His closeness, that he was the one to find me, let alone his bared torso which in this situation I find more distracting than I should, makes me want to throw caution to the wind and reply in the affirmative. Yes, Road, make me yours. But years of caution, of avoiding the risk of any commitment, makes this a subject I want to discourage.

  “We’ve got to get out of here first,” I remind him. “Can you pick that lock?” I point to the door.

  He squeezes my hand, and then removes it from where I’d left it, resting against his warm skin. I miss the contact immediately.

  “No. It’s not a lock, it’s bolted and padlocked on the other side. We need to plan. Weston is going to be the one that will be the hardest to take down.” He speaks quietly, as though worried someone might be listening. “Is this room bugged?”

  “No,” I reply thoughtfully. “If it were, they’d be here by now. They were geared up to imprison one person, and unless they thought I was going to talk to myself…” which is a laugh as I couldn’t hear myself replying. I smile, then frown again as I dismiss my private joke. “It wouldn’t have been worth the bother. But who’s Weston?” I think I know but would appreciate the confirmation.

  “The big fucker. He’s an ex-heavyweight boxer.”

  That figures, but also verifies he’ll know how to fight. “Leave him to me.” I know how to take a man of his size down. During my training, they’d thrown everything at me, and I’ve no doubt now my hands and legs are free, Tiny would be no obstacle. I’ve got speed. I know the weak points of a man’s body. Were I to get into a fistfight with the man, it’s probably me who’d go down. So I’ll fight dirty, strike when he least expects it, using the techniques I’ve perfected. I’ve lost count of the number of males who thought they could better me and who usually lost, particularly when the element of surprise was on my side.

  I expect Road to argue, to insist it should be him that takes Tiny on. When he doesn’t, and simply nods, he scores another point in his favour.

  Road’s been staring at me. Now he touches my arm, the one with the injured hand. He eyes the bandage, dark with dried blood. “Fuck, Swift, this—”

  “Is fine,” I tell him. “Ignore it.”

  “I hate—”

  “I do too,” I tell him fast. “But it’s done now. Nothing to do but get on with it. Sure, it hurts, but I’ll be alright. It’s only… a finger.”

  His eyes meet mine again, then he chuckles softly. “You know, they have no idea who you are. They think you’re a club whore.”

  “I sort of got that impression.” It’s good to have it validated. I’ve the element of surprise on my side. It’s far from the first time I’ve been underestimated. But I remind him, more concerned for him than for me, “It’s still four against two, Road. And they’re armed.”

  “They expect me to be hog-tied and you to be chained. We’ll have seconds when they won’t be on their guard. We need to use them wisely
.”

  I like the way he thinks. “They usually come down in pairs. The main man—”

  “Saul Kincaid. He’s the twin brother of a man Pip dispatched.”

  Kincaid? I remember something about the case when I’d been a prospect, but not having my patch, hadn’t known details. But at least I now know the reason why they’re so anxious to get their hands on Prez. I file the information away.

  “One of the men who entered your house is Christian McGregor.” He pauses, but I’ve never heard that name before. When I look mystified, he adds, “He could be the other man here now.”

  “How did you find that out?” As far as I knew, all the cameras would have stopped working.

  “Honor got the DNA in his blood examined.”

  Idly I rub the graze on my arm. “Blood?” I frown. “I don’t remember.”

  Road grins. “Though you have no recollection, I bet you lashed out when they were chloroforming you. You probably got in a lucky shot.”

  I hope I broke his fucking nose, but none of the men I’ve seen looked like they’d had one broken recently. Hopefully, at least, I’d bloodied it.

  “Don’t know a last name, but the man who shot me is called Dean.”

  Again, another name which means nothing to me.

  Road stands, rubs his leg, then stretches. “It’s your play, tell me where you want me.”

  Again he goes up in my estimation as he asks my advice, acknowledging that I’ve been trained in combat, and know more about these types of situations than he does. My brothers in the MC would act the same way, but they learned to trust my skills during my prospecting time. Road’s going just on what he’s seen to date, and what I’ve told him. It saves time not having to convince him.

  I frown, then suggest a few ways this could play out, looking at outcomes and adjustments. If this happens, I’d do this, Road that, if that happens, then we’ll work it another way. By the time we finally hear footsteps approaching, I’m pretty certain we both are word perfect in our parts.

  Road is lying huddled in a heap, and I’m on the bed, with my hand again appearing restrained in its cuff.

  I’d discounted waiting by the door. As soon as it was opened a crack, they’d see I wasn’t on the bed which is in direct line of sight and that would be sufficient warning for them to slam that door, and lock it again, leaving us both trapped. Like counters sliding down a snake, we’d be back at square one. What we’ve got planned should see us on a ladder instead.

  Glancing over at Road, I realise now he’s here and has freed me, I have a real chance of getting out of here alive.

  I owe Road my life. While we wait, my heart beating fast in anticipation, I know there’s one way I’d like to thank him.

  But can I let myself make that mistake?

  27

  Road…

  Awkwardly, I lie on my back as that’s the only way I can disguise I’m no longer tied. In my head, I go over Swift’s plan once again. It goes against everything I am to let a woman do my fighting for me, and if Weston appears, then my gut tells me it should be me who tries to take him down, keeping Swift out of harm’s way. Then I remember how quickly she took out Stormy and know I have to trust her confidence in herself.

  When I hear the bolt shoot in the door, I prime my muscles, ready to push myself up.

  Three men enter, Weston, a man I haven’t seen before who I suspect might be Christian, and Saul Kincaid, twin to his rapist dead brother. It’s his eyes that land on me, his mocking grin showing he suspects nothing from the way I’m lying, accepting I could have turned to keep my eye on the door.

  “You’re a stupid fucker. There’s no one with you.” He comes over and kicks me hard in the side.

  I let out an oomph and will myself to stay still as though I really am incapacitated, knowing I’ve got to let Swift make her move first. She’s only got one chance at taking Weston, lunging for him when he least expects it.

  Apart from the narrowing of my eyes, I say nothing. Swift, I notice, doesn’t react. As far as they know, she’s still deaf.

  “If Pip knows about this place and you’ve disappeared, it’s time we moved this on.” Kincaid’s tone is sneering. “Thanks to you I’ve had an idea. Something to show Pip we’re not messing around. And I’ll be relying on you to give Pip that message.”

  When Weston takes a step forward, I start to get an idea of what type of missive he’s talking about, one which will leave me in a heap of hurt and pain. But I play dumb, and spit out, “I’ve told you before, I’ve no fuckin’ idea who this Pip is you’re talking about. I only came to check out this house—”

  “You’re a fuckin’ Satan’s Devil—”

  “From Tucson. My club’s in Arizona. I was here looking for a vacation spot just as I told you.” It’s worth a try, and it keeps his focus on me.

  He rolls his eyes. “It’s not worth you lying to me. Though, actually, whether you’re telling the truth or not, doesn’t matter one fuck. Pip will see what I’m capable of when he finds your body in pieces. And you, my dear…” As he turns to Swift, her eyes meet his, but she gives no indication she’s heard his words and stays completely passive as he adds, “Can’t be bothered to remove your cuff, easier to cut off your hand and send him that.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I have ears and prove there’s nothing wrong with my hearing. “Whatever your beef is with this Pip you keep mentioning, why mutilate an innocent girl?”

  He gives an evil laugh. “Because I can. Because Pip took something valuable to me. Because he took my other fuckin’ half. You got a twin, Road?”

  “No.” I shake my head as though I have no idea what he’s talking about. “Only family I’ve got are my brothers back in Tucson.”

  Kincaid looks unconcerned. “Well, I’m sure Pip will make sure you get back to them. When he’s found all the pieces of your body.” His cheeks stretch as he grins evilly at the largest of his companions. “Weston here has a beast that needs feeding inside him and chopping off your limbs one by one will soothe him. Shame the girl won’t be able to hear you screaming, but bitches do tend to get squeamish about blood. It should teach her a lesson that I’m not one to be messed with.”

  Chills go through me. Our plan has to work. The alternative really doesn’t sound attractive.

  “Which do you want me to start with?” Weston asks, sounding bored.

  Swift may be acting as though she can’t understand, but I notice she’s showing she’s reading the tension, and danger, in the room, as she draws up her legs so she’s crouching on the bed. The chain jangles, but the men pay her no attention.

  “Him,” Kincaid decides. “She’ll be pissing herself seeing him chopped to bits, wondering whether we’re going to be doing the same to her. It’ll fuckin’ break her.”

  “I’ll break her for you, boss.” Tiny—the name Swift coined for him helps me diminish him in my mind—places his meaty paw over his groin, making sure he’s in Swift’s line of sight. He pumps himself through his pants a couple of times. Even someone who’s deaf couldn’t fail to get the gist of what he’s suggesting. The chain rattles again as though Swift is trying to back away from him.

  Kincaid laughs, putting his hand on Tiny’s back. “Now hurry up and move this along. We don’t know how much time we’ve got before Pip comes looking for him.”

  As though I’m still tied, terrified of what Tiny’s going to do, without taking my eyes off Kincaid or the giant standing by his side, I rock and roll my way closer to Swift.

  Tiny approaches menacingly and raises a cleaver that’s held in his hand. I wonder what he’s going to do. My hands are tied behind me, or so he thinks, my legs too. The only thing he can chop off is my head, or through my thigh. Neither of which I prefer.

  As if in slow motion, the cleaver starts to fall…

  And sails harmlessly to the floor when Swift karate kicks him in the kidneys, then uses the stiletto to pierce him in the jugular. Tiny’s dead, he just doesn’t quite know it
yet, but with his blood pumping all he can do is drop to the floor with a disbelieving roar, his hands trying to stem the flow.

  I roll, grab the cleaver and swing it wildly, catching the third man as he steps forward to tackle Swift. That I’m free takes him by surprise, as does his arm dropping to the floor.

  In an urgent tone I hear, “Road, watch out.”

  Throwing myself to the side, I feel a burn in my arm, and know I’ve been shot, but it doesn’t slow me down.

  From the corner of my eye, I see Swift has Kincaid unarmed. There’s another man, and he’ll have heard the shot. I need to stop the one-armed man from being a distraction, so I raise the cleaver again, telling myself he was prepared to watch me be chopped like liver, and putting all my momentum behind it, slash his neck. It’s effective. His head is all but severed from his body. It’s safe to say he’s dead.

  “You alright, Saul?” a voice shouts. “What’s going on down there?”

  “Tell him you’re fine,” Swift growls, painfully twisting Kincaid’s neck.

  “Bastards got the jump on—.”

  Swift applies some sort of pressure hold that cuts his words off, and Kincaid drops to the ground.

  “Watch him,” she instructs, then goes to the doorway.

  I do, my gaze flicking between the unconscious man at my feet and the doorway. It’s an amateur, I notice, as a gun appears first. Swift has that out of his hand with one chop, but it’s fast replaced by a knife.

  He parries. She jumps back, her eyes fixed on his face. He feints left, she protects her opposite side.

  They dance like that for a few steps, then Swift announces, “Fuck this.” One punch and the man who had shot me, Dean, is out like a light, and she’s shaking her hand out.

  “You alright?”

  “Bloody hell. My finger’s bleeding again.”

  Well it’s not her finger, but her bloody stump. The sight of it and the reminder of what she’s lost has me throat punching Kincaid as he starts to come around. This time, he’s out like a light.