Truck Stopped: Satan's Devils MC #11

by Manda Mellett

  “I want to join Sam’s club,” she continues, with a wink in my direction.

  As I’m thinking there used to be a time when the kids were in awe of me, Lisa blows another kiss toward her dad, straightens and continues into the clubhouse.

  “Your old lady has a lot to answer for, Drummer,” Peg mock chides me.

  I smile, and shake my head. Some years ago now, Sam started an old ladies’ riding club. It had begun as a joke with just her and Marcia. Blade succumbed and let Tash have a motorcycle, then, surprisingly, it was Becca who persuaded Rock to get her a ride. Just as some of the other old ladies who came along later convinced their men to let them have bikes. Of course, they might think they’re independent, but there’s always a brother or two going along on their rides with them, and a prospect following in the crash truck. The Satan’s Devils Ladies Riding Club. For a second I wonder what my father would have had to say about that. Nothing good, I imagine.

  “Anyway, back to Allie.” Peg reminds me what we were discussing. “Did you really think it would work?”

  I shrug. “I took a gamble. Something had to give. If she hadn’t been able to get through his door, I was going to break the fucker down myself.”

  “I’d have been right behind you.”

  Peg would. He’s always had my six.

  Chapter Four

  Allie…

  Go see Truck and bring him home.

  It sounded so simple when Drummer laid my task out. I’d been ecstatic. It was exactly what I wanted to do. Knowing others had been unsuccessful in their attempts to step over his threshold, I didn’t dare think of visiting Truck by myself. It wasn’t something a whore would do, but now I’ve received a direct instruction from the prez, I’ve got an excuse to try and see the man I haven’t been able to get out of my head for six months. It’s a task I’m determined I won’t fail.

  I know it won’t be easy. Why would he want to see me if he didn’t want to talk to anyone else?

  Unless, as Drummer suspects, conversation is the last thing on his mind, and he’s in need of some relief.

  My issue is, I want him to see me as a woman, not a sweet butt.

  I spend more time than it should take trying to get ready, veering between one outfit and another. Do I dress like I do on the compound? Skimpy top and short skirt? Would he be unable to resist? It would certainly advertise what I had to offer, but would signify nothing else.

  In the end I settle for jeans and a new tee, even going so far as to wear a bra. I put on makeup, and then scrub it all off, staring at my reflection. I’ve been Allie, the sweet butt, for so long, I don’t even know who the woman is underneath. Maybe now’s a good time to find out.

  Reapplying a little eyeliner and mascara, then dusting my face with powder, I think I’ve enhanced what I am naturally, without going over the top. When I’ve finished, I put my phone and wallet in my back pocket, then walk down to the auto-shop at the entrance to the compound. I’ll be borrowing one of the club’s SUVs as I normally do if I go into town. My old beater died several years back, and it wasn’t worth trying to replace it.

  “You look nice.” Slick stands from leaning over a bike. “Different.”

  I blush from the compliment. Nice is the look I was going for, but it’s not how I usually appear. “Can I borrow a car?”

  “Sure. You know where the keys are. Going anywhere fun?”

  “I hope so.” My response is heartfelt. Truthfully, I have no idea what I’ll be walking into.

  Grabbing the first set of keys that I come to, I go to the Nissan and adjust the seat which had obviously been used last by someone much taller than me. I then take a moment to sort out the mirrors, realising I’m delaying my exit from the compound. Finally, I program the address Drummer had given me into the GPS.

  Truck. I’m going to see Truck. While accepting he might not let me in, there’s still a kernel of excitement inside.

  I’d first seen Truck when he came to the compound with Peg’s old lady, Darcy, and her firefighting friends. It was easy to see how the big man had gotten his name. He was tall, a fraction shorter than Peg so maybe six feet three or four, and broad. Not fat, but muscular. The first thing that had caught my attention was his easy laugh and playfulness on his face. An energy too, a buzzing excitement around him. He was totally bald with a shaved head, and having a nicely shaped skull, it had suited him.

  I had been shocked when he joined the Satan’s Devils as a prospect.

  Being a firefighter put him on a different level than the other men the club had had prospecting for them over the years. For a start, his shift pattern had to be accommodated. Then there were some activities he was excluded from. I’m not stupid. Though whores are kept out of club business, we all knew when something was going down. Men would disappear, but Truck would be elsewhere. Due to his government job, he was kept away from the more unsavoury elements of club life. He’d have had to have been deaf and blind not to have suspicions, but seemed to accept what the club did, as long as he could turn away and have no direct involvement.

  A prospect needs to put up with shit, prove over his time that he can be trusted. I’d watched Truck, knowing from early on he was going to make the grade. It was in his attitude. No task was too small to give it his whole attention. If I was asked to score his performance, I’d give him ten out of ten.

  Of course, all this I saw from a distance. As a prospect, the whores were out of bounds to Truck, and would be until he was a member.

  I remember the day he’d got patched in as it happened so fast and surprised even him. When I’d been with him that night, he was still hyped up and shared some of the details. He’d thought he was going to have to turn in his prospect patch as he was assigned to a hotshot team and would be away from the area for some undetermined time. But instead of letting him leave, Drummer held a vote on making him a full member, even though there was a chance it would be a very long time before he could take his seat at the table.

  Truck had been humbled that night, and over the moon with the new patches on his cut, even though he was leaving his newly adorned leather vest behind. As he had an early start the next morning, he hadn’t gotten as drunk as most men do when they reach the end of their prospecting time, but he had made use of his new status to go with a sweet butt. The one he chose had been me.

  I was the lucky one. Truck had fucked as though his life depended on it. It was part celebration that he was now a full member, part recognition what he was heading into would be dangerous.

  I’m used to being fucked by the brothers, it’s been my life for ten years. Most, knowing they don’t want to lead a whore on, shy away from intimacy such as the meeting of lips. That hadn’t bothered me, I believed in that philosophy too. It wasn’t different with Truck, the only time Truck had kissed me was when he placed his lips against my cheek when it was time for him to go.

  In every respect it was exactly the same as all other encounters. Save in one way. The effect he had on me. When he had walked out that door early the next morning, I couldn’t forget him.

  He’d gotten to me, like no one else ever had, and like I expected no one ever would. From that point on, I didn’t want anyone else to touch me. Of course I had to, it was my job, but I resented every man who came inside me. When I knew Truck had been hurt, my unease with other men got worse. I just couldn’t rid myself of the feeling that they were eroding the memory of him being in me. Time passing made it harder, not easier to forget him.

  Stupid, stupid whore. I bang the steering wheel in frustration.

  But my honesty with myself can’t subdue the burn of excitement inside me. I’m going to see Truck again. Does he remember that night? Or was it just one more fuck to him? Would it be better to count my losses, tell Drummer I can’t go through with this?

  Six months hasn’t wiped out the memory of his touch.

  Six months. Truck’s had a long road to recovery.

  What’s happened to the man I knew for a year, and had in
my bed just one night? How badly was he injured? Why this refusal to let anyone in, or to come home to the club?

  Often men joining the MC are damaged, they might come back from overseas with PTSD, but find comfort and support within the family. Why is Truck not coming to us for help? Why is he hiding himself away?

  Am I going to get my questions answered? Or, will he just refuse to have anything to do with me. He hasn’t let anyone else in, why should his first visitor be a whore?

  The excitement changes increasingly to nervousness as I drive into Tucson. What happens if I fail?

  No, not an option. Apart from my personal investment in seeing Truck, Drummer’s tasked me with this because he’s worried about the firefighter become club member. There are many selfish reasons why I want to see the man again, but at the bottom of it all, it’s Truck who matters. Whatever’s happened to him, Truck needs his friends. There’s a reason he’s eschewing both his families, but whatever he’s dealing with, he shouldn’t be doing it alone. He needs to let people in.

  The GPS, as expected, leads me to the right street and I find the apartment block quite easily. After I park in the lot around the back, my hands shake as I press the button to lock the car. He’d been injured so badly it was touch and go for a while, but no one knows what really happened to him, only that it was bad enough that he’s only recently returned from rehab to Tucson.

  All we otherwise know, courtesy of Darcy, who’s a firefighter herself, is that he was invalided out of the service. A sign he’ll never regain full health.

  Losing the job which he loved would have devastated him. Another reason he needs the club. What state will he be in, mentally or physically? No one’s been able to warn me what to expect. I vow then and there, whatever his injuries, I’ll accept him. It’s the man inside I want, even if he now inhabits a broken body.

  I straighten my back. I can do this. With a purposeful stride, I walk around to the front of the building.

  Truck’s apartment is on the first floor, his entrance direct to the street. I find the right number and knock on the door. A buzz, and then a voice through the intercom.

  “What are you doing here?”

  His voice. So familiar and yet so strange. Huskier, deeper than I remembered from before, and that tone of anger.

  “Truck, I’ve come to see how you are. Can you let me in?”

  After a pause, a snide voice comes, “Drummer got you making house calls now?”

  He was never spiteful before. I run through everything in my head. Drummer’s tried and failed to get in, and so, apparently have other brothers as well as his firefighting team and friends. If I just say I’m here to talk to him, he’ll treat me the same way. What have I to offer that the others couldn’t? Sex without ties.

  I’ll play on his assumption. “Yeah. Drummer thought you might be in need of a woman.” Inwardly I groan. I’ve told him I’m here as a whore. Way to get him to see you as anything different. But if it gets me through the door, I’ll count it as a step in the right direction.

  Maybe he’s not as desperate as Drummer thinks. He may have someone else. A chill settles inside me when I realise I hope he doesn’t. But who knows? Good looking man like Truck could easily have a nurse who’s been attracted to his fine figure, handsome face…

  “I could use a fuck.”

  Duel emotions flood through me, elation and disgust. The crude response indicates he’s going to let me inside, but for one thing only. After all these months, is this what I want? I could walk away, or, I could step through the door if he opens it, and let him use me. For a second, I’m torn. Then realise, whatever the reason, I’ll have achieved my objective, succeeded where everyone else has failed.

  My attempt at dressing like a normal woman in the hope that he’d see me differently was all for nothing. He hasn’t forgotten what I am, hasn’t remembered our night together in the same way I had. Probably never thought of it again. Stupid, stupid to hope otherwise. It seems he’s remembered all too well. I’m a sweet butt, a whore. Nothing else.

  The door remains closed. I remain waiting outside. As minutes pass, thoughts continue to war in my brain. Stay? Or go? If I stay, I’m the whore he thinks I am. If I leave, I’ll lose any chance I may have had to do what Drummer had asked, or the chance just to see him.

  I am a whore. There’s no escaping that. But maybe, just maybe, getting inside is worth playing the part for him once again.

  I’m staying. I rap with my knuckles on the wood. “You gonna open this door, Truck? Kind of hard to give you what you want with this barrier between us.”

  A further delay, then I hear the sound of bolts being slid back, a key turning in the lock, and then the door opens. Truck must have stepped to the side as I don’t see him. The interior is dim as he has the blinds closed. Nevertheless I walk over the threshold.

  Suddenly the door swings shut, and I feel him behind me. My heart skips a beat, as I feel arms I thought would never hold me again, pulling me against his chest for a moment. Then, he walks me forward so I’m facing the back of a couch.

  “Take off your jeans and bend over.”

  Oh no, oh shit. No finesse, no conversation. It’s no different from the johns I went with in the past.

  The hearts and flowers romance I’d been hoping for has been swept right away. I’m a whore, so I follow instruction.

  It’s Truck. This is what I want.

  But not how I want him.

  You got inside his apartment, other’s didn’t.

  But at what personal cost? Christ, I tried to fight it, but I did have dreams of becoming his old lady even though I didn’t admit it in those terms to myself. Old ladies don’t get fucked over couches, or maybe they do, but with some romantic foreplay.

  He stayed out of the light. He doesn’t want me to see him.

  My realisation is confirmed when he says tersely, “Stay like that. Don’t look around. Whatever you do, don’t turn to face me.”

  Why not? Is he badly scarred? It’s the only reason that makes sense. I wouldn’t care.

  Hands, surprisingly gentle, caress my ass, rubbing up and down my thighs. They’re rough, calloused, but the touch is slightly uncertain.

  He pushes my tee up and undoes my bra, then moves his hands under my breasts and palms them.

  “Soft, but firm. Just as I remember.”

  His voice does something to me, and when he tweaks my nipples, I feel myself getting wet, despite my misgivings about the situation.

  He moves one of his hands down, palming my mound. He sighs deeply and warns gruffly, “It’ll be quick, Allie. I haven’t been with a woman since I last had you.”

  My heart leaps. I want to tell him I’ve not been with another man, but I can’t. It would be a lie even though recently I’ve been backing off. What I am, what I do, that’s why I got through that door. Unlike the others who have come calling, I’ve got something he wants. Something he needs. I’m just a sweet butt. He wants to get off and he knows he can use me.

  “Stay there.” His warmth leaves me. I see a shape which appears to be limping, but obeying him, I don’t turn around or watch as he leaves the room, hearing him return quickly. A tearing sound reveals he went to get a condom.

  He’s back, leaning over me, his fingers probing. “Wet for me, you little whore, aren’t you?”

  I’ve longed for sweet nothings to reach my ears, his coarse words are anything but. In my dreams he’d told me he’d missed me. Stupid. Stupid. I put a hand to my face to stifle my sob, wondering if by coming in, staying, and allowing him to use me, I’m validating what he believes I still am. That after he’s got what he wants, I’ll return to the compound and make myself available to any other man. But why should he think any different? That’s what he watched me do every day of that year while he was prospecting. How could he know he spoiled me?

  I feel him probing at my entrance, and can’t prevent myself stiffening.

  “Allie?”

  “I’m okay.” I can do this. I�
�ve done it before with men from visiting chapters. A cock is a cock after all. I wiggle my hips and push back against him. “What are you waiting for?”

  He flicks my clit, then pinches it. “You turned on, Allie?”

  “Of course.” I am, and I’m not. This is for him, not for me. For the first time I’m in this position, I wonder what the hell I’m doing.

  His cock is back, pushing, easing into me. He’s big. Despite my occupation, I’m tight, and it’s hard for him to get all the way inside.

  He’s in. I breathe again, my eyes closing. Enjoy it, Allie. This is what you dreamed of. Being back in Truck’s arms, having him inside you. It’s Truck. The man you wanted.

  “Fuck you feel good, Allie. Fuck, I can’t last.”

  His hips are pumping, his cock sliding in and out of me. One hand toys with my clit.

  “Fuck, so good. It’s been so long,” he gasps hoarsely.

  “Truck,” I cry out. Then purposefully tense my muscles, pushing back as he pushes in. “I’m close, Truck.”

  I’m not. I’m faking it. My mind’s working too hard for my body to relax and enjoy it.

  “You there, Allie? Cos I’m gonna, oh, fuck, I’m coming Allie.”

  He groans. I politely moan. Then, he pulls out, his head resting on my back for a moment.

  “Got to go and get rid of the condom. You can see yourself out. Thanks, Allie, I didn’t know how much I needed that. I wouldn’t object to you or another sweet butt making a house call again. Oh, and tell Drummer, thanks.”

  He leaves me.

  Jerkily, I stand, pull up my underwear and slip my jeans on, feeling like my heart is broken. All my dreams gone. I wait, but he doesn’t come back, even after I hear a toilet flush. I glance at the door. He dismissed me and expects me to leave, just like the whore he knows I am. If I stay, he could be angry. He made it clear he doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t want me to even see him. I’m invading his space, I feel awkward just standing here.

  If I just go, I’ve lost my chance. He invited me back. Maybe next time I’ll achieve more? Or, he might change his mind and never let me inside again.