Truck Stopped: Satan's Devils MC #11

by Manda Mellett

  I notice Peg and Blade are standing close, Slick’s wheeled another bike out, but is giving the others some space.

  Truck limps forward, his shorter leg holding him back, and pauses when he gets to the enforcer and the sergeant-at-arms.

  “I’ve got the bike, Truck. Try getting on from the right if you’re worried about taking your weight on your left.”

  Peg’s smart.

  Nodding, Truck awkwardly throws his left leg over the saddle, and then stands astride. “Keep hold of it, Peg. Let me see if I can get the stand up.”

  Peg nods and places both his hands firmly on the handlebars.

  The stand’s on the left, so Truck can use his good leg to support him.

  He needn’t have worried. He’s now upright, and so is the heavy Harley. Peg raises his hands, but doesn’t move away.

  “Kick the stand up?” Blade suggests.

  “Don’t hurry me,” snaps Truck. No one takes umbrage, they just let him get in the right mental space.

  “Your ankle can’t take it? You might need a brace. We can sort something out,” Peg suggests.

  Truck’s grateful eyes meet those of the sergeant-at-arms and he gives a sharp nod.

  Then, with full responsibility for the big heavy motorcycle, he raises his left leg and uses the calf to kick the stand up.

  I swear Eli looks the same when he opens a present. Truck’s eyes gleam. Then he reverses the process and the bike’s resting on the stand once again.

  “I made the spring as light as I could, same with the clutch.”

  Truck nods to acknowledge Blade’s effort. “Talk me through the gears then.”

  I zone out as Blade complies, my attention caught by some birds in the distance. But I turn back when the engine starts with a roar, then settles down to a burbling rumble. I’m in time to see Peg handing Truck his safety glasses. I’m glad he didn’t forget, having only one eye now, it’s not only a legal requirement, but vital to wear protection.

  Another bike starts. It’s Slick, and I realise he intends to follow Truck to make sure nothing happens. Some of my own nervousness eases.

  “Prospect!” Peg yells. “Open the gate!”

  There’s intense concentration on Truck’s face, his jaw looks locked. Tension creases his forehead as once again he raises the stand. His left hand clenches as he pulls in the clutch, then, thumbs a switch.

  I hold my breath as the bike starts to move.

  It seems to gather speed all too fast. As I gasp, Blade leans in. “Bikes are more unstable at low speed. Truck’s right to open the throttle. That gear changer works well.” The last is addressed to Peg.

  “You tried it out?”

  Blade’s eyes look over accusingly. “Of course I did.”

  “Hey!”

  The last is shouted at me as I race to the weeds growing by the fence and am violently sick.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Truck…

  I’m riding my bike.

  I feel like a kid the first time he has the training wheels taken off. It’s like every good thing that’s happened to me in my life is represented in this one moment, as I zoom out of the gate and down the track leading to the main road. I’d love to open the throttle and go on for miles, but know that isn’t the sensible thing to do. Already I can feel my left ankle protesting at having to hold the unfamiliar position on the foot peg. It goes through my mind that some sort of stirrup could hold it in place and might help, especially on a long journey. I’d just have to be able to easily slip my foot in and out of it, but that shouldn’t be an issue.

  Indicating my intention to Slick, I sweep around wide at the end of the track, and all too soon am heading up the other way. I feel as triumphant as though I’ve conquered the world. The horror of my accident, the image of my death hovering in front of me, the fear of being disabled, the dread of living with my scars, all fades.

  I’m riding my bike.

  What more could I want?

  I’ve got Allie, my vision is improving every day, and now, to top it all, I can ride again. I practice the gear changes. They seem smooth as silk, and not as hard to get used to as I feared. No extra strain on my left arm at all.

  The open gate is in front of me. I ride straight through, stopping next to Blade and Peg, then throw a nod of appreciation to Slick who’s already wheeling his bike back into the shop.

  Where’s Allie?

  I kick down the stand and leave my bike where it is, not wanting to try to manoeuvre it around just yet, knowing Blade will take care of parking it for me, then scan, trying to find the one person I want to share my triumph with.

  “Allie’s not well,” Blade explains. “She’s sick. Over there.” He points to a hunched over figure. “I did try and help, but I think the poor girl’s embarrassed and wants to be left alone.”

  Sick?

  Blade raises his chin and jerks his head. I leave my bike in his hands, and go over to see her.

  She jumps as my hand lands gently on her back.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Truck. Must be something I ate.”

  “Let’s get you back to the suite.”

  I can’t remember seeing Allie poorly before, but I suspect she’s right. Something she’s consumed has disagreed with her. Have to admit I’m still on a high from being back on my bike, and most of my mind is on that and not her.

  We just about make it back to the suite when she disappears into the bathroom again. I try to tune out the retching sounds—who likes to hear someone else being sick?—and go back over the short ride in my head.

  I hadn’t gone far, but my eyesight hadn’t given me any problems at all. In fact, I’d found it easier than being in a car. The mirrors helped me see to each side, and I’m used to doing lifesavers, turning my head to the side to check before pulling out or in. Yeah, it might only have been Slick in my rear view, but I’d used the brief time not just to feel how I was able to cope with the gear changes, but checking my ability to see.

  I can’t stop myself grinning widely. Sure, I still need time to adjust, but I think I’m going to crack it.

  Reaching down I rub my ankle. Have to sort out that stirrup contraption, that would definitely help.

  “Did you overdo it, Truck?”

  Allie’s leaning against the bathroom door.

  “Nah. I did good babe.” I take in the paleness of her face. “You alright now, hon?”

  Her hand covers her stomach. “I’m not sure.”

  “Want me to get you anything?”

  Grimacing, she shakes her head. “No, nothing. I just want to lie down and try and sleep whatever this is, off. Why don’t you go down to the clubhouse? You could make my excuses for me, somehow I don’t think I’ll be minding the bar later.”

  “You want to be alone?”

  Her sad nod says yes. I don’t blame her. I don’t particularly want company when I’m spewing my guts up either.

  “Come, let’s get you settled.”

  I take her hand and lead her to the bed. I pull her tee over her head and remove her bra, for the first time ever, allowing only my gaze to feast on what I’m revealing, ignoring the urge to touch. Even though my head’s not in the game, my cock twitches. Soon, boy. Soon. Got to get Allie feeling better first.

  I pull back the sheet and she slides under it. I notice how small she looks lying on her own in my big bed which we’ve shared since the night of our date at the Wheel Inn, and feel a moment of guilt for my intention to leave her. But that’s what she wants, and I’m sure rest will help. As for me, I can use the time to celebrate my ride with my brothers who’ll understand my excitement. Still, should she be left alone?

  She anticipates my protest. “Go Truck, I’d rather just sleep.”

  “Call me if you need anything. Anything at all, Al.” I find her phone and place it next to the bed.

  When she gives a feeble nod, I pull the curtains to shade the room, then, with a kiss to her forehead, leave her in peace.

  �
��How’s Allie?” Blade tosses me a look of concern as I walk into the clubhouse.

  “Sick,” I respond. “But I think she’ll live. Just fuckin’ miserable puking all the time.”

  “Yeah,” he agrees with feeling.

  “Allie not well?” Sam overhears.

  “Upset stomach,” I explain.

  Like Blade, her face fills with sympathy. “She want anything, Truck?”

  “Nah, she’s trying to sleep it off. I’ll check in on her later.”

  The girls have made sandwiches for lunch. Grabbing a beer to go with mine, I sit at a table with Blade and Peg, and dissect my ride. A stirrup contraption would be fairly easy to apply, Blade promises to sort something out. I leave it to him. He’s the expert with motorcycles.

  I have a chat with the prospects, tell them to make sure one of the sweet butts takes Allie’s shift at the bar, then, go back to check on my woman.

  When I return to the suite, Allie is dozing, so I leave her to it. I’m no doctor but know enough to believe, if she’s unwell, that will do her the most good.

  “Hey, Truck,” Drummer booms as I re-enter the clubhouse. “Hear you’re back on your fuckin’ bike, man. It went well?”

  Seeing Blade standing behind him, he already knows that it did. “Fuckin’ great, Prez.”

  “Told you you’d be riding again,” he says with a smirk.

  “That you did.” I grin back, unconcerned he’s gloating.

  It seems everyone wants to be told individually how I found and coped with my short ride out this morning. You’d think I’d been on a marathon journey with the interest each of them showed. I’m glowing with pleasure and pride in myself, not at all put out repeating how it went time after time. These are my brothers and each understands exactly how I’m feeling, having never expected to watch the pavement whirling past under my wheels ever again.

  Allie’s awake next time I return, she’s got a half-drunk bottle of water beside her.

  “How are you feeling?” I go to sit next to her on the bed.

  She’s not one to complain, so when she does, I know it must be bad. “Awful, Truck. I can’t even keep water down.”

  “Does your head hurt? Are you just sick, or…”?

  “Just sick, Truck. I haven’t got diarrhoea.”

  Her voice sounds weak, and slightly hoarse as if it belongs to someone else. I place my hand on her forehead, it’s clammy, but not hot. When I pull it away, she takes it in hers.

  “I’m sorry, Truck. Didn’t mean to put a damper on your success today. I was so proud of you riding that bike, then this came over me.”

  “Hey, darlin’. You can’t help being ill. I’ve asked around, everyone else is alright. Perhaps you ate something you’re allergic to.”

  Her brow creases, then she replies, “Can’t think what. I didn’t have anything different than normal. Look Truck,” she adds, “I’m going to sleep in my own room tonight.”

  What? I rear back, her suggestion taking me by surprise. She’d basically moved into mine since the night we’d returned from the Wheel Inn, moving not only herself but her clothes in. Have to admit I get a certain satisfaction seeing her dresses hanging next to my shirts. My first impulse is to tell her sick or well, I want her by my side, then I realise it’s her comfort that’s important.

  “Al, if you’re doing it for you, go ahead. But I’m in this, the good and the bad. I’d rather you were here with me so I can get you anything you need. But if I’m going to disturb you, then do what you think is best.”

  “I’ll only be next door, Truck.”

  Sure. I only have to open my door, take one step over to hers, and she’ll be there. But as I lay awake and restless alone in my bed later that night, she could be a whole continent away and I couldn’t miss her more. I’ve gotten so used to her warmth by my side, her arms and legs draped over me, those sweet little snuffles that come from her during the night, not full on snores, but a sort of feminine version.

  It doesn’t help that I can’t switch my brain off. I’m convinced nothing’s seriously wrong with Allie, so part of my head is reliving this morning’s ride. Alone in my bed I grin like a loon, then frown. I’d wanted to celebrate with her. Something hits me in the dead of the night, I want, need to share everything with my old lady. Our successes, our failures, and everything in between.

  I’m woken by my door opening. Wiping sleep from my eyes, I prop myself up on my elbows.

  “You good?”

  “I’m good.” Her voice has more strength to it. “Starving though.”

  “Wanna go get breakfast?”

  She nods so eagerly I chuckle. “Okay. Give me five minutes to run through the shower and dress.”

  “Make it quick, Truck.”

  She looks so adorable, if it wasn’t for the fact I can hear her stomach rumble, I’d ask her to join me in the shower. But time enough for that later, after she’s been fed.

  Sophie’s in the kitchen. She’s plating up bacon and eggs for her man. Olly is also sitting at the table with scrambled eggs in front of her, Wraith’s got Zoey on his lap. A content family scene if ever I saw one. For a second, I’m disappointed that won’t be in my future, until the baby starts screaming. Then I decide I’m quite happy with things as they are.

  Glancing up when we walk in, Sophie throws Allie a look of sympathy.

  “Heard you were ill. Are you feeling better?”

  “I’m good, Soph. I’m hungry now.” But she eyes the eggs and bacon warily. “I think I’ll just have some toast to start with.”

  “You sit down,” Soph interrupts as Allie goes toward the bread. “I’ll do it for you. I suppose you want the full deal, Truck?”

  “Yeah, babe. Thanks.”

  “Don’t you ‘babe’ my old lady,” Wraith warns, pointing a fork my way.

  I laugh, as I’m intended to.

  “Coffee?” Sophie waves the pot toward me.

  I nod, Allie shudders. “I think I’ll stick to orange juice today.”

  “I’ll get it.” I stand, go to the fridge and get some out for her.

  As she starts to drink it and Sophie puts some buttered toast in front of her, I ask, “What do you feel up to doing today?”

  But I’ve barely got the question out when she gets up and flees the room with her hand over her mouth.

  “She’s not better,” Sophie observes.

  “Maybe it’s the flu?” suggests Wraith.

  Maybe.

  I hate seeing Allie ill. I know she hates being sick, who doesn’t? One minute she feels okay, the next she’s heaving over a toilet bowl. I’m unable to help. It’s frustrating to be faced with a problem I can’t deal with.

  That first day I just gave her time to herself, to rest and get well. By the second I start to get more concerned. She still can’t keep anything down, not even water. As soon as she puts something in her mouth, she brings it back up. In between, she’s sick for no reason.

  “Is she any better?”

  “No, Sam. She’s not. She’s worse. She hasn’t eaten or drank anything for three days now. She’s feeling like death. I don’t understand it. She’s got no other symptoms and no temperature that I can tell.”

  “Truck,” Sam eases herself onto the stool beside me. “Could she be pregnant?”

  Pregnant? Her stark question pulls me up. “Were you like this?”

  “Not this bad. I was just sick in the evenings. Huh. Morning sickness is a misnomer. But I just wondered.” She bumps my arm. “You have been going at it. I hear you when I’m walking up to the house.”

  Should I be embarrassed? It’s probably not just her who’s heard me fucking my old lady. Am I? Uh uh. Not fucking likely.

  “I always glove up, Sam. It’s impossible.”

  “If it goes on, you’ll need to take her to see a doctor. A body can’t survive without sustenance of some sort. Have you thought about those nourishment drinks?”

  “I have, and dismissed it. If she can’t even drink water…”

>   Sam shakes her head sadly, then says, “Wouldn’t hurt for her to do a pregnancy test. I’ve got a spare one if you want.”

  Pregnant? No, definitely not. We’ve both been so careful as we’d agreed not to have kids.

  “No, Sam. That’s okay. She’s not.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Allie…

  If I were to make a list of my least favourite things to do, vomiting would be close to, if not at, the very top.

  My stomach feels empty, but that doesn’t stop it from trying to get rid of what it thinks is in it. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve had to run to the bathroom today. I don’t know what’s worse, dry heaving as there’s nothing more to bring up, or spewing out the little sips of water I’ve been brave enough to sample.

  I hate the constant taste of bile in my mouth, the dryness around my lips, and the rawness of my throat. Already, I feel dehydrated.

  How long is this going to go on for?

  One minute I feel right as rain and hungry, the next, whether I eat or not, I’m bowing my head over the toilet bowl once again.

  My best decision had been to move back into my suite. Truck has no idea how often I’m being ill, he’d only worry more if he did.

  I didn’t go down to the clubhouse at all yesterday, not that it helped much. I’ve become hyper-sensitive to smells around me. A whiff of coffee is guaranteed to make me immediately throw up, and just breathing in stale beer and whiskey is almost as bad. Even if I could stay the few minutes to pour a drink, I wouldn’t be able to stand the smell anyway, which means I can’t do my job.

  As for sex? In the moments in between, I want to feel the arms of my man around me and his cock inside me. But what man wants a woman to run off in the middle of making love?

  I must get better soon.

  This is driving me crazy.

  I can’t remember ever being ill like this.

  There’s a knock at my door. Truck would just come right in after alerting me he was there. That the door doesn’t open suggests it’s not him. I reach out for my robe and put it on before going to see who it is.

  “Hey.”