Truck Stopped: Satan's Devils MC #11

by Manda Mellett

  “I’m angry at the fuckin’ world, Prez.” Why not tell him how it is? “First I lost half my sight, my mobility and my job because of a fuckin’ cat. Then I thought I’d found what I’d been searching for, an old lady of my own. But now, having to watch Allie fade away in front of my eyes? Fuckin’ hurts more than when that fuckin’ tree fell on that house with me inside it. I was trapped then, trapped now. Can’t see a way out, and it’s not even me who’s sufferin’. Wish it was, Prez, fuckin’ wish with everything I’ve got that I could go through this for her. Angry? Yeah, think I’ve got a right to be fuckin’ irate.” I thump my fist down on the table.

  “Not sayin’ you shouldn’t get mad. But people are sick to death of walkin’ on egg shells around you, Truck.”

  That brings me up. Have they been? I think of how I’ve been loving and calm with Allie, then storm down to the clubhouse to let all my frustration out. More than one person has probably been a victim of my barely concealed rage and short temper.

  “Your woman’s sick, Truck, not negating any of that. But you need an outlet, something to help you get your head back into the game. Despite your wishes, Allie’s going to carry on until she gives birth. Ain’t nothing you can do for her, except be there and give her support.”

  What the hell does he think I’ve been doing? “I’m doing that,” I nearly shout.

  In contrast, Drummer’s voice is eerily calm. “Club needs you too, Brother.”

  His words stop me in my tracks. Have I been neglecting the club? My lips purse. I come to church, work a bit at the auto-shop—when I’m not tending to Allie. I… I… “I come to church.”

  “’Bout all you do.”

  Seems I have run out of any credit I might have had. Prez’s observation and thinly veiled criticism has been like a slap around my face. He’s right. I’ve been raging at the world, frustrated I could do nothing to change it.

  “What do you need me to do, Prez?”

  Drummer sighs. “Need you to get your head in the game.” His attention switches from me, and looks around the rest of the members. “We’ve got a problem.”

  Each man sits up a little straighter. Problems affecting the club when introduced in the tone of voice Drummer’s just used tend to be serious. He’s captured my interest. As a firefighter, when prospecting I’d been far removed from all the goings on in the club, but mainly because I’d been trusted to turn a blind eye. You’d have to be stupid not to realise something was up when a man was brought to the compound, never to be seen or heard of again. Drummer may have had me cleaning blood from the storeroom, but as long as he didn’t admit how it had got there and I hadn’t asked questions, we could all ignore what was really going on.

  One of the things that had attracted me to the club was when they had a problem, they dealt with it, dealing their own form of retribution. Since I’d returned and taken my seat around the table, things had been quiet. This is the first time I’ve been drawn into anything resembling one-percenter business. From the expression on Drummer’s face, I’ve no doubt that’s what the aforesaid problem is.

  “Who do you want me to kill?” Blade asks, spinning his knife.

  Drummer takes in a deep breath. When he lets it out, it’s to pronounce, “Wretched Soulz need a favour.”

  The Wretched Soulz are the dominant club in Arizona as well as most of the US. Satan’s Devils exist because they’ve given us a charter. A club who sets up without their permission, or who goes against their wishes are looking at a short lifespan with probably a painful end to it.

  “What kind of favour?” Unlike Blade, who’s perked up, the VP seems more cautious.

  “Escorting a shipment of guns over the border.”

  A collective gasp goes around the table.

  “We got out of that trade years ago,” Bullet observes.

  “At least the guns are going the right way, out of the US,” Heart states. I know he’s frowning as Amy, at just seven years old, has already taken part in active shooter drills at her school. He was complaining about it only yesterday that his poor kid had had nightmares.

  I tend to agree with him. I might carry a gun, but I’d only use it as a last resort. Far too easy for an AK15 to get into the wrong hands, though fuck knows why anyone is driven to randomly shoot at people. Person like that is completely screwed up.

  “Why don’t they do it, Prez?” Peg looks confused. “They’re set up for it, got the routes and everything.

  “Because,” Drummer’s mouth twitches, “they’ve got an outbreak of the flu. Taken down most of the members.”

  “’Flu?” Rock snorts. “A MC brought down by a virus?”

  “Appears that way. Chaz could hardly speak for coughing, and Bull isn’t much better than Truck’s old lady. As far as their members go, most of them are laid up, coming down with it, or recovering.”

  Joker starts laughing, Lady joins in. Soon everyone’s doubled up. It’s just the mental picture of big tough men all laid low.

  Prez waits until the mirth begins to die. “Their road captain and most experienced riders are the worst. Transport will be passing through tomorrow, Chaz wants us to take care of it.”

  “Just an escort?” Joker’s recovered fast. “Need me as Road Captain?”

  “Yeah,” Drummer looks his way. “Volunteers only.”

  “Count me in,” Joker says without hesitation.

  Dollar raises his hand. “Could do with some action. Been boring lately.”

  “I’ll go.” I jerk my chin toward Prez. It’s about time I gave something back to the club who has given so much to me. Drummer raises his head in acknowledgement. Seems that’s what he’d wanted.

  Road, Shooter and Marvel are quick to offer too, quicker, I notice, than men with old ladies.

  “Chaz assures me there’s nothing to it. It’s something they do on a regular basis. Escort the truck to the border and see them safely over it.”

  “You expect us to cross over into Mexico?”

  “Nah.” Prez shakes his head. “But you may need to create a diversion should ICE start looking too closely.”

  “They’re crossing at a border point?”

  “The truck will be full of agricultural equipment spares. Guns hidden under the false floorboard. They’ve used the same crossing point for a while, return with auto parts. They’ve found they’re more likely to get searched on the return journey, so the fake floor gets removed.”

  “So the point of the escort…?”

  Drummer shrugs. “Wretched Soulz protecting their business interest this side of the border. The cartel will pick up escort duties on the other side.”

  Sounds simple enough. I’d still put my hand up to it should there have been more danger involved, but there doesn’t seem to be. Shouldn’t take more than half a day, and I’ll be back visiting Allie in the hospital before she even misses me.

  I begin to perk up. A ride with a legit, well, in the club’s eyes, purpose, and a chance to give back when all I’ve done is to take.

  We go through the details. Joker’s going to be checking the route provided, looking for any likely places that he could see being used for an ambush. He’ll be liaising with his counterpart in the Wretched Soulz—by phone, don’t want any germs brought back to the clubhouse—being a careful type, wants to make sure for himself.

  I know the men around this table have a lot of respect for our road captain, so I am happy to put my safety into his hands. Can’t see much problem, myself. Seems quite cut and dried.

  Our meeting has been topsy-turvy today, we now get back to the business reports. I listen, the tattoo parlour has been up and running for a while, and Blade’s reporting it’s all going well. Rock takes a bit of joking that it’s no thanks to him stealing the funds, he knows he’ll never live that shit down, so doesn’t try.

  “You pleased with your back patch?”

  “I am.” Rock nods to Blade. “Feels fuckin’ good to have my ink back. Fucker did a good job.”

  When it come
s to any other business, Wraith waves his hand. “Sophie’s come up with an idea,” he starts. “This HG thing that Allie has, doesn’t affect all pregnant women thank fuck. It tends to be dismissed as morning sickness by people who don’t understand.”

  I nod. Allie and I had had our fair share of hearing every woman goes through some form of what she is. Fact is, most don’t suffer anywhere near as badly as her. Luckily, everyone here now understands.

  “There’s still a lot of questions about the best treatment, how to prevent it happening, long term effects and so on. Apparently it’s affected a fuckin’ princess in England, so it doesn’t discriminate between rich and poor.”

  I wonder where he’s going with this.

  “Thought we could do something similar like we did for Dart’s lad, Tyler. A charity run to raise funds and awareness. Donate it to an organisation doing research into HG.” He leans forward and nods down the table at me. “Allie might be interested to get involved after the birth.”

  “I think once she’s over it, she might prefer to forget about it.”

  “Doesn’t always work that way though, does it, Brother? She’s going through something traumatic. Doing something to bring it to the fore, help others understand it, might help her to know it was out of her control. Burying it and trying to move on and forget all about it might be worse.” I suppose I’m looking unconvinced, as the VP adds, “It was just a thought.”

  “Fuckin’ good thought too, Brother,” Drummer says. “After this past year, first with Truck being hurt, then Allie suffering so bad, it would be something to bring us all together.”

  “Get Dart back from San D, and Beef and Pal from Pueblo,” Peg suggests. “Bring the whole family together again.”

  Joker smashes his hand on the table. “Fuckin’ good idea. I can start making plans…”

  “Whoa.” I hold up my hands. “We’ve got months to go until Allie’s out of the woods. Let’s not count our chickens too soon.”

  “Allie’s going to be fine,” Drummer says. “Know you’re worried, Truck, as well you should be. But she’s getting good medical attention. Whatever the outcome, I say this is a worthy cause, and we all know how long it takes to make plans. I say let Joker start getting on with what he needs to do.”

  “May would be a good time. Hot, but not too bad if we head for somewhere in the mountains.” Joker clearly has put his thinking cap on. “It will be a push to plan, even if I start now.”

  “June will be too hot, then you’ve got the monsoons July to September. If we don’t plan for then, we’re looking at next autumn.”

  “Fuck,” Drummer acknowledges what Rock is saying. “We haven’t even got Christmas over with yet.

  Apart from the Christmas tree having gone up in the clubroom, I haven’t thought about the season at all. Can’t even think of a gift to buy Allie. I frown. Christmas is only a week away now. Better hurry up if I’m going to get her anything at all.

  Get this job that we’re doing for the Wretched Soulz over with tomorrow, then I’ll give her gift some thought. I won’t go over the top as she won’t have bought me anything, but something to show that I love her and appreciate what she’s doing, even if I’d prefer she was not.

  Hmm. Best get my thinking cap on. Go shopping on the way back from Nogales. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Allie…

  “How are you feeling, Allie?”

  “Dr Cassidy. I didn’t expect to see you.” I press the button to raise the bed so I’m in a sitting position.

  “Didn’t want to drag you all the way to my office, and anyway, I’m making my rounds so thought I’d come see you.” She pulls up a seat. “So, it rather looks like you’re in it for the long haul.”

  “It’s not going to ease off, is it?”

  “You’re coming up on six months now, so no. I think you’re in the small percentage of unlucky ones.”

  “Do I need to do anything different?”

  “Rest, like you’ve been doing. You’ll have to keep coming in to be rehydrated. But we’ll try and keep you at home for Christmas.”

  That they can’t offer anything else isn’t surprising. The season and whether I’m in the clubhouse or here means little to me. I’ve no gift to give Truck, haven’t even had the energy to think about it. I do suspect keeping the hospital as empty as possible is more for the medical staff than for me.

  While I haven’t the energy to do anything, I have been thinking. “My mom suffered from HG with me.”

  “Yes, Truck told me.”

  I bite my lip. “Will my daughter get it too?”

  “There’s no way to tell. Her chances would be increased, yes. But medicine’s moving on all the time, I’m confident we’re heading toward knowing what causes it and how to treat it.”

  I’ve got a ton of questions, but don’t know whether I can ask them. Her sympathetic smile encourages me. “Will I really feel okay after the birth?”

  “Yes. Your sickness will disappear. We don’t know exactly why, but the change in hormone levels has a drastic effect.”

  “Will I be able to breastfeed?”

  “You should be able to. It depends on how you’re feeling.”

  I don’t even know if I want to. It always seemed a bit icky when the women fed their babies in the clubroom, however discreet they were about it. Then, I never expected to have a baby myself, and thought that my boobs were only there as something for men to play with. Not that I objected at all.

  “Time to decide what to do when your milk comes in.”

  I can’t imagine how my body would produce any sustenance to feed a baby. At the moment I don’t feel inclined to feed her myself. I’ve been sustaining this growing baby inside me for so long, it feels like she’s taken enough from me.

  “Will you have help with the baby? I know you’re not close to your mom.”

  I smile. “So much help,” I tell her. “It’s like a big daycare at the compound.”

  “That’s good. You’ll start to recover when the baby is born, but you should understand, it could take up to eighteen months to completely get back to your former self. Pregnancy takes it out of a woman anyway, but add in HG and the effects are much worse. You should be prepared and accept you won’t be able to be a super mom and do everything by yourself.”

  No fear of that. I’ll be handing off this baby as much as possible. I frown slightly. Perhaps I’m more like my mom than I thought.

  She misunderstands my expression. “No harm asking for help when you need it.” She stands. “Any other questions, just ask them, okay?” She pats the bed. “I’ll see you again soon. Hang in there, Allie. You’re getting closer.”

  Her visit, like everything else, has tired me. I doze.

  A noise wakes me. My heightened senses breathe in an odour of leather, but it’s not Truck. My eyes flick open to see the last person I expected. It’s Drummer.

  “Sorry to disturb you, sweetheart.”

  “No worries. It’s hard to find me not asleep.” I say the words, but inside me, a feeling of dread starts to settle. “Where’s Truck?” It’s visiting time, he should be here. The fact he’s not is immediately concerning. And it’s not every day an ex-sweet butt gets a visit in the hospital from the president of the MC. “Is Truck okay?”

  “He’s okay, Allie. But he can’t come to see you.”

  I struggle to sit up. Drummer helps by balancing me against the pillows. “Where is he?”

  Drummer sighs, and rubs his hand over his beard. My unease worsens. “He’s been arrested, Al.”

  “What the hell? Truck? No, why? What’s happening?” Words tumble out and I can’t seem to stop them. “Why, Drummer? What…?”

  “Calm yourself Allie. Wraith’s gone to find out.”

  “What’s Truck done? Where is he?” My man wouldn’t do anything wrong. Arrested? It has to be a mistake.

  “He’s being held in Nogales.”

  At the border?

  �
��Hush, Allie, calm yourself. Worry can’t be good for you or the baby.”

  Reaching for the bowl at my side, I’m sick. Drummer looks concerned, but I’m used to it by now, habituated to the pain wracking through me as my stomach tries to expel everything it holds. My throat’s rough and raw. Vomiting again makes my voice husky.

  But right now I care little about myself. “Tell me everything, Drummer. Why the fuck was Truck at the border?”

  “Club business.”

  My heart drops as I hear the words. I thought the club was out of anything illegal, that they were at the border, suggests I’m wrong. “That’s not enough,” I hiss. “Who was with him?”

  He shakes his head. “No one else was arrested.”

  Truck. My man. In jail. Alone.

  “We’ve got him a lawyer, Al. We’ll get him out of there.”

  “What are the charges?”

  “You’re asking me things I can’t tell you yet, Allie.” Again Drummer’s hands play with his beard, a sign I recognise as him being deep in thought, or searching for the right thing to say. “All I can say is, it seems unrelated to the club or what he went down there for.”

  “What was that Drummer?”

  He knows what my eyes are accusing him of, but all he repeats is, “Club business. Allie, I came to tell you as I know you were expecting to see him today. When he didn’t turn up, I knew you’d be worried.”

  “I’m fucking worried now,” I rasp. Then my emotions do a one-eighty as anger gives way to sorrow. Tears start to fill my eyes as I realise how much of a rock Truck has been. “How can I do this alone?” I sob.

  “Allie, Al.” Drummer moves closer, taking my hand in his. “It may be nothing, hopefully he’ll be released soon. Try not to worry yourself now, it can’t be good for you or the baby.”

  The baby. The thing growing inside me, killing me slowly. If I’d known what was going to happen, I’d have taken the easy way out. It was Truck who’d kept me going. Knowing he’d like a family, I’d been doing this for him, despite his encouragement to have a termination. I know he’d be excited if it wasn’t affecting me so badly.