Stormy's Thunder: Satan's Devils MC Utah

by Manda Mellett

  Satan’s Devils MC - Utah Chapter #2

  Contents

  Production Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  Other Works by Manda Mellett

  Acknowledgments & Author’s Note

  Stay in Touch

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Published 2021 by Trish Haill Associates

  Copyright © Manda Mellett

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book reviews.

  www.mandamellett.com

  Disclaimer

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Warning

  This book is dark in places and contains content of a sexual, abusive and violent nature. It may not be suitable for persons under the age of 18.

  Production Acknowledgments

  Cover Design by Wicked Smart Designs

  Edited and formatted by Maggie Kern @ Ms.K Edits

  Proof reading by Melanie Darrow

  Photographer: Golden Czermak of Furious Fotog

  Model: Nick Bennett

  1

  Swift…

  “If you two are getting down to fuck, will you get a fuckin’ room?” Bolt sneers good humouredly as he walks into the clubroom, his eyes rolling as he catches my eye.

  Lying relaxed on my man’s lap, my cheek resting against his chest, I’m too lazy to do much more than give Bolt a two-fingered salute.

  “Are you claiming victory or giving him the equivalent of a finger,” Honor asks, his brow furrowed. “I can never tell.”

  It’s my turn to roll my eyes. Yeah, I’m bilingual when it comes to non-verbal swearing, as they well know. Being from the UK, I’m more used to the British version, honed to a fine art during my military days.

  The altercation has attracted attention. Duty, passing a beer to Honor, stares and shakes his head. “Never thought I’d see the day when you went soft, Swift.”

  There’s nothing about me that’s soft, as well he knows. His comment causes me to growl. “Want to find out just how fuckin’ soft I am?”

  “I’m not soft.” Road’s chest vibrates beneath me. “And definitely won’t be unless you stop wriggling.”

  “Jeez, they are going to start going at it in a moment.”

  Now Piston gets a V sign with my palm facing inward directed toward him. Just in case he doesn’t understand it, I jerk my middle finger toward him as well.

  Road chuckles. Lazily, I remind him, “If we hadn’t had patched you in, I was going to ask Prez to make you a sweet butt.”

  “Ah, but you’d have been the only one to use me, so I doubt I’d have had a problem with that.” His lips curve at the corners. “Fact is, I’d probably enjoy it. Nothing to do but lie around waiting on your command.”

  “Don’t be too certain,” Preacher, the sergeant-at-arms, drawls lazily. “Any port in a storm and all that. Sweet butts can’t refuse a patched member.”

  “You want my ass?” Road snorts.

  Preacher grins widely. “Nah. Not me, Brother, but last week at the party, I saw the way Grinch was looking at you. He did seem quite focused on your backside.”

  Unfortunately, I’d just taken a mouthful of beer and now it spits out of my mouth, all over me and the body I’m lying on. Bolt chucks over a box of tissues and we take a few moments wiping the mess up. I take the opportunity of rolling my arse over my man’s cock as I do.

  He winces and grabs me tighter. “Vixen,” he says into my ear. “You’re going to pay for that.”

  I hope I do. One thing my old man’s certainly got going for him is how he can use his cock. Mmm mmm. I think it’s almost time we call it a night and go back to our room. He’s definitely hard and my knickers are definitely on the damp side. Glancing over my shoulder, I see him grinning at me and smirking. It’s hard to know why I held out for so long, kidding myself I wasn’t attracted to him. I’d been so wrong. Road’s my soulmate, the other half of me. We’ve now been together for two months, and our relationship is only growing stronger.

  A paw at my leg tries to get my attention. “Someone’s feeling neglected.” Grinning, I stretch out my hand, stroking the head of App, my hearing dog, gently pulling at his silky ears. Road and App. They’ve both brought something into my life. I realise I’ve become more relaxed since they’ve been around. They’ve brought out a side of me that’s human. It’s not gone unnoticed. Glancing around at my brothers, I know that I’m really accepted and no longer feel the need to prove myself. They’re happy to take me as I am. Maybe they always did, but I hadn’t allowed myself to see it. I can be a woman in love and still be a badass.

  “Will you get me another drink, babe?” Road asks. “I’d get it myself, but you’re weighing me down.” He winks.

  I’m too comfortable where I am, and there’s an easier way to get the job done without me moving. “Prospect,” I yell. “Two beers.”

  “Coming right up,” Gears calls back.

  He’ll be quick about it too, if he wants to patch in. I watch as he hurriedly snaps the tops off two bottles, and comes across the room at a run with one in each hand. It won’t be long until he’s joining us around the table, but as a good prospect, he’s showing no impatience or signs he’s getting fed up with being at our beck and call while he’s waiting.

  I’m stretching out the three remaining fingers of my right hand ready to receive mine, the beer tantalisingly within reach when there’s a loud roar of an engine, then a crash which shakes the clubroom. Instead of landing in my grasp, the bottle slips from Gears’ hand.

  “What the fuck?” Thor, the VP roars, already on his feet.

  I’ve gone from prone to upright in one second flat. Road, just as fast, is on his feet behind me, his gun already in his hand. Thor waves us on ahead to the stairwell as we’re closest to the door and already in motion. I slide my own weapon out. Behind us there’s a thundering of feet, as well as the whirr of the elevator moving. Before I exit the door, a glance shows Thor’s got everything in order as he makes quick hand signals choosing Gears, Piston and Rascal to stay back. Immediately they take up positions ready to take out any visitors who shouldn’t be here, while the rest follow Road and me down the stairs.

  Flying down them two at a time, I’m in the lead as we enter the reception area.
Immediately I note Brute, who should be manning the desk, is nowhere to be seen. Holding my weapon in the ready-to-fire position, I scan the area, but see nothing or anybody.

  “What you got?” Thor hisses with one hand on the bannister as he jumps the final few steps.

  “Here!” Brute calls from outside the building. “Need help!”

  Suspicious, expecting a trap, I call back, “Stat report?”

  “You need to fuckin’ see this,” he replies fast in a tense voice.

  I glance at Road, who raises his chin back. Like me, he’s assessed Brute’s not acting as if he is in any danger, instead his tone sounds incredulous.

  Still prepared to be wrong, I signal my instruction to Road, and Thor, who’s now beside him, to cover me as I go to the door. I ease my way through the turnstile-like affair, turning sideways to make myself less of a target.

  Once outside, my eyes scan right and left, then to the front again as I check the perimeter until I assess there’s no visible threat. I let my gaze fall on the prospect crouched next to something on the ground.

  What the fuck?

  Brute is kneeling next to a motorcycle that’s obviously crashed into the building, lying on its side with the front wheel still turning. There, prone on the ground beside it is the person who must have been riding it. Brute glances up, relief flooding over his face as he sees help has arrived.

  Still holding my pistol at the ready, I sink into a crouch. When I feel a tap on my shoulder, I look up to find Thor giving me a sharp nod. Jerking my head, I see the brothers are piling out of the building and taking defensive positions. Knowing they’re surrounding me, I holster my gun.

  “What you got?” I ask the prospect.

  “I don’t know if he’s fuckin’ breathing.” Brute’s hands are hovering over the body as if he doesn’t know what to touch.

  “Let me look,” I direct, and the prospect slides out of the way.

  From behind and above, I hear Thor snap out instructions, “Check the perimeter, make sure he’s alone. Bolt, check the bike for explosives.” I’m not the only one thinking the injured man could be a distraction.

  Is he playing possum?

  Knowing Thor will have my back if he is, I lean forward and place my fingers to the pulse in the neck of the man who’s so still. I’m not surprised that Brute thinks he could be dead. As I feel the very faint beat, I know he’s still alive, but possibly not for much longer. The pulse is weak, bradycardic. Still measuring the beats, I examine the body. It’s twisted, broken. Some of it no doubt from the crash, but with my expert eyes I see there are too many injuries to have only just happened. In the light spilling out from the clubhouse behind, it’s clear some of the bruises on the man’s face are yellowing. His jaw is swollen, and one eye’s firmly shut, the other only just open and blood’s obscuring his features. This man has been badly beaten.

  “Bike’s clean.” Bolt reassures me we’re not at risk of being blown up in an explosion. “He breathing?”

  “Barely.”

  “Need a bus?”

  I make another assessment. Could we call in our friendly doc and have him check over the intruder? It’s apparent that the answer is no, this man’s hanging onto life by a thread. “Yeah.” If any man ever did, this one needs serious medical attention. That’s if we want to keep him alive and find out what the hell has disturbed our evening.

  Is he a messenger bringing something to tell us, or, maybe, he’s the message itself? But he’s not one of us, though I only know that because we’re all present and accounted for. This man is a stranger. With his facial injuries and his body lying so crooked, it’s hard to tell if he’s tall or short. Even if I’d met him before, I’d have difficulty making an identification.

  “Recognise him?” Thor asks, sinking to his haunches by my side with his knees cracking nosily. He certainly does not, as he starts searching gingerly through his pockets. He brings out a driver’s licence.

  The denial I was about to voice fades from my lips when something catches my eye. My breath hitches and reaching out, I peel back the collar of the injured man’s jacket, recognising a jagged lightning tat. “God-fucking-dammit. It’s fucking Stormy!”

  “You sure?” Thor sounds incredulous as he rocks back. “Stormy?”

  “I’m sure. See that tat? That’s his.”

  “Jesus H Christ.”

  “Stormy?” Bolt roars. “He dead or dying?”

  I stand. Honestly, if I was going to try to do anything like stem the blood flow, I’d be hard pressed to know where to start. As it is, my own hands are already bloody. I wipe them off on my jeans. “Almost the first, probably the last,” I reply.

  “You think we should move him?” Preacher asks, looking dubiously down at the body.

  “Nah.” Thor rises to his feet. “He’s smashed up pretty bad. We’ll wait for the paramedics to get here.” He glares down. “If we want to find out what the fuck’s going on, we’ll just have to hope they can patch him up and get him talking.”

  The way Stormy’s looking though, I wouldn’t waste betting any money he’s going to make it.

  The VP glances down at the licence he holds in his hand. “He’s travelling undercover. This says he’s Jeremiah Briggs.”

  “Stolen?” Prez having just arrived, steps up and asks. “Are you certain,” he glances dubiously down at the body, “that it’s really him?”

  “Nah, not stolen. And yeah, it’s Stormy. The photo is of him.” Thor hands it to Snatcher. “It’s a good fake.”

  Fuck it, Stormy. Why come back like this? One thing I don’t like is mysteries, well, when I can’t solve them that is. If he dies right here and now, I doubt we’ll ever get to the bottom of where he’s been or who beat him so badly. Two months ago he’d walked out on the club, leaving his cut behind. We’ve been searching since then and have never found the hint of a trail leading to him.

  Everyone is here now, all standing around. Rascal kneels, but makes the same assessment as I did. We might know first aid, but fuck, where do we start with a man injured within an inch of his life? Blood is flowing from multiple wounds and staining the concrete.

  I roll my neck back. Catching Road’s eye, I shake my head. Why did this have to happen, and how?

  Stormy’s never been a favourite of mine. Most of the time when he was here, I ignored him, and it’s safe to say there were more than a few times I actively hated him. Though he is, was a brother, I’d have given my life for his, but in his case, I wouldn’t have done so gladly. Stormy was an objectionable ass. There had been nothing, in my view, to redeem him.

  He nearly lost the club its charter.

  Accepting there’s nothing I can do now, I go to Road and lean into him, feeling his arm come supportively around me, while in my head I go back in time to that meeting with Drummer, the prez of the mother chapter of the Satan’s Devils, and three other prezes of the club. Of course it sticks in my memory, it was also the meeting where it was accepted that I, as a female of exceptional calibre, would be allowed to be a full member. It had been touch and go at first. I’d spent a soul-destroying half-hour thinking I was going to be kicked out.

  I’d then been relieved that it had been decided Stormy’s crimes were all his and not sanctioned by the Utah chapter. His punishment? Well, that might have been my suggestion. I thought he deserved to be hit where it hurts. Drummer had quickly agreed to my proposal. Stormy was to be busted back down to prospect for six months and was to receive a beatdown. But instead of waiting to take his punishment for the wrongs he had done to the Satan’s Devils, Stormy had run. In doing so, he’d committed the major offence of disrespecting his cut and leaving it behind.

  As enforcer, I’d wanted him dead. Such disregard to his brothers could mean he was a danger to the club. But others were more understanding and prepared to give him space and time to get his head around his sentence. They were convinced that he’d return and do his penance like a man.

  However, as days, then weeks passed with no s
ign, those periods of seven days had all added up until finally they became a month, and that quickly became two. We had to face that we’d harboured a coward within our ranks.

  Of course we’d tried to locate him, but even with all the technical skills at our disposal, no trace of him could be found. I’d started to side with those who thought him dead already, his bike run off the road, his body waiting to be discovered.

  Bolt held out that he’d left the country.

  Stormy might have been gone, his absence an embarrassment to the club, but that wasn’t all. The Utah chapter itself was on probation, and that we failed to locate one of our own was met with suspicion. Snatcher, our prez, had had his work cut out convincing Drummer we weren’t lying, and we weren’t giving shelter to a man who disrespected the Satan’s Devils’ patch.

  Goddamn it, Stormy. You’ve got to wake up and give us answers, or else Drummer could dissolve our chapter.

  As I tense, Road tightens his arms around me.

  The sound of distant sirens pulls me out of my reverie. It spurs Pip to step forward. Until two months back, he was our prez, now he’s just a consultant. But he’s as sharp as a tack. When he speaks, we listen.

  “Snatch,” he puts his hand on Prez’s arm, “buy us some time. He’s got ID, go with that. No one needs to know he’s back until we know what we’re dealing with.”