Stormy's Thunder: Satan's Devils MC Utah

by Manda Mellett

  “I don’t play well with others,” I growl.

  “Too fuckin’ bad. You’re going to get your ass home.”

  I slam down the phone.

  I could walk away. Carry on doing what I can. I don’t need anyone, let alone the Utah club.

  You wouldn’t even have Pip.

  Would that bother me? Hell no. I can survive on my own. I’ve been doing it for four years.

  I could go anywhere.

  It’s strange, but it’s only when you’re cast adrift that you start to analyse yourself.

  I’m a man used to following orders. I like being able to complete missions in the way that I want, but I also like to have direction. Not having Pip? Becoming nothing more than a mercenary doesn’t sound attractive at all. For a start, I’d have to start charging for my services, which would mean emerging from the shadows. I wouldn’t have the resources of the Utah club which I tap into. Of course, I could get my own setup, but that takes time, money, and a base.

  Slowly, I realise I’m fucked.

  I’m angry. Why did Pip have to call me back? Why did he have to upset what I’ve become used to. I am a loner, I’d told the truth. I no longer see myself as a member of a team.

  Lying back on the bed in my hotel room, I start to come up with a plan. I’ll return to Utah, make myself as obnoxious as possible. Or, in the darkness my lips curve, in other words, be myself. It won’t be long before I’m sent back out.

  My opportunity to show my true self comes as soon as I step into the Utah club. Though I’d been gone three years, the building’s the same, and Bolt has been patched in which wasn’t unexpected. There are three new prospects in various stages of completing their time, Gears, Brute and Igor. But the new fully patched member? Well, she took me by surprise and not a pleasant one at that.

  I thought the club had started taking in sweet butts when I first saw her. My dick perked up—she was a good-looking bitch, an athletic figure without any softness or noticeable curves, but hell, I could put up with that. But when she turned, she showed me the patches on the back of her cut.

  For a moment, I didn’t breathe, rubbing my eyes and checking my eyesight, but when I looked back, she was still wearing our colours. A full member? Fuck no. Not on my fucking watch.

  I’m greeted warmly, given back slaps galore, but I’ve only one thought on my mind, how fast I can get her on her back. Either in bed, or laid out, I don’t much care which. I’ll show them they’ve lost their fucking minds.

  “You think you can wear that patch, little girl?” I make a beeline for her. “Well, I’m back. And I ain’t soft, not like my fuckin’ brothers.” I turn my head, letting them all see my glare.

  She eyes me up and down, and sneers. “Well, little boy, whatcha planning on doing about it?”

  “I’ll put you in your fuckin’ place.”

  “Storm—”

  “Fuck off, Pip. This is between me and…” I toss her a look dripping with disdain. “Her.”

  “Hold my beer.” She turns and passes her drink to Bolt. “Don’t drink any, this won’t take long.”

  No it fucking won’t… Fuck! How the fuck did I get here?

  I’m lying on my back, my jaw pounding with pain, and as for my stomach… My lungs don’t work. When I at last manage a gasp of breath, I open my eyes, looking up suspiciously, wondering if Thor has taken her place, but all I see is the woman calmly taking her beer back from Bolt. She hasn’t even broken a sweat.

  She glances down at me with complete disinterest. “The name’s Swift. I’d say nice to meet you, but somehow I can’t.”

  She’d taken me by surprise, that’s all. Next time, she won’t. Accepting Preacher’s hand, I let him pull me to my feet. I point to my eyes, then to hers. “You and I aren’t finished, doll.”

  “Stormy,” Pip growls, “Swift…”

  This time I’m ready, but my God, this woman’s got moves. I hold my own for about five seconds, successfully evading her blows, but not landing any of my own. It’s not chivalry or that I’m programmed not to hit a woman. Well, I am, but not when it’s her. The only result is that I’m on the floor yet again.

  Fuck.

  “I tried warning you,” Pip says casually.

  From that point on it’s war. I hate her. Women have no place in an MC, and I’ll make it my job to persuade her of that particular truth.

  I must be tired, out of practice. I’ve hidden behind my rifle for too long. One good thing about returning to the club, there’s always someone willing to spar. A few bouts in the ring with Thor will sort me out. Next time, I’ll take her.

  I’d love to say I settle back into the old routine, but I don’t. I’d love to say I find my place back around the table, but everything about the club irritates me. I don’t want to be here.

  I don’t want to let them back in.

  No, that’s not it.

  You’d have people you care about who you could lose.

  No, I won’t. Caring about people only brings hurt.

  I hate being here. Surely, it’s only a matter of time until Pip comes to his senses and realises I’m a more productive member of the club if I’m out on the road on my own. The Utah patch hangs heavy on my cut. I long to replace it with Nomad once more.

  Only a matter of time.

  I’m still waiting when a stranger turns up at the club, bold as brass walking straight into church, interrupting our meeting. He’s from the mother chapter in Tucson, and it’s blindingly obvious he’s been sent here to spy on the Utah club.

  While I don’t want to be based at the clubhouse, I’m proud of my patch with the Utah rocker. If the club loses its Satan’s Devils’ charter, which we will, if Drummer, the prez of the mother chapter, finds out how we actually run this club, I’ll be stuffed along with my brothers. Easiest solution? Kill the fucker, stop any leaks stone dead. We wouldn’t even get blamed. Roadrunner came here alone. Everyone knows men riding without company are prone to meet accidents on the road. Very prone. The thought makes me grin.

  My preferred way out is obviously shared, but I’m probably the one who’s most vocal. I’m also in the minority.

  To my disgust, the conversation proceeds in a different direction. Why are they even discussing bringing him into the club? Roadrunner’s got nothing to offer—he has no military experience—all he fucking knows is how to ride a bike. It’s clear as the fucking nose on your face, he’ll never fit in here. But I’ve said my piece. All I can do is listen and watch as they make a mess of things.

  What comes next makes me snort a laugh—perhaps it’s a good punishment of a sort. They’ve teamed him up with Swift. Good luck with that. He might keep his life, but his balls are in serious danger. Roadrunner’s not going to make the grade in this chapter, and Swift won’t take prisoners. Maybe Road has been given a death sentence. I’ll just wait for the fireworks, it should be a good laugh.

  But it turns out no one finds anything amusing when Swift gets kidnapped. Hell, I might hate the bitch, but however I feel about it, she wears our patch. And would you fucking believe it? It’s actually Road that ends up rescuing her. She’s soon back, not undamaged as she’s missing a fucking finger, but she’s still breathing. It could have been worse.

  What’s more surprising, instead of seeing Road as an imposter, someone who shouldn’t have stepped foot in the club, they’ve done more than team up together. He’s tamed the bitch, or maybe she’s tamed him. Whatever, quickly they pass the friendship stage and become lovers.

  This club is fucked up. Who needs members fondling each other at the table?

  Jesus H Christ.

  “Pip?” I walk into his office. “This isn’t fuckin’ working. I need my nomad patch back.” Before I go stark raving mad.

  “Not getting it.” He doesn’t even look up, just continues shuffling some paperwork on his desk.

  “Prez—”

  “Stormy! I said fuckin’ no.” This time he does shift his attention. “I need you close. I can’t afford t
o have you—” He breaks off. His eyes shoot to the door, aware, just as I’ve become myself, of a commotion outside. “What the fuck?”

  When he stands, I’m right there with him.

  When he comes to an abrupt halt, I’m there sucking in air beside him.

  I might never have met the man, but have no problem immediately recognising who our visitor is. I know it’s bad fucking news, and exactly what Pip had been trying to avoid. Drummer, the mother chapter fucking prez, and his top team have come all the way from Tucson.

  Immediately I suspect Road, but apparently he did nothing to warn him, but given Drummer’s renowned sixth sense, it was that non-warning which caused an alert all was not right in the Utah club. Not right for Drummer that is, perfect for us.

  It’s not just Drummer we have to worry about, he summons the prezes of the other Satan’s Devils chapters—Red, from Vegas, Lost from San Diego and Demon from Colorado. Our fate is to be discussed and decided. Fuck. Two out of the four will have no reason to love me when what I’ve done comes to light.

  As Pip had thought and I’d dismissed because as always, I knew better, I fucked up by taking the hits from San Diego and Colorado.

  Just like all those years back at the admiral’s mast, I’m going to be busted out of the life that I love. I might not want to sit around the table with the club members, but losing my patch? Not even being nomad? How can I live with that?

  Should I sacrifice myself? Give up my patch to save my brothers? Or, hang on for the course. I decide to wait and see what transpires in one of the most serious meetings I’ve ever attended in my life. The admiral’s mast was easy compared to this.

  I sit, my whole body tense, wondering whether I’ll be able to justify myself.

  The first item on the agenda is Swift. I almost feel sorry for her. I might not like her, but it’s clear she’s found something here she was looking for, and I don’t mean her relationship with Road. Like me, though more honourably, she lost her military career, but discovered her place here. Now she’s going to lose it. If I can’t save myself, maybe I can put in a word for her.

  I try to speak, but Thor gets in first with his fist to my stomach. I wait a moment before I attempt it again. Leaning away from the enforcer, I open my mouth. I almost surprise myself with the words that come out.

  “Swift is as good, if not better, than any fuckin’ man around this table. Me fuckin’ included. I have no problem riding beside her. Hell, half the time I forget she’s any different to anyone else.” I might not have said that a few days ago, but she’s impressed me. Maybe it was how she dealt with being kidnapped.

  They toss it around for a while, and the outcome is, Swift stays in the club. If it wasn’t against my character, I’d give her a thumbs up.

  Pip, though, he’s not so lucky. He is the reason the club keeps what it does under wraps, and what seals the deal against him? Well, though he’s well balanced on his prosthetics, his two fake legs mean he can’t ride a bike. Pip’s out, but to be retained as a consultant, and Snatcher steps back into the top spot.

  This meeting is tiring, and I suppose I’m still to be discussed. There’s another delay when Swift is voted in as fucking enforcer.

  I suppose she’s got the skills, but hell. As if a female member isn’t bad enough, but as enforcer? That’s a fucking joke, isn’t it? But it seems it’s not.

  When proceedings move on, the expected heat comes down on me. Yeah, seems they didn’t like me taking the kill shots for them.

  It’s Lost, who speaks first. “Your excuse, as I understand it, is that you didn’t fuckin’ trust us to interrogate our captives. You fuckin’ thought both Demon and I would see the lure of lucrative deals instead. What the hell do you fuckin’ take us for?”

  I have to defend myself. My hand crashes down onto the table. “I don’t know you,” I yell. “Yeah, it was unlikely, but Major and Alder were experts at twisting things to suit themselves. If enough money was on the table, you might have been tempted. I had the shots, so I took them. Problem solved.”

  “You took the shots because it was a fuckin’ challenge.” Drummer’s correction thunders down the table. “I don’t buy your suspicions for a fuckin’ moment. You were showing off. What the fuck is your problem, Stormy?”

  “I ain’t got a problem,” I say sullenly.

  “From where I’m sitting, you have,” Drummer snarls.

  Blade, the Tucson enforcer, offers to extract answers from me. I want to curl my fingers around beckoning then backing it up with the words, bring it on. But I stay silent.

  Drummer looks like he’s seriously considering Blade’s offer for a second, but shakes his head. “No, he deserves to have his patch taken and sent out in bad standing.”

  The blood drains from my face. “You-you’re sending me out bad?” I swallow hard. This, I did not expect. Take my patch, yeah. But to be prevented joining another club and being a target for any biker to take a shot at me? They’d do better to kill me instead.

  I sit stunned, oblivious to the words continuing to fly around me. When Swift opens her mouth, I wonder whether she’s going to throw me to the wolves. I wouldn’t blame her, I’ve never tried to be friendly.

  “Stormy’s got issues. Fuck knows what they are, but though he doesn’t always show it, he lives for the club. He needs us, but I think he’s forgotten how much. You say he shouldn’t be a member, well, I agree with that.” I’m full on glaring at her by this point. “Why not bounce him back down to prospect? Give him six months. Let him reprove his loyalty to the brotherhood. Let him remember what it’s like to be one for all and not all for one. If he can’t do it and fails to regain our trust, he’s out.”

  Prospect? I got by last time, but again? No, I can’t do that. How can I prove trust and loyalty when I have none left? I don’t fucking trust myself.

  There’s another punishment loaded on top. A beatdown. Yeah, I can cope with that. That holds no worries for me. A bit of pain might be what I deserve, but to lose my patch and replace it with one that reads Prospect? Hell to the no for that.

  But my fate has been decided.

  “Right. Prospect.” Drummer jerks his chin toward and pointedly at the door. “Leave us. Prospects are not allowed in church.” Drummer’s smirk broadens as he reminds me.

  Taken by surprise, I open my mouth then snap it back shut, knowing they won’t listen to anything I say. While multiple pairs of narrowed eyes stare at me, slowly I place my palms on the tabletop and push myself to my feet. Throwing an especially vicious glare toward Swift, I move to the door, open it and step out, slamming it loudly behind me.

  I keep on walking. As I pass by reception, I take off my cut and throw it down on the floor to Brute’s astonishment. The look on my face stops him from asking any questions. I go straight out to my bike with only the clothes I’m wearing and take off.

  11

  Cat…

  “How are your mom and dad?”

  Weston sneers. “Same as fuckin’ always.”

  “You’ve seen them?”

  My cousin’s face tells me he has. I turn away, busying my hands making coffee. His disgruntlement shows he’s probably tried to tap them for money, but whatever they once had, had gone into his hands long ago. I love my aunt and uncle. Their son? Not so much. If he’s here to try to get me to finance whatever hairbrained scheme he’s come up with now, I won’t be giving him anything.

  “You able to go back to wrestling?” He was about to turn pro before he went inside. He’s still big, but my assessing eyes tell me he’s not as muscular as he was before. Still formidable, I remind myself. When he comes out and says what he wants, I’ll have to let him down gently. That I’m a woman and a relative won’t stop him from using his fists. I shudder but try to suppress it. I’ve felt those hands on me many times while we were growing up.

  “Nah. I got a job.”

  That surprises me. I pause with the coffee pot in my hand. “That sounds good. Doing what?” I wonder if it’s somet
hing his probation officer had arranged for him.

  “Mind your fuckin’ business.”

  Turning back to my task, I roll my eyes. A movement out of the window catches my eye, and I see Star kicking up his heels and tearing around his paddock. Crazy horse, my lips curve as he distracts me from my unwelcome visitor. Wonder what he’s seen now. Which reminds me, I’ve got to go to the store and get some winter feed. Won’t be too long before I need it.

  Caspar, my, well my mom’s white German Shepard who I’ve adopted comes to sit by my side, looking up hopefully, in case I get out cookies and drop a few crumbs. He’s going to be out of luck. I’ll give Weston a coffee, but nothing else, and hope it’s not too long before he realises he’s not welcome and leaves.

  I finish the coffee, pass him his cup, pushing sugar and creamer over. I note I was right, he’s clearly not in training now, not if the way he takes three spoonfuls of sweetener is anything to go by.

  Having prepared his drink to his liking, he pushes the cup to one side. I just wish he’d hurry up and drink it. He’s so big, he makes the house seem small.

  “I bet you miss your parents,” he observes, glancing around. “You haven’t done much with the place.”

  They’ve only been gone a few months. Well, that’s not strictly true. Dad had died twelve months back having gotten the worst of an argument with some of the farm machinery. He’d bled out before anyone found him. Mom, well, I came back to visit for the funeral and ended up having to stay. The obstinate woman hadn’t previously told me, but she was battling with cervical cancer, having missed out on her pap smears. By the time it was diagnosed, it was almost too late. Maybe even then she would have had a chance if she’d been willing to fight, but the loss of my father seemed to sap her will to live. I was their only daughter, and a nurse with a job in the city. Although oncology wasn’t my speciality, I could care for her, and alone, she certainly needed that. So I took the only path open to me. I swapped providing care to strangers to nursing her. She’d died just four months past.