Stormy's Thunder: Satan's Devils MC Utah

by Manda Mellett

  While I still harbour suspicions that she might have been working with Tiny, it seems out of character. I’d more likely hazard a guess she’s not part of his plot, that this is a loose thread that’s not going to further unravel, but I need to be sure. While it’s not much, it’s information I can take back to Utah.

  As I watch her lift the spoon to her mouth, I realise there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to go, and it’s not because of the punishment I’m due to be facing.

  Returning to the kitchen, I take two steaks out of the freezer, placing them into the microwave for defrosting. I lean on the counter, looking out into the paddock where her horse is grazing peacefully. It hits me that I’ve never had a chance to stop and slow down. It feels like I’ve been running forever.

  When my mom left home, I slept with one eye open, always wary of my father’s fists that could descend for no reason. Joining the Navy meant I was running to keep up, always trying to prove I was worthy of earning the Trident. On ops, as part of a team, there was little downtime, or not when you could switch off completely. Even shore leave had me making the most of the moments on familiar soil.

  Joining the MC, prospecting, well, I couldn’t be caught sleeping. Even as a patched member, there was always work to be done, even in between missions. I was pre-programmed never to be found wanting, of giving everything my all. It had once been the only way to keep my dad from hitting me.

  Staring out of the window, it dawns on me—the peaceful scene is totally alien and sums up what’s been missing from my life. Maybe I could stay for a while. I’ll remove her name and details from the vacation booking so the Utah brothers don’t come looking for her and find me. I’m off the radar, using a name they’ll never discover. Time, space, a chance to switch off, maybe that’s what I can find in Kentucky.

  While I’m here, I can make one hundred percent certain any legacy Tiny left was buried with him. That assurance will be my currency for buying my way back in when I eventually return to the club. If, in the end, that’s what I want.

  Cat may not want me to stay.

  A half-smile appears on my face. I’ll just have to find a way to persuade her. That she hasn’t requested me to contact a friend or family member suggests she, like me, is a loner. As such, maybe she’ll see we should stick together.

  When the microwave beeps, I turn the meat over, then go back to the living room and the woman on the couch. She’s emptied the bowl completely and is now drinking the water, sipping it carefully, just like I’d suggested.

  “I’ve got steaks out of the freezer. You think you’ll be able to eat?”

  “I’m full.” She glances down at her bowl.

  “It won’t be ready for a while, you might be when it’s done. Or is there something else you’d prefer?”

  “Whatever’s easiest,” she tells me. When I bend and lift the tray from her lap, her eyes harden slightly. When she breathes in, the sustenance has made her stronger. “I asked you before, now I’ll ask you again, Jeremiah. Why are you in my house?” There’s a spark in her green eyes that wasn’t there earlier. Hmm, maybe she won’t be a pushover.

  Raising my chin, I acknowledge her but leave to deposit the tray in the kitchen. When I return and take the armchair, I sit back, balancing an ankle on the opposite knee and steeple my hands under my chin. My choice of seat has her narrowing her eyes, as if it once belonged to someone else.

  15

  Cat…

  What would have happened if Jeremiah hadn’t turned up? Would I have died in the cellar? Hungry, cold, and paralysed with fear of being eaten alive by rats? I could still be there now if he hadn’t arrived.

  He’d stayed and he helped. But what do I know of him except he’s ex-Navy? I might have a general respect for any man who’s served, but I shouldn’t be blinded by it. While it seems unlikely, unless he knew because Weston told him where I was, there’s no other reason that he had stopped by the house. Unless it was with the intention of robbing a home, which appeared empty. I mustn’t discount he’s here for purposes which don’t have my best interests in mind, despite how much he’s helping me.

  I watch him take the seat that was my father’s. It’s wrong seeing another man sitting there. Since his death, it’s been left empty. But nothing is right about this stranger being in the house. He doesn’t belong here, and definitely not in that chair.

  The food, drink, and being warmed up, has made me feel stronger. How many hours ago was it he rescued me now? I’ve been sleeping or crying the whole time it would seem. Why has this stranger taken on the task of caring for me? Why, when by happenstance he found me, did he not go straight to the cops?

  He should have taken me to the hospital, that’s where I should be now. I’d have hated that. As a nurse I know there’s not much else that could be done for me other than the tasks he’s quite expertly performed. Warmth, water to rehydrate, and food in small quantities.

  A doctor wouldn’t have chased away my nightmares with his arms.

  But who is he? And how did he find me?

  He knows Weston. I’m being stupid if I look any further than that. Am I still trapped in the bad dream of my cousin’s making? My gut tells me Jeremiah wouldn’t be helping me if he were a danger to me. But what if my gut’s wrong? I didn’t trust Weston, but I never thought he’d leave me to die. The question remains, did he send Jeremiah here to rescue me? Was Weston held up and sent him instead? Did he not expect to leave me so long? Was my suffering an accident or by design?

  I need answers.

  Jeremiah seems to be taking a moment to come up with something to tell me. I try to prepare myself to hear lies and wonder whether he’ll try to con me. Con men are successful simply because they’re adept at covering their true nature. Is he trying to concoct a believable story right now?

  He’s been kind.

  Why?

  I’m not a woman who likes to feel weak, but being so helpless, unable to free myself, has knocked all the stuffing out of me. Now, for my preservation, I need to dig deep and find my strength again.

  I didn’t protest when he held me naked, or when he helped to dress me. In my fragile state, I trusted him.

  Who is he? Jeremiah Briggs. A non-descript name. But not a non-descript person, no way. His face has a swarthy complexion, his eyes so dark they seem like mirrors into his soul. His rugged features are handsome, his body muscular and strong, I know. I wasn’t that out of it when he carried me as if I was no weight at all. His hair makes him seem like two different people when viewed from one side or the other. One half is long, and the other shorn. Just fashion? Or is there a deeper meaning?

  He’s done everything right. He set me free, got me warm, fed me carefully as though he knows exactly what to do. But conversely, he did everything wrong. Why didn’t he call professionals to help me?

  He wants something, I know it.

  He knows Weston. The thought won’t leave my mind.

  Can I trust a man who knows my evil cousin?

  He buried my dog. But can I trust it wasn’t him who killed Caspar? Evidence tells me I can. I hadn’t heard Caspar barking or trying to get to me since Weston left me alone. Swallowing hard, I tamp down my sadness at the loss of my mom’s faithful companion. There’ll be time to grieve later.

  “Well?” I prompt, realising he hasn’t attempted to answer my question. When he doesn’t immediately answer, I feel my red-headed temper flare. “For fuck’s sake, tell me what’s going on.”

  His fingers tap against his chin. “Before I answer you, I’d like to know why you booked Weston an Airbnb in Utah.”

  What? I pull my aching legs up under me. “It seems like you already know,” I snap waspishly. I was already nervous about a connection between him and Weston. I’m doubly so now.

  “I know your account was used to book the place, but as to how much you were involved, that’s what you’re going to tell me.”

  I am, am I? “And if I don’t want to tell you?”

  The look he
shoots me sends a shiver down my spine. He wouldn’t have saved me just to hurt me, would he? But hell, what do I know, particularly about men who could be friends with Weston? The trouble with having the famed red-hot temper means I sometimes speak first with later regret. I can’t anger him, like Tiny, he’s too big to fight, even if I were stronger. I tone it down.

  “How do you know my cousin?” I ask directly. “Did you get to know him in prison?”

  “Answer me,” he snaps, then shakes his head, the rage that quickly entered his eyes dies, and he holds out his hands palms up. “Cat, look, you don’t know me. Can you trust me when I say I never knew Weston?” He barks a short laugh. “And I’ve never been in prison. But Weston was involved in hurting someone… close to me. I’ve come here to find answers. The trail led to you and that booking of the fishing cabin.”

  I’m quiet for a moment. Weston hurt someone close to him? That in itself is believable. Heaven knows, he used to hurt me. Frowning down at my hands, I wish I could go back and change things. If only I hadn’t given in to Weston. I should have known the fishing trip was nothing of the sort. But if I’d fought him, he’d have fought back, and he’s so much bigger than me. But why don’t I just tell him? I’ve done nothing wrong.

  I take a breath and decide to come clean. Perhaps once he knows, he’ll just leave. That’s what I want, isn’t it? “You already know Weston is my cousin. We never got along. He was always a bully. He was the kid that would pull the wings off of butterflies just for fun.”

  Jeremiah’s face once again flushes, but this time I don’t think his anger is directed at me. “He ever hurt you?” His words are clipped and he has the grace to look sheepish. “Before he locked you in a root cellar, that is.”

  I lower my head, for some reason ashamed of what my cousin had done to me, both recently and in the past. It’s like admitting a weakness but I say, “Yes, he did. He’s an only child like myself. His mom and dad, my aunt and uncle, are lovely. It was always a mystery how they went so wrong with their son. After Weston broke my arm, I didn’t have much to do with him. My parents didn’t want me going over there, and he never came here, to our home.”

  “Is this your childhood home?” He looks around him, his chin tilted as though he’s solving a mystery.

  I blink rapidly. “Dad died a year ago. When I came home for the funeral, I found Mom had been keeping a secret from me. Cancer. I’m a nurse, so I stayed to help out. She died four months ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I shrug off his comment. It’s what everyone says, as though they’ve got something to apologise for. I focus on his face—his look of sympathy appears genuine at least. “I’d given up my job to look after her. I’m an only child, so the farm came to me. Not that there’s much of it now, we sold off the bulk of the land after Dad was gone. We needed the money, and the upkeep was too much for us.”

  “So this is your home now?”

  I shrug. “For now, yes. To be honest, I’m kind of in limbo. I’ll need to find a job soon, but I’m just dealing with everything.” I raise and lower my shoulders again. The burden of grief is too strong, its pull still holding me tightly. I wipe away a tear, one of the many I’ve cried since Mom had gone, and force myself to get onto the things he wants to know. “One night, Weston came to visit me. I thought he needed money, or to fuck with me, I don’t know. I hadn’t seen him in years—he’d been in jail. I didn’t want him inside the house, but he’s a big man, and there was little I could do about it.” What could I have done differently? I ask myself. It’s not as if I could have overpowered him and sent him away. “When he suggested he treat me to dinner, I wanted him out of the house, so it seemed like a good idea to go. He hadn’t any transport, he’d arrived in a taxi.”

  “You own a car?”

  I nod, waving my hand in the direction of the door. “Yeah. Well, I drive my dad’s truck. It’s outside.”

  He shakes his head. “It’s not.”

  My fists clench. Damn Weston. “He must have stolen it.” Ignoring what’s possibly the least of what Weston had done, I continue, “After the meal, I thought I’d be dropping him somewhere, but instead he made me bring him back here.” I shake my head. “Fuck knows how he persuaded me to let him stay the night.” I want to justify myself. “Weston has a nasty temper, as I know only too well. He used to fight for a living, and I, well, I…” Now my hand gestures down at my body and my slender frame. “I knew I’d end up hurt if I refused. I was a coward.”

  “Not a coward, just fuckin’ sensible. Even a soldier knows when to fight and when to retreat.”

  His words elicit my nod of gratitude toward him, his lack of judgement gives me the impetus to continue.

  “It was at that point he asked me to book an Airbnb. He knew they run rudimentary checks, so couldn’t book it himself. He told me he and his friends were going on a fishing trip.”

  “And you believed him?”

  “I don’t know,” I say truthfully. “I guessed he couldn’t afford to pay for it himself, but I just wanted him to leave. I didn’t have much choice.” I rub my arm where it had been broken so many years ago, coincidentally, just above where Jeremiah’s expertly applied bandage sits now. “I know what he’s capable of.”

  Jeremiah’s eyes darken. “He’d have hurt you. He’d have forced you. You were right not to fight.”

  I give a little shudder. Christ, I’m so weak. I should have said no. “I just wanted him gone.”

  He digests that for a moment. “You know anything about these friends of his?”

  I shake my head.

  “Did you ask?”

  This time I roll my eyes. “If you know anything about Weston, you’d know I wouldn’t want anything to do with any friends of his. I didn’t ask, and he didn’t offer. I did what he asked to get him out of my house. Only,” I bite my lip, “that didn’t work.”

  Again he taps his fingers against his chin. “Instead of leaving, he chained you up.”

  I shudder, remembering how he’d taken me downstairs. “He’d gone to bed. It was hard sleeping while he was so near, but eventually I dropped off. He woke me… I couldn’t fight him.” To my dismay, tears prick in my eyes. “He’s too big.” His brow furrows as I add, “I don’t understand why. I did what he asked. Why did he tie me up? And why kill Caspar?” The last comes out as a wail, and a tear falls.

  Now he leans forward, putting both feet on the floor and clasping his hands between his knees. His eyes meet mine. “Because he didn’t want you telling anyone where he was going. The reasons for what he did to your dog were probably twofold. One, he’s a cruel motherfucker, and two, he didn’t want his barking to draw attention to the house.”

  I wipe another tear away and take back control of the situation. “I know you said you didn’t know him, but that begs the question, how did you know I was here? Did he send you to free me?” I sit, my body taut, as I wait for his answer. I examine his face, looking for any sign that I can’t believe him.

  “No,” he admits. “I had no idea he left you here. The reason he rented the Airbnb was not a good one.” He breaks off, and I see signs he’s holding something back. He seems at war with himself, and his mouth works, then he finally tells me, “The place was used to hold someone they’d kidnapped.” His brow immediately furrows, as if he’s given me too much.

  My hand covers my mouth. “God, no. If I knew—”

  “If you knew, or guessed he was involved in anything criminal, there was nothing you could do without ending up hurt. But I’m presuming he didn’t want you alerting the authorities, hence he chained you in the cellar.”

  My eyes close. That makes horrible sense. I open them and look at him again. “Should I go to the authorities now? Tell them everything I know? Is the kidnap victim safe? Hell, what am I going to do if he comes back?” In some ways, I wish he hadn’t told me.

  “No authorities,” he says fast, his eyes holding mine. “The situation has been… resolved. I can assure you he won’t
be back. It’s over, Cat.”

  He sits forward, this time with his eyes closed, and his hands linked behind his head. He seems like a conflicted man.

  I sense his pronouncement was final. “Is, is he dead?”

  A pained look crosses his face. “Would it bother you if he was?”

  If he was, it would explain why he’d left me so long that I’d become certain death would reach me before rescue. If he’d been alive, would he have returned and pretended to be a loving cousin—not that he ever been one, of course.

  “Is he?” Strength is returning to me slowly, and now I’ve back some of my old spark. “I need to know. Weston’s evil, always has been. If there’s a chance he could come back, I’ll need to know so I can take care.”

  “You knew what he was and still didn’t.” His eyes open and find mine once more.

  It’s a fair point. “I wasn’t expecting him. Now, I am, I’ll keep my daddy’s shotgun close by me.”

  He snorts, the sound followed by a chuckle. It’s the first time I’ve seen his face anywhere near relaxed. I decide to strike while the iron’s hot and catch him unawares.

  “Why did you come here? If you have nothing to do with Weston, and you had no clue what had happened to me, how come you’re here?”

  He sucks in air making his cheeks hollow. While I’m wondering whether I’ll be able to trust the truth coming out of his mouth, he seems to come to a decision. “I shouldn’t have told you as much as I have. But Cat, there’s really no need to go to the authorities. That kidnapping was of a team member of mine. She was taken as a lure to target my boss. Weston and his co-conspirators were dealt with, and that’s all I’m saying. But we knew a woman rented the cabin. I tracked you down as I wanted to know whether that was the end of it, or whether there was an ongoing plot with others involved.”

  “You thought I had something to do with it?” My eyes widen.