“I’m a nurse,” I answer him. “And I’m sorry, but is that prosthetic?”
“Yup,” he replies without candour.
“A nurse?” Honor tilts his head to one side. “So, what’s your weapon of choice?”
Weapon? Oh, he must be referring to Swift and her perchance for machine guns. I think for a moment, then say, “I have been known to use an anal thermometer.”
“Hey, Duty,” Bolt exclaims, thumping his non-prosthetic hand on the table. “She sounds just right for you.”
I notice Honor and Duty are sitting close together, closer than most other men. Are they a couple? It makes me wonder. But good on them, if so, and on their friends as it doesn’t seem to bother them. Bolt just gets a good-natured finger from the man he named.
“Grub’s up,” Swift observes, and stands. To me she instructs, “Just stay here.”
“Yeah, stay and keep me company. Being one-handed, I’m sure someone will wait on me.”
“Fuck off, Bolt. We paid a fuckin’ fortune for that hand. If you can’t pick up a plate with it, we should demand our money back.”
But Bolt stays seated, as does Duty. After a moment, Swift returns carefully balancing three plates. She places one in front of Bolt, one she hands to me, then sets down the third for herself. Honor returns with one for Duty.
“You’re not vegetarian, are you?”
Shaking my head, I stare down. It’s so not what I expected. “What is it?” I ask, gingerly.
“Roasted breast of pigeon with confit leg and beetroot spaghetti,” she informs me, as if they eat this every day. Grinning she betrays herself when adding, “Or that’s what Cowboy informed me.”
Gingerly, I peck at the dish, surprised when after a few moments it’s completely clean.
Conversation picks up again, all kept lighthearted. I realise after the main course has been served, a fish dish with some delicious sauce, that they’re purposefully avoiding certain subjects: what’s happened to me, Finn’s place in the club, and what they’re doing to find the man who kidnapped and sold me.
After a meringue, cream and fruit dessert which I again enjoy despite the circumstances, I broach the topic myself. “Have you found any sign of Gun, yet?”
Swift settles her eyes on me. “Not yet, but we’re closing in. I can feel it.”
“Got some things which we might be able to tie together.” Honor, his face now serious, confirms.
“We’ll get there, Cat. This is what we do.” Bolt’s sincerity has me believing him. “All you’ve got to do is hunker down until we get him out of your way.”
“I want to leave,” I tell them, honestly.
Swift shakes her head. “We need you to stay. Stormy seems to have pulled himself together right now, but if you went away? Hell, he’d be uncontrollable.”
I stare down at my now empty plate. He’ll survive. He had before me, and he will again. He won’t want long term with a woman as damaged as me.
34
Stormy…
The dining area was crowded as it so often is when Cowboy’s in the midst of his depression, so if I was going to eat, I’d had to take the only space open. That was on a table alongside Grinch, Mystic and Goofy.
“You got your head out of your ass?” Grinch starts on me as soon as I sit down and while he’s helping me place the crutches on the floor by my side.
Three months ago I would have exploded, now I make the first of what will probably be a hundred apologies. Or as much as I’m capable of. “Yeah.”
“You trust your brothers now?”
I grimace at Mystic. “I never stopped. Trouble seemed to follow me. I was better off out of it.”
“You think we wouldn’t have had your back come what may?” Goofy snorts.
“It was the ‘come what may’ that had bothered me.” I admit. Things had happened with no reason, how could I have stopped the same happening again?
Grinch leans back, staring at the pigeon that the prospect had brought over to him. “Fuck this. When’s Cowboy going to cook a decent fried chicken steak?”
“You needn’t have come, Brother,” Mystic reminds him. “Could have gone to a KFC or something.”
“Fuckin’ KFC.” Grinch picks up a knife and fork and starts dissecting the tiny bird on the plate in front of him.
“Two mouthfuls and it’s gone,” Goofy observes. “Fuckin’ gourmet food isn’t worth eating.”
I’ve been toying with mine. When Mystic looks over hopefully, I pass the remainder to him. It only takes him a chew and a swallow to finish it up.
“I spent the day checking the plane. It’s refuelled and ready,” he assures me. “Whenever you need to go get Gun, just say the word.”
The next course is served. I wonder how these old-timers have got the prospects running after them while the other brothers get up to help themselves. But I don’t say a word, just accept when a new plate is placed in front of me, appreciating their special status as carrying a plate while hopping on crutches is probably beyond me. As I dig my fork into a plate that looks good but seems completely tasteless, I wonder whether I’ll be on the Satan’s Devils plane when it heads out after we’ve got Gun’s location.
I also wonder, watching the prospects helping Cowboy, whether I’ll be a kitchen hand next time I’m in here. As far as I know, I’ll be joining their ranks for six months. And that’s the best I can hope for.
“Anything to avoid, Stormy?”
Grinch snaps me out of my reverie, but I don’t understand his question.
He takes pity on me. “When we give you a beatdown.”
“His head, probably,” Goofy says, knowingly. “Unless we want to beat the sense back out of him.”
Mystic flexes his fists making his knuckles crack. “Oh, I do love a good beatdown. How about you, Storm?”
“Depends which end I’m on.” My statement makes them crack up. I don’t doubt they’re looking forward to it. A beatdown just short of death serves two purposes, one a punishment for the man being beaten, and hell, I can’t deny I’ve wronged the club badly. The second? Well, once a man’s used his fists, all crimes are forgiven. I’ll be starting again with a clean slate, albeit sporting a prospect rocker on the back of my cut and a few additional bruises. Idly I wonder whether it will be my original cut, or did they destroy it when I’d walked out?
That’s if that’s even on the cards. I find myself hoping they are going to beat the hell out of me, it will mean I’m back in the club. Snatcher’s given me no indication whether the sentence will be carried out, of if once everything’s sorted, we’ll part company, and next time I won’t be welcomed back.
Brute swings by the table and leans down. “She’s eaten everything but drunk no alcohol.”
That doesn’t surprise me. Cowboy goes all out, his meals would tempt the dead to rise from their graves, though I admit, it hadn’t had that effect on me. I risk a glance over at her, pleased to see her smiling. While I hate being apart from her, I know she could do with some space. During our altercation it was obvious her mind was all over the place.
Dessert has come and gone, most of mine devoured by the ever-hungry Mystic when I notice Honor and Duty rise and leave the table. I eye the spaces they’ve left behind, wondering whether I can go and join Cat. I’m still deliberating when Igor starts making the rounds.
“Church in fifteen,” he says, approaching our table.
“Us too?”
Goofy, Grinch and Mystic live at our old clubhouse and maintain a typical MC front for the club, and aren’t required when the discussion is about the business side of the club. But as Igor nods and Grinch groans, seems tonight they don’t get a pass.
As brothers finish up, taking dirty plates to be stacked on the counter, I stay where I am. I’ve no position here, and while it hurts, I know won’t be invited into church. My sense of loss abates when I decide I’ll take my chance to talk to Cat again. Maybe I’ll take her up to the clubroom and show her around, see if I can play pool on
e legged and one-handed. Leaving her on her own to stew and think about things wouldn’t be good for her to my mind.
“Whatcha doing?” Snatcher stops by my side. He’s frowning at me.
“Waiting for the room to clear, then I thought I’d take Cat upstairs.” I stare over at the woman who I’m still treating as mine.
“Need your ass in church.” His tone is gruff.
Yeah? That takes me by surprise. My initial enthusiasm fades. “I can’t leave Cat, not here with the prospects.”
“Take her up to the clubroom and switch on the TV. I’ll speak to Brute and make sure he looks after her.”
Brute might scare her. “Either that or she can wait in my room.” It’s not ideal. I don’t want her to be alone. It seems I don’t have a choice.
Gears is manning the front desk, so I first go to him, explaining under no circumstance is he to let Cat leave. Next I swing my way back into the cafeteria where Cat’s now sitting alone, watching Brute and Igor rinse then stack the dirty plates into the dishwasher.
She turns as she hears the clack of my crutches on the floor.
“I’ve got to get into church,” I tell her. “If you want, you can go to the clubroom. Brute or Gears will keep you company, and you can watch TV.”
“I’m tired, Finn. Can I go back to the room?”
It’s an excuse, but it’s easy to understand why she’s wary of spending time with strange men. I lead the way, and unlock my door. “Stay here, okay? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I’ll just go to bed early, Finn.”
I don’t bother to tell her I’ll be with her anyway. Sitting on the chair if I have to. There’s no way in hell I’ll leave her to her nightmares tonight.
I’m the only man walking into church who isn’t wearing a cut. I feel naked, excluded, as if there’s no place for me anymore. Also telling is how they scramble to bring in an extra chair, then all move up one until there’s space to place it. It puts me next to Road. Without being asked he takes the crutches and props them up against the wall behind.
Snatcher bangs the gavel and the room goes quiet. For a moment he doesn’t speak. When he does, I’m not surprised the topic is me.
“Your woman coped with her introduction to us.”
“She did. But she’s wary.”
“She needs time,” Swift says softly. “I like her for you, Stormy.
“We’ve got decisions to make about you, Stormy.” Snatcher seems impatient to move this along.
I hold out my non-cast-covered hand in supplication. “You’ve heard what I have to say, even I know I can’t justify myself. I knew I’d made a mistake the moment I took off my cut. But I couldn’t turn around and come back.” I take a breath and remind them, “Even before Cat was taken, I decided to return to the fold, prepared to take the beatdown or worse and to prospect for the club.”
“Or worse?” Thor parrots. “You think we’d put you down like a rabid dog?”
I shrug. “If that fits. But in that case, I want a promise you’ll make sure Cat is safe.”
Out of the corner of my eye I notice Honor tapping the table impatiently, making me recall it was after he’d received a call that we’d convened. I start to doubt my future is the reason for this meeting.
Snatcher confirms. “Words are words, Stormy. We,” he moves his gaze around the table, “will abide by the terms originally set. You are at this meeting as a courtesy only. From the moment you leave this room, you’ll be a prospect. Thor?”
The VP shoots something down the table toward me. It’s a prospect rocker. What can I do but pick it up and give a respectful nod toward the man I can once again call Prez? I knew I couldn’t come back as a full member, and hey, it’s better than being out of the club. The sympathy vote for my injuries was one I had no right to expect.
“I won’t let you down, Prez.”
As Snatcher looks dubious at my comment, Preacher narrows his eyes. “Your beatdown’s coming, Stormy.”
Again, I just nod. I know what to expect.
“Honor?” Snatcher changes the subject.
The brother addressed wastes no time. “Gun’s reared his head. I’ve got a ping on his location. The fucker’s in San Diego.”
“We calling on Lost to pick him up?” Swift asks.
Prez shakes his head. “Not happy bringing another chapter into this when it’s not their fight.”
“We work as a team,” Preacher states. “Each of us knows our part. Strangers might not help us. We can’t blow this, we’ve got one chance when he’s got careless, so we go in heavy and make no mistakes.”
“He slipped up,” Duty informs the table. “He’s clever, and Preacher’s right, I doubt he’ll do that again. It was pure luck on our part, the door closed immediately after we got the location ping. Hopefully he’ll think it was too fast for anyone to get a handle on it.”
I consider myself one of the best in the business, yet even I’d once slipped up, forgetting momentarily to cloak where I was. It’s not beyond the realm of possibility that Gun also fucked up. Even so, I can’t keep quiet.
“It could be a trap.”
I’m not the only one to think it, but as the discussion flows, the brothers, the patched members who’ll make the decisions, seem to believe it’s worth checking out. Preacher’s need for going in heavy is explained, mindful it could be as I’d suggested, a trap, They need to be prepared for anything.
“I want to go,” I state. Surely I’ve got a right? It’s down to Gun that I’m next to useless, and I may have lost the only woman I want in my life. As for Cat? She’s got to live with what’s happened to her. I have to do what little I can to make things right.
“You’re staying here, Prospect. First, you’d be a liability in any fight. And second, you’ve got a woman who needs you here.”
I open my mouth and shut it. Much as I hate it, he’s right.
“We’ll leave the old-timers here at the clubhouse. You do whatever the fuck they say, Stormy. Grinch will be in charge.”
And doesn’t that burn in my gut? Again, though, what option have I got but to raise and dip my head in resigned agreement? This could be a test. One sign I’m not toeing the line, and I won’t be a prospect anymore.
“Preacher?” Snatcher prompts the sergeant-at-arms.
“Flight time’s two hours. I want to hit hard, fast and undercover of darkness. Wheels up in an hour.”
I’m torn. I wish I was going, wish I could have input at least. I want to know whether the intention is to take Gun alive and bring him back so we can get answers. But being a prospect means I won’t be involved, I’m only at this meeting on sufferance. Gun’s punishment won’t be at my hands, I may not even know about it.
Fuck, being a prospect is hard. I have to trust these men to do what I’m not allowed. There’s no point appealing to Snatcher, I signed up for this when I walked out, leaving my cut without a backward glance.
Cat. Focus on Cat. She’s what’s important.
As the full members waste no time, standing, pushing chairs back under the table and walking out, I turn and reach for my crutches. Getting them under my arms, I lever myself up.
Pip’s hanging back as though waiting for me.
“Six months, Stormy. That will go fast.”
At least I’ve a chance to be a member again if I don’t act in character and fuck this up. Pip, with his prosthetic legs, has no such chance. For the first time I wonder whether the loss of his cut hit him hard.
“You going to San Diego?”
He shakes his head, “No. I’ll be supporting from this end.”
I want to ask whether I can help him, but can only resolve to do anything I’m asked. I’m just a prospect, excluded from everything.
35
Cat…
Whether it had been Swift’s presence at the table, knowing she’d take no shit from anyone, or just that the conversation had been kept lighthearted, I’d relaxed at dinner, and surprisingly eaten everything on my pla
te.
While I’d been captive they’d not treated me like a human, food was scarce and unappetising when or if it appeared. That the gourmet plates were tasty but tiny probably helped. I’d eaten more than I had at any point during the past three weeks. The consequence being, when I returned to Finn’s room, I couldn’t stop yawning.
I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but I did.
I was back there. The Master was pinning me down, forcing himself on me. I screamed, and as I’d done the first time, before he beat me so badly, I fought. I got free, but it was like running in treacle, he was catching up with me.
I cried for help until my voice was hoarse, begged for mercy, for him to let me go.
He kept on coming, closer and closer, I could feel his warmth, smell his fetid breath, and all the time I knew he’d beat me so cruelly…
“Cat. Cat, babe. Wake up.”
He grabbed hold of my shoulder… Not again! Summoning up all the strength I have, I throw him off.
“Oomph.”
Something about the voice breaks into my subconscious. I open my eyes to see Finn lying like an overturned turtle on his back on the floor by the side of the bed.
“Finn!” My emotions might be all over the place as far as he is concerned, but he’s injured, and I’ve just knocked him over. I slide off the bed full of regret. “Finn, are you alright?”
His eyes examine me, then he gives a half-smile. “Not the first time you’ve knocked me off my feet, Cat.”
“I didn’t mean to, I…”
“You were having a nightmare. I should have been more fuckin’ careful about how I woke you up. But fuck, Cat, I didn’t want you back there.”
If anyone knows how to wake me from bad dreams, it should be him. Only this time, he can’t do it with a gentle touch or by pulling me into his arms. My stupid mind equates a man’s touch with his.
Stormy's Thunder: Satan's Devils MC Utah Page 33
