Stormy's Thunder: Satan's Devils MC Utah

by Manda Mellett

  “Here.” Cat jumps up and brings new crutches to me. “Someone went out first thing and replaced them.”

  Someone needs my grateful thanks. It had been hell without them.

  Now ambulatory again, I go to the bathroom, piss for what feels like hours, happy there’s no sign of blood, then splash my face with water.

  “Hey.” I grin as I return to the bedroom, a thought having hit me. I give her a mock salute. “I’m a prospect, so you’ll be bossing me around. Yes, ma’am, no ma’am and all that.”

  “I will, won’t I?” Her face lights up.

  I growl. “Make the most of it.”

  I’m not looking forward to this, but hey, I agreed. I said I’ll take my punishment and I won’t take that back though the joke isn’t lost on me. Yesterday it was a sniper rifle, today I’ll be armed with a sponge or a duster. But I’m alive, and Cat’s promised to stay with me. What man could ask more than that?

  Downstairs the room is full but a quick glance at Cat shows she doesn’t seem uncomfortable. Giving her a task to focus on probably helped with that.

  Oh fuck. I hear him before I see him. It’s Drummer, the mother chapter prez, his voice bellowing out even though he’s probably speaking normally. For a second I wonder if I can escape back to the room and plead concussion or something. But knowing I may be many things but I’m no coward, I clump my way down the stairs, the crutches and my uneven gait giving me away immediately.

  “It’s a fuckin’ corpse walking!” Someone, I think it’s Blade, the mother chapter’s enforcer calls out.

  Drummer swings around to face me and barks a laugh. “What does it take to kill you, Stormy?”

  Snatcher answers drily, “Well if two explosions, being beaten half dead, crashing a motorcycle and a fall from a three-storey building didn’t do it, I think we can safely say even Satan doesn’t want him.”

  The words make me smirk. Sure, there’s probably some truth in that. Hopefully, though, in six months, even if Satan still doesn’t, his Devils might. I eye Brute and Igor, and start to make my way over to them.

  “Where the fuck you going?” Thor stops my progress.

  “To join the other prospects.” I shrug.

  “Nah. Debrief. That’s why Drummer’s here. He wants you here.”

  “Church?”

  Thor’s eyes go up and back down again. “The old fuckin’ meeting room’s being used as a storeroom, and the table was moved to our now defunct clubhouse and all that’s left are charred matchsticks. Drummer said we might as well have the meeting here.”

  Now I notice men are beginning to move tables aside and arranging the chairs in a circle. Cat’s already in conversation with Gears, who’s waving a piece of paper.

  “Hey!” Bolt shouts. “Make sure the jeans you buy have extra room in the crotch area.” He mimics jerking off a cock that’s at least a foot long.

  “And no jokey slogans on the shirts,” Piston yells.

  “What’s going on?” I must have missed something.

  Thor replies, “They’re off to get clothes and necessities for everyone. I told them just to buy out the store, it’s probably easier.”

  I notice Cat’s got a gleam in her eyes, and it seems she’s viewing the forthcoming shopping trip with pleasure. I raise my chin as the four disappear out of the door, suppressing my momentary panic that she’ll be out of my sight. I trust my fellow prospects to watch over her. All three proved their worth last night.

  “Gears okay?”

  The VP nods. “Yeah. Like you, he’s using a stick.” His face scrunches up but there’s a twinkle in his eye as he adds, “Think we should rewrite the regulations and demand prospects have two working legs.”

  My finger rises automatically. He barks a laugh.

  Once the prospects and my woman have disappeared, Drummer bangs a glass loudly on the bar then glares at it as though it’s the poor inanimate object’s fault it’s not a gavel. “Sit the fuck down. Let’s have church.”

  I’d prefer not to draw to myself, but the clack of the crutches is loud, and my slow progress and necessity of arranging of my cast covered leg means I’m the last to sit down.

  Drummer’s, “Nice of you to join us,” causes a burst of snorts and laughter. It’s a required release of tension after the events of the day before.

  In the absence of a gavel or table to bang it on, Drummer stamps his foot for silence.

  “First order of business. Stormy.”

  I wish there was a table for me to slide under. Yesterday I hadn’t liked the floor literally opening up beneath me, but I’d do anything for that to happen now. Snatcher said I could prospect, but is Drummer going to take that back?

  “Snatcher’s told me you returned to the club three weeks ago. Yet I wasn’t informed.” He raises his eyebrow at Snatcher.

  Snatcher’s face twists, and for some reason he glances at Pip. “Stormy was more dead than alive. It was a toss-up whether he’d make it. Wasn’t much point informing you until we knew whether he was a corpse or not. Then, well, the imperative was to rescue his woman once we knew about her.”

  “You fucked up again, Snatcher. Dead or alive, or anywhere in-between, I had a right to know.”

  “I suggested—”

  “Shut it, Pip.” Drummer’s steely eyes settle on the man who I doubt has often been told to zip his mouth. “Snatcher’s the one in the president’s chair. You should have no influence over the running of the club, if things have changed—”

  “They haven’t.” Snatcher glares at Pip, then his focus moves back to Drummer. “I take full responsibility.” His mouth twists. “We didn’t know who’d beaten him, and we couldn’t rule anything out. Wanted to see if we had a chance to speak to him before I informed you. You could say it was a technicality, he wasn’t actually back at the club, just in the vicinity—”

  “Fuck that, Snatcher,” Drummer roars. “What you’re saying is you don’t trust the other chapters. You think one of them came across him.”

  “Er, Drum?” Blade’s twirling a knife in his hands. “If he’d been seen in Tucson, we could well have given him a beating.”

  “Yes, but…” Drummer’s voice trails off and he grimaces. “Okay, most of the chapters would have wanted their pound of flesh but wouldn’t have half-killed him.”

  “I wanted to know what we were dealing with.”

  Snatcher’s got Drummer’s full focus. A full minute passes before the mother chapter prez speaks again. I, and I think everyone else is holding their breath.

  Instead of addressing Snatcher again, he turns back to me, his hard eyes softening. “No woman should go through something like yours did.” When I dip my head in agreement, he sighs deeply, and moves his head slowly left to right, then repeats the action before he brings it back to centre. “And just when I think it can’t get any worse, you fuckin’ blow up a Satan’s Devils’ clubhouse.”

  I smirk. It’s wrong, but I can’t help it. “It was a good distraction. In my defence, I didn’t know how much C4 Gun had been used. He’d found some lethal stuff from somewhere.”

  “Lethal in—fuckin’—deed.” Goofy rubs his chest.

  Drummer spares him a glance of sympathy, then his face tightens again. “Utah’s a pain in my fuckin’ side. But you proved useful in that business with San Diego—though Lost might have something to say about Swift and Bolt hiding the truth from him.” He pauses and shakes his head as though he’d gotten off track. “Snatcher, you’ve been prez of this chapter since I took over this club and continued to play that role even when Pip came in and took over. I never doubted you were a strong prez. You always showed support for other chapters, and you lost Thumper just a couple of years back. Otherwise, you kept yourselves to yourselves, and I didn’t push that. You didn’t cause trouble but didn’t offer much either. Maybe I gave you too much rope, which I certainly won’t be doing in future.”

  “Too bloody right,” Wraith says, his own eyes narrowing.

  “Maybe we all need to
prove we can work together and build trust between us,” Drummer continues. “I don’t want to lose a charter, and I don’t to break in a new prez. On my part, I agreed Stormy had three months to pull himself together. We’re just inside that. So, if you promise to play nicely with others, I’ll let you keep your charter, Snatch.”

  A wave of relief crosses over Snatcher’s face. I’m relieved as fuck. Maybe we got the sympathy vote as we’re now down a clubhouse.

  Drummer leaves his place by the bar and walks so he’s standing right to my front. His eyes view me. His expression is unreadable. “Snatcher’s brought you back in as a prospect. I’m sorry, Stormy. It’s too late for that.”

  The club won’t be punished for my misdemeanours, no, all that’s going to land on my head. I deserve it, words, even deeds, won’t make them trust me again. All I can pray is that they leave me alive to make a new life with Cat. Back in Kentucky, perhaps. But hell, it hurts.

  I left not wanting a team behind me. I’ve returned wanting nothing less. Now it’s all going to be taken from me.

  I glance down to where my left hand’s cradling the cast on my right, wishing I could close off my ears and not hear the pronouncement I’ve no place in the club anymore. I knew I should have returned earlier, but even knowing that I’d do it all over again as being with Cat had got my mind back straight, I’m also aware I deserve everything thrown at me.

  Drummer’s been quiet for a moment. When he starts speaking next, there’s no doubt he’s making a president’s announcement, as the president, presiding over all our clubs.

  “You can take the cut off the man, but you can’t take the Devil out of him. As president of the mother chapter, I propose to vote for Stormy being reinstated as a full member. He’s quick thinking, proved himself as a team player, fuck, a team leader yesterday. We gave him space to get his head out of his ass, and he seems to have done that. Of, course,” I feel his eyes burning into me, and he waits until mine come up to reach his, “that’s what a good woman will do for you.” I just nod, it’s the truth. But I’ll be fucked if Drummer doesn’t continue. “If Utah doesn’t want him, he can transfer to Tucson. Always have a use for good fuckin’ brothers.”

  Wait…

  “Oh, Prez. I kinda like our clubhouse,” Blade interrupts.

  “Over my fuckin’ dead body,” Snatcher growls. “He’s a member for Utah.”

  What?

  My eyes go to Snatcher, then to Drummer, then back. My mouth drops open. I don’t trust myself to speak in case my ears aren’t working.

  “Brother’s fuckin’ naked,” Wraith observes.

  “Got his cut right here.” Preacher stands up.

  He’s holding the familiar leather which I’d left upstairs as left-handed there was no way I could sew on the prospect insignia. Now the sergeant-at-arms comes over to me and helps me put the cast and my good hand through the arm holes. As it settles on my shoulders, I shake my head.

  I’m choked with emotion and it’s hard to get any words out. “I won’t let you down again,” I finally say earnestly.

  “You sure you won’t consider a transfer?” Blade asks. I notice he’s now picking his teeth with the stiletto.

  I open and shut my mouth, considering he might well have an ulterior motive and have no qualms refusing the offer. “I’m good here, Brother.”

  “Hey,” Grinch calls out, his brow furrowed. “What about the fuckin’ beatdown? We’re still doing that, aren’t we?”

  The laughs and general uproar drown out the actual answer, and I can only guess at what it is.

  By now Drummer’s back at the bar and banging the glass again, once, then twice more. When the room finally quiets, he says, “Moving on. I’ve been asked to hand over to Pip right now.” His mouth twists in distaste as he turns to face our ex-prez. “What have you got to say for yourself?”

  Pip stands and starts to pace. He doesn’t look as sure of himself as he usually does. “Last night,” he begins, rubbing his hands through his hair, “we questioned our prisoner, Gun.” He turns to me. “I’m sorry, Stormy. I, er—”

  “It was too important to get answers,” Snatcher interrupts without remorse. “At the time, Stormy was just a prospect.”

  The old me would have been irate. The new me remembers waking up with Cat. I wave it off knowing which I’d prefer. “What did you get out of him?”

  “A fuckin’ lot.” Swift smirks. “He thought he could resist seeing that he was a former SEAL.”

  I grin. He’d clearly met his match with a woman who qualified for the British SAS.

  Pip’s glances at Swift, then back to myself. “What we learned is that I fucked up, Brother. I made mistakes.”

  He’s got my attention, and everyone else’s. His eyes now alight on Drummer. “I was arrogant. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken over the club. Maybe I should have helped Snatcher out of his mess with the mafia, then stepped back. But I saw a use for the men, and a way to use the chapter. I changed my name, changed my appearance, but in order to obtain contracts, I had to maintain some contacts. One of those was with Admiral Hillier.”

  As Drummer growls at Pip’s admission, I shake my head. “Hillier’s straight,” I say. Nothing would convince me otherwise.

  “Damn right he is,” Pip confirms. “But there are leaks everywhere. You asked me once, Stormy, why the insurgents in Afghanistan wanted to maintain a US presence. Why when it seemed we were preparing to pull troops out, something always happened which led to our soldiers staying there?”

  “I thought we’d come up with the reason. The drug trade.” That had made some sort of sense.

  “And we weren’t wrong. Drugs, yes. Women too.” Pip inclines his chin toward Swift. “Once the enforcer started to ply the tricks of her trade, Gun gave everything up. A fuckin’ tale of intrigue and betrayal.”

  “Spit it out,” Drummer growls.

  “Equipment.” Pip lets the word hang in the air for a moment. “Arming insurgents by taking in extra weaponry and selling it to them.”

  I stiffen. That’s worse than running drugs or women. That’s… “Treason.”

  “Exactly. And I didn’t fuckin’ consider it. I thought of things coming out, but not going in. And, at first, I considered someone like Jeffrey Morgan, Gun as you know him, running it. It took me a while to realise it went higher than him, and that there was only one person it could be Smythe. Sure, Smythe’s in it up to his neck. And Gun wasn’t the only man working for him.”

  That doesn’t make sense. “Smythe doesn’t know how to find his asshole,” I scoff. “He’s no mastermind.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. He’s not a combat man, but put him in charge of logistics, and he’s a fuckin’ genius. So what did I do? I put two and two together, and ended up with a negative number. I got him Stateside and into a desk job, which provided him with everything he needed to keep his scam going. Gun was one of his men on the ground, making sure, even at the expense of sacrificing his team, that the US maintained a base in the area.”

  Smythe?

  “They got rid of the team?” Fuck, Tailor, Buster, Slice and the new team members, they hadn’t deserved that. Dying a hero in a foreign land is accepted, being culled by your own side because you were inconvenient. Fuck that. “Gun dead?” I snarl, hoping he isn’t. Hoping I’d have my chance with him.

  “I made sure he died screaming.” Swift raises her head. The coldness in her eyes shows she’s telling me the truth.

  But fuck it. That was my kill. I push my rage back down, proud that my voice sounds calm when I get back to questioning Pip. “Does it stop with Smythe, or does it go higher?” Just how big is this nest of vipers?

  “Smythe. And you might like to know something else.” Pip turns to Honor, who passes him a photograph. He hands it to me. “This is Smythe’s wife.”

  Automatically I take the picture and stare at it. There’s something familiar about it. She’s very young, not Caucasian, her skin is darker, her eyes almost black. Her lips, her
cheeks, something about the shape of her nose… it looks familiar. I narrow my eyes. Nah, unfortunately people of the same race tend to look the similar, and people of colour would say that about white people. That must be what it is, but it’s almost like I’m looking at a younger Nazia.

  “It can’t be Nazia,” I tell him. “She’s dead.”

  He raises an eyebrow. Suddenly dots fall into place. “Marjan?” At his nod, I swear loudly. “Fuck that. She’s only, what, sixteen?”

  “They’ve been married four years. He went out on one of his visits—about the time you were last there, Stormy. That’s why Nazia did what she did, to try to save Marjan. That’s why she was killed before she could be questioned. She needed to do something, and hoped she’d get your attention. She wanted to speak to you, thought you might help.”

  “Why the fuck would Smythe want an underage kid for a wife?” Except for the obvious, that he’s twisted, it makes no fucking sense.

  Pip grimaces. “It’s a convoluted story. Nazia and Marjan were daughters of an influential Afghan leader, one who hadn’t been on our radar, a powerful man who’d stayed behind the scenes. He even acted a part as a member of our friendly forces. Smythe’s original plan was to kill them to ensure a major escalation in hostilities. Instead, you saved them. Smythe, proving he was clever, took the credit for them being alive. Working behind the scenes, Gun discovered the girls’ father was responsible for distributing the weapons they were supplying. To say Smythe isn’t a trusting man is an understatement. He needed something to hold over the father, something that if he was captured, would keep him quiet. So, he took his daughter. To make it legit, he married her.”

  “She was, is, just a kid.” I say horrified. No wonder Nazia did something to try to get attention.

  “I’m sorry, Stormy. I put Smythe in the position that allowed him to do all this. I should have looked deeper. But like you, I saw a man who couldn’t hack it at the front line so removed him, then forgot about him.”

  “He’s dead,” I say, coldly. I’m going to make it my life’s mission to find him, kill him, and give Marjan back her life. I hadn’t been able to save Nazia, but I could save her sister.