Stormy's Thunder: Satan's Devils MC Utah

by Manda Mellett

  “He will be.” Pip states in a voice full of promise. He stops pacing and retakes his chair.

  His hand waves toward Swift as though giving her permission to speak. She takes advantage. “Pip asked why Gun orchestrated my kidnapping. We all know it was to bring Pip out into the open, but not why.” She throws what can be interpreted as a look of disgust at the man who so recently we all called Prez.

  “Spit it out, Pip.” Drummer voice drips with impatience.

  “I’m a spy, or was. It’s not something I can switch off. When Stormy went on his break, I knew it had nothing to do with his mom. I tried to track him but lost him. I wondered whether he’d received new information, or whether after all these years, he wanted revenge for the death of the SEAL. I put feelers out to watch Smythe. If Stormy was stupid enough to take out a serving officer, my aim was to intercept him and bring him back.” He clasps his hands together and rubs them both against his nose. “I cancelled the op when Stormy reappeared, but a trace was still there. Eventually, one of Smythe’s aides picked up there were eyes on him. To cut a long story short, when my name came up, Smythe wanted to smoke me out to discover just what I was doing. He played the long game, and eventually found me.”

  He wipes his hands down his face, and looks straight at Drummer, then at me and finally at Snatcher. “As I said, I fucked up. So I’m leaving the club.”

  “What? No.” Snatcher’s on his feet now. “Look, man. We all make mistakes. We can take Smythe down…”

  I growl. It’s my call. I’ve a lot of vengeance to seek.

  “This barrel is full of fuckin’ bad apples,” Pip snarls. “It’s not just one man. It’s his whole operation.” He calms slightly. “You’ve got things to be doing here, rebuilding your clubhouse and your lives for a start, and continuing with the business we’ve built up. I need to focus on righting these wrongs, and that means me coming out of retirement.”

  Pip can’t do that. “They’ll kill you,” I state. “We all know what will happen if you show your face.”

  “Maybe,” Pip says. “Maybe not. It’s a risk I’ll take. But this is huge, Stormy. It’s national security. I’m going to be working with Devil and Grade A Security, using his government contacts. Sure, you can take Smythe out, rescue Marjan, if as I believe, she needs rescuing, but the size of the operation is more than one club can handle. Stopping the weapons trade has to be the focus.”

  Pip’s face is set. I haven’t known the man for seven years not to be able to read him. I’m not the only one.

  Snatcher’s eyes close briefly, then reopen. “Can we dissuade you?”

  “No.” Pip shakes his head. “The wheels are already in motion. During the last few hours, thing have moved fast. I still have some contacts at the Pentagon. Undercover agents are already being briefed to go in and rout out the players Smythe’s got in place. For now, he’s untouchable.” He raises his eyes to me. “Got to ask you, Stormy, to hold off. Can’t have you going rogue with your sniper rifle. We need to give him enough rope to hang himself.”

  “I’ll come work with you, I’ll—”

  “You’ve got Cat!” Pip rounds on me. “You going to give her up, man?”

  It’s hard. I see Drummer’s eyes on me. Hardly anyone is breathing as they wait for me to make the decision. I’m being asked to leave this to someone else, to trust others to seek the revenge for me.

  Three months back, I’d have laughed in his face.

  Three months back, I hadn’t met the woman that I love.

  “You can fuckin’ trust me, Stormy. I need to make this right.”

  “Stormy?” Snatcher raises an eyebrow at me. He seems to be letting me know this is my choice. That whatever I decide, he’ll have my back.

  Cat. For once in my life I have someone who needs me. She gives me a reason to keep breathing. She keeps me from sliding back to the stone-cold-hearted asshole I once was. If I throw in my lot with Pip, it would set me right back. Instead of her, revenge would be my priority.

  I can’t do that.

  I find myself drawing in a deep breath. “Just promise me you’ll end this, Pip.”

  Drummer jumps in. “Never liked you, Pip. Never liked that you deceived me. Always felt you were using the Utah club for your own ends. I never warmed to you. You’re not one of us. So I’ll give you a deadline. If this Smythe’s not taken out in six months, then Stormy has my blessing, and the backing of the Satan’s Devils to take him out.”

  Pip nods sharply. “Six months is enough.” He stands and looks around. “Enough, but not long. So I’ll leave now.” Giving a twisted grin, he adds, “It’s not as if I’ve got much to pack anyway.” He pauses again. “I’m not one for long goodbyes. See you around, brothers.”

  With a wave of his hand, he steps out of the circle of chairs, makes his way to the door and exits while leaving us all sitting open mouthed wondering what the fuck just happened.

  Drummer clears his throat. “You’ve got this, Snatcher,” he states firmly, in a voice that brooks no argument.

  Snatcher shakes his head, draws his hands down his cheeks, then he looks around, his eyes settling on each of the Utah members.

  “We’ve got this,” he confirms.

  Drummer bangs the glass again. “Moving on…”

  A burst of nervous laughter greets him. How the hell do you move on from the desertion of your ex-president? But I suppose on that topic, there’s little more to be discussed.

  “Are you going to rebuild?”

  “No.” It’s our VP who answers the mother chapter prez. He stretches out his legs and links his hands behind his head. “I never fuckin’ liked that fuckin’ music. Or that I was living in a hotel.”

  Stomps of feet, laughs and hollers come from all around.

  “I much prefer the old place myself,” Snatcher agrees.

  “Speak for your fuckin’ selves,” Cowboy complains.

  I hadn’t thought about Cowboy. Now I think about it, I half wonder whether he’d go with Pip. Now I let the thought into my head, I wonder if Pip had already spoken to him.

  Cowboy seems to read my mind. He sits forward. “Joking aside, it was right for Pip to move on, and time. Not one hundred percent about the reason, but he needs to put things right. If you’re wondering about me, I’m a fuckin’ Devil. Not going to give up the patch on my back. But…” he glances behind him and his face twists, “it’s fuckin’ takeout until I get a new kitchen.”

  “I can get Viper’s crew here to help you rebuild,” Drummer offers, and Snatcher gives him a grateful nod. “You need more rooms at least. Complete overhaul, and I doubt the electrical is up to standard.”

  “Goofy’s handy with dry walling.” Grinch puts up his hand. Goofy nudges Grinch hard in the ribs, reminding him, “You’re not too shoddy yourself.”

  “Do we need to vote?” Snatcher asks. “All in favour of making this our home, say Aye.” Ayes come from all directions. When he asks for nays, there are none. He shakes his head. “I thought it would be harder than that.”

  “Put it this way,” Rascal calls out. “Stormy won’t have so far to fall next time he’s up on the roof.”

  While it’s a welcome release of tension and brothers might be laughing too hard, I’m just hoping there won’t be a next time, certainly not like the last. I raise my middle finger toward Rascal.

  “Only thinking of you, Brother,” he retorts.

  Brother. I think I’ve been permanently smiling since they recommenced calling me that.

  39

  Stormy…

  Cat’s driving as we head away from the clubhouse while I’m in the passenger seat chuckling to myself.

  “What?” She takes her eyes off the road for a second and throws me a suspicious look.

  I move my head side to side as I tell her, “I can’t believe you persuaded them to get chickens.”

  She giggles. “Cowboy’s on board. His eyes lit up at the thought of fresh eggs.”

  Yeah, and some of the brothers have been
talking about fried chicken, but I won’t remind her of that. Hopefully they’ll get enough that we can swap them out and not have her examining her meals too closely. I know how much Cat has missed having livestock around, even if it’s just of the feathered sort. At least once I’d gotten her a new phone and hooked her up with her old number, she’d received a slew of updates from Seamus, all with photos of Star, her old pony, being spoiled rotten by his grandkid. That had certainly put a smile on her face.

  Behind the old clubhouse, well, just the clubhouse now I suppose, is a large expanse of wasteland. Cowboy decided to plant a vegetable and herb garden so we can have fresh food. His new venture makes me fuckin’ glad I didn’t have to sew on that prospect patch. Working the land is not something I need on my résumé.

  Viper and his crew descended a couple of weeks back. Some of the brothers have moved out while the building work, to make the place habitable to cater for the number of us and the expansion that’s required, is ongoing, but Cat and I have stayed. She’s thrown herself in to supervising the decorating, and even Cowboy’s taken to consulting her on things like countertops. Me? I’ve split my time between advising on the construction of the gym and equipment, and working with Swift, Honor and Duty on the provision of a new comms room. It’s exciting, most of our equipment was a year or so old, and in the age of technology, state of the art changes all the time. For now, we’re making do with a few laptops hurriedly purchased, and can’t wait to get a proper set up again. To say over the past four weeks we’ve been busy is an understatement.

  One thing our business has made us is comfortably well off, so money’s no object, or hasn’t become so yet. For now, Rascal’s still smiling and signing off purchases which I take as a sign we haven’t gone overboard.

  Cat drives to the hospital without direction, having started to learn the city’s roads. Once there, she expertly parks the truck. When she applies the handbrake, she turns to me. “You sure you don’t want me to come in with you?”

  I wink at her. “I’m a big boy, I think I can handle it. And you’ve got your own appointment.”

  Her face falls. “Yeah.”

  “I can put mine off.” I reach for her hand.

  She squeezes mine before releasing it. “We’ve already talked about this. I’d rather go by myself.” Her eyes glaze slightly, and I know she thinks she needs time to process alone whatever she might be told.

  I don’t try and persuade her, even though I’d give anything to be by her side. Cat’s got an independent streak, and while at times I don’t like it, I’ve learned arguing with her once she’s got something set in her mind causes a flare of her temper. I’ll be there, though, after. I’ll know if there’s something wrong by the expression on her face. I think I’m prepared for anything, as I’ve told her more than once, we’re stronger together, and we can face anything. “Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it, okay?”

  I hate that she sniffs, as if she’s pre-empting her results and fearing the worst, but I keep silent as she visibly pulls herself together and puts on a strong front. “You better get inside, or else you’ll miss your appointment. I know you’re itching to get back on your bike. You’ve been staring at it ever since the prospects trailered it back from Kentucky.”

  I can’t deny that she’s right, I have. What’s a biker without his motorcycle and working limbs to ride it? Gears and Igor had brought it to Utah along with all our stuff we had packed up. The furniture and shit stayed in storage. Someday, when the clubhouse is finished, I’m hoping Cat and I will look for a place of our own. Before they start culling the chickens, hopefully.

  I’m not the only one to miss my bike. Luckily most of the brothers had ridden their bikes to the airport that fateful night, but Grinch’s, Goofy’s and the prospects’ had been lost. New models have been arriving, another club purchase, but some miss the rides they’ve spent time personalising. With all the expense though, it’s a wonder that the treasurer is still in a good mood.

  I ease myself out of the truck, and get the crutches in position, hopefully for the last time. When she comes around my side, I lean forward and kiss her. I don’t wish her good luck, preferring to avoid the reference it could be otherwise.

  “I’ll text you if I can’t find you.” Then, muttering my unspoken desires for a positive outcome under my breath, I swing and hop away, leaving her.

  My appointment doesn’t take long. I don’t even need my practised arguments of why I’m good to have the casts taken off. The doctor just looks at the x-rays, tells me my bones have mended and gets those darn things off.

  Did I expect to be able to walk normally? Yeah, I suppose I did. But my wrist and leg are weak, and I take on board the exercises he suggests, and the list of physiotherapy appointments he sets up.

  When I go to find my woman, the only drawback is I’m still favouring my leg. But hell, it’s fucking fantastic to put two feet to the ground.

  It doesn’t take long to find her. She’s waiting outside for me.

  “Well?” I ask, impatiently, suspecting the results from the smile on her face.

  “I’m clear of almost everything. He did suggest using a condom to be sure for a while.”

  “How long’s a while?” My eyes narrow.

  She bites her lip. “Syphilis can take twenty years to show up, and some forms of Hepatitis up to four months. HPV, maybe ten years.”

  “Fuck that,” I growl. I’ll take my chances. I want her pregnant long before a decade has passed. That’s if…

  “And?”

  Her eyes light up. “I dodged a bullet. I’m not pregnant.”

  As relief floods through me, I pull her to me, glad she doesn’t have to cope with decisions that would have to be made if she was, but can’t help adding, “Yet.”

  “Yet?”

  “Yeah. You’re already my woman, now I’m going to marry you and give you babies.”

  “Yeah?” Her breathing speeds up. “To do that, we’ll have to fuck.”

  “Make love,” I correct her, then take a deep breath. “Well, when you’re ready for that.”

  We’ve slept in the same bed since the night of Gun’s attack, neither of us could bear to be parted. It’s only in the past couple of weeks we’ve started to touch each other. Only days since I first put my mouth on her as I slowly reacclimatise her with my touch. Baby steps. I’m being so fucking careful, too much too soon will send her straight back to her nightmare.

  “I’m ready.” She gestures at my leg. “It’s time, isn’t it? With your casts off and my results, Gun no longer has any control over us. It’s time to move on.”

  Curling my hand around her neck, I exhale. “Are you sure?”

  Green eyes, now with a spark, stare up into mine. “I think I am.”

  “I’ll drive.” I snatch the keys from her hand and move toward the truck faster than I’ve done for weeks. Laughing loudly, she follows.

  Fuck, every time she makes that sound, I appreciate it. There had been a time when I thought I’d never hear that again. Almost losing her, almost dying myself, has made me realise my life might have had a fucked up beginning but because of her, it’s definitely become worth living for.

  Driving for the first time in weeks, I go faster than she had done, and get back to the clubhouse in record time with just one thing on my mind.

  “Hey, Brother!” Piston calls out as I enter. He comes to a stop and nods appreciatively as he notices my casts are off. “This came for you in the mail.”

  It’s an envelope which feels like it’s got documents inside. There’s no return address. After examining it carefully I find nothing about it to raise my suspicions, so I slide it open.

  “What is it?” Cat asks.

  “I don’t know…” A photograph drops into my hand. It’s a picture of my mother and that must be me as a toddler. I didn’t know any existed having thought, if there were any, that my dad had destroyed them. Who the fuck sent it to me, and why? I tap out the documents, starting with a press cut
ting. The headline itself reveals all.

  Drunk Driver Kills Young Mother

  Natalie Palmer (26) was killed when she was crossing the road yesterday. A man’s been arrested and charged with driving under the influence. She leaves behind a husband and six-year-old son.

  That’s all there is. In the scheme of things, it seems Natalie Palmer wasn’t important. To me, she was, her supposed abandonment had fucked up my life, but to anyone else she was irrelevant, only worth a few lines. I read it once, again, then for a third time. As the implications hit, I stagger, needing to balance myself against the bar.

  Why had my father lied?

  My whole fucking time on earth had been shaped by the belief she walked out on me, a six-year-old unlovable kid that she had no problem leaving behind. I’d found it hard to trust as I’d been left by the one person who should have loved me unconditionally, instead being raised by a man who hated me.

  She hadn’t left of her own accord.

  I let the papers drop out of my hand and as fast as my weak leg will take me, head up to our room, wanting time and space to process what this means. My whole life has been a lie.

  “Finn?”

  Flung face down on the bed I’m aware she’s entered and closed the door. Unmanly tears seep from my eyes as I mourn for a woman whose life was cut short and the boy she inadvertently left behind.

  I know she’ll have read the article, who wouldn’t? “Why did he lie to me?”

  The bed dips as she sits on it. “Who knows, Finn? Maybe he thought it was easier on a child. He lost her too.”

  “I believed him. I never questioned she’d just walked out. Christ, Cat, I envisaged her living a whole new life with a new family. He made me hate her.” And in doing so, I grew up hating myself. I should have looked for her, but instead I’d tried to wipe her from my mind.

  Her arms come around me and gently she rocks me. “Did you notice who the letter came from?” When my head provides a negative response, she tells me, “There was a note from Pip. He said he hoped this would make sense of the past and told you to remember you can trust him. He said soon, whatever that may mean.”