Grumbler's Ride: Satan's Devils MC San Diego #2

by Manda Mellett

  “I was a pain in the ass as a teenager,” Kristen informs us with a grin. “I objected to anything just because. Teenage hormones are the pits. You feel off balance and hit out at the closest thing, which normally happens to be mom or dad.”

  “I remember being a perfect angel,” Terra disagrees.

  She gets two pairs of rolling eyes directed toward her.

  “I know it’s a teenage thing, that her body’s telling her she’s an adult, yet in her head she’s still not. I keep making allowances for her, but my patience is running thin.” Thank goodness I’m a working mother and I can get out of the house and think about something different for a while. I’d go mad if I was stuck at home dealing with her moods all the time. The weekend ahead is going to be hard if I’m going to stick to my guns. Me and Alicia having one-on-one time for forty-eight plus hours is not my idea of fun. “I’m not letting her out of my sight this weekend.”

  Terra translates accurately. “So, what’s she done to get grounded this time?” She’s right. It’s far from the first.

  My lips purse, I breathe air in, half of me wanting to keep quiet. “I didn’t know, Owen, the first model she was photographed with, the day they posed with the motorcycle? Well, he’s been texting her. They’ve gotten quite friendly.” Too friendly in my opinion,

  “Go on.” Terra reaches for a bottle of flavoured water, opens it and takes a sip. “What does friendly mean?”

  “Friendly enough that I caught her texting him a topless photo of herself.” The words leave my mouth in a rush, and I blush as I look first at Terra, then Kristen, wondering how they’re going to take that bit of information.

  After a moment’s silence, Terra goes first. “Uh-uh. I’m so freaking glad smart phones weren’t around when I was a kid.”

  Kristen’s gone redder than me. “Um… Sounds like something I might have done.”

  “Might have? Or did?” Terra questions her.

  The tone of her face goes darker, giving me the answer without words.

  “Were there any repercussions?” I ask, wanting to be reassured.

  “Not in my case, but seeing the dangers of sexting nowadays, I got lucky. It was only the once, and I trusted him when he said he deleted it.”

  Terra pats my hand reassuringly. “I’m sure you’ve got nothing to worry about. Owen’s just a kid—”

  “He’s twenty-one.” My brow creases. “That four-year age difference is immense when you’re talking about a high school girl.”

  Again Kristen refuses to meet my eyes. Thinking she might have some tips on how to handle a teenager who thinks she’s older than she is, I ask her directly, “How did you get on with your mom?”

  “Honestly? My mom didn’t care what I did. I made a few mistakes, learned from them the way you do.”

  I’m not sure what she’s saying. I tilt my head. “So, are you suggesting I back off and let Alicia find her own way?” I’m not sure I could even do that. Isn’t it a mom’s job to guide their children right?

  “Hell, no.” Kristen looks aghast. “I said I made mistakes, and I don’t want to go into them. Learning from them was hard. It would have saved me a whole lot of heartache if I’d not gone down the road that I had. I’m lucky that I pulled myself out. I wouldn’t wish what I’d gone through on any kid.”

  Kristen has, as she puts it, turned out fine. In fact, if we hadn’t had this conversation, I’d never have thought she’d had anything but a perfect past. Quickly, I think back over my interactions with her when she started at the firm a year or so back, and then remember there were times when a bleak look would come over her face, and she seemed closed off. That appears less often now, so rarely that I hadn’t thought about it in ages.

  “Maybe you should get Kristen and Alicia together.” Terra looks shrewdly at the younger woman. “Get her to explain some of the seedier sides of life to Alicia.”

  It’s an idea, but… “I don’t think Alicia’s in a space right now where she’d listen to anyone.”

  “No one could have told me,” Kristen puts in. “I’d have known better, I always did. I was cleverer and knew more than anyone. In fact, I lost my best friend as I wouldn’t listen to her warnings. But getting back to Alicia, you said you caught her sending a picture. Did she actually send it, or did you stop her in time?”

  On that occasion I had. I’d walked into her bedroom to drop off some clothes that I’d just taken out of the dryer and folded, and got the shock of my life when I found her half naked in front of the mirror. “I think so,” I say, biting my lip. “But I couldn’t take the phone off her, she needs to be able to contact me. I read her the riot act, told her how stupid she was being literally exposing herself, then grounded her for the weekend when she refused to listen. Owen is apparently the love of her life.”

  “Has he sent her a dick pic?”

  My eyes go theatrically wide. “God, I hope not.”

  What is it with teenagers nowadays? Even now I wouldn’t think very highly of being a recipient of a picture of a man’s cock. In my experience, it’s nothing unless it’s connected to a man who knows what to do with it.

  “Mary, you got that disposition done?” a male voice interrupts.

  A bit guiltily, I stand, clasping the file to me. “Here’s the hard copy, Art. I’ve already filed it by email.”

  “I knew I could depend on you.” As he speaks, I notice Art looks tired and relieved as I’ve confirmed I’ve completed my work. “Need to speak to you on Monday, we’ve got a new client who I want to discuss.”

  “Sure.”

  Once I’ve offered my agreement, Art waves his hand. “Have a good weekend, ladies. And,” he pauses and winks, “don’t get too drunk tonight.”

  Terra snorts. “You’re invited too.”

  As a boss, I probably couldn’t do better. Art respects people who work hard, and you know where you are with him. Do your best and he’ll have your back, slack off, and he’ll come down hard. Sometimes he joins us for after-work drinks, and isn’t shy on opening his wallet, but most times he doesn’t.

  “Not tonight. It’s my wife’s birthday tomorrow, and she’s got something planned. But you lot have fun.”

  The clock’s ticked around to clocking-off time, so I take my leave of my friends, wishing I was going out for a drink with them, or having a celebration to look forward to like Art. Instead, I’m going home for a weekend of babysitting my seventeen-year-old daughter who’s behaving more like a petulant child.

  A drive through rush hour traffic is never my idea of a good time. Stuck in an unmoving traffic jam, I notice a line of motorcycles lane splitting, quite legally, between the cars. As they pass, I notice their cuts bear the same insignia as the biker who I’d met all those weeks back. Idly, I wonder whether he’s one of them. If so, right now, I envy the way their journey, at least, is unimpeded. I hadn’t recognised his distinctive bike, though I had looked out for it.

  When I at last get home, I’m weary. All I want to do is collapse on the sofa having poured a welcome glass of wine.

  “You’re late,” a disembodied voice calls out. “What’s for dinner? I’m starved.”

  At least she’s home, I tell myself, having half feared to return to an empty house.

  “There’s nothing to eat here.” A cupboard door slams, followed by the bang of the fridge, tells me her mood hasn’t improved.

  “Order pizza, or Chinese. Whatever you want.” I’m a bad, bad mom. I can’t even feed my daughter. “Tomorrow, we’ll go food shopping, maybe cook something together?”

  “Count me out. And I want pizza.” The sounds of footsteps stomping down the hall to her bedroom, and another door slamming shut, signals this conversation is over.

  I stand, head bowed, dreading the weekend ahead.

  Chapter Seven

  Grumbler

  Church is church. Business is discussed and decided in under an hour.

  “Just one bit of other business from me.” Lost taps his fingers on the table. “Drum
mer’s getting impatient. It’s been almost three months now, and there’s still no sign of Stormy.”

  “What the fuck is Utah doing with all the computer power they’ve got? I thought they could ‘get into Fort Knox.’” Token looks disgusted.

  “They’re not fuckin’ trying, or they know where he is,” I offer, thinking it highly likely.

  “That’s Drummer’s thinking,” Prez agrees. He grimaces. “He’s worried Snatcher knows more than he’s letting on and has got Stormy out working alone again.”

  The VP shakes his head. “Road’s a good man. He wouldn’t let that shit fly.”

  “Maybe Pip and Snatcher are doing shit in secret without it being brought out into the open,” Salem proposes. “It wouldn’t be the first fuckin’ time.”

  Growls go around. Our chapter understands the dangers of that only too well. Snake and my predecessor, Poke, had plotted secretly against the club, enlisting seven other brothers to help them. I wonder if Drummer thinks something like that’s going on in Utah.

  “So what’s Drummer proposing?”

  Lost’s lips press together. “He’s given Snatcher two more weeks to find him. After that, he’ll be enlisting the help of the Wretched Soulz and all friendly clubs to watch out for him.”

  “The man must be somewhere.”

  Reboot gets a slap around the back of his head from Deuce. “Kind of obvious.”

  “He could be dead.” Niran frowns. “Man riding on his own is always at risk.”

  “Unless he’s at the bottom of a ravine, there’d be reports of a death or hospitalisation.”

  “He should be six feet under,” I grumble in my normal way. I’ll never forgive the man for taking the shot that killed Alder. A sideways glance at Lost shows me he feels the same way.

  “Any particular reason you’re telling us this?” The VP looks to his right. “Apart from keeping our eyes open in the unlikely event he comes San Diego’s way?”

  Salem snorts. “Yeah, like he’s going to turn up and ask us to do custom work on his bike. He’s more likely to be on the other end of the country or even overseas if the man’s got any sense.”

  Lost isn’t the normal battle-scarred badass who runs an outlaw motorcycle club. He still has an aura of the businessman he previously was, but he shouldn’t be underestimated. When the chips are down and his family, whether brothers or his old lady, are threatened, he’s as hard as they come, and not afraid to get his hands dirty. His face darkens now.

  “If Drummer’s suspicions are right and he makes good on his threat to disband the Utah chapter, they may not go down without a fight. We may be asked to cross states and be ready to ride at his side.”

  “If it comes to that, we’ll be ready,” I assure him. Not that I’d like to take out any man who wears a Satan’s Devils’ patch, but if they’re setting themselves against the mother chapter, they’d better be prepared to take all chapters on as well.

  Lost gives me a chin lift and notes the serious expressions all around. “I’m hoping that won’t be the outcome, but just wanted to give a heads-up in case. Right.” He lifts the gavel and bangs it. “Church is over for tonight.”

  As brothers get up, snippets of conversation reach my ears. More than one comment is made about fuckin’ Stormy and what they’ll do if he comes into our hands. Pennywise and Salem are more focused on the possible parallels between Snake and Snatcher, if Drummer’s worst assumptions prove correct. For a moment, I sit, wondering about Satan’s Devils pitching themselves against other club members. I sincerely hope the matter resolves before it comes to that. I’d prefer to think Stormy’s disappearance is that he’s dead and his body just hasn’t been found as yet.

  “You wanted to talk to me?” Token slips into the seat Scribe has just vacated.

  “Yeah.” After that one word, I realise I still haven’t come up with an excuse of why I’m looking for a woman. As Token raises an eyebrow, I continue, “I want to find someone’s address.” I don’t have to give him a reason, do I?

  “Sure. Who?” Token pulls his laptop to him.

  “Mary Styles. I think that’s her name. She’s got a daughter, Alicia Styles.”

  “Husband?”

  I shake my head. “Not in the picture.”

  “Hmm.” Token eyes me carefully. “You think she may have reverted to her maiden name?”

  “No fuckin’ clue, Brother. The husband’s dead, so maybe unlikely.”

  “But you’re certain of the daughter’s?”

  I nod. “Yes.” Well I think I am. Do models use pseudonyms?

  “Do you know how old she is?”

  “Seventeen.” I remember Mary telling me.

  “I’ll start with the daughter. She should be at high school unless she’s dropped out.”

  It sounds a good plan. From what I remember of Mary, I doubt she’d let her daughter leave school without her diploma. Though I could be wrong, of course.

  Token’s brow is creased. “I assume I’m looking in San Diego?”

  “Start there.” She could live anywhere nearby, but the city is the place to start.

  “Okay, leave it with me, Brother.” His head tilts to the side, and I wait for him to ask me the reason, but it seems he’s not curious enough to ask. Whatever question was on his lips remains unspoken.

  As he gets up to leave, I realise all my worrying about an interrogation was for nothing. Token walks purposefully to the door with a wave of his hand, totally focused on the task he’s been handed.

  It’s Friday night, business is done, so it’s time for partying now. In years past, I’d like nothing more than to fuddle my head with copious beers and sink my cock into any available pussy. It wasn’t unknown for me to have more than one girl in a night, and often more than one together. Now, I don’t bother thinking about it. I can’t be sure if it’s my cock that’s stopped working or if girls young enough to be my granddaughter don’t cut it for me anymore, or maybe it’s the fear I’d not be able to perform as expected from a biker.

  When Smoker was alive, I’d normally gravitate to him, drink and shoot the shit. But now he’s gone, it’s our party nights when I most miss him. Lost is only a few years younger than me, but he’s got his old lady, and rightly spends most of his time with her. Bones, now he’s on the brink of getting old like me, but when I emerge into the clubroom, I see he’s got his arm around Eva, and I doubt he’d leave the promise of sex for a few hours conversing with me.

  I don’t have it in me to envy him, just mentally wish him well to enjoy it while he still can.

  With one less appetite to feed, I make my way to the bar. “Whisky,” I demand when I get there.

  Curtis jumps to attention and soon there’s a shot glass in front of me.

  “Grumbler? Want me to deal you in?”

  A smile appears on my face. Yeah, a game of poker would suit me just fine. Picking up my glass, I take it over to join Brakes, Pennywise and Snips. A few hours later, I’ve a nice mound of notes piling up beside me.

  “I’m out,” Snips says, his eyes narrowing. “You’ve fuckin’ cleaned me out, Grumbler. What about you, Brakes?” When he gets no answer, he asks again, “Brakes?”

  “What? Oh, I was…” He doesn’t need to complete his sentence.

  As one, the three of us turn to see what’s caught his attention. It’s Kink. He’s got two pets tonight. Both naked, both wearing collars, and they’re crawling through the clubroom while he holds two leashes and wields a whip as though he’s driving a chariot.

  “They’re wearing tails,” Pennywise notes, unnecessarily.

  “Pony play,” Brakes says, knowledgeably.

  “Each to their own,” Snips notes, rubbing at his jaw, reminding me I need to mention to Lost that a visit to the dentist is necessary.

  A hand lands on my shoulder. Dragging my eyes away from the procession I’d been avidly watching—well, it might not arouse me, but it sure is entertaining—I glance around and see Token. He’s holding a note in his hand which
he passes to me. “Only one Alicia Styles of that age in a local high school. Here’s her address.”

  I don’t bother asking how he got it, knowing there’ll be more than one high school database he hacked into tonight. Luckily, the nosy fuckers at the table with me are still intent on Kink’s latest pets, and not on Token or me. I don’t think they’ve even noticed he’s arrived. Brakes is unashamedly stroking his dick through his jeans.

  “Thanks, Brother.”

  “Anything you need help with?” Token offers.

  I stand, slipping the piece of paper into my pocket, and slap his back. “Nah, I got this.”

  Walking away from the table, I notice the hours have flown past. It’s far too late to pay Mary a visit tonight. A biker turning up at this late hour would not go down well, and anyway, I’ve had a few too many whiskies to ride. Deciding I’ll go and see if I’ve got the correct address first thing in the morning, I take myself off to bed, noticing as I get to the foot of the stairs that Niran’s surrounded by a bevy of girls—not unusual. He’s tall and striking looking, and while he’s got a prosthetic leg, he’s still gets a lot of interest from the simpering hangarounds wanting to find out if the rumours about black cocks have any truth in them. While he’s candid about the reason he’s a magnet for the girls, he’s never told me, and I’ve never asked whether they’ve got their facts right.

  Presumably, the whisky’s relaxed me and as soon as my head hits the pillow, I’m out like a light.

  It’s another day of cloudless blue skies when I awake. I go through my morning preparations, throwing on the nearest clean t-shirt to hand, then, after making myself a quick breakfast, head out to my bike. I wheel it out of the parking spot in between the other bikes, then taking a rag out of my saddlebag, wipe off the dust that’s settled overnight. It’s early, most of the other brothers were partying late, making me remember I’m the oldest one now, so no one else is about. Suits me fine. And though I had a few whiskies last night, I didn’t overindulge so I’ve escaped the hangover as well.