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

by Manda Mellett

  I don’t want to waste any more time, but quickly I run over the plan in my head. Can’t see any holes in it. It’s a male model we’re taking down, not a crime syndicate king. I don’t expect him to have a security detail.

  “Utah turn up any military training?”

  “None.” I’m not surprised Lost has already checked. “Ready?”

  You bet I am.

  Salem gives Prez and I time to get into position, then, we, quite nimbly in my view given both of us are in our fifties, vault over the, okay, low fence, and approach the back of the house carefully. It’s not large, and I can easily hear the roar of Salem’s engine as he arrives.

  I also hear a door inside opening.

  Seconds later the back door flies open and out runs a man trying to simultaneously run and pull up his pants. It’s Owen.

  “Not so fast, kid.” My meaty paw lands on the collar of his t-shirt, twisting it hard so it painfully pulls against his neck. His hands come up to try to loosen it.

  “You’re strangling me, man,” he rasps out, his words only just intelligible.

  Lost is beside me, pulling Owen’s hands down and expertly zip tying them behind him.

  “Prospect is on his way with the truck.” Salem appears, his eyes full of mirth as he watches Owen, now unable to ease the pressure against his neck, going red in the face, helpless to get away. “Better loosen your grip, Brother. Before he expires.”

  If he passes out, he’ll be easier to transport that way.

  Owen’s eyes are rolling up in his head. I realise I need him alive, not dead, so withdraw my hand. When I do so, he collapses to the ground, but weak and with his hands secured, he falls forward, screeching as his head meets the concrete.

  “Jeez, all that from a little bump on the head.” Salem kicks the prone man. “He’s going to be fun.”

  Knowing the next step is for Owen to come to his senses and start screaming, I sacrifice my bandana, stuffing it into his mouth.

  “Ok,” Lost looks up from his phone, “Wrangler’s approaching the back gate now.”

  None too gently, Salem jerks the guy up by his tied together hands.

  “Oomph.” It’s about all Owen manages to say.

  Getting an uncooperative man into the truck isn’t a new occurrence for us, and as expected, it goes like clockwork. Wrangler’s not fazed driving the secured man back to the compound. When he pulls away, Lost and I follow him on our bikes, Salem catching us up when we’ve only gone a short distance.

  As we near the compound, my sense of anticipation begins to rise. At last we’re going to get some answers.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Grumbler

  Parking my bike in its usual place, I fire off a quick text to Niran. While I update him—we’ve got Owen in our hands—I ask him to stay put. Devon’s still out there. If the pair are working together and Owen’s disappeared, the photographer may start asking questions.

  The truck doesn’t stop by our clubhouse but continues around to the rear of the second hangar and the entrance to the brig. Salem heads off on foot, whistling to himself and in no particular hurry. Knowing he’ll be making sure Owen is secured, Prez and I continue into the clubroom where we’re greeted by the smell of bacon cooking.

  “Hungry?”

  “I could eat.” I grin at Prez. While I’m anxious to get started, experience tells me leaving Owen waiting in anticipation will help soften him up, and, of course, questioning is best done on a full stomach.

  Even if we didn’t know exactly where we were headed, our noses would be sufficient to guide our way.

  Pennywise looks up as soon as we walk in. “It go okay?”

  “Piece of fuckin’ cake,” Prez replies, kicking out a chair.

  “Want everything, Prez?” Tits waves a plate his way.

  “Sure,” Lost agrees, patting his stomach.

  “Only one egg,” Patsy calls out as she walks in. She strides over to Lost, reaches down and gives him a kiss. “Don’t want you getting more love handles.”

  “You love my love handles.” Lost eyes soften as he looks at his old lady, pulling her down onto his lap. “Tell you what, you can share mine.”

  Patsy giggles like a fuckin’ kid, which clearly appeals to Lost, as breakfast forgotten for a moment, he leans his head down and proceeds to make a meal of her lips.

  Brakes rolls his eyes. “Is that allowed at breakfast?” he asks primly.

  I shake my head, accepting my own loaded plate from the sweet butt.

  Deuce wanders in, yawning widely, Keeper following shortly after. Both look like they’ve just rolled out of bed.

  “What time d’you call this on a fuckin’ Sunday?” Snips asks, also appearing and making a beeline for the coffee jug.

  “Fun time,” Kink, who’s already eating, offers. He winks toward me. I suppress the urge to look under the table. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s had a naked pet sitting beside him.

  “Why are you all up so early?” Patsy queries.

  Silence descends. “Club business, babe,” her old man reminds her.

  Undeterred, she chews then swallows a piece of bacon Lost has just passed to her, and then, with narrowed eyes, looks around the table. “If it’s got anything to do with that kid, Alicia, make it hurt.”

  “MC lifestyle rubbing off on you?” I chuckle, mopping up some egg.

  “Women should mind their own business.” But Dusty’s got a huge grin on his face.

  Patsy looks around, presumably checking her son isn’t within eyesight, then gives Dusty the finger. The unfamiliar gesture makes us crack up.

  The heavy stomp of boots announces the arrival of the enforcer. I raise an eyebrow.

  “Wrangler and Curtis.” He gives me the answer to my unspoken question as to who is looking after our ‘guest’.

  I give a chin lift.

  “Where’s Toke?” I ask Prez.

  “Speaking to Utah. I think they’ve all pulled an all-nighter.”

  “Any progress on the video?”

  “None so far.”

  That’s not what I want to hear. Every minute that video is still out there is a minute too long as far as I’m concerned. Still, one side of my mouth turns up. It won’t be too long, and Owen will be telling me everything he knows. Maybe he’ll have all the answers.

  With that thought, I place my silverware down and take my empty plate over to Tits. I help myself to a coffee, then lean back against the countertop.

  “Are we ready to get this show on the road?” I ask generally.

  My response is a clattering of metal on plates as brothers hastily finish their meals. It seems we’re all eager to get started.

  “I want a piece of him,” Deuce states as he comes alongside, picking his way along the path that leads to the second hangar. “I’ve got a sister not far off Alicia’s age.”

  I didn’t know that. “You see her regular?”

  “Nah. She lives with my mom. I stayed with my dad. Kinda lost touch. Not that staying with the old man did much for me. He kicked me out when my stepmom had her child.”

  Sad, but it’s the way things so often are. Many members come from broken families, and that’s why the MC has become home.

  A hefty slap on my back sends me reeling. “Ready for this?” Salem’s looking pumped.

  “Asshole,” I hiss at him. The forward motion had had me stomping down hard on my not so good leg.

  Unrepentant, he grins widely. “At least that asshole Stormy’s not around to spoil my fun this time.” He might sound confident, but still he shades his eyes, and looks around as if Stormy might be hiding unseen, ready to show off his sniper skills as he had with Alder.

  As I straighten, I glance behind catching Lost’s eye, noticing his jaw is clenched. It will be a long time, if ever, before he forgives Stormy. While we’re all pretty certain any risk to his old lady died with Alder, it would be nice to have heard it from the man himself.

  When we reach the soundproofed room at the en
d of the hangar, the brothers stand back so I, as the brother who’d suffered the most injury, can have the honour of being the first inside, well, the first, that is, besides the two prospects.

  Owen never succeeded in pulling his pants all the way up, and no one, it appears, was inclined to help him. With the result, he’s strung up to an overhead beam with them precariously perched on his thighs. Having had insufficient time to pull on underwear, as soon as I walk in, I get an eyeful of his flaccid dick hanging down. Thinking of exactly where that dick had been on Friday night makes me see red.

  I act on impulse, approaching him before I can have a second thought and punch him right in his junk.

  Salem’s derisive snort, which tells me he’d planned to do that himself, is quickly drowned out as Owen takes in air, then lets out an ear-piercing scream and comically tries to bend his body to bring some relief to the pain in his balls which, already, are swelling to twice their size. His face is red, and his mouth opens and shuts. Under the t-shirt that clings to his sweat-dampened body, the muscles of his stomach visibly roll.

  “Stand back, he’s going to hurl.”

  Noting Pennywise’s warning, I, and my brothers, all give him a wide berth. Luckily, it’s not projectile, but bile dribbles out of his mouth, further moistening his shirt.

  It takes a few minutes before he recovers his breath, and, once again, opens his eyes. They fall on me, his tormentor. “What have I ever done to you, man? I didn’t deserve that.”

  Does he think I don’t know?

  “Well, let me see.” I pull at one of my fingers. “First, you and Devon Starr conned me out of money.”

  “I don’t know nothing about that.”

  I leave his double negative response and continue counting off his crimes. “And then, you conned Alicia into giving up something worth so much more.”

  His eyes crease with cunning. “Alicia’s my girlfriend.”

  “Oh, Owen. You can do better than that.” I sigh deeply as though disappointed. “Alicia’s told me,” I indicate all the men standing around, “us, exactly what you did to her.”

  “I did nothing she didn’t want!”

  As I lurch forward, Salem tugs me off balance, holding me back. His strong arms hold me while I fight him.

  “You’ll get your fuckin’ turn,” he hisses, his words bringing me back to myself.

  When he feels me relax, he jerks his chin to the side. I move in the direction he indicated, allowing him to stand front and centre.

  For a moment, he just eyes Owen. “Grumbler here has skin in the game. I don’t. So here’s your chance, Owen. Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll keep Grumbler away.”

  Salem’s just stringing him along. While I’d rather be the man making Owen hurt, he knows what he’s doing. My punch to his junk will pale in comparison once the enforcer brings his toys into play.

  “What…” Owen starts in a squeaky voice. “What do you want to know?” The sweat is pouring off his face, and only some of it is from fear, most from the throbbing going on in his groin. I’ve no sympathy, it’s less than he deserves.

  “First,” Salem snaps, “who’s got the video?”

  It’s plain as day that he wants to dodge its existence, but sensibly he decides there’s no point in a denial. He filmed their interaction, our words have shown we know it.

  “I don’t know, man,” Owen cries. “I just get paid to play my role. And Alicia enjoyed it. Some women—” His words cut off. But he’s said enough for us to pick up on it.

  “So, not your first rodeo?” Salem asks, taking a step closer. “You’ve starred in these films before?”

  “Yeah, but there’s no harm in it.”

  “No?” Salem asks, deceptively quiet. “You get paid, Owen?”

  “Of course.” His face suggests he doesn’t think much of the suggestion that he’s doing it for nothing.

  “Do the girls?”

  “No.” His head, as much as it can move, tilts to the side, and his eyes crease in confusion.

  “So what do they get out of it?” Salem advances another step.

  “My cock,” Owen states, well, cockily.

  The comment enrages me. Lost puts his hand on my arm and whispers hastily into my ear, “That man and his cock will soon be parted.”

  I allow myself to be held back. It’s only that thought that keeps me rooted here.

  A knife appears in Salem’s hand and almost quicker than the eye can follow the blade slams down into Owen’s thigh. He lets out another piercing scream which seems to go on forever.

  “Your fuckin’ cock?” Salem spits at him. “They get more than that, don’t they? They also get threats of the video being widely distributed if they go to the cops and don’t keep their mouths shut.”

  “I’m bleeding, man,” Owen wails. “I think you hit an artery. Do something, or I’m going to die.”

  “You’re not going to die from that little cut. But you might if you don’t tell me what I want to know.” Salem growls, his voice, cold and menacing, a tone only he can achieve. I try, but while Salem can make people wet their pants with the timbre he uses, I have to use a bodily threat as well.

  “Please, let me go. I’m just a model. I don’t have anything to do with any cameras or distributing the videos.” Owen starts to beg. “It wasn’t my choice, man. I was told to do it. All I did was follow instructions.” He looks around, trying to find a face that’s sympathetic. Of course, he doesn’t find one. Then his eyes land on mine. It appears my scowl and bunched hands must be working, as a dribble of urine trickles down from his swollen balls.

  Dart coughs, getting Salem’s attention. The enforcer gives way as Dart steps up and takes his place. When he wants to, in his own way, the VP can look scary. “How are the videos distributed, who deals with that?”

  “I don’t know the mechanics. There’s a website.”

  “Can you tell us which one it is?” Dart proceeds to push.

  “I don’t know,” Owen cries out. I’m guessing he’s recovered enough intelligence to know that non-information isn’t going to save him.

  “You don’t know?” Dart gives a menacing growl of his own. “You don’t know a fuckin’ lot, do you, Owen?”

  “I know I can’t afford the subscription!” he yells out, then risks a glance at Dart to see whether he’s satisfied him or not.

  Whether it has or not, the answer gives me no satisfaction. I turn and raise my eyes at Token who raises his chin to show he’s noted the response, and his frown suggests it’s going to make it harder to find. This isn’t a site which someone can stumble on by accident.

  The VP shrugs and, stepping back, hands the lead over to Salem again.

  “I’ll buy you’re just a foot soldier doing what you’re told. So, who’s pulling your fuckin’ strings, Owen?”

  Owen’s eyes flick around, taking in my brothers who are all looking on. It seems he can find no one to appeal to. As if it’s possible, he slumps even more against the chains. “Devon Starr.”

  My eyes go quickly to the prez and VP, knowing it’s good having it confirmed.

  “Anyone else?”

  Owen’s head moves in a negative motion. “Not that I know. He could be working with someone I suppose.”

  “Who’s Brandon West?” Token barks.

  Salem raises the knife.

  “That’s me. That’s my name.”

  One mystery solved at least. Salem glances at me. I raise my chin to say I think in that he’s being truthful. When the enforcer turns back to Owen/Brandon again, he continues the questioning.

  “So, where do we find our friend Devon? Do you know his real name?”

  “That is his real name—” Another scream shuts off his lie as Salem’s knife finds a target in Owen’s side. He can tell as well as the rest of us when he’s being sold a lie.

  Another dribble of urine, and the man is openly crying now. “He’ll kill me.” He tries to breathe through the pain, struggling to find an answer before Salem can st
ab him again. “He also goes by Ad Wilson.”

  “Tell us something we don’t know,” Salem suggests, flashing the blade once more.

  “Carson Frome.” Owen’s eyes look wild. “That’s all I know. That could be another alias. How the hell do I know?”

  “You got contact details and a location for him?”

  When it looks like Owen needs more encouragement, Salem turns to me, holding out the knife. “You want to do the honours? Maybe Owen here will talk when he sees his dick separated from his balls.”

  Do I want to touch the perverts swollen appendage? Fuck no, but if that’s what it takes, I’ll do it.

  I take the bloodied knife and talk as I approach. “You know what Alicia is to me, Owen?” I wait for his wild eyes to come to mine. “She’s fuckin’ family. Do you think I’m going to let Friday night go unpunished? Do you think I’d have a moment’s hesitation in castrating you?”

  “I know where he lives!” Owen screams, louder than he’s done before, making me stuff my finger in my ear then pull it out and shake it. “He’s got a property, whether it’s his or rented I don’t know, but that’s the only location I know for him.” Now he looks crafty. “Let me down and I can take you there.”

  Salem tilts his head as if he’s considering it. “I’ll let Grumbler here slice off your dick. One of our girls is a nurse. She can stop it haemorrhaging, then you can take us where we need to go. Course, you won’t be able to give a fuck anymore.”

  Well fuck. Torturing anyone takes its toll on the soul, which is why, moments like these cause a burst of chortles and laughter far more than the comment deserves. Even I can’t stop my lips turning up or prevent a deep chuckle coming out of my mouth.

  There’s more than one thing to grin about in Salem’s statement. Eva might be great for sewing us up when we cut our hands open accidentally while working on a bike or car, but I think sewing a gaping hole where a dick used to be is beyond even her. The thought of watching her face were we to ask her makes me smile, and my own expression must convey something like anticipated pleasure as Owen opens his mouth.