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

by Manda Mellett

  “Yeah, what about that?” Salem gives a quick grin. “Think I might need to see what she’s made of.”

  Good luck with that. From what Dart had said, even Blade, the fearsome enforcer from Tucson, hadn’t seemed to want to push his chances. It might prove entertaining to watch Salem go up against her. I’m reserving judgement as to who my money would be on.

  I slide my bike key out of my cut and bounce it in my hand. “I’m going for a ride. Need to get some breeze on my face.”

  “Yeah?” Salem gives a snort. “As if I don’t know where you’re going.”

  Unable to tell him he’s wrong, I ignore his comment instead. Mary’s good for me. Somehow being in her presence soothes my soul, and I’ll be damned if I don’t need some calming down now.

  “I’ll expect Wrangler back soon.” Salem salutes me with a smirk and walks off.

  Fuck but it’s good to be back riding my baby. She, too, tends to have the effect of calming me. I frown as I approach, seeing the rain marks on the tank. Since the prospects had been tied up on other duties, she hasn’t had a proper polish to clean her up. Taking a rag, I do my best to get the worst off, contemplating only for a moment whether to stay here with her and do a proper job, or, to do what my heart is telling me, and go see Mary.

  Mary’s like a magnet drawing me, and I’ve no idea why. No woman has ever affected me like her. Is she still in the friendzone, or would I like to explore deeper? Maybe, possibly. For the first time in ages, my dick says it’s ready. Just thinking of her has me adjusting myself in my pants.

  But what about her? She’s a respectable lady. What would she want with a biker like me? A short ride on the wild side? I can’t see anything else between us working out.

  Maybe I should stay away. Wrangler’s on his way to being patched in. Apart from his slipup with Alicia, which I won’t let him forget, I trust him and will give him my vote. Knowing a man learns from his mistakes, I doubt anyone would be better to leave protecting the women. I don’t need to go.

  I realise as my leg seems to work of its own accord, stepping astride my bike, it’s not a need, but it is a want. If I can’t spend the night choking the truth out of Devon, the only way to settle the unease inside me is to go see her. There’s no point fighting it.

  The rain’s long gone, and the late afternoon sun is warming when it lands on my face. The sky has become an endless sea of blue once again—a perfect time of day for riding. With my bandana around my face, my shades on, I slip on my riding gloves and place my helmet on my head. For a moment, as I tighten the strap, I wish for the days when I could feel the wind blowing my hair as I ride. Then, if I hadn’t been wearing a lid when I’d come off my bike, it might not have been my leg that had taken the brunt of it. I could have crushed my skull.

  Starting the engine, I point my bike toward the gate. It opens automatically thanks to the remote attached to my girl. Then, I head south toward the city.

  The air becomes cooler as I grow closer to the ocean. I make my way through the traffic, steering clear of the touristy zones, like the zoo and SeaWorld as I’m nearing Mary’s house. The nearer I get, the more my anticipation grows at seeing her again.

  I’d slept with this woman last night. I’d like to sleep with her again, this time without clothes coming between us. There, I’ve admitted it at last. Not that it’s likely to happen. She’s got a kid in the house.

  I park my bike in the driveway, sighing when I see no other vehicle here. Damn. I’d forgotten Niran had had to make do with the prospect’s ride. Well, there’s no way in hell I’ll let the prospect ride my bike. I take out my phone and place a quick call, and of course, my answer is an affirmative.

  The door opens, and Wrangler is standing there. “Grumbler.” He raises his chin respectfully.

  “I’m taking over from you,” I tell him, noticing the gleam in his eyes as he views my baby behind me. “No fuckin’ way,” I growl. “Connor’s going to swing by and pick you up.”

  “I ain’t riding bitch…”

  “With the fuckin’ truck.” As I pass him to enter the house, I slap him around the back of his head. Quite hard.

  The fucker just laughs. Must be losing my touch.

  I realise Mary’s standing right behind him, her hand over her mouth as though she’s trying not to laugh.

  Immediately, I want to take her in my arms, nuzzle my face against her hair, and just take comfort from her. Which is weird, I’m the protector. It should be me comforting her.

  “You look tired, Grumbler.” Her eyes soften. “Long day?”

  For a response, I simply nod.

  “Come in. You look like you could do with a beer. Alicia’s watching some junk on TV, just ignore her.”

  “Hey, Grumbler.” Alicia turns as she hears her name. “I’m learning all about MCs.”

  What the fuck? My eyes narrow. “Whatcha watching?” I step over to the sofa and stare at the television, the characters recognisable immediately. It’s fuckin’ Sons of Anarchy.

  “Aren’t you too young to watch this?” Now I half turn toward Mary.

  “Pah.” Alicia waves her hand in dismissal. “I’ll be eighteen in three months.”

  I suppose she’s not going to change much in twelve weeks. Mary shrugs, then goes off, presumably to get my beer. “You get her into this?” I growl at the prospect.

  Wrangler doesn’t look contrite. “She asked me to find something about MCs.”

  Thinking I’ll be speaking to him later, I go and sit on the chair opposite the couch, and half turn so I can watch the television. “This isn’t how we roll, sweetheart.” But my eyes narrow as I view the president of the fictional club, recalling in later episodes he meets his comeuppance. Maybe a bit too close to us and Snake, a prez leading a club in the wrong direction.

  “What’s different?”

  Now that’s a question, and I hesitate to reply. I can’t tell her we never do the shit they’re into, because during my lifetime with the Satan’s Devils, I’ve seen and done most of it. Gun deals with the mafia are well in the past, but sure, I’d had a hand in it. The difference is, it never was a daily occurrence. MC life is about earning enough to survive and living with like-minded brothers while you’re doing it. A daily routine, sometimes broken by bursts of activity where we mete out our own form of justice. The last three years have been quiet, and while it might be that I’m getting old, that’s how I like it. I struggle for something to give her, words which don’t show us in a bad light.

  After a moment, I dredge something up. “You already know we run a number of businesses. That’s how we earn our money. We’re not into guns or drugs, and we don’t run around shooting people just for the sake of it. We also don’t openly carry, not in California.” I struggle to come up with the differences.

  “Sounds boring.” Just like that, I’m dismissed, her attention caught by the screen once again.

  Mary’s hand lands on my shoulder, lingering there for a moment, then she passes me a beer. Taking it, I thank her.

  “Want another, Wrangler?”

  I glare at the man who shouldn’t have been partaking of her hospitality. Seeing my expression, he shakes his head. “Nah, my ride should be here in a moment.”

  There’s a shoot-‘em-up battle going on. For a few minutes our attention is held by the scene playing out in front of us. Despite myself, I become as vested in the outcome as anyone else.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Mary

  Wrangler was good company for Alicia. He’s a good-looking guy, and I’d seen the way my daughter had been looking at him, but also noticed how he was around her. Respectful and keeping his distance. Friendly enough, but not encouraging anything. To be honest, if his presence helped take her mind off what had happened on Friday, I wasn’t too upset about it. Just as long as Wrangler knew her teenage attraction didn’t mean anything.

  Alicia, who I normally have to prompt to be a host, couldn’t do enough for him, offering to get him a beer, and even makin
g a sandwich when his stomach had growled. I actually didn’t mind the television programme she was watching. Sure, technically she’s too young, but I’m not naïve enough to know this won’t be the first time she’s watched something with an adult rating.

  More often than expected, my own eyes are drawn to the screen, wondering if this really is the kind of life Grumbler is immersed in. I’m particularly intrigued by the fictional sergeant-at-arms, even though my Grumbler is nothing like him. My Grumbler? The claim in my head surprises me.

  Realising I couldn’t sit around all day binge-watching a series, I leave them to it, and get on with the chores I’d neglected all week, and then again when I spent yesterday trying to help Alicia come to terms with what had happened. I’m just walking in with a basket of laundry, grimacing slightly when I see a sex scene going on, but having to admire the way the buttocks of the male star flex. I come to an abrupt halt.

  “Do you like your girlfriends to be virgins?”

  While he hadn’t noticed me, I see Wrangler’s eyebrows rise so high they almost meet his hairline. I’m about to step in and call this inappropriate conversation to a halt, when Wrangler’s face forms a more normal expression.

  “An honest answer?” When my daughter nods, he complies. “No. Never been with one, never had a yearning to. Oh, if the girl was right, I probably wouldn’t mind if she was, but I’d much rather be with women who know the score.” He leans forward, clasping his hands between his knees. “Look, I know what went down with Owen, and I won’t say anything other than he was one-hundred-percent wrong, misleading you the way he did. But if a virgin expects a dinner, flowers, and an expensive hotel room, then most guys would probably run a mile.”

  “The girl wouldn’t be worth it?” Alicia challenges him.

  “Put it this way, I prefer my women less high maintenance.” He softens his words with a wink.

  Glancing at my daughter, I can see her calculating what that might mean. I put the laundry in the washer, then return to the living room, sitting on the couch beside her.

  “What have I missed?” I say, brightly, turning my attention to the television. My action and words having the desired effect of bringing that particular conversation to a close.

  I make some lunch, start the preparation for dinner, doing enough for three even though Wrangler can’t commit to staying. The pair finish one season, then start another.

  It’s late afternoon when I hear the loud sound of a motorcycle coming up the road. It seems my ears are attuned to the sound as I’m certain it signals Grumbler is about to arrive.

  Wrangler goes to open the door, gesturing me back, even though I’m sure he knows who’s going to be outside.

  I want to laugh as I get an insight into how Grumbler got his name—the way he treats the young prospect so at odds with how gentle he is with me and Alicia. It doesn’t worry me, I know it’s just a way of testing Wrangler knows his place.

  I stay back, listening, while he and Alicia discuss the programme she’s gotten engrossed in. I think he’s being careful as he’s waiting for Wrangler to leave.

  I’m right. As soon as the door closes behind the prospect, Grumbler gets to his feet. His eyes are on mine when he addresses my daughter.

  “Got to talk to your mom, okay?”

  Alicia waves her hand dismissively.

  I retreat to the kitchen area, Grumbler following me.

  “Any progress?” I ask quietly.

  He leans back against the countertop and bows his head, then raises his eyes which I realise look weary. “You don’t need to worry about Owen anymore.”

  Maybe it’s just what we’ve been watching on television, but I gasp in a breath. “What have you done, Grumbler?” My voice sounds tense. Was it only this morning I told him to kill a man? That was just my mother’s anger talking. I don’t really want a man dead. Hurt, maybe, in jail, certainly. But not breathing? I hold my breath, hoping Grumbler hadn’t taken my words at face value.

  His expression hardens a little, then he shakes his head. “All you need know is that Alicia will never be seeing him again.”

  I jump to the only explanation I think I can accept. “He’s left San Diego?”

  Grumbler breathes in deeply. “Yeah.”

  How does he know he’ll stay away? “You can’t promise that. He could come back.”

  “He won’t, baby. Believe me.”

  Again, the question occurs to me, what has he done? “Did you hurt him?”

  Grumbler pushes away from the countertop, crowding me. I take a step back, and his chest pushes up against mine. His face is as fierce as I’ve ever seen it, and I realise I’m being addressed by the sergeant-at-arms. The strange thing is, it doesn’t scare me.

  “What he did to Alicia was the tip of the iceberg, Mary.” His mouth opens and closes, then he shakes his head, as if there’s more he wants to tell me.

  “What do you mean?”

  Grumbler rolls back his head on his shoulders, his mouth opens, then closes. When he speaks, his voice is hard. “It’s club business, and you won’t be told anything of it for your own safety.”

  “Again, what do you mean?” I bristle that he’s not sharing details with me.

  He sighs deeply. “If he’s reported missing, if somehow Alicia’s linked to him, it’s best you answer with a clear conscience. That way you can’t hold back anything you might know. You’ll just have to accept you’ll never know what’s happened to him.”

  “You expect the cops to turn up?”

  “Highly unlikely, but someone might crawl out of the woodwork to raise questions. Alicia did model with him. She might be asked what she knows.”

  That worries me. “What if she tells them about… Well, Friday?”

  “That could have given him a good reason to get out of Dodge. It was statutory rape, however willing she was.” Pleading eyes meet mine. “Please don’t ask me more, babe.”

  As he steps back, I take hold of his hands, turning them over carefully. Grumbler cocks an eyebrow at me. There’s more, I can feel it. Things he won’t tell me, things he won’t share. Suddenly, I realise, I probably don’t want to hear them.

  “You’re a good man, Grumbler. I get what you’re saying, and I don’t want to know. I’ll just take your assurance that we’ll never see him again. If he’s done the same or worse with other girls before…” I pause and look up questioningly. When Grumbler gives a reluctant nod, I carry on. “I’m just glad he’s gone. We can move on and pick up the pieces of our lives.”

  A smile curves his lips. “You’re perfect, Mary. You know that?”

  “Huh,” I refute. “You barely know me.”

  “And that’s something I’d like to rectify.”

  I regard him quizzically. “Will you ever let me get to know you? Or will everything be club business?”

  “I’ll tell you anything else, babe. All you got to do is ask.”

  He’s clearly waiting so seriously for me to question him about his past. Lines are etched deep around his face, and whatever he’s done today has affected him. I grin.

  “Here’s one for you. Do you like roast beef? And will you stay for dinner, not because you’re protecting me, but because you want to stay?”

  “I can’t separate the two, Mary. Will never be able to. But yes, I like beef, and I’d love to stay. But,” his eyes harden again, “Devon’s still out there. While a visit to you seems unlikely, I need to be here to keep you safe.”

  “Owen wasn’t able to tell you where he was? Did he help you trace the video?”

  His brow creases as if sifting through what he can and can’t say. “No. But we’ve got guys,” his mouth quirks for some reason on that, “coming down from Utah tomorrow. They’re tech experts and if they can’t track the video down and destroy it, nobody can.”

  “What are you two whispering about?”

  Intent on Grumbler, I hadn’t heard her switch off the television, nor approach.

  “This and that,” Grumbler says offha
ndedly. “Like what’s causing those delicious aromas coming from the stove.”

  His observation is a signal that dinner is ready. I plate up, and we sit and eat. Instead of the back-and-forth conversation we’d had when Grumbler ate with us before, tonight we eat mainly in silence with just an odd ‘please pass the this or that’. It’s not awkward, but more that Grumbler seems a little lost in his head, and I’m wondering just what happened to put him there. Strangely enough, I’m more sympathetic than concerned at what he might have done. A man without a conscience I’d be more concerned about.

  Alicia disappears to her room as soon as her plate is clean. Tonight, I don’t have the energy to call her back. Instead, it’s Grumbler who helps me clear the plates, rinsing them off and stacking them in the dishwasher. Apart from a few pleasantries such as my observation he looks quite comfortable doing this, and his response that he’s not quite as helpless as he might seem. We avoid conversation again, instead working together in a companionable silence.

  When we’re done and the washer’s doing its work, we return to the living room.

  “That yours?” Grumbler points to an object that’s so much part of the furniture it’s normally ignored in its place in the corner.

  “What? Oh, no. Alicia begged me for it for her birthday one year.” I, too, stare at the guitar sitting forlorn and neglected. The only hand that touches it is mine when I dust. “When she found it wasn’t easy to learn, she soon became fed up with it.”

  “Do you mind?” He tilts his head toward the instrument. When I frown, he elaborates, “Can I play it?”

  Surprised he’d be interested in something that doesn’t have two wheels, I incline my head. “Be my guest.”

  He stands, collects the guitar, then brings it back to his seat. He strums it once, grimacing when he realises how out of tune it is. “When were the strings last replaced?”

  “Er, never?”

  “Hmm.”

  The one thing Alicia had learned was how to tune it. I’d watched as she placed her finger on the fifth fret of one string to tune the next. As Grumbler’s brow furrows in concentration, I expect him to do the same thing. Instead, he rests one ear to the body and listens intensely to the sound of each string. After a moment he strums a chord. My eyes widen, as Alicia had never managed to get such a clear tone out of it.