He hands me a helmet, taking a moment to tighten the straps to his satisfaction, then gives me a pair of sunglasses I hadn’t thought to bring. Then, he puts on his own helmet and shades, slipping his hands into gloves.
I watch as he swings his leg over the saddle, looking all at once at one with the machine. When he holds out his hand, I grip it hard as I try to get myself onto the seat. I manage, but I’m sure I’m more awkward than fluent.
“Arms around my waist,” he instructs. “Hold me tight. Budge up the seat so I can feel you behind me, babe.” He helps by yanking on my hands, making me slide down toward him. “If you need me to stop, tap me on the shoulder. Just go with the flow, lean when I do.”
I don’t need his instruction. Even with the engine off and us not moving, I’m holding him with a death grip. When he starts the engine and the bike begins to vibrate, I squeal.
He’s backed onto my drive, so once he kicks up the stand, making me feel unbalanced, he’s only got to put it into gear to start us rolling.
We must be going at a walking pace, but I’m scared. Terrified. My heart is in my mouth. Once we gain a little speed though, the bike feels steadier.
This is Grumbler. He’s been riding for years. He had a crash a while back. Is he really safe?
Just once around the block, I can do this.
But Grumbler ignores the turn that would make the circuit short and heads out along the main road.
It’s his bike, not us, that attracts attention, I tell myself, as kids lean out of cars and wave, while some adults watch us with disgust on their faces. I try to convince myself it’s not that a woman my age has no excuse riding on such a bike.
Grumbler eases his way through the traffic, and for once I’m not stuck waiting in a line of cars but making my way past them. For some gaps I close my eyes, but Grumbler seems to know what he’s doing, and despite myself, I begin to relax, admiring instead his competency handling the big two-wheeler. Quicker than I would have made it in my car, we’re coming to an open piece of road. When Grumbler opens the throttle and the bike leaps forward with a roar as though excited to show off its stuff, I shriek, and hug Grumbler even tighter.
The vibration of the bike, the feeling of the cooling breeze on my face, the sheer thrill of being part of the countryside makes my nerves slide away. Instead of worrying about the ride, I’m now consumed by thoughts of the man who’s in front of me. My hands on his chest loosen slightly as I realise I don’t feel in danger. Riding with him, I feel safe.
Safe in a way I haven’t had for years.
Dave and I had a good marriage. I’d grown used to having a man by my side. Our household duties were split, not that he wouldn’t take a turn at the cooking, but I normally found another job for him instead. That cupboard’s loose. The yard needs cutting. He’d taken most of the financial burden as his wage was higher than mine, but I had my own bank account, and knew how to manage my money.
When he’d gone, I thought I could manage to get through life, that the devastation of his loss was the overriding emotion. That soon began to be usurped by a sense of how useless I was. Putting together a new bed for Alicia had seen me in frustrated tears, so had dealing with the insurance company who tied me in knots. I’d come through, stronger than before.
I don’t need a man in my life, but it sure would be nice to have one. One I can depend on.
As I’m beginning to trust Grumbler’s handling of the bike and ultimately my life, I realise I’m ready to trust him with something else—my happiness.
It’s almost an hour later when we draw back up at my house.
“Around the block? Really?” I dismount, take off my helmet and stand with my hands on my hips.
He smirks widely, completely unabashed. “Told you to tap me on my shoulder if you wanted to stop. You didn’t, so…” He shrugs.
“I was scared for my life,” I tell him, unable to keep the grin off my face. “Couldn’t let go of you long enough to give you the signal.”
He snorts. “Yeah, I felt you feeling up my abs.” He approaches me, takes the helmet from my hands, and twists one hand in my hair. “Tell me you hated it, babe.”
I can’t tell him that. Instead, something else comes out of my mouth. “Yes, to being your old lady. Yes, to playing with fire and seeing how things pan out.” His wild side, how he lives on the edge, must be rubbing off on me.
“Fuck, woman. You’re perfect.” He leans down to rest his forehead against mine. “I’ll make sure you don’t regret it.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Grumbler
I enjoy what I can spend of the evening with Mary and Alicia, not minding we’re eating takeout—a common occurrence, but one quite explainable. Mary works.
“Mom always gets takeout,” Alicia complains. “Marisa’s mom cooks every night.”
“You get in earlier than your mom,” I observe. “You could get something going for dinner.”
Alicia’s eyes snap to mine, then slowly a snide grin spreads over her face. “I love takeout.”
“Were you brought up on home-cooked meals, Grumbler?” Mary asks.
I nod, swallow, then tell them, “Actually I was. Mom knew her way around a kitchen as it happens. But you know what? I fuckin’ yearned for takeout.”
“Guess we always want what we can’t have,” Alicia observes.
She’s not wrong there.
Right now, I want to stay here and lock the rest of the world out, but I’ve responsibilities, and fuck knows, I’m eager to deal with them. All too soon, I’m heading for the door. Mary comes with me.
“We’re going to have to tell her soon.” I jerk my head to Alicia’s room where she’s disappeared again.
Mary grimaces. “Leave that to me. If what’s between us is going to work, she’s got to be on board with it. I mean, where are we going to live for a start? I’m hoping being your old lady won’t mean you’ll just pop by for booty calls.” When I widen my eyes and shake my head, she offers, “You could move in here.”
“Come and see my place this weekend,” I counter. “See if you think that can work. Or, if you want, we could buy something together. Make a fresh start.”
“I don’t care where we live as long as I have my own room.”
Both Mary and I jump so fast, it’s comical. Behind Mary, out of immediate view, stands her teenage daughter. She’s a fucking ninja.
“Or,” I suggest, looking seriously down at Mary. “You could move in with me, and we’ll leave Alicia here.”
“Can I? Can I have my own place?” The glee with which my inane suggestion is greeted draws one word out of both of our mouths at once.
“No.”
“Aww, shucks. Having two parents is going to suck. Later, Grumbler.” Alicia disappears back into her room, carrying a bag of chips.
“Guess you won’t need to have that chat after all. How the fuck is she still hungry?”
“Growing teenager.” Mary rolls her eyes. “You going to be back, later?”
I wish I could. But I’ve no idea what the night’s going to hold. “Probably not, but I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, okay? I’ll check in with you when I can.”
“You’re going after Devon, aren’t you?” When I stay silent, there’s another roll of her eyes. “Just remember, that this time club business is my business. I need to know that video has been destroyed.”
Leaning down, I take her lips with mine, trying to imprint her taste on my memory to last me through the next few hours.
“Be careful.”
“Always am, babe.” I put my lid on my head and pull on my gloves. Part of me wishes I didn’t have to leave her but know if I’m going to put her troubles to bed, I’ve got to go do what has to be done.
In my rearview, as I drive off, I see her waiting at the end of the driveway until I disappear around the corner, as though she wanted to keep me in sight as long as she could.
How the fuck did I get so lucky?
Then, I try to put her out
of my head and get my mind back into the game. Tonight will be too serious for me to allow myself to be distracted. I’ve got to be one-hundred-percent focused on the task ahead. To be anything else would be dangerous.
While it’s still an hour or more before we’re due to leave, when I arrive back at the compound, it’s buzzing. Men are over-spilling out of the clubhouse, some hunkering down by their bikes, making last-minute checks. No one wants a hitherto unspotted nail in the tyre to cause any accidents or delays tonight.
Prez is standing, a beer in his hand, leaning against the exterior wall, surveying his domain. I feel as much as see his eyes on me as I park my bike and make my way over.
“Sissy bar? Pillion seat? Never thought I’d see the fuckin’ day.”
I grin. “Yeah, tried it out tonight.”
Dart comes over. “That’s not all he’s tried out.” He grins widely as I mime slitting my throat to keep him from spilling more of my secrets. Thankfully, he keeps quiet.
“Utah got us the locations?” I presume they have, otherwise the brothers wouldn’t be getting ready.
“Yeah.” Business-like now, the VP pulls a paper out of his cut. “We’ve got four locations where he might be. Two houses he’s known to frequent, a hotel he’s been seen at recently, and a studio.”
“What about the house we visited? Any chance he’d go back there?”
Prez raises his chin. “We’ve still got that under surveillance. Curtis is still there. So far, he’s not been back, so won’t know we’ve been there.”
“Where are the teams headed?”
“I’m heading to the studio. Lost is taking the hotel. You’re at one of the houses, and Salem’s at the other.” Dart points out the address to which I’ll be headed, and I program it into my phone.
“What about them?” I jerk my head toward Swift and Bolt, who are in conversation with Pennywise.
“They’ll be in the truck and will stay in contact with Utah. If there’s any last-minute information which means our plans change, we’ll adapt on the fly. If any of us gets a hit, then they’ll bring the truck. Wrangler’s going with them as the driver as he knows the locale.”
“She taking that fuckin’ dog?”
He chuckles. “Nah, one of the sweet butts has agreed to look after it. Jeez, Brother. Swift can actually be scary. I think Cindy darn near wet herself when she had to promise not to let him out of her sight.”
Yeah. But Cindy’s a girl. I doubt Swift’s threats would work so well on a man.
While we’d gone over the plans earlier, it doesn’t hurt to go through them again. Whistling, I attract the attention of my team and lead them to one side. I’ve got Niran, who’s solid, Kink, who’s good once his focus is off sex, and Keeper, still a bit green, but not likely to go off half-cocked.
“We capture,” I remind them again. “No shoot-to-kill shots. We want him alive and able to talk.”
“Fucker deserves to die.” Kink’s shaking his head. “Nah,” as I go to speak, he holds up a hand, “don’t worry about me. I’ll play nice.”
“Permission to get one punch in,” Niran requests, his eyes twinkling, white flashing in the dark of the night.
“Granted.” I may get in a few of my own if we end up being the ones to take him in.
As we finish up, Bolt comes around, handing out tiny devices we apparently fit into our ears.
“You’ll be on your own channel else it will get too confusing,” he informs us. “But once someone’s made contact, I’ll feed all comms into one.”
Having made sure my team is up to speed, I wander around the other groups, listening in on the individual pep talks, and raising my chin when I approve, or cuffing assholes, like Reboot, around the head when they don’t seem to be paying attention.
Having done my rounds, I stride back to the prez.
“All good?”
“Seems that way.” My eagle eyes span for anything I might have missed.
“Okay.” Lost holds out his hand. I grab it, pull him in tight and we exchange back slaps. “Let’s get on the road.”
“Ready to roll in five!” I make my deep voice boom out, pausing for a moment to make sure everyone’s heard.
It seems they have. Men start approaching their bikes and getting ready for the signal to ride.
Lost’s team will go first, Dart’s behind him, then mine and finally Salem’s. The roar of all the bikes heading out sounds thunderous—a wonderful sound in my ears. The noise diminishes as groups start to peel off.
I don’t need a map, I know exactly where I’m going. It’s not long before I’m signalling to back off on the throttle. I then make other hand signals causing Niran, giving me a salute in passing, with Keeper beside him to head down a street which will bring them up at the rear of the property.
Kink and I carry on to the front, coasting the last few yards with our engines off. We pull up in the street. Looking around, I see some bushes up ahead. When I point them out, that’s where we head to and park. Stepping back, I nod in satisfaction—a cursory glance from the road won’t reveal our bikes.
Having gone over our plan, I have my skeleton key ready. Token, and/or Utah have confirmed they’ve already disabled the alarm. I stand at the end of the driveway for a moment. The garage door is closed, there are no lights on in the house. Doesn’t mean there’s no one home, of course. One of my hands forms a fist and I slap it into the other’s open palm.
“We’re here.” Niran’s voice sounds directly into my ear. “There’s a back entrance opening onto a yard. It looks like one that will be bolted on the inside. All windows are closed, no lights on and no sign of anyone being inside.”
Don’t give up yet, I remind myself. I’d hoped to be the one coming across Devon. He could still be inside, but it’s starting to look unlikely.
“We’ll open the front door first, then come and let you in.” I can’t get used to just speaking normally and having my voice picked up.
“Copy that,” Niran responds.
“Going in now.”
Sliding out my skeleton key, I approach the front door.
“You sure you don’t want me to try first? I’m an expert at undoing lock,” Kink says both from inside my ear, and by my side.
“This isn’t a pair of fuckin’ handcuffs,” I respond.
I’m hoping he’ll shut the fuck up. It’s not a time to be distracted. I eye the lock then crouch down at ground level, pulling my glasses out of my cut and sliding them on. I jiggle the key around a bit, then hear the snick and feel a satisfying give as the lock disengages. We’re in.
Once inside, I pause, listening carefully. But there’s no sound, not even snores coming down from the floor above. I gesture to Kink, and he sets off in the direction of the rear of the house.
While he’s gone, I glance around. This certainly isn’t as opulent as the house we made the abortive visit to yesterday. The décor could do with a refresh, and the wooden flooring is scuffed. The kitchen, what I can see of it, is outdated. A crash pad? An escape? This doesn’t seem up to dear Devon’s tastes.
I’ve completed my immediate appraisal when Kink, Niran and Keeper appear. I point to Keeper, giving him the sign for stay the fuck here, while to the others I point upstairs.
I can tell it’s a bust as soon as we reach the top step. It doesn’t even seem lived in up here. We each take one of the three rooms. The one I enter hasn’t even a bed. I shake my head in disgust and exit the room again.
“Clear,” I say, half-heartedly.
“Clear,” Salem replies.
“Clear,” Kink says.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “So if he doesn’t fuckin’ live or even stay here, and it’s not fuckin’ set up for a studio, what does he use it for?”
“Status report, Sergeant-at-arms.” Bolt’s voice comes into my ear.
I’d forgotten that while we couldn’t hear the other teams, those in the truck are listening in. “We got fuck all.”
“He’s been tracked there
recently.” Swift comes on the line. “His phone was logged there yesterday. Have a good look around, Grumbler. There could be something we’re missing.”
“How are the other teams getting on?”
“Haven’t found him yet. The other house was a bust, the hotel too. No report back from the team at the studio yet.”
I think they can cross this one off the list, but then I suppose I best do as I’m told, even if it is by a woman. But hell, maybe it’s time I get used to that. No doubt my old lady will try and tell me a thing or two.
Returning downstairs, I see Keeper on his hands and knees. “What the fuck you doing?”
A bit sheepishly, Keeper looks up. “These scuff marks…” he points them out.
“Someone’s moved furniture?” Niran suggests, but he, too, sinks to his knees and starts looking. “Grumbler, Keep might have something here.” He indicates something. “They’re all heading the same way.”
Kink starts following the tracks, while the others stand up, both brushing dust off their hands.
“I can’t see… Wait.” Kink takes out his knife and uses the blade against something. As whatever it is eases up, my eyes widen.
If we hadn’t been searching, we’d have never found anything. But what Kink’s opening up is a trapdoor of some sort. A basement? That wasn’t on the plans. We hadn’t expected to find that, nor to find a door whose underside is six inches thick with insulation.
Neither did we expect to find what we did behind it.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Grumbler
I blink once, then twice.
“What you got, Grumbler?” Swift’s impatient voice sounds in my ear.
I’m a big scary biker, and these are just kids. Replacing my gun in its holster, I climb the ladder that leads into the hole in the ground—something that must have been dug out for this purpose. Sinking to my haunches I hold out my hands.
Grumbler's Ride: Satan's Devils MC San Diego #2 Page 30
