Road Tripped: Satan's Devils MC Utah #1

by Manda Mellett

  Eyes from all around have stayed firmly on me. I resist the urge to squirm like a bug under a microscope.

  “Now why are you here?” Prez demands again. “Drummer sent you, I presume?”

  “Not exactly.” I wasn’t supposed to admit the mother chapter prez has concerns, and if I’m honest, wouldn’t now that I’m here. With suspicious glances heading my way from all sides, I offer a version of the truth which I hope will work. “If you’ve got all the info on me, then you know I can’t race anymore.” I spare a nod to the woman who must be a personal assistant or something, probably here to take notes of the meeting. “Drummer suggested I go away to get my head on straight, and if I passed by a clubhouse, that I’d be made welcome there.” I can’t help a touch of accusation coming into my voice, that the welcome mat is very much lacking here.

  “Drummer didn’t warn me you were coming.” The prez seems unrelenting.

  “I didn’t give him my exact plans.” I shrug. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure how far I could ride, and whether I’d get many miles under my belt.”

  “You came via Vegas?”

  I shake my head. “Headed my bike in this direction. Vegas, is, well, Vegas. Had myself a yearning for somewhere quieter, somewhere I’d not been before.”

  The brothers here seem to be a different species from any biker club I’ve ever met. More disciplined, that’s for certain. Apart from the woman’s recital about my injuries, the prez is the only man who’s spoken. There’s no joking around or tomfoolery that I’d become used to, or even raises of chins to request permission to speak. Neither Snatcher, Thor, nor Piston have offered a word of support, apart from confirming I am who I said. There’s no sense of brotherhood here, and something warns me it’s not just because I’ve barged in on their sacrosanct meeting.

  Had I walked into Red’s clubhouse in Vegas, or Demon’s in Pueblo, I’d have been greeted with open arms and probably have a beer in my hand by now. The prospect would have grovelled to help me, but here? I could have entered a rival club and not one which shares a brotherhood with ours.

  It’s unnerving. I can’t wait to retrieve my phone if only to hear a friendly voice at the other end. It’s not often I yearn for the sound of Drummer’s gruff tones. I’ll need to update him, this situation is beyond me.

  The silence is so complete in the room, I’m hard pressed to tell anyone’s breathing. It stretches out until it’s their prez who again breaks it.

  He’s not removed his eyes from me, but now they narrow. “You can ask three questions. Use them wisely.”

  Three questions?

  My eyes must signal my lack of comprehension.

  He shrugs and clearly isn’t going to revise or clarify his instruction.

  It’s a test of some sort. I’ll have to pass it, but it’s hard not knowing the rules. How do I select what I best need answering? Are they measuring my intelligence, perhaps? Drummer should have sent someone different.

  Three questions.

  Use them wisely.

  Christ. It sounds like the genie offering to fulfil three wishes, and I’m just as lost wondering which to ask first. Talking about mythical creatures, I’ve certainly popped the cork and let one out of the bottle here. Drummer’s gut instinct was right. There is something very wrong in Utah, but I can’t pinpoint what, except this is no normal Satan’s Devils chapter.

  Here is my chance to find out what’s going on, but without a clue, I don’t know what the most important queries are to shape.

  From the way the prez is regarding me, I know he’s not joking. I can ask three things, but no more. I’d told Drummer I wasn’t the brightest, and I hadn’t been wrong. Mouse? Well, he’d know exactly how to frame his quest for information.

  Someone coughs, and it’s now I notice people fidgeting, but still no one talks, or tells me to hurry up. Their attitude is unnerving.

  I don’t know where to start, but know I must when the prez simply raises an eyebrow.

  I clear my throat. “Who are you, and how long have you been prez?”

  He raises both eyebrows now. “Seems that’s two questions, but I’ll give you one as a freebie. My name is Pip, and I’ve been sitting in this chair going on almost ten years.”

  So all those times Snatcher came to Tucson, he was acting out a lie? But, why?

  “Why does everyone think Snatcher is prez?” It seems the natural follow-on question to ask.

  Pip, at least I know what to call him now, lifts his chin. He’s not my prez, so I find it hard to give him that title. “Because I prefer it that way. And your final question?”

  An answer which is no real explanation, but I have no idea what to do with it, and I’ve only one thing left to ask. Pretty sure that’s all they’ll be responding to, so what information can I get with one more enquiry? And a voice in my head asks, What happens when I’ve voiced it?

  I’ve never felt threatened by men wearing the Satan’s Devils’ patch before, but here I am in a strange club, unfamiliar in more ways than one. Possible questions run through my head, and I swallow down the one that floats to the top. Will you let me walk out of here and forget this ever happened? But already I know too much. I know the Satan’s Devils MC Utah Chapter is hiding a secret—a big one—from the mother chapter prez. They could lose their charter for that.

  Could I lose my life now I know one of their secrets? A real fear rises like bile from my gut. How far would they go to hide the truth from Drummer?

  I might have lost the chance of participating in the sport I love, may have a leg that will never properly heal, but I’ve got the rest of my life ahead of me, and I’m not ready to part with that yet.

  They can’t kill me. Drummer knows where I’m headed. But he doesn’t know I’ve arrived. I feel like hitting the heel of my hand against my forehead as I hadn’t even told him I’d gotten to the clubhouse. I hadn’t been certain I was in the right place, then when I found that I was, I’d come straight inside. Last time I called him, I was still miles away. Anything can happen to a lone biker on the road. Oh, Drummer would search for me, but if they’re like the rest of us Devils, my body would never be found.

  Mouse can track my phone. That’s a comforting thought. Except, I’m not in possession of my phone right now. They could do anything with it.

  They won’t harm me, will they? Surely thoughts of my imminent demise are fanciful? But viewing the men staring at me with nothing resembling sympathy makes me unsure.

  Final question. But what do I ask?

  I sift through the hundreds floating around in my mind. “Why is it important that Drummer doesn’t know you head up this club?”

  Pip sits back in his chair. In a gesture reminiscent of the prez I left just a few days ago, he links his hands behind his head. He seems in no hurry to answer, which gives me a chance to examine him. He’s probably in his late fifties, his hair is neatly coiffured, his beard trimmed short without a hair out of place. It’s unsurprising I’d initially thought I’d walked in on a meeting with a businessman. Sure, he’s wearing a cut, but it’s over a button-up shirt. His skin doesn’t look weather beaten, and I suspect, were I to see his hands, they’d be carefully manicured. The last thing he resembles is a prez of an outlaw MC, yet that he is, is what he’d have me believe.

  “Ah, Roadrunner.” At last, he sighs out my name. “Why is the right question to ask, but maybe the one I’m least able to answer, or not right now.” He brings his hands down. One disappears under the table but rises again quickly.

  Less than one minute later, the door to the meeting room opens, and the prospect I met earlier steps inside. He stands so stiff and straight that I half expect him to salute. Me, he had treated with disdain, his prez though, well he gets respect.

  Pip nods to the prospect. “Take our guest to the waiting room and make sure he stays put.”

  I’ve got a better suggestion. “If I’m not welcome here, I’ll just get on my bike and resume my ride.”

  Pip’s answering smile isn’
t at all comforting. Nor are his words. “Nice try. You already know too much, Road. But what to do about that is what we’ve got to decide.”

  3

  Swift…

  Road is an interesting character, good-looking with his long dark hair and piercing eyes. He’s well-built and muscular, heavily tattooed, and with probably normally an affable disposition, though today, facing us, he looks anything but happy, instead bemused and totally out of his depth.

  When I found out his recent history, I couldn’t help but have sympathy for him.

  No one knows better than I how just one misstep, just one split second can make the difference to the rest of your life and radically change all your expectations. With him, it had been the misjudgement of another rider, with me, pure chance. But the explosion that fucked up my life had taken more than my hobby away from me. It had taken all my hopes and dreams for my life.

  Had he come to Utah to clear his head, as he suggested? Taken at face value, it doesn’t sound unreasonable. In my case, it was why I’d made the flight across the Atlantic. To put distance between everything that reminded me what was now missing. Looking at Road, it makes more sense than him being here, as I know Prez suspects, as a spy. I didn’t pick up the vibe to suggest any particular mental acuity.

  But whatever the reason, he’s here now, unannounced and catching the club unawares. It won’t go kindly on him.

  I watch as Gears leads him away, knowing Road will be in safe hands, well, safe for us anyway. There’s no chance of the still-healing man getting away from Gears. Of our three prospects, he’s the closest to getting his patch, having almost completed his two years’ probation.

  Our chapter is the hardest chapter to get into. The first year is the usual grunt work that Road will have been subjected to in Tucson, the second, well, that’s when you’re expected to develop that particular skillset Utah requires, but still without having access to everything. I know only too well how hard those twenty-four months are. Prospecting is only just in my rearview, having gained my patch only a year ago.

  “Well,” Pip’s voice gets my eyes moving to the head of the table. “It appears we have a problem on our hands.”

  “We knew this was possible,” Snatcher observes, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “If Drummer had warned me—”

  “Or if that asshole had waited until we were out of church, we could have switched cuts.” Thor sounds angry, as well he might.

  And I could have made myself scarce. Fuck knows what Road thought when he saw me.

  “We could kill him,” Rascal offers in an even tone.

  “Kill a brother?” Honor sounds incredulous. “He wears the same fuckin’ patch as the one I have on my back. Not sure I’m comfortable with that.”

  “Could have the opposite effect to the one we’re wanting.” Duty backs up the man he patched in alongside. “Drummer knew where he was headed. He’d come heavy-handed to give us a much closer look.”

  “That Drummer sent him here makes me wonder whether the cat’s already out of the bag.” Snatcher now scratches his nose. “I don’t know how I could have fucked up, but maybe I did, Prez.”

  Pip shakes his head. “Sometimes I think Drummer’s got a sixth sense.” He sounds more resigned than angry. “Somehow we’ve slipped up. And now we’ve got to deal with the fallout.”

  The man whose gaze Pip’s have landed on holds up his hands. “Nothing the fuck to do with me, Brother.”

  “Did you slip up, Stormy?” I ask. “Could your location have been traced?”

  “Knew you shouldn’t have played with fire. Two hits. Two Satan’s Devils MC chapters. Drummer’s nose started to twitch. Something must have made him think the stink came from here.” Thor bangs the table.

  Stormy stands and kicks over the chair he’d been sitting on. He slams both hands down and leans over. “I did what I was tasked. Removed the scum of the earth. And no, my location was cloaked as you fuckin’ well know, Swift. You set it up yourself.”

  “You fucked with the other chapters, that can’t be denied.” Pip’s face is glowing red. “Now pick up your chair and sit the fuck down.”

  Stormy does what he’s told while murmuring loud enough those closest to him, including me, can hear him. “I fuckin’ warned you I didn’t play nice.”

  Pip’s hearing is excellent. “Well you better fuckin’ learn. You go off half-cocked and now we’re at the risk of exposure. We still need to go over what exactly happened in San Diego,” he reminds him. “Don’t think you’re off the hook just because of a stranger turning up and interrupting.” He glares at Stormy for a moment, then his eyes roam the table again. “Same question. What do we do now Road’s here?”

  “Come clean?” Cowboy suggests.

  “And risk everything we’ve built up? We work on secrecy, ‘Boy,” Snatcher retorts. “The more people who know, the more our whole operation is at risk.”

  “With the timing, we’ve got to assume what Stormy fuckin’ did exposed us.” I glare at the man I’m talking about knowing I’m risking another outburst. If he comes at me, he’ll end up on the floor with my boot on his neck and him begging for mercy. “Not the hits. The whole ‘we can get into Fort Knox’ business.”

  If a man can perfect a smirk while the scowl remains on his face, Stormy manages it. “Well, we can.”

  “We’re the club who don’t have any computer experts.” Pip wipes a tired hand over his face. “That’s how we’ve managed to stay under the radar. Tucson’s got Mouse who’s probably the best of the rest. Token is Lost’s man, Keys works for Red and Cad for Demon. Not saying you’re wrong, Swift. But the suggestion we’ve got any hacking ability would be laughed out of court.”

  Snatcher frowns. “The other chapters think we’re a joke stuck in the middle of the last century. A myth we perpetuated well. I fuckin’ hated having to keep crawling to Tucson pretending we needed help to track someone down.”

  “But you were the best choice to pull wool over their eyes. You’ve sat around this table for years and still don’t know how to turn a computer on.”

  Snatcher raises his middle finger toward Piston, and one side of my mouth curves. The road captain only spoke the truth. I don’t know how often Snatcher’s asked me to do this thingumajig or another, never being able to find the right words. He’s a good stand-in for the prez though, looking the part being hardened and battle worn. Thor’s cut from the same cloth, and while a whizz at anything mechanical, I suspect someone like Mouse would get frustrated with his lack of tech know-how at times.

  Prez knocks his knuckles against the wood. “Whatever. Drummer’s sharp as a fuckin’ tack, and we shouldn’t underestimate the man. Whatever tipped him off, something has. He wouldn’t send a man like Road without some cause for suspicion. Now he has, what do we do about it?”

  “Road doesn’t seem much of a threat,” I offer. “Maybe he’s exactly what he says he is. A man riding out to give himself time to set his world to rights.”

  “In that case, I feel sorry for him. His motive might be different, but the result’s the same. He’s now in possession of information we don’t want others knowing.” Prez presses his lips together. “I also don’t think we should underestimate him. He might not look as though he’s got hidden depths, but he could be more than just muscle.”

  “I vote we can’t take the risk and get rid of the problem.” Preacher, our sergeant-at-arms raises his hand.

  I grimace. It’s not that I’m squeamish, but if I’m going to kill a man, I prefer to have good reason. Not just that he showed up at the wrong time. “There’s another way,” I tell them, waiting until their eyes meet mine. “Bring him on board. Get him to patch over.”

  “No.” Thor’s slipped into his enforcer role. “It’s not as simple as that, and you fuckin’ know it, Swift. There’s a thing called fuckin’ trust, and that has to be earned.”

  “He bloody earned it in Tucson.” I roll my eyes. “Got his patch, and Drummer’s faith in him to prove
it.”

  “But not ours.” Though Prez’s eyes narrow as though he’s considering my suggestion.

  Stormy stops sulking enough to say, “We patch him over, that might be just what he wants? If he’s here as a plant, he’d agree to a transfer, soak up our operation, then run back to Drummer and Tucson where presumably his loyalties lie. Aren’t any of you assholes considering that might be exactly what he was sent here to do?”

  Pip’s face darkens, suggesting he doesn’t much like being referred to as an asshole, but he doesn’t comment right now.

  “What’s Tucson got to offer that we haven’t?”

  Snatcher snorts before he replies to Rascal. “How about a swimming pool and an all-year riding climate?”

  “We got snow. Well, not now, but later in the year.” Rascal sinks lower in his chair as eleven expressions of derision shoot his way.

  I roll my eyes dismissing Road as a man who has a yearning to build a snowman, and skiing wouldn’t appeal either, not with his leg as it is now.

  “How about we come clean?” Thor muses aloud. “I agree it’s likely that Drummer’s suspicious about our chapter, but would he really mind if he knew what we’re about? We’ve discussed bringing other chapters in before. Most recently, San Diego.” He tilts his head toward Stormy.

  As I expect, Stormy objects. “I didn’t trust them.”

  “You didn’t trust them,” Pip repeats, emphasising each word, then looking to the ceiling as though praying for strength.

  I wonder if he’s regretting his decision to call Stormy back to base and strip him of his nomad status. It’s not going to be easy with him sat at this table, though preferential to him continuing to go rogue. The way I read it, he’s going to do all he can to get sent out alone again. My vote would be that he leaves his patch behind him when he goes.

  Snatcher is shaking his head. “If we get too many people involved, Prez, that might fuck up what we do.” Snatcher might not know Google from Safari, but he’s far from slow. When he speaks, we do pay him mind. “As you said, we operate under the radar. If too many are in the know, we might lose our edge. Keeping to ourselves has worked up to now.”