Revenge. And, if I recall rightly, answers about why Alder was so intent on finding Lost’s old lady.
“You motherfucker,” I roar. Everyone in San Diego and Tucson had been running themselves ragged looking for answers, when they were to be found in Utah all along.
Stormy stands and looms menacingly. “You want to fuckin’ take—” His voice abruptly stops and his eyes goes wide as he looks toward his screen.
All the bodies around me have frozen, then as fast defrost. As if summoned by an invisible deity, Honor and Duty stand, then, with Stormy rudely brushing past me, knocking into my shoulder and almost putting me off balance, they head toward the door.
“Come on,” Swift says, her voice as urgent as their actions had been. “This way.”
I hold my hands out in a what the fuck gesture, but then do as she says. Again I have to let her lead the way, this time into a room I do recognise. It’s their meeting room where they hold church. Every man is present. Don’t they have regular jobs? To get here so fast, they must all have been hanging around the clubhouse. Bolt and Rascal look sweaty as though they’ve come straight from the gym. Thor too, he’s wiping his face with a towel as he walks in, and if I’m not mistaken, his t-shirt has been put on inside out.
A spare chair is to Swift’s left. I suppose that’s for me, so I take it.
Unlike in Tucson, there’s no friendly banter, and the expressions on everyone’s faces is various versions of seriousness, curiosity and preparedness. There are a couple of murmured conversations which I can make little sense of. Fuelled and ready, is one answer supplied.
But it’s total silence when Pip and Snatcher walk in, and all eyes go to the head of the table.
“Kidnap.” Pip doesn’t waste time waiting until his ass hits the seat before talking business. He lets that one word sink in as though it’s supposed to mean something, then continues, “Thirteen-year-old girl snatched off the street on her way home from a friend’s.”
“Planned?” This is from Honor.
Pip dips and raises his chin. “Pretty sure her movements were tracked.”
What does it all mean, and why are the Satan’s Devils involved in it?
“Ransom demand?”
Pip nods at Thor. “A cool five million.”
“Note or phone call?” Bolt asks.
“Call.”
I think my mouth has fallen open. These men seem elevated from MC brothers discussing business. They seem to speak in a language I’m finding hard to follow, picking up information from short questions and one-word answers. One thing that can’t be denied, they’re professionals.
“Send me the details,” Duty requests.
“How fast were we involved?”
Snatcher takes over from Pip, and answers Piston. “Kid was due home at twenty-hundred hours last night. When she didn’t arrive, they tried all the normal shit, contacting friends, tracing her journey.”
“Cops involved?”
“Nah.” Snatcher continues, this time looking Thor’s way, “The kidnappers didn’t give them much of a chance. By twenty-one hundred they got in touch.”
Thor raises an eyebrow. “With a ‘go to the cops’ and you’ll never see your daughter again’, I suppose.”
“You got it,” Snatcher confirms.
I’m trying to translate what’s going on but admit to having difficulty keeping up. Case in point, the twenty-four clock might be as natural as breathing to these military men, but I’m getting lost. I remember Peg once telling me you just needed to subtract twelve to translate it to normal time. My head must look like someone following a tennis match as it whips back and forth trying to keep track as comments come from all sides about things that make sense to all but one of the members seated around this table. The odd one out being me.
“And they only called us this morning?” Swift’s rolling her eyes.
My head swings back Pip’s way as he nods. “Probably trying to work out if they could get the cash together.”
“They probably can. The kidnappers would make sure any request could be fulfilled,” Honor remarks.
“Where?” Preacher’s got his hands clasped on the table, and his sharp eyes view his prez.
“Santa Barbara,” Pip replies.
Preacher raises his head, closes his eyes, then opens them and looks back down. “I can have boots on the ground in four hours.”
How? I might be able to ride a motorcycle fast, not that fast, nor the stamina to maintain the necessary high speed for so long. But that begs the question, what’s this all about? What the fuck is going on? And what are the Satan’s Devils supposed to do about a kid getting kidnapped, sad however much that is.
“Swift, I want you in on this one.” When the woman beside me offers a chin lift as though she’s been expecting it, Pip glances around. “Piston, Rascal, Thor and Honor. You go with Snatcher.”
“What about me?”
“You stay here, Stormy.” The words where I can keep an eye on you are unspoken, but nevertheless, come through loud and clear, even to me a stranger.
The face of the man in question goes bright red.
There’s a family in California missing a thirteen-year-old child. Apart from the parents’ anguish, she must be scared out of her mind. Never mind these aren’t my brothers, and I don’t have a clue how an MC could help, I raise my hand, getting Pip’s attention, remembering I’m supposed to be partnering with Swift. I know my limitations though. If boots on the ground can be interpreted as the members named are heading out to California, there’s no way in hell I’ll currently be able to ride along. Nevertheless, with roles being handed out, I’m not comfortable being locked in my room and forgotten while shit’s going down.
Which drives me to ask, “What do you want me to do?”
Pip looks around the table, seemingly ignoring my question. “Duty, Bolt, Stormy and Cowboy. I’ve sent you everything we’ve got so far. Go start digging.” The men in question get up from the table and leave with chin lifts towards their prez. When they’re gone, Pip looks down the table at me. “Can you handle yourself, Road?”
“I was a bouncer, seen my share of roughhousing. I can handle a gun.” I might also have taken a few knife-throwing lessons from Mouse, but I don’t bother to mention that.
“You a man who runs from danger?” he continues to probe.
“Nah,” I tell him. “Can’t say I’d run toward it, but if one of my brothers is in danger, I’d have their back.” I have had to more than once.
It’s Snatcher who asks the next question. “That patch you wear is the same as ours. You going to be able to count us as your brothers?”
I stare at him for a second, incredulous he has to ask. “I can’t pretend I know what you’re doing, or how or why you’re involved. But from what I’ve heard, there’s a thirteen-year-old kid in danger and fuckin’ terrified by now. I take it you’re mounting some sort of rescue. Well, if you’re offering me a part of that, I’ll be right there alongside you.”
“What about your leg?” Swift asks, from beside me. “That going to hold you back?”
I turn to her and reply honestly, “If we’re riding all the way to California, then yeah, I might have a problem.” Darn thing will seize long before we get there. “If I can stay local, strapping it up keeps it in place.”
“You get that knee bound, you hear me?” Pip instructs in a tone that Drummer would have used, meaning it’s useless to argue. “And you won’t be riding more than a couple of miles.” His eyes find mine. “Know you’ve got lots of questions, Road, but now’s not the time. Not sure about throwing you into the thick of things, but it gives you a chance to see how we do what we have to get done.” He wipes his hand over his clean-shaven face. “Need your word, Road. Need you to stay away from contacting Drummer. When you return from California, I’ll fill in any gaps in your knowledge.” Now he moves his attention away from me. “Now you lot get gone. Go and do what you’re paid for.”
The men who haven
’t already left the room, get to their feet. Swift eyes me carefully. “You stick with me, okay, Road?”
I’ll stick with her like fucking glue. What choice have I got? I don’t know a thing about where we’re going, or what I’m supposed to do.
After a visit to my room to collect my stick I tried to do without today, I decide to take it. I don’t need it right now, I just don’t know what’s ahead of me and want to be prepared. I also pause to wrap my knee tightly as Pip had instructed, hating the effect of being unable to bend it properly, but realising that’s better than it popping out. Then once again, I trail in Swift’s wake down to the first floor. When we exit into the fresh air, I breathe it in deep, my hand resting gently on the saddle of my bike, greeting it like an old friend I feared I’d never be seeing again.
“Wait here,” Swift instructs. “Our bikes are out back.”
As she walks off, I realise she’s not leaving me unguarded, as the sound of engines already meet my ears, and Snatcher and Preacher appear from around the corner. They pull their bikes up next to mine, and nod as I stow my stick on the bike, then swing my leg carefully over the saddle. The strapping on my knee providing sufficient support that I’m not as awkward as I am without it. I do grimace though, finding the bandage restrictive, but trying it out, I know it won’t stop me changing gears. I wonder why Preacher is here. Pip hadn’t named him. Still, it’s of no consequence, must have been a last-minute addition.
Like back in Tucson, Utah’s laws do not require helmets to be worn, so while we’re waiting, I take a band out of my cut and tie my hair out of the way. Then I start the engine and let it idle for the few seconds it takes for Swift, Piston, Thor, Honor and Rascal to come join us.
Snatcher takes his place at the front, behind him are Thor and Preacher, then Rascal and Honor. Swift slides into a spot behind them, beckoning me to join her. Piston, as road captain, takes up the rear.
I take note of my surroundings. On the way here, I was so intent on following the GPS instructions that I hadn’t taken much in. But then, I didn’t realise I had to, nor that I might need to plan an escape route.
“Where are we going?” I call over to Swift when we are stopped by a red light. She ignores me. But before I can take umbrage, the light turns green and we’re off again.
I’m intrigued that instead of heading toward the city, we take the main road for a couple of miles until we’re out into the country, then turn onto a paved track. After riding for another minute or so, the land around flattens out completely, and I notice we’ve come to a private airfield, a single runway heading off into the distance.
I count three small hangars, and we pull up beside the furthest one. I back my bike into the parking spot next to Swift’s, then following the examples around me, cut my engine and dismount. Swift fiddles with something behind her ear, then copies my action.
A stranger appears. He’s dressed as a mechanic. Preacher’s the man he approaches first, greeting him as he would a blood brother.
When they stop their back slapping and pull apart, the man nods at the sergeant-at-arms. “Flight plan’s filed. She’s gassed up and ready for you.”
I already kind of guessed we’d be flying else why would we have come here?
“Thanks, man,” Preacher replies to him. “You sort that engine glitch out?”
My eyes widen slightly. I’ve flown before, but can’t say I enjoyed it, preferring to keep my feet on terra firma. Faults with engines you rely on to keep you in the air and alive are not what I want to hear about.
“I think so,” the man replies to Preacher. “Let me know if you have any problems.”
Any problems? Visions of the small plane we’re walking toward crashing to the ground would probably be the result of any problem, major or minor. My unease begins to grow. “Is this thing safe to fly, Preach?”
Preacher turns with a face-splitting grin. “Guess we’re about to find out.”
At least I’m not the only one having concerns. Piston looks about as reassured as I feel. Looking ahead, I focus on the transport we’re approaching. The plane, I notice, is white and devoid of any logo except for the identification number printed on the side. When I’ve flown before, it’s been commercial, but this is clearly a private plane. I’ve heard about those from the Tucson brothers, but so far have never been in one.
As Preacher finishes up his conversation with the still unidentified man, I think about what I was told. Before I patched in, a sheikh sent a private plane to take Drummer and most of the patched members to be guests at his wedding in Amahad, the Arab country of which he was a ruler. Apparently, that had been the very definition of luxury, gourmet food, and comfortable seating miles up in the sky. I’d been jealous that as a prospect, I hadn’t gotten to go. Then, again, I sat out the journey to Colombia to rescue Mouse’s old lady. That plane had apparently been military transport with no frills. I wonder which this will turn out to be, but I’m not hopeful of luxury. It’s small with twin propellers.
“Whose plane is this?” I ask Swift.
“Ours.”
10
Road…
This day just keeps piling on surprises. Satan’s Devils own a plane? But I’m not given long to question how they can afford it, or why they’ve got one in the first place as Preacher calls out.
“Time to board.”
As we walk to the steps, I pass by Preacher who’s got his head bowed, and I see his mouth moving, but any words seem directed at the ground.
“What the fuck is he doing?” I get out, directing my question toward Swift again.
But it’s Snatcher who answers me, his lips curving. “He’s praying that the plane stays in the air, lands where we want to, and then flies us back home again. He always prays before a flight, it’s how he picked up his name.”
My sympathies go out to the man who clearly likes flying as little as I do, though I doubt having faith in a deity I can neither see nor touch would do much to keep me safe.
Reaching the top of the steps, I’m pleasantly surprised to see the inside is better than I expected—rows of seats in a formation of two on one side, one on the other, and an aisle between them. I quickly add them, it looks like it could seat around twenty.
“I don’t want to waste time,” Preacher warns us. “Get in and buckle up.”
Why’s he instructing us?
When Preacher disappears through a door at the front, I start to get a bad feeling. “Who’s the pilot?” I ask Swift, my voice laden with concern.
She startles as though I should have already guessed, but tells me anyway, “Preacher.”
The man who was just praying for a safe journey?
I don’t know the man. So far he’s done nothing in particular to impress me, and now I’m putting my life in his hands.
“Does he know what he’s fuckin’ doing?” I hiss, easing over Swift to seat myself in the vacant seat next to her.
Rascal, taking the single seat on our row, chuckles. “He’s ex-air force, so yes. Preacher cut his teeth on jet fighters, so yeah, if it’s got wings he can probably fly it. Anyway, there are parachutes if we need them. All modern conveniences here.”
The thought of parachutes chills me more.
“If you’re not belted and seated, then get your ass sat down now.” Preacher’s voice booms through the loudspeaker as the plane starts to move. “Ready for take-off.”
My gut feel is to make a run for door and make a swift exit, but the small plane quickly picks up speed. I wasn’t aware that I’d squeezed my eyes tightly shut, but I obviously had as my first indication that we’re airborne is the change of sensation when the bumping over rough ground becomes a smooth feeling, and the engine makes a deafening roar. Then my stomach drops as the plane loops around, heading off in what I take is the right direction.
I risk opening one eye, seeing objects on the ground receding, and close it again, fisting my hands and just hoping that I’ll get to feel my feet on firm ground again.
; “Cruising altitude,” Preacher’s disembodied voice informs.
There’s a clicking of seat belts unfastening.
“Road?” Swift taps my tightly fisted hand. “Snatcher’s going to want a meeting.”
I open my eyes to see men around me standing and stretching. Honor belches loudly.
“Okay.” Snatcher leans over one of the front seats. “Rascal, you’re on equipment. Make sure it’s all handed out and that all cuts are off and stowed securely.” He waits for Rascal’s nod.
I finger my cut. I hadn’t been sure whether it was a similar crime to wear one on a plane as it is in a cage, but as others had left them on, I had as well. But it seems I won’t long be wearing it. I hate being parted with the leather bearing the patch that had cost blood and guts to earn.
“Okay,” Snatcher continues. “Update from Duty—he’s got all the info and is sifting through. He should be able to get a rough location for the origin of the call demanding the ransom using triangulation. That’s where we’ll be heading to once we’ve landed. He’s got transportation set up. We’ll be in two SUVs. Any further updates come in, I’ll let you know.”
He moves down the aisle and stops next to us. “Swift.” That’s all he says, just her name.
“Snatch?”
“Time to go quiet,” he tells her in a gentle voice, his eyes softening. “Else you’ll be no fuckin’ good to us when we land.”
“But I was going to brief Road.” I notice Swift’s voice sounds pained.
Snatcher shakes his head. “I can do that.” He walks off down the plane.
It’s the look in her eyes when she turns to me that does something strange—it brings my protective instincts to the fore. “What is it, Swift?”
“The noise,” she confides. “I, er, I gotta turn my hearing aids down.” The engine noise isn’t overly loud, but it drones on. As Swift’s fingers go behind her ear, she explains to me. “Loud noises fuck with my hearing aids. I get a migraine if I leave them at normal levels.” She looks like she’s apologising for being weak.
I hold up one finger asking for a moment. “The bike’s engine sound?”
Road Tripped: Satan's Devils MC Utah #1 Page 10
