Road Tripped: Satan's Devils MC Utah #1

by Manda Mellett

“We don’t,” Snatcher answers him. “But the parents were told not to go to the cops. Without their help, the kidnappers will hopefully assume they haven’t got the capability to trace a call. The number was a burner phone, so maybe they think they are safe as long as there’s no police sniffing around the parents’ home, or BOLOs put out for any sightings of the missing girl.”

  “It’s worth checking out.” I supplement the VP’s observations. “Sure, to us, it’s obvious, but we don’t know who we’re up against. We suspect it was planned, that the kid’s routine was known, but it could still be opportunistic. It could be they’re not too experienced nor used to covering all bases. What’s obvious to us is still worth checking out.”

  “Swift’s right. And back in Utah, they’ll still be looking for other leads. It’s up to us to get confirmation this is either the place or a bust for the purposes of elimination.”

  “We’re not dealing with experts.” Snatcher takes over again when Piston finishes. “When we landed, I got more information. They’ve asked for too much. Stormy’s run the parents’ financials. Professional criminals would know to ask for less, where the parents have assets that can be liquidated immediately, or loans taken out. Whoever has taken the kid hasn’t done their research, or doesn’t know how this works. There’s no way in hell the parents can raise that amount.”

  “On the other hand, they might know that,” Piston interjects. “They might have a vendetta against the parents and want them to suffer mental torture.”

  “Which again means they could be new to the kidnapping lark, if it’s not the money they’re after but about causing distress.” I pause, then my voice hardens. “If they know they can’t afford to pay up, chances are the kid won’t see her parents again unless we get to her fast.”

  Road stiffens as I spell out the consequences that failure of our mission could entail.

  “We move quickly,” Snatcher agrees. “Because while I hate to admit it, Swift could have a good point.”

  “Where the fuck do we start?” Road asks.

  “We need more information. Like how many people are there, what their firepower is. If this is the right location, where precisely they are holding the girl. Finding where they’ve got her is one thing, getting her safely out, another. We don’t want to bust in all guns blazing to find she’s directly in the line of fire. The drone should give us some info. Hopefully, someone conveniently shows their face so we can identify them and start making sense of why she was taken.”

  “Can I see?” Road leans over and gestures to the tablet Piston is holding.

  Piston passes it over, and Road studies the house intently, then uses Google Earth to examine the area. “It’s not going to be easy, is it? There’s a garage where vehicles could be hidden and overhanging trees blocking the line of sight to the windows.”

  “It’s all we’ve got, Road. We may need to get closer to have better visuals. The drone will show us the best way to approach.”

  Another call comes in. Again it’s put on speaker. Duty’s been working hard and found us a place to park from where we can launch the drone. That’s where we head, after again updating Preacher. Soon the two SUVs are pulling off the road.

  This is far from our first rodeo. Piston quickly has the drone out of the back of the SUV, taken out of its covering, launched and flying. Within moments, it’s hovering over the target location. It’s military grade, able to send decent pictures back but fly high enough to evade detection. Like a lot of our methods, totally illegal.

  We gather around Piston who’s got the app that controls it called up on his tablet, and the pictures are coming in clearly. For a while we watch as it sends back images from different angles, but there’s nothing to be seen, nothing to show whether the house is occupied or not.

  Suddenly Preacher points to the screen. “What’s that?”

  When Piston zooms in, we all see what he’s noticed—the back door which would be hidden from the road is open. We stare down, watching, hoping to see movement. Had it been open all along and we missed it earlier?

  “There!” Rascal points out, but we’ve already all seen it. A garbage sack appears and is placed outside the door.

  All we’ve seen is a disembodied hand, but it’s enough.

  “It’s occupied,” Snatcher confirms, unnecessarily.

  We find that out, but not much more. As Road had already noted, the overhanging trees prevent us from seeing inside. Yet, a house with someone in it which should be empty suggests we’ve come to the right place.

  Road’s brow is furrowed. “What happens now? How would you want this to go?”

  I remind myself this is all new to him. “We need to get access to the house, but how, that’s what we’ve got to work out. If we could get inside, we could place a bug to get more information about what’s going on in there.” That’s the ideal, but it would seem impossible to do. Not with the little we have to go on.

  “I’ve got Duty getting the house plans,” Snatcher informs us.

  I raise my chin. Hopefully that will help.

  “Why not just walk up to the front door?” Road asks, seeming serious.

  Piston snorts loudly. “Yeah? You reckon? Walk up and ask if we can borrow a cup of sugar or some shit? If the kidnappers are in there, they’re likely to shoot first. They won’t invite a stranger inside.” Piston’s one of those who can sign, and he uses it now to ask me, Is this guy for real?

  I’m wondering that myself.

  But Road doesn’t back down. “What about someone in need of assistance?”

  I glance at Road, his face is set, his jaw clenched. Perhaps we were wrong to so quickly dismiss him. It looks like he might be thinking of something. “Difficult,” I tell him, letting him down gently. “Remember, they’ll be ultra-cautious and suspicious as hell. Someone in need of help because their car just happened to break down outside would set off their alarm bells.”

  Road raises his chin in acknowledgement, but continues, “Can you get me some running gear?”

  It’s Snatcher’s turn to snort incredulously, while I shake my head wondering what planet Road has disappeared to.

  “Like you could run anywhere with your bad leg,” Piston scoffs.

  “I can run far enough,” Road tells him. “And my knee can give out right outside that house.”

  Everyone goes silent, still trying to interpret Road’s words. The penny drops in my head. “You can pop it out?”

  It’s Road’s turn to chuckle. “If I take the binding off, keeping it in is harder. Sure, yeah. All I need do is put my weight on it wrongly, and out it will pop.”

  “They might not help,” I warn him.

  “But then we’ll know for sure whoever is inside has got something to hide,” Snatcher responds, his voice animated. “Road will be in fuckin’ agony, and anyone with an ounce of compassion should help.”

  “It could be dangerous,” I warn him. “They’ll be suspicious.” I think for a moment. “I’ll come with you.”

  “No.” Road shakes his head adamantly. “One person they might help, two and they’d wonder why you weren’t calling an ambulance or something.”

  “Road’s right.” Snatcher waves at Preacher. “You stay here and wait. We’ll get Road equipped. You wait here and update Duty as to what’s going on.”

  Again, Snatcher, Piston, Road and I take our seats in the SUV. Piston programs the GPS and Snatcher puts it into drive and moves off. It’s not long before he starts indicating and pulling off outside a Walmart.

  When he parks, Road gets out and walks off to the store. Piston accompanies him as hey, they have phones in there, and Road could buy one and sneak a call to Drummer. He might have come up with a plan that appears workable, but we still don’t trust him.

  It’s not long before Road reappears. He’s wearing running shorts, a tank top framing his muscles and tats very nicely indeed—not that I should be noticing—and has on a baseball cap and sunglasses. On his feet are brand new sneakers, which he tak
es a moment to cover in dirt and scuff by dragging them against the ground.

  “Do you run?” I ask, interested in possibly having my new partner as a running mate too.

  He gives me an incredulous look. “Like fuck.”

  We return to where Preacher, Thor, Rascal and Honor are still standing outside their SUV.

  “Here.” Honor passes Road a tiny earpiece. “This will allow you to hear us, and for us to hear anything that goes on in the house.”

  Road nods and takes the box from him. “What about bugs you want me to place?”

  Honor nods and passes something else to him. “Doubt you’ll get a chance to place more than one. This is one of the smallest listening devices on the market.”

  That one Road extracts from the box and puts into the pocket of his shorts.

  “Don’t let them catch you, Road,” I warn. My worry is only my concern about his lack of experience.

  “Here.” Snatcher has written something on a slip of paper. “Put that in your wallet. Ask to use their phone, and Swift will swing by and pick you up. Calling a girlfriend will be less suspicious than one of us putting in an appearance.”

  “And Swift can give him a bit sloppy kiss to add to the illusion.”

  Preacher gets my middle finger for that suggestion. But for a second I wonder what it would be like to kiss Road’s full lips, and whether they’d be as soft as they appear to be. I shake my head trying to unthink what just went through my head.

  “How about I’m his sister?”

  “Long as you don’t open your mouth.”

  Yeah, sometimes I forget that I’ve got an accent which sticks out a mile.

  “We’ll have the drone up, Road, so if they refuse you help or won’t let you call, we’ll spot you and pick you up.”

  “And know if you don’t come out.” It bothers me that he’s going in alone. “Don’t be a hero, Road. We want info, not for you to try to rescue the girl on your own.”

  We hang around no longer than necessary. With a quick salute toward Preacher, Snatcher puts the SUV into drive, and off we go again. It’s not far until we’re at the end of the road where we can drop Road off without being seen.

  “He’ll be okay,” Snatcher tells me, looking at me in the rearview mirror as we drive away leaving Road all alone.

  I hope so.

  “I just hope he knows what he’s fuckin’ doing and doesn’t give the game away,” Piston complains.

  I, on the other hand, am fully convinced Road understands a girl’s life is at stake. He’ll stick to the script and won’t go, as we say in England, off piste.

  Road’s microphone is transmitting, and I realise he wasn’t lying when he said he doesn’t run. His breathing sounds laboured after only a short time. The drone is hovering high above the house we’re suspicious about, and it picks him up well enough to see when he’s almost outside. I get the visual of him crashing to the ground, as well as hear the screech of pain that is one hundred percent genuine.

  I wince.

  12

  Road…

  I don’t run for pleasure, as I’d told Swift, but Peg had had me on the elliptical as part of the exercise regime trying to strengthen the muscles in my bad leg, so the action wasn’t entirely unfamiliar.

  What I’m most in danger of is stumbling and putting my knee out before I reach the house that I’m aiming for.

  I put to the back of my mind that this is going to hurt like a bitch. Normally my knee dislocates, and it’s agony while it’s out of place, but once it’s righted, the relief is immediate. This time I’ll have to suffer until Swift picks me up. My teeth are already gritted in anticipation.

  I don’t expect I’ll learn anything to make it worth my while lingering in the house, if they let me in, that is. I’m conscious I mustn’t do anything to put the kid in any more danger than she is already. The most I hope for is to get inside, use a phone, and drop the bug somewhere unseen. The listening device is currently burning a hole in my pocket.

  It’s small and flat and doesn’t show, but I’m overly conscious of having it. If the men are suspicious and search me, well, with five million at stake or for whatever other reason they kidnapped the kid, I don’t have any illusions about my future.

  If I get hold of a phone, I could call Drummer.

  But that thought only fleetingly passes through my mind before being dismissed. It’s become a matter of honour that I play my part and help rescue the girl. Preacher can fly, Swift’s the most impressive woman I’ve ever met. Duty, Honor and Stormy are tech experts, and I’ve no doubt the others have skills I’ve yet to see. I’ve got nothing to offer, except my ability to ride at speed. Something makes me want to leave my mark on them, even if that’s only to show they can trust me to get a job done right. That translates to only calling one number, Swift’s, and leaving the update to my prez for later.

  Okay, here we go. I start to run faster, but still carefully, picking each place to plant my feet, concentrating hard on not stepping on a stone or loose pavement that would cause my leg to twist. It’s a few hundred yards that I need to cover, so I run on. My breathing starts to labour at the unaccustomed exercise, especially in this heat. Sweat starts pouring off me, which is all to the good. I should look like I’ve been running a fair distance to throw them off the scent.

  I’m almost at the house now. It’s the closest one to me, the nearest neighbour’s I'd passed about fifty yards back. I take a deep breath and lean my weight to the side and… Shit! Motherfucking hell that hurts! Shit! Fuck! Motherfucker.

  I drop to the ground. I rock, holding my leg to me, genuine tears streaming down my cheeks while I fast look at my surroundings. The front door of the target house is about sixty feet up a driveway. It could be sixty miles right now, as I know there’s no way I can get to my feet. Trying to hop would just send more pain shooting through me.

  Gritting my teeth, I put both my palms to the ground, and crab-like, dragging my ruined leg behind me, I crawl up the path.

  Why had I worried about sweating? My face burns red, and rivulets run down my face mingling with my tears. If no one’s home, I’ll have to put my knee back in, and hope that I didn’t cause more damage by not doing so sooner.

  I eye the front door, and the doorbell up high. As I reach out my hand to grab hold of the frame and pull myself up, the door opens.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “I-I…” I’m not exaggerating the difficulty getting words out. I’m in genuine fucking agony. “Running.” I huff, then take a breath, feeling like I’m going to vomit and swallowing hard. “My knee’s popped, man. Please, I need to use a phone?”

  He doesn’t immediately agree, but neither does he tell me to get lost. His eyes travel over me, settling where my leg is contorted dramatically and I see him wince and pale.

  “Who’s there, Tub?”

  “Runner. Fucked up his leg.”

  Another man appears and pushes Tub to one side, subjecting me to the same examination.

  Swift and Snatcher had been right, they’re as suspicious as hell, but my leg’s at such an awkward angle, it’s clear to see I’m not putting it on.

  “Fuck,” the second man says, as he gets a good look.

  “Can… can I use a phone, and man…” I grit my teeth, even speaking hurts.

  “He needs a fuckin’ ambulance.”

  The look the two men give each other is enough for me to know we’ve got the right house. They’re clearly concerned about bringing any type of authority here.

  “My… girlfriend… she’ll pick me up. Just need to call her. Had enough of hospitals, man. She’ll take me to a doctor I use.”

  “Don’t you have your own fuckin’ phone?”

  “Some fucker stole it. Yesterday,” I explain, not having to lie as I give them the truth, the bite in my voice fuelled by the memory of Pip hanging on to it.

  “You want to call your girlfriend,” the second man repeats, but not as a question, but as though he’d trying m
y suggestion out. “She live far away?”

  “Down by the coast.” I don’t know the area, so I hope they don’t ask me for more. But then I hear a reassuring voice straight into my ear, and I’m immediately able to name a street. “She’ll be here in…” I pause, grimacing with real pain, but giving time for Piston to give me an ETA and complete my statement with, “ten minutes.”

  “Tub get your phone.”

  “Can I come in? I could really do with a glass of water?” I hope I’m not laying it on too thick, but that’s what an injured man would ask, isn’t it? And he’d want to get comfortable rather than lying on a concrete porch under the burning sun.

  “Christ,” the second man says. “Oh for fuck’s sake, yes.” He even holds out his hand to help pull me to my feet.

  I’m not a small man, so it takes his other hand as well, and then I’m leaning on his shoulder and hopping into the room, taking the opportunity to slip the listening device into his pocket when my hand grasps his hip for support. He leads me to a sofa. I flop awkwardly on the seat, my sharp exclamation of pain not an act in any way. Not thinking, I tuck back my hair.

  “What’s that in your ear?” he suddenly asks, suspiciously.

  “Hearing aid,” I tell him, pointing to the scarring on my leg. “Fucked up my ears when I was knocked off my bike. I had a bad concussion.” Isn’t it always best to stick as close as possible to the truth?

  “Take it out,” the man instructs. I do. When he speaks again, I act like Swift had done on the plane, and lean in, focusing on his face.

  “Is that what it is?” Tub looks concerned.

  “Fuck, how would I know?”

  I shake my head. “I can’t lip read yet,” I explain. “Are you talking to me?” In truth, I’m holding my breath, but he examines the device that stays silent in his hand.

  “You really deaf?”

  I let my face stay blank.

  With another look toward Tub, he hands it over to me and I put it back in, remembering the look on Swift’s face when she’d done the same thing, letting my face relax as though I’m relieved.

  “Thank you, being deaf, well, it sucks, man.”