Road Tripped: Satan's Devils MC Utah #1

by Manda Mellett

  “If they took me without my hand, I’d survive.” Bolt stares across the table at me.

  I think he’s trying to be reassuring. But Swift’s got a vulnerability that she’d shown me in the dark of the night. A fear of exactly what seems to have happened to her—someone creeping up on her unawares. It will be as though she’s in a perpetual nightmare. During her training, she’d had all her senses available to her. I know how crippling PTSD can be. If that kicks in, she might not be as competent as Thor is painting her.

  While I’m thinking that and growing more worried, the door opens and Honor walks in. He kicks out his seat then takes it. He gives only a brief questioning gaze toward Pip. Receiving a nod in return, he gets straight on to his report.

  “I’ve left Igor there to continue to search, but I think we’ve got everything we’re going to. Two patches of blood as we know already. Brute biked them over to my contact at the lab. One’s type O neg which we know Swift is. That’s rare enough for me to stick my neck out and say that it’s hers. The other is O positive.”

  “How much blood?” Thor asks.

  “The O neg patch, not much. Looked to me like she might have knocked her hand or arm against the door and grazed it. The O positive just a smear.”

  “DNA?”

  “Will take longer, but I told him the hurry and he’s going to try and rush it along.” Honor looks up. “We’ve got access to lots of databases, but unless he’s already known to cops or has investigated his ancestry, it might not tell us a lot.”

  I don’t bother questioning how they can access DNA databases as everyone else just accepts it. I’m beginning to realise their boast about Fort Knox was probably genuine.

  “What I did find,” Honor continues, a frown appearing on his face, “was surveillance equipment hidden in her house. It was behind the ventilation grid in her bedroom.”

  “Camera?”

  Honor nods. “They could see and hear everything.”

  Pip growls. “When did we last sweep the private homes for bugs?”

  “Kind of leave that to everyone to keep their own places clean,” Snatcher reminds him.

  I grimace. “Swift wasn’t expecting to go back there last night.”

  Preacher’s watching me carefully. “What’s on your mind, Road?”

  I slam my hand on the table. “It’s my fault. I pissed her off, made her uncomfortable so she left the clubhouse.”

  Pip snorts, loudly. “Heard you made a pass at her, Brother. Do you think you’re the only one to have done that?” His eyes land on Cowboy who shrugs, and then Stormy who grins widely. My eyes narrow at that. Had any of them been successful? Pip carries on, “She’s an expert at turning men down, and not very lightly. They’re usually walking bow-legged the next day and not for any pleasurable reason.”

  “Swift got the hots for Road?”

  “If she has,” Honor raises his chin toward Duty, “it might have confused her. Especially if Road’s sticking around and becoming part of the team.”

  I’m getting uncomfortable with this discussion, not thinking any attraction between Swift and myself is a suitable topic for church, but I suppose anything is fair game, including my sensibilities, if we’re going to get her back.

  “Why she went home yesterday, and why she didn’t do a sweep for bugs are questions for later not now!” Pip bellows. “That the bug was there means someone was targeting her, waiting for her to go back, and that it wasn’t a random pick up.”

  “Still could be sex trafficking,” Piston remarks.

  Preacher shrugs. “Some run fairly sophisticated operations. Especially when targeting specific types. It’s a lucrative business. A woman living alone might have been seen as an easy target.”

  “Anyone notice anything out of place? Strangers hanging around when Swift was about?”

  “I’ll get Gears to examine the surveillance footage around both clubhouses and see if anything shows up.” Honor makes a note on his tablet. “Just to recap, apart from the bug and the blood, that was all I could get from the house. I dusted for prints, but apart from Swift’s, I couldn’t find any.”

  Snatcher and I had worn gloves, it seems so too did the kidnappers.

  “I still wonder if it’s anything in Swift’s past,” Pip observes, tapping his fingers on the table. “We don’t want to focus on one assumption and then find we were wrong. I’ll contact Devil and see whether she was ever deployed on work for MI5 or MI6.”

  “I’d find that,” Duty scoffs.

  Pip gives a half-grin. “Not doubting you, Duty. Doesn’t hurt to double-check though.” He pauses, then raps the table. “Okay. Honor, Duty and Stormy, the three of you keep digging. Let me know immediately if the DNA turns anything up. Everyone else, stay close and ready to move out as soon as we’ve got a location for her.”

  “Mystic’s already got the plane fuelled and ready,” Preacher informs us. “Just in case she’s already been moved out of state or over the border.”

  “Everyone check your bikes. If your tyres need changing or oil topped off, bring them into the shop now.” Thor glances at each of us in turn. When he receives nods from each of us, he turns to me. “You want to take that ZX14R for a spin, Road? See how it handles?”

  I do. But it would be fun, and doing anything fun right now feels completely wrong. I shrug.

  “We might need someone to get somewhere fast,” Pip observes, his eyes viewing me critically. Not for the first time, I suspect he’s got an uncanny capability for seeing inside a person right down to their soul.

  That puts a different spin on it. I give a sharp nod. As soon as we know where Swift is being held, I’ll waste no time rushing to her.

  The brothers here might all be desperate to find her, but I doubt anyone has such a driving urge to be the one who first reaches her.

  For the first time, I understand why Mouse was so distraught when Mariana was taken, or Blade when Tash disappeared. What’s harder to comprehend is why I feel like a part of me is missing when I barely know her.

  Or why I want to shout to the room that we have to find her because she’s mine.

  Mine? In my head only. Swift will never belong to me or anyone.

  23

  Swift…

  I think a night has passed, but I can’t be sure. All I know is I was thrown another hamburger what feels like hours ago, and a breakfast wrap was delivered just now.

  At least my time in the army had trained me for accepting my time as a kidnapee. During the stage of my SAS training while I was fending for myself, I had to eke out my meagre rations, surviving at times on energy bars which tasted just like cardboard. A cold egg and bacon sandwich was actually a step up, and the protein and calories were such that I couldn’t be fussy or pass it up.

  Ignoring my body’s complaints have become ingrained as my way of life. Being on sentry duty meant retaining the same position for hours which could lead to cramps, as could trekking forty-odd miles carrying a fifty-five pound pack.

  I’m tired though. I can’t relax and sleep as I wouldn’t hear anyone creep up on me. I refuse to close my eyes, and keeping them focused on the door–the only way I’d be warned of someone approaching–is exhausting. I’m slowly being driven crazy by the silence. Usually, as soon as I wake, I switch on my hearing aids and the world becomes as close to normal again as I’ll ever have it.

  My fear, which I’m trying to manage, continuously bubbles under the surface. What future have they got planned for me? Will I ever hear again, or will my future just be silent? That scares me more than anything.

  During what I expect was the long lonely night, I’d gone over and over again why they could have kidnapped me. It was planned, I’ve become even more certain of that. Possibly I’ve been watched, but as I hadn’t been aware of anything or anybody wrong, they’re not amateurs. But why take me?

  I’m a woman, and while I keep shying away from giving it serious consideration, the only thing I circle back to is they’ve kidnapped me to be so
ld, just like so many people I’ve helped rescue with the Utah Satan’s Devils. I’ve tried to think of something else, why I’m important to them in any other way, but I was never able to wear my beige beret and take up a position as part of the SAS. I’ve been involved in no intrigue, have upset nobody’s plans.

  I’ve got hands, feet, and if it comes to it, teeth. My arm can wrap around someone’s neck and choke out their life in an instant, and my legs can kick theirs from under them. Helpless is not a word which applies to me, unless I’m drugged, overpowered or, left tied up and chained to a wall.

  I know people are into kinky shit, and if that’s my planned future, doubt if I’d be given a safeword. I wouldn’t go anywhere or do anything willingly, and I’m not helpless. If someone tried to rape me here chained up as I am, I’d use my hips and attempt to break off their fucking dick. I can’t evade a bullet, I know that, but death would be on my terms and not theirs.

  What petrifies me isn’t the thought of anyone getting physical with me, it’s being left in this world of silence to rot. Would I ever be able to sleep again? I think not. It hasn’t escaped me that I might have been taken for some sick fuck who’d get off on the thought he could hurl insults and threats at me when without hearing them, I couldn’t retort back.

  No. No. No and no. As my heart starts to race, I yank at the chain again and again, hoping if I keep this up, a link might break or the concrete loosen enough for me to pull the ring out. I’ve got plans for this chain whether or not I can escape from the cuff. I’d revisited my thought about breaking the thumb, but having studied it, I’d have to break more than that to get free. There’s not enough play in the metal surrounding my wrist.

  I’m angry. How dare they? How dare they take a woman from her home, wrest her away from everything she knows, from a life that she loves. From the man she’d like to get to know better.

  Road. Yeah, well he’s been in my head a little more than he should have. What would it be like to have him submit to me, or, heaven help me, a little part of me wants to know what it would feel like submitting to him? Rather than me taking the lead as I normally do in any sexual encounters I have, I think I might trust him enough to let him use my body as he wants to. A shiver goes down my spine, and this time it’s not fear causing it. It leaves me wondering, would one night be enough?

  Would one night be too much? If Road’s going to be part of the team, would it change the working dynamic between us? Yes, of course it would. We’d either both end up dealing with sexual frustration, or more likely, just one of us would while the other had gotten it out of their system. The utterly alien thought strikes me, I can’t say for certain that in Road’s case, it would be him left wanting.

  But I never go back. I always find it easy moving on. Surely, Road hasn’t got something that’s able to smash down the walls I’ve carefully built up around my life?

  What do I see in my future? A long road stretching off into the distance ridden alone, or somewhere along the way, would I want someone beside me?

  I’m still young…ish. Thirty-three isn’t old, is it?

  While still yanking on the chain and keeping one eye on the door, I allow myself to think, and of things I don’t normally let myself consider. Like where I’ll be in ten, twenty, thirty years’ time. A vision of me as a female version of Grinch comes into my mind. Someone whose whole life revolves around the club and motorcycles, no old lady, no children, no legacy for him to leave for the future. When he dies, the club will remember him, and maybe Brenda will too. But memories fade. Do I want to end up like that? In time, he’d be just a faded photograph on a wall.

  Do I want loneliness like that? Or do I want to find a partner?

  It’s always been a shadowy thought for my future. I haven’t seen me fading away all alone, but nor have I viewed the years laid out in front of me with any particular man by my side. But now, here in this cellar or wherever this is, when my future has possibly been taken out of my hands, how I’d like it to be shaped becomes clearer.

  I can’t say the man at my side would be Road, it’s far too early for that. We might be incompatible in or out of bed. But if it wasn’t just the drink talking the night before last, maybe I’ll take Road up on his offer. At least I’ll hopefully get an orgasm or two out of it. It might be a mistake, but hell, I think I’d enjoy it.

  For the first time since I awoke from my drug-enforced sleep, my lips curve. Then I redouble my efforts to get free. I’ll not have a chance of anything if I don’t get out of this predicament I’m in.

  My eyes catch the movement of the door opening, and I swing around, ready for anything, wanting nothing more than someone to produce the handcuff key.

  The first man, who seems to be the leader, enters. This time he has a gun trained on me. He gestures to the man beside him, who comes closer, looking at me warily, making sure I understand the unspoken threat of the gun, then dives for the bucket. His expression of disgust is clear to read and I don’t need more than his body language to scream what he’s thinking. Well, I’ve must have been held captive for more than a day, and it’s the first time they’ve bothered to empty it. Me? Well, I’ve gotten used to the smell now, and it would take far more than that for me to be squeamish.

  Gingerly, he carries the bucket out the door. Then the man with the gun stands aside, and a third hitherto unseen man comes through the door. He’s a bloody giant of a man, enormous, twice my size and looks like he’s been hitting the steroids. Brawn, not muscle, I tell myself, confidently. I can take him with one hand chained. I couldn’t beat the bullet firing from the gun though.

  They wouldn’t go to the bother of kidnapping me, only to shoot me.

  Why’s this man here? To rape me? I’m not naïve. Christ, I’ve seen enough on the dark web, I know there’s a market for snuff movies, let alone forced intercourse. But there’s no camera equipment, and none that I could see planted in the room.

  I could seriously injure him before he touches me. At least, render him incapable.

  But I’ll still be chained and unable to get free, so where would that leave me?

  Another new man enters, he also looks strong. What the hell is going on? Despite my confidence I can do serious damage, I start to fear they might really rape me.

  The man with the gun moves closer to me, his gun pointing not at my head, but at my knee. He’s making it plain he can shoot and injure me. I’ve seen a shattered kneecap before, and it’s not pretty. Incapacitating, with a long recovery and that’s if I’m given medical treatment quickly.

  I will my muscles to relax. Whatever they intend to do, they mean to do it. It’s probably worth more for me to maintain my weak female persona than show my hidden strengths. There’s more chance then of them releasing me if they think I’m no threat, and with them being totally unsuspecting of what I’m capable of. Whatever plan he has, I’ll endure it. For now.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, but he doesn’t bother to reply.

  Then, strong man two pulls me around, sits on my legs and the giant gets behind me. His arms encircle my body, my arms pressed tight against my sides. I haven’t the angle to break free, even if I tried. I’m in a position no one wants to be in. Trapped.

  The man who’d gone out with the bucket returns, this time carrying something which he hands to the man with the gun. That weapon is passed over.

  The leader grabs my right hand and pulls it upward, my upper arm still trapped by the giant behind me.

  My eyes widen in horror as I see he holds pruning shears in his hand.

  “No.” I flinch back, trying to pull my hand away, but I’ve got no leverage. A soldier might stay silent, a woman picked up off the street would not. “No!” I say again. “No, please! No, please no, no. No!” I don’t try to hold back my screams.

  But he could be as deaf as I am as he ignores my pleas. Instead, he holds my hand tightly, and seconds, and a sharp pain later, my little finger is in his hand and no longer attached to mine.

  He signa
ls to the other men and I’m released, cradling my bloody hand to me, saying, “No, why? What have you done?” I don’t have to force the sob, I just don’t suppress it.

  Next, he throws a roll of bandage and a Band-Aid to me.

  Then, they’re gone.

  Knowing I don’t want to bleed to death, I wrap my throbbing hand, using the Band-Aid to fasten the bandage securely. The white becomes red almost immediately.

  I think I must be in shock, I hadn’t expected that to happen.

  A few minutes ago I had ten fingers, now I have nine.

  Fuck, my hand’s throbbing. I rock to-and-fro. But why did they do that? I still as I force myself to think through this new development rationally. If I was taken to be sold, they’d want me undamaged and whole. The reason why kidnappers take pieces of their victim is to show they mean business, and it usually accompanies a ransom demand.

  But who? Who would pay a ransom to get me back?

  Or, it’s to prove they can hurt someone’s loved one, and who cares about me enough they’d worry about keeping me alive? My parents? But they’ve got no money. While I’m worth the world to them, it would be impossible for them to get any sizeable sum together. The only other people are my club.

  While motorcycle clubs aren’t everyone’s favourite groups, they’re not usually the victims of a kidnapping scam. Any enemy would hit us head-on. But it could be that, someone we’ve crossed in our line of business and they want to make the club hurt for revenge.

  The club has funds, I suppose, a private plane for a start. But would the Satan’s Devils give up everything they own just to get me back? Maybe they would. Maybe this would soon be over, and I’ll be released with the only damage a loss of a finger.

  But that theory is full of holes. I’ve seen their faces.

  If the kidnappers know anything about our club, they’ll know we’ve got the resources to track them down and take them out of existence.

  They won’t leave me alive.

  Damn it. If they know I’m a member of the MC, they may know all about me, and I’ve been hiding my skills for nothing. I should have fought. Should have taken them out. Even if my corpse was left with theirs to rot in this basement, I shouldn’t have played it by the book.