I shrug. “I prospected for a year which would have earned me the right to ride with your chapter. Then I prospected a further year learning what this chapter needs.” I wonder if I’ve said too much about how Utah is different, so change track. “I passed every test set for me. As a woman, I’m used to proving myself not only as good as any man, but better. The fact I’ve not got a dick shouldn’t come into account. I can ride and fight just as well as any of the brothers.”
I notice Drummer’s VP leans over and says something into his ear. Even if I could lip read, I wouldn’t be able to know what he’s saying as his hand is hiding his mouth. Drummer reacts by giving a thoughtful nod.
“I knew us coming to Utah was going to open a whole can of worms. Just didn’t know how many of them I’d find wriggling. Gonna ask you to leave us now, Swift.”
“Am I still a member?” I ignore Road’s warning glance.
“That’s for us to discuss,” Drummer replies, his expression so unreadable I note never to play poker against him.
34
Road…
Drummer stares at the closed door for a moment after Swift departs. To be honest, I feel sorry for him. During the conversation today, his face resembled what mine probably looked like when I’d first arrived, a mixture of what the fuck and you’ve got to be kidding me.
Everyone lets Drummer have his moment of contemplation, knowing there’s a lot for him to take in. It might be true he inherited the role of prez of the mother chapter, but in all the years he’s been in that chair, no one’s wanted to take it from him. Except for Snake in San Diego, but he was a twisted egocentric man. Drummer views his position as a privilege, not a right, and is driven by his desire to run the club in the best possible way and treat all members fairly, which up to now, has only included men.
He sits, shaking his head, then taps his fingers against the tabletop. “Let me get this right. Snatcher isn’t prez, Pip is. A man I have never met nor know the first fuckin’ thing about. I, and the other prezes have been lied to for ten fuckin’ years. On top of that, you’ve patched in a woman, something that goes against the spirit, if not the wording of our rules.”
Pip sighs. “There’s more. I think you ought to hear it.” He glances at me and momentarily his eyes soften.
“More?” Drummer’s incredulous eyes land on him. He drops his head into his hands for a moment, then massages his temples and looks up. “Go on.”
Now Pip shrugs. “You haven’t asked why we deceived you, so I’ll pre-empt that now. I can’t ride a bike and will never be able to. That’s why Snatcher takes the lead when the club rides out.”
Drummer looks like he’s about to fall off his chair. “You don’t fuckin’ ride.” He snorts loudly. “You don’t fuckin’ ride? You call yourself Prez, but that’s right up there as one of the main requirements of being a member of this club.”
“Why don’t you ride?” Peg’s sharp, and he’s caught something Drummer’s missed. “You didn’t say you didn’t want to but inferred that you can’t.”
“Lost both my legs,” Pip informs him without missing a beat.
“Fuckin’ sorry about that,” Drummer says fast, his sharp eyes assessing him. “You served?” At Pip’s nod, Drummer breathes in deeply and holds it. When he lets his breath out, it’s with the words, “But that doesn’t change things. Rules are rules.”
“Pip’s the right man to lead this club.” Snatcher leaps to his prez’s defence.
“Prez?” I get Drummer’s glare turned my way. “There are things you don’t know.”
“I’m beginning to wonder if I know my own fuckin’ name right now, Road. But I do know you’ve been keeping things from me. It’s time you spill.”
“Drummer, I—”
“Shut the fuck up, Pip. You too, Snatcher. I don’t know who I trust to tell me the truth right now, but I trust myself to know when Road is lying. He’s got tells which I know only too well. So it’s him I’m going to listen to.”
I’ve got tells, have I? No wonder I’ve lost so much money to him playing cards. But I put that thought behind me, too much else is at stake to dwell on that now. I clear my throat. “I was as shocked as you when I walked in here, Drummer.” I notice Snatcher raising his eyebrows and smirking but ignore him. “Pip here is a disavowed CIA agent. His expertise is in negotiation and hostage extraction. He’s in deep with Devil.” I see Drummer’s eyes widen. “And it was Devil’s suggestion that he came to the club. Pip couldn’t work officially anymore but didn’t want his expertise to go to waste. Utah doesn’t run a tattoo parlour or a restaurant. A couple of the older members keep an auto-shop going as a front, but Utah’s main business is in preventing kidnappings or slave trafficking, or, if they take place, stepping in and getting the victim out.” I pause, then tell them with a hint of pride in my voice, “I went along with them to Santa Barbara where we rescued a little girl. Got her back home to her parents.”
Drummer lets that sink in for a moment. Then he turns to Pip. “And you do that under the umbrella of the Satan’s Devils MC?”
Pip shakes his head. “We don’t wear our cuts, and normally we go in masked. There’s nothing to connect our operation to the Satan’s Devils.”
“You’re using the club as a front?” Wraith asks.
“No.” Snatcher sounds firm. “We are Satan’s Devils, but this is our line of work.”
“There’s more,” I tell Drummer, getting a roll of his eyes as though he’s wondering when the blows will stop. “This whole chapter is based on intelligence. We always thought Utah didn’t have a man like Mouse. In fact, a number here could give him a run for his money. They really can,” I take a breath, then pronounce the words which are likely to get an explosion, “get into Fort Knox, well, the equivalent of that information-wise, anyway.”
Drummer’s face goes blank as he computes what I’ve said. Then he stands so fast his chair falls over backwards. “San fuckin’ Diego? You were the fuckers leading Lost around by his dick?”
Pip grimaces, throws a look my way that’s impossible to interpret, and nods. “Yeah.”
Knowing Drummer needs to know everything, I continue to throw my new chapter to the wolves. “And Demon.”
“Major?” Drummer roars. He leans over the table, then drops back down in his seat so hard I wouldn’t be surprised to hear the chair break. His head drops into his hands. While he thinks, it would be possible to hear a pin drop. Then, without raising his head, he says, “Snatcher, Pip, Road. Out.”
I stand. I’m being banished by my prez, and I don’t know what to make of that. Because I’m not an officer, perhaps? Nah, that’s wishful thinking. It’s because I’ve wronged my club. I should have been honest with him from the start.
Out in the corridor, Pip’s hand lands on my shoulder. “I’ll explain I was the one texting him when you first got here, Road. It wasn’t you that misled him.”
“You gave me back my phone,” I remind him. “I still didn’t clue him in.”
His hand slips to my back, and he pushes me in the direction of the elevator. “Let’s join the others. They’ll be wanting news.”
Sure. But what exactly can we tell them? I could enlighten them I’ve never seen my prez so angry, but somehow, I don’t think that would help.
As the elevator dings and the door opens, I feel much like a celebrity entering a party as all eyes turn our way. Pip steps to the fore and moves toward the bar, which seems like a good idea. If ever there was a time I needed a drink, it’s now.
Thor and Preacher are first to approach. Pip nods, takes a beer which Brute has put into his hand, then turns to the prospect.
“Go join Igor and Gears downstairs. Keep an eye on the meeting room. If our visitors come out, see if they need anything, and if they want me, you know what to do.”
“Sure, Prez.”
“Is Swift still a Devil?” Stormy shouts from the back of the room.
I notice Swift, standing by the bar, straightens at that question. My
eyes linger on her a second too long, trying to signal no one’s yet made a decision.
“Are any of us?” Pip responds enigmatically. “Fuck knows.”
“They know the truth?” Preacher asks.
Wondering whether he’s going to drop me in it, I glance to the elevator seeing the doors are closed and recall Brute’s in it heading down to the first floor. Without knowing where the stairwell is located, my immediate escape route is blocked off now.
“Yeah, and then some. We came completely clean.”
Inwardly I sigh with relief as Pip shoulders the blame.
“What happens if we lose the charter?” Piston asks. “Is that possible?”
“More than possible, likely,” Snatcher states, raising a shot glass and downing it in one. Having wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, he continues, “We’ve bent the rules so far away from true, I’m not sure how Drummer can condone it.”
“Could he strip our patches and send us out in bad standing?”
“Unlikely, I’d say,” Pip responds. “We might no longer be Satan’s Devils, but that doesn’t mean we can’t stay together. Form our own club.”
“Unless he thinks we’ve wronged the Satan’s Devils’ patch,” Thor observes, pinching his nose between his finger and thumb.
“How the fuck could we have wronged them?” Swift’s eyes widen with her indignation. “We rescue people, that’s not wrong. Or is it because I’m a member?”
Pip’s eyes land on one man, and when heads turn, they all point in the same direction.
“What? Oh, hell, yeah. Blame me.” Stormy throws up his hands. “I get the job done—”
“While pissing people off in the process.”
I’ve not seen Pip show much emotion before, but it’s clear he’s making a concerted effort to bring himself under control. His knuckles are white as he holds his empty bottle, his jaw is clenched, and twin spots of red adorn his cheeks.
I’m clearly not the only person to notice.
Preacher, throwing a glower Stormy’s way, his eyes signalling a threat that he’s to keep his mouth closed, he nods to Piston who goes behind the bar and gets Pip a fresh beer.
“What are our options?” the sergeant-at-arms asks, once Pip’s hand relaxes as it moves the drink to his mouth.
Pip breathes out, and some of his tension goes with it. I might not know the man well, but well enough that finding solutions to problems is what he’s best at.
“Do we want to keep the charter enough to throw Swift out?” His challenge rings out around the clubroom.
“Fuck no.” Thor’s response is loud and firm. “Swift’s one of our best fuckin’ operatives, and a true brother in every sense of the word but one.”
“We stand with her.” This time it’s Duty speaking for him and Honor.
Swift steps closer, receiving a few slaps on her back, non-verbal declarations of support for her. She acknowledges the comments, but still makes the offer. “I could turn in my patch.”
“You’re not fuckin’ doing that,” Pip growls.
“Hear me out, please?” Swift waits for him to raise his chin at her. “Doesn’t mean I have to stop doing what I do. I can still work for the club, just without wearing a cut on my back.”
“Wouldn’t work.” Thor looks disgusted at the thought. “You fuckin’ proved you were worthy when you prospected and have shown your loyalty to the club. Each one of us,” he waves his hand incorporating everyone, “knows how this shit works. You fuckin’ earned that patch, Swift. Not one of us would give that up, not while we’ve got air in our lungs.”
“You’re all forgetting me.” Pip drains his second bottle, and I really don’t blame him. “If Swift hasn’t got the expected apparatus, I haven’t either. The lack of flesh and blood legs is a big fuckin’ drawback.”
“Said it before, Prez. We could attach a side car to a bike to give it balance, or hell, get you a trike.”
Pip looks at Piston. “What would that look like? A fuckin’ prez on a kiddie cart.”
My ears catch the sound of the elevator in motion, but intent on the conversation, I don’t pay it much attention.
“Who the fuck cares what it looks like?” Thor’s eyes widen. “I don’t give a fuckin’ damn. Our club, our rules.”
“Satan’s Devils regulations,” Pip reminds them.
“Then let’s break off and start our own fuckin’ club.” Preacher rolls his eyes. “What do we get from being Satan’s Devils?”
“What do you fuckin’ get?” a voice roars, making us all spin around. It’s no surprise to see Drummer exiting the elevator, it’s only him who can command the attention of a room like he can. “What do you fuckin’ get? You get our name, our reputation. You get our history, though it sounds like you want to toss that to the wind. You get the right to exist from the dominant club. You go it alone? You reckon the Wretched Soulz will let you set up your own club, if you’ve been expelled from the Devils?” Drummer’s face is red. He’s even angrier than he was in the meeting room. “The time for breaking away without retribution is long gone. You have to know that.”
Pip starts to speak, but Drummer holds up his hand to stop him. “I’ve decided this is too big for me to make the decision on my own. I’ve put in a call to the prezes of the other chapters. Red, Demon and Lost will be here tomorrow.”
Fuck, that’s serious. All the prezes coming together can’t be good. For me, or the Utah brothers. For the Vegas prez, the Colorado prez and Lost from San Diego to ride or fly up for an emergency meeting means it’s not just a case of Drummer accepting he’s got a chapter who runs things differently from the rest.
My eyes catch those of Swift, who’s staring into space, looking like a soldier about to face a firing squad. Then I move my gaze to Stormy, who, for once, hasn’t that cocky expression on his face. Finally I look at Pip, who’s looking resigned, as though he’s readying himself to be disavowed once again. This time by the Satan’s Devils MC.
I’d thought Preacher’s suggestion might have been the answer but setting up as a new MC doesn’t sound like it would work. Not if Drummer refused to back up such a request with the dominant club.
I might just be a lowly member, but I know the Wretched Soulz are the club that operates in all the states where we have chapters. Any MC wanting to form has to get their backing and permission first. Anyone flying colours in their territory without their permission risks a severe beatdown, or death. If Utah loses Drummer’s respect and endorsement, if all members here, and me, are sent out bad, there’s a chance none of us will be able to live the MC life again.
Christ, this is bad.
“We’re staying tonight,” Drummer pronounces. “Have you got space for us here?”
No one wants to get further on the wrong side of Drummer. Offers come from all sides of brothers giving up their rooms to accommodate the prez of the mother chapter and his three officers.
Stormy, Preacher and Rascal are the first to offer up their rooms. I jump in as well, hoping Swift will need me tonight just like yesterday and I assume I’ll be in hers. The decisions made, they’re followed by a flurry of activity, the three brothers hurrying to tidy their rooms, prospects enlisted to change the sheets on the beds.
Cowboy stirs himself to go and make a meal for our visitors, and anyone else who’s still got an appetite after the news we’ve received that all our futures will be discussed and decided tomorrow.
I’m given an insight of how much it’s going to affect me when Blade passes me, and murmurs, “You gone and fucked up good this time, Road.”
I don’t fail to note, the brother he’s always called me, is missing.
35
Swift…
It’s going to happen again.
Something else I’ve worked hard for, fought for, given my all for, is going to be taken away.
I’m a soldier. While my training included survival skills for being on my own, I was, even then, part of a team. That’s why joining the MC had been s
o appealing to me. I was again part of something and had brothers at my back. I’d proved myself, just as I’d done when I qualified to join the SAS, and now that appears to count for nothing again.
I don’t resent being born as a woman; I don’t want to be a man. All I want is the chance to be me. I don’t much care for feminine things. I’m able to fight in hand-to-hand combat, am a sharpshooter with any gun handed to me and can kill several ways with a knife, let alone being an expert in a variety of other weapons, including those improvised when nothing else is at hand. But that doesn’t make me masculine. I eschew wearing dresses as for me jeans or fatigues are far more practical. I don’t bother with makeup as there’s normally no need, but that doesn’t mean I can’t play dress up, or that there aren’t times I want to.
I just want to be accepted as me. I’ve earned my place in the MC, but because of their, to my mind, outdated rules, now I may be asked to leave. It’s not fair. It’s the twenty-first century, but women are still not regarded as equals. We have to fight harder than men for everything, and even then, we might not win.
As I stand in the clubroom, hearing the conversation around me, I zone out. It’s not fair, but if the survival of the club depends on me turning in my patch, I would take the fall for the team. The question is, would I really want to stay, still do my part, but under a civilian title? Wouldn’t that just prove how unequal being female was?
If I left, where would I go? What would I do? Here is where I’ve got everything I love.
Suddenly I tune back into the conversation, realising it’s not just me who may have decisions to make. We all know why Pip doesn’t officially carry the title of prez, and why Snatcher’s the outward face of the club. Maybe Pip will have to move on? Not being able to ride is the same disadvantage as me not having a dick.
Start our own club? One where we make all the rules? Yes, that sounded like the best solution all around. I’m just getting excited about the idea, when Drummer appeared, throwing a bucket of ice-cold water on it.
Road Tripped: Satan's Devils MC Utah #1 Page 34
