Truck Stopped: Satan's Devils MC #11

by Manda Mellett

  I don’t know what to do. But as I stand hesitating, I hear a shower start.

  The sound of the water running does nothing to muffle the sobbing of a man in utter distress.

  Chapter Five

  Allie…

  I act automatically, without a second thought. Within moments I’ve taken off all my clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor. I follow the sound of the shower, go uninvited into his bedroom, then into the adjacent bathroom, opening the door quietly.

  I relish the sight of his naked body behind the frosted glass, the form slightly less bulky than I remembered. His head is bowed, his hands over his face, and those gut-wrenching sobs are still coming.

  Allowing myself no room for doubt, I open the door and step inside, putting my arms around him.

  He jumps and flails.

  “It’s me, Truck. It’s me.”

  “I told you to fucking go.” He sounds furious. His anger doesn’t scare me, but his tears do.

  The frosted glass and the water cascading over his head and down his body prevent me from getting a look at him, and soon, I’ve lost my chance. He’s turned me so my back is against his front, and has the door open with the obvious intent of pushing me out.

  I’ve got seconds before I lose him forever.

  “Truck. Don’t push me away. You’re upset, let me help.”

  “You want to fuckin’ help? Get out of here. You’ve had what you came here for, now fuckin’ get gone.”

  I didn’t come here for his cock, but now’s not the time to tell him that. How can I get through to him?

  “You’re blocking everyone out, Truck, when you clearly need someone.” Calculating fast, I remember I’m the only one he’s let over his front step. “I’m a nobody, Truck. A whore as you reminded me. Use me for this. Speak to me, I’m a good listener.”

  Imperceptibly his arm tightens around me. For a second his chin drops and rests on the top of my head. “Just go, Allie. There’s nothing for you here.” His tone has gentled.

  “Truck, please.” I’m open to begging if it means he doesn’t turn me away. Now that I have intruded, once I leave, I know he won’t let me back. His sobs break my heart. Even if it’s just my body he wants, if that would bring him any comfort at all, he can have it. “Truck, please. I don’t care how, use me if you want to, but there must be some way I can help. You need it, Truck. You need someone.”

  “Too many fuckin’ people thinking they can help. Trying to get into my business. What can you offer that they can’t? Talk? I saw enough shrinks for that, not that it did any good.”

  “I don’t know what support I can give, I just know I need to try. I wanted to come to see you today, and not because Drummer asked me. You’ve got a club, and your co-workers all worried sick about you. Everyone needs someone, Truck. Let me be that for you.”

  He’s quiet for a moment. The only sound is that of the water cascading over us. I think I notice a slight drop in temperature as he replies at last. “So Drummer sends me a whore for company. A whore who wants to talk. Whatever fuckin’ next?”

  It’s not my imagination, the shower is running cold now. I shiver, Truck swears, and reaches over me to turn the water off. His hands trace the goosebumps that have arisen on my skin. He pulls me in closer, presumably to share his body heat. Truck is still there, the good man I remember. I’ve just got to reach inside, find him and bring him back out.

  “Allie, Allie. Why the fuck did you have to come here? Why didn’t you leave when I asked you too?”

  Somehow I know he’s not expecting me to answer. What would I be able to say? I fell for you, Truck. Just one night and you ruined me for other men. It wasn’t just his cock or what he could do with it, though that wasn’t a disappointment in any way. It was far more than that. A connection which gave meaning to an otherwise meaningless act.

  My body shudders again. “Can I get a towel, Truck?”

  A moment of silence as he considers my reasonable request. Then a long drawn out sigh which does nothing to reduce the tension in his body, instead it has the opposite effect. His voice, which had softened, hardens as he growls, “Help yourself. But don’t blame me after, I tried to save you from this.”

  I don’t know what he means. My brow creases as he releases me from his hold, then I move to the rail and take a thank fuck warm towel. I wrap it around me, but keep my back to him for a moment. His words, his actions, the way he’s not let me see him has me prepared for the worst. Whatever I do, I can’t show any reaction. Sympathy would be wrong, pity worse. Revulsion way down at the bottom of the list.

  What could be so awful?

  The atmosphere is heavy with expectancy. Neither of us speak, both waiting on the inevitable. It’s like a storm is about to break.

  I swallow hard, then take a spare towel. Bracing myself, I turn and pass it to him. I barely have time for even the briefest glimpse before he covers his face with the towel. Instead, I view his body. He’s lost muscle, its noticeable, but this is a man who prided himself on keeping fit, and would have done so even if his job hadn’t demanded it. It’s clear he hasn’t returned to the gym since getting out of rehab.

  His left arm is withered and looks twisted, and there’s something wrong with his hand which is curled into a fist. Moving my eyes on a downward journey, I take in his side and leg. From under his arm pit, down to his ass, all the way down his leg, his skin is a mass of scarred tissue. His leg looks like it’s had burns and massive surgery too. Then his stance gives away further injury. He’s standing lopsided, his weight mostly on his right and hardly any on his left.

  Nothing I see detracts from the internal beauty of the man.

  Instinctively I know he’s hiding the worst from me. I step closer, one hand landing on his bicep, the other giving a gentle tug on the towel that’s covering his face. “Let me see.”

  “Allie.” It’s half a growl, half a plea.

  I’m relentless. “Let me see.”

  I tug again. With a tortured sigh, he releases the hold he has on his makeshift mask, and the towel comes away in my hands.

  My stomach rolls, not with disgust, but horror that he’s gone through what he obviously has alone. I force myself to remain completely impassive.

  One side of his face is unmarked, showing the beauty of the man I remember. It’s a mocking comparison to the left side which is a mass of angry red scars presumably covered with skin grafts. The most shocking? Well, that’s the empty eye socket.

  Raising my hand I deliberately place it lightly on the injured side of his face.

  My action astounds him. He grabs it, his fingers tightening around mine as he pulls my hand away. “Don’t pretend, Al. No fuckin’ pretence. I’m a fuckin’ monster.”

  “No,” I tell him sincerely, “you’re Truck.” Placing my free hand over his heart, I continue, “In here, where it matters.”

  “Am I?” he replies, cynically. “Am I really?”

  I go to confirm it, but he shakes his head, saying tiredly, “Just go, Allie. I’m broken, and nothing can fix me.”

  If I leave now, he won’t be opening that door again.

  What can I do? What do I say? It’s clear this man in front of me needs help. Am I qualified to give it? Who am I, but a whore, an uneducated woman who’s even forgotten what street smarts I’d learned as I’ve lived a semi-protected life since I turned eighteen—well, protected from the citizen world that is. The life I’ve lived has not been without danger.

  Should I be aware of the risk of my behaviour resembling that of a whore taking the chance to latch onto a member? I’m all too well aware, Jill and Chrissy died when they attempted to do exactly that.

  I feel a frown playing at my lips. Am I doing the same as them? Am I as bad as the two women I used to work beside, sharing men together? I thought Truck and I had connected, but maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe it was all one-sided. Maybe I should step back. It never ends well if a whore gets ideas above her station.

  I’m certainly not a
psychologist. Even if I were, I probably wouldn’t know where to start, not being aware of what Truck’s issues actually are. Oh, on the outside it’s only too evident he’s been through a lot. I already knew he was injured to the extent he’d been medically retired from the fire service. I can’t begin to imagine the mental anguish of losing a job he loved, and had been prepared to give his life for. We had suspected he would have some scars but had no idea he’d been injured as badly as he was. He’s been through a worse hell than I anticipated. And to lose an eye? Fuck.

  This is beyond me to fix.

  While my thoughts have been whirling around my head, I’ve been automatically drying myself off. With the towel wrapped around me, suddenly aware of my nakedness in a way it hadn’t bothered me before, I open the door as I hadn’t brought my clothes into the bathroom.

  “I’m going to get dressed.”

  He says nothing, but I feel his gaze burning into my back as I leave.

  Retrieving my clothes from where they lie on the floor, I put them back on, finger combing my curly hair.

  What do I do now?

  Play this by ear. I’ve never been in this situation before. It strikes me that while my experience with men is vast, it’s only been in one way. When was the last time I sat and had a conversation with a man? I can’t remember. Exchanging polite comments and jokes when bartending doesn’t count.

  “You need to get back to the club, Allie. I’m sure you will be missed by now.” Dressed, he’s followed me out.

  “Why don’t you talk to me, Truck? The club doesn’t need me, I’ve got all the time in the world for you.”

  “Drummer told you to give me special treatment, did he?” Glancing at him I see Truck’s destroyed face attempting a smirk. “Gave me my own personal whore? Sorry, babe, I’m not feeling it now. Got better things to do.”

  My face glows, but I push my anger back down. I deserve his words, he’s spoken nothing but the truth. Except for one thing. “It’s true Drummer sent me, but it wasn’t because I’m a sweet butt.” I’d have come here in any event. Staying away from Truck, knowing he was so close, had been killing me.

  Truck’s keeping his back to me, even though I’ve seen him and the horror that remains of his face. I long to tell him it doesn’t matter, that he’s still the same man to me, but he’s giving me no chance to show it.

  “So why the fuck are you here, Al? I mean fuck all to you, or you to me.”

  That pulls me up. Damn it. My palm hits my forehead. All the time I’ve been thinking there was more between us than just sex that night, Truck’s never given a second thought to me. Of course he wouldn’t, all he did was have sex with the first available sweet butt, it wouldn’t have mattered had it been me, Paige, Pussy or Diva.

  There’s a couch behind me. I sink into it, putting my head in my hands. No sweet butt ever makes it with a biker. What happened to Jill and Chrissy should have warned me of that. No good comes of having hopes above my station.

  For the past few months, all my focus has been on Truck, and that remarkable night we spent together, while it was nothing special to him. Now I’ve got to make some decisions. The thought of going back to the club, going back to letting any man use me is abhorrent. It hits me as it’s not hit me before, the reasons why I haven’t wanted to work on my back since the day Truck left. For the first time, sex had meant something to me. It had gone beyond a physical act, had shown me what I’d been missing. Since the first boy I went with, I’d only ever experienced that with Truck.

  I’m greedy.

  I want it again.

  But Truck doesn’t want me.

  I’ve nothing to offer but my body, and that, it appears, isn’t enough.

  I’ve been quiet too long. Truck fills the silence, every word like a nail hammered into my coffin. “Go, Allie. Look, tell Drummer thanks. Yeah, the release was great. I don’t mind if he sends you or one of the other girls, at least you’re paid to ignore what I look like. You can tell him why I’m staying away now.”

  I work hard to come up with a suitable response as Truck confirms that any of the girls would be able to see to his needs. It’s hard to deal with the disappointment that’s tearing me in two. Knowing I can’t let Truck see how shattered I am, in the end I settle for, “I can’t tell him what I don’t understand, Truck. What the hell’s keeping you from the club?”

  “What. The. Hell?” Truck snarls. “Haven’t you got fuckin’ eyes in your head?” He pauses and his mouth twists as he realises what he said. “My eyesight is fucked, my leg and wrist too. I can’t ride my fuckin’ bike, so I can’t be a member. Leaving aside who’d want someone who looks like this around.”

  Even as a sweet butt I know the rules. If Truck truly can’t ride, then he’s right, he can’t be in the club. But is that the truth? Has he just not tried hard enough? Peg’s got a false leg for fuck’s sake, and Truck’s still got one working eye. Maybe he just needs a longer recovery. As for his looks? Who’d care about that?”

  “No one would give one damn about your appearance.”

  “Yeah? You really think they’d want me scaring the kids?”

  Twenty years in the future – Drummer

  Peg nods at Alba who’s just backed his bike into a vacant spot. The man shrugs as Peg points at a scrape on his bike.

  “Dropped it again?” the sergeant-at-arms snorts.

  “Nah, woman backed into it at the parking lot.”

  Both of us wince in commiseration. Alba, short for Albatross, is always having fucking bad luck. The reason he was given that road name.

  “I’ll get Sharp to sort it.” Alba doesn’t sound particularly bothered as he passes us and goes into the clubhouse. What would be a tragedy for anyone else is almost a normal occurrence for him, and Sharp, who’s taken over as manager of our auto-shop is well used to fixing his ride.

  “Do you remember how it all started?” Peg asks, when Alba has disappeared inside.

  “What? Truck and Allie?”

  “I was thinking about how this turned into a family club. The influx of old ladies.”

  I frown. “You talking about Bullet?”

  Peg shakes his head. “Nah. Bullet’s always been with Carmen, they were together when he joined the club. And Viper and Sandy were married over forty years.”

  They were. We celebrated their ruby wedding a couple of years back. Just before…

  Peg interrupts my chain of thought. “There was Heart and Crystal, of course, but it was Wraith who seemed to be the turning point. After that we all started falling like flies.”

  My eyes shutter as I think back. “Christ, you’re dredging up old memories, Peg. Hadn’t thought of those days in years.” Gears turn in my head, synapses fire, and memories come to the fore. I think it’s easier to dredge up recollections from the past these days, than to remember what I just walked into a room for. One memory in particular enters my brain as I give a short laugh. “Wheels, remember? That’s what we called Sophie when she first arrived.”

  “She was in a fuckin’ wheelchair. Never thought she’d get out of it.”

  You wouldn’t think that now. Like Peg himself, it’s hard to remember she’s got a fake leg at all, unless you see her in the pool. “Down to you, Peg. All down to you that she did.”

  He grins. “Wasn’t going to let her get away with that shit.” He stares at nothing for a moment. “Seemed a strange fit. She didn’t even talk our language.”

  Chuckling softly, I agree, “She sure expanded our vocabulary. Heard Heart call something the dog’s bollocks the other day.”

  “Yeah, and I even asked for a cup of char.” Peg’s head moves side to side in disbelief. “She was a breath of fresh air coming into the club.”

  “Never expected Wraith to settle down, that’s for certain.”

  “Hey, my ears are burning!”

  Unbeknownst to either Peg or myself, my VP has come out of the clubhouse. “What are you two old-timers gossiping about?”

  “Old times,” I r
espond. “In particular, when you got with Wheels.”

  Wraith starts, then grins. “Haven’t called her that in years. Fuck, that brings back memories. Good ones and bad ones.” His face tightens. “I sometimes wonder what kind of member Hank would have made.”

  “A good one,” I say, firmly. I believe it. Man had been close to being patched in when he’d been killed. Never good thinking about the people we’d lost.

  “You two staying out here for a spell?”

  When I nod, Wraith disappears back into the clubhouse.

  “What the fuck has history got to do with Truck and Allie?” I ask. “Thought that’s who we were discussing.”

  “Old minds ramble.” Peg grins. “But I do wonder whether we started a trend that Truck thought he’d follow.”

  “Not at first,” I remind him. “He wanted nothing to do with the club, and nothing to do with Allie.”

  Chapter Six

  Truck…

  I stand, my fists clenching and unclenching at my sides, my brain silently screaming out for her to just go. I don’t even know why she’s here in the first place. Despite what she says, I’m sure Drummer sent her here to fuck me. Crafty bastard, he chose a way that he thought would work, a man has needs after all. The use of a sweet butt had been welcome. But why did he have to choose her?

  I’m a man. When I’d recovered sufficiently for nature to rear its head by the way of my natural masculine urges, I’d used my hand. From the very first time I’d seen the monster I’d become reflected in a mirror, I’d resigned myself to mine being the only touch on my cock. This was going to be my life for the rest of my days. Who’d want a man so broken and scarred?

  Then she’d appeared. Not just a woman, but a sweet butt whose job it is to service the men in the club without criticism or complaint. As soon as she appeared on my doorstep, I knew what the deal was. I could fuck her and she’d walk away without looking back when I dismissed her. It’s what they do, what they expect. She wouldn’t, couldn’t ask for more. Even if my appearance turned her stomach, she’d still open her legs.