Truck Stopped: Satan's Devils MC #11

by Manda Mellett

  I open my mouth to say that’s not why I’m getting them to leap to my every whim, but what other explanation can I offer? I don’t want to speak to the woman at the bar, sounds lame, even to me. So I grin. “What can I say? I was at the shit end long enough.”

  I notice Road’s thoughtful eyes on me, but look quickly away.

  Marvel throws down his hand. “Fuck this.”

  “Thought you’d rather be fuckin’ that,” Hyde jokes, as Pussy walks into the room.

  “There’s not enough variety nowadays. Get fed up with the same cunt every time. When I came here there were five sweet butts. Now we’re down to three.”

  “I hear you, man. Might as well have an old lady,” Shooter, overhearing, complains.

  “Here, Shoot. Want to take my place? Talking about old ladies, I’ve got to get back to mine.”

  As Hyde stands, Shooter takes his place.

  “How is Sarah?” Jekyll asks. “Haven’t seen her for ages.”

  “Yeah, I’ll have to bring her around. She’s so busy getting the place decorated.”

  “You’re not helping her?” I remember they built a new house on the plot that Ma’s home had occupied before the wildfire had taken it the summer the year before.

  Hyde gives me a look. “She wants things done just how, and me out of her hair while she does it. I do the heavy lifting and shit, but she’s into painting.”

  “You officially claiming her, Brother?”

  Hyde nods. “Yeah. Some time.”

  When he walks off, Jekyll stares after him. “Some time. Never?”

  I take a bill out of my wallet. “Some time,” I say firmly, laying the money down.

  There’s a flutter of notes landing on top of it, and I jot down what estimates people are giving. I take a gamble and say within the next month, others are much longer. Well, the couple has been together eighteen months. I have no idea what’s holding them up. When they are together, they seem very much in love.

  Christ, I sound sappy. Or could it be, I’m jealous?

  Nah. Of course not.

  We play another round, which Marvel again loses. He throws his cards down, and places his hands behind his head. “Nah,” he says to Road who’s offering to deal him in. “I’ll sit out this time. Luck’s not running my way tonight.”

  “You’re lucky Rock’s off fuckin’ Becca. Else no one would have a chance.”

  Yeah, our resident card shark somehow thinks being with his old lady is better than spending his nights with his brothers. I have no idea why. Except, yeah, perhaps I have. I’d prefer giving my cock a workout too, if I had the chance.

  As if she could read my mind, Diva comes over. She kneels by the side of my chair, puts her lips against the uninjured side of my face, and her hand blatantly on my flaccid cock. “Hear you’ve been working out with the sergeant-at-arms, Truck. Want me to take some of your aches away?”

  I remove her hand. “Thank you, sweetheart, but no. But Marvel here, he’s out of the game.”

  Marvel grimaces, then stands. “Okay. You reckon you can show me something different?”

  “Big boy.” Diva stands and grins. “What have you got in mind?” She takes hold of his hand and leads him off.

  “Your cock in working order? Or is it broke?” Shooter asks conversationally.

  “My cock works fine,” I growl.

  He shrugs. “Haven’t seen you going with the sweet butts. However much Diva tries to get your attention.”

  I don’t go with them as I don’t want to upset Allie. Fuck, but that woman’s cramping my style. You don’t want to go with them because they aren’t Allie. Oh for fuck’s sake. I’m arguing with myself now.

  “Truck here doesn’t know the girls. Only Allie, and she’s sweet.” Jekyll sits forward as my gut cramps with the thought that he’s another one who’s obviously had her. “Not much she won’t do.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” butts in Shooter. “Diva though, she’s got a thing about her ass. If you like going in the backdoor, she’s the one for you.”

  “Paige,” Road gets in on the act. “Now the way she gives head. Mmm mmm.” He looks around as though trying to see where she is. “I could have some of that tonight.”

  I force myself to join in. “What’s Pussy got going for her?”

  “Man, she’s a bit overused, if you know what I mean.” Drifter grimaces. “Not as tight as she could be.”

  “You’re not wrong there,” Matt, no, Sharp now, overhears and comments, proving he, unlike myself, hasn’t wasted time since he’s been patched in.

  Allie had been tight. Even though… I slap myself mentally around the head. Don’t go there.

  Road half-turns, and I think he’s looking again for the clearly talented Paige, but his eyes have landed on Allie, then his attention returns to the table. “Didn’t you feel that Allie’s heart wasn’t in it, though? She’d do anything you wanted, but it was like she was doing her job. There to get you off.”

  “Isn’t that what she’s supposed to do?” Shooter’s eyes have widened. “I didn’t have any complaints. Who wants a clingy female in bed? In, out, get the job done. Job finished.”

  It hadn’t been like that with me and Allie. I hadn’t wanted to get up and leave that morning I’d left. Seemed like she hadn’t wanted me to go either. In fact, I’d been late, as we’d had a round four.

  “I suppose you’re right,” Road submits. “Sometimes with Diva or Paige I get worried they’re trying to get their hooks into me. Never the case with Allie. No connection.”

  We’d connected.

  “She’s a whore,” I say, bluntly. My vehemence makes Road stare at me.

  The card game is over. Road’s eyes fall on Shooter, then on Jekyll, then he jerks his head toward Drifter and Sharp. “Give us a moment, will you?”

  They look curious, but get up and go.

  “What’s up with you, Brother?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Whenever Allie is mentioned, you get this weird look on your face. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted to kill someone.” He shakes his head. “Though when Drummer mentioned you claiming her, you said there was nothing between you. I think you may be protesting too much. The way you’ve been reacting here says something different.”

  “I don’t want to claim her, Road,” I spit out through gritted teeth.

  He ignores me. “What was it like? That night? When you were patched in and you got together?”

  I offer my answer with a dismissive shrug. “Much like going with any whore, I suspect. We got together, fucked, then I left.” We fucked, I tell myself. That’s all it was.

  “Fucked? So you know what we mean then. Allie was just going through the motions.”

  Though it would be better to lie, I don’t. I stay silent.

  “You didn’t fuck?”

  “Where are you going with this, Road?” I want the whole conversation to be over.

  Suddenly he leans forward. “You think I don’t know why you don’t get your own beer? It’s not because you want the fuckin’ prospects to jump to your tune. It’s because you don’t want to face her. You won’t go with the whores because you don’t want to. There’s only one woman you want, the one you don’t think you can have.”

  “Oh I can have her,” I refute. “I just don’t want her. You heard yourself, Marvel and Shooter. Allie’s been here so fuckin’ long there’s not a man here who hasn’t had her.”

  “Wrong, there. Peg and Mouse for a start. And Bullet—he’s never stepped out on Carmen. But yeah, most of us have fucked her. But that’s all we’ve done. You and her, Truck? Well I can read your face when you look at her, and her feelings for you are written all over hers. You didn’t just fuck that night, did you? She gave you something she’s never given anyone before. Look me in the eye and tell me the two of you didn’t make love.”

  Whoa. I hold my palms up, uncaring my mangled hand is held high. “Stop right there. Whores don’t make love.”

>   “Exactly.” He sits back in triumph. Then yells, “Prospect?” When Roadkill appears at a run, he instructs, “Two whiskeys. Doubles.”

  The drink arrives and is set down in front of me. I stare into the amber liquid when I automatically pick it up.

  Had she been different with me? Was the Allie I’d seen not the whore, but the person? If so, what’s stopping me looking at her that way now? I sneak a glance from my glass to the woman standing behind the bar, laughing at something Wraith has just said. Perhaps he can’t tell, but I can. She might be smiling, but her heart’s not in it. She looks beautiful though, in yet another of those fifties’ style dresses.

  How come I can read her, but no one else can?

  Perhaps she shows me herself.

  “You know Mouse is helping her apply for jobs?”

  My eyes meet Road’s over the top of our filled shot glasses.

  “Yeah, she can’t read or write well. She tell you that? She’s embarrassed about it, but Mouse is pretty certain there’s a reason, apparently Drummer does as well. They think she might be dyslexic. Her mom had thought she was lazy, didn’t get her help.”

  I take a sip of my whiskey, while considering no one has ever had Allie’s back or supported her. Memories of what she’s done for me come back into my head. I’ve taken from her, accepted her assistance, offered nothing back. And nothing she’d done had suggested she wanted it. Because in all of her life, no one’s been there for her.

  “She’s planning on visiting bars on her own to try and get a job away from the compound. Hear she’s got tomorrow night off to go try and find herself work.” Road’s casually spoken words rebound like bullets fired in my head.

  I emit a low growl. “Who’s going with her?”

  He acts surprised at my question, and shrugs as if it’s of no importance. “She’s going by herself.”

  His words confirm once again, Allie’s never had anyone on her side.

  My woman is not going to be walking the streets of Tucson. My woman? What the fuck? But as my subconscious claims her, somehow the possessive feels right. As if I’ve admitted something that’s been lurking at the back of my mind for a while.

  Road continues, “She’s asked Mouse to help her look for an apartment that she can afford on minimum wage. Of course, she’ll end up in a shithole…”

  “You’ll end up in a fuckin’ hole in the ground if you don’t shut up,” I snarl, slamming my glass so hard on the table Hound comes running over.

  Road sits forward again. “You don’t like hearing her plans? That she’s planning on leaving the Satan’s Devils? That she won’t be on the compound at all? You don’t like hearing that? Well, fuckin’ get off your ass and do something about it.”

  I stand, waving Hound’s attention off.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Allie…

  I can’t help my eyes going to Truck whenever I can sneak a look without him knowing. He never comes up to the bar for himself, always sends a prospect to get him a beer. It’s not hard to fathom why, he doesn’t want to face me.

  That should make it easier for me to keep my distance, but something keeps drawing my attention back to him. I noted he seemed relaxed playing cards, then assumed he was winning by the smile on his face.

  I’d seen Diva approach him, and held my breath until she walked off with Marvel instead.

  The game seemed to come to a close, and I saw Truck’s body stiffen, as though the conversation had turned to something unpleasant. A topic that had upset him, but not the others. Had they been asking about how he got hurt? I hope they’re not pushing him to speak about things he’d rather not remember.

  Now the others leave the table, only Road and Truck remain.

  “What’s that about?”

  I don’t normally eavesdrop on the brothers’ conversations. Obviously I hear bits and pieces, but don’t hang near. I now make an exception as I’m certain Shooter’s asking Drifter about Truck.

  “No fuckin’ idea, Brother. But something we said has got Truck riled.” His eyes flick to me, and hastily I look away.

  I bend down as though checking stock under the bar. Out of sight, out of mind. It works. I strain my ears, and hear Shooter reply in a voice that has deepened over the last couple of years.

  “He was adamant she meant nothing to him and that he wasn’t going to claim her. Don’t know what made him lose his fuckin’ mind.”

  It was something to do with me. I’m certain of that.

  Their voices start to fade. Guess they’ve walked off. I stand. Yeah. Shooter and Drifter are now by the pool table, if they’re continuing their conversation I won’t be able to hear.

  My eyes flick to the object of my fixation again. Only to find him staring right at me.

  Oh shit.

  Truck looks extremely pissed off.

  Double shit.

  He stands. He takes one step my way. Then another. Then a third. There’s no doubt about it, he’s heading toward me.

  “Prospect,” he yells. “Man the bar. Allie’s finished.”

  I’m finished? What? For tonight? For good?

  “Truck,” I start to stammer out.

  He reaches over the bar and the fingers of his right hand curl around my arm. His hold is firm, not enough to hurt, but tight so I can’t get away. He guides me to the end of the bar and lifts the hatch so I can get out.

  “Truck?”

  But he doesn’t explain. Just leads me out of the clubhouse. Intrigued men silently parting to let us through.

  Once outside, he backs me against the wall, and emotion flares in his right eye, staring intently into mine.

  “Do you like cats?” he snarls out in a gravelly voice.

  Of all the things I expected he might say, that was at the far bottom of the list, if even on it in the first place.

  “Well?” he pushes when I don’t respond to his totally out of the blue question.

  I swallow, hard, then proudly manage to get out without stuttering, “I always wanted a kitten. Was never allowed one.”

  “Well you’re not having a fuckin’ cat. You got me?”

  I may have got his words, but I don’t understand him at all. But as he stares clearly waiting for a response, I reply, “I got you.”

  He pushes in closer, getting right up into my face. Suddenly his hand sweeps around my head, grasping my hair and pulling so I’m forced to look at him again. “You let me use you, Allie. You made no protest. That time you came to my apartment. You didn’t say anything.”

  I go to speak.

  “You weren’t my Allie then, were you? I used you, like the whore I thought you were.”

  He had. I’d done nothing to stop him.

  “It was different. I knew it then. Took me far too long to fuckin’ see it.”

  I don’t know where he’s going with this. Every word out of his mouth is not what I expected. I don’t know what he’s going to say or do next.

  “My Allie is the one who gave me her all the night before I went away. My Allie is the woman who came to the ophthalmologist with me. My Allie is the woman who encouraged me to come back to the club. My Allie is the woman who never asks anything for herself. My Allie. Mine.”

  The last thing I anticipated would happen next was that his lips would come down on mine.

  Not hard, but gentle. Almost as though he’s uncertain of his welcome. I move my mouth against his, rising on tiptoe. My arms go around his back, half to balance myself and half to pull him closer as I experience my first ever proper kiss.

  As if my body knows what to do without my brain issuing instructions, my mouth opens, allowing his tongue to sweep inside.

  I don’t know how to do this, so I let him lead as he firms the kiss, grinding our mouths together. He tastes of beer and whiskey and something else, something uniquely his. It’s a flavour I could get drunk on, addicted to. I groan as I push myself harder against him, ignoring the hard bulge in the front of his jeans pushing into me. My stomach is fluttering with ar
ousal, but right now, it’s the feeling of lips against lips, tongue against tongue, which I can’t get enough of.

  He backs off, my tongue follows his into his mouth, a growl sounds in his throat as he takes control again, my arms tighten around him, my hands fisting the back of his cut, holding him as tightly as possible.

  One of his hands is twisted in my hair, his other comes around my waist, pulling me hard against him.

  I moan, he groans, and still we kiss.

  I don’t want this to end.

  But like anything good, it does.

  Eventually, he pulls back, releasing my hair, and sliding his hand down under my chin. When I try to turn away, he pulls my face back, tilting it so he can stare down into my eyes.

  “You are mine.” His words are forceful, a declaration of intent. “I’m fuckin’ claimin’ you Allie.”

  It takes a moment for me to process his words. One moment he’s making it plain he wants nothing to do with me, and the next, this? I don’t understand what’s happened to change his mind. I feel as anxious as a child given a favourite toy, but scared it’s going to be snatched away. It’s probably not the right thing to say, but I do it, anyway. Reaching up I trace my hand gently over the left, scarred side of his face, feeling the uneven surface that doesn’t detract from him at all. “Why Truck, why?”

  “Why?” He cradles my head, and pulls me in gently, so my cheek rests on his cut. “Why? Because I realised you’ve given me part of you which no man here as ever had, even though they thought you’d given them all of you. We didn’t fuck, Allie. We made love. I don’t want you to leave, can’t abide the thought of never seeing you again. Because you belong to me, Allie, as I belong to you. If you’ll have me, that is.”

  I’m scared, terrified. Unable to believe my ears are correctly interpreting the words coming out of his mouth. Frightened I’m hearing what I want to and missing his underlying reasons of why we can’t be together once more.

  So I put it plainly myself. “I’m sorry,” I start.

  He rears away, then looks down with a ‘what the fuck’ look on his face.