Truck Stopped: Satan's Devils MC #11

by Manda Mellett

  I’m being selfish. Truck will be going out of his mind. As much as I’m missing him being here, he’ll be feeling guilty for leaving me on my own.

  What’s he doing now? Are they certain he didn’t hurt his remaining eye? I’ve watched far too much TV where prisoners are beaten in jail, is that happening to him? Is he scared, confused? Or angry and being difficult? Don’t make things worse, Truck. I need you here.

  My stomach growls with pains of hunger, digestive juices working though there’s nothing inside. My oesophagus burns with the bile that’s always close, my throat is sore, and my mouth dry. I’m uncomfortable, unable to find a good position to lie in, my back, legs, arms, head… everything hurts. I didn’t realise how much the warmth of Truck’s arms, his soothing touch as his hands massaged away my aches helped me to sleep, or that the low rumbling of his voice seems necessary to help me drop off.

  I lie awake, worrying about my man. Praying that he’ll come back to me safe, wondering how I’ll manage to get through the next few hours, let alone days or weeks without him.

  Don’t let it be months.

  I wouldn’t survive.

  “Try this.” Sam lets herself in the next morning with an ice pop in her hand. “I’ve got several in different flavours. I know it isn’t the same, but when I had morning sickness, I found these helped. The strawberry ones, in my case. You can try different ones to see if any work.”

  I’ve tried everything before, but it won’t hurt to try it again. At least it’s something to moisten my mouth.

  “Any news?”

  “None. Not yet.”

  Me asking for news and getting none in return sets the pattern for the next few days. Christmas comes and goes, I’m just pleased when it’s over. Not that it made much difference to me, I stayed in the suite. I could see that Truck’s absence had put a damper on everything, for the adults that is.

  Each hour that passes I miss Truck more. I hadn’t realised how much I’d depended on him for emotional as well as physical support. It’s more than simply missing him being there, my heart is breaking at the thought of what he’s going through. I know he’ll think he’s letting me down.

  “I reckon Truck’s pretty cut up about what’s happened, Al,” Sam explains in her reasonable way. “It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk to you, but that he can’t. They’re not allowing him calls. Alex says he talks about you, and is feeling so damn guilty he did something so stupid.”

  “He was trying to help,” I justify his actions. “He wouldn’t be Truck if he didn’t stand up for someone weaker being abused.”

  Her lips press together.

  “What is it, Sam? Tell me?”

  She comes to sit beside me on the bed. “How was Truck with you?”

  “Loving, kind, supportive,” I list.

  “He was different away from you. There was an anger inside him, like when he first came back. He hated that he couldn’t control what was happening to you. Hated seeing you as you are. It tore him up. It was why Drummer sent him on the run, to give him something to do, and space to clear his head. No one predicted the outcome.”

  “What are you saying, Sam?”

  She looks down, then back up. “That his anger got the better of him. There was a way to stop what was happening without using his fists.”

  It was my fault. I gaze at her while letting what she’s told me sink in. That Truck’s locked up is down to me. I finally speak, “If I’d had an abortion like he wanted, he wouldn’t be where he is now.”

  “Don’t think like that,” she says sharply. “Truck wants that little girl with all that he is. What he doesn’t want is you suffering all the time. That’s what he found hard to cope with, and no one’s blaming him at all. No one likes to see the person we love in pain.”

  Days go past. A week. Two. Then a month and still nothing’s moved on. I’ve been back to the hospital twice, and when I’m on the compound, no one can do enough for me. Problem is, the only things I want that I’ve not got are my health and my man by my side.

  Truck’s still being held on remand with no bail, despite the various applications Alex has put in. All were turned down with some stupid excuse he was picked up close to the border, and could be a flight risk.

  I’d had one phone call, which ended with both of us in tears.

  “Allie, I’m doing everything I can to get back to you. I’m the model prisoner here. I take all the shit they dole out.”

  “How are you being treated?”

  “Okay. I just want you.”

  “I want you,” I whispered back.

  “How you holding up, Allie?”

  What do I say? Better would be a lie. Worse nearer the truth. But even saying ‘the same’ will cause him distress. “She’s still growing, Truck. I had another scan last week.”

  “Can you get a picture next time? Get it to me via Alex.”

  “I can do that.” With so many sonograms we’ve never bothered to take one home. Not even the first as most normal parents do. In the beginning it was because we weren’t sure if the pregnancy would last.

  “Fuck, Al. I can’t stand speaking to you and not being able to hold you.”

  The call upset me, upset him. He didn’t call again, but I don’t know why, whether he couldn’t, or because he didn’t want to.

  “Allie, there’s someone here who wants to speak to you.”

  As Drummer pushes the door open, I get to my feet in surprise. My heart warming at the familiar face I see there, before a chill settles over me. There’s only one reason Dart and Alex have come to see me.

  They’ve got news.

  “Allie.” Dart walks straight in and over to me. He pulls me in close, but gently, as though I was made of china. He looks down at my bump, then critically into my face. “Damn, woman, never seen a pregnant skeleton before.”

  “Dart!” Alex admonishes loudly.

  “Well? It’s the truth.” Dart isn’t the slightest contrite.

  I suppose what he’s said is true. My gradual weight loss probably has less impact on people who see me every day.

  “Have you heard anything.” I turn to Alex.

  “Sit down, Al,” says Drummer. It’s then that I know it’s not going to be good news.

  “Just tell me.”

  “ICE went pretty hard after Truck, Allie.” Alex shakes her head. “I tried to list his good qualities, his service, how he got those scars and prosthetic eye. It wasn’t enough. The judge saw his cut, and nothing beyond it.”

  “Tell me,” I repeat, struggling to breathe.

  Her eyes flick to Dart, then back to me. She takes in a breath. “Twelve months.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Truck…

  I stand, my hand on my pocket which holds the photograph of my unborn daughter. It’s crumpled from the amount of times I’ve folded and unfolded it, staring at the image, trying to make out fingers and toes. My daughter. The baby who’s robbing her mother of life.

  It’s too late now. Even if Allie changed her mind, she has to go ahead with the pregnancy. And I’m the fucking idiot who got himself incarcerated so I couldn’t even be there to help.

  It had happened in a blur. I saw that border guard yank back on the kid’s hair, heard the child scream, and all my frustration and anger at the world welled up from inside. How dare he hurt an innocent child? Don’t care what his excuse was, at her age, she probably didn’t have a clue what country she was in.

  They’d had papers, they’d crossed the border. It doesn’t matter to me what their legal status was, or what reason he had for stopping them. Doesn’t justify using force against a young kid.

  My reaction though, had been extreme. I could simply have put myself between her and him, or have pulled him off. I hadn’t. I’d punched him, then again. Surrounded by guards I’d continued hitting until I got a blow to my face which blurred my vision. Something from somewhere in the depths of my mind reminded me it was a very bad idea to risk my remaining sight and I’d re
turned to my senses. A savage assault, the judge had said.

  Even at the time, part of me had realised the opportunity for violence had brought the last year to the fore. I hadn’t so much been fighting the border guard, than trying to annihilate my demons. The fucking cat and the way I lost my life as I’d known it, then my helplessness over Allie.

  I didn’t kill him, nowhere close. He’d had my fist to his face and gut, bruising, but nothing broken. I came off worse, though nothing which caused any lasting damage. Thank fuck. It was a reminder that I need to be careful, the loss of my other eye would be horrific.

  I’d been arrested and charged. The club sent me their lawyer, who was optimistic that with my background and being a first time offender, leniency would apply.

  It all happened so fast. One minute Alex was talking me through what probation might mean, the next I was hearing the judge pronounce the maximum sentence for an assault crime. The judge threw the book at me, and then some. I’d not been expecting exoneration, but hadn’t really thought I’d be locked up. Twelve months. At least the time I was held without bail gets taken into account. I’ve ten and a half months left to go.

  Thoughts whirred around my head as I was led to the prison transport where I had my hands and feet cuffed.

  I’ll miss the birth of my baby. And I won’t be there to support my wife during the last difficult months of her pregnancy.

  I fucked up.

  It’s all I could think about as I was driven to the penitentiary as if I was a danger to society, instead of the man who’d spent his adult life serving the public and saving lives.

  By the time I’d arrived, I was completely numb as I was processed, given orange to wear, and taken to a cell only to find I’m sharing with an uncommunicative man called Hawker. Having placed my blanket and pillow on the lower bunk, Hawker having already appropriated the top, I sat with my head in my hands, trying to understand the change in my fortunes once again.

  Allie. Fuck. How is she going to take me being locked up? Fucking good husband I’m turning out to be. Getting her pregnant when that’s the last thing she wanted. Now I’m not going to be with her when she needs me most. Won’t see my daughter enter the world. Won’t be by my woman’s side should any complications arise.

  I shudder as a sob goes through me, my complete hand fisting on my thigh. I didn’t ask for any of this. Didn’t asked for my injuries, didn’t ask for my woman to be sick, didn’t ask…Or, did I? It was my temper that caused me to be locked up.

  “You can cry. Doesn’t mean you’re not a man.”

  I glance up at the voice from the top bunk.

  “Gets everyone when they first arrive.”

  I shouldn’t be here. That’s what I want to say. But I suppose everyone incarcerated feels the same way, that punishment is not what they deserve. That I was locked up is due to the cut that I wear, wore on my back. Won’t be feeling the weight of that for the next ten and a half months.

  Now Hawker’s talking, I want some advice. “I need to call my wife.” I want to hear her voice. Find out how she’s doing.

  “You sorted for that?”

  They’d mentioned a ton of things when I was brought in. At the time I’d barely been listening. They may have gone through it, but it had gone right over my head.

  “What do you mean?”

  A sigh sounds from above me. “First time in the slammer?” When I answer yes, there’s another drawn out exhale of air. I start to think he’s not going to answer, when he asks, “She got a landline or a cell?”

  “Cell.”

  “Okay, here it is in short. You make a list of ten people you may want to call. Have to say who they are, and their relationship to you. Any call you make has got to be made collect. To accept your calls on a cell, she’ll have to register with a third party and set up a prepaid account. It’s not hard to do.”

  If Allie can’t do it, Drummer probably can help. But how to get her instructions? Would they allow me to set up Drummer as one of my contacts? He runs a one-percenter club after all, the one which made the judge give me the worst sentence he could. Slade. The name of my old captain comes to me. They couldn’t argue about him. He’s an upstanding firefighter. But do I give the station number or the cell? I doubt either would accept a collect call from the pen. I’ve hardly been communicable for the past year.

  “How do I explain what she needs to do?” I wonder aloud.

  Hawker answers. “Write her a letter.”

  A letter. Would she even be able to read it?

  I’ll have to get hold of paper and a pen first. I suppose I’ll need to ask permission for that. Glancing up I see Hawker has opened a book and turned his back toward me. I take it as a sign he doesn’t want to be bothered anymore.

  That first night sleeping was hard. As days pass it hasn’t gotten any easier. My mind circling through everything I’ve left behind. The what ifs overwhelming. What if I’d never left to join the hotshot team? What if I’d asked for help earlier? What if I’d controlled my temper better, had never gone to that godforsaken place Nogales? What if Allie hadn’t gotten pregnant? What if, what if, what if?

  The weight of how different my life could have turned out crushes me.

  Until I realise my misfortune had led me to Allie. Would we have ever worked out had I returned as an able-bodied member? Or would I have been unable to get past seeing my brothers fucking her?

  Would she have been equally upset seeing me with Pussy, Diva or Paige?

  The what ifs and questions keep circling my head, and I don’t come up with any answers, at least nothing that helps me adapt to my change in circumstances.

  I find privileges need to be earned. Doesn’t seem to matter what you’re in for, or the length of your sentence, or what you might have been in the past. Here, you’re little more than a number. Yes, I can make a list of contacts I can call, but unless I work, I won’t be able to make them. That doesn’t bother me at all, I’d rather be busy than have time on my hands. I suppose it was predictable, but learning my background, they put me on the maintenance crew, my job to check fire alarms and extinguishers. I don’t mind how many hours I put in, if it means I’ll be able to contact Allie.

  It’s the third day when I’m in the exercise yard, minding my own business, that I’m approached.

  “You Truck?”

  I turn fast. A man has come up on my left side and I hadn’t been able to see him until he stepped in front of me.

  “Yeah.”

  “Captain, or Cap.” He grasps my arm and pulls me in for a back slap.

  I return the greeting automatically, though I can’t recall seeing him before in my life.

  “Hey, Rat. Come introduce yourself.”

  Another man comes over and greets me in the same way.

  Lines appear on my forehead. “I’m sorry, but…?”

  “We’re Wretched Soulz,” Cap announces as though that should make everything clear. “There’s a few of us around.” When he sees my confusion, he grins. “You’re new to all this, aren’t you? Need someone to have your back in here, Brother. You were arrested whilst doing a job for the Arizona chapter, so you’re one of us now.”

  “Yeah.” Rat raises his chin. “You wouldn’t last long in a place like this without backup.”

  A place like this is the penitentiary. Why I was sent to maximum security I have no idea. I presume it’s the cut I wore on my back. I’d expected to go to the county lockup instead.

  Rat is examining me carefully. “That a fake eye, man?”

  Being bothered about someone noticing is the least of my worries now. “It is,” I confirm.

  “Fight?”

  Shaking my head, I explain how I lost it. Then answer the questions which always follow. Well, why not? I’ve got all the time in the world for the next ten months. That I’d been a firefighter always impresses people, but fuck knows why. It’s a job just like any other.

  When I’ve satisfied their curiosity, Cap jerks his head in the dir
ection of a corner of the exercise yard where no one else is. When we get there, he leans back against the wall, the sole of one boot resting against it. A few more men who Cap nods to form a barrier between us and the other prisoners. I take it these are more Soulz.

  “First timer like you needs to know what you’re up against.” He breaks off, and nods to a group of bald headed and tatted men who are standing together. “They’re the Aryan Brotherhood. White supremacists. They think Wretched Soulz are on their side, so they don’t give us any trouble. They see you’re with us? They’ll leave you alone.”

  The men look ugly, not their facial features, their hard expressions and the sneering looks they’re sending to a group of blacks on the other side of the yard. Not people I’d normally associate with, but if I’ve got to cosy up to them to stay safe inside, that’s what I’ll do. I’ve already let down Allie, not going to hurt her more by doing anything to risk me not going home.

  “To stay on their right side, we don’t mix with black or yellow.” Rat adds an observation of his own.

  “Some of the guards you need to watch out for. When they get bored, they’ll try to get you riled.”

  “Won’t work,” I say, adamantly. As a result of losing my temper, I ended up inside. For the sake of my wife and unborn child, I’ve got to put a lid on that now. “I want out of here. Not going to do anything to fuck that up.”

  “Not always that easy. Guards can make shit up. Harder to do when you’re in a group, so take the protection that’s offered.”

  “You Soulz?”

  One of the Aryans has broken away and stepped toward us, Cap’s friends or brothers if my suspicion is right, have parted to let him through.

  Cap answers for me. “Close. He’s a Devil.”

  “Ah.” The newcomer looks suspicious.

  “Soulz speak for him.” Rat puts himself between the man and me.

  “Saw you limping. Cops do that?”

  “Man’s a fuckin’ hero,” Cap explains. “Lost his eye and fucked up his leg fighting a wildfire.”

  “Firefighter?”