Road Tripped (Satan's Devils MC Utah #1) - Manda Mellett Page 0,26

out of my league that just me thinking about it seems obscene.

I realise I’m staring, my face blank, as I search for something to say.

“What are you thinking, Road?”

I reply honestly, “I’m thinking you’re fuckin’ amazing. I’m thinking you’re more than qualified to ride in an MC. You put me and most of the men I know to fuckin’ shame.”

“You?” Her head tilts. “What do you mean?”

I huff. “Look at you. If a man came to the club with half the qualifications you’ve got, any MC would snap him up. Me?” I gesture toward myself. “I’ve just about scraped through my GED, I’ve no qualifications, I haven’t even served. I’m nothing but muscle, a grunt.” I flex my arm demonstrating that I’m definitely that.

She opens her mouth to respond, when another voice interrupts.

“Well, you haven’t killed him yet.”

Glancing up at the man who’s just placed a beer on the table and is pulling up a spare chair, I see he’s grinning.

“Name’s Bolt.” Automatically, knowing I’ve already pissed off the men in this club by just breathing, and having heard Swift’s story, I'm wondering if they’re of the same calibre as her. So, with less confidence than I arrived with, I hold out my hand.

Automatically, he takes mine and shakes it. Something about his feels odd. While his fingers curl around mine with just the right pressure, the skin is ultra-smooth, and cold to the touch. I focus on it, trying to see what’s wrong.

“It’s prosthetic,” he tells me dismissively, eyeing my interest, stating it as though it’s of no matter at all. “Left the original in Afghanistan.”

“Jeez,” I breathe out. “That sucks.”

“Nah. I got used to it. Thanks to the club, this is all singing and dancing. And I don’t have to worry about getting my fingers trapped in a door.”

“Yes you do.” Swift’s eyes narrow. “We’ve told you this, Bolt. That thing was bloody expensive. It was a prototype model. You break it, we might not be able to replace it.”

“When you shook my hand,” I observe, “it was as if you could feel mine.”

“I can.” He leans forward, picking up the beer bottle unerringly. “It works with my own nerves. Just as you’d grasp anything, your brain computes what pressure to use. The touch sensors in the fingertips tell me when I’m successfully holding something.” His eyes meet those of Swift’s. “This is a new experimental model, but I can do just about everything I could with my real one.”

“Even wank,” she puts in, indelicately.

“That too.” Bolt grins and winks at her. “But I stayed well away from my apparatus until I was completely certain. Didn’t want to squeeze too hard and not be able to open my fingers back up. I waited until I knew I had good control.”

I have to bark a strangled laugh at the look on his face. Yeah, being a man I’d be cautious too, wouldn’t want to have an artificial hand locked around my junk.

“Was it a long learning process?” I’m interested, then clarify, “I mean the whole using the hand thing, not jerking yourself off.”

“Let’s just say, I’ve broken more than my fair share of eggs.” Bolt doesn’t seem bothered talking about what could be regarded as a disability. But then, he doesn’t appear to regard it that way.

“What would worry me,” Piston comes over and also pulls a chair up, “is what if the electronics get jammed? There you are, stroking your dick and all of a sudden your hand closes. Squeezes your damn cock right off.”

Bolt rolls his eyes. “I can load, fire a pistol, fight. Write with a pen and use a keyboard. But how my prosthetic feels on my cock is all these fuckers ever ask about.”

Piston chuckles and slaps his back. “Don’t really even think about it anymore, Bolt. You’re still the same asshole you were before.” He turns to me. “Hey, Road. See you’ve got yourself a new tourer. How are you finding it?”

In the meeting, Piston hadn’t even acknowledged he knew me. But here, sharing beers, it’s like being with any other set of brothers. But I can’t forget, when I’d seen him in his role as road captain, he perpetuated the lie that Snatcher was their president.

I’m still wondering what that’s all about. As I answer his innocuous question, my mind races in the background. Swift may be exceptional, but they’ve hidden that they’ve got a female member. Snatcher’s not the prez, the stranger, Pip, is. What else is going to turn up