Road Tripped (Satan's Devils MC Utah #1) - Manda Mellett Page 0,35

I’d had my last foster home, and knew I was sliding downhill. At the age of eighteen, I’d been too old for the system, but no one offered me a home. There weren’t many who’d take me in. I’d had nowhere to go other than to accept the offer of bunking down on a sofa with one of the old school friends I’d remained in contact with. I managed to get a job stacking shelves in a grocery store, my friend, well, I didn’t quite know how he was coming by his money.

If I’m honest, I didn’t want to know, just as long as he didn’t drag me down into his business. One of the homes where I’d been placed, the man had a drug habit, and the money they got from fostering fed that rather than the children they brought home. It was there I’d learned the damage drugs could do. I’d witnessed his mood swings, learned how to evade his fists, seen him climbing the walls when he needed his fix. I’d seen enough to steer well clear of anything to do with that scene.

But it wasn’t drugs my friend was into, or not directly. When confronted, he’d assured me of that. He was, however, part of a gang. A gang who were into any shady dealings which brought in money without them having to do hard work. Even then I’d had bulk which made me look threatening, and I’d begun to get approaches of the type it was getting harder to refuse. It culminated in them wanting me to get them into the store where I worked so they could rob the tills one night.

They weren’t the type you refused easily. I could either start a criminal career or find my time on earth limited. I had to get out but had no idea where to go. Desperate, I took all my available cash that I’d saved and got myself to the bus station. I got on the first Greyhound headed south and rode that as far as the money I’d spent on the ticket would take me, and that ended up getting off that bus in Tucson.

It was warm as I’d hoped, so sleeping rough wasn’t a problem. As I hadn’t aided or abetted a robbery and without me being there to open up, none had yet taken place, I got a decent enough reference from my old employer and was able to pick up more work. Mostly lifting and moving shit, as my main attribute was brawn. I stayed in Tucson at first as it was convenient, then I answered an ad for a bouncer’s job at a strip club. Hey, don’t judge me, I was a young man and the thought of spending all my time among naked and half-naked women sounded right up my street.

The job, however, wasn’t what I expected. Instead of watching the ladies strut their wares on the stage, I was stuck at the door weeding out undesirables and flexing my muscles to show others what they’d be in for if they caused trouble inside. When I did get close to the show, it was to persuade someone who’d had too much to drink or had got far too touchy-feely with the girls that it was in their best interests to leave. Sometimes I needed to eject them physically.

Before and after the shifts I’d meet the girls, by then dressed in their street clothes. I became friendly, got to know their circumstances and they became women with histories to me, and not objects for my eyes to leer over.

The Satan’s Devils were good to work for, and when a chance to prospect for them came up, I jumped at it. Well, as soon as I could afford to buy the Harley, my trials bike didn’t impress them. Until we had to bury twenty bodies, and they had the idea to make me a practice track up in the forest behind the compound.

It still makes me smile to remember it. It was just after I’d taken a bullet trying to prevent Sam being kidnapped. Unable to ride myself, I’d been terrified when Peg commandeered my precious baby, my competition bike—I couldn’t object, I was still a prospect then. They all took turns riding it, while I hardly dared watch. In the end, it had been Sam, who by then had become Drummer’s old lady, who had beaten everyone. It had ended up a fun day, and surprisingly both my bike and