Road Tripped (Satan's Devils MC Utah #1) - Manda Mellett Page 0,36

my sanity had survived it.

The track, known as Road’s, was still in use when I left Tucson. It’s been extended for its original purpose a time or two, but I didn’t complain. It was a great practice track, and what bother was a few more skeletons buried under it?

But I no longer needed it.

I need the Devils, I know that. I loved the camaraderie from the first moment I stepped foot onto the compound. But Tucson? That’s the thing, I don’t know. Apart from my brothers, I’ve no ties to it. Maybe it would be better to move on, to find new interests and challenges. In Utah?

The suggestion might have me thinking about moving, and staying a Devil is a given. But there are other chapters which might suit better. Here, I’ve hardly been welcomed—I’ve been threatened, coerced and imprisoned.

I need respect from the brothers I ride alongside, and the confidence to respect them in return. That being missing, I could never transfer, and neither if they were into drugs or dealing. Those are my hard limits.

So yeah, maybe I’m at the right place for a change. Admitting to Swift that Tucson perhaps isn’t the be-all and end-all for me any more seemed to change how she viewed me. When the elevator doors opened, she waved me on inside. I could easily have pushed her clear so I could escape, and I half expected her to be holding a gun on me. But no, instead, she’d decided to show a little trust in me.

Partners. That’s what Pip said we’d be. Okay, so partners don’t lock each other in a bedroom, but I’ll just have to move on from that today and put it behind me. Carrying a grudge won’t help me discover the secrets of this chapter.

We exit on the first floor, which surprises me. I’d expected the kitchen to be on the same level as the clubroom, close by in case brothers want snacks. Swift directs me along a hallway in the opposite direction to the gym, and soon I’m entering what looks like it could be any work cafeteria. There are empty Formica-topped tables, even fucking napkins in holders scattered around, as well as tidy assortments of various condiments laid out.

The counter and display cabinets are empty. It looks like the place is closed, although tempting odours are wafting our way.

Led by my empty stomach, I follow Swift as she makes a path around the tables, and pushes open a swing door by the side of the counter.

A man, crouched down, speaks from his position on the ground. “What d’ya want?”

“Road’s hungry,” Swift announces, glancing around.

“Well, he should have fuckin’ come down on time. Kitchen’s closed now.”

I open my mouth to say I would have done if I’d been able to, when Swift goes to a large industrial-sized fridge and speaks on my behalf. “My fault, ‘Boy. I didn’t think.”

Ah, yes. This is Cowboy. I recognise him as he stands. The checked shirt he’s wearing makes him look like he just rode in off the range. All he needs is a ten-gallon hat to complete the look.

Cowboy tosses a glare at Swift. “I’m not cooking for him.”

“It’s okay, I’ll do it,” she casually replies.

The cowboy-come-biker rolls his eyes. “I didn’t hear Pip telling you to kill him.” Then he turns my way, and frowns. “You cook, Road?”

“I get by.”

His shoulders pull back a little. “Been in a professional kitchen before?”

“Been in one, yes, many times. The Angels cooked up fries and snacks, and Tucson runs the Wheel Inn, our restaurant. Used one? No.”

Swift snorts. “Doubt if Road’s the person you’re looking for to help you out. Not from the sound of it. Look, Road, there’s some bacon and eggs. ‘Boy’s right. If I cook it, you’ll end up with food poisoning, so here you are.”

She places them down on the counter. I eye them dubiously. Not that I’m a stranger to pots and pans, it’s just I wouldn’t know where to start with the monstrosity of a cooker that’s facing me.

A sigh, then Cowboy takes the food Swift pulled out. He presses a few buttons on the digital stove, then points a spatula toward me. “Breakfast is seven to eight. Eight-thirty on Sundays. You want to eat in the future, you’d best remember that.”

“So,” I hop up onto a counter, then immediately jump down seeing his glare. “So, you’re the cook then?”

This time Swift’s snort is strangled with a laugh.

“Chef. I’m the chef,” he clarifies, waving a spatula