Road Tripped (Satan's Devils MC Utah #1) - Manda Mellett Page 0,43
Swift’s fingers go behind her ear, she explains to me. “Loud noises fuck with my hearing aids. I get a migraine if I leave them at normal levels.” She looks like she’s apologising for being weak.
I hold up one finger asking for a moment. “The bike’s engine sound?”
She nods, then tilts her head in query. I shake mine, and she turns her hearing aids down, now clearly no longer able to hear me.
The penny drops. She hadn’t been ignoring me at the traffic lights and I’d thought her rude for ignoring my question. When riding her bike she must turn her aids down then too.
Swift’s turned her head and is staring past me out of the window, and sympathy floods through me. She’d told me she was deaf, but as she seemed to be able to hear well enough, I didn’t give much thought to how it would affect her life. Someone like her, so in control all the time, must hate to give that up, and being unable to hear, must make her vulnerable. At least here, she’s with people she can trust.
I tap her gently, then indicate the aisle. She eases back to allow me out of my seat, then moves to take the one by the window I’d just vacated.
“Here, Road.” Rascal is waving at me, and I go down the narrow walkway to meet him. “Cut.” He holds out his hand. When I slide the leather off my shoulders, he places it carefully on a growing pile. Then he eyes me up. “I think you’re Bolt’s size, here, try this on.”
I’m no stranger to Kevlar vests, and the one he passes me is certainly large enough to fit me. He eyes me carefully. “You with us, Road?”
“You got doubts?” I nod, understanding them. “Yeah, I’m with you for this. Whether or not I transfer, I’m along for this ride. You can depend on me.”
“I hope so. Pip’s usually a good judge of character.” He sighs, as if he hasn’t got the same reading of me that his prez has, then unlocks a cupboard.
Once again, I’m dumbfounded. There’s an armoury inside—enough weapons to outfit a small army.
“Handgun or rifle?”
I point to a Glock, knowing my limitations, and that I’m no sniper. He passes it to me.
“Knife?”
I nod. Oh yeah. “Two?” I request optimistically. He hands me the number I’d requested, one in a handy ankle sheath.
Again armed, I feel more like myself. It’s a sign they’re treating me as part of a team, and not an add-on or someone they’re going to need to carry. But as much as they don’t know what I’m capable of, I’m conscious I haven’t yet got the measure of them.
Hearing shuffling behind me, I twist to see the others are forming a line, clearly waiting to be assigned their equipment. I turn sideways to squeeze past, making my way down the narrow aisle to the front again where I’m confronted by a sight I didn’t want to see—Preacher drinking a cup of coffee.
“What the fuck? Who’s flying the plane?”
Snatcher and Preacher burst out laughing, and it’s the latter who informs me, “Autopilot. Hey, want to come see upfront?”
I kind of do and don’t. But when will I next get the chance to be in the cockpit of a plane? When Preacher jerks his head, I look past him and take in the array of instrument displays in front of me. Immediately I’m impressed that Preacher knows what any of them do. Thank fuck I’ve only got to contend with a speedometer and rev counter on my bike.
Preacher stands behind me and starts pointing some of them out, describing what they do. It’s intriguing as fuck seeing it all. I stay with him while he points out the weather radar, the altimeter and navigation system, even the ground proximity warning which seems useful to have. He loses me when he talks about something called TACAS, until he translates that it’s a traffic awareness and collision avoidance system.
“The club had the plane long?” I ask.
“For the past ten years, yeah.”
That coincides with when Pip came along and stepped into Snatcher’s chair.
Preacher retakes the pilot’s seat and checks some settings. I watch on. It’s a different view from up here. Instead of just seeing out of one side or another, the world stretches out in a panoramic view. It’s almost mesmerizing.
“How high are we flying?”
“Seven thousand metres, or about twenty-three thousand feet. That’s near our max cruising height. We’ll be starting our descent shortly.”