Road Tripped (Satan's Devils MC Utah #1) - Manda Mellett Page 0,67
down their operation or take their Satan’s Devils’ charter away if the mother chapter prez learns exactly how far Utah has stretched the club’s rules. In that, they are probably right. What I don’t understand is why that’s so important to them. With or without that label, they’d still be a close-knit team, a family, a brotherhood. With the exception of Stormy, they seem to be loyal to each other and disciplined. And not people, I suspect, who’d end a man with no good reason. So they must have a fucking good motive for wanting the Satan’s Devils’ patch on their backs to remain. A purpose that might see them execute a man who’s sat around the table with them, broken bread with them, and, yesterday, supported them.
I had been part of getting that little girl back to her parents. No one had faulted my performance. I’ve got new respect for Snatcher, for Preacher who seems to have no limit to his talents; for Thor, Rascal, Piston and Honor who I was happy enough to work alongside. Swift, hell. Maybe one good reason to leave is that I want her but would never be able to have her.
Her competency, her skills, her confidence and control. Even if I had a chance, would I even be able to keep up sexually? If I did, what then? I’m not in the market to have an old lady, or to be an old man, and I don’t know what she’d expect from me. Would she be happy with my time and body for a couple of hours, or would she want more?
Hell, last night was the first time I slept beside a woman in a very long time. My last experience had soured me. The last time I’d stayed the night, I’d fallen asleep after pleasurable, but not spectacular sex. It hadn’t been my intention, nor had I thought it was a signal I wanted more. But phone calls and even visits to the strip club where I worked had followed. She’d been insistent that we should have a repeat. Lesson learned, it was much cleaner to have sex, then leave and go home to my own bed.
Why am I sitting here thinking about Swift naked beneath, or hell, on top of me, either way I wouldn’t care, when there are far more important things that should be on my mind right now?
Reluctantly, I make myself push the thought of Swift out of my head and get my mind focused.
If I don’t have anything to offer, the decision of whether I stay or not would be taken out of my hands. Hell, prospects here have to work twice as hard to join the ranks of the members. Had yesterday been a test? Had I passed or failed it?
If I’m not a suitable match for their club, but they don’t want me to betray them, for me to agree to leave with their secrets intact, they need to give me something worth lying to my prez. An explanation I can accept for pulling the wool over Drummer’s eyes.
An acceptable reason why it’s Pip at the top of the table when he doesn’t even ride a motorcycle, why there’s a woman member, and why they’ve lied to all the other chapters. Could a sufficient reason exist that I could accept? I really can’t see it. But I’ll give them a chance.
I shrug, look straight at Pip and ask, “So yeah, I’ve got questions. Are you going to answer them?”
Pip looks at me in a calculated way, then raises his chin. “It’s time, so yes. You stay, Snatcher, you too. The rest of you can leave.”
“Want me here?” Cowboy asks, sounding reluctant. He seems a strange person to offer, so I look toward him sharply, in time to see relief cross his face when Pip shakes his head. Cowboy, still looking tense, gets up to follow the rest of the men—and woman—out.
Pip stands and goes to a cabinet I hadn’t paid much attention to. He opens it, pulls out a bottle of whisky—a quality single malt, I notice—and three glasses. Coming back to the table, he pours three shots, pushing one toward me, the second toward Snatcher, and takes the other for himself.
He stares into the smoky depths for a moment, then raises his eyes toward me. “Some of this isn’t my story to tell, some of it is. But Cowboy didn’t want the pain of telling it, so it’s been left to me.”