Road Tripped (Satan's Devils MC Utah #1) - Manda Mellett Page 0,83

top and sleep shorts I wear to bed. As I do, thoughts of Road come into my head. Why do I find him so attractive? What is it about him that gets to me the way it does? Why did I feel so jealous tonight? Why should I care who he takes to his bed? That’s so unlike me. As Thor had reminded me, if any other man hadn’t taken my first no as a response, drunk or not, he’d have felt my knee in a place he definitely wouldn’t like.

I admit, the main reason I came home tonight was I didn’t trust myself. Had I remained in the clubhouse, I have the sneaking suspicion I might have gone to his room. Maybe I’d have used the excuse he was too drunk to sleep alone. Whatever, he pulls me to him like metal toward a magnet. I had to put distance between us.

I bet he’s good in the sack.

Huh, I’ll never find out. If he stays, he’ll be part of the MC and unavailable to me. If he decides to go back to Tucson, hmm. Maybe, before he goes…

Mentally, I slap myself, get into my bed and beat my pillow into submission, making a concerted effort to get the disturbing man out of my head. Then I take a deep breath and complete my preparation to sleep and remove my hearing aids. The hum of the air conditioning disappears as complete silence descends, and I try to suppress the feeling of panic.

I’m fine. I’m alright.

Nothing and no one can get to me. I might not have my ears, but there’s a vibrating alarm under my pillow which will warn me a smoke alarm is going off, or if there’s someone on the perimeter. As a backup, the security system will send signals to my watch which will continue to pulse until I turn it off. Lights will flash and disturb me. Someone will be monitoring all our security in the comms room back at the clubhouse, and that will include my house as long as Igor gives Pip and Snatcher the message. And if he wants his patch, he won’t fail me.

I should have brought Road back here to sleep his drunken stupor off.

Crazy idea. But it would have meant I wasn’t alone.

As my body starts to tremble, I focus on running through everything I’ve got to keep me safe, knowing my PTSD is creeping up on me. I breathe deeply, reminding myself all the gadgets I have are at the leading edge of technology. The prospects test that the backup generator works once a week, and they were here yesterday, I believe.

Breathe in, breathe out. Mentally, I try to still my body and push the bile rising in my throat back down. Gradually, the violent shaking wracking me slows as my relaxation techniques begin to kick in and work.

Remembering, I smile to myself when I recall what Road had diagnosed my uncontrollable trembling to be. Well, he’s right in that it’s one way I can relax enough to totally switch off and sleep. And if it’s Road’s face and muscular body I think about as my hand moves down and begins to massage my clit, that’s not going to hurt anyone. It’s also far safer than having the real thing in my bed.

20

Road…

The old clubhouse is a place where I definitely feel more at home. In no way does it feel like an upmarket hotel which makes me think I should be on my best behaviour, no, it’s a place where men can be men, fart and scratch their asses if they get the urge. Earlier, Snatcher had passed a key card to me with the explanation this would get me into the new clubhouse and into my room, but I’d already decided not to use it tonight when I was told a place to crash here was available. This is my type of place.

And the three old timers, Grinch, Goofy and Mystic are more my kind of men—men who talk my language, and not of missions and rescuing kidnapped people. But then, as the night draws on and the talk turns to motorcycles, other members approach our table and join in. I start to see a different side of men like Bolt, Piston and Rascal. Like me, they love bikes and want to live free.

As far as I’m aware, there’s nothing in our written regulations that stipulates the Satan’s Devils have to ride American-built bikes, but unwritten ones