“Without them, we would never have gotten the coordinates.”
“Which we had to decipher for them.” I sigh to myself, not understanding why Pip’s all over this.
“You really can’t tell, can you?” His voice sounds clipped. “They’re Satan’s Devils, Stormy.”
I let the pause draw out, then complain, “I pointed them in all the right directions.”
“You’re making a habit of this—”
“I made the kill.”
He snorts. “And left them frustrated as hell. You’re doing it too often. And enjoying it too much.”
Can’t argue with his last point. I grin as I come up with an excuse. “There was a chance they might cut a deal with Alder.”
“No there wasn’t.” Pip’s frustration comes down the line. “Two hits. Two clubs. How long until someone puts this together?”
“They needed my help.”
“Sure, they needed our help. And we gave it to them. But they should have been allowed to take Alder out themselves. You’re running the risk of exposing us.”
“I’m not,” I protest, loudly. “I was nowhere close. I knew I could make the shot, and I did.”
“Not questioning your fuckin’ ability. I question your method. Lost will be going crazy. It was his hit, not yours. No point arguing, Stormy. One time, I gave you the benefit of the doubt. Not doing that again. You’re coming back to the nest.”
“I don’t play well with others,” I growl.
“Too fuckin’ bad. You’re going to get your ass home.”
I slam down the phone.
I could walk away. Carry on doing what I can. I don’t need anyone, let alone the Utah club.
You wouldn’t even have Pip.
Would that bother me? Hell no. I can survive on my own. I’ve been doing it for four years.
I could go anywhere.
It’s strange, but it’s only when you’re cast adrift that you start to analyse yourself.
I’m a man used to following orders. I like being able to complete missions in the way that I want, but I also like to have direction. Not having Pip? Becoming nothing more than a mercenary doesn’t sound attractive at all. For a start, I’d have to start charging for my services, which would mean emerging from the shadows. I wouldn’t have the resources of the Utah club which I tap into. Of course, I could get my own setup, but that takes time, money, and a base.
Slowly, I realise I’m fucked.
I’m angry. Why did Pip have to call me back? Why did he have to upset what I’ve become used to. I am a loner, I’d told the truth. I no longer see myself as a member of a team.
Lying back on the bed in my hotel room, I start to come up with a plan. I’ll return to Utah, make myself as obnoxious as possible. Or, in the darkness my lips curve, in other words, be myself. It won’t be long before I’m sent back out.
My opportunity to show my true self comes as soon as I step into the Utah club. Though I’d been gone three years, the building’s the same, and Bolt has been patched in which wasn’t unexpected. There are three new prospects in various stages of completing their time, Gears, Brute and Igor. But the new fully patched member? Well, she took me by surprise and not a pleasant one at that.
I thought the club had started taking in sweet butts when I first saw her. My dick perked up—she was a good-looking bitch, an athletic figure without any softness or noticeable curves, but hell, I could put up with that. But when she turned, she showed me the patches on the back of her cut.
For a moment, I didn’t breathe, rubbing my eyes and checking my eyesight, but when I looked back, she was still wearing our colours. A full member? Fuck no. Not on my fucking watch.
I’m greeted warmly, given back slaps galore, but I’ve only one thought on my mind, how fast I can get her on her back. Either in bed, or laid out, I don’t much care which. I’ll show them they’ve lost their fucking minds.
“You think you can wear that patch, little girl?” I make a beeline for her. “Well, I’m back. And I ain’t soft, not like my fuckin’ brothers.” I turn my head, letting them all see my glare.
She eyes me up and down, and sneers. “Well, little boy, whatcha planning on doing about it?”
“I’ll put you in your fuckin’ place.”
“Storm—”
“Fuck off, Pip. This is between me and…” I toss her a look dripping with disdain. “Her.”
“Hold my beer.” She turns and passes her drink to Bolt. “Don’t drink any, this won’t take long.”
No it fucking won’t… Fuck! How the fuck did I get here?
I’m lying on my back, my jaw pounding with pain, and as for my stomach… My lungs don’t work. When I at last manage a gasp of breath, I open my eyes, looking up suspiciously, wondering if Thor has taken her place, but all I see is the woman calmly taking her beer back from Bolt. She hasn’t even broken a sweat.
She glances down at me with complete disinterest. “The name’s Swift. I’d say nice to meet you, but somehow I can’t.”
She’d taken me by surprise, that’s all. Next time, she won’t. Accepting Preacher’s hand, I let him pull me to my feet. I point to my eyes, then to hers. “You and I aren’t finished, doll.”
“Stormy,” Pip growls, “Swift…”
This time I’m ready, but my God, this woman’s got moves. I hold my own for about five seconds, successfully evading her blows, but not landing any of my own. It’s not chivalry or that I’m programmed not to hit a woman. Well, I am, but not when it’s her. The only result is that I’m on the floor yet again.
Fuck.
“I tried warning you,” Pip says casually.
From that point on it’s war. I hate her. Women have no place in an MC, and I’ll make it my job to persuade her of that particular truth.
I must be tired, out of practice. I’ve hidden behind my rifle for too long. One good thing about returning to the club, there’s always someone willing to spar. A few bouts in the ring with Thor will sort me out. Next time, I’ll take her.
I’d love to say I settle back into the old routine, but I don’t. I’d love to say I find my place back around the table, but everything about the club irritates me. I don’t want to be here.
I don’t want to let them back in.
No, that’s not it.
You’d have people you care about who you could lose.
No, I won’t. Caring about people only brings hurt.
I hate being here. Surely, it’s only a matter of time until Pip comes to his senses and realises I’m a more productive member of the club if I’m out on the road on my own. The Utah patch hangs heavy on my cut. I long to replace it with Nomad once more.
Only a matter of time.
I’m still waiting when a stranger turns up at the club, bold as brass walking straight into church, interrupting our meeting. He’s from the mother chapter in Tucson, and it’s blindingly obvious he’s been sent here to spy on the Utah club.
While I don’t want to be based at the clubhouse, I’m proud of my patch with the Utah rocker. If the club loses its Satan’s Devils’ charter, which we will, if Drummer, the prez of the mother chapter, finds out how we actually run this club, I’ll be stuffed along with my brothers. Easiest solution? Kill the fucker, stop any leaks stone dead. We wouldn’t even get blamed. Roadrunner came here alone. Everyone knows men riding without company are prone to meet accidents on the road. Very prone. The thought makes me grin.