Stormy's Thunder (Satan's Devils MC Utah #2) - Manda Mellett Page 0,1

our beck and call while he’s waiting.

I’m stretching out the three remaining fingers of my right hand ready to receive mine, the beer tantalisingly within reach when there’s a loud roar of an engine, then a crash which shakes the clubroom. Instead of landing in my grasp, the bottle slips from Gears’ hand.

“What the fuck?” Thor, the VP roars, already on his feet.

I’ve gone from prone to upright in one second flat. Road, just as fast, is on his feet behind me, his gun already in his hand. Thor waves us on ahead to the stairwell as we’re closest to the door and already in motion. I slide my own weapon out. Behind us there’s a thundering of feet, as well as the whirr of the elevator moving. Before I exit the door, a glance shows Thor’s got everything in order as he makes quick hand signals choosing Gears, Piston and Rascal to stay back. Immediately they take up positions ready to take out any visitors who shouldn’t be here, while the rest follow Road and me down the stairs.

Flying down them two at a time, I’m in the lead as we enter the reception area. Immediately I note Brute, who should be manning the desk, is nowhere to be seen. Holding my weapon in the ready-to-fire position, I scan the area, but see nothing or anybody.

“What you got?” Thor hisses with one hand on the bannister as he jumps the final few steps.

“Here!” Brute calls from outside the building. “Need help!”

Suspicious, expecting a trap, I call back, “Stat report?”

“You need to fuckin’ see this,” he replies fast in a tense voice.

I glance at Road, who raises his chin back. Like me, he’s assessed Brute’s not acting as if he is in any danger, instead his tone sounds incredulous.

Still prepared to be wrong, I signal my instruction to Road, and Thor, who’s now beside him, to cover me as I go to the door. I ease my way through the turnstile-like affair, turning sideways to make myself less of a target.

Once outside, my eyes scan right and left, then to the front again as I check the perimeter until I assess there’s no visible threat. I let my gaze fall on the prospect crouched next to something on the ground.

What the fuck?

Brute is kneeling next to a motorcycle that’s obviously crashed into the building, lying on its side with the front wheel still turning. There, prone on the ground beside it is the person who must have been riding it. Brute glances up, relief flooding over his face as he sees help has arrived.

Still holding my pistol at the ready, I sink into a crouch. When I feel a tap on my shoulder, I look up to find Thor giving me a sharp nod. Jerking my head, I see the brothers are piling out of the building and taking defensive positions. Knowing they’re surrounding me, I holster my gun.

“What you got?” I ask the prospect.

“I don’t know if he’s fuckin’ breathing.” Brute’s hands are hovering over the body as if he doesn’t know what to touch.

“Let me look,” I direct, and the prospect slides out of the way.

From behind and above, I hear Thor snap out instructions, “Check the perimeter, make sure he’s alone. Bolt, check the bike for explosives.” I’m not the only one thinking the injured man could be a distraction.

Is he playing possum?

Knowing Thor will have my back if he is, I lean forward and place my fingers to the pulse in the neck of the man who’s so still. I’m not surprised that Brute thinks he could be dead. As I feel the very faint beat, I know he’s still alive, but possibly not for much longer. The pulse is weak, bradycardic. Still measuring the beats, I examine the body. It’s twisted, broken. Some of it no doubt from the crash, but with my expert eyes I see there are too many injuries to have only just happened. In the light spilling out from the clubhouse behind, it’s clear some of the bruises on the man’s face are yellowing. His jaw is swollen, and one eye’s firmly shut, the other only just open and blood’s obscuring his features. This man has been badly beaten.

“Bike’s clean.” Bolt reassures me we’re not at risk of being blown up in an explosion. “He breathing?”

“Barely.”

“Need a bus?”

I make another assessment. Could we call in our friendly doc and have him check over the intruder? It’s apparent that the answer is