Stormy's Thunder (Satan's Devils MC Utah #2) - Manda Mellett Page 0,3

hurts. Drummer had quickly agreed to my proposal. Stormy was to be busted back down to prospect for six months and was to receive a beatdown. But instead of waiting to take his punishment for the wrongs he had done to the Satan’s Devils, Stormy had run. In doing so, he’d committed the major offence of disrespecting his cut and leaving it behind.

As enforcer, I’d wanted him dead. Such disregard to his brothers could mean he was a danger to the club. But others were more understanding and prepared to give him space and time to get his head around his sentence. They were convinced that he’d return and do his penance like a man.

However, as days, then weeks passed with no sign, those periods of seven days had all added up until finally they became a month, and that quickly became two. We had to face that we’d harboured a coward within our ranks.

Of course we’d tried to locate him, but even with all the technical skills at our disposal, no trace of him could be found. I’d started to side with those who thought him dead already, his bike run off the road, his body waiting to be discovered.

Bolt held out that he’d left the country.

Stormy might have been gone, his absence an embarrassment to the club, but that wasn’t all. The Utah chapter itself was on probation, and that we failed to locate one of our own was met with suspicion. Snatcher, our prez, had had his work cut out convincing Drummer we weren’t lying, and we weren’t giving shelter to a man who disrespected the Satan’s Devils’ patch.

Goddamn it, Stormy. You’ve got to wake up and give us answers, or else Drummer could dissolve our chapter.

As I tense, Road tightens his arms around me.

The sound of distant sirens pulls me out of my reverie. It spurs Pip to step forward. Until two months back, he was our prez, now he’s just a consultant. But he’s as sharp as a tack. When he speaks, we listen.

“Snatch,” he puts his hand on Prez’s arm, “buy us some time. He’s got ID, go with that. No one needs to know he’s back until we know what we’re dealing with.”

“And if he dies?” Snatcher asks, turning to stare at the man whose place he’d taken. “You know there’s a good chance Drummer will take away our charter if Stormy doesn’t come back. He doesn’t believe that with all our technical skills we can’t find him.”

Pip stares, his eyes narrowing. “Just asking for some time, Prez.” There’s no irony in the way he gives Snatcher the title. “Fuck knows where Stormy’s been or what he’s been up to, but if he’s bringing trouble on the club, it will buy us time to decide how to deal with it.”

Time’s running out for Snatcher to make a decision. On my part, I think coming clean is best—send Stormy to the hospital, then contact Drummer and tell him he’s come back. But Pip’s spent his life shrouded in the shadows. Mistrust and suspicion taints the air that he breathes, and he still holds sway with the prez.

Snatcher heaves a reluctant sigh. “We’ll play it your way for now, Pip.”

An engine cuts out next to us and the siren is switched off. As brothers step back, clearing the way to the injured man, we let the paramedics do their work.

“I’ve got a weak pulse,” one says.

“He’s bradycardic.”

I could have told you that.

The first one gets a line in and starts a drip going. “Let’s load him up.” His eyes take in all us bystanders. “I’m not sure we can save him, but we’ll get him in fast.”

“We’ll follow you. You taking him to Memorial?”

The paramedic confirms to Snatcher that they are. Once the doors of the ambulance close, the sirens restart, and it disappears away from the clubhouse.

Christ. I lean into Road. If we were ever to see Stormy again, I’d imagined him coming back, striding in nonchalantly in his arrogant way. He’d have taken his punishment like a man. I had personal experience that he wasn’t afraid of pain. I was convinced he’d have walked back in under his own steam. Or not, in which case we’d have never seen him again.

What I didn’t dream of was seeing him back like this, a man so close to death it’s hard to see how he manages to keep breathing.

I don’t know what to think or how to feel. From the looks around me, I’m not