by A. J. Downey
“Thanks,” I murmured, taking it from him.
“Gonna have to bring it on the bike, I got shit to do,” he said, and it wasn’t unkindly, wasn’t terse, it was just sort of matter-of-factly stated. My curiosity about the man deepened as I nodded and followed him through the house and back out to where his bike was parked.
We didn’t have to ride very far, maybe just a couple miles over cracked and weathered streets through poorer neighborhoods that were showing signs of major gentrification. I felt my heart sink, knowing what that meant for the poorer demographic. How many of them likely ended up priced out of their rental homes? It’d never happened to us or our family, but it’d happened to some of the other workers. Hard workers who ended up seven or eight deep in a one- or two-bedroom home.
He pulled up in front of an old wrecking yard full of bikes, having me hop down so he could back his beastly iron horse in line with the rest. Across the street was a heavily graffitied building, another man from the Sacred Hearts smoking on the little wood platform for the back steps, thumbs moving swiftly as he tapped out a text.
“We’re going on a trip,” Maverick said, and it was loud in the wake of his bike’s engine ceasing. I turned my attention back to him. He stood beside his parked bike, helmet off his head, swinging from one of his handlebars, his hair tousled and long enough on top it tangled in front of his eyes.
Those eyes were intent, intense, where they were fixed on me. Their color made brilliant in the morning light, their color contrasting behind the thick tangle of his dark hair. I swallowed hard and nodded.
“Where?” I asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “You go where I say you go for the next month.”
“I know that,” I countered. “I was just curious.”
“Yeah, well, around here – curiosity killed the cat. Remember that, Zaychik.”
He was different now than he had been back at his house. Harder somehow, like he had something to prove, and maybe he did.
“C’mere,” he ordered, and his tone had gentled. I went to him and he guided me to the front door of the salvage yard’s building and pushed it open.
I went through and he stopped me, a hand on my shoulder. A brunette woman looked up from behind the counter and smiled.
“Hi, Mav,” she said. “Who’s this?”
“Little Bird meet my little zaychik. Marisol, this is Little Bird. Your personal shopper today.”
Little Bird laughed as Mav held out a big wad of bills past me over the counter to her. She took the money and slid off her stool.
“What’re we shopping for?” she asked him and he gave her that crooked smile that tended to make my heart skip a beat. The back of my neck prickled with jealousy and I frowned.
I had better not be getting attached after only one night. That would be crazy of me to do!
“Road gear, head to the toy store and get her outfitted for at least a couple to three weeks. Also, get her some regular shit to wear. Whatever she wants.”
“Where are we going?” I asked, bypassing his generosity in favor of the bigger picture which was a likely cross-country trip.
“Later,” Mav said. He raised his eyebrows at Little Bird who swept her jacket off a peg as she came around the counter.
“Come on, it’ll be fun,” she said with a warm smile and I nodded. I knew better than to argue.
The great mountain of a man that sometimes rode with Mav on his Eastern Washington trips got up and limped around the low wall. Little Bird went to him happily, and they shared a kiss that would have had my abuela screaming at them in a string of Spanish about being obscene in front of the children. That in and of itself made me smile.
“Be careful. Call me if you run into any trouble,” he grunted like he wasn’t happy about it and let her go.
“Always,” she said softly and turned and raised her sleek dark eyebrows at me.
I gave a careful nod, took a drink from my steel tumbler, and followed her out the front door. Mav looked up from his phone as I went to pass and caught me by my arm. He leaned in and brushed my lips with his. I blinked a little in surprise and he winked with a slightly promising curve to his lips – a promise for later.
I softened. He was this strange dichotomy of hot and cold, all sharp jagged edges with a gentle, soft touch.
“Stick with Little Bird. She’ll get you everything you need, then come back here,” he ordered.
“Your wish is my command,” I said lightly and followed her out the front door.
She smiled.
“Is he always like that?” I asked.
“Mm-hm. You get used to it.”
“Be nice if I knew where we were going,” I said.
“Now, or what you’re getting the gear for?”
“Both?”
She laughed and hit the key fob, the lights flashing on a nearby 4Runner, the locks giving a soft thump as they disengaged.
We went shopping, she explained things – except where the fuck I was meant to be going. I tried to play it cool and gain some trust before I asked again.
Our first stop was the Harley-Davidson store in Renton. A bubbly blonde woman was happy to pour me into all the skin-tight leather I could want.
While I tried things on, Little Bird explained how she had learned some things the same way I was now from a woman named Dahlia.
I liked Little Bird. She was… nonthreatening. Nice, in that way that said she hadn’t gone through a whole lot of shit to make her hard yet. That, or she was one of those people who could do that thing where they never got hard from life. I wasn’t one of those people, and I sometimes seriously envied the ones that so effortlessly were able to forgive or forget and live their life happy without the burden of shame I felt every day.
“What’s Dahlia like?” I asked, in part to keep her talking but mostly to keep her talking about anything but me.
“Intense,” she said after a moment of quiet from the other side of the dressing room curtain, the word followed quickly by a nervous laugh.
“So, a total bitch,” I said pragmatically.
“Oh, no. I wouldn’t go that far. She’s just very… particular. Comes in, takes the world by storm, that type of thing. She’s one of Maverick’s best friends. I get that they’ve known each other a long, long, time. Like since they were kids.”
Interesting.
“So, do you know what all of this is for?” I asked, handing some items out from behind the curtain. She took them from me and thrust something else into my hand. I blinked and rolled my underwear-clad self in the mirror. More?
“These guys take riding safety extremely seriously,” she said.
I dutifully tried the things she handed to me on and decided they didn’t look half bad –the jeans fit like a dream and were definitely keepers. I wasn’t sure what to do with the leather that was supposed to go over them.
“I don’t know what to do with this,” I said holding it out.
“Can I come in?” she asked.
“Sure.”
She helped me and didn’t make it weird, and I was grateful. My walls incrementally easing down, still cautious but not nearly as scared.
I felt like I was somehow making a new friend and the impossibility of that task at home had been insurmountable… but here, maybe all things were possible.
“Do you know why he has me buying all this stuff? Like, I get safety but, girl, you got a pile going over there.”
“My guess is he wants you to have enough gear for the two-week run coming up.”
“Two weeks! Where the hell does he think he’s taking me!?”
She hesitated and finally erred on the side of caution. “If he plans on taking you anywhere, he’s the one that should really be the one to discuss it with you and he absolutely will. Mav is always ten steps ahead of the rest of us – and I don’t mean by strong-arm tactics or anything. He’s just got things all figured out before we do. He’s super smart, and he’s not the type to make you do anything you don�
��t want to do. He just likes to be prepared.”
Her words did little to comfort me but at the same time took the jagged edge off my concern – for now anyway.
“Just to be sure, which pile is ‘keep’ and which pile are we putting back?” I asked and she smiled.
“That’s up to you. This pile is the one you didn’t say anything about or make any noises. This is the one that you sounded like you liked.” She touched one pile hanging up on one side then the other smaller pile with the other hand.
“Shit, okay, guess I’d better try all this on again and whittle it down more?”
“You really don’t have to. Mav is gonna expect you to have enough gear for a two-week run and I don’t want to go back and have him disappointed.”
“Why? Does he get mad easily?”
She laughed. “Not at all. He’ll just send us right back here to get more and maybe will come with next time and have you model the entire store.”
“You sound like you speak from experience.”
She shook her head. “Dahlia told me, and I believe her.”
“Kind of can’t wait to meet her,” I said and blew out a breath dubiously. Either we would get along great or we would hate each other. There was no happy medium with me.
I was just naturally inclined to believe the latter because that was just about always how that seemed to work out.
“I think you have a good plan though,” she said, standing back so I could get a look at myself in the mirror. “These chaps look great on you with these jeans. Like one pair of the chaps and at least two pair of the jeans for sure.”
I nodded. “If you say so.”
She wrinkled her nose adorably and exclaimed, “I do! Trust me. You won’t regret it.”
I smiled and more of the tension riding me loosened.
I decided that I really did like Little Bird. Her smile and lighter than air, easygoing personality were starting to lift my spirits too.
Chapter Nine
Maverick…
I sighed and sat back in my seat and asked, “Not to put too fine a point on it, but two weeks with any of our number away is a big fuckin’ deal right now. So, let’s hear it. Who wants to stay and who wants to go?”
I ran my eyes over each man in turn sitting around my table and sniffed, waiting to see who would speak first.
“As much as I would fuckin’ love to do an Eversong run, my leg ain’t worth shit for the long rides lately and I got rehab and doctor appointments out the ass to get it rehabbed some more. I’ll stay.” Dump Truck sighed and didn’t look happy to be saying it and truthfully, it was a kick in the balls. He was solid and I wanted him with me, but not enough to set him back any more than he had been already lately. It was a hard four days’ ride there and back again and no telling if his broken wings and officer’s status would net him a room in the lodge this year.
From what I gathered, this was shaping up to be one hell of a Lake Run – with just about every chapter making an appearance and some guest clubs, the number was climbing into the high triple digits on headcount. Something like seven or eight hundred signed on to attend. Bikes and tents as far as the eye could see kind of a deal. It was making for some headaches this year according to Data from the mother chapter. Even taking into consideration that not everyone who signed on to attend would or could make it.
I think it was wise for D.T. to sit this one out.
“Fen, that means you’re on deck?” I asked.
“Fuck yeah, I’m going. You know you ain’t going nowhere without at least one or the both of us on your wrecking crew.” He planted his fist in his opposite palm and cracked his knuckles loudly.
I nodded.
“I’d like to go, I got the time,” Glass Jaw said. I nodded.
“Dump Truck is more than capable of handling the home front,” I declared.
So, there was three.
In the end, I had Glass Jaw, Fenris, Tic-Tac, Nine, and Cipher ready to rock and roll and ride to Eversong with me. The rest decided to stay back and handle personal shit – or just couldn’t get the time off from their cover jobs, which was fine by me. The bigger the pack, the more likely for the pigs to try and hand out fast-riding awards like confetti, hauling our asses over as we were passing through to try and jam us up.
In addition to Glass Jaw, Fen, Cipher and Nine, we would have the Eastern Washington crew, or what was left of it. So, Skeeter, Derringer, and Goner.
That was plenty big enough. Only time would tell if we’d be coming back plus or minus any of our retinue.
I dismissed the church meeting and let the rest of them get back to it and fuck off to whatever they had going on the rest of the day. Glass Jaw sat with me awhile, mostly while I stewed in silence. Brooding. Just yet one more service I offered aplenty.
“You good, man?” he asked when I’d been marinating in my thoughts just a little too long for what was probably his comfort. I could give a fuck.
“Yeah, man. Just kicking myself for being impulsive back in Yakima.”
“Then why were you?” he demanded. “It’s not like you, for one thing. Ain’t you got enough on your plate?”
“I do, and I honestly can’t tell you why, except for everything about the situation called for it. Sometimes I do shit, and I don’t even know why I do it,” I said. I sighed. “Not once has it ever been the wrong thing to do, though. Every time, shit becomes clear in its own time and it’s like…” I groped for how to explain it in a way that made sense and didn’t sound like a bunch of mystical bullshit – because it wasn’t like that. At all.
“You trying to tell me you started runnin’ on intuition now?” he asked and laughed some.
“It’s like that and it’s not. It’s like subconsciously, I got the lay of the land, right? But it’s like my conscious brain hasn’t caught up to it yet, you know? Like the chess pieces are all laid out on the board and I wanna make the move but everything about it is screaming it’s the wrong one and that I should make this move over here even though on the surface it’s the wrong move to make, you know?”
He laughed at me. “That’s like, exactly what intuition is.”
“Except it’s really not. It’s like I’ve run the calculations and I know shit ain’t adding up, and I am always right.”
“Okay, Mav.” Glass Jaw shook his head. “You don’t gotta explain any of it.” He grunted and got to his feet calling back over his shoulder, “You ain’t steered us wrong yet, man.”
“Don’t plan on making it a new thing, either,” I muttered, losing myself back in thought.
I tried to keep my thoughts on the problem at hand, which was immersing Marisol into this life as opposed to the one she’d come from at quite literally the worst possible time for me – but I couldn’t. Instead, my mind kept wandering back to last night.
That girl had a body made for fucking. Perfect. Lush. Golden tanned skin smooth under my touch, raven hair cascading around her face as those perfect youthful tits of hers bounced. The perfect palmful for each of my hands, low hanging fruit for real.
She wasn’t scrawny, she wasn’t skinny; she was the perfect woman, all slender and sleek curves that begged for my hands to sweep over them appreciatively. Her sleek frame a better ride than my bike – which was fuckin’ saying something.
I was getting hard just thinking about it, which perfect timing. She and Little Bird were coming down the hall from the front of the club, hands loaded with shopping bags. Quite a few, I was pleased to see, the majority of them emblazoned with the Harley-Davidson logo.
“Put ‘em in the office,” I called out and Marisol turned from where she looked behind herself at Little Bird who was saying something I didn’t catch.
Marisol’s honey-toned eyes drifted immediately to mine and held them, her gaze calm, and her intelligence sparkling from those eyes of hers as I rose. I came around the head of my table, drifting along the wall and shoving chairs out of my way, pushing them in the rest of the way beneath the gleaming wood and re
sin as my boot tread fell heavy on the cement floor.
She stopped, Little Bird nearly crashing into her back, and I smirked. I could see my effect on the girl from here – if she only had any idea of what she did to me.
“Go on, first door there on your left,” I said, and she stepped past me slowly and crept into my office. I didn’t like it. Didn’t like how if she’d been a dog, or a cat, her tail would have been tucked firmly between her legs in fear. Again, that prickling sensation of I knew what I was looking at, I just couldn’t seem to find the words for it.
My intuition if you will.
I stepped out in front of Little Bird and held out my hands for the rest of the bags she carried. She smiled up at me and said, “Go easy on her, Mav. Seems like things might be a little… intense for her.”
“She tell you something I should know about?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Little Bird smiled gently. “Call it women’s intuition,” she said and again with that word.
“Gotcha,” I said. She went to get into her purse, and I shook my head.
“Just give it to her the next time you see her,” I said.
“You sure?”
I gave her a look and she smiled and nodded saying, “Right. Forget I asked.”
“Your man’s waiting for you,” I said and she nodded and turned, heading back out front, a prolonging look over her shoulder, her big, deep brown eyes lingering on the empty but still open doorway of my office tinged with worry. Nothing to set me off overtly, making me want to demand answers – but whatever it was? It was there. There was no mistake. I’d seen it and there was no taking it back.
I turned and followed Marisol into my office and kicked the door shut.
Marisol was looking through a couple of the bags she’d brought in with her, having set them on the floor in front of the filing cabinets.
“Maybe it’s in one of these,” I said and held out the bags to her.
She took them from me and set them down, and curious, I stood and watched her.
“Ah ha,” she murmured and came up with a gray Henley. It was a man’s shirt, and she held it out to me.
