by A. J. Downey
“So I mention our membership is flagging and you bring in three of your guys.” My dad’s eyes narrowed, half suspicious.
“I told you when you signed me on as Sergeant of Arms, whatever you need Brother. You call I answer.” Trig crossed his arms over his chest and gave my dad that cool appraising sniper’s look that raised the hair on the back of my arms and neck. Something silent passed between them and finally, satisfied, my dad nodded.
“I knew I made the right decision signing you on.” My dad looked at me and I read it clear. Someday I would be president of this club and on that day I had better get used to the idea of Trigger as my VP because it was pretty much between him and Reaver. Both of them were great candidates, calculating and level headed, but Trigger more so than the younger blade-loving man. I was pretty sure Trig would be my Veep and Reaver would move on up to Sergeant of Arms and we’d have to find a new Treasurer and Secretary.
Doc had been making noises about retiring for a while now. If anything, I saw him leaving before my pops. I scrubbed my face with my hands and dropped my feet to the floor. I’d been needing to get more serious about the club for a while and I’d been failing at it. I aimed to remedy that, had been working on it ever since spring lake run… Everett had kind of derailed me for the last week or two but no one seemed to take notice or mind. Now they were all looking at me expectantly.
“You can’t sponsor three guys at a time Trig. One at a time. It’s in our by-laws.” I sniffed and leaned back. It was time to throw my support one way or the other. My dad’s suspicious look had a little bit of merit. Trig bringing in three guys would definitely sway any vote in his direction if all three of ‘em ended up patched.
As it stood we had the council of five and only three patched members in our mother charter… Data, Gypsy and Lucky. Lucky hadn’t been around much. His folks were older and he’d gone up north to do what he could for them. The mother charter was flat lining and a big chunk of that was aging and retiring members, the next was the fact that a lot of members had chosen to patch over into other charters who were up for things a little less than above board legally.
After my mom died we’d torn ourselves apart. Burned some bridges, which needed burning, to the mother fucking ground and lit the way out of some bad dealings with them. We were still waging some internal battles with fringe charters on getting out of drug running and the illegal shit and we were in serious need of some new blood as a result.
“I’ll sponsor Zander.” I said at last, throwing my lot in with Trigger. He was a good man. A better man than I was, older, wiser and the club needed him. I caught a flash of triumph in my pops’ dark eyes, so like my own and felt a surge of satisfaction. My old man let me make my choices, needed me to make my own choices but he wanted Sacred Hearts to not only survive but thrive with his boy at the helm. I’d disappointed him for far too long and it was past time for me to grow the fuck up and change it.
“I’ll sponsor Squick.” Reaver threw in and his glacial gaze met mine. He was throwing his lot in with me, not Trig, even though Trig was his best friend. I gave him a nod. I appreciated that more than he would know. Still, I grimaced.
“These guys manage to patch in we have got to get them some better fucking nicknames.” I said. There was some laughter and nods of agreement around the table.
“Next order of business?” Trigger asked.
“Nothin’ official. We’re heading into the somewhat quiet time of year.” My dad folded his hands over his middle and leaned way back in his chair, slouching down with his legs out in front of him. It was a lazy and comfortable posture I’d seen him take a thousand times over the years but it didn’t fool me. I’d also seen him draw a gun as if from nowhere, be on his feet and have it aimed in the time it took someone to blink about a hundred times out of that thousand. I still didn’t know how he did it and I really wanted to learn. Some things were just my dad’s… Dragon specific. Which was okay. I had a few Dray specific things up my sleeves.
“Then unofficially I’d like to ask you about Irish.” Reaver said leveling me with a look.
“Ask away.” I said giving him a dark one of my own. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like whatever came out of his mouth.
“She yours or is it open season?” he asked and his smile was chilly but not cold.
“Why?” I asked and tried to come off as nonchalant, but I felt my posture stiffen.
“She’s hot.” Reaver said with a shrug, but I knew for Reaver to be sniffing around it had to be more than that.
“That’s it?” I asked. I wanted my brother’s opinions on my girl. It was important to me that they like her but not required. The way that woman felt, I wasn’t keen on giving her up any time soon.
“She’s perceptive and Reaver scares her. She said as much. You know our boy…” Trigger said and crossed his arms. I raised an eyebrow. Reaver’s idea of good sex involved fear and sometimes crying maybe even a little blood. Never without consent though. He was weird like that and weirder still, girls went for it. Now I’m all for slapping a girl’s ass when I’m doing her from behind but the shit Reaver was into… a little too hardcore for me.
“Yeah, she’s mine. Hands off Reaver.” I gave him a solid look and Reaver grinned and held out his hand to my dad who slapped a twenty in it.
“Told you he’d be all over that.” Reaver said.
“I thought sure you’d get tired of her after a week, son.” My dad arched an eyebrow and gave me a hard stare that I wasn’t getting out from under until I opened my mouth.
“She’s different.” I stated and hoped it would be enough. No such luck. Four sets of eyes locked with mine and every expression read the same: elaborate.
“She doesn’t have her head in the sand. She’s seen things and those things send a normal person running for the hills, but not her. She’s solid in a way I’ve never seen any other girl be. I don’t have to pretend around her because she sees it anyways and isn’t picky about it. She seems to like me for me; I like that about her, so I’m keeping her around.” I shrugged. Four sets of eyes blinked in my direction and all four expressions again read the same: incredulous.
“That’s the most I’ve ever heard you talk about you boy.” Doc said. Which I thought was funny, wasn’t I just talking about Everett?
“Son, I think you should keep her around.” My dad said judiciously. A peal of feminine laughter floated through the curtained glass from the main room.
“Oh lord.” Doc sighed.
“Might have been a bad idea letting them get together.” Trigger said. Reaver was grinning his head off.
“Well if you’re havin’ girl problems I feel bad for you son, ‘cause I got ninety-nine problems and a bitch ain’t one!” Reaver sang I smiled my nastiest smile in his direction.
“Shelly’s out there.” I said simply and Reaver’s face fell.
“Fuck, thanks for reminding me.” He smoothed his hair down his forehead. Reaver was a heat seeking missile on a good day, his cousin Shelly was a thermonuclear device. Both of them had attitude, Shelly was just a little over the top. Both of them kind of lived by the motto ‘Listen, smile, agree, and then do whatever the fuck you were gonna do anyway.’ The main difference between the two cousins was that Reaver knew how to pick his battles. Shelly was hot headed and in it to win it no matter what came along. She was fun in the sack, but too much of a headache for anyone outside of it which is why she was, and likely always would be, a club whore rather than an Old Lady, which seemed to suit her just fine, leastways until she grew up some. Yeah… I was the pot calling the kettle black. No one else needed to know about it, though.
Reaver rolled his shoulders and wracked his neck from side to side. He took responsibility for Shelly most of the time but every once in a while even he was hands off and let her sink on her own. My pops usually stepped in and dealt with her if she got too uppity. All in all we liked Shelly, she was fun and vivacious and a kick to be around but she had her bad spells and we tried to f
orgive her those. She and Reaver both had it rough growing up and both were clawing their way out of the trailer park they grew up in. Reaver was ahead of the game by age and vocation but Shelly wasn’t too far behind. The girl was smart and going to college, apparently the same one my girl was going to. I smiled at the thought of Everett and it struck me. I’d never been with a girl that just thinking about her could make me smile.
“We done here then?” I asked, suddenly anxious to get back out there to her. I wanted my hands on her and hers on me. I promised her I would take my time with her and I suddenly felt like time, it was a wasting. I caught my dad grinning this stupid assed grin at me and I frowned at him.
“Yeah. We’re done,” he said dryly and banged his knuckles against the old battered table. We all rose as one. My dad was chuckling to himself. The rest of the men filed out ahead of us.
“What’s so fuckin’ funny old man?” I asked.
“Boy you got the same look I did every time I thought about your mother just then.” I blinked and frowned harder.
“What look?” I demanded.
“I don’t know what you were thinking, but it’s the same look I’d get when I thought about gettin’ some. Swear to Christ Tilly’s pussy was made out of gold or something. I couldn’t get enough.” He sighed. “Anyways, that’s the look you just had on your face.” He smiled benignly at me and all I could give him was a horrified look.
“Dude, pops! Okay, yeah sure, that’s what I was thinkin’ but god damn it! TMI! Don’t ever tell me shit like that about you and mom again!” I shuddered, for real, and shook my head. His barreling laugh followed me out into the common room. My gaze went to and fell directly on Everett who returned it with a curious one of her own, her blue eyes alive and sparkling; a cool drink of water on a long hot day.
“What was that about?” she asked when I neared.
“Don’t ask Baby. Please don’t ask.” I shuddered again. That’d been so wrong.
“Drink?” Loyal called from behind the bar.
“Fireball, make it a double.” I called back. Everett smiled up at me and I hooked an empty chair with a boot and pulled it out dropping into it.
“You girls having fun?” I asked.
“Yep!” Shelly quipped, “All at your expense.” She wrinkled her nose at me and smiled. I raised an eyebrow and turned my attentions to Em. Shelly was just trying to get a rise and sometimes it worked, this time it didn’t.
“Ashton says she gets up early. She said she’d give me a ride to the studio tomorrow so I could let you sleep in. Cool with you?” she asked me.
I gave a nod and said “Thanks Sunshine, the new schedule is kicking my ass.” Everett shot me an apologetic look and I smiled. “I’ll get used to it.” I said and propped my boot on the opposite knee and jiggled my foot, both out of habit and impatience.
“Prospect! Where’s my drink!?” I bellowed and the girls all laughed. He was standing right behind me.
“Should pour it on his head.” Shelly muttered.
“Here you go, sorry man.” He set my Fireball cinnamon whiskey in front of me and an Irish whiskey in front of Em. She smiled serenely and smoothed a hand over my denim clad knee and sparks shot along my nerves. I smiled at her and raised my glass.
“Sláinte!” she said and we both sipped.
“Uhhh bless you?” Shelly said.
“It’s Gaelic.” Em said, suppressing a smile.
Reaver and Trigger pulled up chairs, Ashton got up and settled herself into Trig’s lap and the big man smiled at her. I vaguely wondered if that might be the way I looked at Em, whatever look I’d been giving her sure had a lot of people’s panties in a wad. I was surprised to find that I wasn’t self-conscious about it though. Hard to be when you had a girl like Em edging closer to you. I laid an arm across the top of the back of her chair and she immediately leaned back into the curve of it. I felt myself smile. The movement had been unconscious on her part but it spoke volumes, it was nice to know that she liked having me around.
Ashton’s little friend Hayden sat quietly between Trig, with Ash on his lap and Shelly. Shelly was chattering away at Ashton but her eyes were behind the bar on Loyal. Interesting. Ashton laughed and Hayden smiled, I wasn’t paying attention to Shelly’s prattle, but Everett’s accompanying laugh was like music to my ears. My smile deepened, let ‘em think it was at whatever Shelly had said.
Some club whores, Candy and Moira entered the house and went to the bar. I’d done Moira a time or two when I’d been pissed off. The memories made me grimace inwardly. I hadn’t really treated her well. She didn’t stand up for herself. Not like Shelly. Shells would let you know all about it if you did something she didn’t like and if you didn’t listen she’d set Reaver on you. I turned my attention back to the table after a long appreciative look at Everett. She was the first girl I’d ever had under me that I’d actually worried about my performance afterward. I was good in bed, I’d heard it enough times from enough chicks to believe it. I mean I wasn’t a man whore or anything, but still, I was pretty confident about my abilities in the sack. Still, after our first time, as she’d drifted off against me, I’d found myself hoping that she’d want it again. A gentle squeeze on my knee brought me out of my thoughts.
“What?” I asked, looking sharply in her direction.
“I was saying you drove us here in your car…” Everett said. I frowned.
“Why does that matter?” I asked.
“Dude where have you been!?” Reaver asked laughing. I scowled at him.
“I’m still getting used to this getting up at three in the morning bullshit, give a guy a break!” I lied. Everett went very still. Shit. It had sounded better than what I’d actually been thinking. I sighed.
“What does Matilda have to do with anything right now?” I asked, using my bike’s name.
“Who the fuck is Matilda?” Shelly asked and made a weird face.
“His bike.”
“My bike,” we all chorused and laughed.
“I was just saying, it’s dry out and not too bad, we haven’t done a night ride in a while and we should take a cruise down Main. Hit a bar, join the rest of society for a change then bring the after party back here.” Trigger said.
“I told him your bike was at home, you drove us here in Sadie.” Everett supplied. I nodded.
“Doesn’t matter.” I put my leg back down and slid my unfinished Fireball to the center of the table. Hadn’t had more than a sip or two, I was good to go. I kissed Em, a quick press of lips.
“I’ll be back in a bit.” I stood up and strode out of the club house Em staring wide eyed after me. I fired up Sadie a minute later and made the drive home. I ran into the house and pulled my old leather jacket from high school out of the back of my bedroom closet and pulled down my spare helmet off the shelf before going out to the garage to get my first born.
Matilda was a 2002 Harley Davidson Fatboy cruiser. I’d gotten her for a steal back in ’09, when I was seventeen, at an auction. Someone had laid her and she’d needed some love and attention so I’d rebuilt her. I’d slaved in the garage over her, she was my coping mechanism. I’d found her after my mom had died and she was in some seriously rough shape but something about taking on the project called to me. So I’d laid down seven hundred bucks and picked her up.
I’d been at the salvage auction with a high school buddy of mine and his dad, who was lookin’ for some cheap hulks to part out of his back yard. He’d run an illegal wrecking yard of sorts for years. They’d left the auction empty handed but had their flatbed tow truck with us just in case. My pops had been pissed off when he’d sobered up and found out what I’d done. I hadn’t cared much.
I walked my baby out of the garage and closed it up behind me. I stowed the jacket in one of my saddle bags and clipped the helmet around the sissy bar, or passenger seat’s backrest. That had been a custom piece that had cost me a pretty penny. The back rest on my passenger seat was a chromed out gothic cross with roses at the base
. I’d had it laser cut by a custom metal shop in town. Somewhere along the line of building her, my bike had turned into a memorial for my mother.
The skin, or paint job on the gas tank and fenders, I’d had done in a glossy black overlaid with ghostly, deep red, roses that were in full bloom. My mom’s favorite flower. She had ‘em growing all around the house and would fill vases in the house with the deep red blooms. When the sun caught the roses on my bike they sparkled, on a cloudy day they were barely there.
The exhaust pipes, engine and the like remained shiny and/or chrome but by no means was my bike, or myself, suffering from chromeitis, hell no. I kept it tasteful, that shit’s just too damned hard to keep clean. My mother’s rosary hung from my right handlebar. I’d taken it to a jeweler and had all of the links reinforced and soldered shut to make it strong enough to withstand being there. It was so my mom would always be at my right hand to guide me and it sort of acted like a get back whip, flashing and fluttering to attract attention. On the back fender between the seat and tail light I’d had an artist freehand a memorial in a gothic script.
Matilda “Tilly” Draven
1973 – 2009
Gone. Never Forgotten.
My dad didn’t cry after my mother died. When I’d rolled my bike, completed, out of the garage and into the sun two years after I’d started her, he’d looked her over with a stern gaze. When his eyes had fallen on the memorial script, he’d paused, when he’d put his hand on my shoulder it had been with tears in his eyes and he’d had me patched in that night. A year after that he’d made me his VP.
Most clubs had a voting process on their VP, not my dad’s. He’d always held true to the belief that when it came to being the leader of anything that you needed to be able to trust the man at your side implicitly. The three other positions in the club, the three votes able to sway any decision, held at this time by Trig, Reaver and Doc, those positions are up for club vote. A man could choose his successor and nine times out of ten that was who would assume the mantle of whichever given office, but the club had final say.
