by Nicole Reed
Shyla nodded, no words coming to her absent mind. From the corner of her vision, she noticed her aunt motioning for her and she put one foot in front of the other to leave for the night. Her thoughts were scattered, but her eyes roved one last time toward the clubhouse.
“Ward isn’t goin’ to be stupid enough to have any of this shit blow back on him, Holden. You’ve got to be smart,” Badger said, his voice lowered even though they were in his office at Hard Ink, with the door firmly closed.
Hold sat on the other side of his desk. Both men hunched over it as far as they could. He’d screwed Carrie at the clubhouse last night before leaving to spend the night at his house. Hold woke this morning with his thoughts heavy. He needed to have a plan for Ward when they spoke about checking the meth houses out. Badger was one of the few people he could trust to talk it over with.
“I’m fucked if I refuse. It only makes me look like a stupid-ass bitch to the club. His old cronies don’t trust me anyhow,” Hold stated, reaching for the cigarette pack in the pocket of his jeans. He grabbed the lighter on Badger’s desk and lit one up.
“Boy, those stupid sons of bitches voted you in. They need not be worrying you until they’re holdin’ a gun to your head.” Badger leaned back, crossing his big burly arms. “You send two of the prospects you trust and tell them to keep their eyes open and ears to the ground.”
“If they hold a gun pointed at my head they’d better pull the damn trigger and get it over with. I’m not fuckin’ around anymore, Badger. It’s on. No goin’ back at this point. If they’re my friend then we’re straight, but if they’re my enemy… see ‘em in hell,” Hold said, seething with fury. He puffed on the dwindling cigarette to settle the rolling sea of obsidian rage inside of him. The smoke swirled around the small room.
“Yeah. It’s finally come to that. Ward noticeably hung back from Hound and me yesterday at the picnic,” Badger said, propping his elbows on the desk.
“I’m sorry, man, I got you into this, but…” he tried to explain, but Badger held up his hand, silencing Hold.
“Your situation only accelerated what was already happenin’ in the club. We’ve been over this and jackshit is on you. You were in love with the wrong chick. Your daddy should understand…” Badger’s eyes bulged and he looked mighty guilty.
Hold didn’t miss that he’d left something unsaid. “Ward should understand what?” he asked, stabbing his cigarette out in the ashtray.
“Hold, man, we were all young bucks once. Shit happens. But I’m not going to sit here and talk about the past like a bunch of little bitches. Secrets between brothers are just as sacred as club business. Don’t ask me things that could stir up shit that don’t mean zip anymore,” Badger said, standing up to stare down at him. “I believe in you, son. You’re the future president of the Hell’s Highwaymen and that is all that matters.”
The choice to argue with his friend was being debated in his head. Badger walked toward the door before glancing back at Hold to give him one last look of case-closed.
Shyla had spent hours trying on clothes for her ride with Mikey today. She knew he wanted her to wear jeans, but the thought of the blazing temperature made her sweat just thinking about sliding her skinny pair on. Florida must be so close to the sun that if you drove to the tip of Key West, the flares would actually incinerate you into a heaping pile of ashes. However, sliding them on is exactly what she did along with a grey tank top that Aunt D bought her that read, “It’s not ink… It’s art.”
Thank goodness her face was slightly pink from yesterday’s sunburn. It camouflaged the existing blush she sported from the excitement of going on a ride. It’d been years since she’d rode on a motorcycle. She had to admit to herself that she was just as pumped to see Mikey again. Nice looking… check. Great attitude… check. Doesn’t seem to be an emotionally closed off junkie… double check.
With one last glance in the mirror, she rushed down the stairs located in the back of her apartment at Hard Ink. A small sidewalk ran between the brick buildings, separating her uncle’s business and the one next door. She cut through, entering in the front door to the sound of some old rock ballad.
Hard Ink’s interior desperately needed to be brought into the twenty-first century. The shop was clean but severely outdated. Hand-drawn tattoos lined the walls on paper yellowed with age. A large painted Hell’s Highwaymen three-piece patch covered the back wall in black paint. Diamond had agreed to let Shyla revamp the shop.
“Hey, sweetie. Goin’ out today?” Aunt D asked, before returning to clean her tattoo station and singing along about a whiter shade of pale.
Aunt D was usually the only artist in on Sunday afternoons other than Badger. More would show for the evening shift.
“Yes. In fact it’s a ride on the back of a bike,” Shyla playfully answered, sitting down in one of the empty tattoo chairs.
Diamond froze and narrowed her eyes toward her. “Whose?”
“Mikey’s,” Shyla answered, her curiosity once again flaring to life when her aunt acted like she didn’t want her to go. “Is that a problem?”
“Ignore this old woman. Listen, I’m just lookin’ out for you is all,” Diamond said, smiling sadly at her before reaching for a broom. Her aunt began sweeping and humming to the music.
“Aunt D…” she started to say, but turned at the sound of the bells over the door chiming someone’s entrance. Mikey barreled in, stopping short when he noticed her.
“Hey,” he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans. Mike’s eyes darted nervously around the room.
“Hey. Is everything okay?” Shyla asked, standing up.
“Yes and no. I’ve got to cancel today. Ward needs me to go out of town for a couple of weeks with Sandman. I’m leavin’ in an hour,” he said, shaking his head.
“Oh. Okay,” she said, knowing her disappointment leaked out between the two words and all over her face.
“Shit, Shyla! I’m sorry ‘bout the ride,” Mikey said, but was interrupted by Hold and Badger walking out of his office.
“Hey, Mikey,” Hold said, smiling at his friend.
The way Hold said his name reminded Shyla of that kid from the movie The Goonies. Mikey nodded anxiously back. Shyla could tell something was wrong with him and it seemed Hold noticed it too. His eyes seemed to narrow toward his friend. Mikey glanced at her.
“I know you were lookin’ forward to ridin’ again. Maybe,” Mikey started, pausing for a second before glancing over at Hold, “Hold, would you mind takin’ her for a ride since she’s dressed and it’s a good day for it?”
Hold’s eyes rested upon Shyla’s for a split second. She’d dreamed of riding all night long. Too many years had passed and she longed for the experience once again. But with Hold? The handsome black-haired devil didn’t answer Mikey.
“You know, I can wait until you get back. Really, it’s fine,” she said, her own eyes glued to Mikey’s so that she couldn’t see Hold’s expression.
Her answer seemed to make Mikey happy, but he kept on. “It would make me feel better to know my plans didn’t jack up your day. It’s sunny, blue clouds, and a fuckin’ sweet blacktop that’s callin’ your name. Hold?” he asked, quizzically glancing over at his friend.
“Mike, I’ve got shit to handle today. Take your girl for a ride yourself,” Hold said, shaking his head while staring at Mikey.
Shyla was completely embarrassed and wanted to die. “Please Lord,” she silently prayed, “let the floor open up and swallow me whole.” “It’s okay. I can wait,” she uttered, loud enough for both of the men intensely glaring at each other to hear her.
“You can’t take a goddamn hour to give her a ride for me?” Mike asked, placing his large hands on his waist.
“First tell me where you’re goin’ and I might,” Hold said, crossing his arms stubbornly across his chest.
Mikey nodded before leaning down to press a quick kiss on Shyla’s heated cheek. He smiled at her. “I’ll be right back. H
old and Badger, I need to go over a few club things with you guys.”
Without a second glance at the women, all three men in their matching cuts headed straight back to Badger’s office. She turned to her aunt in a daze. Diamond’s face had to mirror her own—both in a cautious panic.
“I don’t know if goin’ for a ride with Hold is such a good idea,” Aunt D whispered, her white bare knuckles tightly gripping the broom handle.
Neither did Shyla and it seemed that Hold wasn’t interested in even entertaining the thought. However, something told her it might not be her choice—or even his.
“It’ll be fine,” she whispered back, not sure if she was talking to her aunt or herself.
Mike stormed into Badger’s office. As much as he hated not spending the day with Shyla, he’d bigger fish to fry. He sprawled out in one of the chairs.
“What the fuck’s goin’ on?” Hold asked, closing the door behind him and leaning against it.
“Ward’s sendin’ me and Sandman somewhere down the Gulf to meet up with the Russians—Lev Boyarov and his crew. It’s about the gun shipment we’ve got lined up next month. Last-minute shit that needs to be fuckin’ ironed out and locked down tight. It sounds completely legit,” Mikey said, staring up at Hold.
He knew how Hold felt about Ward, but he was wrong. Sure, Ward was pissed. Who wouldn’t be with what went down with Hold and Hels? The entire club was for a while. However, Ward was Hold’s father. Until the shit a year ago, Ward had always treated Mike like another son. In truth, Hold and Mike deserved what’d happened because they’d put something before the MC. That shit never should’ve gone south.
“Hell no, man! I don’t like it,” Hold said, shaking his head. “Too much internal shit is ‘bout to go down for this to be routine.”
“Hold, Ward talked to me this morning. He wants to squash whatever beef you got goin’ on with him. He said you were his son and he loved you, brother. I believe him.” Mikey shrugged his shoulders. “If we don’t fix this shit something bad is goin’ to happen.”
“I’m workin’ on it, Mikey. But I don’t believe a word that bastard says. So I say no,” Hold said, looking over at the other man in the room.
Badger nodded. “I agree with Hold, Mike. Let’s keep you two close to home for now. Ward knows, like the rest of us, if something happens to you, Hold will go apeshit. Don’t give them the opportunity to make it happen.”
Mike was done listening to this bullshit. It made the rage inside of him threaten to free itself. He wasn’t some fucking child. Over half his life was spent following Hold blindly. And Hold wasn’t in charge yet. The decision wasn’t his or Badger’s to make.
“You two are forgettin’ one important fuckin’ fact… Hold’s not my prez yet. Ward is. And I’m a grown-ass man. I can handle my own shit. I’m goin,” Mikey said, standing up. “No matter what the future is for the club, we need to keep good contacts with the Bratva. Lev’s always liked us, Hold. We need a stronghold with the Russian mafia.”
“Lev may like you, boy, but his daddy, Dmitry, only deals with Ward. They go way back. Dmitry Boyarov would slit your throat while he smiled at you. I’m sure the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Watch your back, not only with the Dragos, but also with Sandman,” Badger said, standing and slapping Mikey lightly on the arm.
“Trust me to handle this, Hold. Know that I can do my fuckin’ job and protect my own ass when I need to,” Mike said, walking over to Hold. He held out his hand between them, offering to cement their brotherhood in a handshake.
The stare that Hold gave him said that he was pissed. Mike couldn’t leave shit like this between them. After a lengthy pause, Hold reached out and clasped his hand with Mike’s. The two brothers shook it out, letting the answer rest silently between them.
“Now take my girl for a ride on the back of your bike because I promised her one and I can’t,” he asked, squeezing Hold’s fingers a little tighter than he should. “But keep your motherfuckin’ hands to yourself.”
He trusted Hold, always had. Even when Hold had kidded with Mikey about sleeping with Shyla, he knew deep down Hold wouldn’t mess with a girl he liked, bro code and all.
Hold nodded. “If that’s what you want.”
“Yeah. I’ll keep in touch,” he said before turning to walk out of the office to do his damn job.
Shyla was sitting in one of the empty tattoo chairs next to her aunt. They both looked up when she noticed him.
“Hold’s going to give you a quick ride. Okay?” Mikey said, walking up to Shyla. He watched her eyes widen and glance nervously at her aunt then back to him. “I feel like a shitheel for cancelin’ on ya. I really want you to go.”
“Uh, if it’s cool with Hold, then sure,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.
“Is it okay to call you while I’m gone?” he asked, surprised to find he was nervous waiting for her answer.
“Yeah. I’d like that.” Shyla stood and reached for his cellphone that he handed over to her.
He watched Shyla program in her number before passing it back to him. His other hand covered hers before she could retreat. The slow grin covering his face had to make him look like the biggest jackass ever, but he didn’t care.
“I’ll call you soon,” he whispered, wanting to kiss her mouth but aware that her aunt stood only several feet from them. What the hell? Mikey leaned down at the same time Badger said something to Diamond from behind him, the moment ruined by her uncle. He gave Shyla a quick nod before walking out the door.
Hold watched Badger follow Mikey out of his office. With the door wide open he could hear Mikey saying his goodbyes to Big D and Shyla. The sound from the front door was the only indication he was gone. He couldn’t help the tightness in his chest—everything in his life had to be considered a threat.
“He’ll be okay,” Badger said, returning to stand in the doorway.
Hold solemnly stared at him. “He’d better. Or Ward won’t know what the hell hit him,” he said, angrily marching past Badger.
He was on edge. The last hour’s events weighed heavily on him and now he had to give Mike’s girl a joy ride. He could definitely beg off, but if Mikey was putting himself in possible danger, then he could do the one thing he asked of him.
“You ready?” Hold asked, passing by where she was sitting in one of the chairs.
“Um… yes,” she said, jumping up to follow him out the door.
Hold swung his leg over his bike that was parked out front, mounting it, and reached back for the extra helmet. He knew he was acting like a dick, but he didn’t care.
“What kind of Harley is it?” she asked, seeming to be awed by the motorcycle in front of her.
“It’s a Dyna Wide Glide. I like the old-school chopper style with the low-slung bodywork,” he said, handing her the helmet. “Put it on.”
She reached for the helmet and slid it over her head, buckling the chinstrap. The engine roared to life, soothing the mounting tension inside of him. Hold glanced over to see her eyes rounded with fear.
“You good?” he asked, almost shouting at her to be heard over the motor.
“Yes! Maybe? Honestly, I’m scared to death! My knees are actually shaking!” she yelled back, rubbing her hands together nervously.
Hold thought her honesty was refreshing. “Let’s ride.”
He watched her take a deep breath before swinging her leg over his bike. Hold felt her scoot back like a rocket the minute her legs cradled him from behind. She sure was jumpy. Hold wondered if he made her nervous.
Her hands tentatively grasped his hips before she released him. He felt her reposition them higher, testing somewhere safe to rest her fingers. After several seconds of Shyla wiggling her sweet ass on the back of his ride, Hold reached back for her hands, pulling her tightly up against him. He locked her arms around his waist. She gasped and a soft puff of her warm breath heated his neck, sending tremors down his spine.
“Hold on!” he yelled, before taking off.
The motorcycle shot down the street. Hold only increased the speed, making the engine really come to life with a very distinct popping sound. Shyla marveled at the metal machine with its sleek lines and beautiful design. The vibration beneath her wasn’t overly substantial and the overall effect left her comfortably perched behind him.
By the time they hit the open road, Shyla was entranced, her earlier nervousness forgotten. The bike didn’t glide so much as it pulsed, riding the yellow line. Each turn was a slow, gradual progression, igniting an excitement deep in her belly. The humid wind flowed around her. It stroked her face as she peeked over Hold’s shoulder admiring her surroundings, her body intimately flush against his.
For the first time in years, her heart felt a quiet peace, one absent of heartache or a longing for something she didn’t know she desired. She was content. The ride was freeing her from herself, creating a barrier between the open road and life.
Shyla wasn’t sure how long they rode before he pulled off the main highway onto a dirt road. Hold carefully maneuvered the bike until the tree line opened up and a private sandy beach appeared. The crystal-blue calm water of the Gulf of Mexico barely lapped at a shallow sandbar. He stopped, letting the motorcycle idle, then shut it off.
She slowly slid from the seat, pulling the helmet off. Her legs took a second to acclimate once again to solid ground. Birds chirped in the trees above, but other than that, it was relatively quiet. Shyla didn’t wait for Hold. Her shoes buried deep into the sand as she walked toward the water. When her footsteps were too restricted, she stopped to remove her boots and socks. Leaning down, it took only seconds to cuff and roll her jeans up.
“I love the beach. Almost as much as I love riding,” Shyla said to the sound of Hold coming to stand behind her. Her euphoric state was still at an all-time natural high.
She took off running for the water and didn’t stop at the edge. Her feet burst through the breaking small white-capped waves, spraying the cold water, soaking the edges of her rolled-up denim. But she didn’t care. The sun bathed her in its heat and the water caressed her soul. There was nothing like being recharged by the clean ocean air and breathtaking atmosphere.
