Making The Cut (Selective Sinners MC #1)
Page 21
As our laughter filled the night air, I knew one thing for sure.
Being with Axton would never produce a day of boredom.
Not a single one.
AXTON
I sat at the sewing machine, staring down at the cut. Something about sewing a cut myself had always pleased me. A sense of accomplishment filed me as I carefully placed the patches in their respective locations, held them in place, and worked the material through the machine. Watching the red thread unravel as the patch became one with the leather made me feel as if I was breathing life into the vest, and in turn, the vest would breathe life into the new addition to my family.
Pride in craftsmanship, and pride in the materials used allowed me to look through the ranks of my club and see the men in their cuts with a deep sense of pride. I reached down and carefully cut the excess thread from the last patch. I stood up, lifted the finished cut from the machine and shook it in the sunlight of the room.
It was perfect.
Now.
It was time to make my move.
AXTON
Making changes in the way we live our life is to admit something was wrong, or we had been living a life filled with mistakes. When natural changes occur through the course of merely living, it can only be described as progress. Progress is change over time; a step or steps in the right direction, one at a time, making simple improvements which one day might lead to a brighter future, a better way, or a life with less complication.
Progress. Equals. Improvement.
Somewhat nervously, I studied her as she sat quietly across the table from me, “We’ve made quite a bit of progress in only a few months. I never thought I’d give two fucks about a woman for as long as I lived, but I’ll be the first to admit I was wrong. You’re one hell of a woman, Avery.”
She smiled and tilted her chin downward slightly, “Appreciate it.”
“You know, I’m not one for flowers and cards, or any kind of shit like that. And for me to think of marriage,” I paused and inhaled a short choppy breath.
“Well, it just doesn’t make any fucking sense. For me to conform to the rules and regulations society establishes as law? I can’t do it. A piece of paper is required by the court to show how I feel about another person? I can’t wrap my mind around that. But Avery, there are other types of commitment,” I paused and stood from my seat.
I reached down and pulled my keychain from the clip on my belt. Methodically, I walked to the cabinet and pushed the key in the lock. A lone cardboard box sat amongst the cuts and patches in the cabinet. I removed it, walked back to the table and sat down.
I laid the box in front of me on the table and placed my hands on the top as if protecting it from harm, “You know when you’re a teenager you ask a girl to go steady. You get older, you say you’re what is it? People say we’re exclusive. You get a little older or maybe a little more committed and you buy a ring and say you’re engaged. If you get her another ring, you’re married. My life isn’t like that. Sure as fuck isn’t. Here, in the world of the MC, things are much different. The commitment might be the same or deeper, but the means of expressing it is different.”
I gazed at the floor, inhaled through my nose, and shifted my eyes to meet hers, “Avery, I need to ask you something.”
She lifted her chin and glanced up, “I’m listening.”
Short breaths; just take it easy, Slice. You can do this.
I slid the box across the table and held my right hand on the top as I swallowed heavily, “I want to know if you’re interested in this.”
I removed my hand from the box and sat back in my chair.
She narrowed her eyes, opened the box, and peered inside. Carefully, she reached in and removed the leather cut. After placing it on the table beside her, she unfolded it and stared down at the back of the cut. Her gaze never shifted upward.
A little more nervous than I expected, I stammered as I attempted to speak, “I uhhm. I stitched it myself. I know it ain’t much, but I think having my hands involved in actually making it gives it a little more importance, you know? Makes it that much more, hell I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Meaningful. Yeah, more meaningful.”
I stood from my seat and crossed my arms, “Before you answer, let me explain a few things. Wearing it means more than you think. When two people get married, the woman gets a ring, and with that ring she gets a sense of ownership and a feeling of commitment from her husband. He, in turn, wears a ring showing his commitment to her. When you see them together, and they’re each wearing a ring, there’s no doubt they belong together and they’re committed to each other. If they’re apart, however, all you know is that each one is committed – because of the rings they wear, but you don’t know where the commitment lies.”
I nodded my head toward the cut, “Now with that, it’s obvious where the commitment lies. My name is on the back of it, and you’re wearing it. Anyone see’s that cut on you, and they know you’re mine and I’m yours. There’s no question.”
“You know, most people don’t understand the Property Of patch. Not only am I claiming you, but it’s worn as a warning to others outside the club that the Ol’ Lady wearing the patch is to be respected the same as a fully patched male member, and that she warrants the same protections as her male member counterpart. That patch, Avery, says don’t fuck with this girl, in more ways than one. You’d be the President’s Ol’ Lady, and nobody, and I do mean nobody will fuck with you.”
“So,” I uncrossed my arms and turned my palms up, “Will you be my Ol’Lady?”
She stood from her seat, slipped her arms through the cut, and snapped each button carefully. She glanced up at the motto posted on the wall and swallowed heavily. As she rubbed her bracelet with her thumb and forefinger, she inhaled a shallow breath and shifted her gaze down to meet mine.
God damn, woman, say something…
AVERY
To understand a woman or women’s thoughts would be impossible. I am convinced there are more personalities in the female population than grains of sand on the beaches of the world. To attempt to comprehend the intricate thoughts and behaviors of a woman would be impossible for a trained psychiatrist, let alone an average man. Most women, including me, don’t necessarily know what we want until it arrives on our doorstep.
Diamond rings and wedding dresses may be for some women, and I always believed they were one of my main goals in my life. I had leaned over the course of the summer I wanted so much more than a conventional wedding. I wanted a man, not just any man, but a man who was satisfied with what he had in life, and didn’t need a woman to complicate things.
I wanted Axton.
We never really know where we belong for certain until we get there. This summer, I landed where I belonged, and I now stood grateful for being delivered to my final destination. Axton may not totally agree, but his asking me to be his Ol’ Lady and allowing me to wear the Property Of patch meant more to me than an engagement or marriage ever could.
I removed the cut from the box and stared, afraid I was going to lose my composure and begin crying. I pressed it into the table, unsure of what he had specifically done. A simple Property Of patch would have meant one thing. But a Property Of patch with Slice on the lower rocker meant so much more.
We were committed to each other.
And the club had my back.
I pulled the cut over my shoulders and buttoned it up. Axton stood across from me with his arms crossed in his what the fuck are you looking at pose. He didn’t realize it, but when he did that, he was one scary motherfucker. As he turned his palms upward and spoke, I bit my quivering lip.
“So, will you be my Ol’Lady?”
I knew the answer, but I was incapable of speaking. Still biting my lip, I shifted my eyes upward and lowered my chin in a half-assed nod. I swallowed heavily and for the first time in my life, spoke slowly.
“I won’t embarrass you or the club, Axton. And yes, I’ll be your Ol’ Lady.”
&nb
sp; “Go saddle up, we got to make a run to Wichita. El Pelón needs to talk,” he nodded, “I’ll get the lights.”
Standing taller, feeling prouder, and knowing no matter where I went or who I was with I would always have the confidence I previously only had in Axton’s presence, I walked out to the shop.
Progress.
I made it.
Mission accomplished.
AXTON
The only family I had ever claimed were the men I rode with; my brothers. Adding a new member to the family had always been an exciting thing for me. Adding Avery? Well, that was a totally different feeling.
Having her as my Ol’ Lady was a huge step for me. Her wearing the cut was even a bigger commitment. I offered it to her knowing I was ready for the responsibility, and I’d never disappoint her. Feeling more proud than I had in my entire life, I walked to the door, looked up at the motto, and flipped out the lights. As I stepped through the door and pulled it closed, I realized there was one more thing I needed to do.
I shook my head and grinned at the thought.
The unthinkable.
I opened the door, flipped on the lights, and stared at the membership board. No doubt about it, one thing was missing. I walked to the board, picked up the pen, and without hesitation, marked a big black “X” beside my name in the Ol’ Lady Allowed column.
I stood back and crossed my arms as I gazed at the board.
God damned right, fellas.
She’s mine.
And I’m proud to admit it.