by Jessie Cooke
A knock on the door brought her back to reality and made her realize just how long she’d been standing there staring at herself. She sighed again and opened the door. The woman outside gave her a look that said “Finally,” and rushed past her. Chelsea continued to stand next to the bathroom door even after the woman closed it. She could see Chopper’s profile from where she stood. He was staring out the window. She assumed he was watching his chopper since he’d made a big deal about having to park it close by and sit in a booth where he could see it. Chelsea looked from him back to the exit door. He wouldn’t see her if she left and unless he came looking for her in the bathroom, she could be in a cab and on her way home before he caught up with her. It would be a fucking expensive cab, but how the hell was she going to spend a weekend with dozens of bikers? Party was their middle name. They drank, they smoked, and if everything she’d ever heard was true, they did a lot of drugs too. Chelsea was sober, partially because she stayed away from temptation. Until yesterday, she hadn’t stepped into a bar for years. She didn’t go to parties where she knew people would be drinking a lot. She didn’t hang out with the people from the coffeehouse that she knew smoked weed. She wasn’t sure she was strong enough to be around it. She couldn’t take the chance. She had too much to lose. She turned left instead of right when she got to the counter and hit the outer door. She decided once she got outside it would be safer to walk a few blocks before catching a cab, and she was making her way across the street…safely and in the crosswalk…when she heard the sound of a motorcycle. Thinking it odd that Chopper had caught up with her so quickly, she turned around, just in time to see the bike coming right at her, and it wasn’t a chopper, and Justice was not the man driving it.
Chelsea screamed and dove toward the sidewalk. There was a man there waiting to cross, and when she hit the ground, he stepped between her and the oncoming bike. The man on the bike turned the wheel at the last second, just missing the man who had chosen to protect her. Chelsea could feel the burn of the cement on the side of her face and for a few seconds she just lay there, dazed and confused.
“Miss? Are you okay?” The concern in the man’s voice caused her to push up on her arms. She hadn’t sat up all the way before she heard Chopper’s voice:
“Chelsea!”
She looked up at the man above her and tried to manage a smile.
“I’m okay, thank you.”
“Chelsea! What the fuck happened…!” Chopper was squaring off in front of the guy who had helped her, and Chelsea realized he thought the man had done something to her.
“Chopper, I’m okay. He helped me.” The muscles in his arms were visibly tense as he towered over the poor good Samaritan. He was still staring at the poor guy, so Chelsea reached up and put her hand on his arm and said, “Help me up. I’m okay because of him.” She felt his arm begin to relax underneath her hand and he finally turned toward her and helped her up. He was holding her in his arms and looking down at her with the type of concern for her she hadn’t seen in anyone’s eyes other than her parents’.
“What the hell happened? Why did you leave?”
“Should I call the cops?” the man, who was now standing behind Chopper, asked.
Chopper turned to look at him and Chelsea said, “No!” No way did she want any part of a police report. Even if she was the victim, she didn’t want that on file. “No,” she said, more calmly. “I’m okay and I didn’t get a license plate or anything. Did you?”
“No,” he said. “It happened too fast.” Chopper was looking back and forth between them and he looked frustrated as hell.
“What happened?”
She tightened her grip on him and looked into his eyes, trying to calm him, and she said, “I’ll tell you back at the restaurant, okay? Can we just go back over there, please?” He looked back at the man, still seemingly suspicious of him. “Chopper, he saved my life, okay? He risked his own to save mine.”
He nodded slowly, and then held out his hand toward the man. The man looked relieved as he took it. The two men shook hands and Chopper said, “Here, let me give you something…” Chelsea was shocked when she saw he was reaching for his wallet. The man realized what he was doing too and said:
“Oh no, man. No way. I just did what any decent person would do. I’m glad you’re okay, miss. I should take off now if you don’t need anything else from me?”
“No, thank you so much,” Chelsea told him.
“Yeah,” Chopper said. “Thanks.” They watched the man walk away and then Chopper took her hand and said, “Are you really okay? Your face is bruising. Did you hit your head?”
“No,” she told him with a gentle smile. It was sweet how concerned he was, if not slightly uncomfortable because she wasn’t used to it. “I didn’t hit my head. I’m okay, promise. Let’s go back to the restaurant.”
They walked in silence across the street and Chopper didn’t ask any questions until they had ordered their coffee and waffles. Once they finally had their food he said, “Okay, now please tell me where you were going and what happened.”
Chelsea took a deep breath and said, “I’m a recovering addict.” He cocked an eyebrow but stayed silent. “I haven’t touched anything in three years. Yesterday was the first time I even came that close. I’ve just kind of been having a hard time lately. When you mentioned the rest of the Skulls a little while ago, it really set in to me what I’d agreed to here…what I might be getting myself into. I’m not sure I’m strong enough to be around all of that, Chopper. I panicked, and I ran. I was going to take a cab and go home.”
He stared at her for a long time. She sat there, trying to figure out what he was thinking, but his face was impassive. Impatiently, she waited and at last he said, “I won’t lie to you, alcohol will be everywhere…weed too…no hard drugs, though, Dax doesn’t allow that. But I understand if you don’t want to be around it. We have a fairly new recruit and he’s on the wagon too. Has been for about a year or so. It took him a while before he was able to be around it. He tells me that he still wants a drink every time he sees one or smells one. But he also told me that he wants one even when he doesn’t sometimes. So, I understand, and I won’t ask you to do anything that would get in the way of three years of sobriety, Chelsea. That’s impressive, really.” She was shaking inside, either from the experience of nearly being run over again, or the confession…she wasn’t sure which. Her words came out shaky when she said:
“Thank you.”
“I’ll take you home if you want to go, though. Please don’t take a cab. But first, will you tell me what the hell just happened over there? Did you run out in front of a car or…?”
“No,” she said, slightly offended. “I’m really not in the habit of running out in front of cars or bikes.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just trying to figure out what happened.”
“I was crossing in the crosswalk, legally. I was almost to the other side and the guy that was there. He’d just stopped at the edge of the sidewalk. I heard a motorcycle behind me and I thought it was you coming after me. I turned and looked over my shoulder and this guy on a bike was coming right at me.”
“He was trying to hit you?”
She shuddered. “I’m not sure, but yeah, that’s what it looked like. Chopper, I think it was the same guy. The one that was following me last night.”
“Fuck! What kind of bike was he on?” He was taking his phone out of his pocket.
“What are you going to do?”
“The guys are just a few hours ahead of us. If this asshole is on his way to Sturgis too, we’re going to find him.”
“Chopper, I don’t want to get you guys involved…”
“Involved in what, Chelsea? Do you know this guy?”
She pictured him and heard him saying her name. She didn’t recall either his face or his voice, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know him. There were a lot of men in her past Wayne had brought into her life that she didn’t remember, either because she
was wasted, or too ashamed. But she couldn’t tell Chopper that part. It was way too soon for that.
“No, I don’t think so,” she said. “But last night before he started chasing me, he said my name.”
“Fucker. He’s going to be sorry.”
“Chopper, really…the last thing I want is to cause trouble for you.”
“Won’t be any trouble. The fucker is bold when you’re alone, but his chickenshit ass disappears any time a real man, like the guy that helped you, or like me is around. I need you to tell me everything you remember about this guy, what he looks like, what his bike looks like…then if you want to go home still, I’ll make sure you get there safely.”
Chelsea stared at him, partially astounded that someone who barely knew her would be so willing to help. Part of her was terrified that by helping her he’d either get hurt or he’d find out more about her than she wanted him to know. Part of her wanted to just go home and forget about all of it. But Chopper didn’t seem like he was going to be dissuaded from helping her, and her odds of controlling what came out about her would be better if she was there when it did. “I’ll go to Sturgis,” she said. Before he could react to that, she started describing the stalker. She could visualize his face perfectly and she described him to Chopper in detail. His bike was a Harley, but not a nice one, an older one, she thought. She didn’t know much about bikes, but his face she would remember, and that look in his eyes, like he hated her.
7
Chopper phoned Dax, and then Garrett and Zack, before they left the Waffle House. Dax and a few of the guys were almost to Ohio, but Garrett was already in Chicago with his old lady, and Zack was meeting him there. He had left from New York, so he was ahead of the rest of them. This was Chopper’s tenth Sturgis run. His parents let him go on his first one with them when he was sixteen, and he’d ridden with the Skulls every year since he was seventeen. He knew that there were certain hotels that most of the MCs stayed at along the way, and he was hoping, with the guys all so spread out, they could get the word out and someone would run across this guy.
Chelsea was pretty shaken up, but he believed she didn’t know who this guy was or what he wanted with her. That was the first question Garrett asked when he spoke to Chopper. Garrett came from years of being in Special Ops and tracking some of the worst characters in the world. He didn’t trust easily. Chopper had the opposite kind of life. He’d lived around bikers his entire life and they were the most loyal, truthful people he knew. Of course that was only to each other, but since he’d never had any bad experiences as far as trust went, he didn’t have any hang-ups about it. He got feelings about people and in the myriad of feelings he already had for Chelsea, trust was near the top. Garrett had still been a little skeptical when they ended the call. His take was that if this guy was pissed enough at her to try to run her over, their paths had to have crossed sometime or another. Or, someone that she pissed off had hired him. Chopper reassured him that when they got to where they were staying for the night, he’d explore that possibility with her. But even that was hard for him to imagine.
They had been riding for almost five hours straight and Chelsea had barely said two words. She was probably the best travel companion he’d ever had on the back of his bike, especially for someone that wasn’t used to the long haul. But he knew she had to be stressed and tired, and hungry. She hadn’t touched her breakfast.
He pulled to the side of the road and turned off the bike before saying, “You about ready to stop for the night?”
She stepped off the bike and the grimace on her face told him that she was feeling the over three hundred miles they’d already gone. “It’s early yet. Are you just stopping for me? I don’t want to slow you down.”
“Nah, my buddy has a place in Ithaca. The guys stopped by there this morning for a rest and Dax texted over the code so we could get in. I’d rather stay tonight and get an early start in the morning.”
She nodded. “Okay. I forgot how much riding on a bike was like riding a horse…only I don’t usually stay on a horse for so many hours straight.”
Chopper smiled. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m so used to it that I don’t even feel it anymore.”
“Don’t be sorry,” she said, “I’m enjoying it.”
“Good. Rusty’s place is another fifty miles or so. We can stop by the Ale House in Ithaca and either eat there or grab something to go.”
“Sounds good.” She slid back on the bike and said, “While we eat, you can finally tell me the story behind ‘Justice’ like you promised.”
He chuckled. “All right. Let’s go grab some Fat Kid burgers first. Oh! And buffalo egg rolls.” He glanced back at her and she was making a face. Chuckling again he said, “Club sandwich? Flat bread pizza?”
It took them about an hour to get to Ithaca and Chelsea settled on the flat bread pizza. They took their food to go and Chopper stopped again at a liquor store before they got where they were going. Chelsea stayed outside, but for the second or maybe third time in two days, she was really craving a drink. She’d tried to keep her mind off the guy that was chasing her, and maybe even trying to kill her, but the long ride didn’t give her much else to do but think, and she’d thought herself into a headache, trying to remember who in the hell that guy was.
After the liquor store stop they rode up toward the lake for another half an hour or so. The scenery was beautiful, and Chelsea’s headache was getting milder by the mile. Chopper turned off the main road and onto what looked like a service road, stopping once to get off the bike and enter a code into the wrought iron gate that surrounded a lush, green property that resembled a golf course. When they got back on the road Chelsea realized it had changed from pavement to cobblestone, and when the trees parted, and she saw the house in front of them, she whistled. She heard Chopper laugh and when he pulled the bike right up almost to the front door and turned it off he said, “It’s something, huh?”
“What the hell does this ‘buddy’ of yours do?” She slid off the bike and Chopper followed her. While she took off her helmet, she was staring up at the massive, brick and wood house in front of them. Chopper pulled the bandanna off his head and ran a hand through his hair.
“He’s a prospect,” he told her with a wink.
“Damn, any spots open?” He laughed again and said:
“You know who Rusty Daniels is?”
She pulled her brows together and said, “Not the football player? My dad loves that guy.”
“Yep, that’s him. Only he’s a retired football player now. He’s living back in Boston and he’s one of our newest prospects.”
“Son of a bitch. Dad would never believe that.”
Chopper got the food and the bag he’d brought out of the liquor store from the chopper’s saddlebags and Chelsea followed him up toward the front door. “I haven’t been here before, but Dax said it has six bedrooms and four or five bathrooms.” Chopper handed Chelsea one of the bags and pulled out his phone. He looked at it and pressed in numbers on the panel attached to a massive lock on the front door. It flashed green and beeped, and he turned the knob and pushed it open. Chelsea whistled again.
“Fuck,” she said. Chopper laughed. To their right was a spiral staircase and directly in front of them was a sunken living room. They walked into it and Chelsea looked around. For the size and quality of the house, the furnishings were surprisingly simple and sparse. Chopper was looking around too, and he told her:
“This is why I love Rusty. This fucking house has to be worth millions, yet it looks like you could kick back on the couch and watch a football game with a beer in your hand and your shoes off.”
Chelsea smiled. She had to agree. They crossed the living room and entered an open plan dining room. At least that’s what she assumed it was. There was no table in it, only a bar, and the wall was covered in old neon bar signs. They pushed through another door and found a kitchen where Chopper set their food down on top of a granite countertop. The appliances were all stainless steel,
and there were floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall that looked out over a covered patio and barbecue area, a pool, and jacuzzi. “I’m almost afraid to touch anything,” she said. “It’s all so beautiful, and clean.”
“Yeah, Dax said the cleaning woman was showing up as they left this morning, so thankfully we probably missed the beer bottle tree they built and the empty pizza boxes that were probably left in the living room. I just hope she changed the sheets too, in case anyone took a nap. I love those guys, but some of them get a little funky sometimes.”
She laughed as she began rummaging through the bag of food on the counter. “I’m starving.”
“Me too,” he said, pulling off his gloves and vest. He went over to the cabinets along the wall and rummaged until he found some paper plates and napkins, and then he reached into the bag he’d brought out of the liquor store. Chelsea was surprised when, instead of beer, he pulled out a six-pack of soda. “I wasn’t sure what kind you liked.”
Touched, she said, “That’s perfect, thank you. You know it’s okay for you to drink in front of me.”
“I know,” he nodded. “I’m not a huge drinker, though, unless I’m in a party mood. I’m good with soda tonight.”
They got their food and drinks together and Chopper said, “You want to eat at the bar in there or try out the patio?” It was a nice, calm summer afternoon/almost evening. Chelsea said:
“I’d like to eat outside if you don’t mind.”
