“Really?”
“Want to know the best burger joint in Augusta, Georgia?”
She smiled. “Sure.”
“Farmhaus Burgers. And, if you go, be sure to get the fried pickles.”
“Are they good?”
“I have no idea,” I said. “Never been there.”
“That’s funny.”
“What if you’re on Mission Beach, and you need a surf board?”
She shrugged.
“Go see Luke Eagan. He’s got a place right off the boardwalk.”
“Do you surf?”
“Never tried. But I researched it. No differently than Weight Watchers.” I cocked my head to the side and did my best to recall my research. Upon doing so, I met her gaze. “Let’s see. Unaltered fruit is zero. Veggies? Zero. Sugar, for the most part, is a point a teaspoon. Coffee is zero, as long as you don’t add anything to it. White turkey meat and white chicken meat is roughly a point an ounce, unless it’s skinless boneless breast meat, which is a point for each three ounces. Eggs are two points each. Ice cream is a no-no, unless is Halo Top, and then you can go wild. A cup is only four points.”
Her eyes went wide. “You know about Halo Top?”
“Again, I’ve never had it, but I’ve read about it.”
“I’ve had it,” she said. “It’s so good.”
“We should have some.”
“You can have regular ice cream. Why would you want Halo Top?”
I chuckled. “Most people think I can eat whatever I want. I eat egg whites, turkey, chicken, Kashi Go Lean cereal, green vegetables, almonds, a little bit of brown rice from time to time, and very little fruit. For the most part, that’s it.”
Her eyebrows raised. “Seriously?”
I nodded. “Yep.”
“You forgot oatmeal,” she said.
I chuckled. “Never ate it once.”
“But. You said the breakfast was your favorite meal.”
“It was. Not because of the oatmeal. Because of the eggs. I flushed the oatmeal.”
She let out a laugh. “Really?”
“Every day.”
“You seemed so happy to get it.”
“I was happy to see you. The oatmeal? Not so much.”
She rolled her eyes, and then looked at me. “You could go on a date with anyone you want. Why me? Is it a gratitude thing?”
“Gratitude thing?”
“You know. Because you appreciate that I wasn’t like Perry?”
“I asked you out because I like the way you look, act, and think. If I didn’t like all three, you wouldn’t be here.”
“How do I think?”
“You’re not prejudiced. You don’t have Instagram because you think it’s a waste of time. You’ve got no use for child molesters, but a man who robs a bank to feed his family doesn’t seem to bother you much. You’re the real deal.”
She blinked a few times, and then simply stared. “How did you…how did you know what I thought about those guys?”
“While I exercised, I listened. I counted the bean slots as they opened. Price was in number one, and Grossman was in number three.”
“You were in twenty-four. There’s no way you could hear what I said.”
“You’re right. But I can count. You’d spend five seconds at everyone’s cells, except for the ones you talked to.”
“Interesting,” she said. “I had no idea you paid that much attention.”
“Not much else to do,” I said. “Being attentive is pretty cheap insurance.”
“Insurance on what?”
“Life.”
“If I would have spent time talking to Jerry Porter Price, you wouldn’t have had the same interest in me?”
“I would have had no interest in you.”
“None?”
“Zero.”
Her eyes thinned a little. “Why?”
“If you could find a way to be compassionate with someone who molested children and filmed it, there would be no way you and I would have got along.”
She clenched her fist, and blew into it while she looked at me. As she inhaled her next breath, she lowered her hand. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“A serious question.”
Her face washed with worry. I wondered what might be troubling her, and decided it could be nothing other than Gravy’s death. I was afraid she wouldn’t like my answer if I gave it.
“Go ahead.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am right now, but you better hurry up before I change my mind.”
If she was going to ask what I suspected she was going to ask, I didn’t want to tell her the truth, but I damned sure couldn’t lie to her. There was no way I could build a relationship using a lie as the foundation.
She locked eyes with me. “Did you kill Darin Wheatland?”
“Are you asking me as a cop, or as my date?”
“Your date.”
There was tremendous risk in telling her the truth, and no future ahead if I lied to her. I let out an exhaustive sigh. “I did.”
“Okay.” She leaned against the back of her chair. “That’s all I wanted to know.”
“Why?”
“I was curious more than anything,” she said. “But I wanted to see if you’d tell me the truth.”
“Did you already know the answer?”
“No. I saw you and Tink walk in that direction, but that’s about it. You were too far away, and there were too many people in the way for me to see much of anything.”
“So how would you know if I was lying?”
“I wouldn’t. But I know now that you’ll be truthful with me.”
“Can’t be much future between us if I’m not willing to be truthful.”
“Club business is club business.” Her mouth twisted into a smirk. “Sound familiar?”
“This wasn’t club business,” I said flatly. “It was personal.”
She raised her hands and turned her palms to face me. “I don’t want to know.”
“And, I don’t want to say. So, we’ll agree that this subject is closed?”
“There’s nothing else I need to know.”
“Next subject,” I said with a laugh.
“What’s it like--”
“I thought the subject was closed.”
“Not that. What’s it like to write a book? To have all those characters running around in your head?”
“Confusing. Fun. Rewarding. Confusing. Did I already say that?”
“You said it twice.”
“Sometimes I can’t write fast enough. They get to doing and saying things, and if I don’t write it as fast as it happens, I lose half of it.”
“Do you make outlines or take notes?”
“I don’t. It’s fly by the seat of my pants. I just let the characters do what they do.”
“I like that. So, the books are more of reality TV show than a movie script.”
I chuckled. “I guess that’s one way of putting it. The characters do what they do, and I edit it for grammar. I rarely change content. As far as I’m concerned, it’s like changing history.”
“Is that why you choose to self-publish?” she asked. “You don’t want an editor making you change content?”
“To change content would be to restrict a character’s ability to convey his or her tale. It doesn’t matter if it’s narrative or dialogue, it’s all the same if written in first person. It’s the character’s voice.”
“Have you ever had to pull the reins on a character?”
“What do you mean?”
“Restrict them? Keep them from doing or saying too much?”
I let out a laugh, and then raised my index finger. “Funny you ask. There was one. Well, probably more than one, but one that stands out more than any other. I wrote this series about boxers, and there was this guy. Big bald-headed guy named Mike. He was always doing and saying crazy shit, and I’d get done writing a scene and then I’d look at it and think what in
the fuck did this guy just do? I’d delete it and start over. The same thing would happen. A few times, I left the chapters, thinking I’d just go back and delete them. It didn’t matter. Eventually, he did something even more ridiculous. I decided it was just who he was.”
She smiled, and then covered her mouth with her hand. “He cut off a guy’s finger and grilled in on the barbeque grill.”
I was embarrassed. “You read that one?”
“I liked him.”
“I guess that’s good.”
“Do you think when you have characters like Mike that they’re really the inner you? Your subconscious? Maybe that’s why you can’t change them.”
“I’ve wondered about that.” I tapped the tip of my index finger against my temple. “I mean, it all comes from in here.”
“I think it’s amazing.”
“What?” I chuckled. “That I subconsciously want to cut off a guy’s finger and grill it?”
“That you’ve got what seems like an endless supply of stories, characters, and life lessons rattling around in your head.”
I relaxed in my seat and studied her for a moment. “Do you believe in God?”
“I do.”
“I believe God has a place for all of us. I think it’s our responsibility to find that place, not his responsibility to put us there. Some people spend a lifetime on that journey. Trying to find out where they belong. I’m lucky I found my place this early in life.”
“Do you think being in the MC is where you belong?”
My response came without thought. “I do.”
“Don’t take this wrong, but do you think it’s God’s will that you be there?”
“I found the MC immediately after my parents passed away. They’re my family, and they’re the only family I have. God’s had many opportunities to change things, and he hasn’t done it yet. So, yeah. I think it’s his will.”
“You want to know what I think?”
“Absolutely.”
“I spent a lot of time thinking about this after what happened to Wheatland. Here’s what I came up with.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and leaned forward. “Law enforcement officers are vigilantes. Most people don’t see them that way, but they are. They seek those who’ve committed acts against others, and they administer justice. In Psalm, the bible said, ‘give justice to the weak and the fatherless; maintain the right of the afflicted and the destitute.’ And, in Genesis, Simeon and Levi avenged the rape of their sister, Dinah. They killed all the men in the city where the rapist lived. So, the bible not only mentions vigilantes, but it makes no mention of condemning their actions. Maybe you are right where you belong.”
Finding a woman as beautiful as Bobbi was a once in a lifetime occurrence. To have her be open-minded was a one in a million chance. Her support of me and my actions with the club was something I would have hoped for, but never expected.
I gazed into her brown eyes and smiled.
She was right.
I was where I belonged.
Chapter Two Hundred Twenty-Eight
Bobbi
Everything. I could smell everything. Freshly cut grass. The hot dogs that a vendor was selling on the boardwalk. Funnel cakes. A distant restaurant’s lunchtime special. The odor from the exhaust of a truck ahead.
I could taste the salt in the air.
I extended my arms to the side, and allowed the rush of wind to beat against them. I’d always dreamt of riding on a motorcycle, but doubted I’d ever have the chance. Even after Tate offered it, I convinced myself it would never happen.
I was pleased to admit that I was wrong.
With the ocean filling the horizon on my right, we continued to travel down the oceanfront road at a leisurely speed.
The ride was much more comfortable than I expected it would be. Leaning against the backrest removed what little fear I had of falling off, and Tate’s riding skills provided comfort that I wasn’t placing myself unnecessarily in harm’s way.
I thought I’d spent months getting to know Tate. In reality, I had two days experience in discovering who he truly was. So far, I liked what I had found.
He may have been a member of an outlaw biker gang, but that wasn’t who he was. He was kind, considerate, polite, and he saw me as being what I’d always felt I was – despite what everyone else thought – a woman who was just as beautiful on the outside as she was on the inside.
We turned left, following the road to the east. With the sun in our faces, we rode to the traffic light and came to a stop.
“You alright?” he asked over his shoulder.
“I’m great.”
“You’ve been awfully quiet.”
“I think I’m in shock.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to ride on one of these things. It’s better than I imagined.”
“It’s rare to take a ride and not smile at some point. Two-wheeled therapy. It’s my way of clearing my mind.”
The light switched to green.
“Coffee?” he asked.
“Sure.”
He released the clutch and accelerated up the block. I gazed along the streets as we rode past, seeing much more than I would have if I was driving. I now knew how the gulls on the beach could see a piece of bread from a hundred yards away.
Their view was unobstructed.
I moved my head to the side, away from the protection he provided. As the wind whipped my hair into a tangled mess, I closed my eyes and imagined I was flying. My life had quickly gone from reading about women who had been swept away from their ho-hum existence to truly being swept away from my ho-hum existence.
My life wasn’t meaningless, nor was it overly boring. One thing, however, that I’d learned to live without was the presence of a male counterpart. Having Tate show genuine interest in me beyond the confines of the prison provided a boost to my ego.
I’d always been a confident woman. Even as a child, I never lacked self-esteem. When the children in school teased me and called me names, I still managed to hold my head high, knowing I was a much better person than they were.
Despite my belief that I was a beautiful woman, having someone confirm it was the ultimate reward. Especially when they were as handsome and talented as TD Reynolds.
We slowed our speed, turned right, and then right again. As he turned into a coffee shop’s parking lot, I tried to accept that at least for the time being, that the ride was over.
He came to a stop, and then lowered the kickstand. “What do you think?”
“I never thought I’d say this, but I like riding more than I like driving my car.”
He pulled off his helmet. “Seriously?”
“Oh yeah. This is awesome.”
I pulled off my helmet. After seeing him hang his on the handlebars by the chin strap, I assumed I should do the same thing. I didn’t want him to perceive me as being unaware of standard biker protocol, even though I was.
My knowledge was limited to a handful of Sons of Anarchy episodes I’d binged on in preparation of our ride, and the books that I’d read.
I carefully hung my helmet on the right side of the handlebars and climbed off.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” he said.
“My dad had a Camaro convertible when I was little. It kind of reminds me of riding in it, only better.”
“Not much beats being on a Harley.”
“Does it matter what kind you ride?”
He waved his hand toward the door. “Depends on who you ask.”
“I’m asking you.”
“Men get the same satisfaction out of riding sport bikes that I get out of riding that HOG. It’s personal preference. Old-school bikers used to have a hard-on for guys on rice burners, but it’s not that way anymore. We all share a love for the open road.”
“That’s good that everyone can get along.”
He opened the door. “I don’t ‘get along’ with anyone unless they ear
n my respect.”
I walked past him and smiled. “You get along with me just fine.”
“You were respectful from the beginning. That was your ‘in’.” He chuckled. “That, and your good looks.”
“Thanks for noticing.”
“Tough not to. You’re pretty like that.”
“I meant the respect part of your statement.”
“Same thing. Tough not to notice. Get tattooed and buy a Harley. You’ll learn pretty damned quick who’s judgmental and who’s not.”
“It’s sad people are that way,” I said.
“Welcome to the life of being ‘different’.”
It was something I knew a little bit about. It seemed if a girl wasn’t 5’-5” and weighed a hundred and ten pounds, she was considered repulsive. I knew I was overweight, but having people treat me like I was an outcast because of it got old.
Just once I wanted to put someone in their place after they gave a judgemental look or made a snide remark.
We each ordered an iced coffee and then sat outside in the late morning sun. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t remember ever enjoying a Saturday morning as much as that one. The early morning ride, the perfect Southern California weather, and the subtle reassurances from Tate about me being beautiful were enough to place the day high on my list of best days ever.
A topless Chevy Blazer pulled in between us and the motorcycle as we finished out drinks. As the three board short wearing surfers dug through the console looking for money, we stood and tossed our cups in the trash.
After maneuvering around the front of Blazer, Tate climbed on the motorcycle and started it. As I reached for my helmet, I watched the three surfers spill over the top of the doors without opening them.
The lanky driver looked at us and then tapped the tanned shoulder of his blond-haired companion.
“Can you believe he’s with that fat bitch?”
“Dude,” the blond said. “They ought to make a law against yoga pants in triple XL.”
The other chuckled a laugh. “Brah.”
I buckled my helmet and let out a sigh.
Tate flipped the engine off, took off his helmet, and hung it on the handlebars. After stepping off the bike, he looked at me and grinned a mischievous grin.
“I’ll be right back.”
I gave him a look. “Did you forget something?”
Filthy F*ckers: The Complete Series Box Set Page 113
