by Bella Knight
The Iron Knights followed at dawn, Springsteen’s Born to Run in their ears. The Nighthawks had a more family-oriented approach, dogs in their special carriers with harnesses in the back, and sidecars with larger dogs or elderly people. The teens riding behind; Ace had Keiran, Lily (Pavel), and the Wolfpack spread out among the rest of the Nighthawks.
They met for a raucous dawn breakfast at a pancake house, and managed to get everyone on the road by seven. Tom Petty’s Running Down a Dream blaring in their ears.
All three groups made good time, and had time for lunch on the beach before the rally began at one o’clock. It took time to get all the T-shirts handed out, with The Wounded Warriors Project logo on the front, and the club logo printed on the back. Henry and Ivy had paid a lot of money to have all the teens with the Nighthawks logo, except for Ajai, who wore the Valkyries logo. They mounted up, the Iron Knights heading out first, then the Valkyries, then more clubs.
As the last to sign in, the Nighthawks were part of the kerfuffle when it was determined that there weren’t enough bikers to carry the Wounded Warriors who were picking up specialized prosthetics fitted to them in Lake Havasu in a special session.
Jake immediately hopped out of the sidecar, and offered to take a bus back to Vegas. “Ain’t no warrior left behind when my bony ass can find another way back.”
To their credit, two of the teens said much the same thing. Ivy and Bella each took one, and Ivy called for Wraith to send Herja back. Herja came back with Rota and Ajai, and six more Valkyries. They got everybody loaded up, literally tying several warriors with both arms or legs missing to the bikes. A Warrior got the sidecar, and Jake’s “bony ass” ended up with another one of the Nighthawks.
They took frequent breaks, with the Warriors with them. It took forever to get out of LA, then they opened up on the highway. They listened to the Eagles’ Take It Easy, and Here I Go Again by Whitesnake. They hit the high desert, and stopped off in Indio for food and icy drinks. They took the 10 to the 192 to the left at 177. The wind was in their hair, the road cutting through the desert like a black ribbon.
They made it there in time for the Warriors to be fitted for their prosthetics. The teens all stumbled to benches, not used to long rides. Ivy and the Valkyries brought back sodas and snacks, and they unfolded their folding chairs, rolled out their sleeping bags, and settled in. There was amazing music, dancing, vendors selling every food imaginable, and the ceremony that proclaimed the total raised; they hit half a million dollars.
The band went into a rousing round of Tubthumping by Chumbawamba, followed by Imagine Dragon’s Warriors and AC/DC’s Thunderstruck.
When the sun started to go down, the rally then spread out, with some staying to dance, and others heading out to set up tents, check into hotels, or just stare out at the lake.
Henry led a group of Warriors to his favorite spot to pitch a tent, with a gorgeous view of the lake, far enough back that no one would inadvertently go swimming in the dark. They had the tents up in no time, helping each other out. One guy in a wheelchair zipped all over the place, pulling a line taut here, setting up a fire pit there. They pulled out guitars and drums and pounded out songs, wailing into the night. Henry left them to it, giving them the GPS coordinates and his phone number when they wanted to bug out in the morning.
Henry made it to the teen area nearby. Nantan was surrounded by Valkyries, determined to protect the teens if need be. The Valkyries and the Iron Knights set up shop a little farther along the curve of the lake. They cooked their own hot dogs and hamburgers, veggie burgers for two of them, and then they ate s’mores.
The Valkyries started singing, starting with What’s Going On, by Four Non Blondes. The kids heard the songs coming from farther down the lake.
“Damn, Ivy can sing,” said Ajai, into Herja’s ear.
“Absolutely,” said Herja. “She’s one of strongest, most talented women I know. You want an example of how to be? Check her out.”
“I’ve got you, and Wraith, and Rota. Wraith took me out of hell.” She stared across the fire as Ivy sang, Stay with Me. “I think I want to be Wraith. I’ve done Nantan’s thing. I love the horses, but shoveling shit isn’t my thing.” Herja barked out laughter. “I love hanging out with Killa and Ghost and Bonnie building the bikes. I’m gonna save up to go to the Harley mechanic’s school in Colorado. Ivy told me about it. Then, I’ll have a good cover.”
Herja figured she knew where this was going. “Cover?”
“I want to do what Wraith does. Go in, take the bad guys out. I’ll have to get my sisters raised up first.”
Herja shook her head. “That’s our job. You focus on what you want. If you wanna be Wraith, then do it. Just know, you’re picking the most dangerous path. What happened to you, could happen again when you’re undercover. You gotta get forged with steel, be able to walk through anything, not freeze up if the path repeats. We’ve got a good dojo we like. You’ll get strong so you can bring it to those that smash others down; smash them down for a change.”
Ajai stared into the fire. “I understand.”
“It’s not the Dine way,” said Rota, on her other side. “They prefer the path of peace. You must be certain that’s what you want.”
“I want to protect those who have no voice. I want to hear those who no one listens to.”
“That’s a worthy goal,” said Herja. “Your name shall be Alvitr, or all-wise. You must know when to fight, when to use guile, when to walk away, when to punish, and when to have mercy.”
Ajai held her hands out, and Herja took one, Rota the other. “The gods have sent us a warrior daughter,” said Herja. “We are beyond blessed.”
“We owe Wraith, for saving you, for making us a family,” said Rota.
“You owe me nothing,” said Wraith, coming over to crouch in front of them. “Or, if you think you do, pay it forward.”
“I will,” said Alvitr/Ajai.
Ivy went into the Eurythmics’ Sweet Dreams, followed by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts’ I Love Rock n’ Roll. They continued with Meridith Brooks’ Bitch, making them sway. Herja hopped up and sang Evanescence’s Bring Me to Life, with Devastator.
Alvitr/Ajai’s jaw hit the ground. “I have the coolest mom,” she said.
Wraith laughed as Rota humphed. “I am out-classed by my own wife,” she said.
The songs eventually stopped, leading to simple guitar. The women’s voices rose, fell, melted together. The music was sexy and haunting, and it carried across the water. Those that could hear fell asleep —or were unable to sleep, haunted by the melodies, or craving to be in the arms of their own private angel —or Valkyrie, as the case may be.
Morning found the waffle houses and cafes stuffed full. Many found their solace in coffee, cola, or a pecan waffle and syrup, sugar high. The Iron Knights left first, then the Valkyries struck their tents, after ensuring all the Wounded Warriors had rides to wherever they wanted to go.
Getting the teens up and the tents struck nearly took cattle prods. Ivy returned with two cases of cola, and they moved faster. They fed them all on the outdoor patio of a cafe, where they consumed stacks of pancakes, platters of bacon and sausages, and enough syrup to fill up the lake behind them. They went paddle boarding, and had a lunch of sandwiches and potato chips by the lakeside. Then, they headed home to Vegas, pounding out music in their ears, faces to the wind. This time they had a beautiful time. Everyone won.
“Sometimes life is two steps forward, and four back.”
5
Loss
“Loss is the gift that keeps on giving, through grief.”
Saying Goodbye
Ace went home early. Shutting the place down, restocking the bar, counting all the till —it used to appeal to him, or at least satisfy him. But now, he felt exhausted at ten, did what restocking he could in the seconds in between orders, and was out by eleven at the latest. He was recovering from surgery; he knew that.
It annoyed him to ask Nina, his bar back, to
come in early to help move the deliveries into the walk-in, or to scoop ice. And, he was getting better, less inclined to drop things, like expensive beer mugs. But, he felt shaky and a little sick at ten, nearly on the dot, so he did as his physical therapist told him to. He listened to his body.
Once he was out, on the streets, it was still early in Vegas. The traffic wasn’t fun, and pedestrians leapt out in front of him as if suicidal. Many times, he had been glad for the relative nimbleness of a Harley. A truck would have killed more than one drunken reveler, crossing the street in the dark in dark clothing.
Once, he almost ran over a guy and his kids crossing the street in the dark, because of dark clothing. He made a U-turn, swung around, and gave the guy the scare of his life.
“If you want to take yourself out, fine, but taking out your kids? What are you doing? And why the hell are your kids awake at one in the morning?” The guy was sober, a swing worker taking the kids back to the ex.
Ace told him to wear reflective jackets at night and to make sure his kids didn’t get run over. The guy agreed wholeheartedly, and swore he’d never do it again. He felt bad about scaring the guy, but the kids deserved better.
He made it home without any life-threatening incidents. He had listened to his body. Now, it told him, say, ‘hello’ to your wife if she’s awake. He parked the bike after damn near gliding it in so as not to wake up the neighbors. He went in, and got dog kisses. He played with them, gave them a few commands. They obeyed perfectly, so he showered them with praise.
He took off his leathers and his boots, and went to the kitchen and drank some water. He went into the bedroom, and found Lily sleeping. He stripped and took a shower, quietly, so as not to wake her; the dogs went back to their beds. The bathroom door opened, and he thought his wife would pee and go back to bed. Instead, through the glass, he saw her strip quickly, and step in. She held him tightly and he stroked her hair, feeling the hot water beating on his back.
She kissed him, long and low, then sweet with a hint of sadness.
Must be thinking about her brother, he thought to himself. He stroked his hands through her hair, down her back. She kissed him more insistently, stroking her hands down his back, encircling his cock with her fingers, grabbing his balls and squeezing He kissed her harder, stronger. Stroking down her back and cupping her buttocks. All thoughts of getting clean left his mind. He wanted to get dirty with her.
He cupped her breasts, kissed them one by one, then sucked one while caressing the other. He felt her back arch, felt her go up and over. She screamed into his mouth. He switched breasts, and slipped one of his hands He touched her thighs, found her button, made her scream and claw his back as he put his finger on her spot and vibrated it.
She came, again and again, in shuddering waves that made her nearly sob. She held on tightly to his neck, and he lifted her hips, settling her onto him. She chose the rhythm, rising and falling, and he lifted her to help her. They came at the same time, her kisses raining down on his lips, his neck. He lifted her off, and washed them both. He washed, then conditioned her hair, and she moaned with pleasure.
She stepped out. He shaved, then turned off the water, and took the towel she offered him. He dried himself quickly, and so did she. He blow-dried her hair as she added the lotions and potions she liked to her skin, making her smell of jasmine and cherry blossom.
They went to bed. He held her, her head on his shoulder, her leg over his stomach. He put the other hand on her thigh. She snuggled in, and both were asleep in moments.
She woke suddenly. He looked at the time with one eye, a little after four in the morning. He closed the eye, until she touched his face. He opened it again.
“I know where I want to put the ashes.”
Devlin, her brother. She’d been staring at the urn of ashes, on a shelf in the living room. She sometimes talked to it. They were both out cold in the hospital, dark days they’d been letting go of. Devlin had no will, so Ivy had Devlin cremated and put in a simple urn. She had given information about places to put the ashes, or where to spread them, but there were too many blows in too little time. They hadn’t had a ceremony for the miscarriage, either. Lily had been so fragile.
He attempted to get his mind in gear. “Where?” he asked.
“I was trying to figure it out. Why put it somewhere? I mean, am I really going to visit a plot or a mausoleum somewhere? He’s dead. He’s here,” she said, and pointed at her head. “And here.” She pointed at her heart. “I was so hung up on where he liked to go, what he liked to do. He was never really into sports, except skating, and he gave up skateboards when he got into drinking and meth. What am I going to do? Spread his ashes at a meth house? Bury him with a fifth of Jim Beam? That’s his addiction. That’s not who he was.”
“So, where?” asked Ace, struggling to focus. He wanted to sleep until noon, and grab some food, then head into work. He put the thought of sleep out of his mind. His wife was making progress, so he needed to try and keep up.
“So, I decided to put him someplace where I like to go. He’s dead, right? This is really for me, not him. It’s in all the grief recovery thingies… books. Anyway, he should be where I like, so I can be at peace. He’s already there. He died sober, and could see a new way of life. I’m really grieving what he didn’t get to have, what we have —home, family, lots of friends, work we love, dogs, family… did I say family?”
“Once or twice,” he said, trying to follow the flow of words.
“So, I was thinking Lake Havasu. Love the paddle boarding. Very peaceful. It’s my favorite spot. But, I don’t go there all the time. So… Lake Mead!”
“That’s great,” he said, still trying to keep up. At least Lake Mead was close.
“Let’s go,” she said, springing up. She put on underwear, then a camisole bra top.
“Honey,” he said, “It’s four in the morning. Can we do it…”
“Sunrise,” she said. “Perfect.”
If his wife said it was perfect, then it was perfect. Ace stood, put on briefs, then struggled with sleepy fingers and a non-working brain to put on jeans.
She grabbed a top and ran out of the room. He sat heavily. He texted Ivy that he would be out at Lake Mead at Devlin’s sunrise funeral, and that he may not be in to work, due to lack of sleep. He sent the text, forgetting that it was Monday and Dirty Vegas would be closed. He groaned, then figured out that Ivy would just ignore it, realizing he had a stupid brain.
He put on socks and a shirt, and stumbled out of the bedroom to get coffee. He stumbled back in when he saw his hair in the bedroom mirror. He brushed it, then stumbled toward the bathroom.
Ivy got the message, then sat up in bed. “Wha…” asked Callie.
“Do your Chinese thing and get Bao over here to watch the kids.” She slapped her own forehead. “I forgot, they’re already there. It’s Devlin’s funeral. At Lake Mead. This morning.” She threw her legs off the bed.
Callie realized that her wife was making sense in the morning. She got the words “funeral” and “Lily,” but the idea of “Devlin” confused her until she realized it was Lily’s brother. She stood, lurched, and made it to the bathroom. She peed forever, then stumbled back in. Ivy took her place, already dressed in jeans.
“Who are you, and what have you done with my wife?” she said, heading toward a hairbrush.
They managed to get dressed and onto the bikes. Callie headed for some breakfast burritos and grabbed several cans of Coke after feeding the dog; she had her own dog door. They consumed them while putting on their leathers. Callie sent a text in Chinese saying they were headed out for the day to Bao, and they headed out.
Gregory received the text from Ivy about the funeral. He kissed his wife, and told her he had to go out. He dressed silently, pulling on black jeans and a black shirt. Lily was not a coat and tie type of person. He crept out, careful not to wake the babies, sleeping in their cribs, their little faces peaceful.
He also did not want to wake up
the babushkas. They had moved in until the babies slept through the night. He had no privacy, but he and his wife also got more sleep. He heated a breakfast burrito and grabbed some sodas.
Katya nearly made him crawl out of his skin, appearing behind him, fully dressed. “You go to funeral. I got same text. I go. I bring express milk thing, put in —how do you say? —saddlebag. We are family. We go together.”
He held her close. “You are the best wife in the world,” he said, kissing her forehead.
“This, I know,” she said, opening the microwave door and stealing his breakfast burrito. She reached behind him, and pulled another one out of the freezer. “I make another,” she said, putting it in the microwave. “I get pack,” she said, trundling down the hall, eating the burrito.
Don’t know what I did to deserve her, thought Gregory, but she’s mine.
Tito got the text. He was already up; he was planning on shamelessly using the Wolfpack’s child labor to clean out a new acquisition, a trashed duplex he intended to restore and sell, probably to one of the Nighthawks. He sent a text to cancel, and received one back from Henry that the teens were being herded into the van to sleep on the way.
Vi volunteered to watch the baby and the elders, and the rest of the household took last night’s reheated biscuits and sodas or coffee on the road. The teens were zombies, but Nantan had them in the truck, back asleep under blankets, in record time.
Ghost and Killa woke up Bonnie, and they headed out in the dark. Bear had been sleeping at the club, and he followed.
Ace’s efforts to slow his wife down so he could drink more caffeine were nixed. He did manage to cook her a fast scrambled egg and reheated precooked bacon and get her to eat. Then, the urn went in the saddlebag, and they were off.
