by Stacia Leigh
“Yup. I’ll do the same.” Leo cut in. “We’ll meet later.”
Will strained to hear the grunts of acceptance followed by a cryptic discussion on preferred hardware, women, and who was going to the rally.
The rally. Will closed his eyes again. He didn’t want to go. He’d have to ride on the back of someone else’s bike like an old lady. God, he’d never hear the end of it. What’s more, they expected him to let go of his mom’s ashes, her last slice of apple pie, and he’d have to quit drinking. They’d make him remember what he wanted to forget and make him forget what he wanted to remember, and he didn’t want any part of it.
What he did want was to be left alone.
Spending a week with thirty, fifty, maybe even a hundred bikers up in his grill sounded less and less appealing. If he stayed behind, he could have the entire house to himself, negotiate the AA meetings with Aunt K, and bluff his way through any therapy she might have planned. One or two meetings a week sounded way better than 24-7 with a bunch of dudes in leather. As it turned out, Uncle Shorty sucked as a nurse. Who would take care of him? Aunt K, that’s who.
Will started to drift off when the truck door flew open on the driver’s side, and Uncle Shorty dropped in on a cloud of Marlboro smoke. He raked his teeth across his lower lip and slung his wrist over the noon-spot on the steering wheel.
“What’s up?” Will pulled out of his slouch.
“Does your phone still work, Willy-boy?” He didn’t look at Will but watched Leo and the guys mount their bikes and gun it out of the parking lot. Their engines roared like a giant beast leaving behind a wake of fear and excitement. “Just wonderin’ since it was all beat up.”
“No, the screen’s shattered, and it won’t hold a charge. Why? Is everything all right?”
“You bet.” He turned the key in the ignition and shifted into drive. “We’re going to make one stop, so you can pick up your pain meds and anything else you need for the road. Toothpaste, fresh socks, deodorant if you wear it, whatever. Then, I’m dropping you off at home. You got a bug-out bag?”
“Sort of.”
“Pack the essentials. Keep it light and tight. Got it?” His lips were set in a grim line as he focused on the road. “Don’t forget your mom’s ashes and the container of apple pie. We all know about it, and it’s makin’ the trip.”
Will glanced down at the bright green cast wrapped around his arm and thumb. A nap in his own bed sounded way better than a five-hour bike ride, playing shield in the wind, in the dust, in the bugs, cross-country in someone’s bitch seat. And with these guys, he’d probably be hanging on for dear life the entire time.
Going on this ride? Not gonna happen. But by the look on Uncle Shorty’s face, now wasn’t the time to tell him.
“Right…” Will needed to steer the conversation into a more tolerable direction. “So…uh…where’s Aunt K?”
“She’s taken care of,” Uncle Shorty said, giving a brief glance at his side mirror before changing lanes.
Will lifted his brows. Was the guy serious? What was “taken care of” supposed to mean? “What…like bound and gagged?”
Uncle Shorty chuckled, and the mood lightened. “You know the saying about catching more flies with honey, not vinegar?”
“Hey.” Will lifted his good palm. “I don’t want to know what you guys are into.”
“Now, I’m not saying your Aunt K’s a fly. No, no, she’s one hot mama—”
“Dude.” Stop. Will shook his head with disgust.
“What I’m saying is…women like sweet talk.” He glanced across the cab. “Remember my words when you’re picking up chicks.”
“Right. I’ll add it to my list. One, find a chick. Two, add some honey.”
“All you need to know is she’s on board. She knows the value of the brotherhood.” He flipped the blinker on, guided the truck into an easy turn, and braked in front of the pharmacy. “You can thank me later. Now…” He dug into his back pocket and pulled out a flattened leather wallet. “Here’s a twenty. Get in, get out. We’ve got places to be.”
“I’ve got a bruised spleen and a broken arm. I’ve been out of the hospital for twenty minutes, and you want me to go in there and buy my own shit?” Will held up his cast and frowned.
“Like I said, get in, get out. You need to toughen up, Willy-boy.”
CHAPTER 5: Tail Pipes
The peach floral couch with matching throw pillows or his own bed wrapped in Gram’s denim quilt? Decisions, decisions. God, it was good to be home. Everything was the same, except poor Helmet wasn’t here taking up space, and Dad and Liam were gone. Probably at the rally by now, setting up an art tent.
Liam spent the last year refurbishing old helmets and Harley gas tanks with a fresh coat of metal flake paint and custom art. His apprenticeships, one at Candy Coating Paints and the other at Blinky’s Tattoo, were paying off. Now, he had his own stash of merchandise to sell under the Burnout Rally big tents. The vintage biker crowd loved that stuff.
Why hadn’t Dad called? What about Liam? It seemed sorta rude, but of course, his phone was broken. Maybe they’d tried. But c’mon, one hospital visit, then taking off before he was even conscious seemed kinda cold. Uncle Shorty said they had “club business,” and Will knew not to question it—but still. Couldn’t the club business crap wait until he was fully functioning? He could have died.
Will eased down onto the floral cushions, letting his scabs crack and sting while they readjusted. He lounged his bare feet on the armrest. First, he’d call Dad after a snooze—let him know how he wouldn’t be making the trip. Then, he’d call Aunt K to make sure everything was square. Uncle Shorty may have whispered sweet nothings in her ear, but once she understood Will would actually agree to see a therapist…well, old Shorty wouldn’t stand a chance. All Will had to do was say the word.
Yep, it’s all he had to do. Will relaxed his muscles and sighed as his cast sank down beside him. I missed you, peach floral couch. He blinked at the ceiling, tensing and waiting for Helmet to jump on his gut like he always did, fifteen pounds of love.
But there was nothing.
Earlier, when Will had walked through the door, the first thing he’d seen were Helmet’s filled bowls still in the kitchen, then the Hair Chair in the living room still covered in orange fur. But two things had changed. The litter box had been moved out, and Helmet’s collar and tags had been hung on the key hook by the door, right there at face level. Will couldn’t miss it if he’d tried.
And, God, did he try, but he couldn’t think about it right now. Not when his eyelids felt like they’d been pumping iron. Those “Don’t operate heavy equipment” meds were kicking in, so just a quick nap and then he’d…yeah, some shut-eye was all he needed.
Will, this is your mother speaking. I heard a noise, and it wasn’t Helmet. I think someone’s in the house. Hear that?
Oh, great. Mom was back to her chatty self.
Meow.
Helmet? Will’s eyes sprang open, and above him hovered a wiry, red beard and eyes as dark as midnight. Jesus! Will scrambled clumsily to his elbows, clamping down on the jets of pain shooting through his cast, his gut, his toe, and—
“Hallelujah. He’s alive,” Flossy said to the room as he tilted back on his heels. He stepped away to lean against the wall.
“What are you guys doing here?” Will scowled and went to rub his forehead but instead smacked his nose with the cast. Dammit! His brain spun a doughnut from sitting up too fast.
He looked at all the faces in the room. Flossy was the mechanic whose daily uniform consisted of bright white t-shirts and thick turquoise jewelry. He had wavy red hair to go with his beard, and his sinewy arms were crossed while he chewed on a toothpick. Trip, a muscle-bound prospect, had a very cool fake leg, all chrome to match the pipes on his bike. He didn’t have much to say, which was the direct opposite of Owen, the pack’s biggest a-hole in a pin-striped vest.
In the middle of the room stood Leo the Lion. Normally, he had
a mane of black hair, but sometime today, Leo met with a pair of clippers. He looked less like a lion and more like an insurance salesman with his short cut hair and clean face. Will inhaled and almost coughed. Was that the woody smell of Lucky You cologne polluting his living room? Must be some hot date Leo’s got later.
This was his dad’s crowd, Liam’s crowd. One guy was missing, though. “What’s going on? Where’s Uncle Shorty?”
This doesn’t look good, Will.
No, it didn’t.
Leo didn’t answer because he didn’t have to. He was the Hides of Hell president, acting president, and all-around bad dude, who stood in his living room, looking ominous and…well, he was hard to read. He was a hot temper, a cold shoulder, and a funny bone all rolled up into one.
“We ask the questions here, Gadget Freak,” Owen said, wide-legged like he was ready to kick some ass. “Why aren’t you ready, and where’s your bag?”
Jesus, did he ever take it down a notch?
“Gadget,” Flossy chuckled softly. “I like it.”
“No,” Will cut the air with his palm. He wasn’t ever going to be in the club. He wanted to go to college, get into game design, something fun. He wasn’t going to be a thug, so he didn’t need some stupid nickname. It was time to get real. “Listen, I didn’t get a chance to tell Uncle Shorty, but the nurse said…uh. Well…” he held up his new friend, the green cast. “I’ve got this, and a bruised spleen, and turns out I need a lot of rest. Some peace and quiet, you know?”
“Now,” Leo said in a placating tone, “I’m no doctor, but I’ve seen plenty, so trust me when I say you’ll be just fine. As for Shorty, club business. So he’s staying behind to…man the fort, so-to-speak. I know you were expecting him to ride along, but plans change, and you’re with us. We’re leaving in…” He pulled out his phone. “…ten minutes.”
“Uncle Shorty isn’t going? But we’re still meeting up with my dad and Liam, right?”
“We’ll talk about it on the way. Get your stuff together, which means everything…” Leo cupped his hand around his ear at the deep rumbling of a motorcycle pulling up outside. “…because it sounds like your ride finally made it. Right on time.”
“Cutting it kinda close, isn’t she?” Owen muttered.
“She? She who?” Then, Will jerked like he got smacked in the head by a two-by-four.
Owen and Leo’s she, as in Miki? If they were talking about him riding on the back of her bike…absolutely not gonna happen. He wouldn’t do it.
No way, no how.
* * *
“Hop on!” Miki hollered over the roaring motorcycles—boom, boom, boom, boom—as she tilted her black Suzuki cruiser upright and released the kickstand. This was the first time her dad had invited her on an official ride. She was surrounded by the guys in their leathers, the polished metal, the clouds of exhaust, and it made her heart accelerate. Boom, boom, boom, boom. Now she knew what it felt like to be a part of it, to be a part of the pack.
She flipped up the visor on her helmet and looked back at Will in his forest green hoodie and matching track pants. He looked ridiculous, like a Leisure Suit Larry. No wonder the guys stuck her with him. She didn’t care. She couldn’t wait to feel his arms around her, even if it was through her leather jacket. A girl could dream, couldn’t she? Fortunately—or unfortunately—he looked the same, like a moody grump.
“How am I supposed to strap this thing on with one hand?” He said loudly, holding out his half-shell helmet, a skid lid painted a smoky gray like the plumes of ash from Mount Saint Helens. It was Liam’s handiwork for sure, from the high-gloss finish to the words Third time’s a charm scrolled along the back edge. She was pretty sure it referred to Will being the third William in his family.
So there was his face, all bruised and scabby, yet his helmet didn’t have a scratch on it, a telling sign. Will hadn’t been wearing it when he wrecked his bike. Smooth move, Ex-Lax.
Hers was a full-face with a tinted visor. It was also scratch free, but not because she didn’t wear it. It was brand-spanking new, a late birthday present from her dad when he’d invited her along. Some might consider it a bribe, but she chose to see it as a thoughtful gift. Matte black, too. So cool.
She and Will were both rockin’ it. Except for his leisure suit. He even had the sleeve cut to fit over his cast. Très nerdy, but she’d forgive him.
She pulled the front jaw of her helmet down, so her voice could be heard. “You’re going to cramp my style with your gym suit.” She smiled. Now, if only he’d do the same back. Just once.
She watched him hobble closer, raking his long, brown hair away from his face. He stood next to her handlebars and set the skid lid down on his head, then lifted his chin, waiting for her to clip the straps. His throat was exposed. If they were going out, she’d kiss him right there.
“Believe me, I hate this as much as you do,” he said above the rumble of engines.
“I doubt it.” She shook her head. He really had no idea. “You should feel honored. At least you get to feel me up…again. What do I get?”
He lowered his eyes to hers and glared.
Miki blinked at him sweetly. They’d kissed and groped each other once in a coat closet at the club house. While the parental units were busy having their own party outside, the teens were inside, exploring the options on a pair of erotic dice she’d found. Combined with Truth or Dare and a dark room, things had gotten interesting with Will—fast. After seven short minutes of doing the tongue tango with a lot of cupping, squeezing, and sighing, they’d stepped out with eyes the size of moons. Before the closet, she’d gotten his number—
“Well?” he said, flicking the chin strap impatiently.
After the closet, he’d told her to erase it and never talk to him again.
She reached up and clicked the buckle ends together, trying to touch him as little as possible. No sense torturing herself. She turned away to face the flaming back patches and spewing tail pipes in front of her.
“Thanks,” he grumbled. “Oh, and by the way, don’t worry about me enjoying the ride.” He held up his cast and wiggled the ends of his fingers. “I popped some pain pills, thank God. Soon, I’ll be flying high as a kite, and hopefully, I won’t remember a thing.”
Will inched his leg over the seat, hissing and ahhing, until he dropped his weight down behind her. Miki steadied the bike’s balance, waiting for his arms to slither around her, but he sat back there like a cold stump. Right. Guess she’d have to gun it out to the road. Then, he’d have to hold on. That’s what the guys did to their old ladies. She smiled. Can I get a Hell, yeah?
In a short while, they’d be in their own little world. With his arms resting on her hips, maybe it would remind him how much heat they could conjure up in seven minutes.
Sigh.
As if Owen could read her thoughts and felt the need to douse ‘em, he coasted to her side—boom, boom—then dropped his feet to the gravel, walking his bike closer. His full-faced helmet sat sleek and black in his lap.
“Hey, Mik. All set?” Owen yelled to be heard above the revving engines.
Members were pulling forward with Dad and the road captain in the front, leading the pack. Her last count was thirty-two, a lot of bikes to keep in a tight formation. She rubbed her palms up and down her leathers and nodded, hit with a sudden case of thick tongue.
“You’re in the back of the lineup with the friends and family and the hang-arounds. Some of the prospects are back there, too. Flossy said first stop on highway twenty-three is Trout Lake. Gas and snacks, then punch it all the way to Maupin. We’ll get to the campsite around six and still have daylight hours to burn. Got it?” Owen flicked a look of disdain at Will. “You’re carrying some serious dead weight, sis…got your phone handy in case you need it?”
Miki patted her front pocket as a hard ball formed in her throat. This was it. Time to show her dad she could keep up, that he should be proud of her.
“Got everything you need? Sunscreen,
water?” Owen pulled on his helmet and adjusted his shades. “See you in Trout Lake.” He shut his visor and pulled into the throng of bikes. The engines thundered as each motorcycle crept forward into the lineup, then accelerated down the street, leaving Will’s white house in a billow of fumes and dust.
Will’s green cast rested on his leg, hard at her side, but his other hand inched around her waist. It felt good, natural.
“You ever ride with these guys before?” Will asked loudly from behind her shoulder, his voice muffled through her helmet.
“No.”
“Me, neither,” he said and hugged her with one arm.
He might have simply been holding on, but it felt like an affectionate gesture to her. His body warmed her back, and confidence surged in her gut. She gassed it to catch the tail end of the Hides of Hell and smiled when Will clutched her tighter.
She might be riding the tail pipes of the pack, but these were her wheels, her ride, and Will was in her bitch seat.
Boom, boom, boom, boom.
Hell, yeah!
CHAPTER 6: Good & Plenty
Will lied when he told Miki he’d popped his meds and would be flying high as a kite. For the past three hours, his asphalt ass chaffed against the tiny seat cushion, and now his guts were on fire, and his arm throbbed. He hadn’t planned on riding with the hairy bunch, so he’d popped his pills early, and now it was late.
Will, this is your mother speaking.
Yep.
Remember when you had your tonsils out? The nurse gave you a special root beer popsicle because you were the bravest boy she’d ever seen. Not a single tear! I knew you wanted to cry, but you were so proud. She said it was important to stay ahead of the pain.
Thanks for the newsflash, Mom. He was totally behind the pain now. The label said take two every four hours as needed, so he’d take three at the upcoming stop to make up for it.
Ahead, tail lights glowed, and the bikes looked like scales of a long, slithering dragon. The group slowed, and Will caught the flash of a green and white highway sign: Trout Lake, 1 mile.
