Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition

by Elizabeth Knox

  We don’t eat. We barely sleep, and it’s glorious. The man has the stamina of a bull, and the way he looks at me makes me melt. It’s like he’s thanking his lucky stars for this moment. He takes his time with me, worshipping every inch of my body, and I’ve never felt so adored.

  I can’t help comparing him to the boy I knew all those years ago. The man he is today is a long way from that teenager. He’s strong, yet tender, and somewhere through the years he’s learned how to give a woman indescribable pleasure. I almost feel guilty. I feel like I’m taking more than I’m giving, but it seems to make him happy, so I lay back and enjoy.

  I feel like a newly addicted addict, wondering how I’ll survive without my next fix. How will I ever go back to my day-to-day existence after this incredible weekend? Is this what most married women enjoy? Is this what they come home to each night? A man who treats them like this? I think not. I know they don’t, and that makes me appreciate this time all the more. It’s special, and I don’t need time or distance to realize that fact. I’m fully aware of it as I’m experiencing it.

  It hurts my heart knowing there is no future for us. How can there be? Even if we can work out the long-distance thing—he’s a biker, a one-percenter, a man who couldn’t possibly want to be tied down in a conventional relationship. No, there’s nothing conventional about the biker he’s become.

  So where does that leave us?

  10

  Sara

  Monday . . .

  We finally drag ourselves out of bed, and Irish talks me into coming back to his place. I don’t want this incredible weekend to end, and my flight doesn’t leave until 4 p.m., so I agree.

  On the ride back to Irish’s house, he rides us through town, and parks in the diagonal street parking, backing the bike to the curb.

  We climb off, and I look up at the storefront.

  Cosmic Comics.

  I smile, and slug him in the arm. Back in high school I’d turned him on to my love of anime. I was always trying to draw it, and he just liked the superheroes. This was one of my favorite places to come.

  He grins at me and jerks his chin to the door. “Looks like the place is still here. Want to go inside?”

  “You really have to ask?”

  We pull off our helmets, and go in. A small bell tinkles above our heads. I glance around at the crowded space. Rows of comic books run the length all the way to the back of the store where games are kept. On the wall to the left and behind the glass cases, are collectibles of all kinds.

  Except for the face behind the counter, it’s exactly how I remember.

  We spend the next hour roaming through the place. I eventually find myself up near the counter looking at a display, and spot Irish consumed with some book in an aisle halfway back in the store.

  I lean over the counter to whisper, “Can I borrow a sticky note off that pad and a pen, please?”

  The employee passes the items over, and I sneak out the door, scribble my note, and stick it to Tim’s bike. I slip back inside and join him, peering over his shoulder. “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

  He looks over and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Check out the art in this one.”

  He shows me a book of anime, the illustrations indeed impressive.

  His eyes flick over my head to the clock on the wall.

  “Shit, I need to get back to the house.”

  “Why?”

  “Just something I’ve got to do. I need to be back by 3:30 p.m. You mind?”

  “Not at all. Let’s go.”

  We head out the front door, and we’re barely to the bike when Tim grabs the note and reads it.

  Sorry for the damage.

  “What the fuck?” He walks circles around his motorcycle, his eyes moving all over it. I step back, trying to hold in my laughter, but finally can’t, and a snort escapes me.

  Tim looks up and immediately realizes it was me. “You little—”

  I double over, hysterically laughing.

  “Oh, I remember now, the little jokester is still in you, huh?”

  I catch my breath, arc a brow, and point at him. “Well, I remember the time you put mashed potatoes from someone’s lunch-tray in my Oreos. They were disgusting.”

  He starts following me around the bike, but I keep a couple of steps ahead of him.

  “Oh, little Miss Innocent, huh? You got me back good though, didn’t you?

  I cock my head, pretending not to recall as I quickly back step. “Hmm . . . what did I do again?”

  He makes a grab for me, and his big hands land on my hips, pulling me against him. “You super-glued the mechanism from inside one of those musical greeting cards to my locker door. Every time I opened the damn thing, it played MC Hammer’s “U Can’t Touch This.”

  “Now that was hilarious.”

  He shakes his head, but his eyes are lit with laughter. “I’m gonna get you back for this, babe. When you least expect it.” He drops his mouth to mine for a kiss that ends too soon. “Come on. I’ve got to haul ass home.”

  We climb on the bike and race across town. When we pull in the drive and climb off, he quickly unlocks the door and holds it open for me. We move through to the front entry, and he pauses, pointing to the parlor.

  “I’ll just be a minute.” Then he disappears out the front door. I move to the window to watch, curious to see what all the urgency is about. He jogs over toward the mailbox. Then stops, and looks toward the neighbor’s house, and starts dancing around, playing air guitar and being silly.

  I move out onto the porch to watch and see a little girl in the neighbor’s window laughing and dancing with him.

  He stops when a school bus comes, and a young boy gets off and goes inside the house.

  Tim points at the little girl, and then takes a bow.

  The little girl waves goodbye to him, and then runs off from the window.

  He comes back inside, and I look at him, smiling, my eyes getting dewy. Then I throw my arms around him and kiss him.

  He finally lifts his head to peer at me curiously. “What was that for?”

  “Just for being you.”

  He pulls his chin back. “Really?”

  “I saw what you did, making that little girl laugh. Is that the important thing you needed to race back here for?”

  “Yeah. I haven’t missed an afternoon since I moved in here. It’s kind of our thing. She can’t leave the house because of the illness she has.” He shrugs. “It’s a simple thing, and her mom says she looks forward to it every day. Can’t let her down.”

  “I imagine eventually the MC will interfere with your afternoons.”

  “Probably, though we’re usually doing things nights and weekends. A lot of the guys work jobs during the week.”

  “And what about you?”

  “I was doing security system installs with Wolf, but since my grandmother died, I’ve been working less hours, trying to figure out what I want to do with the money she left me.”

  “Oh, I see. You mean like invest it or start a business of your own?”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  His phone sounds, and we pull apart. He digs it out of his pocket and puts it to his ear. “Yeah?”

  He grunts out a few words. When he disconnects, he looks me in the eye and asks, “You want to go to a club party?”

  11

  Sara

  The ride over the Santa Cruz Mountains on the back of Tim’s bike is exhilarating and beautiful. As the wind whips around me, I cling to Tim’s lean waist, and feel the muscles of his abdomen and back as I press against him and hold on for dear life. He reaches back with one hand to grip my thigh, giving me a little squeeze, and telling me it’s okay, he’s got me. Surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, I feel safe with him. I completely trust his skill with the powerful motorcycle beneath us.

  At the top of the mountain, he slows and turns into the parking lot of a little roadhouse he once took me to in high school.

  We dismount and ente
r the A-frame structure. Big glass windows overlook the view. Fortunately the place hasn’t changed in twenty years. Back in the day we would come and sit out on the deck and eat food. Now we’re old enough to drink at the bar.

  We each take a stool, and the bartender comes over.

  “What can I get you folks?”

  Tim orders us each a longneck beer while my eyes drift over the décor. The place has a ski chalet vibe that I’ve always loved.

  When the bartender brings our drinks, Tim clinks his bottle to mine.

  “Cheers.”

  “Cheers,” I reply.

  “Remember the first time I brought you here?” he asks.

  I think back to the day, and nod. “My Grandmother had just died. You brought me up here after the funeral to try to cheer me up.”

  “I just wanted to be there for you, to give you the space to talk if that’s what you wanted, and also to get you away from the depressing atmosphere back at your house. You seemed like you couldn’t breathe that afternoon when everyone ended up back there for coffee and cake.”

  I look over at him and smile. “I couldn’t. Maybe I never said it but thank you for that.”

  He lays his hand on my knee. “Wasn’t fishin’ for gratitude.”

  “Nevertheless, you were always there for me when I needed it.”

  “Not always. I wish I could have been though.”

  I lift the bottle and take a sip. I’ve always tried to keep my crappy home life from Tim. Right now, it’s the last thing I want to remember or talk about. I paste on a smile and turn to him, changing the subject. “So, this party we’re goin’ to, what’s the occasion?”

  Tim leans on his elbows. “Birthday party. Red Dog’s son is turning eighteen.”

  “Oh. Were we supposed to bring a gift?”

  “Nah. Not that kind of party. Most likely the kid will get drunk and end up with one of Sonny’s girls.”

  “Sonny? Who’s he?”

  “Run’s the local strip club.”

  My stomach drops. “The one where Misty works?”

  Tim looks down at his beer bottle and scrapes the label with his thumbnail. “Yeah.”

  “Is she going to be there?” I’m sure there’s an edge in my voice as I say it.

  “Maybe.” He studies my expression. “That gonna be a problem?”

  I take another sip of beer, not answering because I think maybe it will be.

  “Sara, I told you, she’s nothing to me.”

  I meet his eyes and ask him point-blank the question burning in my brain. “Have you slept with her?”

  “Slept with a lot of women. I’d be lyin’ if I said otherwise. But that’s the past . . . if you want it to be.”

  He holds my gaze so steadily that I believe him. Do I want it to be? Yes, I think I do. But I have no right to ask that. I have no claim on him. And if I wanted to make one, how would that work? We live in two different cities, over three hundred miles apart. Something stops me from pointing out the obvious, maybe because I want to hope, maybe because I don’t want the dream of us to die just yet.

  When I stay quiet, he downs his beer, stands and digs a twenty out of his pocket, tossing it on the bar. “We should get going.”

  I take another sip, stand, and let him guide me to the door and out to the bike.

  Twenty minutes later, we turn down a side street of a not-so-nice section of San Jose and pull into an old industrial park. We ride to the dead-end and roll onto a lot surrounded by a tall, chain-link fence.

  Tim pulls around behind an old two-story, red brick warehouse. Row after row of motorcycles are parked, their chrome gleaming in the moonlight.

  A sign over the door displays the same emblem that’s on the back of Tim’s cut. He rolls the bike to a stop, and we dismount. I pull off the helmet he gave me, and he hangs it off his handlebar. Before we head inside, he grabs my hand.

  “Sara, no one here knows me by Tim or Irish. When we’re in the clubhouse, call me Green, okay?”

  “Okay,” I reply hesitantly.

  He grabs my waist and pulls me to him. “Anywhere else, I want you to keep callin’ me Tim. Or Irish. I always liked that nickname you had for me, and I especially like the way it sounds comin’ out of your pretty mouth.” He drops his head and brushes his lips gently over mine for a moment before pulling back a couple inches to stare into my eyes. “You okay with that?”

  I smile. “I’m okay with that.”

  “Good. Come on. Let’s go have some fun.”

  He takes my hand and leads the way. We weave through the rows of bikes. A couple of men stand outside smoking cigarettes, longneck bottles in their hands. Their eyes roam over me. Green gives them a chin lift as he holds the door for me.

  I step into a huge, crowded room. The sudden change from the quiet night and fresh air to the loud, smoky party inside is jarring. I tighten my hold on Green’s hand and cling closely to his back as we move through wall-to-wall leather-clad bodies, rock music blasting from somewhere. It seems like every man we pass cuts his eyes to me and gives me a once over.

  I trail behind Green in the wake of his broad shoulders as he cuts through the crowd, my eyes studying everything. I look up at the high ceiling, open ductwork, and dingy multi-pane windows. The place has obviously once housed some type of manufacturing operation, but all the machinery is long gone. Now it’s filled with a bar on the right and a couple of pool tables on the left. Assorted mismatched sofas, and tables and chairs are scattered around. There’s an open staircase that leads to a second level, and I wonder what’s up there.

  The cement floor is sticky with what I can only hope is spilled beer.

  Green greets several men with guy hugs and back slaps. Some look like they belong to other clubs. He doesn’t introduce me to any of them, which is more than fine with me. We make our way to the bar, and Green dips his head to ask me what I want.

  “Just a beer is fine,” I say, trying to be heard over all the rowdy laughter and shouts.

  While Green gives the man behind the bar our order, I recognize several of the men crowded at the corner of the bar to Green’s left, from when they visited. Wolf, Red Dog, and Crash. Two others whom I don’t recognize have their heads together at the end of the bar. One is older with gray hair and smoking a cigar, the other is a younger blond man. My eyes drop to the patches they wear, president and vice president.

  Top of the food chain, evidently.

  I catch Green’s gaze and ask, without being obvious, “The men at the end of the bar, who are they?”

  He grabs two longnecks from the bartender and passes me one. He looks over my head, and then meets my eyes. “Our president, Mack, and our VP, Cole, why?”

  I shrug and take a sip of my beer. “Just wondered.”

  A guy sitting at the bar gets up and leaves, and Green nabs his barstool, sliding it to me. “Here, sit down, sweetheart.”

  I sit while he stands with Red Dog, Wolf, and Crash talking, and I’m happy just to soak it all in and listen to them.

  “Where’s the birthday boy?” Green asks, lighting a smoke.

  “He was about to do body shots off Trina when I walked over here.” Crash grins.

  “Probably getting his dick sucked by now,” Wolf replies. “Hell, half of Sonny’s girls are here, and he’s of age now, so he’s fair game.”

  Green pauses with the lighter halfway to his cigarette, to chuckle. “No shit.”

  “If I know my son, he doesn’t have the money to keep their attention long, and we all know those girls don’t do shit for free,” Red Dog says, drawing on a longneck.

  Green grins around the filter, flicking his lighter closed and taking a deep drag. “Maybe we’ll have to chip in some birthday money to the cause.”

  “You do, Mary will have your ass on a platter,” Red Dog warns. “She’s got plans for the boy.”

  “Oh, yeah? What plans?” Green asks.

  “She’s after grandchildren; sooner rather than later.”

  “Hell,
he just turned eighteen, for Christ’s sake. What’s the rush?” Wolf asks.

  Red Dog shrugs. “There isn’t one but try tellin’ her that. Got her heart set on getting him set up in a lasting relationship with a good woman.”

  Crash lets out a laugh. “Where’s she gonna find this girl?”

  “Well, her first thought was your daughter.”

  Crash chokes on his beer. “What the fuck?”

  “But since it’d be years until she’s of age, Mary’s decided she doesn’t want to wait that long.”

  Wolf chuckles and asks, “So who does she got in her sights now?”

  Red Dog lifts his chin toward the end of the bar.

  The other men follow his eyes and burst out laughing.

  “Oh, God, please let me be there when you tell Cole,” Crash says between bouts of laughter.

  “The boy would have a better chance of dating Miss America than he would getting anywhere near our VP’s daughter,” Wolf adds. “You better tell Mary to find another contestant for this season of The Bachelor.”

  “Haha. You’re all a riot. Meanwhile, I’m in a real fix.” Red Dog stared off, tipping his bottle up.

  “Billy know about this shit?” Green asks.

  “Nope. And I want to keep it that way, boys.”

  “He won’t hear it from me, that’s for fuck’s sake,” Crash murmurs.

  “Thought the boy wanted to prospect,” Green says.

  “He does. Me and Cole were plannin’ on talkin’ to him about it tonight,” Red Dog replies. “He’ll need a sponsor, though. I sure as hell can’t do it.”

  “I’ll be his sponsor,” Green volunteers, and they all turn to him and start laughing.

  “Be serious, Green,” Red Dog snaps.

  “I’m bein’ serious as a heart attack, Dog. Cole and I already talked about it.”

  “You what?” Red Dog asks, his mouth falling open.

  “It’s a lot of work bein’ someone’s sponsor,” Crash adds, shaking his head.

  “I know what it takes.” Green barely glances at Crash, instead staring down Red Dog. “You sayin’ I’m not good enough to sponsor your kid?”