I finished cleaning the clubhouse all
the while trapped in memory. I didn’t realize that I’d had company as I’d
worked. As usual, he was there, parked on the end of the couch, boots propped
on the old, scarred, garage sale coffee table, only this early in the day he’d
forgone the beer in favor of a bottle of water. Another thing that set him
apart as ‘other’, to the rest of the guys beer was bottled water.

I secreted a small smile in his
direction and he secreted one back but we didn’t speak, we didn’t need to.
Soon, Skid came around and our little private moment was in the wind but that
was okay. I knew that I could or would never be with Thirteen,
but having him around had become a little ray of light in an otherwise darkened
room. Maybe it was foolish to hope or to dream at this stage but I couldn’t
help but believe that with a guy like Thirteen around the club, maybe, just
maybe things could get better.

“What you smiling about?” Skid asked me
as he bellied up to the bar. I startled, had I been smiling? I glanced at the
older biker and he raised an eyebrow under his faded black do-rag.

“I don’t know…” I frowned and flailed
helplessly inside my head for a convincing lie, “I was just thinking about a
piece I was going to try and create. I think I have all the pieces now.”

Skid chuckled, “It’s good to see you
smile Rac. How ‘bout you get me a beer? One of them ones with the orange dude
on the label.” He turned on his stool and started talking to Thirteen who had
been grinning like an idiot behind his back but who quickly schooled his
features into neutrality before Skid turned.

I rolled my eyes at Thirteen behind
Skid’s back and got Skid the bottle he asked for, popping the top. I set it on
the bar by his hand and he picked it up and drank, never breaking his stride as
the two of them spoke bike. I was simply nothing more than furniture again
which I didn’t like but at the same time was definitely the lesser of two
evils.

Pretty soon Gordy, Pipes and Cooter
came in from the front of the club and I was serving them up drinks when
Pig-Pen and Griz made their arrival. The rest of the guys started to trickle in
from the front or the back lot and girls started coming intermixed with the
guy’s arrival. The party was in full swing the sky dark outside when Gordy
swore and pounded his fist on the bar.

“God damn fucking son of a bitch!” he
bellowed, looking at the lighted screen on his phone. Griz shoved down on the
head of the strung out broad sucking him off and she choked, struggling.

“What is it now?” he demanded and let
her up. She stood up disgusted and stumbled towards the bathrooms.

“Trouble!” Gordy declared, “But if we
all go now we might make it, Ace and Deuce are holed up at the North West safe
house, says Sacred Hearts have ‘em pinned down, four of ‘em.” Griz stood up and
tucked himself back in his pants doing up his jeans.

“Boys! We’re goin’ huntin’!” he yelled.
A cheer went up and I swallowed hard, Thirteen stood.

“Not you!” Gordy stabbed a finger at
him.

“Take Coon to your place and keep her locked
down. She’s our last bet on making any god damned money.”

Thirteen raised an eyebrow, “I live in
a cabin with no electricity!” he declared.

“So fucking what!?” Pig-Pen called,
“Don’t care if she’s comfortable, so long as she can produce. Don’t be god
damned pussy over her pussy!”

Thirteen gave a shrug and I gathered my
purse. The guys were all going out the back door to the parking lot where they
kept their bikes I could already hear some of them firing up. Dredd and Flyer
were chasing out the club sluts, which truthfully there weren’t many left
hanging around since the club’s drug supply started drying up. I came around
the bar and Pig grabbed me by the elbow, hard.

“You’re my bitch, so don’t be getting
any ideas about spreading those whore legs of yers for Pretty boy over there,”
he muttered savagely in my ear, his breath washing over me, a fetid mixture of
whiskey and cigarettes with an overlay of just plain rot.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I plastered
on a fake as hell sincere smile, “I know who takes care of me,” I said.

“Damn right.” And as if to prove his
point he shoved his mouth against mine and his tongue in my mouth all the while
looking daggers at Thirteen. I gave little resistance. I didn’t want or need
any bruises except the ones that were likely imprinted on my arm from where he
gripped me, besides that, I’d learned a long, long time ago that resistance was
futile and only hurt more in the end. Pig-Pen finally broke the kiss and thrust
me in Thirteen’s direction before going out the door.

“You good to ride?” he asked. I nodded
grimly. I just wanted outside so I could spit. Thirteen grabbed my coat off the
hook in the wall behind the bar and handed it to me and I shrugged into it.

“C’mon.” he put a hand on my shoulder
and made like he was shoving me in front of him out the door, though his grip
on my shoulder was light, not painful. He put on his helmet and glasses sitting
astride his bike. I put on the spare and with one final brave smile at Pig who
was glaring at me and standing with Griz and Gordy I got on behind Thirteen.

Text Copyright © 2015 A.J. Downey

This is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of
the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All Rights Reserved