Motorcycle Man

Arlo and High hanging with me at the office wasn’t only surprising because they were the two men I had more than once seen having what appeared to be unhappy conversations with Tack. It was surprising as well because they didn’t seem the type to hang out with a woman and shoot the shit seeing as they were scarier than the other guys. By that I meant scary in a dangerous, menacing way and not just a general, dangerous, rough and tumble biker way. And lastly, this was surprising because, although none of the boys were gentlemen, Arlo and High treated me in a casual, friendly biker way exactly like the others albeit they were more serious and less fun-loving. Nevertheless, the point was made. Whatever beef they had with Tack and/or the direction of the Club was not directed at me.

I’d talked with Tack about this and he wasn’t surprised.

“Like it or not, babe,” he’d started, going what he called gentle-like and I knew he was having a mind to my soft spot with what he was gearing up to tell me. In other words, I wouldn’t like it much. “Chaos, f**k, most MCs, women don’t factor. Only men are members, only men make the decisions. A member takes a woman on, she’s got the protection of the Club. She’s a good woman, she can earn the respect of the men. But she won’t have a say, ever.”

I had nodded and made no response. He was right to go gentle since I didn’t much like what he was saying. But although I didn’t like the information he was sharing, it didn’t surprise me.

Tack kept talking.

“But if a man claims a woman, she’s in the fold and even if she hasn’t yet earned it, they’ll show her respect because doin’ that shows their brother respect. All the men, including Arlo and High, are showin’ me respect by gettin’ to know you.”

That made sense.

“They’re also feelin’ you out,” Tack continued. “Says a lot about a man, the woman he chooses, for a lot of reasons. One ‘a those is it’s the way of the world that men talk to their women. Only men can be brothers but not a one of us is stupid enough to think if a woman has claim to a man’s dick, she’s doesn’t also got time to whisper shit in his ear. They take her shit in, it can sway how he behaves during sit downs. So, with you havin’ my dick and my ear, they’re gettin’ the lay of the land. “

Again, that made sense.

Though his use of the word “shit” as pertains to a woman’s point-of-view didn’t make me feel melty and squishy.

Tack wasn’t done.

“That said, she doesn’t earn their respect, they’ll make the show but in reality, she won’t get it. A brother, they’ll respect always no matter his choice in women unless that woman guides him to doin’ something seriously f**ked up. They get you’re my woman now but the last one they didn’t like all that much. Naomi wasn’t popular. The brotherhood is all-important. She made me miserable and she made my kids miserable which made me more miserable. They didn’t like that. And her shit reflected on me and I didn’t like that. She also turned into a bitch and no one likes a bitch. And last, there was a sect of brothers who were on a certain path, a path she didn’t agree with and made that clear. This made that path a f**kuva lot less easy and it was already serious as shit.”

Oh boy.

“And what was that path?” I asked cautiously.

“You knowin’ about that path is for later,” he answered immediately.

I accepted that because I trusted him to give it to me later. I also accepted it because he explained what was happening gentle-like, telling me stuff many women would find hard to deal with or even abhorrent. But it was him and his world. To live in his world, I had to know it, he shared it and he did it honestly but carefully with a mind to my response. So I decided not to press.

Though, I had to admit, time was passing. We’d been “official” now for a month. In that time, although there were times when I went to bed without him, I never woke up without him. Most nights we had dinner together, usually at his house because that was where the kids were. Naomi was laying low. Lanie and Elliott had settled in wherever they were (and I didn’t know where they were, I just knew they were both still alive and breathing). I was getting to know and like his kids more and more. And life was settling. It wasn’t a pattern, Tack didn’t do patterns. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t settled.

But I knew Tack hadn’t forgotten those three hours the Russian mob had me.

Chaos was setting up for something. I just hadn’t been let in on what. And I was beginning to get a little antsy because, even though the guys were planning a hog roast, the vibe was constantly alert. There were lots of close huddle discussions all over the forecourt and garage. Tack and the boys had a number of “sit downs” and, lately especially, I went to bed alone because Tack was “seeing to business”. Business he didn’t explain. Business I’d cautiously began to ask about. Business Tack brushed off giving me explanations with his “laters”.

And since this business involved the mob, my man, his brothers (who I was also getting to know and like) and vows of rivers of blood, I was getting a bit impatient with “later”.

Although this made me antsy, the boys hanging with me I liked. They didn’t hang for hours. They were funny. They liked and respected Tack openly (except, of course, Arlo and High but they hid it well, mostly). They didn’t mind if I worked while we chatted. And, it must be said, it broke up the day.

They also made me feel weirdly like I was part of a family. An unusual, scary, badass biker family but a family all the same.

This gave me a sense of why they pledged their lives and loyalty to the brotherhood. There was an honor to it, a beauty. It was nonconforming and some might think twisted, but it was there all the same.

And I liked that too.

“Roscoe’s in charge of gettin’ the hooch,” Dog told me and I came back into the room.

“What can I be in charge of?” I asked, thinking party plates, napkins and red Solo cups for beer.

“Wearin’ a short, tight skirt, showin’ cleavage and strappin’ on a pair of high heels,” Boz answered, his lips surrounded by his full, salt and pepper beard tipped up.

“And inviting your friends who’ll wear short, tight skirts, show cle**age and strap on heels,” Hound added.

I mentally drew a line through the item on my to-do list that said I needed to go to Costco.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I muttered, smiling at Hound, thinking that Gwen, Elvira and the girls would like a hog roast. I thought this because, before my time, a few of them had already attended one or two. And I thought this because I’d spoken frequently on the phone and I’d twice shared drinks with my new posse since our first night. I had found they were pretty much anything goes types of gals. Though Mara was kind of shy and Tess was settled in home life with her and Brock’s two boys, still, they’d be up for it.