Motorcycle Man

I pulled in breath, held his eyes and finished.

“What I will not accept is being shoved against the wall, a car or even a pillow with your hand at my throat.”

To this, he replied immediately, “But your pulse is there, baby.”

My head jerked and I felt my brows shoot together because his soft response was not anywhere near what I expected.

“Pardon?” I whispered.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked.

“That isn’t the point.”

“Yeah, darlin’, it is. Now answer, did I hurt you?”

“No,” I whispered.

“And I won’t,” he replied. “Ever,” he went on firmly. “Not like that,” he concluded.

“Tack –”

“Found my sister dead. OD.”

I blinked in shock at his words, the change in subject and, well, his freaking words!

Then I whispered, “What?”

“Dead. It was me who was with her, me who found her. Felt her throat, no pulse. I gotta tell you, Red, there is nothin’, not one thing in the world worse than puttin’ your hand to the throat of someone you love and… feelin’… nothin’.”

Oh my God.

“Tack –” I breathed.

“Rush was already born before she died but first thing I did when Tab was born was wrap my fingers around her throat to feel her pulse.”

Oh God.

“Handsome –” I whispered.

But my time to talk was done.

I knew this when Tack kept talking.

“I grew up in the life. My Dad was in a Club. His was different than Chaos. Started by veterans. Pissed. Jacked up. They had their reasons and I don’t got their experiences so I don’t judge. But his Club was about brotherhood, the end. Not country, not blood, but loyalty to your brothers. They thought country f**ked them over so that no longer factored. Blood came second place but only if the biker was the kind of man where his old lady or kid meant somethin’ to him. And they weren’t about freedom to live your life the way you want even if that way is raisin’ hell. They were radicals. They were into anything and everything, serious, whacked out shit, all of it. And everything they did was to f**k The Man.” His eyes held mine, they were intense, drilling into mine and his lips kept speaking. “And, ‘cause ‘a that shit, my Dad’s doin’ a long f**kin’ stretch, life for double homicide.”

Ohmigod!

“Yeah,” he muttered, watching me closely. “That a good thing to share when you’re gettin’ to know a sweet, feisty woman who you know’s gonna mean something to you?”

Oh God!

“Honey –”

“My Dad,” he cut me off, “was about the brotherhood, not blood. Spent my life watchin’ him knock my mother around. Spent my life knowin’ he f**ked around on her whenever he wanted, wherever he wanted and he did not give one shit that she or his kids knew. Spent that time vowin’, I got a good woman, which my Mom was in the beginning, that I would never, not ever, do that shit.”

His eyes were hard, resolute and I kept silent because I figured it was now “later” so I had to take what was coming to me.

And I wanted it.

So I kept quiet and took it.

“Got an older brother,” he kept going. “He hit eighteen, he joined the Air Force. Got the f**k out. Dad was in prison by then and Mom had convinced herself she wasn’t worth shit so she just kept hookin’ up with shitheel biker after shitheel biker that treated her like Dad or worse. Don’t blame my brother for gettin’ the f**k out. Do blame him for never turnin’ back. Didn’t hear from him then, don’t now, don’t even know where the f**k he is. He left me and Kimmy to that. By the time I was free, I just wanted out so bad, I couldn’t see anything else. So I got on my Dad’s old Harley, took off and left her to that too.”

He was still struggling with that decision, it was clear on his face. He wasn’t hiding it from me. And it hurt to witness.

So I slid my hands up, wrapped my fingers around his neck and whispered, “Baby.”

Tack was in the zone because he showed no response that I’d even spoken and kept talking.

“Searchin’, that was what I was doin’. Pissed off at the world ‘cause ‘a my shitty life, scared as shit I had my Dad in me, searchin’ for somethin’ that would prove that wrong, lead me to a better life. Somethin’ to do to get that poison out of my system. Somewhere where I belonged. Found Chaos. Back then, they were a good Club, about livin’ life, havin’ a good time doin’ it and raisin’ hell, all of which I wanted, the last I needed. They sold pot. They had the garage as a front. And they were about the brotherhood but also blood and country. Not a lot of places in this world you can ride free and do the shit we liked to do. America is one of them. They appreciated that. That isn’t to say that they abided by all her laws but that was their choice and it was a choice they could take because we live in America.”

He pulled in breath and was talking quieter when he spoke again.

“But the first Chaos party I went to, old ladies were there, kids. Later ones, yeah, they got rowdy and shit went down but that first one was about family. I liked that. I liked the way the brothers were with their women, their kids. I liked the shit they had to say about what the Club was about, what the brotherhood meant. So I found where I belonged and became a recruit.”

“I’m glad you found that, handsome,” I said softly.

“Me too,” he agreed. “But then I got my cut and was let into the way the Club was goin’ and I was in, no goin’ back even if I really didn’t f**kin’ agree with the path they’d turned down. They kept goin’, meant I was followin’ in my father’s footsteps. But these were my brothers. So I kept my mouth shut, did my bit but planned for the future, talked the Club into explorin’ different avenues while they made their way down that path, just in case they got their shit together and veered off. Didn’t work but I kept at it, met Naomi, got her knocked up with Rush, married her ass and she got what she wanted. She was born an old lady. She loved the life. She bullshitted me, a miracle how she could do that while suckin’ my cock, as I told her where I felt the Club should be and she said she was with me all the way. She knew before she got deep into it with me where my mind was at and she threw her hat in my ring. And when Kimmy died, she knew I’d come back full of fire to make that change and she acted like I never f**kin’ told her when practically every night I’d talk about it, in our bed before we went to sleep. She liked drippin’ in the rose gold I could give her ‘cause ‘a what the Club was into. She liked havin’ a decent house because she didn’t grow up in one. She liked quiet, she liked the flow, she did not have what it takes to stand by her man. A follower needs one kind of woman in his bed, a leader another. She’s the woman of a follower. She mighta thought she had what it took or even hoped she did but she didn’t. She only had what it takes to hold him down. And that has not changed. Her old man Pipe used to be a decent guy. He’s just weaker than me. She didn’t delay in draggin’ his ass down, he didn’t fight it, that’s where he is and, unless he gets shot of her ass, that’s where he’ll always be.”