Biker Chicks: Volume 2 Page 5

  I couldn’t live in the nice world. In all ways I didn’t belong in it, and after a life on the road I just didn’t know how to learn. I thought about Jake’s broken-down bike, about my plans, about what I’d said to Giselle. That’s my man you carved up.

  Why had I said that? And what the hell did it mean?

  “Penny for your thoughts,” said Jake.

  I rolled over and looked him in the eye. “There’s something I need to make clear,” I said. “I never stay in one place longer than a few weeks.”

  “You mentioned that already.”

  “I’m reminding you,” I said.

  “Where are you headed?”

  I toyed with a lock of his chest hair. “Vegas, once I have a stake and road money. Better action out there. I need forty grand, plus travel expenses.”

  “To where?”

  I shrugged. “Tierra del Fuego.”

  “You’re going to ride all the way down to the bottom of Argentina.”

  “And back,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “It was where my lucky dollar landed when I dropped it on a map.”

  “Oh.” There was a long silence. Jake shifted, moving his arm out from under me before it could go to sleep. “What’s the forty grand for?”

  “A passport good enough to travel internationally on,” I said.

  He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Your driver’s license says one thing, you call yourself another. Who are you?”

  I hesitated, a familiar weight against my chest. “Nobody,” I said. “My birth was never recorded.” Why the hell am I telling him this? “I...well, legally speaking I don’t exist.”

  “You serious?”

  My chest was a steel trap. “Yes.”

  “Holy shit,” he said.

  I tossed him a crooked grin. “You just fucked a ghost, honey. How do you feel about that?”

  “Lucky.”

  I restrained a sigh, forcing a smile instead. The tough life had taught me how to keep my shit wired tight, but right then I didn’t want to do that. Feelings, secrets, pain...they grew tiring to carry around. I hated talking about myself, but buried deep within me was the want to do so without fear. I wondered if I still knew how.

  “Two days,” said Jake in a disbelieving tone. “I’ve known you two days and already my life’s done a complete one-eighty.”

  “A day and a half,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “Imagine what day three will look like.”

  “I already can’t,” he said.

  “Good.”

  IX: About to Make Me Leave Home

  The night air rushed around me as I pulled onto the interstate, another successful night of card playing under my belt. I enjoyed the solitude of the ride to and from Jake’s place; it gave me time to think. Over the past two and a half weeks several things had happened, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about most of them.

  The first was how I turned two hundred dollars into six thousand, and that I had no objection to. At the mid-level cash tables there was always a rich calling station or two whose wallet I could pilfer, and on my fifth day I’d gotten lucky with a whole tour bus full of them. Poker was better than blackjack for earning because the house didn’t give a damn who won, they always got a cut. I could take money off the table all day long, and the only attention it would earn me was the occasional jealous look. Tribal casinos were also tourist traps, which meant lots of amateur players and good security. Which in turn meant less chance of another player pulling what that asshole Bobby had pulled, trying to get their money back the violent way. As long as I wasn’t a bitch about how I won, the worst anybody would do was talk a little trash.

  The second was all the sex I got to have. Jake and I were both night creatures, we worked by night and we screwed like coked-up howler monkeys all day...bed, kitchen table, couch, up against the front door, didn’t matter. About the only problem was in how condoms had become a noticeable expense. Otherwise it was a great arrangement.

  Too great.

  Two cars ahead a semi-truck changed lanes into mine. I hit my turn signal and got out of the way. For those who rode motorcycles, staying well clear of big vehicles was a requirement. Staying out of the way in general was good policy. Once the road ahead of me was back to not dangerous, I returned to my thoughts.

  When it came to men and sex, I had a short attention span. Two weeks, three maybe, and I found myself getting bored on account of how even the best of them grew predictable, like a catchy song heard one too many times. There were always little-shit things that weren’t right, they didn’t change, and eventually they eclipsed the good parts. When that happened, and it always had before, I put the guy in the rear view.

  Jake wasn’t like that. Each time we fucked it was a little different, and every time some small thing I didn’t care for or wasn’t keen on went away or got less frequent. Guys usually had a script, and once I knew the routine I got bored...but Jake, he was all improv and ad-lib, every time. He liked to tease, but after day three he’d learned when I wanted to be teased and when I wanted him to get on with it. And while there were times he didn’t last as long as I would have wished, I absolutely could not wear him out. If I wanted to go again he didn’t need much in the way of coaxing – and neither did his dick. As far as I was concerned, that was way better than a guy who took forever to get off and had to jackhammer like he wanted to strike oil.

  Out of the bedroom it was the same deal. His talk didn’t get boring, and more to the point nothing I said ever fazed him. With most people, being around me for longer than a few days creeped them out. My life hadn’t been normal, which meant my opinions on most subjects wasn’t either. Jake took what I said in stride and had something interesting to say back. That made our pillow talk weird by most standards, but pleasant for me. He didn’t ask stupid questions and he respected my boundaries; on the rare occasion he did pry too deep, a gentle non-answer was enough to get him to drop it. Taken in sum, what we had was a strange blend of good bar talk and hot hookup. It was exactly what I wanted.

  In my head I’d made plenty of jokes about how men didn’t get me because I’d never thought it would happen. I’d never planned for it, either. That was the problem; I didn’t want to leave and I didn’t want to stay.

  I’d spent my life making tough calls. That didn’t mean I’d ever learned to like doing it.

  When I pulled into Jake’s parking lot I noticed his bike was gone. I toed down the kickstand and walked to his door; there was a note stuck to it with a piece of Scotch tape.

  I’LL BE LATE GETTING HOME TONIGHT, the note read. DINNER IS IN THE FRIDGE, STICK AROUND BECAUSE I’D LIKE TO TALK.

  -J

  I crumpled up the note and shoved it in my jacket pocket. A weird brand of tension shot through my gut as I sorted through my keyring. Jake had given me the spare key that used to belong to Giselle; as much as having it made logical sense taking it hadn’t been something I’d wanted to do. I’d let logic win out but I still didn’t like how it sat on my ring.

  When I got inside the apartment was bare save for the kitchen table and one chair. A line of hot sweat broke out along my spine. One way or the other, it looked like my time at Jake’s apartment was drawing to a close. I needed to prep for leaving. At least I knew how to do that.

  X: Born to Run

  Prepping for a long ride was in the details, and every little one counted. I had a mental checklist of everything that wanted doing, and I went over it twice to make sure I didn’t miss something. I was a lone rider, and I’d learned the hard way that having my bike crap out on me a hundred miles from anything was no picnic. I went over my Fat Boy with a fine-toothed comb, checking fluids, drive chain, lights mirrors...the whole nine yards. The only thing factory-stock on my ride was the frame, but every mod I’d done had been about making sure it would say vroom every time I twisted the throttle.

  Next I took all my saddlebags inside and did an inventory on my gear, checking to make sure
it was all in its proper place. All that I owned had to fit in the bags, and as such I carried nothing which didn’t serve a purpose. Even my lucky silver dollar was used to protect my hand. That had been a gift from Frank; carrying it was about as sentimental as I got.

  There was no room for extra baggage, out on the road. I sharpened my knives and worked mink oil into my leathers, then broke apart my Colt for cleaning.

  The whole time I’d worked I’d thought about Jake; I could do the math on the situation and see what things added up to. He’d been selling or dumping all his stuff, and now his bike was off at a shop for repair. I knew what would come next. My pulse pounded. I shook my head, annoyed at myself. If I’d had a notebook, I would’ve been drawing hearts in the margins like a fucking teenager with a crush. I rammed the cleaning rod down the bore of the Colt with more force than necessary.

  “Girl, calm your raging ovaries,” I muttered.

  But I couldn’t, not this time. People had always let me down...but now, I had to confront the possibility that I’d met one who wouldn’t. The idea scared the hell out of me.

  The stuttering roar of a V-Twin from outside made my heart jump. A moment later the door opened, and there he was. He’d added a pair of chaps to the battered jacket he already owned. A dark red helmet was balanced in his right hand. “Hey there,” he said.

  “Hi.” I paused, awkward. “You...said you wanted to talk.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I been doing some thinking, and well...” he spread his hands wide. “I’m going nowhere here. I’ve got a worthless job and a shitty apartment and a crazy ex who won’t leave me alone. I’m at a dead end, and I’m fucking sick of it.”

  “So...what are you planning on?”

  His grin got bigger. “What you do when you hit a dead end,” he said. “Go another way.”

  “Okay,” I said, willing my heart to slow down.

  “I’m thinking Vegas,” he said.

  My hand shook as I loaded my Python. “And then?”

  “I hear Argentina’s nice this time of year.”

  “I see.” My blood roared in my ears like the slipstream of a Harley, running flat out. A drop of sweat ran down my back, just like it had when I’d shoved all-in on my last dollar, needing that pot, not knowing what I’d do if I didn’t get it. I set my gun aside and stood up. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “A little bird told me.”

  I had to laugh. It was so like Jake, to break tension with a silly joke. He crossed the room, slid his arms around my waist. “Want to come?”

  Bet’s to me.

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes I do.” I leaned up and kissed him.

  I’m in.

  “I’m ready anytime you are,” he said.

  The storm in my heart quieted the way storms always did, when the clouds broke up and the sun shone. “If you’re going to ride with me, two rules.”

  Jake ran a finger along my jaw. “Yeah?”

  “Pull your weight,” I said.

  “And the other?”

  I kissed him again. “Keep up.”

  XI: Don’t Fear the Reaper

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  Nine months later

  I leaned my head back into the shower’s hot spray, loving it. Taking down a huge pot had given me cause to upgrade our hotel to a four-star model, and the shower came on like a waterfall. It was easily big enough for three, with a second nozzle opposite mine.

  Jake stood under it, scrubbing at his hair. It had gotten longer, long enough that he needed to braid it back when he rode. I liked the change.

  “We’re almost there,” he said, scrubbing at his leg with a washcloth.

  “Yeah,” I said. “A little less close than we were, thanks to this hotel.”

  “Worth it.”

  I smiled at him. “Totally.” I’d yet to get tired of looking at Jake in the buff, and inviting him to shower with me gave me lots of excuses to do it.

  I found my shaving kit and went to work on my legs. According to what his cock did while I worked, Jake never got tired of watching me do it, which unlike finding the idea hot made sense. Getting to all the hair did involve assuming positions which would’ve made a stripper blush. I didn’t mind the audience. After all, he’d already explored every square inch of me.

  I was glad we were almost at our goal. My wandering feet hadn’t enjoyed how long we’d had to stay in Vegas, and switching hotels every few weeks was a poor substitute for the open road. I put up with it, though. It was necessary so I could get where I wanted to go. I scraped the last bit of fuzz off my shin and rinsed off my legs.

  “Your turn,” I said.

  Jake already had his face lathered. I was actually better at shaving a man’s face than I was my own body, seeing as it was how I’d learned the art. Byrd had shown me; my ex had liked a wet shave, but thanks to booze and an old injury his hands had shook too much to do it for himself.

  Besides, I liked Jake’s face smooth and it was something I could do for him. He did a lot for me.

  Fitting him into my life hadn’t changed anything about it that I missed. Instead of solitude, I had company. Instead of getting off by way of two fingers, I had his clever touch. Instead of always having to keep one eye over my shoulder, I had him to watch my back. People had always promised me things and for one reason or another failed to deliver. Jake never promised me anything; he just kept delivering, day after day.

  It was why I trusted him not to let me down.

  “Finished,” I said as I swiped the razor over his throat. He must’ve trusted me too, seeing as he never got nervous when I had the blade at his neck. People called it a cut-throat for a reason.

  He ran a hand over his face. “Perfect as always,” he said.

  His cock was still halfway up; I put my fingers to it and smiled. “Do I get a tip?”

  Jake’s touch went to my patch and I gasped as he stepped closer, his other hand sliding into my hair. “I think I can do better than that.”

  “You always do,” I whispered, shuddering against his touch.

  Sex between us was always the same and yet always different, a machine we tinkered with, searching for perfection. We’d stopped using condoms because I’d finally gotten myself fixed and we’d both gotten tested. I knew he was clean, and I knew he was mine. My man, I thought, lips and tongue working over his cock, watching his face contort with yearning. I’d learned to read it like a favorite book.

  “Goddamn,” he said when I took my mouth off him.

  I smiled up at him, shifting my body so I faced away. “What are you waiting for?”

  Bet’s to me.

  He knelt behind me, face a question. On my hands and knees was something I couldn’t do, not since Pasadena. Before then, it had been one of my favorites. I’d never done it with Jake, and he hadn’t ever tried to. Not being able to see a lover’s face was the biggest trigger I had. My heart pounded as his cock slid into me, as I took the last gamble.

  I’m in.

  “Harder,” I snarled.

  All in.

  Nobody watching us would have called it lovemaking, but it was. Jake didn’t last long enough to make me come, but that didn’t matter. I got what I wanted, the one thing I couldn’t do since I’d been scarred...I let go, and I lived in the moment.

  It wasn’t about how the fear would never come back, for Pasadena was a scar, and scars never went away. It was about knowing what would happen if it did; Jake would stop, we’d wait for it to fade away and then we’d get on with it, on with our lives. I didn’t have to worry because I knew my man.

  Release came in many forms.

  I took a long, shuddering breath. There were tears, but the hot water made them vanish as soon as they appeared. Jake knelt and put his arms around me. I crawled into them, holding tight, naked the way babies and corpses awaiting preparation for burial were naked.

  “Kestrel,” he said softly, “can I ask you something?”

  “Yes.” I watched the water spiral down the drain.


  “What was that about?”

  I swallowed down the lump in my throat. It took two tries, but it went. “It’s a long story.”

  “I’ve got time.”

  I told him about all of it. About my mother, about my life, about Pasadena and what I’d had to do to get out from under the Reapers’ thumb. More tears came and it was tough to get the words out, but I did it anyway. All the while Jake held me and did the same thing I’d done for him, once upon a time.

  He listened.

  XII: Easy Livin’

  Somewhere in Bolivia

  I pulled my bike over to the side of the mountain road and killed the engine. Up ahead, the road we were on stopped with a T-junction. That wasn’t what the map had said would be there, but I’d long since grown used to that. The map was never the territory.

  Jake pulled up beside me and shut his bike down. “We lost?”

  “Nope,” I said. “I know right where we are.”

  “So...where’s that?”

  I pointed at the ground. “Here.”

  Jake laughed. “Fair enough.”

  Around us the air was cool and crisp as a fresh apple, the sky a great blue dome overhead, not a cloud to be seen. Riding weather, as good as anyone could ask for. I took a deep breath, listened to the wind as it whispered through the fringe on my leathers, set the beads to clacking. I’d never been outside the country, but with a passport in my pocket which gave my name as Erika Mueller I could go anywhere I wanted. It was one more step towards my idea of a perfect life.

  Freedom, absolute and complete.

  “Which way do we go?”

  I pulled my lucky silver dollar out of my jacket and pointed it down the road to our left. “Heads.” I rolled the coin across my knuckles and pointed it down the road to my right. “Tails.”

  “And that’ll get us there,” said Jake.