Becca Vs. Biker

He waits for me to clear the doorway before shutting it behind us.

“I’m leaving,” he says abruptly, and I stare at him, open-mouthed. I open and close my mouth in a great impersonation of a fish, but nothing comes out. “I’m going to Long Island, starting up my own chapter of the Black Fist there. Crankshaft gave me the okay this morning.”

“Okay…” I say, drawing the word out about five seconds longer than it normally is said. I’m staring at him, trying to figure out if there’s any way for me to bring up us without sounding like a whiny, needy bitch, when he says, “You’re not coming with me.”

I collapse down onto the pink silk coverlet on Harlan’s bed and just stare up at him.

“Why?” I ask, my voice raw and hurt.

“Because this is what I do. I don’t settle down, I don’t fuck just one girl; I don’t fall in love. I don’t know what that damn Kindle of yours says that I should be doing, but that isn’t it. Those authors can lie to you all day long, but I won’t. I’ve always told you the truth.”

“But I could come with you,” I say weakly, the knife twisting in my gut and I can’t believe I even said those words, but I can’t help myself. He can’t move without me. I don’t want to be without—

“No, you couldn’t,” he says flatly, and begins throwing his stuff into his bag. “I go alone.”

“Such bullshit. I know you care about me. You just won’t admit it—not even to yourself.”

“Whatever you want to think, sister, you just go right ahead.” He doesn’t even look at me as he continues to throw shit into his bag.

“Fine, then I’m staying here!” I say defiantly, springing to my feet and glaring at him. “You go do whatever the fuck you want to do, but I’m staying here. Some people around here actually like me.” I spit those words out like they’re poison on my tongue, but he doesn’t seem to care or notice.

“You do that,” he says, brushing past me and toward the door. “I’ve got better shit to do.”

The bedroom and then the front door slam shut, and I hear a Harley tear off out of the parking lot and I lie back onto my soft silk coverlet that I’d bought specially for this room and I cry.

16

Harlan

I’m sitting at the official Black Fist Long Island Motorcycle Club bar, which right now is just this shitty plank of wood across some concrete blocks. But hey, we’ve only been a club for a week. A custom-made bar with a 1974 Harley Davidson carved into the front of it will be arriving next week, and until then…I look down at my forearms. I guess until then I just live with the splinters. Or start wearing long-sleeve shirts.

I take another swig of my whiskey, feeling the burn all the way down. God, that tasted good. Maybe I should just make a date with the whiskey bottle tonight. It’s making me feel better than anything else has in a…

Well, in a week.

I push the whys of that away. I'm not going to dwell on that tonight.

“Hey boss,” one of the new initiates says, slapping me hard on the shoulder, “what do you think about taking me into the ring in the back? I’d like some hand-to-hand combat training.” I stare at him, trying to even remember his name.

I can’t.

With a growl, I turn back to the bar and throw back another shot of whiskey. There’s a part of me that knows I should slow down, but I’m ignoring it for now.

I know I should also be spending time with the initiates, training them, bonding with them, not just sitting around and drinking. Basically, I’m making one fucked up leader at the moment, but I also don’t seem to be able to make myself care. Maybe tomorrow I’ll care.

“C’mon man, don’t you know? He’s got girl problems.” Hammer sneers the word “girl,” and I tense up. I want to come out swinging, beat the motherfucker into the ground, but it just seems like too much work.

I slump further onto my barstool, too beaten to even stand up.

Goddammit, they’re right – I do have girl problems.

More specifically, I have Becca problems. For the last week, I’ve done nothing but moon over her. It’s so pathetic, I want to go out and kick my own ass.

I haven’t mooned over a girl like this since junior high. What was it about Becca that got under my skin so deeply?

Her smile...

Her sense of humor...