Ghost (Evil Dead MC 5)

Jessie lifted her eyes to Ghost’s, and he grinned. “We’ll stop at a truck plaza east of town to gas up. I’ll try to get you something else to wear there. And maybe, just maybe, you can get back on my bike there.”

She nodded, making a silly face she hoped told him how thrilled she was to be stuck in the van with a wired up prospect. “Gee, thanks, that would be lovely.”

He made a face back at her, then reached in and ruffled her hair before slamming the door and walking off towards his bike.

The sound of a hundred bikes roaring to life reverberated across the field.

Yammer sat forward with his forearms resting on the top of the steering wheel watching as the bikes all lined up and rolled out, two by two.

“It’s a sight, ain’t it?”

Jessie had to admit, it was quite a sight.

She noticed several different states listed on the bottom rockers that passed them by, Alabama, Louisiana, Mississippi, Missouri, California, and Nebraska.

“All the state chapters, they’re all traveling together?”

“Yup. Except for the California brothers. They got a man in the hospital they’re waitin’ on. So they’ll be breaking off and relocating to a motel in town, way I heard it.”

When the end of the line passed by, Yammer put the van in gear and pulled out onto the blacktop behind them. It was then Jessie noticed two guys; their bikes parked on the shoulder, holding up traffic so the entire MC could pull out together in one unbroken line. After Yammer pulled out, she saw one of the guys run back and lock a swinging iron gate with a chain as big around as her wrist, effectively closing up the property until the next rally, she supposed.

She watched in her side mirror as the man ran to his bike, and he and the other biker gunned their throttles speeding to catch up with the line. A moment later they zoomed around them to take their places up ahead.

As they rolled over hills and valleys, Jessie could see the long line of bikes riding two-by-two strung out at least a mile long. As their speed picked up, she was amazed at how perfectly they rode in such tight formation, mere feet between the back tire of the bike in front of them and their front wheel.

“They ride so close together,” she couldn’t help observing.

Yammer responded, glancing over to her, “Yeah, yeah, I know, right? MCs know how to ride, and they ride together in pack formation daily. These guys know their brother’s riding style better than they know their own.”

“It’s amazing.”

“Yeah, pretty cool, right? They know what they’re doin’, know exactly how to approach a corner or dodge a vehicle while remaining only a foot or two of distance from each other. Each of ‘em watching the riders five rows ahead. You smash into your brother’s bike, you’re gonna meet his fist personally.”

He glanced over at her, his wrist resting on the top of the steering wheel; he lifted just his finger to point to the bikes. “Ridin’ shoulder to shoulder like that, darlin’, it’s an intimate thing. Mastering tight turns in formation like that, it’s a rush.

“The bikes up in the front are really starting to pull away.”

“Yeah, those are the club’s officers up there. Those guys at the front and the ones right behind them, they’re some of the best riders in the club.”

Jessie nodded, taking it all in.

“Yeah, when you’re riding in a pack, there’s nothing like it. You don’t worry about those guys hauling ass in the front of the pack.”

“How do they know when the front is stopping or someone’s having trouble with their bike?”

“We got our own form of sign language. Different signals for a lot of different shit like if they point at the gas tank, it means they’re low on gas. If they tap the top of their helmet it means slow the fuck down. Signals for if the law’s up ahead or if there’s debris in the road. Shit like that.”

“Fascinating.”

“You gotta make sure your bike is dialed in and can take the abuse of the pack ride, too. One thing you don’t want to be is that guy.

“That guy?”

“The guy that slows the pack up because his bike is running like shit. Nobody wants to be that guy, least of all a prospect.”

About an hour later, they followed the line of bikes taking an exit ramp that led to a big truck plaza.

The roar of bikes was tremendous as the multitude jockeyed for position to form a dozen lines at the various pumps. Yammer pulled off to the side, pulling behind a blue pickup truck. He looked through the windshield and chuckled. Jess turned to see what it was he found so funny. She saw a bumper sticker in the back window of the cab that read, Foreplay in Texas: Get in the truck.