I remember that time in her life, and I couldn't be happier for her now.
"Is Ty coming?" My question gets me other dreamy smile. She loves that little boy like nothing I've ever seen before.
"No. My baby is staying with Mary for the weekend. This momma needs a break."
Lil proceeds to give me the rundown of the what to-do's, and what not to-do's. A few minutes later, Rampage comes back outside with Tank and Stitch. They are talking to one another, but they are all staring straight at me. Once their conversation wraps up, they do their strange eye contact, chin lift, and grunt thing at each other, then split off in separate directions. Tank heads for Lil and Rampage heads for me.
///
The closer Rampage gets to me, the more relaxed he seems. His eyes are soft, and his face looks peaceful for once. Those lips of his are fighting not to smile, but I will make it my mission to get a full watt smile from him if it's the last thing I do.
"You ready baby?"
"I think so."
"You think so? You scared?"
"Not scared. Never scared, just unsure. I've never been to a rally."
****
We ride for three hours, passing through farmland, small towns and mountains before finally reaching the ocean. As soon as we're close, I can smell the salt and water; a smell I'll always love. I just really want to dip my toes in the Pacific.
Passing through a town, I see nothing but bikers in every direction. They're in parking lots, at stop signs, hotels, restaurants, pulled over on the side of the road … they're everywhere. Bikes of every make, model, shape, size, and color can be seen in every direction. Their owners vary as much as their bikes do.
As we pass each person, I see them do that chin lift, head nod thing at the guys. They are all acknowledged in turn.
My arms are resting around Rampage's waist, my hands on his stomach under his sweatshirt. At first I wasn't sure I'd be able to sit on his bike for more than an hour, but the ride has been nice. Rampage takes all my weight, letting me rest against his back. He's always touching my legs and hands making sure I'm comfortable, and it's nice.
Thirty minutes later, we pull into a small little beach town. We ride down a long strip of road, dotted with restaurants, bars, shops, hotels, and people. There are no buildings higher than two stories, the storefronts all have brightly colored awnings and beautiful flowerpots line the streets. People are walking hand in hand, riding bikes, and pushing strollers down the sidewalks. Mixed into the setting are leather wearing, motorcycle riding people. It's such a harsh contrast, yet somehow it works.
Veering off the road, the guys pull down a long dirt road lined with sand. A few minutes later, we pull into a big open lot where ten or so guys wait on their bikes. The lot holds a bunch of small beach cabins.
Coming to a stop, Rampage cuts the motor and looks over his shoulder at me, "We're here."
The cabins are small, with bright red doors and two small windows, one on each side of the door. Because the ocean is so close, the salt and sand have given them that perfect worn and rustic look. To top it off, there is a small front porch, adorned with a rickety wooden rocking chair, along with planter boxes, holding brightly colored flowers.
"This work for ya?" Rampage asks as he pushes the door to the cabin open.
"Of course it does. It's perfect. It's so cute."
Tossing our bags onto the bed, he turns and gives me a disgusted look, "Cute?"
"Yes, cute. The inside is just as perfect as the outside. All the curtains even match the bedding."
"Yeah, it's all so fuckin' adorable," Rampage grumbles.
Ignoring his sour mood, I start pulling back the curtains, letting the sunlight in. We have a perfect view of the ocean, along with the sand dunes. Standing a few feet away from our window are two guys I've never seen before, talking to Lil, alone. They have the same vests as the guys do, so I'm assuming they are friends if Tank is letting them talk to her.
"Are those guys part of your club? They have the same vests as you −" before I can finish, Rampage lets out this enormously loud, deep laugh, something I'm surprised to hear coming from him. I stare at him in shock. Where the fuck did that come from, and is he laughing at me?
"What?" He is laughing at me.
"Not a fuckin' vest, Lala." It sure as hell looks like one to me.
"Jacket?"
Throwing his head back, he laughs again, "It's called a cut, babe."
"Cut?"
"Yep."
"So what are the patches for on these cuts?"
Shaking his head he grumbles, "Jesus Christ. I guess I should tell ya before you say somethin' that gets you fucked with."
Pulling off his cut, he turns it in his hands and points to the top patch. "Top rocker, our club name." Pointing to the middle patch, "Our colors, our club symbol." Next he points to a little square, "MC, as in motorcycle club."
"Oh? Is that what MC stands for in a motorcycle club?"
"Fuckin' smart ass. Ya want me to finish or not?" he asks with a sigh.
I wave him on and he continues, pointing at the bottom one, "Bottom rocker, our chapter, where we're from." There are more on the front, but he doesn't explain those. Walking up to him, I take the cut from his hands, turn it over and point to one particular patch and wait for his explanation.
///
"SGT AT ARMS. My position in the club," he informs me.
"So what is the definition of your position in the club?" Rubbing the back of his neck he looks a little uncomfortable.
"Askin' too many damn questions."
"Well it seems that if it's on your cut, identifying your position in the club, it's important, right? It's probably something I should know, don't ya think?"
"I'm the muscle." That's no surprise.
Pointing at a small diamond shaped patch, he says, "one percent, because ninety-nine percent of bikers are different from us."
On impulse, I slide my arms into the worn smooth leather, pulling it up over my shoulders to let it hang. It's about six sizes too big for me.
"So? How do I look?"
For a few silent moments, he just stares at me, like he's warring against whatever he's thinking about. After what looks like a decision, he slowly starts to smile, "You look fuckin' hot."
"Yeah? It is sweet as hell, huh?" I tell him honestly. I don't think I would like it nearly as much if it didn't belong to him.
"Yeah, it's sweet. No more questions, okay?"
"Wait! I've got one more."
"Seriously?"
"Last one … I promise."
"Alright. What is it, baby."
"What's your name?"
"Rampage."
"You're an asshole."
A slow arrogant smile starts to tug at his lips. Chuckling softly, he says, "Ain't gonna argue that shit."
"Come on. Pretty, pretty please."
I intend to beg and whine if that's what it takes. I even go as far as batting my eyelashes and pouting. I want to know his name.
"Since ya added an extra pretty to your please … " he grumbles right before I hear it.
"Jameson."
7
Biker Education
Rampage
I gave her a little biker education. Fuck. I couldn't help myself. We usually don't share our shit with outsiders, but I don't want her to be lost in a fucking crowd of bikers, not knowing shit about us. I only gave her things that she should know, anyway. I kinda like that she's interested enough to wanna know shit about club life.
I don't know how to control myself around her. I hate when bitches pout, or bat their eyelashes at me. I fucking hate that shit, but when she did it, she had my mind all kinds of fucked up. When she asked me for my real name, I wanted her to know it. That shit felt like something personal I needed to share with her. No one ever bothers asking, but she did.
"Does everyone get one?" Fuck. This girl is just on it. I told her no more, but here she is, still at it. I'm a fucking sucker for her.
"Once they're patched in, yeah."
"So does Lil and Peaches, or any of the other girls have one?"
"Yes, but theirs are different."
"How?"
"Bitc … women don't get club cuts; they get property ones. Women are not members. Their man will give ‘em one if he wants to. Their patch means they've been claimed."
I watch the curiosity just pour out of her. I can see the questions piling up in that beautiful head of hers. We're going to be here all goddamn night at the rate she's going.
"Enough biker lessons for today. Come on, babe. Let's get out of here."