He glanced around, hoping for support. “They’re still blood.”
It was an argument I was hoping I didn’t have to make. I looked at Swag. “Hey, Brother Swag. How long has it been since you talked to your Pops?”
He spit out a laugh. “I ain’t good at math,” he said. “But I was sixteen last time I spoke to the that prick. Why?”
My mind raced to find another example. My eyes shot to Chin. “Brother Chin. Last time you talked to your brother?”
“Peter?” He scowled. “I don’t have anything to say to that prick. You know that.”
“But wait,” I said in a sarcastic tone. “Aren’t you two blood?”
“Blood or not, he fucked my girlfriend,” he responded, seeming annoyed that I asked. “Everybody here knows that. Thanks for reminding me, by the way. Asshole.”
I surveyed the group of men. “Forty years on this earth, and I’ve never had an Ol’ Lady. The fact that I trust her enough to let her in my life speaks for itself. She keeps me calm, causes me to think things through, and gives me a reason to be level-headed in my decisions. She’s good for me. In turn, she’s good for the club. You don’t have to accept her, I know that. I’m asking that you consider it.”
“Pig Pen starts nosing around this clubhouse, and I’ll have that prick digging his own grave,” Brisco said. “I’ll go on the record saying I ain’t got a problem with this gal. Just so everyone knows.”
“Me, neither,” Carp said.
Keto looked at Brisco like he’d uttered a blasphemous statement. “But you’re the one that—”
“I made a mistake,” Brisco said. He puffed his chest. “Man enough to admit it, too.”
“She’s good people in my book,” Gunny said.
“I’m with Gunny,” Shady chimed.
“Who gives a fuck if she’s Pig Pen’s daughter?” Pike asked, looking at Keto as he spoke. “Like Price said earlier, she’s been around 1%ers her whole life. Hell, half the men here would have spilled their guts if Chivo was waving a piece at ‘em while they were diggin’ a grave. I say she’s proven herself.”
I raised my clenched fist, hoping to silence the men. When the side conversations and whispering came to a halt, I cleared my throat. “She’s going to be my Ol’ Lady either way, but to save time and get you men back to whatever you were doing, let me ask this. Instead of waiting for endorsements, does anyone have a problem with her? With this? Now’s the time to speak up.”
The silence that followed was music to my ears.
I struggled to keep from smiling. “Meeting adjourned.”
25
Gray
The twisting and turning two-lane road carved into the side of the mountain was ridiculously narrow. There was no shoulder to pass. A wrong move to the left would assure a collision with oncoming traffic. To the right, a treacherous fall off the side of a steep cliff.
My ponytail whipped in the wind. I peered to the right. Upon seeing the thousand foot drop off, I looked away. At nearly two million acres and having a dozen mountain ranges with peaks as high as 11,000 feet, Coronado National Forest was a place that we would likely never be found if such an accident occurred. If someone did happen to witness the catastrophe, there was no doubt a helicopter would be required to recover our remains.
I found the ride relaxing. We’d been on the road for nearly three hours on a motorcycle that was equipped with no suspension. The only shock absorbers were our asses and spines, which were compressing with each pothole we hit. Even so, another three hours would satisfy me to no end.
Price tilted his head to the side. “Pulling into Pusch Ridge,” he shouted over the exhaust’s drone. He nodded toward the road ahead. “Right up here.”
I could care less. With the wind in my face and the sun on my back, I was in heaven. There was no better way for me relax that I knew of than to be on the back of Price’s motorcycle. I’d forever wondered what it would feel like to be a bird. Now I knew.
“Okay,” I said.
We’d traveled north out of Sabino along the road that led to Oracle. Short of that one paved road that snaked through the preserved land, the entire area appeared the way God left it when he was done with the magnificent creation.
We came to a stop in a designated parking area. When I got off the motorcycle I nearly fell, not realizing my legs had gone numb.
I braced myself on a wooden post and glanced at Price’s motorcycle as if it had done something wrong. It was the most no-nonsense mode of transportation I’d ever seen. Nothing more than a metal frame with an engine and two tires, it had no windshield, radio, cupholders, saddlebags, or flashy paint. What areas that weren’t rusted were covered in a thin layer of faded black paint. Strapped to the front forks was a worn leather satchel that could have been around since the mid-1800’s. The only portions that mattered to Price—the engine and the brakes—were world class.
“My legs are numb,” I said.
He chuckled. “Welcome to my world.” He unstrapped the leather bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Any bugs get in your mouth?”
I rubbed the tip of my finger against my teeth. “Not that I know of.”
“It’ll happen,” he said. “Sooner or later.”
A mouthful of bugs wasn’t a bad trade for something as rewarding as a motorcycle ride with Price.
We were surrounded by mountains. He faced the range behind him, a tree-covered line of green peaks. They were drastically different than Marana’s massive stone formations, which lacked any foliage whatsoever. He gestured toward them. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here, but in that direction there’s a damned good place to sit down and relax.”
“You’ve been here before?” I asked. “Right here?”
“Haven’t been out here in years,” he said. “I used to come out here quite a bit.”
“Oh.”
He held out his hand. “C’mon.”
I didn’t care where we were going. Being with Price was all that mattered. For the moment, I was living the dream. Having grown up in a dysfunctional family, I yearned to one day have a family of my own. One that was normal. Silent promises of “I’ll never do such-and-such when I grow up” were an everyday occurrence.
I realized my relationship with Price didn’t constitute a family, but it was a step in the right direction. At least I was in a relationship with someone who wasn’t going to physically and psychologically abuse me. Avoiding such men was one of my first promises to myself. Finding that man and starting a family was the second.
I took his hand and followed him along the gravel trail. Focusing on the beautiful scenery and commenting on creations that caught our eyes, we continued until we reached the end of the path.
“Right over here.” He gestured toward a rock cliff a mountain goat wouldn’t attempt to scale. “On the edge of the cliff.”
The trail ended for a reason. There was nothing left to walk on. I looked down. A rock ledge plummeted to a valley a mile below. The river at the mountain’s base was so far down it looked like a strand of errant thread.
“Make sure your shoes are tied well,” he said. “You don’t want to slip and fall.”
He adjusted the laces on his boots and tied them tight. I did the same.
“I’ll follow you,” I said.
I followed Price’s exact footsteps around the edge of the cliff, making it a point not to look down. At one point he stepped onto a rock the size of a soup can, using it as a steppingstone to the next available ledge, which was the size of my kitchen sink.
I paused momentarily, asking myself if the risk was worth the reward.
Price’s confidence is what initially attracted me to him. He scaled the edge of the cliff as if he were walking down one of Marana’s many sidewalks. I was petrified. Nevertheless, I placed my trust in Price and took the step. If I was going to die, at least I was going to die with properly tied shoes.
Several sphincter puckering steps while hugging the side of the rock ledge followed. Then
, I saw it. A flat rock that jutted out of the edge of the sheer cliff like an extended hand. Suspended directly over a stone ledge a thousand feet beneath us, it was big enough for the two of us to sit on comfortably and have a little room to spare.
Price leaped onto it and extended his outstretched hand. I reached for it, praying his last memory of me wasn’t going to be seeing me plummet to my death.
“Holy shit,” I gasped as soon as my feet were planted firmly on the surface. “I hope this was worth it.”
“Turn around,” he said.
We scaled the cliff with our eyes fixed on the mountain’s stone face. Still somewhat petrified, I had yet to turn around. I faced the valley. In every direction I looked there were breathtakingly beautiful mountains, many of which were topped with green trees.
“This is insane,” I said. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.” I looked at Price. “Even in pictures.”
“I’m sure someone else has been here.” He removed a bottle of water from the leather bag and handed it to me. “But I like to think this is my spot.”
I took a drink and blindly handed it back to him. The view, regardless of which direction I looked, was nothing short of awe inspiring. “I think I could sit here forever,” I said. “How did you find this place?”
“I needed a serene place to think. I spent an entire weekend riding around this part of the country looking. This is what I came up with.”
“What did you need to think about?”
“I killed a guy in Phoenix,” he deadpanned. “I needed to process it.”
I waited for him to continue or laugh but nothing came. I tore my eyes away from the scenery and gave him a look. “Seriously?” I asked, my tone a little more sarcastic than I intended it to be.
“Actually, I am,” he said, seeming almost embarrassed by what he’d revealed. “It was right before I started the club. I’d ridden up there to a bar with Brisco and Chin. We were just fucking around, having fun. I got in an argument with a guy when we were leaving. He said I bumped him. I was drunk. I might have, but I didn’t mean to. I gave him a half-assed apology, but he wouldn’t let it go. The argument turned into a fight. He pulled out a knife, and I took it from him. The next thing I knew, he was dead. I didn’t really remember anything that happened after I took the knife. Still don’t, now. I was arrested, but the district attorney declared it self-defense after interviewing everyone who witnessed it.”
My heart sank into the pit of my stomach. “Oh my God,” I said, my tone soft and forgiving. “So, you came here to make peace with it?”
“I tried, but it didn’t really work,” He said, shifting his gaze from me to the horizon. “Out here, I figured out what the underlying issue was, though. The bottom line? I was angry as fuck about my parent’s death.”
I reached for his hand. “Did coming here help you find a way to accept it? Eventually?”
“Not really. I hadn’t talked to anyone about it or how I felt about it since it happened. My aunt and I touched base on it when I was a kid, but the subject was taboo. After I killed that guy, I felt like I needed to talk to someone. So, I talked to my aunt.” He released my hand and peered over the edge of the cliff. “She demanded I see a psychiatrist. I was sick and tired of being angry all the time, so I figured what the hell. After a battery of tests and a few weeks of honest discussions, he diagnosed me as having severe PTSD.”
I knew what PTSD was, but I had no idea how to treat it. I was relieved that he’d been diagnosed but wanted some reassurance he was better. “Is there medicine you can take, or anything?”
“No, not really.” He faced me. “I do exercises.”
“Like what? Do you go to the gym?”
“No,” he laughed. “There’s a bunch of things my psychiatrist recommended. The ones I use are Relaxation, Self-Soothing, and Distraction. I call it RSD for my PTSD. It’s how I remember them. I listen to music to relax, eat donuts for the self-soothing, and ride my motorcycle to be distracted. It’s worked out pretty well. There’s a breathing exercise, too.”
“How often do you get angry?” I asked. “Like, angry enough to have to rely on exercises?”
“Before we met? Maybe five or six times a day. At least once. Now? Maybe not at all. I think you’re the relaxation, self-soothing, and distraction all rolled into one.”
I could see the first two, but not the third. “How am I a distraction?”
“Look in the mirror and ask yourself that question.” He gave me a quick once-over. “You’re a gorgeous little bitch.”
Being called a bitch was reason enough to scratch a guy’s eyes out. Having Price say it—at least in that context—was different.
I liked being a gorgeous little bitch. I stood and kissed him. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me,” he said. “It’s true.” He raked his hair away from his face and peered toward the mountains in the distance. “I’ve got an idea.”
“What is it?”
“I’m going to set an alarm for 15 minutes. We’re going to sit here without talking until the alarm goes off and then we’re going to talk about whatever came to mind.”
I grinned. “Sounds fun.”
He messed with his watch. “Alright.” He sat down. “Go.”
I gazed at the horizon. There were no signs of civilization no matter where I looked. Just over the top of the highest distant mountain, a few clouds lingered. Beyond that, the sky was as blue as I’d ever seen. Lost in the beauty—and the silence—I stared, hoping to file to picturesque view to memory.
At that moment I didn’t feel there was anything I wanted or needed. I’d hired a waitress and was interviewing cooks. I’d mentally committed to cut my workday to ten hours or so, leaving me time to live a somewhat normal life. I looked forward to having a relationship with Price. I couldn’t help but wonder what our future may hold.
I’d always done my best thinking with my eyes closed, so I closed my eyes.
Did I take the laundry out of the washer? Yes. No. Shit. Yes. I started the dryer. Damn it. They’re going to be wrinkled.
I didn’t lock my car.
No, wait. I did.
The hostages are going to be starving. I really want a cat. A Bengal. I want a family. For now, a cat would suffice.
I wonder if Price wants a family. Price can’t have a family, he’s a criminal.
What if he wasn’t a criminal?
Will he always be a criminal, or will he grow out of it? He’s forty and he hasn’t grown out of yet. You better get used to it, Gray.
I love it when Price holds me in his arms. I love his cock. I like those jeans he wore yesterday. I wonder why he hasn’t ever worn them before then?
I wonder what it would be like to wake up next to him every day? To have dinner waiting for him when he got home. Does he come home every night? Late dinners aren’t so bad.
I do not want to get fat.
They say it’s a bad idea to eat after eight o’clock. I bet it’s just bullshit. It probably doesn’t matter. I hope the waitress works out. I wonder what we’re going to do about eating? Maybe Price has some snacks in his little leather bag.
My back is killing me.
Beep…beep…beep.
I had no idea what I was going to talk about. I opened my eyes and looked at Price. “You go first.”
“Alright,” he said. “I might seem like I’m a pretty good guy, I don’t know. But, you need to know that I’m not. Sooner or later, I’m going to do something shitty to someone. You need to know that.”
“That’s what you came up with?”
“I was just trying to be honest with myself. That’s what I though of.” He shrugged. “Figured I’d make it clear.”
“When you do something shitty, the recipient deserves it, right?”
He nodded. “Always.”
“Is that all you came up with?”
“All that matters,” he responded. “What about you?”
I felt like an idiot. I had
nothing. “Are you always going to be a criminal?”
He looked at me like I’d called him a child molester. “I’m not a criminal.”
I was thoroughly confused. “You’re not?”
“I’m an outlaw,” he said in a prideful tone.
“What’s the difference?”
“A criminal life consists of committing crimes. It’s what they do. I’m an outlaw—a man who lives by his own laws, outside the boundaries of the written law. I do what I feel is right, and in doing it, I may commit a crime. Understand, however, that I’m not a criminal.”
“I think I understand.”
He looked me over with narrow eyes. “Do you?”
“If I have you tend bar for me one night, it doesn’t make you a bartender. If you changed the tire on my Pathfinder, it doesn’t make you an auto mechanic. You might commit a crime. Your not a criminal.”
He smirked. “Keep repeating that to yourself when you go to sleep at night until you believe it.”
“To tell you the truth,” I said. “It really doesn’t matter.”
“Why’s that?” he asked.
“Because,” I said. “You’re a good person, deep down inside. Where it counts.”
“Do you truly believe that?”
“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”
He stood and peered at the horizon for some time.
“Are we done talking?” I asked.
“Suppose not.”
“What are you thinking about?”
He shifted his gaze from the mountains to me. “Just wondering what life’s going to be like with you, twenty years from now.”
Proud of the man he was and the man I expected he be in twenty years, I kissed him on the cheek. “There’s only one way to find out.”
He wrapped his arm around me. Side by side with his arm draped over my shoulder, we gazed at the beautiful landscape.
“What are we doing now?” I asked.
“Getting started on the next twenty years.”
Price might not have been much of a romantic in a storybook sense, but for an outlaw biker, he did pretty damned good.
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