by Lane Hart
“Yeah, my older brother taught me on a truck when I was a teenager,” I confirm. “It’s mostly the same, isn’t it? I mean, the ‘N’ still means neutral?”
Abel nods. “Yeah, the gears are all listed the same as in a car, they’re just set up differently. ‘N’ still means neutral. The rest are numbered normally. Here is where it gets odd,” he adds as he surprises me by throwing a leg over the seat behind me, settling himself and then sliding forward until every inch of his tall, muscular body is pressed into my back. His arms come up beside me, hands resting on top of mine on the handlebars. “You okay, baby girl? You got your balance?” Abel asks.
“It’s hard with you on the back,” I tell him as I turn to catch his gaze. “If you’re going to be with me, I’m sure I’ll be fine, but you might want to get your helmet too. I would feel really shitty if I dropped the bike and you got banged up.”
“Huh? Oh, God no. I’m not riding with you.” Abel snorts. “I’m going to show you how everything works, and then I’ll hop off and let you go out into the field, get a feel for it. I don’t ride on the back, baby, ever. I’ll teach you how to handle a bike, and then you won’t have to ride sissy with anyone ever again.”
“You won’t ride with me?” I ask with a mock pout, trying to hide the fact that I’m slightly offended.
“Don’t take it personally, Selina,” Abel says firmly as his arms drop from the handlebar to wrap them around me. “Like I said, I don’t ride behind anyone. Some guys might not mind riding behind their woman, but I’d rather you ride behind me or beside me. Now, let’s go over how this thing works. Tell me what you already know,” Abel orders.
“Okay,” I agree with an enthusiastic smile as his hands move back to mine on the handlebars. “Left hand is clutch,” I proclaim as I pull the lever. “Left foot is gear shifter,” I add with a glance down to the pedal.
“You got it,” Abel confirms. “Now, when you’re stopped like now, and the bike is in neutral, or if you’ve got the clutch pulled in, you can put both feet down, just like we are now,” he explains. “The best thing to do is put the bike in neutral anytime you’re just sitting, and keep…well, you tell me. If you’re in neutral, you don’t need to hold the clutch. What do you hold instead?”
“If I’m stopped and in neutral?” I clarify with him.
“Yes.”
“Oh, my right hand squeezes the front brake!” I proclaim.
“That’s right.” Abel covers my right hand with his, squeezing the chrome lever set in front of the throttle. “Your right hand closes the throttle and then squeezes the front brake lever. Do we use the front brake to stop, though?”
“No. Not unless you want to go over the handlebars if you try to stop at speed, right?”
Abel laughs behind me. “Somebody’s been paying attention. Yeah, if you get going, get scared, and snatch the front brake, you’re going over the top. Don’t worry, you won’t be the first if that happens,” he adds. “The rear brake is by your right foot. You don’t need it when you’re at a full stop. The front brake can hold the bike still. But when you’re slowing down from speed, try to use both brakes, with even pressure on the foot pedal and your hand. Too much pressure on the front brake, you risk going over the handlebars. Too much pressure on the rear brake, and you risk locking it up and causing a skid.”
“Okay, now you’re making me nervous,” I say as I force a small chuckle. “How about you just let me get a feel for it before you start scaring me with skids and flips!”
Abel sighs. “You’re right. It’s easier to teach a guy. I just laugh when they fall off. I think I’m stalling because, well, hell, I’m nervous for you. Here.” He stands and swings his leg over to dismount the bike. “I’ve got the key set already. Just hit that red switch to fire the bike up. You’re in neutral, but hold the clutch in anyhow.”
The bike roars to life as soon as I hit the ignition, proving that it has been well cared for. The engine’s rumble seems deeper, more profound, and somehow more dangerous now that I’m sitting front and center on the bike. With the clutch pulled in and my right hand keeping the front brake engaged, I look to Abel to gauge his reaction.
“So far, so good,” Abel shouts over the rumbling exhaust pipes. “Now, your left foot will push the pedal down once to shift from neutral to first gear.”
I do as he instructs and feel something thunk into place underneath me. “Now you’re going to let go of the front brake, release your right hand, and then use your right palm to roll the throttle towards you. As you open the throttle, let go of the clutch with your left hand. If you balance them right, you’ll start going forward! Too much gas, and you’ll pop a wheelie and throw yourself off the back. Not enough gas, and you will…”
Abel trails off as I roll the throttle and let the clutch go. I only open the throttle a quarter turn, but apparently, I do it a bit too quickly as the bike lurches forward with a pronounced hop, the front tire coming up briefly before I quickly close the throttle and snatch the clutch handle and brake, bringing the bike to a jerky stop five feet away from where Abel is standing, his mouth still moving.
“Whoa! Nice start,” Abel compliments me as he walks over with a grin. “Stay in first gear and go in a straight line across this field. Keep the throttle steady and your hand off the clutch. Let me see you get across the field without having to stop or put your feet down, then we’ll get to the next lesson.”
“You just want me to ride in a straight line across this field?” I ask, trying to keep the exasperation out of my voice. “That’s how you’re going to teach me to ride?”
“Hey, if you want to quit, you can park it right there and I’ll put it away,” Abel teases. “I want you to be confident on a bike. I’ve never told a soul this, but I was so scared the first few weeks I tried riding as a teenager that my sack would practically crawl up into my belly. I was a skinny kid, and I had trouble with the weight of a bike in curves. Once I’m satisfied you can hold a line, we’re going to spend most of the day on how to handle low-speed curves.”
“Low speed?” I question him.
“Yeah, low speed. Riding a bike above first gear is easy – the momentum keeps the bike steady and straight. It’s when it’s going slow that it wants to fall over. You have to either have a lot of ass or good technique to hold it up.”
“Well, Mr. Teacher, you’re in luck. I’ve been told my ass and technique are both quite impressive,” I joke with him. He opens his mouth to respond, the sparkle in his green eyes and the grin stretching his lips letting me know my lesson might be in danger of getting derailed. Before he can reach me, I twist the throttle and ease the clutch again, slowly easing out into the field and then putt-putt-putting all the way across. When I look back and see Abel smiling at me, I feel so encouraged that I turn the handlebars and ease the bike into a very wide turn, barely leaning at all as I guide it back toward Abel and slowly return to him.
“That was perfect,” Abel compliments me as I pull up beside him. “Now, just remember that the gears are set up weird. First gear is down on the pedal, just below neutral. All the other gears are up. Once you want to shift from first to second, you squeeze the clutch, then toe the pedal up, past neutral, into second. Then up when you want to shift to third, up to fourth, until you hit sixth gear. I wouldn’t take it out of second while we’re in the grass, though. Just get used to shifting, work on making some slightly tighter turns, and by this afternoon, you should be ready to try on pavement.”
“You mean actually out on the roads?” I gasp in delight.
“Eh, let’s try the parking lot once we’ve had lunch, then we’ll hit some back roads together. I’ll ride my bike near you, and we’ll keep at it until you get tired.”
“What are you talking about? I’m not going to get tired. This is fun!” I add as I rev up the engine again, then begin another slow putter around the field.
I can see Abel grinning at me as the motorcycle ponderously rumbles back and forth through the grass over the
next hour or so. I have a few mishaps, almost dropping the bike once when I try a tight turn in second gear. Abel rushes to me as I stand the bike up, gasping after I manage to catch it and bring it to a halt.
“You’re all right,” he reassures me as he jogs over to where I’m sitting, the bike still rumbling away merrily in neutral as I try to slow my racing heart.
“I didn’t realize how heavy it was,” I tell him, still breathing heavily from the exertion of holding it steady.
Abel chuckles. “Hey, don’t try to be too brave. You’re already doing better than most of our prospects in their early days. This bike is heavy. You’re tough – we both know that. You’re using unusual muscles when you ride, though, groups you may not always engage, so you need some time to adjust. Trust me to set the pace, and we’ll have you out on the highways on that beautiful Heritage Classic in a day or two, I promise.”
“Thanks, Abel,” I say as I hit the engine’s kill switch and put down the kickstand. I get off the bike and stretch languorously. Through half-open eyes, I can see Abel admiring my figure as my arms reach for the sun, my back crackling pleasurably as I work out the kinks that have developed after an hour on a motorcycle in a bumpy field. “Now that I’m standing, my ass is sore! Is that normal?”
“Oh, hell yeah,” Abel snorts. “If I go on a day ride, spend more than four hours on the bike at a time, my back and ass throb the rest of the day. Word is, it gets worse as you get older. It passes quickly, though. Let’s go get a drink and maybe a sandwich or something, then we’ll head to the parking lot.”
True to his word, Abel took me inside for a cold beer and a turkey sandwich he scavenged from the bar refrigerator. After our snack, Abel walked the bike around the bar for me to the parking lot. As some of his brothers show up throughout the afternoon, they would come over and check on our progress. The more eyes that were on me, the more determined I became not to embarrass myself, or even worse, embarrass Abel.
Fortunately, some of his brothers and the women who came with them were not only supportive, before the day was over, my “lesson” had turned into a full-blown party. Abel’s brothers declared that a new rider on the roads was cause for a celebration, and the next thing I knew, a keg was rolled out onto the back porch and stuffed into a huge barrel of ice. Smoke from the grills soon began drifting across the parking lot, and as the sun set on what would linger in my memories as one of the best days of my life, Abel sauntered over to where I had parked the bike with a red plastic cup in each hand.
Handing me one of the beers, Abel lifts his cup and gently taps the side of mine. “Cheers, baby girl. You did great today. You took to that bike like a duck takes to water. I’m more than proud of you, Selina. I’m fucking impressed.”
We both drain our cups, grinning at each other before Abel grabs my hand, intertwining our fingers and leading me toward the back of the bar.
“Tell me more about how impressive I am,” I encourage Abel with a laugh as we join his brothers.
Leaning in close to my ear, Abel whispers, “I’m not sure words can adequately express my feelings,” before leaning back and giving me a knowing smile.
“Well then, Mr. Teacher, why don’t you think of some other way to show me how I’m making you feel?” I whisper back as I press myself to his side, my breath warming his neck.
“Oh yeah,” Abel agrees. Flashing me another quick grin, he adds, “Tonight, we’re going to have one hell of a celebration.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Abel
It’s dark and late by the time we get back home that night, so I don’t even see the man sitting on the porch steps until Selina and I are about five feet away.
“Shit, Nolan!” I shout in surprise. “What’s up? What are you doing sitting out here in the dark?”
He never came to the clubhouse for the cookout like some of the other guys. I wonder how long he’s been sitting here.
Standing up, he braces his palms on his hips. “You got something you need to tell me?”
“Huh?”
Goddamn it! Did Cory already run his mouth to Rita?
“Selina, why don’t you go on inside. I’ll be right in,” I tell her, handing her my house key in case hers isn’t on her.
“Okay,” she agrees happily before going in and thankfully turning the porch light on so we can see each other better. Nolan’s face says it all – he’s pissed.
“What’s up?” I ask again instead of owning up to anything before I know why he’s angry.
“You didn’t fucking think Rita and I should know about Selina’s connection to the Rebel Henchmen?”
“Oh, that.” I let out a sigh of relief since that’s easier than the other secret
“Yeah, that!” Nolan shouts as he comes down the steps until we’re toe to toe. “The cops were sniffing around when we got home, asking about Leroy. Then at the bar, Selina told Rita all about her connection to the Henchmen. Why didn’t you tell us that she was their whore?”
“She wasn’t their whore,” I snap at him.
“Then what the fuck was she?”
“She was sleeping with the president, Dubois,” I explain. “Yes, she came to town looking for answers, and yeah, she pulled a favor with a cop so they would keep looking for Leroy because she thought he was still alive and dangerous. Now she knows he’s not, and the case is literally closed.”
“Are you that blinded by the pussy to think it’s really that easy?” Nolan asks. “I can’t believe you would tell a goddamn stranger about club business!”
“She’s the one who found the Rebel Henchmen, Nolan,” I tell him. “The man she was screwing and his friends were lying there murdered in cold blood. She isn’t a liability, okay? Selina just needed closure. She needed to know that Leroy got what he deserved.”
“And you seriously think the cops are going to just let the case magically disappear because she asked them to?” he grits out.
“Yes, I do. I talked to the cop myself. I was there when she bribed him with a bike, okay? The two go back to high school. You and Rita don’t have anything to worry about. I would never fuck you over like that, and you know it. You and Hugo are all I have…”
“Where the fuck is Hugo?” Nolan asks.
I’m just relieved he’s thankfully moving off the subject of Selina.
“He went looking for Felicity up in Virginia the day after your wedding,” I tell him. “I thought he would be back by that Monday, but now he won’t answer his fucking phone or a text message.”
“That’s not like Hugo,” Nolan mutters. “You think he’s dead in a ditch somewhere?”
“I don’t fucking know!” I shout in frustration as I pull out my phone from my pocket to check for a message. There is one, but instead of one from Hugo to my twenty previous ones, it’s a new one from Cory. Fuck. I quickly put my phone away before Nolan sees it. “Maybe…maybe Hugo will take your call.”
“He won’t,” he replies. “I’ve been calling him since I got back to town, and he wasn’t at the Kings meeting. The one you missed. Where were you? I know you weren’t with the girl because she was there in the clubhouse.”
“I just…I had to take a ride and clear my head.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s the truth,” I assure him. And it is. Cory helped clear my head in more than one way, just not how Nolan will assume.
The man who has known me for years narrows his amber eyes at me. “Something’s up with you.”
“I’m fine,” I tell him.
“I didn’t say it was bad,” Nolan remarks. “You just seem…different. Is it really the girl?”
“The girl’s name is Selina, and yeah, I like her. She’s staying here until she gets back on her feet. Maybe seeing you and Rita get hitched got me thinking about settling down. I did catch the garter after all.”
“I find that hard to believe.” Nolan rubs the back of his neck and adds, “You’ve always burned through pussy like you’re on a mission or looking for something e
lse.”
Fuck, he’s closer to the truth than he knows.
“What do you expect? I grew up a preacher’s son and was told sex was evil, even shit like God kills a kitten every time you masturbate.”
“Well, no wonder you got out of that hellhole as soon as you could.” A slight grin stretches across his face.
“It wasn’t quite that bad, but it was all about repressing basic fucking instincts or burning in hell,” I say. “I don’t miss them.”
That’s the truth. Do I wish my parents had been more normal and less religious? Hell yes. But that wasn’t the family I was born into. If I had stayed, well, it wouldn’t have shocked me if my father would’ve “accidentally” drowned me in a baptism, trying to wash the gay away.
Not that I’m gay, but what I am is close enough for him.
“You’re absolutely sure the shit with the girl, Selina, isn’t going to bite us in the ass?” Nolan asks, and I know we’re cool.
“Yeah, I am. Trust me, okay?”
“Okay,” he agrees. “I just…Rita’s a mess about it, you know? I hate seeing her upset, and I don’t want anything to come between us again, especially not prison bars.”
The reminder of what Cory did to them five years ago is like a knife to my gut.
“I get it. You two are finally where you belong after her brother fucked shit up for you years ago. But if I thought Selina was a danger to Rita or the MC, I would’ve brought it up and done what we had to do to keep everyone clear. You and Hugo are like my brothers. Nothing is more important than that, especially not pussy.”
“Yeah, I know,” he says as he comes up to give me a back-slapping hug before starting toward his bike that I just noticed is parked on the other side of the driveway. “Sorry to come at you like that.”
“It’s fine,” I tell him. “See ya, Nolan.”
“See ya,” he replies before he climbs on his bike and leaves.
Selina