As Axton passed me, in a full on dead run toward the corner, I turned and began running toward him, naked from the waist down except my Chuck’s. My legs and hips on fire, and cum falling from my sopping wet pussy, I slowly began to catch up. As we ran, we both began to laugh heavily.
As our laughter filled the night air, I knew one thing for sure.
Being with Axton would never produce a day of boredom.
Not a single one.
Chapter 35
AXTON
I sat at the sewing machine, staring down at the cut. Something about sewing a cut myself had always pleased me. A sense of accomplishment filed me as I carefully placed the patches in their respective locations, held them in place, and worked the material through the machine. Watching the red thread unravel as the patch became one with the leather made me feel as if I was breathing life into the vest, and in turn, the vest would breathe life into the new addition to my family.
Pride in craftsmanship, and pride in the materials used allowed me to look through the ranks of my club and see the men in their cuts with a deep sense of pride. I reached down and carefully cut the excess thread from the last patch. I stood up, lifted the finished cut from the machine and shook it in the sunlight of the room.
It was perfect.
Now.
It was time to make my move.
Chapter 36
AXTON
Making changes in the way we live our life is to admit something was wrong, or we had been living a life filled with mistakes. When natural changes occur through the course of merely living, it can only be described as progress. Progress is change over time; a step or steps in the right direction, one at a time, making simple improvements which one day might lead to a brighter future, a better way, or a life with less complication.
Progress. Equals. Improvement.
Somewhat nervously, I studied her as she sat quietly across the table from me. “We’ve made quite a bit of progress in only a few months. I never thought I’d give two fucks about a woman for as long as I lived, but I’ll be the first to admit I was wrong. You’re one hell of a woman, Avery.”
She smiled and tilted her chin downward slightly. “Appreciate it.”
“You know, I’m not one for flowers and cards, or any kind of shit like that. And for me to think of marriage.” I inhaled a short choppy breath.
“Well, it just doesn’t make any fucking sense. For me to conform to the rules and regulations society establishes as law? I can’t do it. A piece of paper is required by the court to show how I feel about another person? I can’t wrap my mind around that. But Avery, there are other types of commitment.” I stood from my seat.
I reached down and pulled my keychain from the clip on my belt. Methodically, I walked to the cabinet and pushed the key in the lock. A lone cardboard box sat amongst the cuts and patches in the cabinet. I removed it, walked back to the table and sat down.
I laid the box in front of me on the table and placed my hands on the top as if protecting it from harm. “You know when you’re a teenager you ask a girl to go steady. You get older, you say you’re what is it? People say we’re exclusive. You get a little older or maybe a little more committed and you buy a ring and say you’re engaged. If you get her another ring, you’re married. My life isn’t like that. Sure as fuck isn’t. Here, in the world of the MC, things are much different. The commitment might be the same or deeper, but the means of expressing it is different.”
I gazed at the floor, inhaled through my nose, and shifted my eyes to meet hers. “Avery, I need to ask you something.”
She lifted her chin and glanced up. “I’m listening.”
Short breaths; just take it easy, Slice. You can do this.
I slid the box across the table and held my right hand on the top as I swallowed heavily. “I want to know if you’re interested in this.”
I removed my hand from the box and sat back in my chair.
She narrowed her eyes, opened the box, and peered inside. Carefully, she reached in and removed the leather cut. After placing it on the table beside her, she unfolded it and stared down at the back of the cut. Her gaze never shifted upward.
A little more nervous than I expected, I stammered as I attempted to speak. “I uhhm. I stitched it myself. I know it ain’t much, but I think having my hands involved in actually making it gives it a little more importance, you know? Makes it that much more, hell I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Meaningful. Yeah, more meaningful.”
I stood from my seat and crossed my arms. “Before you answer, let me explain a few things. Wearing it means more than you think. When two people get married, the woman gets a ring, and with that ring she gets a sense of ownership and a feeling of commitment from her husband. He, in turn, wears a ring showing his commitment to her. When you see them together, and they’re each wearing a ring, there’s no doubt they belong together and they’re committed to each other. If they’re apart, however, all you know is that each one is committed – because of the rings they wear, but you don’t know where the commitment lies.”
I nodded my head toward the cut. “Now with that, it’s obvious where the commitment lies. My name is on the back of it, and you’re wearing it. Anyone see’s that cut on you, and they know you’re mine and I’m yours. There’s no question.”
“You know, most people don’t understand the Property Of patch. Not only am I claiming you, but it’s worn as a warning to others outside the club that the Ol’ Lady wearing the patch is to be respected the same as a fully patched male member, and that she warrants the same protections as her male member counterpart. That patch, Avery, says don’t fuck with this girl, in more ways than one. You’d be the President’s Ol’ Lady, and nobody, and I do mean nobody will fuck with you.”
“So,” I said. “Will you be my Ol’Lady?”
She stood from her seat, slipped her arms through the cut, and snapped each button carefully. She glanced up at the motto posted on the wall and swallowed heavily. As she rubbed her bracelet with her thumb and forefinger, she inhaled a shallow breath and shifted her gaze down to meet mine.
God damn, woman, say something…
Chapter 37
AVERY
To understand a woman or women’s thoughts would be impossible. I am convinced there are more personalities in the female population than grains of sand on the beaches of the world. To attempt to comprehend the intricate thoughts and behaviors of a woman would be impossible for a trained psychiatrist, let alone an average man. Most women, including me, don’t necessarily know what we want until it arrives on our doorstep.
Diamond rings and wedding dresses may be for some women, and I always believed they were one of my main goals in my life. I had learned over the course of the summer I wanted so much more than a conventional wedding. I wanted a man, not just any man, but a man who was satisfied with what he had in life, and didn’t need a woman to complicate things.
I wanted Axton.
We never really know where we belong for certain until we get there. This summer, I landed where I belonged, and I now stood grateful for being delivered to my final destination. Axton may not totally agree, but his asking me to be his Ol’ Lady and allowing me to wear the Property Of patch meant more to me than an engagement or marriage ever could.
I removed the cut from the box and stared, afraid I was going to lose my composure and begin crying. I pressed it into the table, unsure of what he had specifically done. A simple Property Of patch would have meant one thing. But a Property Of patch with Slice on the lower rocker meant so much more.
We were committed to each other.
And the club had my back.
I pulled the cut over my shoulders and buttoned it up. Axton stood across from me with his arms crossed in his what the fuck are you looking at pose. He didn’t realize it, but when he did that, he was one scary motherfucker. As he turned his palms upward and spoke, I bit my quivering lip.
“So, will you be my Ol’ Lady?”
“I won’t embarrass you or the club, Axton. And yes, I’ll be your Ol’ Lady.”
“Go saddle up, we got to make a run to Wichita. El Pelón needs to talk,” he said. “I’ll get the lights.”
Standing taller, feeling prouder, and knowing no matter where I went or who I was with I would always have the confidence I previously only had in Axton’s presence, I walked out to the shop.
Progress.
I made it.
Mission accomplished.
Chapter 38
AXTON
The only family I had ever claimed were the men I rode with; my brothers. Adding a new member to the family had always been an exciting thing for me. Adding Avery? Well, that was a totally different feeling.
Having her as my Ol’ Lady was a huge step for me. Her wearing the cut was even a bigger commitment. I offered it to her knowing I was ready for the responsibility, and I’d never disappoint her. Feeling more proud than I had in my entire life, I walked to the door, looked up at the motto, and flipped out the lights. As I stepped through the door and pulled it closed, I realized there was one more thing I needed to do.
I shook my head and grinned at the thought.
The unthinkable.
I opened the door, flipped on the lights, and stared at the membership board. No doubt about it, one thing was missing. I walked to the board, picked up the pen, and without hesitation, marked a big black “X” beside my name in the Ol’ Lady Allowed column.
I stood back and crossed my arms as I gazed at the board.
God damned right, fellas.
She’s mine.
And I’m proud to admit it.
Want to read more of the Selected Sinners Series?
Book Two - Taking the Heat
Book Three - Otis
Book Four - Hung
Book Five - Ex-Con
Book Six - Money Shot
Book Seven - Hard Corps
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, are coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Scott Hildreth
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author or publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use the material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Published by
Eralde Publishing
Prologue
“So this kid’s going to be here by 3:00?” the trainer asked as he turned away from the boxing ring.
The manager of the gym nodded, providing his best form of assurance that the boxer would arrive for the afternoon match.
“Where’s he from again?” the trainer asked as he picked up some loose medical tape from the floor.
“Compton,” the manager responded.
“As in Compton, California?” the trainer asked as he tossed the tape into the trash can beside the ring.
“That’s what he said. Compton, California,” the manager said as he walked toward the locker room.
The trainer walked alongside the manager as he rubbed his two days growth of beard with his thumb and forefingers, “White kid?” he asked.
The manager nodded.
“And you said he’s riding here? As in he’s riding a motorcycle?”
As they entered the locker room, the manager turned and nodded.
“What do you know about him? Just seems kinda weird. The kid says he’s undefeated, and he’s moving here, of all places. The fact he insisted on fighting the day he rides into town on a fucking motorcycle is just asking for getting his ass handed to him,” the trainer stated as he sat on the bench in the middle of the room.
“It’s just like I told you. He said he needed a trainer and a manager. Told me his grandfather died, and that he had been acting as both. Kid says he weighs about a hundred ninety, but carries two twenty real well. He sounds eager as hell. Shit, he’s from southern California. There’s fighters all over the place you and I never heard of - don’t make ‘em good or bad,” the manager said as he sat on the bench beside the trainer.
Slowly, he looked around the locker room.
“It’d be kind of nice to have some fresh talent in here, that’s for sure. Who you got set to fight him?” the trainer asked as he stared at the lockers which lined the wall in front of him.
The manager looked over his shoulder and smiled a slow smile, “Mike.”
As his face filled with surprise, the trainer turned to face the manager, “Ripton? The Ripper?”
The manager nodded.
“Joe, that’s going to be a one-sided affair don’t you think?” the trainer chuckled as he shook his head from side-to-side.
“I suppose so,” the manager laughed in return, “just figured as eager as this kid was, and the fact he said the word undefeated about ten times in our first conversation, I’d teach him a quick lesson about how we do it here in Texas. You can build him back up from there, Kelsey.”
“So that’s why Ripton’s been here since lunch, ain’t it?”
The manager turned his head and nodded.
“So what you thinking about this?” the manager asked as he turned and looked in the direction of the locker lined wall.
The trainer shrugged his shoulders as he slowly turned his head and stared at the lockers lining the wall. He looked at his watch and up toward the lockers again. The manager glanced toward him and raised both eyebrows as he placed his hands on his knees and waited for a response. Now, with one eyebrow still raised, the manager stared at the wall and slowly narrowed his eyes.
“It’s ten before,” Kelsey said as he stared at the lockers.
“Well, personally, I think we ought to stick with blue. If we’re going to make this place look like something, we ought to paint the wall a different color, not the lockers. Them steel lockers never hold paint very well. Blue. That’s my opinion,” Joe said as he stood up from the bench.
As the trainer smiled and stood from the bench, he turned his ear toward the wall, squinted his eyes, and looked down at the floor.
“You hear that?” Kelsey asked as the loud roar of an approaching motorcycle could be heard.
The manager nodded, “I suppose it’s him, don’t you?”
“Let’s go sit in our seats and see what this kid’s all about. And I’m fine with blue. I didn’t mean to stare at it so damned long, but I ain’t never been too good at color schemes. Let’s try a light yellow or something calming on the walls,” Kelsey said as he turned toward the door.
“Calming. I like that. Yellow it is,” Joe agreed.
As the two men entered the gym, a young man came in through the front door. Dressed in a hooded sweat shirt, jeans, and boots, he walked into the gym and took a deep breath as he looked around. When he noticed the two older men, he turned and began walking toward them. His walk had a certain swagger.
An expressed confidence.
Joe looked up and down the fighter’s body as he spoke, “You the kid from Compton?”
“Yes sir. Shane Dekkar,” the young man responded as he held his right hand out.
“Son of a bitch kid, you got a grip on you, kid. God damn. I’m Joe Murphy, we spoke on the phone,” the manager acknowledged as he shook the young man’s hand.
The young man turned to the trainer and held out his hand. Reluctantly, the trainer gripped his hand and offered a handshake in return.
“Kelsey O’Reilley. I’m the train
er who might train you. And it’s kind of hot for a hooded sweatshirt ain’t it?” the trainer asked as he shook the young man’s hand.
“I’d sure appreciate it, sir. My grandfather was my trainer and my manager both. He passed unexpectedly. That’s what brought me here. And you’ll find I wear this hoodie year round, sir. Are we still on for three o’clock?” the young man asked as he adjusted his backpack.
The trainer shook his head as he looked at the young man. Two men sparred lightly in the ring behind them. The manager smiled as he looked from the ring toward the young man. The trainer looked down at his watch and grinned.
“You sure you want to do this, kid?” the manager asked.
The young man nodded his head once, “Yes sir.”
“I only need ten minutes to change and warm up,” he responded.
“Ten minutes?” the trainer coughed, “ten?”
The young man smiled and nodded, “Where’s the locker room?”
“Follow me. It’s not much to look at, but we’re considering new paint,” the trainer said as he began walking toward the locker room.
“So, you’re undefeated?” the trainer turned and asked.
“Yes sir,” the young man answered as he adjusted his back pack.
“Well, this ain’t a title fight. All it’s for is so we can see what you’re about. If you are what you claim kind of deal. You understand, son?” he asked as they turned to the locker room.
The young man nodded his head once as he got undressed, “Yes sir. I understand. I just need to get a fight in. I haven’t fought in two weeks.”
“Two weeks. Hell, that’s no kind of wait,” the trainer said as he sat down on the bench.
FEELS LIKE THE FIRST TIME Page 38