Indulge

by C. D. Breadner

  Buck shrugged. “Kinda wish I had been the one to do it, honestly.”

  “What was the girl like? You hit that later?”

  Buck got to his feet too, chuckling. “Nah. She might be avoiding anything with a cock for a while. She was pretty scared. But she was one of the ones on the dance floor.”

  “Not the blonde Tank liked?”

  “No, the one with the hair.”

  “And the tits?” Jayce elaborated by cupping his hands in front of his own chest. “Yeah, she looked fun,” he admitted. Then his Prez slapped his shoulder as Buck pushed the chapel door open. “And thanks for volunteering for patrol.”

  Buck shrugged while digging out his cigarettes. “I saw the bitches in the clubhouse tonight. I’d rather be out on my bike.”

  Jayce chuckled at that while Buck sought out Knuckles to arrange their patrol. They agreed to meet up at ten at the clubhouse. Buck was due to pay someone a visit.

  His black and chrome Dyna Glide purred nicely when he started her up. He pointed it in the direction of the cemetery between Markham and the city outside one of the oldest and most attractive churches in the area.

  Saint David’s was an old, brick Gothic church sitting on the same grounds as the area’s oldest cemetery. The trees were ancient, even the birds were quiet there and it was also where members of the military were buried.

  Buck became the Red Rebels’ Sergeant At Arms less than five months before. Previously, the position was held by Daniel “Skip” Gordon. He was laid to rest here with military honors because he served one tour in Afghanistan, two in Iraq.

  Skip had been one of those guys that had military sensibilities bred and beaten into him. All the men in his father’s family had served, dating back to the civil war. He’d been a high school football hero, homecoming king, and could have gone to university on a football scholarship. Instead he enlisted, like a lot of gung-ho patriots post 9-11.

  He even looked like a super hero. Genetics gave him a huge, strong, husky body with a square jaw and fearless nature. He left the military with so much hardware it looked like the uniform was ready to rip right off of him from the weight of the medals. But one thing no one counts on when a hero comes home? Seeing the shit a guy in that place had to see will fuck you up and no one tells you how to get over it.

  He was unemployable, drank too much, beat a guy to death outside of a bar shortly after his homecoming one night. He was only given two years inside, and that’s where he met Knuckles. They had bonded, formed a friendship since Knuckles had a brother killed in Iraq. When Skip got out Knuckles told him to head to Markham with his recommendation to the club.

  It took a year to prospect, and only three months to be assigned the SAA patch. The hero was bred in him, and he took his job protecting Jayce seriously. And that’s what got him killed; literally throwing himself in front of Jayce when those G-Town assholes sent a group of Gypsys out to Markham to take out as many Rebels as possible.

  Buck felt some guilt driving into a cemetery on his bike. After all, it was obnoxiously loud. But it was Tuesday, and people usually came out to mourn on weekends. Didn’t they?

  Nope. Grave-side mourners, on a hill, standing next to a box about to be planted. Shit.

  Buck decided to speed to the military cemetery and kill the engine right away, get out of their ears with his noise. He parked under an elm tree, kickstand down, and swung off the bike, leaving his helmet hanging from the handlebars.

  Like all its brethren, Skip’s monument was stark and white, reducing the person below it to name, rank and branch of the Armed Forces. Unlike the others, there was a badge in the top right corner with the Red Rebels insignia. From what Buck understood, Skip came into the fold quickly and endeared himself to the group faster than anyone else in the organization’s history. Buck had been a member for three years with Skip and he could attest that the guy was as solid to the club as a guy could be. Considering his PTSD and anger issues, it was impressive.

  He’d been like a big brother to Buck as well. Wasn’t a day that went by where Buck didn’t feel Skip’s absence.

  He parked himself on the grass in front of the stone, back to the name and letters. Glancing around he fished the flask out of his pocket. After unscrewing the cap Buck tipped out a bit onto the grass then took a pull himself.

  He liked visiting the graveyard. It was quiet, and it was good to be reminded where any given day could lead you. He’d accepted that at some point he’d die too, and no one really got to pick where and when it ultimately happened. Skip had once said to him he got through so much overseas because he had resigned himself to dying so he couldn’t be scared. He’d always joke that “Today’s as good a day to die as any.”

  Being resigned you were dying from the moment you woke up just meant they lived a little harder when they knew they had another hour, day, whatever. There was a quiet calm to just accepting that death could be right around the corner.

  Chapter Nine

  Gertie had picked up a couple Percocet from her neighbor prior to heading to her mother’s funeral. Before her brother and his wife picked her up she downed one with a mouthful of wine she hadn’t finished off the night before.

  Her work was sympathetic, and she was entitled to up to five days’ leave for the death of a parent. So she took the week, not sure what she was going to do Wednesday through Friday. Probably recuperate from this day.

  Her brother Henri and his wife were her ride to the funeral and Gertie resolved to behave herself. Henri had the same disdain over the fact that Gertie stayed close with their father that Louis had, but Gertie liked his wife, Danielle, so she resolved to not start a fight and make her sister-in-law uncomfortable.

  In short, she just kept her mouth shut.

  The funeral passed without horrible drama, even though her father showed up. On his own, which is likely the reason there wasn’t a big uproar from Gertie’s brothers. She sat next to him for the service, which might make for a not-as-pleasant ride home with Henri, but whatever. She loved her father.

  The graveyard was right behind the church, so the pallbearers carried the casket out of the chapel and straight to the plot, setting the coffin down on the contraption that would lower her mother into a hole. She was dying to take the second Percocet, but there were too many people around to see her popping pills. She really didn’t want to draw the attention of her family.

  The pastor was saying nice, religion-sounding things. Nothing about how the woman died choking on vomit after drunkenly falling down and hitting her head. On some level Gertie might have known her mother would have died in such an undignified way. The only surprise was that it came so early.

  As the family was coming forward to place roses on the box a rumble sounded, heading down the lane at the bottom of the hill they were all gathered on. As a group they turned to the noise, obviously it was a motorcycle. As it passed by everyone turned back to the service, shaking their heads and making noises of annoyance at the racket.

  Gertie paid them no mind, eyes on the bike and its rider. Something about the way his hair tumbled from the back of his helmet, the arms she could see with their black ink, made her believe this was the one and only biker she’d ever seen close up in her entire life. And wouldn’t that be a hell of a coincidence?

  She watched the rider park in the shade of a tree, and when he removed his helmet she caught her breath. It was him.

  Of course, he wouldn’t pick her out of the group on the hill. He probably didn’t even remember her. But she wanted to talk to him, and when the hell would she ever see him again? They didn’t exactly run in the same circles.

  The casket was lowered into the grave, and the gasps and sobs around her intensified. Gertie was totally numb from the Percocet, even when her father wrapped his arm around her shoulder for support, kissing the top of her head. She just stared at the coffin until the funeral spray on top was gone from sight.

  People were milling about in clumps, visiting. Women were patting each othe
r’s backs, hugging and digging out tissues. The men were jiggling keys in their hands, asking each other who knew the way to MacGillvary’s and who should follow whom. She was removed from all of it, even as her father asked her how she was holding up.

  “I’m good,” she assured him, plastering a smile on her face that made her realize her face was entirely numb. “You know. Working too much.”

  “I heard Darryl and that woman are expecting a baby.”

  Of course he did. In a city of seven million people, their circle only included about thirty people who knew each other’s business.

  “Yeah,” she said absently, twisting her fingers in her hands. “I saw him a while ago on the street. He seems happy.”

  Her father pushed her hair behind her ear, leaving his hand on the back of her neck. “Are you happy, Gertie Bird?”

  She shrugged. “Not right now.” And that was an honest answer, so when her father gave her a hug while drawing wide circles on her back it actually felt better. She wouldn’t tell her father about her other issues at work or the fact she’d had to file a restraining order against someone. This really wasn’t the time or place for it.

  He gave her a kiss on the cheek then left her there with people she didn’t like as much. So while everyone was busy ignoring her, she started down the grassy hill to that bike. When she reached the tree she paused, turning and trying to catch sight of where he could possibly be. Then she saw a dark form, so obvious amongst all the white grave markers in the military cemetery.

  Gertie’s heels sunk into the soft earth, but she was determined to talk to this man again so she toughed it out. Of course, she was panting when she got to him, and as she had approached he’d been watching her, a bemused smirk on his face.

  She stood four feet from where he was resting on his ass, back to a marker. “Hi,” she said, chipper but winded.

  He nodded. “Hey.”

  “I was at a funeral,” Gertie explained, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. “And then this asshole rides by on a really loud bike, ruining the somber moment.” She hoped she sounded like she was joking, because she certainly wasn’t trying to call him an asshole. “And then I saw the guy on the bike, and he looks a lot like this guy who came to my rescue when my co-worker was trying to take advantage of me.”

  He took it as a joke. He cracked a grin, got to his feet and stuck out his hand. “I’m Buck.”

  She took it but she frowned. “I know. You told me your name that night.”

  “Wasn’t sure you’d remember. You were pretty wasted.”

  She scoffed. “I was not.”

  He lost the smile and tilted his head. “Don’t bullshit, your pupils were the size of dinner plates. But I didn’t come to your rescue – you got yourself away from him. Remember that?”

  She nodded, crossing her arms over her stomach. “Yeah, I remember. Trust me.” She pushed her hair out her face with one hand then returned it to her waist. “I actually worked with that guy. I got a restraining order and he got put on leave, then he quit.”

  The biker nodded, unscrewing a cap off of the flask she just realized he was holding onto. “Good. He shouldn’t get away with that shit.”

  “I found out there was a girl at work he actually … raped. I think. She thanked me for turning him in. But she did nothing.”

  Buck squinted at her as he drank from his flask. “So he really fucked with the wrong girl this time?” Then he held the flask out to her.

  She looked over her shoulder, up the hill where her mother’s mourners were. No one appeared to be searching for her, so she took the flask and downed a swig quickly before handing it back. “Thanks,” she mumbled, wiping her bottom lip.

  “I didn’t get your name the other night,” he pointed out, capping his whiskey again.

  “Gertie,” she said, too quickly.

  “Gertie? That’s an old school name.”

  “I’m named after my grandmother,” she said proudly. “She was awesome.”

  “All right, it’s a great name then.” He thought she was humorous. Wonderful.

  “I still wanted to thank you anyway. You still came to my rescue somewhat. I appreciated it.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replied easily, and that was it. Easiest-accepted thank you ever.

  She nodded, then turned away. “Anyway … I’ll see you.”

  “Wait,” he called, and she turned back with a flutter in her chest because he was coming closer. “Who died?” he asked, head jerking to the hill she’d just risked walking down in Louboutin heels.

  “Umm …” She wasn’t sure why she was tempted to lie. “My mother,” she said bluntly. He looked a bit surprised by that. “She was a drunk. She finally killed herself. I’m sure she’s probably quite proud of herself.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Oh. I see.”

  “I don’t mean to be a bitch but I wasn’t exactly tight with my mother.”

  “I’m getting that.”

  She actually laughed at that, not terribly loud, but she covered her mouth and shook her head anyway. “Sorry. This is a lot of sharing.”

  “It’s okay. Broads talk. I know that.”

  He was teasing her still, and she couldn’t help but tear her eyes from his green ones and look at her toes. She had no answer so, stupidly, she stayed silent.

  “Hey,” he said softly, and she was able to look up again because he wasn’t teasing or smiling anymore. “What do you have planned right now?”

  She shrugged. “Nothing. My family is going to MacGillvary’s, kind of like a post-funeral reception.”

  “You wanna skip it?”

  She inhaled, looked up the hill again, then back at him. “Absolutely.”

  He got to his feet and with a head jerk he indicated she should follow him, so she did, back to the tree where his ride was parked. She eyed up the black motorcycle with a wary glance. She hadn’t thought this through, at all. She was wearing a black wrap dress with a wide skirt, which would give room to climb on the bike but it could also billow out all over while she was on that bike, flashing her ass for everyone to see.

  She’d have to tuck it under her butt. That was all there was to it.

  Gertie watched Buck climb on his bike, steadying it so she could do the same. With as much dignity as she could muster she held the skirt closed between her knees and scurried onto the seat at his back, holding onto his shoulders to keep from toppling over.

  He was laughing at her, and Gertie felt her cheeks warm as he started the engine. The machine rumbled underneath her, and her heart kicked a bit at the sound, the feel of it. Her hands tightened on his hips, and when he grabbed her by both wrists she almost jumped right off the bike. He pulled her arms forward, pressing her chest right into his back. Gertie held her breath for this, pressing one hand to his chest and the other on his upper abdomen. She had to turn her head to the side, otherwise her face was pressed into the emblem on his back.

  Gertie hadn’t noticed the emblem before, not really. It was red and black, a graphic fist raised in the air. At the top were the words “Red Rebels,” in black on a red, curving background. At the bottom was the word “Markham.” There was also a black MC built into the design. It was worn, dingy-looking. But the leather still had that distinctive smell.

  As Buck took off in a spray of gravel she felt her hands tighten up on his torso, more worried about falling off than what she was holding onto. The wind tossed her hair out behind her, her skirt came up her legs and she was glad she’d made sure to tuck it into place under her ass. The bike was loud, terrifying, and thrilling.

  The edges of town flew by, and as it did she realized they hadn’t discussed where they were going. She certainly hadn’t given her address to this stranger, so now she was at his mercy as the sights turned into Markham. She had a sinking feeling, scared for a completely different reason now.

  When the bike came to a rest in a familiar dirt-packed parking lot she sighed, unbuckling her chin strap. The Dog’s Breakfast stood, ramsh
ackle and questionable in the daylight, in front of them. While she wrestled with the fastener she felt his fingers trail over her ankle, and at first she thought it was an accident. Plus her legs were numb from the ride, despite the warm day. But then his hand slid upward along her calf before tucking behind her knee. Gertie jumped, yanking the helmet off and trying to scurry off the bike as fast as she could. Not because he touched her and made her uncomfortable. Not at all; in fact, it had been very, very nice. And that’s why it made her nervous.

  “Sorry,” he chuckled, swinging a leg over to dismount. “But your leg was distracting.”

  She was stupefied by that. Never in her life had anyone ever said anything so bluntly. He said it so that it didn’t even sound like a line. She tucked her hair behind her ear and nervously looked anywhere else, wondering how he talked her into coming here with him when no one knew where she was going. Henri and her father were probably worried about her.

  “Come on,” Buck encouraged, tucking his sunglasses into a pocket of his vest and heading to the door. Gertie weighed her options, not knowing if there was so much as a bus stop nearby, then turning back as Buck opened the door. He was holding it open, eyeing her up with a smirk on his face.

  Gertie bit her lip, sighing inwardly. This was stupid. He was a stranger, a biker. And too good-looking. Not just the structure of his face, which was amazing. But the whole vibe, that macho cool bad ass that didn’t seem like an act for a second. He lived it, wore it, breathed it and gave it off like a beacon. She’d seen it cow Jim down to a meager wimp with a few words and a glare.

  That had all been impressive. Not to mention sexy as hell. And the fit of his jeans was morally objectionable.

  Gertie offered a small smile and followed, stepping into the dim barroom and waiting for her eyes to adjust after the brightness outside. She slowed her pace, worried she’d bump into something. A warm hand pressed against her lower back, leading her through the tables she could barely see and the strange flutter came back, the same one that hit her when he tickled her leg.