by Juli Valenti
I won’t see you before you go to work tonight; the key to that Harley is on the dresser... take it, it’s yours (again, don’t argue). I’ll be there by two when you get off to ride home with you. Huh, home. I like it.
See you.
<3 F. LB SIAHR
She read the letter three times to make sure she hadn’t hallucinated the words on the page. It seemed when she’d asked him to make her his, he had, in every way he knew how. He got her things. He bought her a bike (they were going to have words about this later) ... and he liked the sound of home with her.
Rereading the letter, she jumped out of bed; Teagan wanted to go to breakfast. She was one of the sweeties of the club, a bedmate to any who would have her. And, while most of the club ass drove Sarah and her sensibilities crazy, she was one who didn’t. Sure, she knew the other woman had been one of Luke’s many bed partners, but she was also one of the first girls to have ever been nice to her.
She and Artist were pretty tight - to the point that Artist had gone batshit crazy when the girl had been shot. From what Fallen had told Sarah, Artist had just been patched in and was on a rampage to kill the son of a bitch who’d shot her friend, plus wounded another sweetie, and killing another. When the female club member had found them, it was rumored that she’d shot them as they shot the girls, only she hadn’t ended their lives. Instead, she left them to bleed out, treated them as they treated the bed warmers of Hells Redemption.
Curious, she climbed out of bed and strode to the closet, pleasantly surprised to a pair of buttery-soft leather pants, a pleated, army-green sleeveless top, and a pink Victoria’s Secret bag resting on the hanger. All the items still had tags on them, proving that the other woman went above and beyond what she needed to.
Pulling them down, she found the hanger was surprisingly heavy, heavier than it should have been for the articles of clothing on it. Sarah gently laid it on the bed and sorted the clothes, pleased that the bra and panties in the VS bag were not only her size but also the cuts she liked. Clearly Fallen had planned and asked for them to be purchased; no way could Teagan have known what to buy ... at least not that spot on.
The source of the heavy, she found, was a small holster and pistol, with another note attached. Her name was written on it with the same blocky handwriting, and she knew instantly that this gift wasn’t from Teagan, but from Lukas.
I can’t let you go out unarmed... call me paranoid if you’d like. This holster is a waistband style - it will attach to your belt, where you choose to wear it. Artist likes this kind at the small of her back; if you need help putting it on, Teagan knows how.
The pistol, in case you’re curious, is a Ruger LC9S. It should be small enough for your hand, and has little kick back. No serial numbers - ever, not on personal weapons.
I know you’re reading this thinking you don’t need it or want it, but, you said you knew what you were getting into. Humor me. Your belt is by your bike key on the dresser.
Ride safe.
Luke.
PS - the piece is loaded; the safety is on the left side, toward the top. Try not to plug someone who doesn’t deserve it.
It made her smile that this letter was signed “Luke” rather than his club call and titled initials. He was also right. She didn’t want to be carrying a gun, any gun, ever. But, as he’d pointed out, she had asked, and had known what she’d be getting into.
His words made her pull the gun out of the holster, testing the weight and feel of the grip in her hands. It was the perfect size for her, or so she assumed, knowing little to nothing about the thing. Sarah assumed she would know if it was too big, or too heavy - it would probably hurt her wrist or be tough to point and aim. Testing it, she lifted it, pleased to find she could do so with little effort.
Remembering Luke’s mention of the safety, she lowered the weapon and flipped it to the side, checking the safety switch - flicking it a couple times into the on and off position, ensuring she knew what she was doing. If, for some reason, she ever needed to use it, she didn’t want to make a stupid mistake and shoot herself ... or not be able to use it because she didn’t know how to work the safety.
The alarm from the bedside clock began to yell, and she glanced it: ten-thirty. Fallen must have set it so she could actually get up and go to breakfast, if she hadn’t already been up. Smiling at the thought of him, and ignoring the slight pang of insecurity she always held on to, she got dressed.
Sarah was pleased the leather pants fit, and even more so to find they weren’t constricting and she could still move easily in them. A belt was exactly where Luke had said it would be, on the dresser, a matching leather with silver pyramid studs covering it. She looped it through the waist of the pants and, after a few minutes of fiddling with it, figured out how to hook the holster so the gun seated comfortably at the small of her back. Initially it was uncomfortable, but by the time she’d donned the bra and zippered tank, she could almost forget it was there.
As she was putting her hair up, a soft knock came on the bedroom door. Bobby pins in her mouth, she opened it, finding the redheaded beauty smiling broadly.
“Damn, I love shopping for other people! That outfit is so you, while not at the same time. You look hot, girl!”
Another reason it was so hard to dislike the girl; she was always so damned happy, always cheerful, always willing to help the club wherever she was needed. Artist often referred to her as a Redemption Wing, a real, tried and true, integral part of the club. It was easy to see why.
“Hey. Yeah, you did a great job, perfect fit. Gimme a couple and I’m set,” Sarah told her, leaving her at the door and stepping back in front of the mirror. Pinning her hair, she made sure to keep it low enough so her helmet wouldn’t interfere. Doing so, a thought crossed her mind. “Are you riding on your own, Teagan?”
It was rare that the sweeties got their own bikes, let alone were allowed to borrow one. They generally rode on the back of someone else’s; the one that now supposedly belonged to Sarah didn’t have a bitch seat, which was probably a good thing - she doubted she had the strength to balance the bike with another on it. Even when it was someone as tiny as the sweetie.
“Yeah, can you believe that shit?” the other girl said excitedly, coming up beside Sarah and spinning, showing off her riding clothes and her own low-set ponytail. “Artist prodded Shakespeare and Train prodded Titan who then nagged Poet. My girl’s been givin’ me lessons for the past few months - even got the license endorsement on my own.”
Train, as far as Sarah knew, was the Bishops Reign Vice President. He was to Titan, as Shakespeare was to Poet. And while she wasn’t sure what all that consisted of, she knew enough to know he’d gotten voted into the position when Dirk, Titan’s son who’d been the previous VP, died. There was more to the story, she knew, but she knew better than to ask. In the beginning she didn’t want to know, the longer she and Fallen dated she knew better than to ask ... but now she could probably ask and he’d tell her. After all, she was his, and part of that burden to bear meant getting gory details if she wanted to know.
“That is badass. And you and Train, huh? I’d heard something along those lines. How’s it going?”
Another thing out of the ordinary: a sweetie actually being exclusive with one of the club men. According to Artist it happened, but it was very, very rare. Something along the lines of “used goods” and all that jazz - it caused problems. Of course, she could understand why, but it was another one of those things she hadn’t asked more than just the surface frosting of.
“Oh, girl. You just wait. I can’t wait to go for breakfast with you! I never get to do stuff like this. So let’s get the lead out,” the other girl said excitedly, making toward the door. As her hand reached the doorknob, she turned, her forehead scrunched. “I forgot. You locked and loaded? We aren’t allowed to leave unless you are ... Serg’s orders.”
Sarah laughed, how like her man to be as thorough as ever. “Yes, I found his note and understand his rule.”
>
“Did you get the hang of the holster okay? It gets more comfortable ... and I purposely got those pants,” she pointed to Sarah’s leathers, “because I knew they had room in the back, like mine. See?”
The small girl turned, lifting her shirt and jean jacket, proudly showing off her own rig, very similar to Sarah’s. It was ironic that she felt better knowing the redhead was armed also; and, it was a relief to see she’d actually figured out how to arm herself on her own, and done it correctly. Obediently, she lifted her own shirt and turned, allowing the sweetie to take note that, yes, she’d listened to Fallen’s orders and done as she was told.
“We ready?” Sarah asked, and her new friend nodded eagerly.
Grabbing the key to her new bike, there was no denying she was excited for the opportunity to ride again. Her dad had been right; once you felt the thunder long enough between your legs, you couldn’t wait for it to rain again.
Chapter Eleven
There was an unheard-of freedom in riding and, more so, riding with the other woman. It was almost ironic - the pair of them riding together - especially with everything Sarah learned, researching motorcycle clubs. According to what she’d read, there was an order to riding, a pecking order in terms of rank. Now, riding with Teagan, the girl let her take point, riding on her right side and slightly behind her - as if she outranked her. Part of it was almost comical, but it felt good that the other women wasn’t trying to be a threat to her ... Even if she would’ve been fine riding side by side.
The only problem to the theory was that Sarah wasn’t sure where they were going. When they stopped at a light, she told her so, and the other girl smiled and nodded, moving up beside her, though not in front of. Teagan led them to a small hole in the wall on the outskirts of town - but not to Redemption Reigns.
“What is this place?” Sarah asked her as they killed the engines to their bikes, enjoying the slight buzz of white noise that remained.
“I came across it awhile back, sort of by accident. They have a bomb veggie omelet. Come on, pretty lady.”
This time, Teagan, led the way inside, waving to the hostess and pointing to a back table. The other girl nodded and followed close behind, two menus in hand. As they sat, the sweetie motioned for Sarah to sit with her back against the wall, the way Fallen had so many times. Surprisingly, the other girl came to sit on the other side of her, rather than across from her. Before she could ask, the hostess, Annie according to her name tag, spoke to Teagan.
“I’ll get the usuals, Teag,” she said in greeting, her eyes darting around the dining area before leaning forward. “And they’re here. Corner booth. Be careful - both are packing.”
Instantly Sarah’s instincts went up; this was much more than a late breakfast with a new friend. No, this was club business ... and it was dangerous. The note, the reminders from Fallen, the gun. It was all starting to make sense.
“What’s going on?” she asked the sweetie, her face still smiling and open, but her tone grave. Sarah was going to have to have a talk with someone about this - while she didn’t mind helping the club, knowing how important it was to her man, she needed to know when she was doing so. When she was possibly putting herself in danger.
The other girl took in her expression, obviously weighing what to tell her, if she should tell her. Sarah maintained eye contact, demanding, not backing down. After a long heartbeat, her decision made, Teagan spoke.
“There’s a new club in town; they’re not supposed to be here.” An unasked question must’ve showed on her face, because the sweetie put a hand up. “Let me back up. You know that the main clubs in Socorro County are Hells Redemption, Bishops Reign, and Diablos Hermanos, right? Well, in order for another club to enter territory, they have to get approval. Because HR is the biggest, that means they need to send representatives to Poet.
“Well, these boys didn’t. I offered to sort of gather some intel - find out what I could on the down low to help out.”
“And how did I add into this equation?” Sarah asked, genuinely curious. There was no way anyone would’ve included her into any sort of club plans before the night before. Unless someone had actively sought Fallen out today, there was literally no way she should even be here.
“Honestly? I ran into Fallen this morning ... He knew where I was going and actually asked if I wanted company. After the shit that happened in December,” the girl paused, swallowing hard at unspoken memories. “After December, I’d rather not go out alone, even though I wasn’t alone then either. It feels ... I don’t know, I guess safer. Anyway, he said you were his and then made me swear on my place in the clubhouse that we’d be smart.”
“Okay ... so what do we know about these guys?” Sarah asked, accepting her words. It made sense, and, in a lot of ways, she couldn’t blame her. If she’d been shot on a club outing, she wouldn’t want to go out alone either.
“Their club is Static Law. From what I’ve gathered they’re from outside Los Angeles but looking to expand out here. They talk a good game, with loud mouths,” Annie said, appearing at the table with two sodas and two omelets.
Surprised, Sarah took in the small hostess. She couldn’t have been more than five feet tall, with dark, olive skin and wild curls. Her eyes were bright, the lightest color of honey, and seemingly large on her small face. Her features screamed of innocence, from the tiniest pinch of her nose to the natural rose of her cheeks. Yet, there was an air of intelligence to her, of knowledge overlooked. Quick mental calculations and it was easy to note she was either an Old Lady, a sweetie, or someone’s property.
“I’m married to Craze, the Sergeant in Arms of BR,” the girl whispered, winking, and Sarah made a mental note to learn to school the thoughts on her face. “And it’s okay. It’ll take time to figure out how to hide what you’re thinking when you’ve never really had to.
“Anyway, they started coming in about a week ago - bragging about a couple Diablos they snuffed out. And, while we don’t really have a problem with someone taking out the enemy, we all have a problem with the unknown in our territory.”
“And today?” Teagan asked, glancing at the men in question, their vests proudly on display when they shouldn’t be.
“They figured out who I was ... We may have a problem,” she murmured softly. “Keep on your toes.”
As if they were summoned, one of the men stood from the table they were seated at, and turned to face them. With a glance, trying to remain inconspicuous about it, Sarah noted he was tall, large, a lot like Tonka, though his skin was dark and his hair was long. He had it tied back at the nape of his neck, which only served to accentuate his sharp features. Even from a distance he was intimidating and, judging by his posture, he had every intention on coming over.
Within seconds, he proved her right, his large body moving in an unmistakable swagger toward the group of women. Taking her inner self-critiques, she plastered her professional nurse smile on her face.
“Hi!” she said happily, pretending she was talking to a difficult patient. “Can we help you with something?”
“Don’t fucking play, bitch.”
Well, that’s one way to greet people. “I’m sorry?” she played dumb, moving a free arm to reach around Teagan’s back, her hand caressing the Ruger she knew was there. Using her thumb, she traced a small line up and down on her skin, and was pleased when the other girl followed suit, doing the same to Sarah. She wasn’t sure what the outcome of this meeting was, but every instinct she had was on high alert, the hair on the back of her neck on edge. Her last run-in with violence with Vinny showed her to trust the instincts she had; no second guessing, no avoidance. If this was how things were going to go down, it’s how it went down.
“You think we don’t know who you are? We’ve got the Bishop’s SIA cunt, a sweetie from Redemption, and you ... you I’m not sure who the fuck you are, but if you’re with them,” he pointed to Annie and Teagan, “I’m sure you’re just a slut with a confidence boost as well.”
“
Um,” she started, having to take a second to think of what to say to that. Vinny always had a reason for the shit he said, and she usually had some sort of ammunition to shoot back at him; this man, she didn’t know at all, and was at a complete loss. “Well, I’m sorry you think that, but we’re just a group of women on a brunch outing.”
“On Harleys? What a fucking shame that is, by the way. Your fucking President,” he spat toward Teagan, “a dumb broad on a bike, letting other dumb broads on bikes. Crying fucking shame. Riding is for men - get the hell out of here. We’re not buying your shit, are we, Lean?”
His buddy stood, also making his way over to their table. He was just as large, just as mean looking, though as dark as his friend’s features were, his were light. Sarah’s grip tightened on the other girl’s weapon; Teagan followed suit.
She looked around, noticing there were no longer any other patrons in the restaurant. It was just the five of them, which, in the grand scheme of things, didn’t bode well. Well, it made things easier at the same time, though - at least if they did have to pull down on each other, there would be very little collateral damage.
The man named Lean rested his ass on the corner of the table across from them, crossing his arms as he peered at them. “No, we don’t. Start talking, ladies, or we’ll make it so you can’t talk anymore.”
“You should listen to him, you see - Lean has a thing for machetes ... and women.”
“Talk about what?” This time it was Annie who spoke up, her voice big despite her petite size.
“What are the clubs planning? Think you can take SL out, us out, because we supposedly stepped on your teensy women toes?”
“We don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re just here for food and some gossip. So what if we ride bikes. We look damn good on them and we enjoy riding them.”