Resistance

by K Larsen

“Clara, please, you’re making my eardrums bleed,” I groan, cringing. She swats my hands away from my ears, looking like pure evil.

  “I’ve been fielding texts from her the entire vacation! THAT'S what! Of all the people you could’ve screwed, why her?! I mean, not just screwed, but you called out my NAME? Sawyer, really?” she yells and throws her arms up in the air in dramatic flair and slaps her palms down on her thighs.

  Fuck.

  Amanda.

  I’d almost managed to rid myself of that memory. Colossal screw-up on my end. Never have one-night stands with people you know or with friends of people you know. Stranger danger does not apply to the one-night-stand scenario.

  “I don’t have a good excuse,” I admit sheepishly. The truth will set you free. Right?

  “Well tell her that, not me! I didn’t need to know any of the details of your goddamned night together,” she huffs, irritated.

  “I think it’s best we just have no contact,” I say flippantly.

  “Yeah,” she snorts. “I gathered that from her whining about you not taking her calls or texting her back,” she drones on sarcastically. Can’t she just cut me some slack?

  “What? I was wasted, in a bad place mentally, and fucked your friend. It happened. Deal,” I snarl. She stares at me for an ungodly amount of time, her face twisted up in a scowl, before standing and kicking a pizza box on the floor. It slides two feet before hitting a pile of sneakers near the door. God, I love her mad face. Sick.

  I’m sick in the head.

  “Pick up the house, shower, and get dressed, Allie will be over in three hours,” she buzzes, thoroughly irked. It makes me want to smash a plate over her head and fuck her at the same time. My emotions for her always sway from one extreme to the other. Never a happy, contented medium. She slams the door behind her, leaving me grumpy and irritable. I grind my palms into my eyes and get started cleaning up because one thing that will never wane is my overwhelming drive to be the best father Allie will ever have. Clara’s right about that, I need to at least make it appear that I’m pulled together and ready for her to spend the night.

  For all the hurt I feel over Clara and I, it still amazes me that in an impossibly hard situation she was able to be true to herself. She did what she needed to, to carve out her own slice of happiness. That’s more than I can say.

  Chapter 3

  Road Names

  Five months ago, just after Clara asked me to walk her down the aisle, I’d felt that since I was in the throes of a midlife crisis, I deserved to do something impulsive. For most people, it seems, that means getting a tattoo, or having a threesome, or buying a new sports car, but I own a tattoo shop, have a motorcycle, and have no leads on how to obtain a threesome. Okay, well, I’m probably capable of securing a threesome, but really, it seemed like a moot point. My impulse move needed to be big. I needed something that would stay in my life permanently.

  Epic.

  I joined Mayhem Motorcycle Club, or rather, I prospected. Motorcycles have always been a passion for me. I’ve always owned one and I’ve always craved being out on one over driving some fancy sports car. At fourteen I had my first bike, a 90cc Honda Trail. It was black and chrome with a side pipe and high ground clearance. By sixteen I had gone through two other bikes, a CB 160cc Honda and then a CB 305. In the 12th grade the Honda was traded in for a 650 Triumph. Just before I met Clara I bought myself a Harley Softail Fat Boy and I’ve never looked back. My bike, outside of Allie, is my baby. To many, riding a motorcycle is an acquired taste, but to others it's just in the blood. It is a lifestyle. Many don't, won't, and can't understand that.

  I don't buy a bike only to burn it up racing it on the streets and then trade it away for another. A motorcycle to me is almost a sacred thing. I ride to bring things back into focus. My bike has a soul. It is almost a living, breathing being, an entity of its own. I need it to stay sane. Like Clara, I can be restless in life and the bike takes that feeling away for me. Plus, chicks dig it and of course Allie loves bike rides with me.

  To become a member in the MC it takes about a year of prospecting, but that really didn’t seem like a problem to me. It keeps me busy, out of the house, and I’ve managed to meet some pretty interesting new friends, Hoot and Carmine being two of them. I really like Hoot, he’s...well, a hoot. Always smiling and down for a good time or a long ride. He’s a bit younger than me, maybe mid-twenties but we get along really well. Carmine is a little shady but I try not to judge someone without getting to know them really well first. Carmine is always down for a party which is fun, but he’s a little rougher than the rest of the club. Sometimes I wonder why Beau, the president, took him on instead of telling him to find a 1% club. Carmine seems to think that taking the less-legal way around things is the right way.

  The prospecting period shows Mayhem if I’m willing to ride on the hottest days of the year or the coldest days of the year, and it proves how committed I’ll be to the club. They wanna know how respectful I am and if I’ll stay loyal. It also gives them time to show all us newbies about the MC culture and teach protocol.

  Clara had yelled and pitched a royal fit when I’d told her, stating that those kinds of people were not to be around Allie. I had to nicely explain to her that this was not Sons of Anarchy. This was not a 1% club. Mayhem is a legit MC. They don’t participate in illegal activities. She seemed to relax a bit after that. It helps that because of my profession I’ve now commissioned all the club tattoos.

  Clara was all for that, considering that with one year of membership you’re allowed to get a certain tatt, at five years another, and at ten years more club-related tattoos, but most of us have lots of non-club tatts and are always getting more work done. Once a few of the guys came in and Clara got to meet them and know some of them she really loosened up about the entire ordeal. Not that I need her permission, but for Allie’s sake and the sake of ease, it helps. I’ve even been comfortable bringing Allie to some of the more family-oriented gatherings. There are a couple other girls her age that she seems to get along with well. It’s actually nice to get out and do social things together instead of hiding out in the house the entire weekend. My need for Clara seems to dissipate more and more each day, thanks to Mayhem and Allie.

  “Sawyer?” Allie calls out over the blare of the music as she approaches me.

  “What’s up, Alliecat?” I say and tussle her dark chocolate colored hair and she shies back from me a step. Her glower is almost identical to her mother's. It’s uncanny and endearing simultaneously.

  “Uh, how come no one has names here?” she asks, cocking her head to the left. I can’t suppress my chuckle, which clearly doesn’t please her.

  “Most of the guys go by nicknames that they got when they were prospects like me,” I explain.

  “Um, okay, but what motorcycle dude wants to be called kitten?” she inquires.

  “None,” I answer as we both start laughing. “But love, we don’t get to pick our nicknames so it kinda doesn’t matter if you like it or not. If it sticks, it’s yours.”

  “Kinda like Alliecat?” she huffs. Now that she's eleven she’s expressed clear disdain over the decade-long term of endearment Clara and I use for her.

  “Right. Just like that.” I smile down at her. God, she’s stunning. I am not looking forward to boys showing interest in her any time soon. Not. At. All.

  “Well, what’s your nickname?” she asks, scooting under my arm. I wrap my arm around her shoulders and squeeze her tightly to me. She has the ability to make my world feel at peace when she’s tucked into my side. I love that about her.

  “Don't have one yet, kiddo, but I’m sure I’ll get one,” I say while taking her perfect face in. Pride ripples through me just looking at the kid. She turned out so damned awesome. I love this kid.

  “If I have ideas, who should I tell them to?” she quips back at me. I chuckle and shake my head at her. No way. The kid might only be eleven but she's decades above her level and I can only imagine what “ideas�
�� she might have.

  “You tell my dad,” a tween boy a few feet away pipes up. Allie slides her eyes to him and blushes deeply before pushing her face into my stomach. Every protective nerve in my body fires off warning messages.

  “Who’s that dude? Do I need to talk to him?” I lean down and whisper to her while I hold her to me tightly.

  “Sawyer!” she squawks at me, looking up, horrified. “He’s no one!” She pulls away from me and skips over to her friend Lisha without another glance. I will never understand girls. Never.

  “I’m Danny.” The boy steps over to me, hand outstretched. I look him up and down. If he thinks he is getting anywhere near Allie, I’m going to have to throw down. Yes, I’m willing to beat a kid senseless. I take it and give it a firm shake that says, “I don’t care if you’re twelve or sixty, I will not hesitate to beat your ass if you mess with my girl.”

  “Sawyer,” I answer rather shortly.

  “I know, my dad says you’re one of the good prospects.” He gives a head nod and drops his hand.

  “Who’s your dad?” I ask.

  “Beau,” he answers. Well color me shocked, the president of the MC has a son. I had no idea. He’s a cool guy but tight-lipped about his personal life.

  “Danny buggin you?” Beau says, slapping me on the shoulder as he appears out of nowhere.

  “Not me, but I gotta say,” I say as I look directly into Danny’s eyes, “keep your mitts off my Allie.” Danny’s eyes bug out slightly but he regains his composure quickly. Laughter rumbles out of Beau.

  “I think they’re both a little too young for all that, no?” Beau asks lightly.

  “I think I’m going to go find Neal.” Danny looks down and shuffles his feet before taking off.

  “He’s a good kid, but twelve is an awkward year,” Beau says and chuckles.

  “Allie’s only eleven and really innocent,” I say, stressing my words.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. Everyone has crushes at this age.” He chuckles at my overbearing nature.

  “Nope. Allie doesn’t. My Alliecat will most certainly never have a crush on anyone until she's twenty,” I state, horrified at the thought of my little girl fantasizing about a boy. They don't do that at eleven, right? Shit, what was I doing at eleven? No. Nope. No crushing at eleven.

  “Damn, bro, you got a lot to learn. Fatherin’ a girl isn’t easy, but you better learn to loosen the reins before she just slips out of the harness to get away from you.” He smiles big before slapping my shoulder again and walking off to talk to more people. Allie, dating?

  Kill.

  Me.

  Now.

  Over my dead body will she be dressing herself, wearing makeup, or flirting with boys anytime in the near future. Shaking myself from that train of thought—or more accurately, the anxiety train—I head over to the prospect table to hang out with Carmine and Hoot. Carmine and I are the only prospects who don’t have nicknames yet. Not that I’m complaining. Generally nicknames come from something that happens during your prospecting year that sticks out, or a funny story. There’s a brother named “Hardware” because during his prospecting he broke his leg in so many places he had to have rods and screws put in. There’s another brother named “Free Fall” because he jumped a fence at night not realizing the other side was a twenty-five-foot drop. I’m not really looking forward to what my nickname will be.

  What I am looking forward to is my prospecting time coming to an end. Don’t get me wrong, I love it and everyone has to put their time in, but when you’re a prospect, you’re a nobody. You have no say. You have no vote. If you are asked to do something within the limits of the club bylaws then it needs to be done.

  I clean bikes or watch the bikes when the rest of the MC is out. I even fetch drinks and food. I’ve driven to pick up brothers who were broken down, and prospects are designated drivers when we’re needed to be. Often when the old ladies have a ladies’ night we’re asked to attend to watch over them. A peon. A tiny little shit on the bottom of a boot being tested endlessly. I wanted to go from life crisis to badass overnight but it didn’t exactly happen that way.

  It’s a brotherhood and we’re being tested on how badly we want to be a part of that. Many prospects fail to make it. Some problems the club has had are members failing to be committed, whether it is from being lazy or that they just don’t have the time needed to be in the MC.

  This lifestyle isn’t for everyone; it can beat you down, the constant going, especially as a prospect, since you’re expected to be everywhere and do everything. Owning the shop with Clara and having certain days free each week, being single, and the fact that this club is based in Christiansburg, Virginia, only twenty minutes from Blacksburg, makes my time prospecting a lot easier than some of the others. I don’t have to worry about the nine-to-five, full-time job deal. I can arrange and rearrange my time at the shop with Clara and my time with Allie.

  “Sawyer,” Allie starts, tugging on my sleeve. I set my beer down to focus on her.

  “Why do you call your dad by his name?” Lisha interrupts. Allie spins around, hands on hips, to face her friend.

  “Because I can.” The amount of sass that was in that simple statement should knock Lisha flat on her ass.

  “Allie,” I growl in warning. We’ve been through this many times before.

  “I know!” she says and throws a hand up to stop me. “Be polite,” she says, irritated.

  “Lisha, I’m going to hang out with my dad for a while, okay?” Oh sweet Jesus, this is like watching a miniature catfight. Lisha looks confused and pouts before walking away.

  “Allie, that was kinda harsh,” I scold.

  “I don’t like explaining to people our business,” she chirps at me defiantly. Ever since the truth came out two years ago about her real father, she’s been extremely protective of me and our relationship. I’ve tried explaining that it’s okay. Just because we learned about Daniel and Senator Hollingsworth doesn’t mean that our relationship will change.

  I’ve been raising her and I’m never going to stop. Her feelings only amplified when Dominic and Clara moved in together. Allie might be a child, but she’s fierce when she loves and I’m lucky that she loves me.

  “I’m aware, but we’ve talked about this, remember? It’s okay to explain to people that I’m your dad but not your biological one. No one is going to judge you for that,” I offer.

  “Don’t care,” she clips, “people should just mind their own business, Dad.”

  If this is eleven, I am not looking forward to sixteen or twenty or anything until thirty, when women generally come back to reality and act sane.

  “Hey, don’t get sassy with me. I’m the one you’re all possessive about.” I shake my head at her and grin before poking her side. She squeals and leaps away from me before coming back and sitting on my knee.

  “Okay. Sorry. I was just coming over because Lisha says girls can't be in this club. That’s stupid and sounds like a lie,” she states. God, I love this child. Honest and speaks her mind. Bows down to just about no one. Makes me so proud.

  “Actually, Lish is right. It’s an all-male club. The history is that MC stood for Male Club, but changed to Motorcycle Club over the years because some clubs do let women join, just not this one.”

  “That’s bullshit,” she huffs. Carmine and Hoot both snort and snicker at her words.

  “Allie...” I groan and roll my eyes.

  “I know, no swearing. Be nice, polite, no cuss words, get good grades...yada yada,” she preaches flippantly.

  “Keep it up and I’m telling your mom,” I groan.

  “Ugh, please don’t. Seriously, she’s all...less...sassy since we moved in with Dom. He makes her more ladylike,” she pouts.

  I can’t help it—she's right, of course, but the way in which she chose to word it is dead-on. My ribs constrict as I try to hold back my laughter. It sorta hurts.

  “None of that matters, you are still expected to act like a lady.
A sassy lady, but a lady,” I stress, narrowing my eyes at her.

  “Whatever,” she scowls. I squeeze her to me and hold tight for a moment before letting her back up to go find her friends.

  This kid is going to give me an ulcer. I need to get out more. I need to dive back into the dating scene. Maybe.

  Chapter 4

  Submit

  Five Months Later

  The bar is quickly filling up. I glance around and spot a seat at the bar. One lone stool. I have a rare night alone and nothing going on at the MC. Allie has been going through a spurt where she wants to spend weeknights at my place because it’s closer to school. Not that I mind, but everyone needs down time once in a while. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten laid and I just can’t seem to make myself mix business with pleasure at Mayhem. There are plenty of girls there who want to be someone’s ol’ lady, but they’ve all been around the block a little too much for my taste. The MC is something I do for me, not something I do to get pussy.

  “This seat taken?” I ask the long, black flowing hair next to me. It’s shiny and I bet it’s soft. I kinda want to touch it. She turns her head just slightly so she can make out my face. Her eyes are a warm brown with flecks of light gold in them. They accentuate her olive skin. She might do for the evening but I’m in a shit mood and really don’t feel like chatting all that much, so maybe not.

  Clara and I had a rough time coexisting at the shop today. Things have been tense since they returned from their honeymoon. I don’t know what's up but I’m sure it’ll all come out soon enough with the way she’s been brooding and picking fights with me. The black-haired chick's lips make this perfect little unintentional pout that takes my mind off my wandering thoughts.

  Hot.

  I watch her gaze flit to my left hand hanging limply at my side. No ring to be found. She smirks, just barely, but I caught it.

  Flirt.

  “Nope,” she answers and turns back to her drink. I slide onto the stool next to her and flag down the bartender to order. Stealing a glance, I notice a tattoo peeking out of her t-shirt sleeve and I wonder who did it and how much more of her it covers. It’s only natural to wonder. There aren’t many shops outside of mine and Clara’s. We know all the local tattoo artists around. The bartender slides my beer to me with a nod and heads down to the other end to attend to more people. I stare into my beer, feeling tired and run-down. Everything’s been such a clusterfuck the last year and the wedding was just the icing on the cake. With the tension going on at the shop between me and Clara, and Kylie calling me non-stop wanting to go out, I’ve been in a funk, mood-wise.