Devil Seeker

by Clare Power

  “You saying you like bikers, babe?” It’s a fair question. After all, so many non-biker types wear biker clothing as a fashion statement, especially the Harley brand so I nod in response.

  “Words, babe. Always give me words,” he orders softly.

  “Yes,” I respond, breathless.

  “The Cycle Devils are organizing a charity run and party at the clubhouse next Saturday. Wanna come?”.

  I’d heard about the run next weekend and actually picked up a flyer for it earlier. The run is to raise money to help a local lad with mobility issues and his family by trying to supply him with a new wheelchair. It’s also to help with conversion issues in the family home. I’d been planning to go anyway, but now I had another excuse.

  We haven’t even exchanged names so I decide to fix that, “My name is Kat, Katrina,” I offer.

  “Backfire.”

  I smile at that, finding the options as to why he has this for a road name amusing. I raise a questioning eyebrow just as he raises his own, but he has a smug looking grin on his face. Looks like that is a discussion for later, if I decide that there is a later.

  “Well it’s nice to meet you, Backfire. Now, since we have that out of the way, how do you suggest we do this?”

  “You can ride bitch with me.” Something about his tone makes him sound like he’s bestowing a great honour upon me.

  “Or I could ride my own bike,” I say with a cheeky grin. I know that a lot of people have their own ideas on who should go on the back of their bikes and I don’t like being a pillion until I know a bloke’s rules.

  His eyebrows shoot up at this information, but then a slow, half-smile appears. “Or you could ride your bike. You could meet me at the clubhouse and we can ride out together, if that suits you.”

  I give him a nod. That will suit me just fine.

  Backfire

  I get to the store to pick up some paint because we’re trying to fix the clubhouse up for the weekend. Really this is a job for a damn prospect, not me, but they are busy doing things I really don’t fuckin’ wanna do, so I decided this would be the easiest of the work to do.

  The club has decided to make a real effort for the charity run next weekend, which includes dishing out all the jobs in the public areas of the clubhouse, inside and out. We’re having new carpet installed and other crap like that. We’re even fuckin’ installing new toilet seats for the ladies. The outside is getting new paint, the yard is getting tidied up with the lawn being mowed. I don’t understand why all this shit is being done, but there are even flowers being planted. What the fuck is that all about.

  I’m not flying my colors in the store because I haven’t come on my bike. The newer guys wear theirs when they’re using cages, but I’m more old school than that.

  This hot ass bitch next to me in the aisle has me thinking. I can see her staring at me from the corner of my eye and what can I say, I have a dick and I wanna give her a ride. Problem is I’m busy at the clubhouse, helping get everything ready for the rest of the week.

  I beckon her over anyway and she obeys me instantly. That shit always works. Can’t be fuckin’ with bitches who wanna play games. I just wanna have some fun and move on. It’s not fuckin’ hard.

  I’ll have her for the weekend. She can be my reward to myself for all the hard work I put in this week. I’d even put her on my bitch seat, and I’m fuckin’ fussy about who goes there. The bitch has to be hot to be seen with me.

  I kindly invite her to join me when she tells me she has her own bike. Then she fuckin’ challenges me again by telling me her name before I bother asking for it. Fine. I can deal with that shit because my cock wants some of her. After I fuck her she’ll be gone ‘cause not only does a bitch have to be hot to be seen with me, but she has to be somethin’ special for me to fuck her a second time. I don’t do complicated.

  I tell her to meet me at the clubhouse and hope to fuck she doesn’t turn up on a fuckin’ rice burner ‘cause if she does, then I’ll have to educate her on what a real bike is.

  My cock is getting hard just looking at her and that accent is hot as hell. I think I might want her for more than one go, but we’ll see how she does the first time around. All I have to do is train her on the right way to behave around me.

  We both go our separate ways to get what we came for and I want to kick my own ass for not asking her to meet me sooner. A week seems like a long fuckin’ time to wait, but the moment has passed as I watch her leave the store. I’m sure I can find something to take the edge off until the weekend. The new blonde that’s been hanging around the clubhouse will have to do.

  Chapter 3

  A Bit About Me

  Kat

  With my Dad being American and my Mom being English, that gives me dual nationality, but even though I’m technically as American as I am English, it feels like I have a new country because I’ve lived in England for so long. I think I’m settling in quite nicely, especially with the excitement of being here, owning a house here, and exploring it all on my Softail Slim. It’s the sexiest bike in the world with really low, uncluttered lines. I can touch the ground with both feet when I’m sitting on it and let me tell you, that is a very rare thing at my height. I usually find that even if a bike has a low seat, most of them are so wide that it makes it hard to touch the ground. I’m taking my time and riding for a few hours at a time when I get the chance; learning the area and finding different routes home.

  I pull on my leather trousers because who wants road rash if there were an accident? My jacket and helmet are next and I’m on my bike, ready to go.

  As I ride, I start to think about how my life has been up ‘til now, making me into the woman I am. The bare bones of growing up saw me as a happy child; a bit quiet though, and never truly fitting in with the other kids. My sister, Jacqueline, or Jack as she’s known, was an exception. She understood me and what I liked, and apparently, we liked the same things. We had plenty of variety growing up in two countries that were similar, yet hugely different in culture and language. It was like always having the best, and worst, of both worlds.

  I thought as a child that I had it hard, but when I look at it now, I realize how incredibly lucky I’ve been. So many people have wretched, twisted childhoods, but not me. In fact, I have to admit that I was spoilt rotten.

  Even as I got older, I never mixed with the cool crowd or got into fashion. I never went to the popular parties, or any parties for that matter, and I never listened to the same music that everyone considered popular. I was the outsider; the strange girl who liked rock music, didn’t follow the trends and went her own way. I studied art at Uni which I found was way easier than school. Being able to pick your own courses and mix with more people who had a similar sort of interest as you was at least a step in the right direction.

  Then came my first baby steps into my true life. After Uni I moved to Birmingham, technically to find work, but I found more than that. Outside of the semi-protected college digs, I ended up sharing a house with two other girls, both into the biker scene and they showed me what I wanted in my life. The first time I walked into the local biker bar I was in lust with the music, the people, and most importantly, the roar of the bikes. My life became a pattern of working during the week and partying the weekends away. Best times of my life.

  I learnt that I wanted to use my artistic talent to paint bike tanks. It started by me looking at bikes on runs and at rallies when I was a pillion on my ex-boyfriend’s bike. It all came into sharp focus for me when I saw an exhibition of bike tanks in a museum. The sheer beauty and diversity really spoke to me.

  I passed my bike test on a 125cc, as you do now in the UK, and moved swiftly on upwards to a BSA A10. It was considerably lighter than some of the Japanese bikes available and it didn’t need too much work to be able to touch the floor. I loved the look of it and never did play with the paintwork on it. I just figured it had been around longer than me so that had to be worth something, or at least it was to me.

>   I buried myself in all things biker then spent the next few years realising what parts of the lifestyle actually suited me best. To be a biker is to be free, and I felt free to choose my own path, but all that was years ago. Now it’s time to think of the possibilities that are right here, right now for me.

  Backfire

  For some reason I find myself sitting alone outside the clubhouse at a picnic table, drinking a beer and wondering if it’s time for me to get my own place instead of living here. It’s not like I don’t have the fuckin’ money, but I don’t know where the thought is coming from, either.

  I suppose I stay because I’m used to the company. Dad’s a biker and Mom goes with him for rides now, but that wasn’t always the case. She had us, me and my two brothers to take care of and she made sure we had a stable home life where she was around all the time. Mom’s the traditional type, as in she did the cooking, the cleaning, and looking after her boys. The house was Moms, which always stayed so clean and tidy, while the outbuildings were the men’s territory where Dad had things set up for bike building and repair. My brothers and I learned to ride, probably before we could walk. We rode dirt bikes together all the time, anywhere we could, just as long we didn’t go near Moms garden, hens or horses. I miss riding the horses because to me, it felt like a different type of freedom.

  My dad was a Nomad for the Cycle Devils for years, but now he’s settled into a home chapter in Louisville, where my brothers and I grew up. My brothers, Ultan and Seamus, are both fully patched members of the New Orleans chapter of the club. I live the life I was born to live and I love it. It would all be perfect if I could work out this feeling of being unsettled that’s started to come over me lately.

  Why am I bothering about where to live? If I see somewhere I like, I’ll buy it. That fuckin’ simple. Now as for who I fuck, I’m so fuckin’ bored of all these whores hanging around here, so I’m happy as shit that I got that little redhead coming this week. I sure as fuck hope the bitch works out. Fucking should never have to be this hard.

  Chapter 4

  Wednesday Night Craft Session… or Not

  Kat

  “It’s really weird, Amber,” I complain. “I’ve never had trouble from the Police, and now I’m getting visits from them every day. This is ridiculous!”

  To say craft night is a bust tonight is an understatement. As soon as Amber got here, I opened the cider and got the chocolate out of the fridge. Calories don’t count when you have company.

  “So what exactly has been happening?” she asks as she settles down on the settee with her chocolate.

  “It started on Sunday. I was painting my garage door when the Police came around. Apparently, they received a complaint about the noise of my bike. I explained to them that there is nothing I can do about it, as it’s a standard Harley exhaust system. I mean, what’s the problem? There are shedloads of Harleys around here. Surely they don’t visit everyone who owns and rides a motorcycle.”

  “On Monday I went to this amazing second hand book store. I made some purchases and came home. I wasn’t even home more than thirty minutes before the Police come around again with another noise complaint, only this time it’s that I’m playing my music too loud, which I was not. I don’t get it.”

  “Have you upset anyone recently?” Amber asks. “The Police have to come out every time there is a complaint and some people use them as a weapon, you know, as a means of harassing people they don’t like.”

  Interesting point.

  “The only thing that I’ve done is put in an application for a unit just up the road that I think will work as my new paint shop. Realistically how many people could know about that?”

  “I don’t know, but it might be useful to see if we can find out.”

  Amber leaves me with lots to think about over the next few days.

  The pattern continues over Thursday and Friday, with the Police coming again for noise complaints.

  I’m starting to get wound up by all the Police activity. I’m now researching correct local Police procedures and by-laws to make sure everything I am doing at home is correct, as well as how I am setting up my business. I suppose it all amounts to the same thing. I’m worried that the whole game of “Let’s keep reporting Kat to the Police” will expand to the plans of opening my own shop.

  All this really sucks, especially since I could be spending my precious time mooning over Backfire. I have to figure this out, and soon.

  Chapter 5

  Cycle Devils MC Charity Run

  Kat

  Saturday arrives and I am really looking forward to seeing Backfire again. I’ve been enjoying a few fantasies where he has had the starring role, but they’re only when I manage to sleep without worrying.

  I’ve dressed biker hot, not biker slutty. I’m wearing my black leather chaps over a pair of jean shorts and a jacket over a Harley tank top. The jacket and helmet I wear are ones that I’ve painted myself, strangely enough with a snow leopard. It’s a design that I’ve created to stand out from the black of my jacket. If my bike wasn’t blue, I might have painted it to match as it would really work well with the lines of the bike. I complete my look with more make up than usual, but my glasses will stop the wind from getting in my eyes and I’ve plaited my damp hair in a couple of braids which will give it a little bit of body instead of parading around with flat helmet hair. I hope that Backfire is worth the effort I’ve invested in my look to impress.

  I’ll admit that I am a bit worried about his attitude. He seems a tad arrogant, but then again, he’s a biker. What’s the worst that can happen? I have my bike so if something goes down that I don’t like, I can just leave if I want to.

  Backfire

  I roll out of bed on Saturday morning and hunt for some clean clothes. It’s fuckin’ early for me on a Saturday, but I’m looking forward to seeing that hot little redhead again. She better be worth it. I’ve been thinking about her all week and since I want her on my dick, I’ve decided to look past that little bit of attitude I saw in her. I’m thinking I might like her giving me that attitude while I let her ride me. It’s gonna be a fuckin’ good day.

  Kat

  The ride to the Cycle Devils clubhouse is pleasant enough. There is a big turnout of bikes with prospects there to allocate parking. It’s all very organised and I like that.

  When I approach, I’m pulled over by a prospect who obviously wants to flirt with me. I let him chat me up for a bit and when he asks if I’m here with anyone, I tell him that I’m meeting a man who called himself Backfire. That name causes his whole attitude to change and now he can’t get away from me fast enough. He ends our conversation rather abruptly and points for me to park right up next to the clubhouse. Warning bells start to go off, but I’m too excited about riding today to think any more on it.

  Oh shit.

  This cannot be happening. There he stands in all his glory, wearing his cut with all his patches and his colours as he looks straight at me.

  SHIT!

  He wasn’t wearing patches or colours the day I met him but here he is, an MC club member. I’m seriously considering turning around to leave and cut my losses. He is not the kind of biker I wanted to get mixed up with but as soon as we make eye contact, he beckons me over and I again find my body going straight to him. How in the hell does he do this to me?

  As I make my way toward him, I make the decision to go through with the ride and leave as soon as it’s over. As I get closer, I see every patch in detail. Not only is he a member of the Cycle Devils, he is a fully patched member too. My heart drops to my stomach in disappointment. Oh well, nothing I can do about it now except to suck it up and get it over with.

  Backfire

  I’m waitin’ outside for this bitch and I’m pissed because this isn’t how I usually play shit. My brothers would ride my ass if they realized what I was doing, but once I finally see her, I’m shocked as shit and my cock is instantly hard.

  She’s riding a Harley, which I’m thankful a
s fuck for. I’ve had a week to get my head around her riding her own bike and damn, if she doesn’t look hot as hell riding it. She’s wearing one of those big helmets with a cool ass drawing on it. I think she’s gonna be a lot more than I bargained for. I’m fuckin’ regretting that I let her walk out of the store last week without finding out a little more about her.

  Not only is this bitch hot, but she’s getting more interesting by the fuckin’ second.

  When she finally looks at me, she appears stunned. She looks like she’s reconsidering, maybe even about to run but that’s not fuckin’ happening. I gesture with my hand for her to come to me and with that, I see her eyes flash and a new determination starts to take hold. I can tell she’s strong minded already, but is she fuckin’ prejudiced, too?

  She approaches us, then hesitantly stops and hovers a few feet away from me so I open my arm to her and she comes to me. I can sense her reluctance, but she does it in spite of herself; a small victory in what might be an interesting war between us. I hug her close as soon as she’s in my arms because I want to feel her close and help feel a little more comfortable. I wouldn’t normally give bitches any clue that I might like them, but I want her to know that I’m interested.

  My brothers look on, smirking. No fuckin’ doubt they’re storing this scene up for later fun at my fuckin’ expense. Their eyes check her out and I know they see what I see. She’s hot and they’re diggin’ her, but they don’t comment. They wait to see where I am on this, showing me respect. I expect it, but appreciate it also.

  “This is Kat, everyone.” I say, kindly introducing her, “Kat, these are my brothers; CC, Shades, and Brewer.”