He strides away, and it’s then I notice he’s got a slightly uneven gait, but it doesn’t seem to hold him back as he goes to his bike and swings his leg over it. Then an ear-shattering roar pierces the air as he starts the engine. With a salute, he turns the bike, eases out onto the road, then accelerates and disappears.
Chapter Five
Grumbler
Club life continues as normal. My phone has remained quiet with no texts or calls from the photographer, so I guess that means I won’t be making a fortune from pimping out my bike. I often smirk as I remember how he’d assumed I’d let a pimply faced kid borrow my cut and sit on my ride. Hopefully he learned his lesson.
The shoot itself hadn’t been much bother, just meant I’d been hanging around for an hour or so, and it had been an experience seeing how photographers worked. I had checked out his website and had been impressed by some of the pictures he’s taken. My bike had looked damn hot. If I hadn’t kept the whole affair secret, I’d be tempted to ask Token if he could download one and take off the watermark so I could keep it and frame it. Surely I was entitled to something? But it would open a huge can of worms were I to ask him.
So I keep quiet. Now, once again, Friday’s come around, and we’re seated in church.
“What’s the latest from Utah?” Salem asks once the formal business items have been discussed. “Any sightings of Stormy?”
Lost wipes a hand over his face. “Spoke to Drummer a couple of days back. There’s still been no sightings of Stormy. He hasn’t gone back to the club.”
“They gave him three months, didn’t they?”
I seem to remember discussing that a few weeks back. Three months was too long in my view. As soon as Stormy had dropped out of sight they should have declared him out bad. Last time this topic had come up must have been about the time I pimped out my bike, and that was what, six weeks or so back?
“So he’s got, what? A couple more weeks?”
As Salem’s voice booms again, I realise I’ve been lost in my head, and completely zoned out of the meeting. I try to look as though I was paying attention the whole time, and prompt, “So, then…?”
“He’s out bad, and everyone will be on the lookout for him.” Lost nods my way.
I might have felt sympathy for the man who’d been bounced back to prospect if it wasn’t for the fact he’d taken a kill which should have been ours. Also, who could have respect for someone who’d run rather than stay and face a beatdown? Not me, that’s for certain.
“Snatcher hasn’t got a choice,” Lost continues. “Drummer’s still keeping a close eye on Utah. If Stormy’s not kicked out, then Snatcher will be going against the Satan’s Devils’ conditions for them continuing their charter. He won’t sacrifice his club for the benefit of one rogue member.”
“They keeping their noses clean in everything else?” Pennywise asks, tucking his shoulder-length dark hair over his shoulder.
“Seem to be,” Lost confirms.
Bones sniffs and rubs at his nose. “How’s their new enforcer doing?”
His query makes us all grin.
Lost smirks. “Apparently scaring the shit out of everyone.”
Now there’s outright laughter. I sit shaking my head. If nothing else, that alone proved that the Utah club were out of their fucking heads. Not only did they patch a woman member, they made her their fucking enforcer. Bunch of fucking pussies if you ask me.
Dart raises his hand. “Alex was asking—”
“She’s not joining,” Salem says fast, his eyes widening in horror.
Dart rolls his eyes. “Alex was asking about that beach run that was suggested the other week. That still in our plans.”
“Fuck yeah,” Reboot says, thumping his hands on the table.
“Could do with a club ride,” Niran agrees.
“I’m down for that.” Brakes gives a thumbs up.
“Okay,” Lost looks around, “Patsy and Alex will take the lead on getting the food sorted, and we’ll set a date now. Weekend after next work?”
From the nods of agreement, it does. Sounds good to me. A club ride topped off with a beach barbeque. Exactly the kind of shit that a man joins the club for. I’m looking forward to this—me, my bike, my brothers. Good food, good company and if we go to the beach that we normally do, a good fucking location with a paved parking lot.
Another church meeting done and dusted. The weekend proceeds like others before it. This time I do ride out with Niran when he suggests, which puts me in a good mood for the work week. Monday to Friday I’m a mechanic working at our shop. I get my head down like any other employee, but truth be told, I love my job. It’s not work when, as a member of the Satan’s Devils, I’m also my own employer and invested in making this business a success.
When Salem opened this workshop in the second hangar, it was so he could work on the customisation jobs, but truth be told, our auto-shop in town has proved so popular, having the space here, we also use it for overflow work. I prefer working at this location. It’s only a short walk from the clubhouse, preferable to riding through traffic.
In the seven weeks since my bike’s been photographed, not a lot has changed. I’m still toying with the idea of replacing the exhausts, but the ones I’ve got now do the job fine. Still, I do love tinkering with my ride. If I’m not working on it, I’m reading about parts and what difference they’d make to the look or the performance.
Though each day in the club is much like another, Friday comes around once more. Like anyone else, I’m already starting to wind down, which is why I’m sitting, flicking through a magazine, drinking a cup of
