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1
Ella
The roar of motorcycles in the distance made my arm and neck hairs flare like a porcupine. I recognized the usual shudders mushrooming through my body and the stillness in the air as I held my breath.
I’d thought my reaction had been fear, the first couple of times they’d come into the diner, but not so much anymore. Something else made my heart race and my body shiver. Something else had given me a rush of… excitement and intrigue.
Iftheystrutted into the diner, flexing their muscles and control as if they owned the place, my instinct would be to lock myself in the bathroom or run out the back to escape. I hated sounding childish or wimpy, but I worried the longer I interacted with them, the more I might like them. They were not the kind of people my family associated with. At only sixteen, a kid in society’s and my parents’ eyes, they would tell me to stay away. I should do what was expected of me, but I doubted I could. Being a “good girl” was a constant struggle. What made a persongood? Why couldn’t I just be me?
The men who rode through the remote town on their iron steeds were the roughest, dirtiest, wickedest hell-raisers I’d ever seen… even in movies. They had crude, filthy mouths and didn’t appear to care about anyone but themselves. And they clearly didn’t know God.
Back home in Iowa, our farming community had been quiet—a picturesque, peaceful place to raise a family, with corn fields as far as the eye could see. The folks were conservative and religious, having potlucks and fried chicken suppers after service. As a kid, I loved all the food and other children to play with. Everybody knew everybody, and most were relatives, except for my family.
My dad had been a church planter my whole life, never spending more than five years in one place. Sometimes, when he feltcalledto move and begin fresh, we’d been gone within the month. I hadn’t been able to put down roots anywhere else. I was always the new girl at school and the pastor’s daughter.
As I got older, I saw and heard things I shouldn’t have and tried to shove the sinful thoughts from my head. But it was difficult to unsee my father’s hand on the bottom of a woman who wasn’t my mom. Or forget the sounds of grunting and panting behind a closed door when the church had been empty, except for me, Dad, and a woman who was not my mom. I recalled a sickening feeling in my stomach because I couldn’t stop listening to them. The next day, I was disgusted and ashamed of myself, and I never told a soul.
Dad’s prior so-called calling had been the congregation he’d assembled requesting his resignation. When someone in the meeting had saidadultery,my suspicions had been confirmed. Instant regret had spread in my heart for eavesdropping. I’d gone to the church to beg for us to stay put the day I’d heard him. I only wanted to graduate from high school with my friends, and perhaps when I turned eighteen, I wouldn’t be forced to move with my parents.
Later that evening, I connected the dots about my dad, and it hadn’t been anything to be proud of. He might have believed in God and given compelling sermons, but he hadn’t been a holy man as he’d claimed. He’d been breaking many of the Ten Commandments on a regular basis.
Meanwhile, my momma appeared totally oblivious. Of course, I couldn’t tell her what I’d discovered. She wouldn’t have believed me anyway, and I was confident my dad would’ve lied.
So, we moved from Iowa to Scornrock, South Dakota, where my dad proclaimed God had called him to shepherd His lost flock. All I could do was go along with it after knowing the truth. No question, the people of Scornrock needed help. It appeared God had abandoned His childrenandlet outlaw bikers govern them in unholiness. Sadly, I knew my dad couldn’t do a darn thing to save them, not spiritually or physically. We were all damned.
“I hate those guys,” Brenda muttered beside me. She was frozen in place like me, dialed into the rip-roaring sounds. We were behind the counter filling the salt and pepper jars. It was after seven, although you could hardly tell for how light out it was, only a couple of hours left until closing. Just us and the cook were in the whole building, vulnerable and at the mercy of the biker gang if they decided to stop and wreak havoc, barking orders and banging the tables with their fists when we didn’t move fast enough. Always unruly and rude.
“I can’t stand them either,” I replied only to sound agreeable. I’d started working at Apple Andy’s a few weeks ago, after the Fourth of July. My folks had told me I needed to get a job before I began my junior year at Jefferson High School, which would start in twelve days. They thought getting out of the house in our new town would be a good idea, while I thought enjoying my summer and exploring our new town would be better. As if I’d make new friends in a diner where a bunch of old people ate and a swarm of bikers invaded at will… Neither was my scene. Well, definitely not the elderly folks, but maybe the outlaws weren’t as bad as they appeared.
The rumble grew louder… andcloser.
My heart stopped when several parked in front of the building. Headlights beamed through the windows, blinding us.
“You better not abandon me.” Brenda grabbed my wrist and shot me the stink eye. “I know your game.”
“Game? I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yeah, right.”
I gulped when three huge men entered, and a fourth guy I hadn’t seen before. He looked younger than the others but older than me.
I prayed to my heavenly Father to put them at one of Brenda’s tables.Please, please, please.It might be shitty of me, but she was a senior this year, already eighteen and had worked at the diner for over a year. She outranked me, so she should deal with the riffraff.God knows if I’m the one who serves the bikers, I’ll probably grow to like them. I tend to gravitate toward the downtrodden.I had a heart for helping people who were frowned upon by men like my father.
“They’re yours.” Brenda exhaled and released my hand.
Crap. My section. I should’ve known better. God was probably punishing me for my father’s sins. Or I just had horrible luck. Or Satan was tempting me to let my curiosity loose.
“Go,” Brenda whispered and nudged me.
My feet wouldn’t move as I stared at the jars lined up on the counter. I’d filled more salt than Brenda had the pepper. She’d likely finish before me and brag about how she was faster. She could be a pain in the ass, a Miss Know-It-All when it came to working at Apple Andy’s. As if I gave a crap. It was a diner, and we wereonlywaitresses. Doing the job better than me wasn’t something to gloat about. We cleaned up after customers and served them. Speaking of…
“What do we gotta do to get some fucking service around here!” an outlaw yelled and slammed his hand on the table. “Christ! We don’t got all day!”
I jumped out of my spaced-out haze, grabbed several menus, and rushed to the corner booth. Keeping my gaze down so I didn’t gawk, I asked, “What can I get you to drink?”
“Don’t need menus. We’re here for the pie.”
I whipped out the small tablet from my apron. “What kind would you like?” My voice was shaky as I felt their probing stares.Sickos. All of them were old enough to be my dad, except for the young guy. I still hadn’t made eye contact with any of them, but I felt their eyes on me.
