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He knows I’m not going to try anything. What would be the point? He’s got an army here while I feel like I can barely move. I’m no threat.
Once I’m on my bike I’ll be alright. I just need to get to her.
“Do you need a hand, cabrón?”
“No.”
Nico nods with a frown that I think might be respect.I’m not going to be carried out of here. I’ll leave on my own two feet.
I limp and drag myself behind him. We come out into the yard and there are no more fires, no more drinking, no more scantily clad women walking around…it’s all business.
The members glance at me, but say nothing. It’s not that all is suddenly forgiven, it’s that we’re even now.
Nico takes me to my bike, it looks different.
“The guys had some time this morning,” he jerks his thumb at my ride. “They did a few repairs.”
I’ll admit—She looks good.The scarring on the gas tank is gone. I suppose the problem with drinking all the time is that as long as something works, you’ll let it be…as long as you can keep drinking.
I never did get around to taking my bike to Tony’s.
“I appreciate it,” I say. “What do I owe you?”
“De nada,” Nico puts his hand out with a half-smile.
I shake with him. No hugging or pats on the back…just a firm handshake.
As I mount my steed, I feel every fucking bone in my body creek, groan and scream for rest—but there’s no rest for the wicked.
When I start up and try to put my helmet on, I rethink it. I’m pretty sure with all the swelling and in this heat, I’d be doing my head a disservice.
I stow the helmet in my saddlebag and put some sunglasses on instead, then rev my engine to let everyone know—I’m still alive.You didn’t get me this time.
I notice that they’ve given me a full tank of gas as well.
After one last time nod to Nico, who gives the signal to open the gate...I begin the journey home.
The roads are quiet and still…no one comes this way except the Horde.
In the light of day there’s less chance of killing myself on this empty, endless, winding stretch…and the wind in my hair feels good after the night I’ve had.
I might’ve actually enjoyed this ride if my body didn’t feel like it would fail me any second.
I gather all my willpower, concentrate all my focus…and gun it.
I’ll be able to endure one fast burst. Taking it easy is going to tire me out and I’ll make a mistake…everything just hurts too much.
I block out the pain and ride like the grim reaper is chasing me.
It’s like threading the eye of a needle with broken fingers, but somehow…I make it…I make it to the frontside parking lot of the club’s public bar. It’s mostly done on autopilot with muscle-memory. I’d zoned out a while ago.
It’s closer than my house and I was starting to feel like I wouldn’t make the extra few miles.
When I drop my kickstand and dismount, I almost fall over and take my bike with me. By the grace of God, I manage to save both of us.
The clock on my bike display says 3:13pm.
I stumble and limp my way to the saloon doors, part them unsteadily and see Stacey alone behind the counter, wiping glasses.
