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After he’d left, there was none of that. He’d been surrounded by uncaring strangers, and left with no reason to keep moving forward.
Then he’d found the MC, and with it, the hopes to find a new home, and a new brotherhood.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of the MC clubhouse up ahead. It was night time, and the clubhouse was on a back road far from town, but the parking lot was lit up and Pony could see Devil standing by the line of Harleys parked by the entrance.
Not just Devil. It looked like all of the brothers from the MC were there, milling around, some wandering in and out of the clubhouse.
Pony pulled the Aprilla in to the parking lot and brought it to a stop next to the other bikes. Devil was grinning widely as he watched Pony climb off of the street bike, looking like he was in on a joke that only he knew about.
“You look as pretty as Piper, riding that thing,” he said once Pony had come to a stop.
“Very funny,” Pony said. “You were the one who told me to try it out. Did you bring the whole club out here just to give me shit?”
“Relax, dude,” Devil said. “We’re all here for a meeting. Turn your adorable little speed machine off and come inside.”
He left the speed machine leaning on its kickstand next to the Harleys and followed Devil into the clubhouse. His impressions from outdoors were correct. Everyone was there, the entire club, which was a little unusual. Usually the officers showed up for the meetings, and a few of the other brothers, but this time, the entire MC was crowded into the clubhouse meeting room.
Before Pony could speculate on why every swinging dick in the MC was present for this particular meeting, Wyatt pounded a fist on the table to get everyone to quiet down.
“What did you think?” he said, once the air was clear. “About the street bike?”
“Handles well in the corners,” Pony said. “And it’s fast.”
“Fast enough for what we need?”
“That depends. What exactly do we need?”
“There’s a group of street bike racers who are holding illegal races a couple of towns over,” Wyatt said. “Mostly, it sounds like it’s thrill seekers trying to live out their fast and the furious fantasies, just with motorcycles.”
“Why do we care?” Pony said.
“Mostly, we don’t,” Wyatt said. “As long as they’re just holding races and not bothering anyone else, they can do whatever the hell they like.”
“Is there any reason to suspect they’re into more?” Pony asked.
Boomer said, “That’s what you’re going to find out.”
“Why me?” Pony said.
“Devil mentioned that you got started riding street bikes.”
“Did he?” Pony said, looking sideways at Devil.
“Come on, dude,” Devil said. “We both know you like to get on a rice burner and chase the devil out on those back roads from time to time. Got to get that adrenaline cooking, right?”
“None of the other brothers ride those crotch rockets,” Wyatt said. “We’ve all got Harleys.”
“I’ve got an Indian,” Griz said.
“Yes, yes, Griz,” Devil said, rolling his eyes. “We all know how fucking proud you are of your Indian. Enough already.”
Griz said, “I’m just saying.”
“The point is,” Boomer cut in, “Pony can infiltrate that group and fit right in. Watch a race or two… hell, jump in if you like, Pony. Keep your eyes and ears open and see if anything else is going on.”
“Why would there be?” Pony said.
“Street racing is illegal,” Wyatt explained. “Where there is a gathering of people inclined to do one sort of crime, there tends to be others who will be into additional forms of illegal interpretive dance.”
