Ratched blushed as he led me up the stairs, which I found absolutely adorable. He brushed a few strands of hair that had escaped his bun out of his eyes and blew out a breath, “Uh…no. They’re girls, uh, well, I mean, they’re women. They like to hang out at the clubhouse and, uhm, show the brothers a good time.”
I ponder that for a tick.“Like they entertain you with interpretive dance and jazzy musical numbers…or…”
Ratched cleared his throat. “More like spend time and provide companionship as well as… engage in sexual relationships if they want to.” Ohhhhh, that kind of entertainment. Ratched looked like a ’roided out tomato with how red he was.
“Relax, Ratched, I don’t judge. As long as everyone is a consenting adult, I like to mind my own beeswax. One time, I caught Creepy Steve making it with a shoe, but did I judge? Nope. I ignored him till he was done, and then offered his shoe a mostly clean tissue to tidy up with. I may be homeless, but I have manners.”
Ratched must have been moved by my keen ability to empathize with others, or maybe it was my impressive preparedness in emotionally charged situations, but he seemed to be at a loss for words. I had that effect on people sometimes.Don’t know my own strength, I guess.Shaking his head, Ratched opened a door and gestured for me to enter. He pointed at a small en suite bathroom to the right of the door and said, “Toiletries and towels are in there, as well as some other essential personal items. This is a guest room, but the other rooms up here are occupied. One of the ole ladies put some spare clothes in the bathroom for you if you’d like a shower. Someone will come up in about an hour to get you.” With that, he turned and left the room, softly closing the door behind him.
I took a moment to take in the room. A full-sized bed and a nightstand were against the left wall, and the bathroom was on the right-hand side,along with a dresser topped with a small television. An oscillating fan stood next to the window on the wall opposite the door. The walls were a cool gray color, and the window was framed by sheer forest-green curtains. Drifting from the door to the window, I looked out upon a large compound located somewhere in the desert near Reno. Motorcycles filled the lot outside of the clubhouse with a few pickup trucks and SUVs peppered in. A little way in the distance, I saw several single-family homes and some outbuildings. A long driveway led to a gate in the fence that surrounded the property. President Duke seemed to preside over an orderly organization. I didn’t feel completely one hundred percent safe here, but to be honest, I’ve never felt that anywhere. I felt safer here than I did sleeping in alleys, but not as safe as I did in my nest in Sheila’s cargo area. But, on the bright side, this room had a shower in it, and Sheila didn’t, so…silver linings or whatever.
After the longest, most luxurious shower of my life, where I frequently thanked Bob for indoor plumbing and the invention of shampoo, I toweled off and stood in front of the steamy bathroom mirror. I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen my clean reflection staring back at me. Wet-nap baths or quick cold showers in shelters were a common occurrence for me. I wasn’t used to having the time to really see myself, much less a version of me that wasn’t bedraggled looking. My right cheekbone was bruised, and my left eye was sporting a shiner. I’m sure the hot shower hadn’t helped with the swelling…but all in all, I’d seen worse.
I found a new toothbrush, toothpaste, and a hairbrush in a drawer and got to work making myself as presentable as I could be. The clothes someone had left were on the counter. I found clean panties, a pair ofblack leggings, and a faded purple tank top with a built-in shelf for the girls. Whoever lent me the top had slightly smaller boobs than I did because mine were spilling out of the neckline a little bit. Checking myself out in the mirror, I whistled. I was straight, and even I wanted to motorboat me right now.
My long ash-blond hair had dried in a wavy mass just past my shoulders. It wasn’t really in any style; I had cut it myself when I could, and you could definitely tell as it grew in unevenly. My green eyes looked large on my face, and I appeared years younger in these clothes than I did in my hobo clothes. It was a proven scientific fact that hobo clothes made you look older than you were and usually lumpier too. I wasn’t sure how old I was, but I looked older than most teenagers I saw in the city but younger than a lot of the moms who pushed their strollers in shopping centers.
The new-to-me clothes someone left were comfortable, but they put my body on display in a way I wasn’t used to. I spent so much time covering as much of my scarred skin as I could while living rough that having so much on display made me feel exposed. And not the Creepy Steve kind of exposed, thank you very much. The psychological kind. I turned left and right, gazing at my reflection. I definitely didn’t look pretty right now, but I did look clean, which was better, in my opinion.
A knock on my door ended my one-woman staring contest. “Come in, I’m decent. Well, I’m not naked, anyway.” The door opened, and a curvy, petite girl with sun-kissed skin and long, curly black hair walked in, waving awkwardly.
“Hi, uhm, I’m Lennon. Damn, Girl, that tank isworkingfor you! I was worried about sizing, but it looks better on you than it ever looked on me.” I preened a bit, unused to praise like that from a fellow female.Or anyone.
“Thanks for letting me borrow it. I’ll get it back to you as soon as I can wash my old clothes.”
“No, keep it! Like I said, it looks better on you. I’ve been trying to clear my closet out for months, and you’d be doing me a favor if I could pawn some of it off on you.” She seemed so nice, and she was even trying to spare my feelings about needing free clothes. I wasn’t used to random acts of kindness, and I felt a little out of my depth.
Unsure of what to do with my hands, I gave her finger guns and said, “That’s what she said.” Lennon threw her head back and laughed.
“Come on, I’ll show you to the dining room. The ole ladies made spaghetti.”
I followed Lennon down the stairs and into the main part of the clubhouse. A few men at the bar wore leather biker cuts, and one youngish-looking guy stood behind the bar serving drinks. Everyone tracked my movements, which made me feel hyperaware of my surroundings. I felt like a rabbit being stalked by a hawk circling far above, a sensation I loathed. I wasn’t a rabbit; I was a hedgehog.Try to swoop down and pick me up, boys, I’ll prickle the shit out of you.
“Ignore them,” Lennon said. “They were out at one of the club’s businesses and weren’t at church today, but trust me, everyone here has heard of the badass who killed Slyzec. They’re just curious. If anyone gives you a hard time, let me know. I may have never cut a man’s hands off, but I can drop kick a scrotum with the best of ’em.”
I snorted back a laugh and turned before exiting through the saloon doors to give the guys a wink.
Dinner was laid out buffet style in the large dining room in chafing dishes on a table against the wall. Women came in and out of the kitchen, depositing food into the dishes while a couple of club members carried in stacks of plates, napkins, and silverware.
“Find yourself a seat. I’m gonna go help bring the bread out.” Lennon gestured, pointing me toward the table. Pitchers of beer, lemonade, and water were spaced out along a feast-sized rectangular dining table. Bikers, women, and a few kids came and sat down while I grabbed a seat near the door in case I needed to beat a hasty retreat. Lennon backed into the room carrying the bread and turned, smiling, placing baskets of bread on the table and then giving an older MC member a kiss on the forehead before she came to sit next to me. He was noticeably older than Lennon, a big burly-looking bald white guy with a long, grizzly beard.
Everyone at the table chatted, waiting for the go-ahead to start eating, I assumed. I leaned into Lennon and asked, “Who’s that you kissed? Your boyfriend?”
Lennon snorted into the glass of lemonade she had been drinking and spluttered,
“Oh God no! That’s my dad.” She shuddered. “So my dad is Kincaid, but his road name is Sticks. You can call him either. He’s not particular about it, but some of the brothers are.”
“Road name?” I was confused and not gonna lie…a little jealous. I couldn’t even get one name, and these people got two? “So does everyone here have a road name? Do I know anyone’s real name? What’s your real name?” I didn’t know why this bothered me so much, but it did. Lennon sensed that I was agitated but didn’t get defensive like I thought she would. Like most people did when I reacted to things in ways people thought odd.
“It’s okay. It’s just part of MC culture. Members have their birth name, and then a name that they go by as a member. For example, my dad’s government name is Kincaid Campbell, but when he joined the MC, he earned a road name. It’s kind of like a nickname, but it’s usually personal and says something about who the member is. Dad’s is Sticks. He played the drums in a band when he was younger and still almost always has a pair of drumsticks on him. His tapping drives me nuts sometimes, but it’s just how he gets rid of excess energy. He plays at the bar in town occasionally for fun, but not as much as he did when my mom was alive.” Lennon looked down at her plate, and I could tell she remembered something that used to make her happy but now made her sad. She took a deep breath, settling herself before she continued. “Some brothers only go by their road name. I’m not even sure what their actual names are. I’m pretty sure everyone you’ve, uhm…encountered so far has given you their road name since you’re a stranger.”
“So is Lennon your road name? What does it mean?”
“No, there aren’t any female members of Los Cuervos MC. My real name is Lennon. It’s archaic bullshit, but most MCs are staunch supporters of the patriarchy. The women you’ll see here fall into three categories. There are the ole ladies: the wives or committed partners to members. Next, you’ve got the daughters, nieces, and other female family members. You generally will only see the kids here on family dinner nights. The third type of women you’ll see here are the club girls.” Lennon’s lip curled a bit like she smelled something gross or was impersonating Elvis. “The club girls fuck around with the members and hope one of them will be chosen to become an ole lady. They tend to beof the catty, vain, slutty variety but… to each her own. They don’t fuck with me; I don’t fuck with them.” Interesting. Lennon didn’t seem too fond of the club girls. I was curious as to why, but my questions had to wait because at that moment, Duke, Bones, Priest, and a woman walked into the dining room, and all the chatter immediately ceased.
Priest scanned the room like he was searching for someone. His eyes rested on me for a moment before he scowled and resumed their journey around the room. He stopped at Ratched, who gave his head a slight shake. Hmm, I wonder what that was about? Bones gave me a small nod in recognition before skipping over Lennon at my side and turning to Duke. Lennon stiffened at this, her hand tightening into a fist before it slowly unclenched. Interesting. Duke murmured something to the woman at his side, whose sad brown eyes flicked to me and away again. She looked down at her feet before Duke cleared his throat and spoke.
“We’re glad you could all join us for family dinner. Thank you to the hands that prepared this food and the hard work that provided it. Everyone, dig in.” The room was suddenly full of people lining up to grab a plate and fill it at the buffet. Men and women with kids helped them fill plates and sat at the table to eat. Some of the men filled plates and left the room to eat in the kitchen or at the bar. Conversations broke out all over, and the clubhouse was filled with voices, laughter, and the clinking of silverware on dishes.
