Going around back, I know Angel, Snake and Ellie have reserved for their bikes as el Presidente and Primo. I know I can find a space.
As I approach the back, I see only two choppers.
Taking Angel’s spot just so I can hear him fuss, I pull my bike beside her onyx and chromed-out mate — Snake’s Harley-Davidson chopper. They look so pretty beside each other, though his chopper far outsizes mine. A big bike for a big man and topping out at six-foot-eight, he had to have his bike custom made, and the same for mine because at five-foot-one, there are definitely no bikes ready made to fit me. The only reason I’m not constantly ribbed about it is the fear everyone has of my guardian.
It’s odd Angel’s bike is not here, I’m thinking, taking my pack, pulling it over my shoulder to head inside.
Taking the steps, I enter the back of the building. I’m under Snake’s protection, and everyone knows it, but Rudy’s guys like to play dumb. You’d think after seeing their comrades being shot, stabbed to death, throats slit, and a few decapitations, by my silent but very deadly viper would have them thinking twice before daring to try anything with me.
Still, I’d rather just get in and do what I need to do for Angel, find Sara, do her design and collect my five hundred dollars.
“Hey, pixie.” Ellie’s smile is warm but fleeting as she steps up to me, either to block me from the view of the crowded taproom or my view of what’s going on.
“Rudy tried a girl that came in hurt from a wreck on Highway Seventeen. Angel claimed her instead. Yeah.” Ticking of the events like a list of chores she gives the girls who work around the clubhouse, her hands are gentle as she steers me away from the crowd into the back of the club down a long hallway leading to el Presidente’s office then veers off to his loft above.
“You’ve got your gear?” She nods at my backpack.
“Yeah,” my voice sounds far away. I’ve heard about club claiming, but I’ve never been part of one. One of the most important parts of the ceremony in any claiming or biker wedding is the tattoos. It wasn’t until last year that old Rafael cleared me as being good enough to do the wedding tattoos. I was plenty ready — have been since I was sixteen, but the old bastard wouldn’t let me do anything until his arthritis got bad enough to let me take over.
“Okay, Snake is going to come get her in a few. We don’t have much time. All this needs to be done before sunrise or she belongs to the club.”
My head snaps her way. “What does that mean?” It sounds like some kind of loophole, and not one that benefits the girl.
“It means Rudy’s crew is going to tear that girl apart and throw her in the Tombigbee River. Hurry.” She raps on the door and steps back.
Stepping past her, I look at Sara and Lorena standing on either side of Angel’s favorite patchwork quilt couch like sentries. A cute, chubby woman who looks like she’s having the worst night of her life is sitting center. White clothes smudged from the road where it’s obvious she fell. Her top is ripped like someone tried to tear it off. Her eyes rest on me and I see a lot of fear and steely resolve. She’s determined to survive this ordeal. I like her immediately.
“This her?”Adjusting my enormous duffel bag slung over my shoulder, I walk over to Angel’s desk, sitting it down before turning the ladies assembled. Crossing my arms over my chest, I watch as she eyes my full sleeve of tattoos on both arms, then watch as she traces them, over the top of my chest, up to my neck, stopping just below my ears.
I give her a cool look. She looks like she’s super conservative and a Bible thumper to boot.
“You ready for this?” I ask her in Spanish since that’s what she was speaking when I came in with the twin cousins, as we like to call Sara and Lorena because they look so similar.
“No, but it doesn't seem like I have a choice. It’s either him or the whole club. I'd rather it be him. Well, actually, I'd rather it be nobody, but here we are.”
My heart stutters at her sweet voice and the sheer terror she evokes with her soft-spoken words. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, let alone this seemingly sweet innocent woman who just had the misfortune of having an accident in el Diablo territory.
“You know we’d sneak you out of here if we could?” Sara squeezes her shoulder.
Damn right we would. The cousins and I are here by choice, but there is only so much we can do in this world we were all brought to.
She swipes the tears away in a hopeless way.
“They’d run you down like a dog, then kill you.” I warn, rolling my eyes. Making it clear just how dire this is.
“Where we doing this at?” Looking at the twin-cousins, I get busy taking out my equipment.
“What are you doing with that?”
My head snaps up at the question. These two are so busy trying to baby her they’ve not given her the critical information she needs to survive this situation.
“Oh, we forgot to tell you have to get a tattoo with Angel’s name on you to show he’s claimed you.” Sara explains like that's the most natural thing in the world.
“What?” She stands back up, looking at them.
“I’m not getting some motorcycle gang president’s name tattooed on me like I’m his property. Y’all must be crazy.”
“Listen, if you don't wear his name, it’s just like you don’t belong to him. If his name is not on your body by the time the sun rises, you belong to the club. You decide.” Lorena lays it out like it doesn't matter to her either way. She’s not fooling me. I can see the concern in her eyes. She’s always been the softer of the two.
