“Today, the shop’s closed. I have duties to attend to there. Would you like to come with me? You can hang out with Flint until I’m finished. He’ll give you the grand tour and introduce you to everyone.”
I take a sip of coffee to give myself a second before I respond. Do I want to spend time with Flint? I’ve been crushing on him since I was a teen. Thinking about spending time with that handsome man fills me with warmth and also the humiliation of him brushing aside all my admiration. He said I’m too young, he’s too old for me, and we’re too different.
“That’s nice of him,” I say, and I keep my voice even and casual because my overprotective brother does not need to know that his best friend has been living rent-free in my head for the better part of seven years.
“He’s a good dude. Weird, but good.”
“Flint’s not weird. You just need to get to know him better.”
If only, I think to myself.
“You can hang here if you want,” he calls out. “Watch TV, whatever.”
“What are my other options?”
“Or you can come with me to guard the gate. You’ve got a lot of choices at the clubhouse. You can grab a room and nap, look around for Flint.”
“I’ll come with,” I say.
***
The drive takes about twenty minutes. I watch the scenery change from rural to urban and back again.
The Sons of Rage clubhouse is bigger than I expected. A huge cement building with an industrial look to it. It sits in the center of a paved lot filled with every kind of motorcycle imaginable. Beyond the main building I can see a couple of outbuildings, a fenced area with more vehicles, and a stretch of open ground that might be a yard or a staging area or both. This place is a compound. There’s no doubt about that.
They open the gate for us and Tommy parks near the gate and kills the engine. “Welcome to the Sons of Rage clubhouse.”
“Thanks for the invite.”
I follow him inside. Once my eyes get used to the dim lighting, I see the main room looks more like a sports bar than what I imagine a biker clubhouse would look like. There are a few brothers playing pool in the corner and I can hear laughing coming from over the far side where a game of cards is going on.
Tommy gets me settled on a comfortable sofa and comes back with a wine cooler in his hand. “Sit tight. My gate duty is four hours today. Don’t wander around on your own. If anyone gives you a hard time, call me and I’ll come runnin’.”
“I’m not twelve,” I tell him. “Believe it or not, I’ve minded my own business in a bar before.”
“You’re my little sister. Humor me.”
He walks off towards the gate, and I make myself comfortable, sipping my drink. Eventually, I relax enough to pull out my sketchbook and charcoals. Over the years, I’ve learned how to sit still and observe without looking like I’m staring. That skill comes in handy now. I look out the window, fascinated by how the men move, greet each other with handshakes, back slaps, and short bursts of laughter. I like the way they treat their bikes with such respect.
I’m just about to pick up my charcoals when a voice comes from behind me.
“You’re new. I haven’t seen you around here before.”
When I glance over my shoulder, a woman is walking up. She’s tall and curvy and wearing an outfit that looks like it would be more suitable in a nightclub. Her hair is long and blonde and styled in the kind of effortless waves that take about an hour to achieve. She’s looking at me the way my cat looks at a new toy.
I decide to take the initiative by introducing myself. Holding out my hand, I tell her, “I’m Tommy’s sister. Jules.”
“Candy,” she replies, not taking my hand. She folds her arms over her chest and tilts her head, studying me like she’s trying to figure out how gullible I am.
“I didn’t know TJ had a sister,” she says with a hint of condescension in her tone.
“Why would you know his family? I know you’re not my brother’s type.”
She laughs. It sounds wheezy and fake. “I’m everyone’s type,” she throws back. “Your big bro included.”
“Did you want something in particular?” I know I’m being rude, but there’s something in her attitude and the way she’s looking at me that’s getting under my skin. This isn’t a friendly visit. I’ve met women like her before.
“The brothers here are friendly, but don’t make the mistake of thinking they’re available. Some of these guys are spoken for, and the ones who aren’t are spoken for in ways they don’t know about yet.”
