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BLAKE

Growth. I felt that I had grown more during the last week than I had in the previous decade altogether. My expected reaction of a woman when she found out about my virginity caused me to conceal it as if it were a crime.

Riley’s acknowledgement of it, her acceptance of me, and the strange bond we developed as a result of our similar losses by the hand of a murderous psychopath allowed us to be open and honest with each other completely. I felt as if I could be not only honest with her, but for the first time in my life, I was able to be honest with myself.

Stevie coughed a laugh. “What?
Natural born killer
? You’re fucking kidding, right?”

The guy she was taking to was roughly five foot ten, weighed about a hundred and fifty pounds, and was wearing a wife beater, boots and jeans. His arms were covered in a variety of tattoos, most of which appeared to be done in the comfort of his home by one of his drunken friends.

He shrugged his shoulders and glared at her. “No, I’m serious,” he said.

“I don’t tattoo words on people. And, I don’t tattoo idiots,” she said. “So you’re clearly double fucked.”

He folded his arms in front of his chest and did his best to flex what little muscles he had on his biceps. “What are you trying to say?”

“I didn’t stutter, asshole. I didn’t
try
and say shit. I said it. Go somewhere else,” she said as she pointed toward the door.

Riley swiveled in her stool, glanced in my direction, and raised her eyebrows. I shrugged my shoulders and grinned. If I had learned anything about Stevie in the last few weeks, it was that she didn’t pull any punches, and she wasn’t really afraid of anything or anyone.

“So you won’t do it?” he asked.

She crossed her arms - clearly to mimic him - leaned back, and shook her head lightly. Wearing faded jeans, lace up boots, and a black wife beater, she resembled him in dress to some degree. She had proven herself to be a fabulous artist, but the entertainment value of having her in the shop made hiring her well worth it regardless of her abilities.

“How many people have you killed?” she asked flatly.

“None of your business,” he responded.

“Kill somebody real quick, and I’ll do it. I’ve never done a single piece of script, but if you’ll kill somebody real quick, you know, show me you’re a killer, fuck it, I’ll do it,” she said.

His eyes widened and his mouth fell open. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yeah,” she said as she pulled her knife from her back pocket and held it at arm’s length.

“Kill her. Or him. Fuck it, kill ‘em both,” she said as she shook the knife in front of him.

She extended her left arm and wagged her index finger at Riley.

He turned his head toward Riley, made eye contact for a moment, and quickly turned to face Stevie. Riley’s eyes stayed fixed on Stevie as they narrowed slightly. Although the conversation was regarding something as serious as killing, I fought to keep from laughing.

He scrunched his nose and glared at Stevie. “I can’t do that,” he said. 

“Yeah, no shit. Beat feet, dumbass,” she said as she slid the knife into her back pocket.

“Fucking bitch,” he said as he turned away.

“Excuse me?” she said as she reached for her knife again.

I raised my index finger, caught her attention, and shook my head from side-to-side. As she released the knife, she gazed down at the floor and sighed. He glanced over his shoulder, coughed a laugh, and continued to walk toward the door.

Stevie shook her head, exhaled a deep breath, and turned to face me. “Natural born dumbass.”

“I can’t believe you told him to kill me,” Riley said.

“He wasn’t going to kill anything. Fucking dumbfuck. I hate stupid people,” she said.

Riley jumped from her stool and walked toward the front door. After a moment, she returned.

“He’s gone,” she said.

Stevie shrugged her shoulders. “What? Were you afraid he was going to come back and do something? So he could get that tattoo?”

Riley laughed. “You never know.”

Stevie glanced at the clock and shook her head. “I’m frustrated as fuck.”

“Why?” Riley asked.

“I need some dick. I’ve been here for two weeks and haven’t been laid yet. I really need somebody to beat my shit up,” Stevie said as she turned away. 

“You know any bikers with big cocks?” she asked over her shoulder as she sat down at her drawing table.

“Some of the guys from that MC have been in here in the last few weeks, maybe one of ‘em will come in sometime,” I said as I jumped off my stool.

“A real MC? Like a one-percenter MC?” she asked.

I nodded my head. “Selected Sinners.”

“No shit. Fuck yeah, that’s what I’m talking about,” Stevie said.

“I’ve got Axton’s number. He’s the president,” Riley said.

Stevie turned around, crossed her arms, and glared at Riley. “You’ve got the number of the president of a one-percent club on your phone?”

“Uh huh,” Riley said as she pulled her phone from her purse.

Stevie glanced in my direction. Behind her on her drawing table, several Styrofoam heads covered in various brightly colored wigs caused me to grin. She had drawn eyes, noses, and lips on each of the otherwise blank faces with the exception of one. The words ‘Bad as Fuck” were drawn on the last of the faces, and an arrow pointed toward upward, toward the pink wig. 

I shrugged my shoulders. “Friend of the family.”

“Tell him I’ll trade a nice chest piece for some cock,” she said as she turned away.

“No trading sex for tats,” I said.

“Fine, tell him I need some dick. I’m sure he’ll figure something out,” she said as she sat down at her table and began drawing.

“He wants a pic,” Riley said.

“You already texted him?” Stevie asked.

Riley nodded her head. “Yeah, he said they’re at the bar and he wants a pic.”

Stevie slid off the edge of her stool, turned toward us, and tugged against the bottom of her shirt slightly, revealing a reasonable amount of cleavage. After shaking her head back and forth, her purple-tipped hair fell along the top of her chest. She flashed a huge smile and waited.

“Well, quit staring and take a pic, perv,” she said.

Riley glanced at me, raised her phone in the air, and snapped a few pictures. Stevie released the bottom of her shirt, turned away, and began drawing.

“All this sex talk…” Riley whispered.

“What’s wrong?” I asked innocently.

Riley draped her arms over my shoulders and gazed into my eyes. “I want some biker dick,” she whispered.

I glanced around the shop and eventually fixed my eyes on hers. “Anyone in particular?”

She grinned, leaned into me, and kissed me softly. “Tonight, not tomorrow. Not next week. Not when you’re caught up. Tonight.”

Denying Riley of her much needed dick wasn’t on my to-do list. In fact, I had quite the opposite planned.

“Tonight it is,” I said with a nod.

“Good,” she said. “Now get to hammering that needle in my arm. I’m itching for another tat.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“I don’t care,” she responded. “I’m just wanting something. Maybe add some color?”

“Natural born killer,” Stevie hollered over her shoulder.

The unmistakable sound of approaching motorcycles shook the storefront glass. Riley leaned back and turned toward the front of the shop and I jumped from my stool. As I peered over the partition and into the street, bike after bike rode past, turned around, and parked in front of the shop in a row.

Stevie stood on her toes, glanced toward the street, and turned to face Riley. “Tell me that’s them.”

“It’s them,” Riley responded.

“A fucking smorgasbord,” Stevie said with a laugh.

The door opened and although I didn’t see Axton, the first man through the door caused me to take a second glance. It had been roughly twenty years since I’d seen him, but I’d never forget his distinct walk, the smirk he always had on his face, or the prominent scar over his left eye from wrecking the bicycle during the big jump. It just appeared he had grown a few inches and gained sixty pounds or so, all of which seemed to be solid muscle.

I cleared my throat and walked around the partition. “Jackson?”

He shifted his eyes toward me. “Guilty as charged. What can I do…” 

I stood and stared. He gazed back at me and eventually his mouth changed from his permanent smirk into a slight smile. “Little man. Holy fucking hell. Little man.”

I nodded my head. “How you been?”

“Never better,” he said. “That your bagger our front?”

I nodded my head proudly. “Yep. Normally park it out back, but…”

“Finally upgraded from that shitty old Schwinn, huh?” he asked.

“Damn, it’s nice to see you,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

“Well,” he said. “I need a quote for some work, and a couple of the fellas here wanted to meet your other artist, Stevie.”

Five men stood behind him, all standing with their arms crossed, and all wearing their leather vests.

I shook my head. “Yeah, my Ol’ Lady is friends with Axton, and I think she might have shot him a text about Stevie. She just moved in from San Diego. Hold on…”

I put my arm around Riley and squeezed her shoulder in my hand. “Riley, this is Jackson Shephard. He and I, uhhm…he and I grew up together.”

“That we did,” he said as he extended his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Riley said as she shook his hand.

“And this…” I paused and turned around.

Stevie stood immediately to my right and a few feet behind me.

“This is Stevie,” I said as I waved my hand in her direction.

He nodded his head. “Well, I’m not here for that. I got an Ol’ Lady.”

“Listen up,” Stevie hollered, interrupting our conversation, and clearly taking charge of the situation.

“I don’t ever fuck with anyone but bikers, and I’ll only fuck with a biker if he’s got a big dick. I’ve got a foul mouth, a shitty attitude, and an insatiable desire. I’m no whore, and I won’t be treated like one. If you’re looking to hit it and quit it, you can forget it. I’m not your girl. If you want an Ol’ Lady who’ll out drink ya, out fuck ya, and probably out cuss ya, I’m your girl,” she shouted.

“How many’s that leave?” she asked.

Jackson chuckled and turned around. “Vince?”

A tall muscular guy with dark hair and an obvious attitude stepped forward. Stevie stepped to the side, studied him, and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“What’s your road name?” she asked.

He pointed to his patch, “Vince.”

Stevie coughed a laugh. “That’s your
road name
?”

“Yep. Name’s Stephen. They call me Vince,” he said.

“You qualified?” she asked.

He stood and stared for a moment and then shook his head and grinned.  “Look, I came up here after Slice showed us your pic at the bar. Thought you were a cute little fucker. Seem a little crazy for my taste now that I’m here. I ain’t lookin’ to add a bunch of drama in my fucking life. Shit, I just got rid of an Ol’ Lady for bein’ a drama queen. Well, that and a whore. Nice to meet ya, though.”

Jackson chuckled and shook his head. The thought of it all seemed crazy to me. Riley stood at my side shifting her eyes between Stevie and Vince, anxiously waiting for someone to speak. As I suspected, Stevie broke the silence.

“I’m not a whore, and I’m not crazy. I’m just some chick that loves bikes, appreciates the freedom of riding, and appreciates one-percenters for being who they are. I’m a lot of fucking fun, really,” she said.

He shrugged his shoulders. “What’s a one percenter mean to you? Who am I?”

I glanced at Riley and grinned. This was good shit for sure.

“Well, being an outlaw. Fuck the man, fuck society. Riding isn’t a fucking hobby, and it’s not really
a way of life
, it
is
life. You see that mountain bike outside?” she asked.

“Chained up by the door?” he asked.

Stevie nodded her head. “I rode that motherfucker six miles here instead of taking a ride in a cage.”

“Is that so,” he said.

Stevie nodded her head. “So…”

“I’ll be back,” he said with a nod. “We’ll go for a ride.”

As he turned and walked out the door, everyone followed but Jackson.

“Crazy fuckers,” Jackson said.

“So what were you wanting done?” I asked.

“Wanted a quote for a pin-up girl on my forearm,” he said.

“You busy Tuesday? Say noon?” I asked.