Dead Men Motorcycle Club (9 page)

Maybe it was just a loose rationalization, but the lengths that Cash and the Dead Men went to in order to defend their home seemed completely reasonable to me now. That day when I'd seen Cash
struggling into the clubhouse, bleeding from a gunshot wound
, my first reaction was horror. All of Karen's stories about the violence that followed the Dead Men through the world were true, and
all of my dad's warnings about the life of a biker seemed to
be very real. There was another side of the story that Dad never told me though. He never told me about what men like Cash were fighting for. Out here, people were still willing to stand up and declare that they weren't going to live life according to someone else's rules. It was a dangerous declaration to make, but it wasn't about mindless rebellion. It wasn't about rejecting society's values, either. There was no negativity to it at all. What Cash and the others were doing was standing up tall and saying that they would make life what they wanted it to be and that nobody could tell them otherwise. Maybe that same spirit was in my blood thanks to Dad, but my trip out west seemed to carry that
sentiment
when I examined myself more closely. I wanted to forge my own destiny, and now I was surrounded by my new family who wanted the same thing.

I took Cash's hand and turned us back towards the clubhouse. The business with
Donnovan
was just beginning, but things like this tended to happen slowly. For now, we had each other and the life we were building together. Since our first sweaty morning together in the clubhouse, we'd only felt the connection between us grow. He continued to teach me how to ride, and I found that there were a few things I could teach him, too. How someone gets through life without knowing how to make a decent casserole is beyond me.

We went into the clubhouse and found ourselves on one of the sofas that were placed around the large television the guys liked to watch sports on. Tubbs was watching a Dodgers game. The season had just started and
the team already looked terrible. Cash put his arm around me and we fell
into the moment of watching the game together easily. I nestled myself under his arm, taking in the smooth scent that he always seemed to carry with him. I put my hand against his vest and felt the worn leather beneath my fingers. My hand traced upwards to his shoulder where the ragged hole in the vest still reminded us of the bullet that had brought us together. Cash was watching the game intently, but I caught Tubbs looking at me. When our eyes met, he smiled. Tubbs was just one more success story to me. When my rise in prominence had begun at Peasant Motors, he was the first to stand behind Cash and I. We worked together in the garage often, and each of us had come to respect one another's skill.

We watched the rest of the game in relative silence, happy to have this quiet time together. In this life, you know that it's always just a matter of time before the next wild adventure carries you all away. Sometimes everyone came back and sometimes they didn't. The freedom that the MC offered was about accepting that risk and learning to enjoy your time together while it lasted. Something like sitting with your man and watching a baseball
game might seem uneventful to you, but to me it was like a cool drink on a hot day. Excitement and occasionally fear are your constant companions when you're with an MC. Those moments when you look around and realize that everything is alright have to be treasured.

When the game was over, we stood up and stretched. I could tell what Cash was thinking before he even said it. Being able to do that every day was still thrilling to me.

"Let's take a ride, Em
," he said. I still got a shiver when he said my name like that, and a wide smile appeared on my face. I walked over to the door and grabbed my jacket, along with our helmets. Cash had the jacket custom made for me. I wasn't allowed to wear the patches, of course, but he said that he thought I needed something
to keep the road rash in check. Mostly I think he just wanted me to feel at home.

I tossed him his helmet and we went out to the lot. I strapped my helmet on as he mounted his bike. The way he moved with that machine was nothing short of magical. It behaved like an extension of his body. If he had told me he figured out how to make it ride on water just because he asked it nicely, I would have believed him. I smiled and admired the way the muscles in his arms flexed as he took the handles, knowing that later that evening, the same strength would pull me into his embrace. That was for later, though. Now we had to get the road beneath us.

"Well," he said, "You gonna
get on or just stand there staring at me?" He had that wide smile on his face that told me more about how he felt than all the "I love
you's" he could ever say - though that didn't stop him from trying.

I grinned back at him and turned
to my own bike. I'd spent the last two months restoring it and getting it running just the way I liked. Part of me regretted selling my Charger, but I couldn't
deny the way the bike
made me feel. The day I'd brought it into the lot, Cash was more excited than I'd ever seen him. Zach was with him whe
n I came sputtering into the garage, and had a few choice words about the condition of the bike and my presumed inability to get it running smooth. I'd shown him, just as I knew I could. I wasn't sure if I'd ever develop a relationship with the bike the way Cash had with his, but it felt like a part of me all the same.

I gave him a nod and the roar of our engines announced to the world that we were ready to ride. We pulled out of the lot and made for Main Street. San Viero might change
soon, but for now it was the small town I'd always dreamed of. Cash rode beside me and I knew his dreams
were all around him too. As we roared down the street, driving into the setting sun, the same
people who scowled at us every day were there again. I smiled at Cash and he smiled back at me. This was the life we'd created for ourselves. With him by my side, I knew we could stand taller and stronger against the winds of change than we ever could alone.

In Cash, I'd found the strength to make life what I wanted. In the Dead Men, I'd found the family I never knew I was searching for.

I took a deep breath and pushed my fingers forward slightly. It was a delicate operation and I knew that one false move could ruin the whole thing. My hands weren't shaking, but that couldn't last forever. If you spend enough time focusing on something that small, even a trained professional's eyes would begin to cross and their limbs would begin to quiver.

"You've got this, Emma, just go for it," Kurt said. He was by my side throughout the process, but somehow his reassurances did more harm than good. I didn't blame him, but I work better with a quiet room.

Another deep breath went in and out and I knew the time had come. My fingers tensed and my arm shot forward with a sudden burst of speed. The dart flew from my hand with deadly accuracy, spiraling through the air until it penetrated the board with a hard noise. Before I even had time to recognize my own success, a cheer went up from my side of the bar.

"Holy shit!" Emmett yelled, "She did it again!"

I took a moment to stand back and admire my handiwork. The dart board was far on the other side of the room, and yet there my dart was - jutting from the center of the board, along with its two brothers. I couldn't help but smile at my own success.

"Seriously, Emma," Kurt said, "You should go pro or something. That's fucking amazing."

I shrugged my shoulders. "It's not that big of a deal," I told him humbly, "I've just got good hand-eye coordination."

When the Dead Men discovered my particular talent for darts, they first tried their hardest to beat me at the game. When that didn't work, they instead turned to betting on my ability to throw trick shots from across the room. Even that action was starting to dry up as more and more people realized they had been throwing their money away by betting against me. Cash strode over to where I was standing and put his arm around my shoulders.

"Remind me never to bet against you," he said with a smile.

I turned and gave him a mock-furious expression. "If you ever bet against me," I told him, "Then you'd better start looking for a new mechanic!"

That got the crowd chuckling and Cash pleading for a stay of execution with a wide grin on his face. The bar was full that night. Cash and I were the center of attention, as we
often happened to be. Kurt and Emmett were there was well, already halfway through the bottle of bourbon that they'd been sharing. Karen was sitting at the bar talking to
Hep
about his daughter's problems at school. Karen didn't have any kids of her own, but somehow she still seemed to be the go-to source for advice about child-rearing. I suppose the members of the Dead Men Motorcycle Club all looked to her as a mother to the club, and so that translated to their real children as well.

Vickers was sitting on one of the sofas, quiet as ever. It had been almost three months since I arrived in San Viero. On my first day working at the garage, Vickers had made things challenging for me, along with a slight, red-headed mechanic named Mike. To hear Karen tell it, the two of them had been inseparable, but Mike was gone now. When my knight in leather armor had laid him out on the floor of the garage with one strong punch, Mike had taken it as a sign that perhaps he wasn't wanted in this place. He'd never been a member of the club, though he'd had aspirations in that direction. I think that punch had set his life in a completely different direction. If I'd never shown up in town, maybe he would have been patched into the club. He and Vickers would have continued to make things uncomfortable for any woman unlucky enough to stumble into the garage at Peasant Motors and Cash never would have seen just how awful he was until it was too late.

As it stood, Vickers was alone in the club. He'd never been the most popular guy around, but now even the few who could tolerate his behavior seemed to be turning their backs to him. The poster child for that trend was Tubbs. He'd been there laughing along with Vickers on my first day at work, but he'd made amends and the two of us were becoming close friends. Tubbs had a particular talent as a mechanic that I respected. I may have come to this small pond from my big sea back home, but I'd never been sure of my abilities as a mechanic until Peasant Motors. Now I knew for certain that I was good enough for this kind of work. Tubbs and I were the best grease monkeys in the shop and we weren't about to let anyone forget it.

We were sitting around on a Saturday night at the clubhouse. Ordinarily, on a night like this, the Dead Men would be riding out to do business or at least to spend some time at one of the favorite watering holes in San Viero. Tonight was different though. Tonight we were waiting for a guest. Cash had entered the club into a deal with a guy named Reginald
Donnovan
. He wanted to buy up land around the town and become the new mayor or something like that. Titles were unimportant. I just knew he was a rich guy who was looking to get a bit richer. His plan was to use the Dead Men to stir up trouble for Mayor Taylor. To
that end, he was sending his son along as his proxy. Cash said he was just trying to keep an eye on his, but that he didn't mind. When it came to business, the Dead Men were professionals. "There won't be any mistakes for him to report back," Cash had told me.

I walked over to the bar where Karen was embroiled in a lengthy discussion about whether a seven-year-old girl should have a cell phone with Hep. She spared a brief moment to tell me "nice shot" before she went back into her descriptions of the bullying that young girls face and the pressure of being different when all of your friends have phones. I smiled and continued on towards the back of the bar with Cash following behind me.

"Victory drink?" he asked.

"You know it," I told him, "What'll ya have, Mr. President?"

"Nothing for me," he said stoically, "Donnovan's
kid should be here soon and I want to make a good impression." I nodded to him and began fixing myself a vodka cranberry. I knew he wouldn't fault me in my celebratory drink even if he was abstaining. The fact that he was able to resist a drink was one of the things I loved so much about Cash. He knew when to restrain himself. That he didn't complain about other people's vices was another thing that I loved about him. He was that rare breed of guy who knew how to have a good time but didn't always need to. I've spent most of my life working in a garage, and I don't think I could live with a man who couldn't get to work once in a while.

I had gotten no more than a sip of my drink before I heard the sound of a car arriving in the parking lot. My eyes met Cash and he nodded to me.

"Sounds like he's here," he said, "I'll go out and meet him and then bring him in."

"Good luck," I told him with a smile as I leaned on the bar and had another sip of my drink. Around me, the other members of the Dead Men were finishing up conversations and drinks of their own, well aware that the time for business was just about upon them. Even Vickers seemed to break from his quiet stupor at the sound of the car outside. I was used to machines, and whenever an organization of people worked seamlessly together, I loved to watch it. People are usually so unpredictable and wild compared to a machine. Inside a car, you know what every part is going to do because that's what it was made for. People change, though. You can guess at their intentions, but you never know what will happen in reality.

Cash stepped out the door of the clubhouse to meet up with our new associate. I found myself without anyone to talk to. I really wished there had been someone there to fill me in on this guy's plans and intentions, but I knew that everyone was just as in the dark as I was. We knew what
Donnovan
was planning in the long term, but none of us knew the details. I had spent nearly three months trying not to get worried about what Cash got up to when he was working on club business, but it was a challenge. Of course, I simply wanted him to come home safe.
Itwas
hard walking the line between well-wishing and being overprotective though. Cash and the other Dead Men knew more about their business and about their own capabilities than I ever would. I might be a great mechanic, but I was only 23. There's still a lot of the world that's a mystery to me.