Just Ride: Legion of Guardians (2 page)

Lori and Shay looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

Fuck that.

They didn’t know that my heart was already road kill to some stupid ass biker. Another biker would never get that chance again.

K
ylie
:

News had spread around the county that I was back home. This was a big deal since I had been on tour only five and a half months ago. My band pulled a few major events and opened for a popular group or solo act that was more established in the industry than we were. We were called
The Greys,
and the band included Scott, on bass, Lot, our drummer, and Justin, lead guitarist. We made quite a team and were doing fairly well. We were probably more famous in our hometowns, which explains why Wiley’s wife was calling to see if I’d perform on Friday night. I was the lead singer for the band, and it was our fifth year together. In the world of rock and roll, this had not been a long time, but our agent at the time, thought we would make a dynamic group. And we did until I realized my mom was sick and ended the tour almost six months ago.

To a certain extent, we were fizzling. Scott was having mental health issues, and Justin’s wife did not like him on the road. She especially did not like that he and I were close and she’d made that abundantly clear.

Several times.

Wiley’s had been around since I was a kid. His place was the first place I had performed, so there was no way I would turn down the old man or his precious wife. He’d been more protective over my career than I even knew how to be. After finishing community college and majoring in performing arts, I decided to take a leap of faith, after some pushing from my mom, and ask Wiley to let me be the opening act for one of the local bands.

At first, he was reluctant since he wasn't sure where my mom stood on the issue. Then I think he thought I would get my feelings hurt if I wasn't any good. After he and my mom talked, he let me perform one song, and after bringing the house down with an oldie but goodie, he sort of became my manager and started to make calls for me to sing at other bars. One night, an agent just happened to be in the audience, and signed me on the spot. And that’s how my entire singing career started. I loved to sing, but only because I was naturally good at it. My family always loved and celebrated it, but having lots of people all of a sudden showing their love and support was brand new for me, and I got caught up in the hype.

After a little while, the demands for me to travel grew, so I moved away, got involved in some light drama and fell in love with my first biker. Jaz was his name, and he was biker/rocker to the core. He played the bass, and man, could he play! Jaz sported tats all up and down his arms, creeping up his neck, and even circling his thighs. He was from New York State, and he loved to rock. We made sweet music, among other things, for the seven months we were on tour, but once our tour was over, so were we. All of that would have been fine, except I had rearranged my life for him and he had already moved on.

Jaz was a part of some biker club that did a bunch of illegal shit, but I was in love and that was all that mattered. I was making coke runs, seducing guys for him, all while in a continual state of inebriation. We both stayed intoxicated, which was another reason the relationship worked. After Jaz collapsed during a show, he had to do thirty days of rehab, which meant when he was out. I stayed sober as well to show my solidarity. What I found out was that besides the great sex, there wasn't much conversation as we had little in common outside of the band and our love of drinking. Also, Jaz was no longer the lead bass player, so that tore at his self-worth. Our last day together included me walking in on him fucking
my
backup singer in
my
trailer. The bitch had the nerve enough to stop for a moment and said, “Backup for backup. Try the lead bass player.”

Then he kept on fucking her.

That was by far the worst moment of my life. The only thing I could do was kick over that stupid bike. For weeks after that, I regretted not slashing the tires. Somehow, I thought I'd feel better.

Maybe a little.

The night of the performance at Wiley’s, I was so nervous. Mom wanted to come, but said she was feeling weak. This was the third day in a row that she felt that way, but she had new medicine, so the doctor said it was to be expected. She had the names and numbers of everyone I would be with, including Wiley’s, if she needed me.

Maybe nervous wasn’t the word after all to describe my feelings, because I swear there was a panic attack coming next. Dressed in skinny dark jeans, a loose yet light baby pink blouse that slouched on one side of my shoulder and my trusty black four-inch heels, I figured was perfect. My makeup was heavy around the eyes yet natural on my cheeks and lips. I spent a lot of time prepping my hair to have a dainty yet wistful look with silver droplets in my ears.

Wiley put his arm around me and said, “Doll, go to that place ya go. You'll be fine.”

He practically towered over me standing at six foot three, more than enough of a beer belly to hold him over for a while and worn jeans that I’m sure he never changed. Looking up into the old man’s eyes, I saw years of experience but also love. I smiled at the man’s words. He was absolutely right. When I sang, I just went somewhere else; a happier place, calm, drama free, and most importantly, safe. Safe from heartbreak, pain and rejection.

I thought about my safe place and took the stage. Shay and Lori were there cheering me on and so was the entire town. Where did all these people come from and how did they fit into Wiley’s?

Wiley’s Bar N Grill
was mainly a bar, and during the evening and weekends, they would grill outside, no matter the weather. They’d done it for years, and it was one of the best places to get pulled pork. Wiley’s wife made most of the food and had taught a few other people their secret recipes as they were getting up in age.

The old place still looked the same, except there was an actual stage with room enough for a band to play. When I began, I started the set with a song I wrote after Jaz broke my heart to smithereens. It was an angry, mad and sad woman song, but the crowd went wild, and as I looked into some of their faces, I saw tears and tissues. Those were the same feelings I had when I caught Jaz fucking Tasha, my goddamn backup singer, doggy style, while he held her face down. The kicker was the son of a bitch didn’t even bother to stop when I made my presence known in the room.

“Now for my next song, just to lighten the mood, here's an oldie, but goodie.”

I sang
Back on My Feet Again
by The Babys.

Since the gig was done on such short notice, I provided the instrumental music with the recorded singers and sang the lead. Holding the mic loosely in the palms of both of my hands, I belted out the words as they washed over me as well. No more Jaz, no more band and I was aiming to get back on my feet again.

When I finished, I yelled, “Thanks for the good old Manor welcome! I love and appreciate you all!”

As I left the stage, everybody was screaming in applause. When I met up with Shay and Lori, they screamed too and then they embraced me with a huge group hug. I’m sure they were a little tipsy as well.

“You still got it!” Shay exclaimed.

“Yes, you had me in tears,” Lori said. “That's how I feel like about Apollo.”

Shay shook her head and said, “Come on. Let's get a drink.”

“Nothing for me guys.” I said.

“What, did you go away and sober up?” Shay asked.

“Something like that.” I headed towards the bar.

I had to be sober just in case something happened with my mom. Susan Rutgers did not want anyone to know she was in a state of weakness. Hell would freeze over before that happened. She was a proud woman who made things happen, no matter what. I always admired her for that.

The three of us were at the bar chatting when a guy came up behind me while sliding his arm around my neck. My entire body froze as he grabbed my breast in his large hand, then said, “My, you sho can sing.”

He was pissy drunk and wreaked of alcohol.

“What the fuck?” Shay said to the guy.

My instincts clicked in and I grabbed his arm, pulled it towards the ground and twisted it around, forcing his body to turn so it was pulled behind his back as I held on tight. He yelled out in pain, as another drunk guy came over and slid both arms around Lori and Shay.

“Fuck!” My guy yelled.

Lori and Shay were both cussing and pushing him off of them. He barked, “Y’all some stuck up bitches!”

The guy, whose arm I still had twisted like a pretzel, yelled out once more, then kicked me in the shin with his cowboy boots. Screaming out in pain, I twisted his arm more, causing him to yell loudly.

“Get off of him!” his friend yelled.

I didn’t move fast enough, and his hand flew across my face, shaking the guy from my grasp and knocking me into the bar stools. The man had literally slapped the spit out of my mouth, and it hurt like a bitch.

A gunshot rang out, and I knew it was Wiley or one of his workers giving their normal warning shot.

“Get the fuck outta here and don’t ever come back,” Wiley growled.

He lowered the gun towards their lower regions and both men backed out of the bar as everyone in attendance was about to take a piece of them. A few guys followed them out, and I knew that would be ugly. We were the sweethearts of the town at one point, but even now in our thirty’s, the neighbors still did not play that shit. That wasn’t to say everyone in the town was innocent of domestic violence, but you damn sure didn’t hit on women in public.

“You alright, suga?” Wiley asked me as Shay and Lori observed the side of my face.

“Bitch.” Shay hissed. “We need ice Wiley.”

“On it,” he said as he went behind the bar. A few minutes later, he returned with a towel filled with ice and tried to put it on my cheek.

“I’m so sorry, suga.”

“It’s not your fault, Wiley. Guys are jerks.”

“Not all guys are jerks,” he said with a smirk on his face.

“Well, maybe not all.”

“That one was,” Lori chimed in.

I was sure to have a shiner the next day. The swelling caused my skin to feel very tight and my cheek boned throbbed with pain.

This was not the welcome party I expected.

T
he Next Day

As I was getting ready to go grocery shopping, the house phone rang. Mom was lying down after her treatments. She looked ten years older than she actually was, and my heart continued to break as I was not sure of the next steps. The strongest woman I knew was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was detected early, so her doctors were in the process of scheduling her for laser therapy. The cancer specialist said she was a good candidate for a nonsurgical treatment. This was the route she wanted to go so they were aggressive with the current treatments.

“Hello,” I answered.

Heavy breathing sounded through the speakers.

At first I thought it was my heavy breathing, but after holding my breath, I realized it was coming from the receiver.

“Hello.” I said again.

The breathing continued, so I hung up the phone.

Really
? Kids still did things like that.

The weather was supposed to be cloudy with a forecast of showers in the evening. However, as soon as I walked outside, the rain started to pour. The shiner on my face was black and blue, so I would be keeping my glam glasses on while I was outside. If I had thought about it, I would have asked someone to get the food for me. The problem was, I didn’t know what I wanted until I got there.

Mom hated that I shopped like that. She said I spent more money than I needed to.

Walking through the grocery store, my head was down as I was looking for purified flour, and it was usually on the bottom shelf. I did not realize someone else was in the aisle, until I heard a familiar raspy voice say, “Know that body
and
that hair from anywhere.”

Snapping my head up, I saw that biker dude.

Razor.

He was dressed in jeans, boots, a white t-shirt, and his cut. This time it was clear as day:
President
was patched on the cut and above that was
Razor
. The patch on the other side of the cut read
Legion of Guardians
with a balanced Scales of Justice.

Interesting.

He had a smirk on his face, so I assumed he was going to try and hit on me again. I called myself beating him to the punch, so I turned my head back down towards the flour. My body temperature felt like it rose far above the normal ninety-eight point six degrees because I felt feverish as he closed in on me. A hand jerked my chin up and my glasses were ripped off.

“
What the fuck
?” his raspy voice turned deadly.

“Wh—?” I was so confused.

“Who did this to you?” he growled. “Women who wear dark shades on rainy days are always hiding something.”

“I, uh, it’s a long story.” I found myself answering him.

“It’s always a long fucking story, girl. Every goddamn day, it’s a story. Every night it’s a story. He’s mad at the world and comes home to hit you, and you fucking take it and make excuses. It’s a long fucking story. If I see his ass, I’ll tell him a long story with my fucking fist down his goddamn throat.”

Razor was talking through his teeth and the anger was rolling off of him in waves. “You want to hear a long story? One day he’ll put you in a goddamn hospital, then maybe six feet under. It’s always a fucking long story. You say that word, and I’ll put that motherfucker out of commission. One fucking word, and it’s done. A man that hits on you is no man at all. If he’s disrespectful to you, he’s no man at all. He fucks around on you and you’re his, he’s a goddamn moron and no man at all. You got that, baby doll?”

No he was not sitting here giving me a lecture on domestic violence and good men?
If I heard correctly, he was a womanizer, the president of some biker club, and of course they always cheated on their significant others. And just the other day this brute just insinuated I could ride his dick.

No, the fuck he did not
.

I turned my cart, looked over my shoulder and replied, “Yes, Pastor. I got it.” Then I walked away, but not to get my groceries, but to get the fuck out of there.