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3
Tarak
I made her the second we came in the door. Even with only one eye working, she wasn’t hard to miss. Not because she’s some great beauty either. I watch people. Study them. Life in the MC is a game of poker. You win by reading your opponents. I was voted Prez because of my instincts. My ability to read people has saved more than one brother in my MC. Meets have turned sour and I was always the first one to get the read; drawing first and protecting my brothers from fatal blows.
This girl, she’s full of tiny tells. Sometimes it’s a tooth nibbling a lower lip, nervous hands, or haunted eyes. The girl has a story. She sticks out like a bright flower against miles of desert. Only her petals haven’t bloomed yet. She needs watering, tending—a shit ton of TLC. Something or someone put the shadows in her eyes.
I used to be a man who did those things for a woman. Especially the broken, haunted ones. They always called to me. I see all the jagged, fucked-up pieces of myself reflected when I look at them. Some, romantic stupid part of me thought that if I just found that one other jagged-edged soul, I could line up mine and make it whole again. It’s my Native-American blood. My ancestors were fierce warriors. But we also had passion. Deep-seeded passion for Earth, the cosmos, the stars, and our women.
But I’ve been singed; utterly destroyed by the power of love. The scars are so thick around my heart, I know I’ll never love like I did once ever again in this lifetime.
When we walked past her booth, I stared straight ahead. Nope. There’s no way that broken, pale mousey-brown haired girl who got in my face yesterday was gonna take one more second of my time. The other guys didn’t recognize the brown-eyed girl in the least. So, I didn’t bother either.
I heard her quick intake of breath; watched her tiny trembles. And when she fled to the safety of the restrooms, my eyes happened to fall on the napkin covered in purple ink she left behind.
I’ve read it a dozen times.
And it got to me. Her inner desires, her need to be sexy. Desirable. She already was and she doesn’t see it. Hell, she’s fresh meat in a small corner of the vast desert. That alone will get her second looks. She’s also tiny. The kind of woman that makes a man instantly feel the need to protect. I mean even a slight gust of wind could knock the petite thing over.
Besides, I have more problems than a briar from a rose sticking in my side. The Bloody Scorpions keep pushing us…wanting to expand their territory farther north. My blood will seep into the Earth staining it red before I let that happen. The black mountains of Santa Fe are mine. The chapter of the Royal Bastards kept shit locked down and safe during the time of Corona when people were scared, and the cops and first responders were sick themselves. We kept people safe. Our MC was the law. My leadership cemented our power and now, even though the world is almost back to pre-COVID days, our MC remains in power. We are the law, which meansI’m the law.