Page 4

Tank

I lead Mira down the long hall to the spare rooms. We may not be a large MC, around a dozen members so far, but we’re lucky enough that when Marx and Rhodie’s dad and his buddies were setting this place up they had the forethought to put in a lot of rooms, with ensuites for a bit of luxury after the military.

“Whoa, this place goes on forever! What’s in all these rooms?”

I turn back to look at Mira, her head whipping this way and that, taking it all in.

“Nothing much. The brothers’ rooms are further down, there’s a couple of larger rooms for the families. A room that Mama Debs has turned into a movie room for the kids.” I shrug.

“Who’s Mama Debs? Is she like the woman who rules over the club entertainers? Where are the club entertainers? I haven’t seen anybody with their boobs and butts hanging out.” She stops in the middle of the hall, hands on hips, clearly wanting answers.

“Well, they had a run in with the Ol Ladies. Marx kicked them out and now the brothers have to go to town to pick up women.”

“Huh. This place is not what I was expecting.” She says, her brows pinch, a little crease forming between them.

“What did you expect?” I ask, curious, as this woman’s way of thinking is a little out there.

“Hazy smoke, the place smelling of vagina and baby oil; the slight rubbery smell of condoms, the used ones tossed carelessly on the floor. Poles in the common room with busty women working them. Public shows of debauchery and in the middle of it all an older woman with a permanent cigarette in her mouth and teased bleached hair making sure the women are doing their jobs. The Pres would sit on a throne like chair, with two women on their knees performing fellatio as the brothers brought another sorry soul to him, this guy not being able to make payments for the loan you gave him. With the flick of the wrist Pres would send him to his doom in the dark, damp basement, where he would be held in chains and beaten to a pulp by the enforcer. Then he’d be tortured until he couldn’t take it anymore and he’d be put out of his misery with a well-placed bullet to the brain. His body would then be dumped on the front lawn of his home as a warning, with the message ‘Don’t funk with the DRMC’.” She takes a deep breath and looks at me with her large green eyes, chest heaving with the effort of getting her story out and taking as few breaths as possible.

She’s magnificent when she voices the world inside her head, her creativity blowing me away. I stare at her, words not coming to me other than to say “Wow. That was a lot.”

“Yeah, sorry bout it. I get a little carried away sometimes.” She ducks her head and I can see a slight blush on her cheeks, although I doubt it’s from embarrassment, more excitement.

“Let’s get you to your room so you can write about this MC that is a lot more exciting than ours.”

We start moving again and I stop in front of her room for the night. “Well, this is you.” I turn the handle and swing the door open for her to peek in. Her shoulders are tense, however, when she sees inside they drop in disappointment.

“Darn it all. I was sure that the room would be a cesspit with filthy sheets from many nights with unknown women.”

It’s the opposite. For a long time the spare rooms were just that, spare and barely used. Half the time they had no bedding. If we needed them one of the Ol Ladies would make up the room. Tav was charged with getting them set up so the Ol Ladies didn’t have to hustle to prepare them, so they sit looking like a hotel room with way too many pillows and cushions. Shit, they even have art on the walls.

“You might have to take that up with Tav. He’s the reason the rooms aren’t filthy.”

She harrumphs at me, then moves inside. “Tav, that’s Blanche’s Ol Man, right?” I nod in reply, “Yusss. I’ll learn the ins and out of biker life before you know it! Maybe I should get a bike? I ride a bike at the moment. An acoustic one, not one like yours, but I do have free will to do whatever I like, so maybe I’ll look at getting a bike one day. Perhaps I can see if someone will let me sit on theirs? Get a feel for it, you know?”

I wait a moment or two, not sure if she’s finished or is just taking a breath.

“You can talk now. I think that was the end of it. Maybe.”

“You use a lot of words, Writer Lady.”

“It’s a gift,” she shrugs one shoulder then eyes the desk that sits under the window in her room for the night. “I have an idea. Thanks Tank!”

With that she shuts the door abruptly and I let out a surprised chuckle as I make my way to my own room. Much like Mira’s in size, it’s quite different in decor. Tav may have been let loose with flair and soft furnishings in the other rooms, but mine is still almost as stark as the day I first arrived. Everything is put away neatly in its place. The walls are a light gray, the bedding dark and there are two pillows, that’s all. There are no real personal belongings here other than my clothing, and I’m fine with that. I bet Mira would be horrified by my room. From what I saw of her house that time we dropped her off, she would have an abundance of belongings. All things that mean something to her.

I toe off my boots, making sure to line them up, toes to the wall, next to the bathroom door. That’s where they go, just like my cut that gets hung over the back of the chair that matches the dark wood desk and dresser. Lowering my bulk onto my bed, I lie on top of the covers. My grandfather would think this was pure luxury, how I’m living now. Shit, it is compared to how we lived when I was a kid.

My parents were career Army. Because of their constant deployment I was sent to live with my gramps, a career military man himself. There was no softness about him at all, only rules. Rules to live by, rules to die by, as he would say. It wasn’t a bad childhood. I had good food to eat, a roof over my head, and someone who gave a damn, which is more than a lot of kids get. The old man was fair, but tough and he had ideas on how to raise a child, which was to give him a purpose. From a young age I had chores, physical training and the belief that everything had to be earned. When I was around 7 or 8 I discovered a love of reading, but other than reading to pass my subjects, my grandfather thought fiction books were a waste of time. Who has time to daydream when you have practical things to be doing? Because of his mindset I would spend the evenings reading my books in secret with the pen torch I got in a tool set for my tenth birthday. Around my thirteenth birthday I won a writing competition at school. It wasn’t anything special, just a certificate presented in front of the entire school, and a pizza voucher. I was embarrassed by the praise and terrified my grandfather would find out. He did, after a few moms stopped us at the supermarket to congratulate me. I braced myself for that car ride home thinking he’d be disappointed that instead of excelling on the football team, I was excelling in English.

“Proud that you’re using your brain at school boy, it’ll come in handy when you join the military.”

“I was thinking about maybe going to college,” I said, biting my lip.

Gramps let out a sigh, “Listen kid, that path, the college path, it’s not for this family. We’re military through and through, and shit, we’re good at it. That’s your calling son. But writing, that can be your outlet. Trust me, when you’re lying on the hard ass ground in a country being torn apart, you’ll need your stories to keep you sane.”

I shake off the memory. That is the conversation that stopped me from entertaining ideas of going to college. Instead I knuckled down, got good grades and then enlisted as soon as I was able, following my parents and grandfather before me. Now, ten years and a few scars later I’m here, lying on my bed thinking about the scraps of stories I have locked away in a suitcase under my bed.

Letting out a sigh I get myself up, strip off and place my things in the laundry basket before getting into the shower, not even waiting for it to warm up. I need the jolt to my system to stop me from thinking about what ifs and the gorgeous, bubbly blonde down the hall.

Mira

“Ugh” I groan out, flopping over onto my stomach. My eyes are scratchy as all get out from the long hours of writing that I pulled last night. Normally my peak writing time is during the day, then I have a nice early night as I’ve always been an early riser. Put me into an MC clubhouse and I want to pull an all nighter.

As rough as I feel though, I’m happy with what I got down. The start of a new novel is always the hardest part for me, but that monologue I gave poor Tank last night really had the juices flowing. And not just the brain juices because holy fish sticks could that man be any hotter? I don’t think so. He’s so big and gentle and has a jawline that could cut glass. He’s not super hard looking, more the type of man who is thick from his work, rather than spending hours in the gym building muscles and then going on a two week diet where all he’s eating is boiled chicken breast and sweet potato for every meal. OK, I dated a bodybuilder once. Why is it that gym-going muscle men always want the big girls? Anyway, that was a total mistake because it turns out I don’t really like spending my days rubbing tanning lotion onto hard muscles until the owner of said muscles looks like a ginormous oompa loompa.

I flop back over to my back and think about getting up for the day. I’ve never been one to sleep away the day if I could help it. Thank you Nana. “Go out and greet the day, Mira,” she would say in her sweet old lady voice, and by heck would I greet the day. Probably a little too hard knowing the child version of me. I always thought I would grow out of being the odd child. The one who loved to wear all the colors of the rainbow and say what she thought and felt. Instead I grew into an odd adult and I’m funking fantastic so it wasn’t a total loss.

A clacking noise goes past my room, followed by the sound of little footsteps running, the patter of the owners’ feet a fast beat instead of the steady slow thuds I’ve heard go past. Tossing off the covers I roll out of bed, getting to my feet and putting on yesterday’s outfit: my purple pants, black and white top and pink heels. What can I say? The girl loves color. I straighten up the bed and then head out, following the chorus of voices and the heavenly scent coming from the kitchen.

“Hi, Miss Mira!” the little poppet I think is called Jovie calls out waving.

“Good morning!” Her much louder friend Cove, I think her name was, joins in. Her brother sits quietly next to her, pretty much ignoring everyone, eating a dry pancake.

“Well, hey there kiddos! Fancy seeing you here.” I smile down at them. The boy, Elio gives me an odd look then goes back to whatever he was doing.

“Well, course you’d see us here. Jovie lives here and Tav is taking all of us to school so we get to have Mama Debs’ breakfast while the Bigs get Mom’s breakfast.” She says very loudly. Just as I’m questioning her volume control she leans forward and tries to whisper, “Mom isn’t as good at cooking breakfast as Mama Debs.”

When Cove leans back Jovie leans forward and whispers, “She isn’t very good at whispering, so maybe don’t tell her any secrets.”

“I’ll try not to,” I whisper back, trying not to laugh. These kids are a hoot.

“Well, hello there, kotiro . You must be the new girl Marx told me about. I’m Mama Debs, come and have some kai. ” A little woman with curly dark hair takes me by the hand and leads me to the kitchen hatch, dropping said hand and stepping into the kitchen, ready to serve. “What’ll you have, sweetheart?”

I’ll have you thanks, the words flit through my mind. Her dark hair is in soft curls around her round face, a huge smile stretched across it, her eyes crinkling with joy. My hand goes to my chest as it fills with something I can’t quite put my finger on. It feels like happiness and sadness at the same time. The last time I saw a face like this was my Nana’s. Not in looks, my nana clearly looks nothing like Mama Debs given we have blonde hair and green eyes, and Mama Debs obviously has dark coloring. So no, not in likeness, but more so intent. The look that no matter what happens this woman will be there for you, always. To nurture you and love you unconditionally.

Looking along the counter at all the offerings my eyes widen. Shirt, I can see why Cove loves eating breakfast here.

“Um, maybe some pancakes and a piece of bacon, please? Oh, and maybe a hug for after?” Cheese and rice, play it cool Mira!

“Of course, e hoa. Pancakes, bacon and eggs coming right up, and a hug for after.” She grins.

My eyes get wider and wider as I watch her load the plate up with far more than I’ll be able to eat, but she smiles so happily while she does it that I keep my mouth shut. Once she’s done she sets it on the counter and then hustles around from behind the hatch. As soon as I’m within arm’s reach she pulls me into her, tugging my head gently so it rests on her much shorter shoulder. My larger frame is curled around the little plump woman and I don’t care. It’s the best feeling in the world. All too soon she pulls away, rubs my cheek and softly smiles up at me.

“Welcome to the family, dear.”

“Oh, my name’s Mira. Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself.”

She grins up at me, her eyes squinting because of her cheeks pushing them up, “Welcome to the family, Mira.”

She bustles off quickly to serve some of the brothers and I take my overloaded plate to an empty seat at the table the women are sitting at. I figure it would be a good chance to get to know them a little better. Not to base any characters on them, but more to get the inner workings of what it’s like being an Ol Lady. People think writing romance is easy, but there is a buttload of research that goes into this stuff. Although there are equal amounts of imagination as well. I don’t know any aliens, but that didn’t stop me writing a successful little series of novellas. “The Guys of Galaxis” is one series that I won’t be recommending to Marx. I snort to myself, imagining the big, bearded burly man reading it. Then laugh harder when I imagine him reading about the Galaxis’ penises and their hidden features, like the little tongue that sits at the base of their peens.

“You OK there, new girl?” Nat asks, a bemused smile on her face.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I was just imagining these guys reading some of my alien romances.” I wipe a tear from my eye and contemplate the best way to tackle the mountain of food Mama Debs served me.

“Wait, I thought you wrote murder romance?” Remy asks, peeling an orange for her daughter.

“Oh, I do. But I have a little side series, where the alien men are tall, broody and have an extra tongue at the base of their junk.”

Remy’s eyes grow wide. “The Guys of Galaxis? Is that you?” she gasps out. I smile and nod, Remy letting out a little squeal and clapping her hands. “Oh my gosh I love that series! Mannox is one of my many book boyfriends!”

I get a little flutter in my belly, excited at knowing someone has not only read my book but also enjoyed it.

“Wait, is that the one with the alien convict guy?” Nat asks, brow furrowed.

“Yes! That’s the one!” Remy yells, then turns to me. “Holy crap I can’t believe it’s you. That’s so cool!”

I take a bite of my eggs and try not to beam too wide. I don’t want these people to think that I think I’m too cool or something.

“Chewy, Mira wrote that book I gave you, the one where the heroine tortured the bad guy by infecting him with a tapeworm,” Remy says to Chewy.

“Oh, I didn’t read it, but that did sound cool. I’ve filed that away for future use.” She takes a sip of her smoothie. “What other good ideas have you got? I’ve done the spray foam, and an S&M style one.”

She must mean she’s thought about it already, rather than used it on people. Devil’s Rose MC is not a 1% club, they’re good guys who do charity runs and donate toys and things like that. Maybe her and Rhodie come up with ideas for torture and things. I mean, I can’t imagine charity run bikers need to torture a lot.

“Well, the tapeworm was one of my favorites. I also like to write about psychological torture rather than physical torture.”

Chewy’s eyes narrow slightly, “Physical torture yields results quicker.”

“That’s true,” I agree, taking a bite of eggs. “Hmm, well, what about burning?”

Nat and Remy are looking between the two of us, clearly intrigued.

“Chinese drip torture with acid instead of water. However, that type of burning isn’t widespread so maybe deliberate but widespread over the body would work well?” She pinches her bottom lip between her thumbs and forefinger and stares at the wall, in thought.

“I would do bottoms of the feet. They’re a lot more sensitive than people give them credit for. There’s a bunch of nerve endings in them.”

“Yes! I like the way you think,” Chewy says, briefly glancing at me with dancing eyes.

“What the hell is happening?” I hear Nat ask Remy, Remy shrugging in reply.

“You ever thought about using CO2? It’s the same chemical that builds up in the human body when you’re suffocating. The victim will be wide awake and alert enough to panic over and over again until you end them,” Chewy offers up after a moment of thought.

“Oh,” I say, patting my boobs, looking for my notebook. “Oh that’s good,” I pull my notebook out from my bra, along with the little pen and start writing stuff down.

“Aw shit, please Nat, Remy, someone tell me these two aren’t bonding?” one of the guys says.

“We’re totally bonding,” Chewy answers. “Hard.”

“Noooo,” another voice whines before moving away. I don’t even look up to see which brother it is, I’m on a roll and have to note down this stuff before it flits straight out of my head.

“Morning ladies,” a deep voice says from behind me.

“Morning, Tank. Here for the geek show?” Nat says, snickering a little.

“The geek show? What’s going on?” he asks, coming to a stop at the seat next to mine.

“Chewy and Mira just realized they can exchange torture methods,” Remy replies.

“Oh, shit.” This time Marx’s voice sounds out. “Please don’t tell Chewy about that scene in ‘Devil’s Heat’.”

My head snaps up to stare at him, eyes wide.

“I mean, I heard it’s pretty rough. From what I’ve heard. Or read on the internet when I searched your name. Yeah.” With that, he turns and stomps off to his office, the door slamming behind him.

“Well, that was weird,” one brother says, the rest of the MC agreeing with him.

“Yeah, totally,” I cough out.

Everyone finishes up breakfast and I try to take notes around being distracted by all the goings on. Blanche collects up the little kids, or Littles as they seem to collectively be called, then corrals them into the mom vehicle with the precision of an army drill sergeant. She’s nice, but also very terrifying. The MC brothers seem to leave the clubhouse in packs heading out to work in the MC owned businesses, the only brother who isn’t employed by the MC, Switch, eats his breakfast and then heads to bed after working the night shift at Rose Grove General Hospital.

Within half an hour the clubhouse is almost empty, save for Mama Debs in the kitchen and Marx in his office somewhere.

“You alright there Mira?” Mama Debs’ voice calls through the hatch.

“Yup!” I call out, tidying up my mess, and popping my notebook back into my bra. I carry my dirty dishes through to the kitchen, cleaning them up and popping them into the industrial sized dishwasher. “I’m going to head home and check up on Mrs. McKenzie, she’ll be all huffy with me for being out all night. But never fear, I will be back!” I turn to head out, but then spin on my heel and give Mama Debs a quick squeeze. Nothing too intimate, we only just met, sheesh! “Thank you for breakfast,”

“Anytime, dear. Anytime.” She uses her strong mom arms to give me a big squeeze before releasing me out into the world, a huge smile on my face, and walking on air.