Page 92 of Gabriel's Salvation

Chapter Thirty

Gabe

“What brings you in? Haven’t seen you in a while. Thought you’d moved on to that fancy new bike garage in town or some shit,” Tate grumbles.

“Nah, no fucker is laying hands on my baby but you, old man,” I reply as I give him a fist bump.

“Damn straight. Your ride is like a woman. Gotta handle it with love and respect or it’ll be the death of ya,” Tate croaks.

“You sound like shit old man,” I tease. “Maybe it's time to lay off the cigars.”

“Fuck that shit. The cancer will kill me long before my smokes do,” he coughs. And I can't help but smirk at the irony of the stubborn bastard. Lung cancer and breathing machine, yet still smoking like a chimney.

“So let’s see the beauty then,” he says as he makes his way out to the parking lot.

“Damn, that's a big old scar,” he says as he eyes up the scratch down the side of my otherwise pristine bike. “Don't worry girl, I'll have you looking perfect in no time.”

He strokes my bike like it's an actual person. “Jimmy,” he shouts, “take her ‘round back.”

I throw my keys to his son, who rides it around ready for Tate to start working on it. “Won't take me long. Go grab yourself a beer,” Tate offers as he makes his way around the corner.

I head inside to the fridge ready to grab a beer as I always do, but stop in my tracks, remembering I'm meeting Riley soon. Instead, I grab a soda and begin looking around the shop.

“Anything I can help you with Sugar?” A leather clad biker looking chic asks.

“Nah, not really, just passing the time while Tate works on my bike.”

“No worries Sugar, call if you need help.”

“Actually,” I say, a strange idea suddenly hitting me. “Do you sell girl’s stuff?”

“What sorta girl’s stuff? Like flowers and shit?” she asks as she turns up her nose.

“No, more like that,” I say, motioning my finger up and down at what she's wearing.

“Oh, I get ya, sugar. Something for your Ol’ Lady,” she replies with a knowing grin. “Follow me.”

My ol’ lady? Is Riley my ol’ lady? I guess she is kinda. I mean, I wouldn't be doing this shit for anyone else.

I follow the woman, who leads me to a small corner of the store stocked with leather jackets, helmets, and much more. “So is your old lady a proper woman or one of those pampered pussies?” she asks. I like this woman already. I can definitely see why Tate hired her.

“What's the difference?”

“Well we got practical stuff like this,” she says, reaching for a nice looking plain black leather jacket. “Or this,” she says in disgust as she reaches for a hideous pink leather jacket with stupid tassels hanging off the sleeves.

“Eww, definitely not that one,” I say as I shudder in disgust.

“Thank fuck,” she laughs.

My mind instantly goes to Kelly and all the times she would try to sit on my bike. She’d definitely be one to pick that hideous pink abomination.

“So what size is she, sugar?

My mind goes blank. How am I supposed to know that? “Uhmm,”

“Trixi,” the woman yells, “get over here.”

I see a young girl making her way over. “Yes mama,” she replies as she reaches us.

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