Page 30 of Riff

I’d never had a pet of my own. All of the apartments I’d lived in as an adult had a no-pet policy. But growing up, my grandmother seemed to be the local cat whisperer. Strays from all over came to her yard to be fed and cared for. I’d fallen in love with each and every one of them. And I’d kind of always hoped I would be that old lady who the strays flocked to one day.

Somehow, it felt like the universe was giving me more soft and sweet after so much hard and cold.

The motel room where we were weathering the storm was a little more, well, dated than the last one. Which was saying something. There was paneling on the walls that matched the faux wood on the nightstands beside the beds, the desk, and the TV cabinet across from them.

The room was overstuffed for its size, and the covers on the bed looked straight out of the eighties. But it was surprisingly clean, the green carpet even having lines from the vacuum on it. Even the ancient bedding had the scent of detergent clinging to it.

I imagined in areas that didn’t get much tourism like this town, it was easier to keep the rooms tidy.

I just prayed that the cat didn’t ruin anything as I set up his litter box in the bathroom, then started to make up my bed with all of my blankets and pillow.

Riff was a little restless, likely from all of the hours in the car. I’d clearly been accustomed to being inactive, so I was actually kind of exhausted just from the walks around the rest stop and store. But he kept looking out the window, unpacking various items into the bathroom, then making his way back to the window, turning on the TV and watching the forecast, then going back to the window.

“Did you ever have a pet?” I found myself asking as I watched the cat licking his paws at the foot of my bed.

Riff turned, glancing between me and the cat. “Yeah. Our old man had lots of hunting dogs growing up. I used to get in trouble for sneaking them in to sleep in my bed.”

“Why?”

“My old man didn’t believe animals belong in the house,” he admitted, shaking his head.

“That’s sad,” I decided, thinking of all those dogs outside in the heat and the cold with no respite.

“Yeah,” he agreed, face dark when he spoke of his father. “At the clubhouse, we have a club cat.”

“What’s its name?”

“Cat,” he said, shaking his head at my eye roll. “He loves men and tries to draw blood from every woman he comes across.”

“That’s unusual. It’s usually the other way around.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “And there’s a revolving door of pets around these days. Some of the brothers and their women live at the clubhouse part-time, so their dogs come with them. One very friendly Corgi, a set of really well-trained German Shepherds, and one of those small fluffy dogs too. And there’s a bunch of chickens.”

“Really?” I asked, remembering the ever-present flock of chickens at my grandmother’s house. Each summer, there were cute little babies, their overprotective mamas, and their strutting rooster dad.

“Yep. Crow’s woman, Morgaine, lived off-grid for years before she hooked up with Crow. So she grows food and herbs and raises chickens for eggs.”

“You said brothers,” I said, confused by the term since it seemed like Raff was his only brother.

“Club brothers. That’s what you call other members of the same bike club. Brothers.”

“Are there a lot of them?”

“The club is always growing. It started with just Slash, Crow, Sway, Detroit, and us. Since then, they added Judge, Coach, Rook, and Colter. I don’t think they’ve added anyone else since we’ve been back.”

Maybe I should have been afraid of being around eight new strange men. Somehow, though, I knew that if Riff was around, I would be safe.

Plus, I mean, there were the women as well, right?

“How many of them are married or… committed?”

“Slash is married to Nyx, Crow is with Morgaine, Sway has Murphy, Judge is with Delaney, and Detroit somewhat recently got with a woman named Everleigh.”

So there would be five women around.

There was safety in that.

“Do you like dogs?” Riff asked.

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