Page 12 of Absolution

After two days of waiting for Voodoo to work his computer wizardry, I finally got to hit the road heading to Ricca. Most men would have taken the fastest route possible, like a plane, when it comes to a matter such as this, but I needed time.

Time to think.

Time to plan.

Time to figure out what the fuck I was going to do if and when I found her.

Voodoo’s information tracked her down to a small town just inside the Kentucky/Indiana state lines, but who knows if she is even still there. It’s been months since she took off, and this could all be some wild goose chase. I couldn’t sit by and wait to see if she would come back to the club and to me. I owed it to myself to at least try.

The club may have saved her life and sheltered her, but she knew a debt like that could never be paid back. As a man, that is something that I would never ask of her and neither would the club. It’s not a small task to bring someone back from the brink of death and get them back on their feet again. I know what it feels like to be lost, hungry, and broken. There’s no coming back from that kind of pain and leading a normal life. There wasn’t for me any way.

Our clubhouse was the only place she could find solace in her past, and she knew that, but she still chose to run. While I had hoped that her mother’s death might be the cause, I wouldn’t allow myself to explain it away so easily. She has her demons, and I knew that going into whatever this is between us. It had always been a flight risk relationship, but I stupidly thought after she’d been there a year, that it was never going to happen, until it did. Assuming she felt safe with the club and myself, got me nowhere until now. Her running fueled the fire inside of me again and gave me a purpose. Find the answers to my questions and try to reach her again. Long shot as it may be, I had to at least try one more time. For her sake, and my own.

The plains of the Midwest zoom by as I ride Route Sixty-Six towards Kentucky. The ride thus far was smooth with decent weather, but Mother Nature was about to give me the finger. The blinding sun, when I started my day on the road, quickly faded into storm clouds. I rode for a few miles and watched the lightning in my path strike the ground one hit after another. With the way this morning had started out, I had hoped to make it to Kentucky before sundown, but the storm ahead was about to rain on my fucking progress for the day.

Realizing that the storm to the east of me wasn’t going to play nice and move out of the way, I pull off onto the road side, and grabbed my rain gear from the saddlebags. I unbuckle my helmet and lay it on the seat of my bike. Tossing the raincoat over my head, I start to feel large, wet drops pinging off the metal of my bike and hear them sizzle from the heat of the running engine.

Shit. I need to move faster.

The rain begins to steadily increase in intensity as I pull off my boots and slip on the rain pants over my jeans. I replace my boots, but my socks are already soaked. That fact alone is going to make this last leg of the trip less enjoyable. Not like arriving at my destination could be called “enjoyable” especially if I walk into the fiery storm of a pissed off Ricca. Honestly, the odds were twenty percent at best for her not trying to clock me for tracking her down, but hey, I’m a betting man. I’ll take what I can get.

Thunder claps as I strap on my helmet and mount my bike.

“Shut the fuck up, Mother Nature. I don’t need a damn reminder of what shit storm I am riding into. I already know,” I mumble under my breath as the thunder rumbles through the air again. “I already fucking know.”

I pop my kickstand and head straight into the storm, cussing the entire way.

Hours later, a tiny road sign with white letters gives me the first sign of hope that I am getting closer to my destination.

“Ten more miles to go,” I say to myself. “Ten more miles to see if she kicks or kisses my ass for showing up here.”

The sun has long since fallen and the darkness of night settles into the quiet of the country road that I find myself traveling on. It’s been miles since I’ve seen a single house or gas station. It’s a reminder of how stupid I might be for even trying to do this. The only kind of person who would run to a place like this is someone who doesn’t want to be found. Am I making a fucking mistake for driving all this way to see her? Self-doubt creeps in just as the illumination of a small town comes over the hilly horizon. As the lights grow brighter and closer, my heart begins to race.

Jesus, man. Calm the fuck down. You don’t even get this fucking jittery when you’re killing some dumbass motherfucker.

I force myself to shake whatever the hell is going on with me off, just as I enter into the small town. Tiny houses and trailers are alternating on either side of the streets without a soul to be found outside. The rumble of my bike’s engine echoes off the dark houses as I pass by.

Shit. Does anyone even live here anymore? This place looks like a fucking ghost town.

Passing a few more dark streets, I finally see signs of life. There are neon signs of two neighboring bars flashing ahead. I pull into the conjoined parking lot and kill the engine of my bike. The parking lot is nearly half full, which would explain the lack of people roaming around town at this time of night. I mean shit, just because it’s ten o’clock at night doesn’t mean that it’s time to roll up the sidewalks and roads until the next day. I can’t even imagine Ricca staying in a place like this. Then again, the two bars gave her options at least.

In the year or more that I have known her, she’s been pretty much a night owl. Rarely did I ever come back to my room and find her asleep, before three o’clock in the morning. Hell, half the time it was almost dawn before she settled down. She would get so pissed at me when I’d purposely make noise to wake her up, but it was a part of the fun I liked to have with her. Ricca would scrunch up her eyes as soon as I turned the light on and huff at me. Even pissed off, she was still beautiful sprawled out in my bed. Her long, blonde hair used to fan over to my side of the bed, and just getting a chance to smell her on my pillow, was enough for me while she healed. I took the chances she gave me, and this time I had a game of chance to play myself.

Taking off my helmet, I survey the two bars trying to decide which one to try my luck. She worked in a bar the first time I saw her, so I imagine she would try her luck here in the way of getting a job again. It was a fifty-fifty chance, but at least I could try again if I guessed wrong.

The first bar on the left looks like something out of the old west. Weathered wood paneling exterior with oddly painted green shutters lining its windows. The bright red of the neon sign spells out Rusty’s over the wooden door. Judging by the look of the place, it’s the local old timer’s bar, which I confirm as two older men stumble out of the front door with an older male bartender, hot on their heels.

“Get your asses back here,” the bartender twangs. “Y’all haven’t paid your tab, and you for damn sure, aren’t driving home in that condition.” I watch closely as the bartender catches up to the men and snatches the keys away from one of them.

“Your wives would skin my hide if I let you out on the streets like this. Y’all come inside and I’ll call Missy to come get you.”

The men obey and follow him inside as I turn my attention to the other bar.

Wild Willie’s according the sign, and it was about as opposite as you could get to Rusty’s. Instead of wood panel, this one was obviously the newer establishment with brick walls and LED lights shining from every single windowpane in the place. The people I watch over the course of several minutes coming in and out of the place to smoke seem younger. I look between the places, before I make the call and dismount from my bike.

Wild Willie’s it is.

Removing my rain gear, I tuck everything back into my saddlebags and flick the lock closed just in case. This might not be the big city, but shit still gets stolen in small towns. Stepping away from my bike, I head towards the bar. Music slowly begins to pour from the place and hits me like a brick wall, once I step inside. The room vibrates from the sounds pumping from the speakers on the ceiling. Black, plastic booths and tables line the room with the bar top seating towards the back of the place. I start towards the crowded bar top when a waitress in cut-off jean shorts, a white wife beater that strains against her big tits, and a red flannel shirt steps into my view, blocking me from scanning the place for Ricca.

---