Page 39 of Paladin's Hell

I shrug. “Happy to throw my hand in wherever it’s needed. Can turn my hand to a wrench, or anything that’s going.”

“Fucking bitch! Get your hand off my man! Sheesh! How many times do I have to warn you?”

As I start to spin around at the high-pitched voice, Buzzard leans in. “That’s Jeannie. She’s Bomber’s ol’ lady. Think the club whores fuck with her on purpose, doesn’t take much to get her riled. Think she still believes Bomber’s in his prime.”

Completing my one hundred and eighty, I see a woman, probably in her middle to late fifties standing with her hands on her hips. A young twenty-something is hovering, yeah, a little too close to a man who’s sixty if he’s a day. His paunch hangs over the belt of his sagging denim jeans, and his hair is thinning. His beard is so grey it’s almost white. His jowls reddened from the wind and over indulgence in alcohol. His face currently split in two by a wide grin as the two women fight over him.

The sweet butt, clearly feeling brave, puts her hand on his shoulder. The old man, who I take it is Bomber, does nothing to discourage her. His eyebrow raises in challenge to his wife.

Jeannie, yeah, that’s what Buzz called her, well, she slaps the club girl’s hand right off. “Leave my man alone, you two-bit whore,” she screams.

“Pal. Good to meet ya. I’m Lizard. This here thing that looks half dead is Cad. You need info, you go to him. He’s a whizz at mining for data.”

Cad indeed is so pale you can see the veins through his skin. Guess he’s Mouse’s equivalent. I shake both their hands, wondering if I should correct them on my name, so far only Jayden has ever shortened it. But I let it ride. New place, new handle. Maybe it will stop the knight jokes.

I meet another old-timer, Rusty. Share a beer with Bomber once his wife has calmed down and have the opportunity to thank her for setting up my room. Thunder seems a good guy, so does Mace when I meet him. Not everyone’s here, and I’m quite grateful Hellfire and Demon don’t put in an appearance.

A few beers, good conversation—when we start speaking our universal language, bikes—I start to feel a little more at home. By the time everyone begins to leave, I’ve got a mellow glow and have relaxed a tad. But it still doesn’t feel like I’m more than a visitor. Guess settling in is going to take time.

I’ve got to get used to the differences, learn a new set of brothers’ quirks and idiosyncrasies. I still feel unsettled when I take myself off to my room and lie down to sleep in an unfamiliar bed, hoping giving up everything to be with Jay hasn’t been a dreadful mistake.

The long tiring ride, the beer coupled with the late evening, means my eyes are drooping as I check my phone seeing I’ve missed a text telling me Jay’s glad I got here safe, then I slide under the sheets and take no time dropping off to sleep.

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