Page 36 of Devil to Pay: Cutter

And I finally have one.

12

CUTTER

Jesus, I can’t believe I agreed to this. Reap and I wait outside on our bikes for the women. They’re just closing up shop now. Horace will pick up my truck to bring it home while we’re gone.

Betty rounds the building. “Reaper, Cutter,” she says while passing us on the way to her SUV, it’s so large the woman has to use a step bar to get in. Aja and Dusty have to be just behind.

“Have a good weekend, Betty,” Reaper says.

“Take it easy,” I call out to her before she closes her door.

Not a minute later, both our women round the building, and I don’t know about Dusty, but that’s not what Aja left for work in this morning. She’s got those black jeans painted on again, but she’s paired them with this flowy, peasant top and knee-high, brown suede, soft-soled boots with fringe. I’ve got no idea when she bought those. Maybe they belong to Dusty? Either way, she looks like a fucking hippie.

“You look hot, baby, but that’s an interesting choice. You look like one of those hippies from the 1960s.”

When she laughs I start to worry. “Didn’t I tell you?” she asks.

I wait, staring at her.

“It’s Hippiefest.” The inflection goes up in her voice all chipper and shit.

I look to Reap. “You know about this shit?”

“Dusty told me. I thought you knew.”

“Fuck. If I have to put up with hippies all weekend, I’m picking the dinner spot.”

“What do you want?” Aja asks.

“Ass,” I tease and her face drops. “Fried chicken.”

The relieved smile spreads across her face. “I could go for some chicken and waffles.”

“Then we all know where we’re heading,” Reaper says right before pulling Dusty in for a long kiss, then picking her up to help her onto the back of his bike.

Aja approaches with her arms up to wrap around my neck. “Thanks, Cut,” she whispers right before pressing up on her toes to kiss me good and thorough. I can hardly believe that I’m the one to break it by pushing back from her but holding my hand out.

She takes it, letting me lead her over to my bike and help her on. I fish out her helmet from the top box, fitting it onto her head and buckling the strap. She gets a leather jacket too because I won’t take chances with Aja. God forbid we crash, she’s coming out of this alive.

I wouldn’t have thought twice about that for any other woman. But she’s never been any other woman. After I climb on in front of her, she wraps her arms tight around my middle while I bring the machine to life.

Reaper and I head out of the parking lot. We stop off at this little hole-in-the-wall joint that serves up the best fried chicken in Kentucky, in my opinion. They serve dinners with mashed potatoes, yeast rolls, a veg, and a salad or slaw. They also offer Aja’s chicken and waffles. She orders a salad that has berries and shit in it to get her greens in, but it makes sense with waffles and syrup. Dusty mirrors Aja’s order while Reap gets a variation on mine. The spicy chicken strip dinner.

The dinner is delicious. I sit back in my seat watching Aja and Dusty interact, then watching how both of them interact with Reaper. She fits right in. She’s building a life now, here with me and Dusty, and the club.

I pay for me and Aj. She drops the tip down on the table. Normally, I’d get pissed, but this is what she needs to do to feel good about herself, so used to being the only one looking out for herself. She’ll learn. The more time we put in, the more she’ll learn.

Both Reap and I pull small, pop-up campers behind us. Inside, we’ve got bags with changes of clothes for both us and the women, pillows, and sleeping bags. The essentials.

Reap told me on the phone last night that he went online to order him and me tickets for today, too. So when we get there, no hiccups. An entire weekend of hippie music will suck, but it won’t suck to camp with my woman for the night. Get away to relax for a bit.

We jump on the highway, heading northwest toward Lexington. With Aja’s arms wrapped tight around me, I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed a ride more. Now, I’ll never tell her this, but I’m stoked to see how this weekend will go.

Two and a half hours of driving later, we roll up onto the expanse of property set up for the festival. Hippiefest is a trip with caravans of campers waiting to make their way through the gates. Beyond that, we look on a sea of tents. This place is no joke—all the people embracing the natural, free-flowing, bell bottom hippie lifestyle.

Wasn’t that the age of free love? Fuck yeah, I could get behind that. Bikers appreciate free love, though I doubt Aja would be down for fucking anywhere but inside our pop-up. If the pop-up’s a rockin’, don’t come a knockin’ and with the heated, energetic way she and I always go at each other, there’s no doubt that the pop-up will be rocking.

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