Page 8 of Protective Biker
Aside fromone.And of course, everyone else has their eyes on him too.
My coffee finishes brewing, so I busy myself fixing a cup. Plain, black, and strong. Sounds like I’m dreaming up a man, but alas, a fresh cup of coffee will have to suffice. I add a few drops of my latest organic essential oil blend I’ve made. Eachhas properties to somehow aid in hearing loss. Oregano, basil, ginger, lavender. I cycle through different mixtures, hoping one day I will discover the perfect blend that works for me.
One bad fall, doing what I love the most, and it’s changed my life. I should be a prima ballerina right now. Not a stripper. I’ve workedsohard, my entire life it seems, only for me to lose it all. It wasn’t even my fault.
The fall—no,the drop…
“No,” I say aloud, feeling the vibrations carry over my tongue and lips.
I shake my head for good measure, take a sip, then breathe deeply. Inhale and exhale. I will not allow myself to spiral, not today. I may not be a ballerina dancing in the company of my dreams, but I get to dance every single day I choose to. Not everyone has the same opportunity as I do, so I will not cheapen it with a pity party thrown by myself.
To top it off, I make money doing what I love, losing myself in the emotions of dance. I should be grateful. This is the hand I was dealt, and I’ve done what I’ve had to-to adapt. My injury doesn’t define me; my handicap doesn’t define me because it’snota weakness. I’ve become stronger because of it, more resilient. I know how to communicate without using my voice, unlike many people. My other senses are amplified, and it’s forced me to learn different methods of dance.
Some of them I love.
Yep. Today I choose to be thankful. To bestrong.
My abuela is proud of me, how I’ve kept myself going and moving forward. She doesn’t know it, but her support some days has been the only thing to get me up and moving around. If she can do it, overcoming her difficulties in life, then so can I.
With another deep inhale, I move to my yoga mat and begin my stretches. I have work tonight, and my body needs to be limber. I can’t help but wonder, as I take my favorite spoton my mat and relax my muscles, if Powerhouse will be there tonight too. He stops by the club a lot, but I wonder if it’ll change now since we’ve slept together. Will he expect sex from me again? Or will it be the opposite, and he’ll disappear completely, not wanting to see me now that he’s had a small piece of me? I hate not knowing.
One night, while Roxy was spiraling, she admitted to me that she wished the giant biker looked at her the way he does me. I thought she was being ridiculous, and she was only witnessing the typical lustful gaze men send our way. I couldn’t recall Powerhouse giving me any extra special attention compared to the others, but then again, I’ve hardly looked at him in passing in the past. Don’t get me wrong,I saw him, several times. It’s hard not to notice his looming presence when you’re on stage and you accidentally flick your stare out at the crowd.
He’s the only one I ever see. The knowledge is enough to rattle my nerves every single time. In response, I’ve learned to stop looking.
Could I have been blind since I started working there as well? I pride myself on having exceptional senses, but it seems I haven’t been paying enough attention to someone who has apparently been giving me most of theirs.
With a long, centering exhale, I lay on my back. I shift my body into doing a raised hip thrust. I concentrate on lifting and holding, needing my pelvis, back, thighs, and core to all be on the same page. The stronger I make my body, the more in tune I am. The more in sync my muscles are, the better I dance. The less I fall, and in return, I keep myself injury-free while making enough money to pay my bills. I never want to hurt as much as I did before—my head, my ear, nor my mind and heart.
Have you ever been physically hurt while your soul was crushed at the same time? I give it zero stars and do not recommend. I refuse to allow myself to go back there today, tothe point of pain I believed would never end. My fists clench at the negativity, and I force myself to push it from my thoughts.
I’ve got to concentrate, because one thing’s for certain: if Powerhouse comes in tonight, I only want him looking at me. I may not be able to hear the deep timbre of his voice, but I can certainly show him with my body exactly how he’s making me feel.
Of what he’s making me crave.
Him.
Chapter Six
Powerhouse
The brothers stand around, each holding our various patches, watching as our old, worn leather cuts burn to nothing more than ash. It’s cathartic in a strange way. I never expected to experience this change-up in my lifetime, especially after being so loyal to the previous club. I hadn’t imagined I’d feel this wasrightin any way, but here I am, content with mine and my brother’s decision.
We’re standing shoulder to shoulder with our new brothers, the members of the Oath Keepers Motorcycle Club, as we’re no longer any part of the previous MC. Prez has quietly talked about patching over for years with each of us, and it’s finally happened for our club. Our central Texas charter voted, then voted again to be sure, and has officially set it in stone.
All it took was for shit to hit the fan with Plague. We’d called in for backup against the cartel because of it, needing theextra brothers to have our six. Help never arrived when we’d asked the main charter of our last MC, and at that point, Prez brought the vote to the table to leave for good. There was no fight over it—hell, not even a mere disagreement. We all knew Ripper had been wanting a break from the last MC, and the Oath Keepers not only offered to watch our backs with our last run-in with death, but they’ve done so time and again in the past. From that point, I think we all knew it was only a matter of time until the change finally came.
The added bonus of being handcuffed on my Birthday for shit that didn’t concern us in the first place, pushed Prez over the edge. The last run-in with the authorities put things glaringly into perspective. We’d run out of time to decide on which direction to take, as Richardson clearly pointed out in Church, how we’d need to make a patch over or break up our club.
There’s no way in hell myself or my brothers will ever go our separate ways. We’ve woven our lives together to the point we’re bonded for the rest of our years. The club life is our life, and we’ll do anything to protect it.
If there’s any other rocker we want on our backs in the state of Texas, it’s the OKMC patch. To not only be aligned with, but to be attached to a motorcycle club that has earned the amount of respect the Oath Keepers have, not only in Texas but in other states as well, has all of us standing a little bit taller in our new leathers.
My shoulder still tingles a bit from blacking out my old club ink, only to be replaced with the deep black and red OKMC brand in one of the few available places on my flesh. Spin, from the OG-OKMC charter, has been here tattooing and branding us all damn day. One after another, we’ve each sat for our respective turns, but I suppose it’ll take a few days for us to all make the change with our flesh. The brother knows his line work, as I’ve grown picky over the years about who permanentlymarks my skin, and I was pleased by his skill. I imagine a lot of my old ink will eventually be getting blacked out or covered up as I make time in my life for true art to cover my body, versus the old shit I have tattooed everywhere.
Over the years of living in the area, I’ve discovered the OKMC not only carries the admiration of others, but their fear as well. Anyone with two eyes can see how heavy the MC’s presence affects the area. Like Viking and Ares, the OKMC Prez’s have said, the bigger our presence is in Texas, the stronger we are together.
The more of a chance we have against fighting the cartel and any other enemies who may stupidly make their way into our state.
