Page 19 of Bound by Family
“What am I going to be pissed about?”
Leah just walked in the door. Her navy shirt is cut short, exposing her midriff, and her shorts are tight, but she’s covered. One thing I love about her is she’s not over the top. Some of the women at the rally dress in bikinis or fishnet with only a small piece of tape covering their nipples. I wouldn’t want to get caught for indecent exposure or anything. My big hiccup is some men take the lack of clothes as a welcoming invitation, which no man should do.
Me, I’m super simple. Jean shorts that totally cover my ass, coming down an inch or two. They’re not loose, but I don’t have a damn camel toe or any of that crap. I went with my favorite Demon’s Wings tank with a sports bra underneath it. It is Florida, after all. And if I’m going to be dancing, I need air. Tossing on my flip flops, I’m ready to go.
“Your makeup is pretty,” she says to me as we exit the house and I lock it up.
I shrug. “I just went for a little bit of a smoky eye. Tell me what I’m pissed about?” We move to my Dodge Challenger SRT, get in, and I turn her over, making her purr like a kitten in heat. If Leah thinks she’s going to detour me, she’s sadly mistaken.
“A guy I met on that site is going to meet me there.”
The urge to slam on my brakes hits me hard, along with slapping her upside her damn head. “You’re just shitting me, right?” I try with a small bit of hope, knowing in my gut it’s worthless. I’m pissed.
“No, his name is Nick, and he’s really nice. We’ve been chatting on the dating site, and he said he’s coming to the rally this weekend. I told him I’d text him and we could meet up.”
If my grip got any tighter on the steering wheel, my strength would snap the damn thing off Hulk style.
“Is he with a club?” There have been a couple of times in my life where our family was at dinner and another club showed up wanting to talk to my father. The situation got heated when my father refused, and my brothers rose from their seats. No, my family wouldn’t like it if this guy were in another club, but why else would he be at a bike rally.
She clicks her tongue, in thought. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask him.”
“Leah, that should have been the first question. Hello, he’s coming to a rally. Yes, we have non-clubbers here, but what if …?” I let my words trail off.
What if what? I know what my father and brothers do isn’t legal, but I don’t know any details, which keeps me clean. What if this guy is an enemy or something? One of the ones that my brothers are always keeping me safe from? Maybe I’m just being a stick in the mud and need to live a little, but uneasiness prickles my skin.
“Relax. If it doesn’t work out, we go dance. It gives me an out.”
“You’re nuts,” I tell her.
“You love me.”
“Yeah, I do.”
Finding a place to park is a pain in the ass, and after hiking the mile up the hill, we finally make it to the rally.
Music from three stages blares as men and women run around, beers and cocktails in their hands. A huge sign hangs above the road, welcoming all bikers. The atmosphere is electric and pulsing with an energy you only get when coming to a testosterone-filled place like this.
Venders line up their tents with barely clothed women trying to push the latest power drink or tire brand. If you wanted to take the time to visit them all, it would take an entire day. Each one yells out at us, trying to grab our attention, but we keep on moving. No prize they have is on my list of must haves in the world.
A burly man with leather chaps stops in front of me. He’s handsome in his rode-hard biker way. His beard is long, and he has a red, white, and blue bandana over his forehead with a long braid going down his back.
“How you ladies doin’?” he asks in a smooth tenor.
Another man steps around and puts his hand on bandana man’s shoulder. This guy makes me want to take a step backward. He’s mean-looking, hair cut to his scalp, and tattoos covering scars. He screams danger and has a don’t-mess-with-me vibe I’m pretty sure I could feel from another planet.
“Mearna, brother,” he says in a low voice.
“I’m talkin’.”
“Yeah, and you fuckin’ told me to say somethin’ when you get like this. I’m sayin’ it and steppin’ back.” The scary man does just that, hands raised as he takes a few steps backward.
Bandana man rubs his hand over his face. “Fuckin’ hell. My ol’ lady’ll cut my dick off. As you were, ladies,” he grumbles, moving out of our path.
We move quickly.
“What the hell was that?” Leah asks as we make our way toward one of the stages. I’m hoping this is the one for Demon’s Wings.
“Just a big man seeing two chicks and hittin’ on them. Not a big deal,” I tell her, because it’s not. She should be used to it after last year and getting hit on.
