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"“My guys found her. She’s at the MagDog clubhouse. Fixing their bikes.” “What?” Her father’s brow furrowed. “Then tell her to come home. Our business is drowning.” “She wouldn’t. Maxine sent back a message: ‘You gave my room to a bast3rd baby. I gave my keys to a biker.’” The room froze. Dan, Maxine’s ex-boyfriend, now her sister’s fiancé, remembered the last Christmas. Zoey’s moans. Maxine’s bed. Her white sheets. Zoey remembered stealing him—the third boyfriend she’d taken from her sister. And Mom and Dad never once said stop. Her parents remembered looking at their bleeding daughter and telling her to leave. For a nursery. For the cheater’s child. None of them had ever chosen her. “At least she’s safe,” her mother whispered, sobbing with regret. “Safe? She’s living above a bike shop. But she’s got the whole club at her back. Especially their giant—Tank. Six-foot-eight. Never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her. And... their president also sent a message.” “Go on,” her father urged, anxiety simmering beneath. “‘You didn’t want her. We do. Touch her fortune? We’ll end you.’” The words landed like a punch. No one moved. No one breathed. Outside, a Harley roared past the window. She didn’t even slow down." --- Maxine POV “Go home, you have worked too much overtime this week. Have an early night and give that boyfriend of yours an early treat.” My boss practically pushed me out the door, a wicked grin on his face. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’m going. I straddled my bike and started her up. This was going to be a great night. Today was my boyfriend's birthday, and I was going to give him my V-card as a special gift. I had brought new lingerie, black lace, see-through, and I had shaved my mound, leaving a trail that looked like an arrow pointing down to my juncture. I was ready to give him my all, my first, my heart, take the big plunge. I felt I was ready. I pulled into the driveway to see my sister's and my boyfriend’s cars. I had no idea my sister was coming home today. She was still at college in her final year, though I heard she wasn't doing so well. The poor golden girl has not met up with expectations, not that I was worried. My ex-boyfriend showed up three hours early; our date was not for a few more hours. What was he doing here already? Walking in the back door, I heard voices and headed towards them; they were in Dad’s office, with the door slightly ajar. I moved silently to the door and waited outside to hear what secrets they were having now. They occasionally do this when they are planning something and don’t want to include me, but I'm puzzled as to why my boyfriend and sister were included. “We never planned for it to happen.” My sister replied softly, as if she were some kind of victim; she was an expert at that. She should have been an actress; she would have won multiple Oscars by now. “When?” Dad asked, and I waited in the hallway to hear what this was all about. “Christmas day, we had too many of your special eggnogs, and things got heated. The party was more or less over; the presents had been given out, and the food had been eaten. We were all mulling around, talking, when Zoey said something, I don’t remember what—but we went upstairs to continue talking, and ended up in Maxine’s room. We did start by just talking, and before I knew it, we were kissing and things got heated, and ended up in her bed, like I said, and I was so lost in that moment that I forgot to use a protection. When we came out, no one seemed to notice we had been gone, so we pretended it never happened.” My boyfriend replied, and my heart just hit the floor, as I took in that my sister and boyfriend did the dirty in my bed at Christmas. MY BED. I slept in that bed, with their mess on the sheets. I feel suddenly sick at that thought. How could they do that to me? She stole another boyfriend from me again. But he was just as much to blame; I guess our relationship was not that strong yet. Not on his side at least. He continued to pretend, kissing me and taking me out on dates, as if that never happened. What a jerk. Now I feel cheated, dirty, ashamed, and angry all at once. What if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, and I ended up married to that cheating scumbag? Would her wedding present be to tell me she had slept with him first? I wouldn’t put it past her to do such a thing. She had done that before with my boyfriends, and I guess this one was just as vulnerable to her advances as the last one. “He gave me the best Christmas present ever.” My sister crowed with delight. I could imagine her tenderly touching her belly. “This is good news. I have wanted grandchildren, and the last grandchild I would have expected would be from you; you have never kept a relationship for long.” Mum said, sounding excited at the news. “What now?” My sister asked, still playing the perfect victim. “We get married?’ My now ex-boyfriend suggested —sounds more like a question. “What about Maxine?” My sister asked, as if I were an inconvenience that needed to be sorted out, and now they think about me, but it didn’t sound like concern. “What about her? This is about my first grandchild, and his or her safety comes first. She will have to live with it.” My mother spat, revealing that famous favoritism, because she had always taken my sister's side in everything, even when proven wrong. They never backed me up. “I am technically her boyfriend.” He started to say something, but was interrupted. “Not anymore, you're not. I will arrange with the local publican to hire the outdoor garden area, and we shall have an engagement party this Saturday. Get that sorted before you start to show, and Maxine will show her support.” Dad’s voice floated out, sounding resolute. I had no say in this, not that I wanted to be his girlfriend any longer; he had proven not to be what I wanted in a guy. “She will have to leave. I need her room for the nursery. I would prefer it if she didn't attend the engagement party. What will those who know she was the real girlfriend show up, and see that it was not Maxine getting engaged?” Mum added. Yep, that was my mother, trying to regain her dignity and save face. I couldn’t take it any longer. I was devastated enough, and listening further to their support for the love for the cheater was eating me up inside. I didn’t want to cry in front of them; the tears were a mix of anger and hurt. I pushed the door open, revealing myself standing there. All faces turned to look at me. “Let me get this straight. You took my boyfriend to MY bed, did the dirty with him, leaving your mess in my bed, as a sort of Christmas present for me. Guess that made your day, thinking I was sleeping in your mess. Now you want my bedroom for the child baby you have created, and I am what, just pushed out the door? Like yesterday’s trash?” I asked to ensure I understood correctly that the whole family was fine with me being tossed aside. “Exactly, I am taking your boyfriend, your bedroom, and you, my dear sister, have to move out.” My sister sounded like she had won the lottery. Her face beamed at her triumph. “Fine with me.” The look of shock would have made me laugh if I were not so numb inside. I moved away to my room and packed what I could into my duffel bag. I will come back for the rest later, when they are not around. My heart was breaking, not because I lost my boyfriend, although that hurt a lot, considering that what I was going to give him for his present today was saved for doing something foolish at least. But also because both parents were supporting this deception, as if it were the best news they had received in a while, that they had been trying to get rid of me for a while, and now succeeded in a spectacular way. I walked downstairs and looked at them. “When I find a place to stay, I will be back for the rest.” I spat at them, a mixture of hurt, anger, and defeat. I never fit into the family, a black sheep, so maybe I should become one. I had always had top grades, won awards, done my best, but even being first, I was still last. My best friend was the only place I could think of going to; it had to be temporary. Jenny will be cool and let me sleep on her couch till I find a new home. I climbed onto my bike and took off to the only sanctuary I had over the years. Jenny welcomed me into her home, like I knew she would, and together we had a pity party consisting of beer and vanilla fudge ice cream. We called the family and my ex some interesting names, some of which I had never heard before, but they sounded good. The drunker I got, the more inventive the names became. The next morning, after waking up on Jenny’s couch and remembering yesterday, it did not go as planned. I pulled myself together, had a quick shower, and left for work. It was eight in the morning, and Jenny was still asleep when I left. That might be okay for some, but my workday today would be ten hours long, and I was running late. “You're late, night must have gone better than planned,” Mike said jovially. They sort of knew what I was planning last night. The others chuckled along with Mike. I grumbled some shiet and got to work. By the end of the day, Mike pulled me to his office. “Okay, out with it. The guys have been tiptoeing around you all day. What happened? He rejected your advances?” He asked, his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, looking at me with concerned eyes, a father figure, better than my dad had ever been. So, I told him what happened when I got home and where I spent the night, and now I'm looking for a place to stay. I was proud of myself; I didn’t cry, or whine, or show any emotion at all —just explained my predicament in cold, emotionless words. Clear and succinct. He said he wouldn’t say anything in the shop, but would talk to the prez. I had no idea why, but I was not in the right frame of mind to question it. Maxine POV Today was my sister's engagement party; engaged to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, you heard me right, my ex. What a joke that was. I had been dating Dan for six months when my sister, who was a year older than I, came home for Christmas and ended up in bed with my boyfriend. She’s a shameless woman, always has been, but I never expected him to sleep with her. I thought we were secure in our relationship. The only good thing I took away from this was that I never went to bed with him; my virginity card was still intact, not that I was trying to keep it - I just never got the chance to lose it. She always managed to have any guy I was interested in dump me for her, and when she got bored with them, she’d move on. So, in a way, I didn’t have a boyfriend till she moved out of her home and headed to college. But when my sister came home and met him, she seduced him and got pregnant. He did the whole ‘get down on one knee and proposed’ scene. Apparently, it was romantic, but I wasn't there when he did it because they didn’t want me around. It hurt a lot at the time, and I was glad to have my girlfriends around me, helping me get over it. They say, I dodged a bullet. I agree with them, stupidly. He might have been a sports jock with good looks, but doing this tells me he was weak and shallow, and I was too good for him, or so my BFF says. I prefer to believe them over the excuses my ex made. I had to move out of my home after I had a massive fight with my parents a few days ago, when the truth was exposed; they supported her, not me, and the next thing I knew, I was out the door and the evil sister. The engagement party was intended to introduce him to her friends and make the relationship official, but I was not invited. My parents want nothing to do with me. I made them all uncomfortable, considering he was my boyfriend first. Anyone working out the timeline for the baby can piece it together, and see they were cheating on me, and it would have been awkward, and too many questions would have been raised. Not that I needed to say all of that, I kind of said it all before, but grrrrr, I am so angry at how my so-called ‘family’ kicked me out of my so-called home, with no care for me or my feelings. It was easier to push me away and disown me than have to explain to them that my sister cheated with my boyfriend, and hey presto, a baby was on the way. Because I was kicked out of the house, and only had a short time to pack anything, I took the opportunity of the party to sneak into the house and take more of my possessions, like opening my father's safe, and grabbing every piece of paper relating to me, and a little money too, no a lot of money, and grandma’s jewelry that she left me. So, with the help of my BFF, we packed my belongings and took them to her place until I found a new one. I ride a motorcycle, so I need help. I have the money to buy a new place, but I'm unsure if I want to stay in this town now. Once my apprenticeship is over, I might move away. I stayed that night at Jenny’s place, as I figured out what to do. Today, I am moving into my new place —a bungalow above the bike shop where I work. I am in my final year of apprenticeship, and I am a motorcycle mechanic, proud of it, I might add. I can also work on cars and trucks. If it had a motor, I could fix it; I always could, thanks to my knack for it, which I developed since I was eight, when I fell in love with engines. My Grandpa taught me, kept me out of everyone's way. I guess you could say I was a tomboy, with no frills and lace. My Grandpa kept me sane and busy, so the BS in our house didn’t hurt me as much. The place has two bedrooms and is fully contained, meaning it has everything I need. I had purchased some new sheets and towels, that sort of thing, but it had a fully stocked kitchen; I only needed to buy the food. It might be small, and above a noisy bike shop, but at night it was a quiet area. No one would break into this shop; the local bikie gang owned it. They were good guys, scary, but so far, no trouble for me. My BFF, Jenny, was helping me take my belongings upstairs when a group of bikers arrived and assisted us. I had five boxes and two suitcases filled with all sorts of items. “Thanks, guys, for the help,” I said sweetly, my BFF batting her eyes at them and swaying her hips suggestively as she walked and thanked them. She makes me laugh with her antics, which are totally opposite to mine. I like jeans and am rarely seen in a dress, whereas she was seldom seen in jeans. “We got a party at the clubhouse, tomorrow Saturday, you should come and relax a bit, bring your girls with ya,” Bruiser suggested as he threw his arm over my shoulder, walked me to the settee, pushed me down, and handed me a beer they had brought with them. This was how they acted around me, ordered me about. Sometimes, I'm okay with it; other times, I get all worked up and growl back at them. Today was acceptance. I know they mean well, and I feel lucky to have them as family; they try to make me feel better. “That sounds like a blast, count me in, and I can bring two other girl friends with us. Max, do you want me to pick you up?” Jenny offered, taking a beer from one of the guys. She was not a beer drinker; however, in this situation, I could see her not refusing anything they offered. I guess I'm going, whether I want to or not. “No, I’ll ride over,” I replied as one of the guys ordered pizza. “That’s the spirit. Nothing like the wind in your hair to blow the cobwebs away.” They stayed because they didn’t want me to be alone, not on my first night here. Pizza arrived not long after, and my little bungalow was soon feeling too small and crowded, with six huge bikers in the room. Some sat on the floor; others pulled up one of the three kitchen chairs. I know, I know, three chairs sound odd, but that's what was here, and beggars can’t be choosers; the rent was dirt cheap, and I think the boys are the ones to make sure I had everything I needed. They found out about my situation the next day, because, I was still quiet at work, which was not like me, often I am singing to the radio, or swearing at something, so one of the guys approached me, to find out what gives, and I softly told them, what went down, and when word got around the bikers heard I needed a place to stay, because I was kicked out of my home and why, they came to me, like protective brothers. Now I have a whole gang of bikers who have my back. I feel privileged to call them friends. They even offered to rough the ex up for me, but I refused the offer, because strangely, I was happy to get rid of the loser if he was a cheating build. Better now than when I am fully invested in our relationship. Plus, I was in deep enough shite with my parents and sister without making it worse. The pizza was gone, my BFF left for home, and the guys did too. It was late, well, for me, midnight. I usually fall asleep quickly because I have to be up for work at five. Tomorrow, being Saturday, I have the morning shift before the party later. They let me leave work early so I can move in here. “Hey, don’t forget to come, we need our prettiest mechanic at the party, some of the boys might need a tune-up,” Bruiser said with a laugh as they climbed on their bikes and left. I know what sort of tune-up he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with a motor. I looked around my new home. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. The guys were great; they took the empty pizza boxes and beer cans with them, and the place was relatively clean. Not at all what you would expect from a group of rowdy men. The clubhouse. I had never been to it, despite having worked there for nearly four years, and they had never extended an invitation to me. I know they had lots of parties; maybe I was too young. I turned twenty recently, but they might think of me as the fifteen-year-old who showed up one day and told the boss I was going to be his apprentice. He laughed at first and said he would give me a go to prove myself. He thought I was joking and that I would be gone by the weekend, but over the holidays, I worked hard and have been here ever since. Maxine POV The beeping sound of my phone alarm made me sit up and look around. It took a moment to remember where I was. The room had a small curtain that barely kept the light out. There was a streetlight just outside my window. I can envisage myself getting better blackout curtains soon. Although it was annoying, it wasn't among my top priorities for making this a home. The shower was decent, with nice pressure. I followed my morning routine, only to realize how foolish I was to wake up so early, living above my place of work; I didn’t need to ride here. After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I still had half an hour before I needed to be at work. I had two ways to get into my place: one was through the back stairs, and the other was through the shop. With the code to turn off the alarm, I decided to head down and start work early. It was better than moving stuff around; I can do that later. I had a bike to finish by this afternoon. The customer would be here at two. Turned off the alarm, turned on the coffee pot, the radio, and headed to my workstation, where the fat boy was waiting for me to finish. I sat on the stool with casters and began my job, singing loudly to the heavy rock song that came on the radio as I installed the new spark plugs and double-checked the oil. It was a simple, easy-peasy service. Once finished, I started the bike up, let it idle while I made coffee, then returned to rev it a few times. It sounds lumpy, like it was just turning over perfectly; it was music to my ears. I love that throaty, deep, lumpy sound. You can feel it vibrate through my chest. “That’s a sound I loved to hear as I enter work.” My boss, Mike, said as I turned the bike off. “It’s ready to go, unless you want to take it out for a test ride. Want a coffee, pots hot.” I offered as I threw the dirty rag in the bin. “Sure, I will take the bike out for a spin, and you can make me a coffee.” He smirked as he grabbed the bike. I opened the garage door, and Mike took off. I smiled as he disappeared down the street, and I turned to make both of us coffee. If you hadn’t guessed already, I would drink a lot of coffee. I am not a fan of soft drinks or tea; for me, it's coffee or water. With a broom in hand, I began cleaning the shop. I am not out here very often, but I try to sweep the floor at least once a week; they have another apprentice who’s a second year, who gets to do most of the cleaning up, but he’s never here on a Saturday. The sound of the bike returning prompted me to pick up the two cups of coffee and head back out to the workshop. Mike had a massive grin on his face as he parked the bike. “Great job, you are our top mechanic. But don’t tell anyone, or I will have to deny it.” He joked, taking his coffee from my hand as he walked by, no doubt letting the customer know the bike was ready ahead of time. I moved to the next bike, which was a total rebuild; it had been in a minor accident, and while the frame was being checked, I would work on the engine and gearbox. It was the only job on my list at the moment. The bike owner was in no hurry; he had a broken leg, giving me a few weeks to work on his bike and any urgent jobs that might come into the shop. The client arrived and happily took possession of his bike, very happy with the job done. “I hear you’ve been invited to the club party tonight,” Mike said as he rang up the sale on the cash register. “Yep.” I said popping the ‘p’. “You can leave now, we have no more customers expected. Good job today.” It was close to one o’clock, near the time I would knock off. “Thanks, boss.” I saluted him and rushed upstairs, before he could change his mind. Giggling all the way up. I heard him chuckling as he locked the door below, behind me. I decided on a quick shower; I didn’t want to smell of oil when going to a party. Put on my skinny black jeans, a black blouse that had red flames on the back and on the pockets, black boots that had some chains around the ankle, and hair in a ponytail. I will get what we call helmet hair, so it's a waste to do much with it now. I use mascara and strawberry lip gloss, which is more to moisturize my lips, which tend to dry out when I ride my bike, and that's it. The last thing I grabbed before leaving was my jacket. My mum used to grumble that I wasn’t like my sister and put more effort into my appearance, but I like who I am, and I didn’t like wearing lots of makeup; it was my choice, and I feel that I am not a frilly, lacey chick. It was a deal breaker with my mum. She had my sister dress up and left me in the care of Grandpa until he died when I was seventeen. It broke me when he left the world. He was the only person who got me. My grandma had been gone since I was young, and I filled the hole in his heart with my love for bikes and fishing. He left me his money and bikes. Dad got his house and business. My mum hated that I gained all that money. When Grandma died, she left me her jewelry, and Grandpa made sure to keep it safe till I was old enough to have it. I ate something and put some more of my stuff in the cupboards before my phone chimed to let me know my girlfriends were on their way to the party. I pulled my bike out of the small garage and started it up. I threw my leg over and took off, heading to the property. The clubhouse was half an hour out of town, set on a large property a little bit back from the road. Ten minutes later, I came up behind the girls and hung out behind them. My friend waved me on to take the lead. I shrugged and overtook her. The turn off arrived, and I rode happily up the long drive, and trees lined the road. An open, large steel gate appeared, and I was glad it was still enough light to see clearly. Men stood by the entrance, watching us arrive. “Hey.” I greeted the biggest man I had ever seen. “Who invited you here?” The man asked gruffly, in a deep husky voice. “Bruiser,” I answered, with a firm, clear voice, hoping that the fact that he frightened me would be noticed in my voice. He pulled out his phone and called, I assumed, Bruiser. “Max?” He asked, as he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. He said something more and hung up the phone. “Come in, the car behind your girls?” He looked at the car behind, which clearly had a woman in it. “Yep,” I replied, not at all liking how he intimidated me with his manner. Perhaps it was the way they greeted strangers. One look makes the weak run. Well, I am not weak, and I won't be running. Maxine POV This rather large biker leaned in to look inside the car, his bulky figure partially blocking the open window, causing the girl nearest it to back away. Satisfied, he looked at me with a knowing smirk, then motioned for us to enter. The clubhouse was nothing like I had imagined. Firstly, it was four levels high. Verandah all the way around, that I could see. It was more like a mansion than a clubhouse. Women were gathered near the door, looking in, as if they were waiting for something; some were sitting on the wooden fence that surrounded the verandah. They were dressed in barely anything, showing all that was available, some love that sort of thing. People like me dress to stay warm or cool and don’t care about showing off the goods. Bikes sat in neat rows in front, and cars were parked to the left of the building; the ratio of bikes to cars was approximately four bikes to one car. I parked the bike with the others, climbed off, and took off my helmet. I placed the lid on the bike and shook out my hair while waiting for the girls to park and come to me. I heard some muffled scoffs, but I couldn’t care less —I wasn't here to please them. Bruiser came out of the clubhouse behind me. “Max, you came by bike. Sweet.” He gave me a gentle squeeze and moved to take a closer look at my bike. The paint job was a wolf, fading in smoke. It took me months to finish, as I kept changing my mind, and the smoke obscured the mistakes. “Who did the paint job?” He asked as he moved around to look at it from all sides. “Me.” I was proud of the results. “Does Mike know you can paint?” He sounded surprised. “He has seen my bike when I used the garage to do a service. He never asked who did the paint work, just that he liked it.” “Sweet, looks like we have someone to do touch-ups, and possibly a full paint job. We have a family reunion in a few weeks, and the ladies are invited to come along. You can join us.” Bruiser offered as my ladies arrived; they were not included in that invitation, I assumed, because I have a bike. “Bruiser, you already met Jenny, Melony, Karen, and Heather, my other BFF, and Alice, Karen's sister, and BFF to my sister.” Adding that comment, hoping that Bruiser knew precisely what that woman was like. Alice battered her eyes and leaned forward to show off what was under that almost shirt. My ladies greeted him with the respect he deserved. “Ladies. Hands out.” Bruiser stamped the girl's backs of their hands; they all had a bear, except Alice, who had a rabbit on her hand. I frowned, trying to figure out what the rabbit was all about. He pushed my hand away. “You are family, no need for a stamp.” I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my face. I felt so special. Then the shoe dropped. Rabbit meant she would open her legs. Bruiser got my meaning loud and clear. It took a while to understand the purpose of the stamps. “Come inside and meet the ole ladies.” I understood what he meant; these were ladies who had been claimed and had a different level of respect that those not claimed would never understand. I have met a few of them over the years and gained more insight into club life. They respect me as much as I respect them. We entered the place, and the girls who had been waiting outside gave us a dirty look, as they were still stopped from entering. “What's so special about them?” One pouted, but Bruiser ignored her. Inside was cleaner than I had expected —my fault for judging a group of men, since they often look messy when I see them at the shop. The place had a large, open space, with tables where you stand, as well as booths dotted along the walls, and stools at the bar, which ran the full length of the room. I loved the spacious room, the pictures on the walls, and some bike parts scattered about as decoration. A few barstools are bike seats; it was different, and it appealed to me. Being a lover of bikes. “Sticks.” I greeted her as we got closer to the ladies Bruiser was taking us to. “Hey, Maxie Max. How's it blowing?” She stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. This chick had no filter or personal space. Sticks was the President's; her real name was Sandra, but she was my height at five-nine, and she had no shape to her body, just a lovely bean pole, almost no chest to speak of, yet she had had two boys. Hence the name Sticks. “Doing better,” I replied. She would know what was going on. She introduced us to the other ladies with her, and it didn’t surprise me that Alice had already moved away from us before we had finished the introductions. “What’s her story?” Sticks asked as she watched Alice start to try her luck with the club men. “Same as my sister. Bruiser put a rabbit stamp on her hand.” Sticks and the other girl roared out laughing. “She will be used, abused, and kicked to the side by the time the night is over, and I doubt they would let her back in. We don’t need her sort in the club.” Maggie spouted as we watched a patch member knock her offer back. “The regulars are not going to like her working their turf. So, to speak.” Tootsie said, with a smirk, that the regulars know the rules and stick with them. Don’t approach a patch member; if interested, they will come to you. Nom’s are fair game. But most girls would prefer a patch member. Don’t touch a taken member; the women will gang up and make your life miserable if you feel one of theirs. Wait to be let into the clubhouse and then stay in the public area. No going upstairs uninvited. The first two floors are designated for guest rooms, while the top floor is reserved for permanent residences. Those who don’t have a home of their own to go to. They are private and not open to wandering girls. Don’t touch or sit on someone’s bike, unless you are given permission. The patched old ladies are the bosses of the girls; they tell you to leave or do something, and you do it. There were more rules for the girls visiting, but I couldn’t remember them all at that moment. None had applied to me until now. Alice had already broken at least three, to my knowledge. I am staying out of it. That rabbit on her hand told the members that she would open her legs for any of them, and no one would support her if she broke the rules. That she was not welcome to return, in other words, have your fun, and then kick her to the curb. The doors were opened to let the other girls in. They looked at us in the no-go zone and pouted. We were sitting in an off-limits area unless we were invited. From what I understood, they were here to spread their legs and give the guys some relief, but not become part of the family. They might be hopeful that something would change; it was rare for a patch member to take one of these ladies, who had most likely been with every unattached member of the gang, at some point. My girls left me with Sticks and wandered about with the other ladies, getting the tour of the place. “Want to look around?” Sticks were offered, and before I knew it, we were walking around the vast ground floor. “Ready to see the workshop, the guys might talk you into helping out, once they know who you are.” Sticks led me down a small pathway, lined with flowering shrubs, and to a set of large, farm-size sheds. Inside were bikes, some in bits, others crumpled from an accident, and others like they had just been detailed and were someone's pride and joy. There was a workshop here, where men were working on their bikes. They looked up at us when we entered and frowned. If Sticks were not with me, they would have most likely growled at me to get out. “Who’s this Sticks?” A monster of a man asked, in the deepest voice I have ever heard, he looked a lot like the man at the gate, but with more toned muscles, that I would love to run my fingers over. Just a tad taller, and although he looked big and scary, he made my lady parts sing in a way they had never sung before. Tank POV A few guys aren't into parties, so I stopped going until later in the night, when the girls who showed up were already taken. I dislike the women who come here hoping to adopt our lifestyle. I prefer to use my hand rather than one of those women. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my share of women; however, I had a girl who pushed me to take her, and when I did, she ended up in the hospital, because I am not exactly a little man, and I ripped her apart. She needed stitches, and I have not been with a woman since. Like my brother, we are both large men; he is six feet six inches tall, and I am six feet eight inches tall. He’s carrying extra weight, where I am all muscle. I pride myself on keeping in shape, but being this large has its downfall, and having a large build has had me worried about hurting another woman. No matter how much I might want to, I can’t; I never want to go through that again. The Prez was the only person who knew why I wouldn’t join the parties; he was with me when we took the girl to the hospital, she forgave me, and tried to pursue me to keep her, but I couldn’t. Each time I started to get intimate, I had flashes of her screams, and my confidence went down like a popped balloon. We were in the workshop, doing some minor tune-ups. As I prepare for our ride, I'm excited. When they bring the ladies, the men are usually in a better mood and on their best behavior. I was looking at rebuild. I started it last week. We have a few wrecks that need to be started; some have been sitting here far too long. We can only go so far before we need Mike's help. None of us was a mechanic. I was scratching my head, as I was almost at the end of my knowledge, when I heard someone enter, and a soft perfume that shouldn’t be in this shed hit my nose. Stick’s voice reached my ears, and I lifted my head up to look in her direction. “Who’s this Sticks?” The most beautiful girl I have ever seen had entered our sanctuary, a place where few girls are allowed, which made Sticks bring this beauty down to this dirt and grease, which was unexpectedly. “That is Max, from the shop, Mike's apprentice, who I think had finished her apprenticeship and is doing something extra on Harleys and getting some specialized license,” Banjo said as he moved forward to greet them. The others stood up and moved forward too, making me feel like a dill for not recognizing Max. Although I have only seen her a few times from a distance, and she was usually deep in bike repair, I barely got to see her face. We have not been introduced because I wouldn’t have forgotten that beauty if I had. Sticks introduced us all, and we greeted her before I decided I could use her help. I put the thoughts of what I wouldn’t mind doing to her behind me, not that I could do it. “Max, come look at this wreck. I am stuck with what to do next.” I called her over on the bike I was working on. “Tank, surely you could have waited for another day? She came for the party, not to work.” Sticks grumbled as Max walked to me. She was clean and smelled nice, and I had a fleeting moment of guilt for calling her over. The few times I had seen her, she was covered in oil and grease, wearing coveralls that hid her shapely figure. “Max, are you sure?” Sticks pulled on her hand to get her attention. “Yeah, I am more at home in here than out there,” Max said with a smile and turned back to me. “What's the problem?” She asked me to move forward and inspect the bike. I went into detail about what happened to the bike, what I had managed to do so far, and what I needed to move forward. Max removed her leather jacket and slung it over a nearby bike seat, then squatted down. For the next two hours, Max worked on the bike with me, guiding me through the tricky bits I couldn’t do. The others came forward and used this time as a sort of training session, and Max didn’t seem to mind at all. We asked questions as she worked on the bike, and she used me to lift the heavy parts. It was teamwork, and we completed more repairs in that time than I would have on my own. “Hey, Max,” Bruiser called out at the door. He stood with his legs apart, arms folded, and I wondered if we had done something wrong. “Back here.” She returned to the call of her name. He arrived and burst out laughing at us. “Max, I invited you to a party, you know, dancing and drinking, and socializing. This was not what I meant as a party.” He was still chuckling when the Prez walked in, with Sticks on his arm. “You still got her working out here?” Stick all but growled at us, when the Prez’s lady growls, we all listen. She’s the last person we want to make angry. “What?” I was confused, Max didn’t seem to mind, and we all were having a good time out here. “Hey, Prez. The party over?” Max calmly asked, but it sounded more like she had hoped it was. “Not even close, babes.” The Prez answered with a smile. He had gotten closer to Max over the years she had been at the bike shop. He had often talked about the female mechanic and her sassy ways. I had thought he was exaggerating, but after spending a little time with her, I was hooked. “We have nearly completed the repair job on Spider's bike. If we can have Max here for a few days, I bet we could hit the road by the end of the week.” I said it as it was my way of asking her to stay for a while and fix the bike. Spider was almost healed and ready to get back on his own bike. “Would have to ask Mike about that, she’s his employee, even if we own the shop, he runs it, and I don’t get involved with his employees,” Prez replied contemplatively. “He here?” I asked, as Mike often doesn’t show up at the weekend parties. “Yep, came half an hour ago.” Sticks answered as she handed Max a bottle of water. “Max, if Mike’s okay with it, would you work with us for a week, get some of these ready for the weekend ride?” Sparks asked, and I kicked myself for not considering that she might not want to spend a week here. “Sure, if Mike doesn’t need me, we have several bikes in for service before the ladies run.” Her sweet voice carried across the warehouse, and the guys nodded in understanding. “Thanks, babes,” Spike called out. Each one of us here enjoyed that she worked on our bikes; it might sound odd that we're letting a chick touch our bikes, but Max was not like most chicks. Who wants to sit on the bikes or lie on them? Max knows what she’s doing and has proven herself on numerous occasions. I wish I had known how attractive she was. Man, I had a semi since she walked in the door. The Prez will even let her ride her own bike, a privilege few ladies get. She was more part of the crew; no other girl I know works on bikes like she does, and her reputation over the time she's been an apprentice has been exemplary. Not a guy chaser. When word got out that our girl had been cheated on in the worst possible way, we all wanted to go and kill the man, even though half of us had never really met her, yeah, seen her in a distance, or legs poking out from under a truck, but never sat and talked with her before today. She was fun, had me chuckling a few times, but most of the time in here, she had been all about the bikes, and not flirting, like most chicks do when around us. They see the glamour of the lifestyle, but it's not for everyone. Maxine POV I was guided to a washroom on the side of the workshop, which had a deep steel sink and a shower, but no mirrors. There was a cupboard under the sink containing soaps and cleaning products, as well as a shelf with dark-colored towels. A door that led to a toilet, which was cleaner than I had expected. So far, this whole gang house had been cleaner than I thought a load of men would leave it. I had underestimated the guys and made assumptions about how guys I knew from school or parties would act; none of them were like that. Maybe it was because they are mostly men, whereas my experience had been with boys my age and lower. I cleaned the grease off my hands and arms and dried them. As I went through the routine of cleaning myself up, I thought about the party they had been pushing me to attend and how it had churned up my stomach. The last few times I went to a party, I was with my ex-boyfriend, and he ended up with my sister, so parties were not my thing. I always seem to lose something at parties. Mostly friends, who don’t like the fact that I don’t drink, I have never been a drinker, I might drink a beer to be sociable, and it would take me ages to finish it. Still, I never take shots and am never blind drunk. I had only once been drunk, and I didn’t like the feeling or the way it took me all day to recover, nor the hangover that seemed to be more than a headache. My friends get drunk, and I spend a lot of time cleaning up the messes they make, so I seem to be the one doing the cleanup most of the time, as they know I have their backs, even when I prefer not to do that part of it. I had just finished cleaning up when Tank came in, took one look at me, and started to chuckle. “What?” I asked, looking confused as he laughed. What did I do that was so funny? He didn’t say a word. He leaned over, picked up a cloth, and soaped it up, then gripped my chin in his huge hand, and gently wiped the side of my face, his eyes concentrating on the task, as if it was the most important job he had to do with care. He was so gentle, touching my face with soft, quick movements. His eyes then met mine, and I was lost in the deepest blue orbs I have ever seen. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat and blinked a few times to break the trance he had put me in, and took a step back, my body hitting the sink behind me. “You had some grease on your cheek.” He whispered in a husky voice so deep that it had my lady parts jumping for joy and need, something I am not familiar with. “Thank you,” I whispered back, my voice croaking, and I was shocked by the sound of my own voice; it was lower, warmer, and surprised me as much as Tank's did. His eyes widened at the husky sound. He took a step back and motioned with his hand for me to move past him. I quickly left the washroom and waited in the workshop, taking in the wrecks and wondering how badly the rider would have been hurt if the bike had looked like this. Hoping no one lost their lives. I thought about that for a while. I loved my bike, but I would never ditch it because I was scared. That the thought of falling off had never entered my mind, if I died while riding my bike, then I would have been doing what I love doing. I found I was okay with that. Not that I want to die, but I have thought about how I would like to go when my heart has been broken. “Hey, what are you doing still in here?” Rocket asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Hiding?” I joked back, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and came to stand beside me, looking at the bike I had been staring at. “Can it be fixed? It’s been sitting here for a long time, with no one having the skill to start repairing it. Well, they could give it a go, but this bike is so old that parts are almost impossible to get.” “Yeah, I can give it a try. I have some contacts who can obtain parts, but I can also manufacture some parts. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can come over on weekends and dedicate some time to it.” I suggested it would be a shame to let this panhead go to waste. There are enough pieces of the wrecked bike left to serve as a starting point. “Sweet, it will be good to see this bike out on the road again.” Rocket looked genuinely pleased that the bike could be restored. I restore old cars, trucks, and bikes with Grandpa. I have the equipment stored in a shed for when I have a place of my own to use the machines. I wonder if they have a shed where I can put them. I will need one of the machines. “Ready?” Tank asked; he had shed the work shirt and pulled on a gang shirt. His muscles are on display. Yummy. He makes me feel tiny when I am beside him. “Tank, Max said she can restore the baby.” Tank’s head turned to look at the wreck, and then at me. “For real? Max, can you do that?” Tank looked surprised. After spending a few hours with me, working on bikes, he had to ask that? “Yeah, I can, need to talk to the Prez about some space, but I can do it.” Both guys frowned and looked around the workshop. But they didn’t say anything. Or question me further. Tank put his hand on my lower back and gave a slight push, making me start to walk out of the workshop. It was dark out. Tank guided me to the back door, Rocket leading the way. He opened the door for me and waved me in, as if I were someone important. Causing me to giggle. Yeah, you heard me; I giggled like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous, and not something I had ever expected to come out of my mouth. The guys didn’t even blink at the giggle. The place was warm inside, vibrating with the loud thump of the bass. You could hardly hear the person next to you speak over the heavy music. It reeked of cigarettes and booze. The girls who had been at the door waiting to get in were busy with patch members kissing and almost doing the deed right there on the chair. Some were grinding their hips against the man below them, and the small amount of clothing they had on was even less now. I assumed they were well on their way to being drunk. This was a classic visual of why men lose respect for some kinds of women. I am embarrassed to see it in front of me. I looked around the room and saw my friends still with Sticks, and a couple of guys hanging around nearby. My friends look like they are having fun, and they have a few patch members who seem friendly to them. I hope the girls know what they are doing. The gang life was not for everyone. Dad had once spoken badly about gangs, and he hated it when I became an apprentice at the bike shop. Grandpa was the one who encouraged me to have an apprenticeship. He hated that Dad and Mum were backing my sister in everything, and maybe encouraging me to be a mechanic at the bike shop was his way to get back at Dad. Dad had even tried to get me to leave the bike shop when Grandpa had died. But I had made a pact with Grandpa that I wouldn’t give in to Dad. To live the life I want, and never give in, no matter what the consequences are. I wonder what Grandpa would say if he were alive and saw Dad kick me out of the family home, for the sake of my sister. He would be livered, that’s for sure. But I did as Grandpa said, stood firm, and stayed true to myself. “Hey Maxi Max, come join us. Cricket, grab Max an iced water.” Sticks patted the chair next to her, and before I could move to sit beside her, Tank grabbed me around the waist and took a couple of giant steps to the chair, and sat down, holding me on his lap. The girls looked at each other, then, between Tank and me, the confused look changed to a grin and a nod —whatever that was about.
"“My guys found her. She’s at the MagDog clubhouse. Fixing their bikes.” “What?” Her father’s brow furrowed. “Then tell her to come home. Our business is drowning.” “She wouldn’t. Maxine sent back a message: ‘You gave my room to a bast3rd baby. I gave my keys to a biker.’” The room froze. Dan, Maxine’s ex-boyfriend, now her sister’s fiancé, remembered the last Christmas. Zoey’s moans. Maxine’s bed. Her white sheets. Zoey remembered stealing him—the third boyfriend she’d taken from her sister. And Mom and Dad never once said stop. Her parents remembered looking at their bleeding daughter and telling her to leave. For a nursery. For the cheater’s child. None of them had ever chosen her. “At least she’s safe,” her mother whispered, sobbing with regret. “Safe? She’s living above a bike shop. But she’s got the whole club at her back. Especially their giant—Tank. Six-foot-eight. Never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her. And... their president also sent a message.” “Go on,” her father urged, anxiety simmering beneath. “‘You didn’t want her. We do. Touch her fortune? We’ll end you.’” The words landed like a punch. No one moved. No one breathed. Outside, a Harley roared past the window. She didn’t even slow down." --- Maxine POV “Go home, you have worked too much overtime this week. Have an early night and give that boyfriend of yours an early treat.” My boss practically pushed me out the door, a wicked grin on his face. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’m going. I straddled my bike and started her up. This was going to be a great night. Today was my boyfriend's birthday, and I was going to give him my V-card as a special gift. I had brought new lingerie, black lace, see-through, and I had shaved my mound, leaving a trail that looked like an arrow pointing down to my juncture. I was ready to give him my all, my first, my heart, take the big plunge. I felt I was ready. I pulled into the driveway to see my sister's and my boyfriend’s cars. I had no idea my sister was coming home today. She was still at college in her final year, though I heard she wasn't doing so well. The poor golden girl has not met up with expectations, not that I was worried. My ex-boyfriend showed up three hours early; our date was not for a few more hours. What was he doing here already? Walking in the back door, I heard voices and headed towards them; they were in Dad’s office, with the door slightly ajar. I moved silently to the door and waited outside to hear what secrets they were having now. They occasionally do this when they are planning something and don’t want to include me, but I'm puzzled as to why my boyfriend and sister were included. “We never planned for it to happen.” My sister replied softly, as if she were some kind of victim; she was an expert at that. She should have been an actress; she would have won multiple Oscars by now. “When?” Dad asked, and I waited in the hallway to hear what this was all about. “Christmas day, we had too many of your special eggnogs, and things got heated. The party was more or less over; the presents had been given out, and the food had been eaten. We were all mulling around, talking, when Zoey said something, I don’t remember what—but we went upstairs to continue talking, and ended up in Maxine’s room. We did start by just talking, and before I knew it, we were kissing and things got heated, and ended up in her bed, like I said, and I was so lost in that moment that I forgot to use a protection. When we came out, no one seemed to notice we had been gone, so we pretended it never happened.” My boyfriend replied, and my heart just hit the floor, as I took in that my sister and boyfriend did the dirty in my bed at Christmas. MY BED. I slept in that bed, with their mess on the sheets. I feel suddenly sick at that thought. How could they do that to me? She stole another boyfriend from me again. But he was just as much to blame; I guess our relationship was not that strong yet. Not on his side at least. He continued to pretend, kissing me and taking me out on dates, as if that never happened. What a jerk. Now I feel cheated, dirty, ashamed, and angry all at once. What if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, and I ended up married to that cheating scumbag? Would her wedding present be to tell me she had slept with him first? I wouldn’t put it past her to do such a thing. She had done that before with my boyfriends, and I guess this one was just as vulnerable to her advances as the last one. “He gave me the best Christmas present ever.” My sister crowed with delight. I could imagine her tenderly touching her belly. “This is good news. I have wanted grandchildren, and the last grandchild I would have expected would be from you; you have never kept a relationship for long.” Mum said, sounding excited at the news. “What now?” My sister asked, still playing the perfect victim. “We get married?’ My now ex-boyfriend suggested —sounds more like a question. “What about Maxine?” My sister asked, as if I were an inconvenience that needed to be sorted out, and now they think about me, but it didn’t sound like concern. “What about her? This is about my first grandchild, and his or her safety comes first. She will have to live with it.” My mother spat, revealing that famous favoritism, because she had always taken my sister's side in everything, even when proven wrong. They never backed me up. “I am technically her boyfriend.” He started to say something, but was interrupted. “Not anymore, you're not. I will arrange with the local publican to hire the outdoor garden area, and we shall have an engagement party this Saturday. Get that sorted before you start to show, and Maxine will show her support.” Dad’s voice floated out, sounding resolute. I had no say in this, not that I wanted to be his girlfriend any longer; he had proven not to be what I wanted in a guy. “She will have to leave. I need her room for the nursery. I would prefer it if she didn't attend the engagement party. What will those who know she was the real girlfriend show up, and see that it was not Maxine getting engaged?” Mum added. Yep, that was my mother, trying to regain her dignity and save face. I couldn’t take it any longer. I was devastated enough, and listening further to their support for the love for the cheater was eating me up inside. I didn’t want to cry in front of them; the tears were a mix of anger and hurt. I pushed the door open, revealing myself standing there. All faces turned to look at me. “Let me get this straight. You took my boyfriend to MY bed, did the dirty with him, leaving your mess in my bed, as a sort of Christmas present for me. Guess that made your day, thinking I was sleeping in your mess. Now you want my bedroom for the child baby you have created, and I am what, just pushed out the door? Like yesterday’s trash?” I asked to ensure I understood correctly that the whole family was fine with me being tossed aside. “Exactly, I am taking your boyfriend, your bedroom, and you, my dear sister, have to move out.” My sister sounded like she had won the lottery. Her face beamed at her triumph. “Fine with me.” The look of shock would have made me laugh if I were not so numb inside. I moved away to my room and packed what I could into my duffel bag. I will come back for the rest later, when they are not around. My heart was breaking, not because I lost my boyfriend, although that hurt a lot, considering that what I was going to give him for his present today was saved for doing something foolish at least. But also because both parents were supporting this deception, as if it were the best news they had received in a while, that they had been trying to get rid of me for a while, and now succeeded in a spectacular way. I walked downstairs and looked at them. “When I find a place to stay, I will be back for the rest.” I spat at them, a mixture of hurt, anger, and defeat. I never fit into the family, a black sheep, so maybe I should become one. I had always had top grades, won awards, done my best, but even being first, I was still last. My best friend was the only place I could think of going to; it had to be temporary. Jenny will be cool and let me sleep on her couch till I find a new home. I climbed onto my bike and took off to the only sanctuary I had over the years. Jenny welcomed me into her home, like I knew she would, and together we had a pity party consisting of beer and vanilla fudge ice cream. We called the family and my ex some interesting names, some of which I had never heard before, but they sounded good. The drunker I got, the more inventive the names became. The next morning, after waking up on Jenny’s couch and remembering yesterday, it did not go as planned. I pulled myself together, had a quick shower, and left for work. It was eight in the morning, and Jenny was still asleep when I left. That might be okay for some, but my workday today would be ten hours long, and I was running late. “You're late, night must have gone better than planned,” Mike said jovially. They sort of knew what I was planning last night. The others chuckled along with Mike. I grumbled some shiet and got to work. By the end of the day, Mike pulled me to his office. “Okay, out with it. The guys have been tiptoeing around you all day. What happened? He rejected your advances?” He asked, his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, looking at me with concerned eyes, a father figure, better than my dad had ever been. So, I told him what happened when I got home and where I spent the night, and now I'm looking for a place to stay. I was proud of myself; I didn’t cry, or whine, or show any emotion at all —just explained my predicament in cold, emotionless words. Clear and succinct. He said he wouldn’t say anything in the shop, but would talk to the prez. I had no idea why, but I was not in the right frame of mind to question it. Maxine POV Today was my sister's engagement party; engaged to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, you heard me right, my ex. What a joke that was. I had been dating Dan for six months when my sister, who was a year older than I, came home for Christmas and ended up in bed with my boyfriend. She’s a shameless woman, always has been, but I never expected him to sleep with her. I thought we were secure in our relationship. The only good thing I took away from this was that I never went to bed with him; my virginity card was still intact, not that I was trying to keep it - I just never got the chance to lose it. She always managed to have any guy I was interested in dump me for her, and when she got bored with them, she’d move on. So, in a way, I didn’t have a boyfriend till she moved out of her home and headed to college. But when my sister came home and met him, she seduced him and got pregnant. He did the whole ‘get down on one knee and proposed’ scene. Apparently, it was romantic, but I wasn't there when he did it because they didn’t want me around. It hurt a lot at the time, and I was glad to have my girlfriends around me, helping me get over it. They say, I dodged a bullet. I agree with them, stupidly. He might have been a sports jock with good looks, but doing this tells me he was weak and shallow, and I was too good for him, or so my BFF says. I prefer to believe them over the excuses my ex made. I had to move out of my home after I had a massive fight with my parents a few days ago, when the truth was exposed; they supported her, not me, and the next thing I knew, I was out the door and the evil sister. The engagement party was intended to introduce him to her friends and make the relationship official, but I was not invited. My parents want nothing to do with me. I made them all uncomfortable, considering he was my boyfriend first. Anyone working out the timeline for the baby can piece it together, and see they were cheating on me, and it would have been awkward, and too many questions would have been raised. Not that I needed to say all of that, I kind of said it all before, but grrrrr, I am so angry at how my so-called ‘family’ kicked me out of my so-called home, with no care for me or my feelings. It was easier to push me away and disown me than have to explain to them that my sister cheated with my boyfriend, and hey presto, a baby was on the way. Because I was kicked out of the house, and only had a short time to pack anything, I took the opportunity of the party to sneak into the house and take more of my possessions, like opening my father's safe, and grabbing every piece of paper relating to me, and a little money too, no a lot of money, and grandma’s jewelry that she left me. So, with the help of my BFF, we packed my belongings and took them to her place until I found a new one. I ride a motorcycle, so I need help. I have the money to buy a new place, but I'm unsure if I want to stay in this town now. Once my apprenticeship is over, I might move away. I stayed that night at Jenny’s place, as I figured out what to do. Today, I am moving into my new place —a bungalow above the bike shop where I work. I am in my final year of apprenticeship, and I am a motorcycle mechanic, proud of it, I might add. I can also work on cars and trucks. If it had a motor, I could fix it; I always could, thanks to my knack for it, which I developed since I was eight, when I fell in love with engines. My Grandpa taught me, kept me out of everyone's way. I guess you could say I was a tomboy, with no frills and lace. My Grandpa kept me sane and busy, so the BS in our house didn’t hurt me as much. The place has two bedrooms and is fully contained, meaning it has everything I need. I had purchased some new sheets and towels, that sort of thing, but it had a fully stocked kitchen; I only needed to buy the food. It might be small, and above a noisy bike shop, but at night it was a quiet area. No one would break into this shop; the local bikie gang owned it. They were good guys, scary, but so far, no trouble for me. My BFF, Jenny, was helping me take my belongings upstairs when a group of bikers arrived and assisted us. I had five boxes and two suitcases filled with all sorts of items. “Thanks, guys, for the help,” I said sweetly, my BFF batting her eyes at them and swaying her hips suggestively as she walked and thanked them. She makes me laugh with her antics, which are totally opposite to mine. I like jeans and am rarely seen in a dress, whereas she was seldom seen in jeans. “We got a party at the clubhouse, tomorrow Saturday, you should come and relax a bit, bring your girls with ya,” Bruiser suggested as he threw his arm over my shoulder, walked me to the settee, pushed me down, and handed me a beer they had brought with them. This was how they acted around me, ordered me about. Sometimes, I'm okay with it; other times, I get all worked up and growl back at them. Today was acceptance. I know they mean well, and I feel lucky to have them as family; they try to make me feel better. “That sounds like a blast, count me in, and I can bring two other girl friends with us. Max, do you want me to pick you up?” Jenny offered, taking a beer from one of the guys. She was not a beer drinker; however, in this situation, I could see her not refusing anything they offered. I guess I'm going, whether I want to or not. “No, I’ll ride over,” I replied as one of the guys ordered pizza. “That’s the spirit. Nothing like the wind in your hair to blow the cobwebs away.” They stayed because they didn’t want me to be alone, not on my first night here. Pizza arrived not long after, and my little bungalow was soon feeling too small and crowded, with six huge bikers in the room. Some sat on the floor; others pulled up one of the three kitchen chairs. I know, I know, three chairs sound odd, but that's what was here, and beggars can’t be choosers; the rent was dirt cheap, and I think the boys are the ones to make sure I had everything I needed. They found out about my situation the next day, because, I was still quiet at work, which was not like me, often I am singing to the radio, or swearing at something, so one of the guys approached me, to find out what gives, and I softly told them, what went down, and when word got around the bikers heard I needed a place to stay, because I was kicked out of my home and why, they came to me, like protective brothers. Now I have a whole gang of bikers who have my back. I feel privileged to call them friends. They even offered to rough the ex up for me, but I refused the offer, because strangely, I was happy to get rid of the loser if he was a cheating build. Better now than when I am fully invested in our relationship. Plus, I was in deep enough shite with my parents and sister without making it worse. The pizza was gone, my BFF left for home, and the guys did too. It was late, well, for me, midnight. I usually fall asleep quickly because I have to be up for work at five. Tomorrow, being Saturday, I have the morning shift before the party later. They let me leave work early so I can move in here. “Hey, don’t forget to come, we need our prettiest mechanic at the party, some of the boys might need a tune-up,” Bruiser said with a laugh as they climbed on their bikes and left. I know what sort of tune-up he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with a motor. I looked around my new home. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. The guys were great; they took the empty pizza boxes and beer cans with them, and the place was relatively clean. Not at all what you would expect from a group of rowdy men. The clubhouse. I had never been to it, despite having worked there for nearly four years, and they had never extended an invitation to me. I know they had lots of parties; maybe I was too young. I turned twenty recently, but they might think of me as the fifteen-year-old who showed up one day and told the boss I was going to be his apprentice. He laughed at first and said he would give me a go to prove myself. He thought I was joking and that I would be gone by the weekend, but over the holidays, I worked hard and have been here ever since. Maxine POV The beeping sound of my phone alarm made me sit up and look around. It took a moment to remember where I was. The room had a small curtain that barely kept the light out. There was a streetlight just outside my window. I can envisage myself getting better blackout curtains soon. Although it was annoying, it wasn't among my top priorities for making this a home. The shower was decent, with nice pressure. I followed my morning routine, only to realize how foolish I was to wake up so early, living above my place of work; I didn’t need to ride here. After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I still had half an hour before I needed to be at work. I had two ways to get into my place: one was through the back stairs, and the other was through the shop. With the code to turn off the alarm, I decided to head down and start work early. It was better than moving stuff around; I can do that later. I had a bike to finish by this afternoon. The customer would be here at two. Turned off the alarm, turned on the coffee pot, the radio, and headed to my workstation, where the fat boy was waiting for me to finish. I sat on the stool with casters and began my job, singing loudly to the heavy rock song that came on the radio as I installed the new spark plugs and double-checked the oil. It was a simple, easy-peasy service. Once finished, I started the bike up, let it idle while I made coffee, then returned to rev it a few times. It sounds lumpy, like it was just turning over perfectly; it was music to my ears. I love that throaty, deep, lumpy sound. You can feel it vibrate through my chest. “That’s a sound I loved to hear as I enter work.” My boss, Mike, said as I turned the bike off. “It’s ready to go, unless you want to take it out for a test ride. Want a coffee, pots hot.” I offered as I threw the dirty rag in the bin. “Sure, I will take the bike out for a spin, and you can make me a coffee.” He smirked as he grabbed the bike. I opened the garage door, and Mike took off. I smiled as he disappeared down the street, and I turned to make both of us coffee. If you hadn’t guessed already, I would drink a lot of coffee. I am not a fan of soft drinks or tea; for me, it's coffee or water. With a broom in hand, I began cleaning the shop. I am not out here very often, but I try to sweep the floor at least once a week; they have another apprentice who’s a second year, who gets to do most of the cleaning up, but he’s never here on a Saturday. The sound of the bike returning prompted me to pick up the two cups of coffee and head back out to the workshop. Mike had a massive grin on his face as he parked the bike. “Great job, you are our top mechanic. But don’t tell anyone, or I will have to deny it.” He joked, taking his coffee from my hand as he walked by, no doubt letting the customer know the bike was ready ahead of time. I moved to the next bike, which was a total rebuild; it had been in a minor accident, and while the frame was being checked, I would work on the engine and gearbox. It was the only job on my list at the moment. The bike owner was in no hurry; he had a broken leg, giving me a few weeks to work on his bike and any urgent jobs that might come into the shop. The client arrived and happily took possession of his bike, very happy with the job done. “I hear you’ve been invited to the club party tonight,” Mike said as he rang up the sale on the cash register. “Yep.” I said popping the ‘p’. “You can leave now, we have no more customers expected. Good job today.” It was close to one o’clock, near the time I would knock off. “Thanks, boss.” I saluted him and rushed upstairs, before he could change his mind. Giggling all the way up. I heard him chuckling as he locked the door below, behind me. I decided on a quick shower; I didn’t want to smell of oil when going to a party. Put on my skinny black jeans, a black blouse that had red flames on the back and on the pockets, black boots that had some chains around the ankle, and hair in a ponytail. I will get what we call helmet hair, so it's a waste to do much with it now. I use mascara and strawberry lip gloss, which is more to moisturize my lips, which tend to dry out when I ride my bike, and that's it. The last thing I grabbed before leaving was my jacket. My mum used to grumble that I wasn’t like my sister and put more effort into my appearance, but I like who I am, and I didn’t like wearing lots of makeup; it was my choice, and I feel that I am not a frilly, lacey chick. It was a deal breaker with my mum. She had my sister dress up and left me in the care of Grandpa until he died when I was seventeen. It broke me when he left the world. He was the only person who got me. My grandma had been gone since I was young, and I filled the hole in his heart with my love for bikes and fishing. He left me his money and bikes. Dad got his house and business. My mum hated that I gained all that money. When Grandma died, she left me her jewelry, and Grandpa made sure to keep it safe till I was old enough to have it. I ate something and put some more of my stuff in the cupboards before my phone chimed to let me know my girlfriends were on their way to the party. I pulled my bike out of the small garage and started it up. I threw my leg over and took off, heading to the property. The clubhouse was half an hour out of town, set on a large property a little bit back from the road. Ten minutes later, I came up behind the girls and hung out behind them. My friend waved me on to take the lead. I shrugged and overtook her. The turn off arrived, and I rode happily up the long drive, and trees lined the road. An open, large steel gate appeared, and I was glad it was still enough light to see clearly. Men stood by the entrance, watching us arrive. “Hey.” I greeted the biggest man I had ever seen. “Who invited you here?” The man asked gruffly, in a deep husky voice. “Bruiser,” I answered, with a firm, clear voice, hoping that the fact that he frightened me would be noticed in my voice. He pulled out his phone and called, I assumed, Bruiser. “Max?” He asked, as he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. He said something more and hung up the phone. “Come in, the car behind your girls?” He looked at the car behind, which clearly had a woman in it. “Yep,” I replied, not at all liking how he intimidated me with his manner. Perhaps it was the way they greeted strangers. One look makes the weak run. Well, I am not weak, and I won't be running. Maxine POV This rather large biker leaned in to look inside the car, his bulky figure partially blocking the open window, causing the girl nearest it to back away. Satisfied, he looked at me with a knowing smirk, then motioned for us to enter. The clubhouse was nothing like I had imagined. Firstly, it was four levels high. Verandah all the way around, that I could see. It was more like a mansion than a clubhouse. Women were gathered near the door, looking in, as if they were waiting for something; some were sitting on the wooden fence that surrounded the verandah. They were dressed in barely anything, showing all that was available, some love that sort of thing. People like me dress to stay warm or cool and don’t care about showing off the goods. Bikes sat in neat rows in front, and cars were parked to the left of the building; the ratio of bikes to cars was approximately four bikes to one car. I parked the bike with the others, climbed off, and took off my helmet. I placed the lid on the bike and shook out my hair while waiting for the girls to park and come to me. I heard some muffled scoffs, but I couldn’t care less —I wasn't here to please them. Bruiser came out of the clubhouse behind me. “Max, you came by bike. Sweet.” He gave me a gentle squeeze and moved to take a closer look at my bike. The paint job was a wolf, fading in smoke. It took me months to finish, as I kept changing my mind, and the smoke obscured the mistakes. “Who did the paint job?” He asked as he moved around to look at it from all sides. “Me.” I was proud of the results. “Does Mike know you can paint?” He sounded surprised. “He has seen my bike when I used the garage to do a service. He never asked who did the paint work, just that he liked it.” “Sweet, looks like we have someone to do touch-ups, and possibly a full paint job. We have a family reunion in a few weeks, and the ladies are invited to come along. You can join us.” Bruiser offered as my ladies arrived; they were not included in that invitation, I assumed, because I have a bike. “Bruiser, you already met Jenny, Melony, Karen, and Heather, my other BFF, and Alice, Karen's sister, and BFF to my sister.” Adding that comment, hoping that Bruiser knew precisely what that woman was like. Alice battered her eyes and leaned forward to show off what was under that almost shirt. My ladies greeted him with the respect he deserved. “Ladies. Hands out.” Bruiser stamped the girl's backs of their hands; they all had a bear, except Alice, who had a rabbit on her hand. I frowned, trying to figure out what the rabbit was all about. He pushed my hand away. “You are family, no need for a stamp.” I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my face. I felt so special. Then the shoe dropped. Rabbit meant she would open her legs. Bruiser got my meaning loud and clear. It took a while to understand the purpose of the stamps. “Come inside and meet the ole ladies.” I understood what he meant; these were ladies who had been claimed and had a different level of respect that those not claimed would never understand. I have met a few of them over the years and gained more insight into club life. They respect me as much as I respect them. We entered the place, and the girls who had been waiting outside gave us a dirty look, as they were still stopped from entering. “What's so special about them?” One pouted, but Bruiser ignored her. Inside was cleaner than I had expected —my fault for judging a group of men, since they often look messy when I see them at the shop. The place had a large, open space, with tables where you stand, as well as booths dotted along the walls, and stools at the bar, which ran the full length of the room. I loved the spacious room, the pictures on the walls, and some bike parts scattered about as decoration. A few barstools are bike seats; it was different, and it appealed to me. Being a lover of bikes. “Sticks.” I greeted her as we got closer to the ladies Bruiser was taking us to. “Hey, Maxie Max. How's it blowing?” She stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. This chick had no filter or personal space. Sticks was the President's; her real name was Sandra, but she was my height at five-nine, and she had no shape to her body, just a lovely bean pole, almost no chest to speak of, yet she had had two boys. Hence the name Sticks. “Doing better,” I replied. She would know what was going on. She introduced us to the other ladies with her, and it didn’t surprise me that Alice had already moved away from us before we had finished the introductions. “What’s her story?” Sticks asked as she watched Alice start to try her luck with the club men. “Same as my sister. Bruiser put a rabbit stamp on her hand.” Sticks and the other girl roared out laughing. “She will be used, abused, and kicked to the side by the time the night is over, and I doubt they would let her back in. We don’t need her sort in the club.” Maggie spouted as we watched a patch member knock her offer back. “The regulars are not going to like her working their turf. So, to speak.” Tootsie said, with a smirk, that the regulars know the rules and stick with them. Don’t approach a patch member; if interested, they will come to you. Nom’s are fair game. But most girls would prefer a patch member. Don’t touch a taken member; the women will gang up and make your life miserable if you feel one of theirs. Wait to be let into the clubhouse and then stay in the public area. No going upstairs uninvited. The first two floors are designated for guest rooms, while the top floor is reserved for permanent residences. Those who don’t have a home of their own to go to. They are private and not open to wandering girls. Don’t touch or sit on someone’s bike, unless you are given permission. The patched old ladies are the bosses of the girls; they tell you to leave or do something, and you do it. There were more rules for the girls visiting, but I couldn’t remember them all at that moment. None had applied to me until now. Alice had already broken at least three, to my knowledge. I am staying out of it. That rabbit on her hand told the members that she would open her legs for any of them, and no one would support her if she broke the rules. That she was not welcome to return, in other words, have your fun, and then kick her to the curb. The doors were opened to let the other girls in. They looked at us in the no-go zone and pouted. We were sitting in an off-limits area unless we were invited. From what I understood, they were here to spread their legs and give the guys some relief, but not become part of the family. They might be hopeful that something would change; it was rare for a patch member to take one of these ladies, who had most likely been with every unattached member of the gang, at some point. My girls left me with Sticks and wandered about with the other ladies, getting the tour of the place. “Want to look around?” Sticks were offered, and before I knew it, we were walking around the vast ground floor. “Ready to see the workshop, the guys might talk you into helping out, once they know who you are.” Sticks led me down a small pathway, lined with flowering shrubs, and to a set of large, farm-size sheds. Inside were bikes, some in bits, others crumpled from an accident, and others like they had just been detailed and were someone's pride and joy. There was a workshop here, where men were working on their bikes. They looked up at us when we entered and frowned. If Sticks were not with me, they would have most likely growled at me to get out. “Who’s this Sticks?” A monster of a man asked, in the deepest voice I have ever heard, he looked a lot like the man at the gate, but with more toned muscles, that I would love to run my fingers over. Just a tad taller, and although he looked big and scary, he made my lady parts sing in a way they had never sung before. Tank POV A few guys aren't into parties, so I stopped going until later in the night, when the girls who showed up were already taken. I dislike the women who come here hoping to adopt our lifestyle. I prefer to use my hand rather than one of those women. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my share of women; however, I had a girl who pushed me to take her, and when I did, she ended up in the hospital, because I am not exactly a little man, and I ripped her apart. She needed stitches, and I have not been with a woman since. Like my brother, we are both large men; he is six feet six inches tall, and I am six feet eight inches tall. He’s carrying extra weight, where I am all muscle. I pride myself on keeping in shape, but being this large has its downfall, and having a large build has had me worried about hurting another woman. No matter how much I might want to, I can’t; I never want to go through that again. The Prez was the only person who knew why I wouldn’t join the parties; he was with me when we took the girl to the hospital, she forgave me, and tried to pursue me to keep her, but I couldn’t. Each time I started to get intimate, I had flashes of her screams, and my confidence went down like a popped balloon. We were in the workshop, doing some minor tune-ups. As I prepare for our ride, I'm excited. When they bring the ladies, the men are usually in a better mood and on their best behavior. I was looking at rebuild. I started it last week. We have a few wrecks that need to be started; some have been sitting here far too long. We can only go so far before we need Mike's help. None of us was a mechanic. I was scratching my head, as I was almost at the end of my knowledge, when I heard someone enter, and a soft perfume that shouldn’t be in this shed hit my nose. Stick’s voice reached my ears, and I lifted my head up to look in her direction. “Who’s this Sticks?” The most beautiful girl I have ever seen had entered our sanctuary, a place where few girls are allowed, which made Sticks bring this beauty down to this dirt and grease, which was unexpectedly. “That is Max, from the shop, Mike's apprentice, who I think had finished her apprenticeship and is doing something extra on Harleys and getting some specialized license,” Banjo said as he moved forward to greet them. The others stood up and moved forward too, making me feel like a dill for not recognizing Max. Although I have only seen her a few times from a distance, and she was usually deep in bike repair, I barely got to see her face. We have not been introduced because I wouldn’t have forgotten that beauty if I had. Sticks introduced us all, and we greeted her before I decided I could use her help. I put the thoughts of what I wouldn’t mind doing to her behind me, not that I could do it. “Max, come look at this wreck. I am stuck with what to do next.” I called her over on the bike I was working on. “Tank, surely you could have waited for another day? She came for the party, not to work.” Sticks grumbled as Max walked to me. She was clean and smelled nice, and I had a fleeting moment of guilt for calling her over. The few times I had seen her, she was covered in oil and grease, wearing coveralls that hid her shapely figure. “Max, are you sure?” Sticks pulled on her hand to get her attention. “Yeah, I am more at home in here than out there,” Max said with a smile and turned back to me. “What's the problem?” She asked me to move forward and inspect the bike. I went into detail about what happened to the bike, what I had managed to do so far, and what I needed to move forward. Max removed her leather jacket and slung it over a nearby bike seat, then squatted down. For the next two hours, Max worked on the bike with me, guiding me through the tricky bits I couldn’t do. The others came forward and used this time as a sort of training session, and Max didn’t seem to mind at all. We asked questions as she worked on the bike, and she used me to lift the heavy parts. It was teamwork, and we completed more repairs in that time than I would have on my own. “Hey, Max,” Bruiser called out at the door. He stood with his legs apart, arms folded, and I wondered if we had done something wrong. “Back here.” She returned to the call of her name. He arrived and burst out laughing at us. “Max, I invited you to a party, you know, dancing and drinking, and socializing. This was not what I meant as a party.” He was still chuckling when the Prez walked in, with Sticks on his arm. “You still got her working out here?” Stick all but growled at us, when the Prez’s lady growls, we all listen. She’s the last person we want to make angry. “What?” I was confused, Max didn’t seem to mind, and we all were having a good time out here. “Hey, Prez. The party over?” Max calmly asked, but it sounded more like she had hoped it was. “Not even close, babes.” The Prez answered with a smile. He had gotten closer to Max over the years she had been at the bike shop. He had often talked about the female mechanic and her sassy ways. I had thought he was exaggerating, but after spending a little time with her, I was hooked. “We have nearly completed the repair job on Spider's bike. If we can have Max here for a few days, I bet we could hit the road by the end of the week.” I said it as it was my way of asking her to stay for a while and fix the bike. Spider was almost healed and ready to get back on his own bike. “Would have to ask Mike about that, she’s his employee, even if we own the shop, he runs it, and I don’t get involved with his employees,” Prez replied contemplatively. “He here?” I asked, as Mike often doesn’t show up at the weekend parties. “Yep, came half an hour ago.” Sticks answered as she handed Max a bottle of water. “Max, if Mike’s okay with it, would you work with us for a week, get some of these ready for the weekend ride?” Sparks asked, and I kicked myself for not considering that she might not want to spend a week here. “Sure, if Mike doesn’t need me, we have several bikes in for service before the ladies run.” Her sweet voice carried across the warehouse, and the guys nodded in understanding. “Thanks, babes,” Spike called out. Each one of us here enjoyed that she worked on our bikes; it might sound odd that we're letting a chick touch our bikes, but Max was not like most chicks. Who wants to sit on the bikes or lie on them? Max knows what she’s doing and has proven herself on numerous occasions. I wish I had known how attractive she was. Man, I had a semi since she walked in the door. The Prez will even let her ride her own bike, a privilege few ladies get. She was more part of the crew; no other girl I know works on bikes like she does, and her reputation over the time she's been an apprentice has been exemplary. Not a guy chaser. When word got out that our girl had been cheated on in the worst possible way, we all wanted to go and kill the man, even though half of us had never really met her, yeah, seen her in a distance, or legs poking out from under a truck, but never sat and talked with her before today. She was fun, had me chuckling a few times, but most of the time in here, she had been all about the bikes, and not flirting, like most chicks do when around us. They see the glamour of the lifestyle, but it's not for everyone. Maxine POV I was guided to a washroom on the side of the workshop, which had a deep steel sink and a shower, but no mirrors. There was a cupboard under the sink containing soaps and cleaning products, as well as a shelf with dark-colored towels. A door that led to a toilet, which was cleaner than I had expected. So far, this whole gang house had been cleaner than I thought a load of men would leave it. I had underestimated the guys and made assumptions about how guys I knew from school or parties would act; none of them were like that. Maybe it was because they are mostly men, whereas my experience had been with boys my age and lower. I cleaned the grease off my hands and arms and dried them. As I went through the routine of cleaning myself up, I thought about the party they had been pushing me to attend and how it had churned up my stomach. The last few times I went to a party, I was with my ex-boyfriend, and he ended up with my sister, so parties were not my thing. I always seem to lose something at parties. Mostly friends, who don’t like the fact that I don’t drink, I have never been a drinker, I might drink a beer to be sociable, and it would take me ages to finish it. Still, I never take shots and am never blind drunk. I had only once been drunk, and I didn’t like the feeling or the way it took me all day to recover, nor the hangover that seemed to be more than a headache. My friends get drunk, and I spend a lot of time cleaning up the messes they make, so I seem to be the one doing the cleanup most of the time, as they know I have their backs, even when I prefer not to do that part of it. I had just finished cleaning up when Tank came in, took one look at me, and started to chuckle. “What?” I asked, looking confused as he laughed. What did I do that was so funny? He didn’t say a word. He leaned over, picked up a cloth, and soaped it up, then gripped my chin in his huge hand, and gently wiped the side of my face, his eyes concentrating on the task, as if it was the most important job he had to do with care. He was so gentle, touching my face with soft, quick movements. His eyes then met mine, and I was lost in the deepest blue orbs I have ever seen. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat and blinked a few times to break the trance he had put me in, and took a step back, my body hitting the sink behind me. “You had some grease on your cheek.” He whispered in a husky voice so deep that it had my lady parts jumping for joy and need, something I am not familiar with. “Thank you,” I whispered back, my voice croaking, and I was shocked by the sound of my own voice; it was lower, warmer, and surprised me as much as Tank's did. His eyes widened at the husky sound. He took a step back and motioned with his hand for me to move past him. I quickly left the washroom and waited in the workshop, taking in the wrecks and wondering how badly the rider would have been hurt if the bike had looked like this. Hoping no one lost their lives. I thought about that for a while. I loved my bike, but I would never ditch it because I was scared. That the thought of falling off had never entered my mind, if I died while riding my bike, then I would have been doing what I love doing. I found I was okay with that. Not that I want to die, but I have thought about how I would like to go when my heart has been broken. “Hey, what are you doing still in here?” Rocket asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Hiding?” I joked back, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and came to stand beside me, looking at the bike I had been staring at. “Can it be fixed? It’s been sitting here for a long time, with no one having the skill to start repairing it. Well, they could give it a go, but this bike is so old that parts are almost impossible to get.” “Yeah, I can give it a try. I have some contacts who can obtain parts, but I can also manufacture some parts. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can come over on weekends and dedicate some time to it.” I suggested it would be a shame to let this panhead go to waste. There are enough pieces of the wrecked bike left to serve as a starting point. “Sweet, it will be good to see this bike out on the road again.” Rocket looked genuinely pleased that the bike could be restored. I restore old cars, trucks, and bikes with Grandpa. I have the equipment stored in a shed for when I have a place of my own to use the machines. I wonder if they have a shed where I can put them. I will need one of the machines. “Ready?” Tank asked; he had shed the work shirt and pulled on a gang shirt. His muscles are on display. Yummy. He makes me feel tiny when I am beside him. “Tank, Max said she can restore the baby.” Tank’s head turned to look at the wreck, and then at me. “For real? Max, can you do that?” Tank looked surprised. After spending a few hours with me, working on bikes, he had to ask that? “Yeah, I can, need to talk to the Prez about some space, but I can do it.” Both guys frowned and looked around the workshop. But they didn’t say anything. Or question me further. Tank put his hand on my lower back and gave a slight push, making me start to walk out of the workshop. It was dark out. Tank guided me to the back door, Rocket leading the way. He opened the door for me and waved me in, as if I were someone important. Causing me to giggle. Yeah, you heard me; I giggled like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous, and not something I had ever expected to come out of my mouth. The guys didn’t even blink at the giggle. The place was warm inside, vibrating with the loud thump of the bass. You could hardly hear the person next to you speak over the heavy music. It reeked of cigarettes and booze. The girls who had been at the door waiting to get in were busy with patch members kissing and almost doing the deed right there on the chair. Some were grinding their hips against the man below them, and the small amount of clothing they had on was even less now. I assumed they were well on their way to being drunk. This was a classic visual of why men lose respect for some kinds of women. I am embarrassed to see it in front of me. I looked around the room and saw my friends still with Sticks, and a couple of guys hanging around nearby. My friends look like they are having fun, and they have a few patch members who seem friendly to them. I hope the girls know what they are doing. The gang life was not for everyone. Dad had once spoken badly about gangs, and he hated it when I became an apprentice at the bike shop. Grandpa was the one who encouraged me to have an apprenticeship. He hated that Dad and Mum were backing my sister in everything, and maybe encouraging me to be a mechanic at the bike shop was his way to get back at Dad. Dad had even tried to get me to leave the bike shop when Grandpa had died. But I had made a pact with Grandpa that I wouldn’t give in to Dad. To live the life I want, and never give in, no matter what the consequences are. I wonder what Grandpa would say if he were alive and saw Dad kick me out of the family home, for the sake of my sister. He would be livered, that’s for sure. But I did as Grandpa said, stood firm, and stayed true to myself. “Hey Maxi Max, come join us. Cricket, grab Max an iced water.” Sticks patted the chair next to her, and before I could move to sit beside her, Tank grabbed me around the waist and took a couple of giant steps to the chair, and sat down, holding me on his lap. The girls looked at each other, then, between Tank and me, the confused look changed to a grin and a nod —whatever that was about.
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"“My guys found her. She’s at the MagDog clubhouse. Fixing their bikes.” “What?” Her father’s brow furrowed. “Then tell her to come home. Our business is drowning.” “She wouldn’t. Maxine sent back a message: ‘You gave my room to a bast3rd baby. I gave my keys to a biker.’” The room froze. Dan, Maxine’s ex-boyfriend, now her sister’s fiancé, remembered the last Christmas. Zoey’s moans. Maxine’s bed. Her white sheets. Zoey remembered stealing him—the third boyfriend she’d taken from her sister. And Mom and Dad never once said stop. Her parents remembered looking at their bleeding daughter and telling her to leave. For a nursery. For the cheater’s child. None of them had ever chosen her. “At least she’s safe,” her mother whispered, sobbing with regret. “Safe? She’s living above a bike shop. But she’s got the whole club at her back. Especially their giant—Tank. Six-foot-eight. Never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her. And... their president also sent a message.” “Go on,” her father urged, anxiety simmering beneath. “‘You didn’t want her. We do. Touch her fortune? We’ll end you.’” The words landed like a punch. No one moved. No one breathed. Outside, a Harley roared past the window. She didn’t even slow down." --- Maxine POV “Go home, you have worked too much overtime this week. Have an early night and give that boyfriend of yours an early treat.” My boss practically pushed me out the door, a wicked grin on his face. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’m going. I straddled my bike and started her up. This was going to be a great night. Today was my boyfriend's birthday, and I was going to give him my V-card as a special gift. I had brought new lingerie, black lace, see-through, and I had shaved my mound, leaving a trail that looked like an arrow pointing down to my juncture. I was ready to give him my all, my first, my heart, take the big plunge. I felt I was ready. I pulled into the driveway to see my sister's and my boyfriend’s cars. I had no idea my sister was coming home today. She was still at college in her final year, though I heard she wasn't doing so well. The poor golden girl has not met up with expectations, not that I was worried. My ex-boyfriend showed up three hours early; our date was not for a few more hours. What was he doing here already? Walking in the back door, I heard voices and headed towards them; they were in Dad’s office, with the door slightly ajar. I moved silently to the door and waited outside to hear what secrets they were having now. They occasionally do this when they are planning something and don’t want to include me, but I'm puzzled as to why my boyfriend and sister were included. “We never planned for it to happen.” My sister replied softly, as if she were some kind of victim; she was an expert at that. She should have been an actress; she would have won multiple Oscars by now. “When?” Dad asked, and I waited in the hallway to hear what this was all about. “Christmas day, we had too many of your special eggnogs, and things got heated. The party was more or less over; the presents had been given out, and the food had been eaten. We were all mulling around, talking, when Zoey said something, I don’t remember what—but we went upstairs to continue talking, and ended up in Maxine’s room. We did start by just talking, and before I knew it, we were kissing and things got heated, and ended up in her bed, like I said, and I was so lost in that moment that I forgot to use a protection. When we came out, no one seemed to notice we had been gone, so we pretended it never happened.” My boyfriend replied, and my heart just hit the floor, as I took in that my sister and boyfriend did the dirty in my bed at Christmas. MY BED. I slept in that bed, with their mess on the sheets. I feel suddenly sick at that thought. How could they do that to me? She stole another boyfriend from me again. But he was just as much to blame; I guess our relationship was not that strong yet. Not on his side at least. He continued to pretend, kissing me and taking me out on dates, as if that never happened. What a jerk. Now I feel cheated, dirty, ashamed, and angry all at once. What if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, and I ended up married to that cheating scumbag? Would her wedding present be to tell me she had slept with him first? I wouldn’t put it past her to do such a thing. She had done that before with my boyfriends, and I guess this one was just as vulnerable to her advances as the last one. “He gave me the best Christmas present ever.” My sister crowed with delight. I could imagine her tenderly touching her belly. “This is good news. I have wanted grandchildren, and the last grandchild I would have expected would be from you; you have never kept a relationship for long.” Mum said, sounding excited at the news. “What now?” My sister asked, still playing the perfect victim. “We get married?’ My now ex-boyfriend suggested —sounds more like a question. “What about Maxine?” My sister asked, as if I were an inconvenience that needed to be sorted out, and now they think about me, but it didn’t sound like concern. “What about her? This is about my first grandchild, and his or her safety comes first. She will have to live with it.” My mother spat, revealing that famous favoritism, because she had always taken my sister's side in everything, even when proven wrong. They never backed me up. “I am technically her boyfriend.” He started to say something, but was interrupted. “Not anymore, you're not. I will arrange with the local publican to hire the outdoor garden area, and we shall have an engagement party this Saturday. Get that sorted before you start to show, and Maxine will show her support.” Dad’s voice floated out, sounding resolute. I had no say in this, not that I wanted to be his girlfriend any longer; he had proven not to be what I wanted in a guy. “She will have to leave. I need her room for the nursery. I would prefer it if she didn't attend the engagement party. What will those who know she was the real girlfriend show up, and see that it was not Maxine getting engaged?” Mum added. Yep, that was my mother, trying to regain her dignity and save face. I couldn’t take it any longer. I was devastated enough, and listening further to their support for the love for the cheater was eating me up inside. I didn’t want to cry in front of them; the tears were a mix of anger and hurt. I pushed the door open, revealing myself standing there. All faces turned to look at me. “Let me get this straight. You took my boyfriend to MY bed, did the dirty with him, leaving your mess in my bed, as a sort of Christmas present for me. Guess that made your day, thinking I was sleeping in your mess. Now you want my bedroom for the child baby you have created, and I am what, just pushed out the door? Like yesterday’s trash?” I asked to ensure I understood correctly that the whole family was fine with me being tossed aside. “Exactly, I am taking your boyfriend, your bedroom, and you, my dear sister, have to move out.” My sister sounded like she had won the lottery. Her face beamed at her triumph. “Fine with me.” The look of shock would have made me laugh if I were not so numb inside. I moved away to my room and packed what I could into my duffel bag. I will come back for the rest later, when they are not around. My heart was breaking, not because I lost my boyfriend, although that hurt a lot, considering that what I was going to give him for his present today was saved for doing something foolish at least. But also because both parents were supporting this deception, as if it were the best news they had received in a while, that they had been trying to get rid of me for a while, and now succeeded in a spectacular way. I walked downstairs and looked at them. “When I find a place to stay, I will be back for the rest.” I spat at them, a mixture of hurt, anger, and defeat. I never fit into the family, a black sheep, so maybe I should become one. I had always had top grades, won awards, done my best, but even being first, I was still last. My best friend was the only place I could think of going to; it had to be temporary. Jenny will be cool and let me sleep on her couch till I find a new home. I climbed onto my bike and took off to the only sanctuary I had over the years. Jenny welcomed me into her home, like I knew she would, and together we had a pity party consisting of beer and vanilla fudge ice cream. We called the family and my ex some interesting names, some of which I had never heard before, but they sounded good. The drunker I got, the more inventive the names became. The next morning, after waking up on Jenny’s couch and remembering yesterday, it did not go as planned. I pulled myself together, had a quick shower, and left for work. It was eight in the morning, and Jenny was still asleep when I left. That might be okay for some, but my workday today would be ten hours long, and I was running late. “You're late, night must have gone better than planned,” Mike said jovially. They sort of knew what I was planning last night. The others chuckled along with Mike. I grumbled some shiet and got to work. By the end of the day, Mike pulled me to his office. “Okay, out with it. The guys have been tiptoeing around you all day. What happened? He rejected your advances?” He asked, his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, looking at me with concerned eyes, a father figure, better than my dad had ever been. So, I told him what happened when I got home and where I spent the night, and now I'm looking for a place to stay. I was proud of myself; I didn’t cry, or whine, or show any emotion at all —just explained my predicament in cold, emotionless words. Clear and succinct. He said he wouldn’t say anything in the shop, but would talk to the prez. I had no idea why, but I was not in the right frame of mind to question it. Maxine POV Today was my sister's engagement party; engaged to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, you heard me right, my ex. What a joke that was. I had been dating Dan for six months when my sister, who was a year older than I, came home for Christmas and ended up in bed with my boyfriend. She’s a shameless woman, always has been, but I never expected him to sleep with her. I thought we were secure in our relationship. The only good thing I took away from this was that I never went to bed with him; my virginity card was still intact, not that I was trying to keep it - I just never got the chance to lose it. She always managed to have any guy I was interested in dump me for her, and when she got bored with them, she’d move on. So, in a way, I didn’t have a boyfriend till she moved out of her home and headed to college. But when my sister came home and met him, she seduced him and got pregnant. He did the whole ‘get down on one knee and proposed’ scene. Apparently, it was romantic, but I wasn't there when he did it because they didn’t want me around. It hurt a lot at the time, and I was glad to have my girlfriends around me, helping me get over it. They say, I dodged a bullet. I agree with them, stupidly. He might have been a sports jock with good looks, but doing this tells me he was weak and shallow, and I was too good for him, or so my BFF says. I prefer to believe them over the excuses my ex made. I had to move out of my home after I had a massive fight with my parents a few days ago, when the truth was exposed; they supported her, not me, and the next thing I knew, I was out the door and the evil sister. The engagement party was intended to introduce him to her friends and make the relationship official, but I was not invited. My parents want nothing to do with me. I made them all uncomfortable, considering he was my boyfriend first. Anyone working out the timeline for the baby can piece it together, and see they were cheating on me, and it would have been awkward, and too many questions would have been raised. Not that I needed to say all of that, I kind of said it all before, but grrrrr, I am so angry at how my so-called ‘family’ kicked me out of my so-called home, with no care for me or my feelings. It was easier to push me away and disown me than have to explain to them that my sister cheated with my boyfriend, and hey presto, a baby was on the way. Because I was kicked out of the house, and only had a short time to pack anything, I took the opportunity of the party to sneak into the house and take more of my possessions, like opening my father's safe, and grabbing every piece of paper relating to me, and a little money too, no a lot of money, and grandma’s jewelry that she left me. So, with the help of my BFF, we packed my belongings and took them to her place until I found a new one. I ride a motorcycle, so I need help. I have the money to buy a new place, but I'm unsure if I want to stay in this town now. Once my apprenticeship is over, I might move away. I stayed that night at Jenny’s place, as I figured out what to do. Today, I am moving into my new place —a bungalow above the bike shop where I work. I am in my final year of apprenticeship, and I am a motorcycle mechanic, proud of it, I might add. I can also work on cars and trucks. If it had a motor, I could fix it; I always could, thanks to my knack for it, which I developed since I was eight, when I fell in love with engines. My Grandpa taught me, kept me out of everyone's way. I guess you could say I was a tomboy, with no frills and lace. My Grandpa kept me sane and busy, so the BS in our house didn’t hurt me as much. The place has two bedrooms and is fully contained, meaning it has everything I need. I had purchased some new sheets and towels, that sort of thing, but it had a fully stocked kitchen; I only needed to buy the food. It might be small, and above a noisy bike shop, but at night it was a quiet area. No one would break into this shop; the local bikie gang owned it. They were good guys, scary, but so far, no trouble for me. My BFF, Jenny, was helping me take my belongings upstairs when a group of bikers arrived and assisted us. I had five boxes and two suitcases filled with all sorts of items. “Thanks, guys, for the help,” I said sweetly, my BFF batting her eyes at them and swaying her hips suggestively as she walked and thanked them. She makes me laugh with her antics, which are totally opposite to mine. I like jeans and am rarely seen in a dress, whereas she was seldom seen in jeans. “We got a party at the clubhouse, tomorrow Saturday, you should come and relax a bit, bring your girls with ya,” Bruiser suggested as he threw his arm over my shoulder, walked me to the settee, pushed me down, and handed me a beer they had brought with them. This was how they acted around me, ordered me about. Sometimes, I'm okay with it; other times, I get all worked up and growl back at them. Today was acceptance. I know they mean well, and I feel lucky to have them as family; they try to make me feel better. “That sounds like a blast, count me in, and I can bring two other girl friends with us. Max, do you want me to pick you up?” Jenny offered, taking a beer from one of the guys. She was not a beer drinker; however, in this situation, I could see her not refusing anything they offered. I guess I'm going, whether I want to or not. “No, I’ll ride over,” I replied as one of the guys ordered pizza. “That’s the spirit. Nothing like the wind in your hair to blow the cobwebs away.” They stayed because they didn’t want me to be alone, not on my first night here. Pizza arrived not long after, and my little bungalow was soon feeling too small and crowded, with six huge bikers in the room. Some sat on the floor; others pulled up one of the three kitchen chairs. I know, I know, three chairs sound odd, but that's what was here, and beggars can’t be choosers; the rent was dirt cheap, and I think the boys are the ones to make sure I had everything I needed. They found out about my situation the next day, because, I was still quiet at work, which was not like me, often I am singing to the radio, or swearing at something, so one of the guys approached me, to find out what gives, and I softly told them, what went down, and when word got around the bikers heard I needed a place to stay, because I was kicked out of my home and why, they came to me, like protective brothers. Now I have a whole gang of bikers who have my back. I feel privileged to call them friends. They even offered to rough the ex up for me, but I refused the offer, because strangely, I was happy to get rid of the loser if he was a cheating build. Better now than when I am fully invested in our relationship. Plus, I was in deep enough shite with my parents and sister without making it worse. The pizza was gone, my BFF left for home, and the guys did too. It was late, well, for me, midnight. I usually fall asleep quickly because I have to be up for work at five. Tomorrow, being Saturday, I have the morning shift before the party later. They let me leave work early so I can move in here. “Hey, don’t forget to come, we need our prettiest mechanic at the party, some of the boys might need a tune-up,” Bruiser said with a laugh as they climbed on their bikes and left. I know what sort of tune-up he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with a motor. I looked around my new home. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. The guys were great; they took the empty pizza boxes and beer cans with them, and the place was relatively clean. Not at all what you would expect from a group of rowdy men. The clubhouse. I had never been to it, despite having worked there for nearly four years, and they had never extended an invitation to me. I know they had lots of parties; maybe I was too young. I turned twenty recently, but they might think of me as the fifteen-year-old who showed up one day and told the boss I was going to be his apprentice. He laughed at first and said he would give me a go to prove myself. He thought I was joking and that I would be gone by the weekend, but over the holidays, I worked hard and have been here ever since. Maxine POV The beeping sound of my phone alarm made me sit up and look around. It took a moment to remember where I was. The room had a small curtain that barely kept the light out. There was a streetlight just outside my window. I can envisage myself getting better blackout curtains soon. Although it was annoying, it wasn't among my top priorities for making this a home. The shower was decent, with nice pressure. I followed my morning routine, only to realize how foolish I was to wake up so early, living above my place of work; I didn’t need to ride here. After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I still had half an hour before I needed to be at work. I had two ways to get into my place: one was through the back stairs, and the other was through the shop. With the code to turn off the alarm, I decided to head down and start work early. It was better than moving stuff around; I can do that later. I had a bike to finish by this afternoon. The customer would be here at two. Turned off the alarm, turned on the coffee pot, the radio, and headed to my workstation, where the fat boy was waiting for me to finish. I sat on the stool with casters and began my job, singing loudly to the heavy rock song that came on the radio as I installed the new spark plugs and double-checked the oil. It was a simple, easy-peasy service. Once finished, I started the bike up, let it idle while I made coffee, then returned to rev it a few times. It sounds lumpy, like it was just turning over perfectly; it was music to my ears. I love that throaty, deep, lumpy sound. You can feel it vibrate through my chest. “That’s a sound I loved to hear as I enter work.” My boss, Mike, said as I turned the bike off. “It’s ready to go, unless you want to take it out for a test ride. Want a coffee, pots hot.” I offered as I threw the dirty rag in the bin. “Sure, I will take the bike out for a spin, and you can make me a coffee.” He smirked as he grabbed the bike. I opened the garage door, and Mike took off. I smiled as he disappeared down the street, and I turned to make both of us coffee. If you hadn’t guessed already, I would drink a lot of coffee. I am not a fan of soft drinks or tea; for me, it's coffee or water. With a broom in hand, I began cleaning the shop. I am not out here very often, but I try to sweep the floor at least once a week; they have another apprentice who’s a second year, who gets to do most of the cleaning up, but he’s never here on a Saturday. The sound of the bike returning prompted me to pick up the two cups of coffee and head back out to the workshop. Mike had a massive grin on his face as he parked the bike. “Great job, you are our top mechanic. But don’t tell anyone, or I will have to deny it.” He joked, taking his coffee from my hand as he walked by, no doubt letting the customer know the bike was ready ahead of time. I moved to the next bike, which was a total rebuild; it had been in a minor accident, and while the frame was being checked, I would work on the engine and gearbox. It was the only job on my list at the moment. The bike owner was in no hurry; he had a broken leg, giving me a few weeks to work on his bike and any urgent jobs that might come into the shop. The client arrived and happily took possession of his bike, very happy with the job done. “I hear you’ve been invited to the club party tonight,” Mike said as he rang up the sale on the cash register. “Yep.” I said popping the ‘p’. “You can leave now, we have no more customers expected. Good job today.” It was close to one o’clock, near the time I would knock off. “Thanks, boss.” I saluted him and rushed upstairs, before he could change his mind. Giggling all the way up. I heard him chuckling as he locked the door below, behind me. I decided on a quick shower; I didn’t want to smell of oil when going to a party. Put on my skinny black jeans, a black blouse that had red flames on the back and on the pockets, black boots that had some chains around the ankle, and hair in a ponytail. I will get what we call helmet hair, so it's a waste to do much with it now. I use mascara and strawberry lip gloss, which is more to moisturize my lips, which tend to dry out when I ride my bike, and that's it. The last thing I grabbed before leaving was my jacket. My mum used to grumble that I wasn’t like my sister and put more effort into my appearance, but I like who I am, and I didn’t like wearing lots of makeup; it was my choice, and I feel that I am not a frilly, lacey chick. It was a deal breaker with my mum. She had my sister dress up and left me in the care of Grandpa until he died when I was seventeen. It broke me when he left the world. He was the only person who got me. My grandma had been gone since I was young, and I filled the hole in his heart with my love for bikes and fishing. He left me his money and bikes. Dad got his house and business. My mum hated that I gained all that money. When Grandma died, she left me her jewelry, and Grandpa made sure to keep it safe till I was old enough to have it. I ate something and put some more of my stuff in the cupboards before my phone chimed to let me know my girlfriends were on their way to the party. I pulled my bike out of the small garage and started it up. I threw my leg over and took off, heading to the property. The clubhouse was half an hour out of town, set on a large property a little bit back from the road. Ten minutes later, I came up behind the girls and hung out behind them. My friend waved me on to take the lead. I shrugged and overtook her. The turn off arrived, and I rode happily up the long drive, and trees lined the road. An open, large steel gate appeared, and I was glad it was still enough light to see clearly. Men stood by the entrance, watching us arrive. “Hey.” I greeted the biggest man I had ever seen. “Who invited you here?” The man asked gruffly, in a deep husky voice. “Bruiser,” I answered, with a firm, clear voice, hoping that the fact that he frightened me would be noticed in my voice. He pulled out his phone and called, I assumed, Bruiser. “Max?” He asked, as he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. He said something more and hung up the phone. “Come in, the car behind your girls?” He looked at the car behind, which clearly had a woman in it. “Yep,” I replied, not at all liking how he intimidated me with his manner. Perhaps it was the way they greeted strangers. One look makes the weak run. Well, I am not weak, and I won't be running. Maxine POV This rather large biker leaned in to look inside the car, his bulky figure partially blocking the open window, causing the girl nearest it to back away. Satisfied, he looked at me with a knowing smirk, then motioned for us to enter. The clubhouse was nothing like I had imagined. Firstly, it was four levels high. Verandah all the way around, that I could see. It was more like a mansion than a clubhouse. Women were gathered near the door, looking in, as if they were waiting for something; some were sitting on the wooden fence that surrounded the verandah. They were dressed in barely anything, showing all that was available, some love that sort of thing. People like me dress to stay warm or cool and don’t care about showing off the goods. Bikes sat in neat rows in front, and cars were parked to the left of the building; the ratio of bikes to cars was approximately four bikes to one car. I parked the bike with the others, climbed off, and took off my helmet. I placed the lid on the bike and shook out my hair while waiting for the girls to park and come to me. I heard some muffled scoffs, but I couldn’t care less —I wasn't here to please them. Bruiser came out of the clubhouse behind me. “Max, you came by bike. Sweet.” He gave me a gentle squeeze and moved to take a closer look at my bike. The paint job was a wolf, fading in smoke. It took me months to finish, as I kept changing my mind, and the smoke obscured the mistakes. “Who did the paint job?” He asked as he moved around to look at it from all sides. “Me.” I was proud of the results. “Does Mike know you can paint?” He sounded surprised. “He has seen my bike when I used the garage to do a service. He never asked who did the paint work, just that he liked it.” “Sweet, looks like we have someone to do touch-ups, and possibly a full paint job. We have a family reunion in a few weeks, and the ladies are invited to come along. You can join us.” Bruiser offered as my ladies arrived; they were not included in that invitation, I assumed, because I have a bike. “Bruiser, you already met Jenny, Melony, Karen, and Heather, my other BFF, and Alice, Karen's sister, and BFF to my sister.” Adding that comment, hoping that Bruiser knew precisely what that woman was like. Alice battered her eyes and leaned forward to show off what was under that almost shirt. My ladies greeted him with the respect he deserved. “Ladies. Hands out.” Bruiser stamped the girl's backs of their hands; they all had a bear, except Alice, who had a rabbit on her hand. I frowned, trying to figure out what the rabbit was all about. He pushed my hand away. “You are family, no need for a stamp.” I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my face. I felt so special. Then the shoe dropped. Rabbit meant she would open her legs. Bruiser got my meaning loud and clear. It took a while to understand the purpose of the stamps. “Come inside and meet the ole ladies.” I understood what he meant; these were ladies who had been claimed and had a different level of respect that those not claimed would never understand. I have met a few of them over the years and gained more insight into club life. They respect me as much as I respect them. We entered the place, and the girls who had been waiting outside gave us a dirty look, as they were still stopped from entering. “What's so special about them?” One pouted, but Bruiser ignored her. Inside was cleaner than I had expected —my fault for judging a group of men, since they often look messy when I see them at the shop. The place had a large, open space, with tables where you stand, as well as booths dotted along the walls, and stools at the bar, which ran the full length of the room. I loved the spacious room, the pictures on the walls, and some bike parts scattered about as decoration. A few barstools are bike seats; it was different, and it appealed to me. Being a lover of bikes. “Sticks.” I greeted her as we got closer to the ladies Bruiser was taking us to. “Hey, Maxie Max. How's it blowing?” She stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. This chick had no filter or personal space. Sticks was the President's; her real name was Sandra, but she was my height at five-nine, and she had no shape to her body, just a lovely bean pole, almost no chest to speak of, yet she had had two boys. Hence the name Sticks. “Doing better,” I replied. She would know what was going on. She introduced us to the other ladies with her, and it didn’t surprise me that Alice had already moved away from us before we had finished the introductions. “What’s her story?” Sticks asked as she watched Alice start to try her luck with the club men. “Same as my sister. Bruiser put a rabbit stamp on her hand.” Sticks and the other girl roared out laughing. “She will be used, abused, and kicked to the side by the time the night is over, and I doubt they would let her back in. We don’t need her sort in the club.” Maggie spouted as we watched a patch member knock her offer back. “The regulars are not going to like her working their turf. So, to speak.” Tootsie said, with a smirk, that the regulars know the rules and stick with them. Don’t approach a patch member; if interested, they will come to you. Nom’s are fair game. But most girls would prefer a patch member. Don’t touch a taken member; the women will gang up and make your life miserable if you feel one of theirs. Wait to be let into the clubhouse and then stay in the public area. No going upstairs uninvited. The first two floors are designated for guest rooms, while the top floor is reserved for permanent residences. Those who don’t have a home of their own to go to. They are private and not open to wandering girls. Don’t touch or sit on someone’s bike, unless you are given permission. The patched old ladies are the bosses of the girls; they tell you to leave or do something, and you do it. There were more rules for the girls visiting, but I couldn’t remember them all at that moment. None had applied to me until now. Alice had already broken at least three, to my knowledge. I am staying out of it. That rabbit on her hand told the members that she would open her legs for any of them, and no one would support her if she broke the rules. That she was not welcome to return, in other words, have your fun, and then kick her to the curb. The doors were opened to let the other girls in. They looked at us in the no-go zone and pouted. We were sitting in an off-limits area unless we were invited. From what I understood, they were here to spread their legs and give the guys some relief, but not become part of the family. They might be hopeful that something would change; it was rare for a patch member to take one of these ladies, who had most likely been with every unattached member of the gang, at some point. My girls left me with Sticks and wandered about with the other ladies, getting the tour of the place. “Want to look around?” Sticks were offered, and before I knew it, we were walking around the vast ground floor. “Ready to see the workshop, the guys might talk you into helping out, once they know who you are.” Sticks led me down a small pathway, lined with flowering shrubs, and to a set of large, farm-size sheds. Inside were bikes, some in bits, others crumpled from an accident, and others like they had just been detailed and were someone's pride and joy. There was a workshop here, where men were working on their bikes. They looked up at us when we entered and frowned. If Sticks were not with me, they would have most likely growled at me to get out. “Who’s this Sticks?” A monster of a man asked, in the deepest voice I have ever heard, he looked a lot like the man at the gate, but with more toned muscles, that I would love to run my fingers over. Just a tad taller, and although he looked big and scary, he made my lady parts sing in a way they had never sung before. Tank POV A few guys aren't into parties, so I stopped going until later in the night, when the girls who showed up were already taken. I dislike the women who come here hoping to adopt our lifestyle. I prefer to use my hand rather than one of those women. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my share of women; however, I had a girl who pushed me to take her, and when I did, she ended up in the hospital, because I am not exactly a little man, and I ripped her apart. She needed stitches, and I have not been with a woman since. Like my brother, we are both large men; he is six feet six inches tall, and I am six feet eight inches tall. He’s carrying extra weight, where I am all muscle. I pride myself on keeping in shape, but being this large has its downfall, and having a large build has had me worried about hurting another woman. No matter how much I might want to, I can’t; I never want to go through that again. The Prez was the only person who knew why I wouldn’t join the parties; he was with me when we took the girl to the hospital, she forgave me, and tried to pursue me to keep her, but I couldn’t. Each time I started to get intimate, I had flashes of her screams, and my confidence went down like a popped balloon. We were in the workshop, doing some minor tune-ups. As I prepare for our ride, I'm excited. When they bring the ladies, the men are usually in a better mood and on their best behavior. I was looking at rebuild. I started it last week. We have a few wrecks that need to be started; some have been sitting here far too long. We can only go so far before we need Mike's help. None of us was a mechanic. I was scratching my head, as I was almost at the end of my knowledge, when I heard someone enter, and a soft perfume that shouldn’t be in this shed hit my nose. Stick’s voice reached my ears, and I lifted my head up to look in her direction. “Who’s this Sticks?” The most beautiful girl I have ever seen had entered our sanctuary, a place where few girls are allowed, which made Sticks bring this beauty down to this dirt and grease, which was unexpectedly. “That is Max, from the shop, Mike's apprentice, who I think had finished her apprenticeship and is doing something extra on Harleys and getting some specialized license,” Banjo said as he moved forward to greet them. The others stood up and moved forward too, making me feel like a dill for not recognizing Max. Although I have only seen her a few times from a distance, and she was usually deep in bike repair, I barely got to see her face. We have not been introduced because I wouldn’t have forgotten that beauty if I had. Sticks introduced us all, and we greeted her before I decided I could use her help. I put the thoughts of what I wouldn’t mind doing to her behind me, not that I could do it. “Max, come look at this wreck. I am stuck with what to do next.” I called her over on the bike I was working on. “Tank, surely you could have waited for another day? She came for the party, not to work.” Sticks grumbled as Max walked to me. She was clean and smelled nice, and I had a fleeting moment of guilt for calling her over. The few times I had seen her, she was covered in oil and grease, wearing coveralls that hid her shapely figure. “Max, are you sure?” Sticks pulled on her hand to get her attention. “Yeah, I am more at home in here than out there,” Max said with a smile and turned back to me. “What's the problem?” She asked me to move forward and inspect the bike. I went into detail about what happened to the bike, what I had managed to do so far, and what I needed to move forward. Max removed her leather jacket and slung it over a nearby bike seat, then squatted down. For the next two hours, Max worked on the bike with me, guiding me through the tricky bits I couldn’t do. The others came forward and used this time as a sort of training session, and Max didn’t seem to mind at all. We asked questions as she worked on the bike, and she used me to lift the heavy parts. It was teamwork, and we completed more repairs in that time than I would have on my own. “Hey, Max,” Bruiser called out at the door. He stood with his legs apart, arms folded, and I wondered if we had done something wrong. “Back here.” She returned to the call of her name. He arrived and burst out laughing at us. “Max, I invited you to a party, you know, dancing and drinking, and socializing. This was not what I meant as a party.” He was still chuckling when the Prez walked in, with Sticks on his arm. “You still got her working out here?” Stick all but growled at us, when the Prez’s lady growls, we all listen. She’s the last person we want to make angry. “What?” I was confused, Max didn’t seem to mind, and we all were having a good time out here. “Hey, Prez. The party over?” Max calmly asked, but it sounded more like she had hoped it was. “Not even close, babes.” The Prez answered with a smile. He had gotten closer to Max over the years she had been at the bike shop. He had often talked about the female mechanic and her sassy ways. I had thought he was exaggerating, but after spending a little time with her, I was hooked. “We have nearly completed the repair job on Spider's bike. If we can have Max here for a few days, I bet we could hit the road by the end of the week.” I said it as it was my way of asking her to stay for a while and fix the bike. Spider was almost healed and ready to get back on his own bike. “Would have to ask Mike about that, she’s his employee, even if we own the shop, he runs it, and I don’t get involved with his employees,” Prez replied contemplatively. “He here?” I asked, as Mike often doesn’t show up at the weekend parties. “Yep, came half an hour ago.” Sticks answered as she handed Max a bottle of water. “Max, if Mike’s okay with it, would you work with us for a week, get some of these ready for the weekend ride?” Sparks asked, and I kicked myself for not considering that she might not want to spend a week here. “Sure, if Mike doesn’t need me, we have several bikes in for service before the ladies run.” Her sweet voice carried across the warehouse, and the guys nodded in understanding. “Thanks, babes,” Spike called out. Each one of us here enjoyed that she worked on our bikes; it might sound odd that we're letting a chick touch our bikes, but Max was not like most chicks. Who wants to sit on the bikes or lie on them? Max knows what she’s doing and has proven herself on numerous occasions. I wish I had known how attractive she was. Man, I had a semi since she walked in the door. The Prez will even let her ride her own bike, a privilege few ladies get. She was more part of the crew; no other girl I know works on bikes like she does, and her reputation over the time she's been an apprentice has been exemplary. Not a guy chaser. When word got out that our girl had been cheated on in the worst possible way, we all wanted to go and kill the man, even though half of us had never really met her, yeah, seen her in a distance, or legs poking out from under a truck, but never sat and talked with her before today. She was fun, had me chuckling a few times, but most of the time in here, she had been all about the bikes, and not flirting, like most chicks do when around us. They see the glamour of the lifestyle, but it's not for everyone. Maxine POV I was guided to a washroom on the side of the workshop, which had a deep steel sink and a shower, but no mirrors. There was a cupboard under the sink containing soaps and cleaning products, as well as a shelf with dark-colored towels. A door that led to a toilet, which was cleaner than I had expected. So far, this whole gang house had been cleaner than I thought a load of men would leave it. I had underestimated the guys and made assumptions about how guys I knew from school or parties would act; none of them were like that. Maybe it was because they are mostly men, whereas my experience had been with boys my age and lower. I cleaned the grease off my hands and arms and dried them. As I went through the routine of cleaning myself up, I thought about the party they had been pushing me to attend and how it had churned up my stomach. The last few times I went to a party, I was with my ex-boyfriend, and he ended up with my sister, so parties were not my thing. I always seem to lose something at parties. Mostly friends, who don’t like the fact that I don’t drink, I have never been a drinker, I might drink a beer to be sociable, and it would take me ages to finish it. Still, I never take shots and am never blind drunk. I had only once been drunk, and I didn’t like the feeling or the way it took me all day to recover, nor the hangover that seemed to be more than a headache. My friends get drunk, and I spend a lot of time cleaning up the messes they make, so I seem to be the one doing the cleanup most of the time, as they know I have their backs, even when I prefer not to do that part of it. I had just finished cleaning up when Tank came in, took one look at me, and started to chuckle. “What?” I asked, looking confused as he laughed. What did I do that was so funny? He didn’t say a word. He leaned over, picked up a cloth, and soaped it up, then gripped my chin in his huge hand, and gently wiped the side of my face, his eyes concentrating on the task, as if it was the most important job he had to do with care. He was so gentle, touching my face with soft, quick movements. His eyes then met mine, and I was lost in the deepest blue orbs I have ever seen. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat and blinked a few times to break the trance he had put me in, and took a step back, my body hitting the sink behind me. “You had some grease on your cheek.” He whispered in a husky voice so deep that it had my lady parts jumping for joy and need, something I am not familiar with. “Thank you,” I whispered back, my voice croaking, and I was shocked by the sound of my own voice; it was lower, warmer, and surprised me as much as Tank's did. His eyes widened at the husky sound. He took a step back and motioned with his hand for me to move past him. I quickly left the washroom and waited in the workshop, taking in the wrecks and wondering how badly the rider would have been hurt if the bike had looked like this. Hoping no one lost their lives. I thought about that for a while. I loved my bike, but I would never ditch it because I was scared. That the thought of falling off had never entered my mind, if I died while riding my bike, then I would have been doing what I love doing. I found I was okay with that. Not that I want to die, but I have thought about how I would like to go when my heart has been broken. “Hey, what are you doing still in here?” Rocket asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Hiding?” I joked back, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and came to stand beside me, looking at the bike I had been staring at. “Can it be fixed? It’s been sitting here for a long time, with no one having the skill to start repairing it. Well, they could give it a go, but this bike is so old that parts are almost impossible to get.” “Yeah, I can give it a try. I have some contacts who can obtain parts, but I can also manufacture some parts. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can come over on weekends and dedicate some time to it.” I suggested it would be a shame to let this panhead go to waste. There are enough pieces of the wrecked bike left to serve as a starting point. “Sweet, it will be good to see this bike out on the road again.” Rocket looked genuinely pleased that the bike could be restored. I restore old cars, trucks, and bikes with Grandpa. I have the equipment stored in a shed for when I have a place of my own to use the machines. I wonder if they have a shed where I can put them. I will need one of the machines. “Ready?” Tank asked; he had shed the work shirt and pulled on a gang shirt. His muscles are on display. Yummy. He makes me feel tiny when I am beside him. “Tank, Max said she can restore the baby.” Tank’s head turned to look at the wreck, and then at me. “For real? Max, can you do that?” Tank looked surprised. After spending a few hours with me, working on bikes, he had to ask that? “Yeah, I can, need to talk to the Prez about some space, but I can do it.” Both guys frowned and looked around the workshop. But they didn’t say anything. Or question me further. Tank put his hand on my lower back and gave a slight push, making me start to walk out of the workshop. It was dark out. Tank guided me to the back door, Rocket leading the way. He opened the door for me and waved me in, as if I were someone important. Causing me to giggle. Yeah, you heard me; I giggled like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous, and not something I had ever expected to come out of my mouth. The guys didn’t even blink at the giggle. The place was warm inside, vibrating with the loud thump of the bass. You could hardly hear the person next to you speak over the heavy music. It reeked of cigarettes and booze. The girls who had been at the door waiting to get in were busy with patch members kissing and almost doing the deed right there on the chair. Some were grinding their hips against the man below them, and the small amount of clothing they had on was even less now. I assumed they were well on their way to being drunk. This was a classic visual of why men lose respect for some kinds of women. I am embarrassed to see it in front of me. I looked around the room and saw my friends still with Sticks, and a couple of guys hanging around nearby. My friends look like they are having fun, and they have a few patch members who seem friendly to them. I hope the girls know what they are doing. The gang life was not for everyone. Dad had once spoken badly about gangs, and he hated it when I became an apprentice at the bike shop. Grandpa was the one who encouraged me to have an apprenticeship. He hated that Dad and Mum were backing my sister in everything, and maybe encouraging me to be a mechanic at the bike shop was his way to get back at Dad. Dad had even tried to get me to leave the bike shop when Grandpa had died. But I had made a pact with Grandpa that I wouldn’t give in to Dad. To live the life I want, and never give in, no matter what the consequences are. I wonder what Grandpa would say if he were alive and saw Dad kick me out of the family home, for the sake of my sister. He would be livered, that’s for sure. But I did as Grandpa said, stood firm, and stayed true to myself. “Hey Maxi Max, come join us. Cricket, grab Max an iced water.” Sticks patted the chair next to her, and before I could move to sit beside her, Tank grabbed me around the waist and took a couple of giant steps to the chair, and sat down, holding me on his lap. The girls looked at each other, then, between Tank and me, the confused look changed to a grin and a nod —whatever that was about.
"“My guys found her. She’s at the MagDog clubhouse. Fixing their bikes.” “What?” Her father’s brow furrowed. “Then tell her to come home. Our business is drowning.” “She wouldn’t. Maxine sent back a message: ‘You gave my room to a bast3rd baby. I gave my keys to a biker.’” The room froze. Dan, Maxine’s ex-boyfriend, now her sister’s fiancé, remembered the last Christmas. Zoey’s moans. Maxine’s bed. Her white sheets. Zoey remembered stealing him—the third boyfriend she’d taken from her sister. And Mom and Dad never once said stop. Her parents remembered looking at their bleeding daughter and telling her to leave. For a nursery. For the cheater’s child. None of them had ever chosen her. “At least she’s safe,” her mother whispered, sobbing with regret. “Safe? She’s living above a bike shop. But she’s got the whole club at her back. Especially their giant—Tank. Six-foot-eight. Never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her. And... their president also sent a message.” “Go on,” her father urged, anxiety simmering beneath. “‘You didn’t want her. We do. Touch her fortune? We’ll end you.’” The words landed like a punch. No one moved. No one breathed. Outside, a Harley roared past the window. She didn’t even slow down." --- Maxine POV “Go home, you have worked too much overtime this week. Have an early night and give that boyfriend of yours an early treat.” My boss practically pushed me out the door, a wicked grin on his face. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’m going. I straddled my bike and started her up. This was going to be a great night. Today was my boyfriend's birthday, and I was going to give him my V-card as a special gift. I had brought new lingerie, black lace, see-through, and I had shaved my mound, leaving a trail that looked like an arrow pointing down to my juncture. I was ready to give him my all, my first, my heart, take the big plunge. I felt I was ready. I pulled into the driveway to see my sister's and my boyfriend’s cars. I had no idea my sister was coming home today. She was still at college in her final year, though I heard she wasn't doing so well. The poor golden girl has not met up with expectations, not that I was worried. My ex-boyfriend showed up three hours early; our date was not for a few more hours. What was he doing here already? Walking in the back door, I heard voices and headed towards them; they were in Dad’s office, with the door slightly ajar. I moved silently to the door and waited outside to hear what secrets they were having now. They occasionally do this when they are planning something and don’t want to include me, but I'm puzzled as to why my boyfriend and sister were included. “We never planned for it to happen.” My sister replied softly, as if she were some kind of victim; she was an expert at that. She should have been an actress; she would have won multiple Oscars by now. “When?” Dad asked, and I waited in the hallway to hear what this was all about. “Christmas day, we had too many of your special eggnogs, and things got heated. The party was more or less over; the presents had been given out, and the food had been eaten. We were all mulling around, talking, when Zoey said something, I don’t remember what—but we went upstairs to continue talking, and ended up in Maxine’s room. We did start by just talking, and before I knew it, we were kissing and things got heated, and ended up in her bed, like I said, and I was so lost in that moment that I forgot to use a protection. When we came out, no one seemed to notice we had been gone, so we pretended it never happened.” My boyfriend replied, and my heart just hit the floor, as I took in that my sister and boyfriend did the dirty in my bed at Christmas. MY BED. I slept in that bed, with their mess on the sheets. I feel suddenly sick at that thought. How could they do that to me? She stole another boyfriend from me again. But he was just as much to blame; I guess our relationship was not that strong yet. Not on his side at least. He continued to pretend, kissing me and taking me out on dates, as if that never happened. What a jerk. Now I feel cheated, dirty, ashamed, and angry all at once. What if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, and I ended up married to that cheating scumbag? Would her wedding present be to tell me she had slept with him first? I wouldn’t put it past her to do such a thing. She had done that before with my boyfriends, and I guess this one was just as vulnerable to her advances as the last one. “He gave me the best Christmas present ever.” My sister crowed with delight. I could imagine her tenderly touching her belly. “This is good news. I have wanted grandchildren, and the last grandchild I would have expected would be from you; you have never kept a relationship for long.” Mum said, sounding excited at the news. “What now?” My sister asked, still playing the perfect victim. “We get married?’ My now ex-boyfriend suggested —sounds more like a question. “What about Maxine?” My sister asked, as if I were an inconvenience that needed to be sorted out, and now they think about me, but it didn’t sound like concern. “What about her? This is about my first grandchild, and his or her safety comes first. She will have to live with it.” My mother spat, revealing that famous favoritism, because she had always taken my sister's side in everything, even when proven wrong. They never backed me up. “I am technically her boyfriend.” He started to say something, but was interrupted. “Not anymore, you're not. I will arrange with the local publican to hire the outdoor garden area, and we shall have an engagement party this Saturday. Get that sorted before you start to show, and Maxine will show her support.” Dad’s voice floated out, sounding resolute. I had no say in this, not that I wanted to be his girlfriend any longer; he had proven not to be what I wanted in a guy. “She will have to leave. I need her room for the nursery. I would prefer it if she didn't attend the engagement party. What will those who know she was the real girlfriend show up, and see that it was not Maxine getting engaged?” Mum added. Yep, that was my mother, trying to regain her dignity and save face. I couldn’t take it any longer. I was devastated enough, and listening further to their support for the love for the cheater was eating me up inside. I didn’t want to cry in front of them; the tears were a mix of anger and hurt. I pushed the door open, revealing myself standing there. All faces turned to look at me. “Let me get this straight. You took my boyfriend to MY bed, did the dirty with him, leaving your mess in my bed, as a sort of Christmas present for me. Guess that made your day, thinking I was sleeping in your mess. Now you want my bedroom for the child baby you have created, and I am what, just pushed out the door? Like yesterday’s trash?” I asked to ensure I understood correctly that the whole family was fine with me being tossed aside. “Exactly, I am taking your boyfriend, your bedroom, and you, my dear sister, have to move out.” My sister sounded like she had won the lottery. Her face beamed at her triumph. “Fine with me.” The look of shock would have made me laugh if I were not so numb inside. I moved away to my room and packed what I could into my duffel bag. I will come back for the rest later, when they are not around. My heart was breaking, not because I lost my boyfriend, although that hurt a lot, considering that what I was going to give him for his present today was saved for doing something foolish at least. But also because both parents were supporting this deception, as if it were the best news they had received in a while, that they had been trying to get rid of me for a while, and now succeeded in a spectacular way. I walked downstairs and looked at them. “When I find a place to stay, I will be back for the rest.” I spat at them, a mixture of hurt, anger, and defeat. I never fit into the family, a black sheep, so maybe I should become one. I had always had top grades, won awards, done my best, but even being first, I was still last. My best friend was the only place I could think of going to; it had to be temporary. Jenny will be cool and let me sleep on her couch till I find a new home. I climbed onto my bike and took off to the only sanctuary I had over the years. Jenny welcomed me into her home, like I knew she would, and together we had a pity party consisting of beer and vanilla fudge ice cream. We called the family and my ex some interesting names, some of which I had never heard before, but they sounded good. The drunker I got, the more inventive the names became. The next morning, after waking up on Jenny’s couch and remembering yesterday, it did not go as planned. I pulled myself together, had a quick shower, and left for work. It was eight in the morning, and Jenny was still asleep when I left. That might be okay for some, but my workday today would be ten hours long, and I was running late. “You're late, night must have gone better than planned,” Mike said jovially. They sort of knew what I was planning last night. The others chuckled along with Mike. I grumbled some shiet and got to work. By the end of the day, Mike pulled me to his office. “Okay, out with it. The guys have been tiptoeing around you all day. What happened? He rejected your advances?” He asked, his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, looking at me with concerned eyes, a father figure, better than my dad had ever been. So, I told him what happened when I got home and where I spent the night, and now I'm looking for a place to stay. I was proud of myself; I didn’t cry, or whine, or show any emotion at all —just explained my predicament in cold, emotionless words. Clear and succinct. He said he wouldn’t say anything in the shop, but would talk to the prez. I had no idea why, but I was not in the right frame of mind to question it. Maxine POV Today was my sister's engagement party; engaged to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, you heard me right, my ex. What a joke that was. I had been dating Dan for six months when my sister, who was a year older than I, came home for Christmas and ended up in bed with my boyfriend. She’s a shameless woman, always has been, but I never expected him to sleep with her. I thought we were secure in our relationship. The only good thing I took away from this was that I never went to bed with him; my virginity card was still intact, not that I was trying to keep it - I just never got the chance to lose it. She always managed to have any guy I was interested in dump me for her, and when she got bored with them, she’d move on. So, in a way, I didn’t have a boyfriend till she moved out of her home and headed to college. But when my sister came home and met him, she seduced him and got pregnant. He did the whole ‘get down on one knee and proposed’ scene. Apparently, it was romantic, but I wasn't there when he did it because they didn’t want me around. It hurt a lot at the time, and I was glad to have my girlfriends around me, helping me get over it. They say, I dodged a bullet. I agree with them, stupidly. He might have been a sports jock with good looks, but doing this tells me he was weak and shallow, and I was too good for him, or so my BFF says. I prefer to believe them over the excuses my ex made. I had to move out of my home after I had a massive fight with my parents a few days ago, when the truth was exposed; they supported her, not me, and the next thing I knew, I was out the door and the evil sister. The engagement party was intended to introduce him to her friends and make the relationship official, but I was not invited. My parents want nothing to do with me. I made them all uncomfortable, considering he was my boyfriend first. Anyone working out the timeline for the baby can piece it together, and see they were cheating on me, and it would have been awkward, and too many questions would have been raised. Not that I needed to say all of that, I kind of said it all before, but grrrrr, I am so angry at how my so-called ‘family’ kicked me out of my so-called home, with no care for me or my feelings. It was easier to push me away and disown me than have to explain to them that my sister cheated with my boyfriend, and hey presto, a baby was on the way. Because I was kicked out of the house, and only had a short time to pack anything, I took the opportunity of the party to sneak into the house and take more of my possessions, like opening my father's safe, and grabbing every piece of paper relating to me, and a little money too, no a lot of money, and grandma’s jewelry that she left me. So, with the help of my BFF, we packed my belongings and took them to her place until I found a new one. I ride a motorcycle, so I need help. I have the money to buy a new place, but I'm unsure if I want to stay in this town now. Once my apprenticeship is over, I might move away. I stayed that night at Jenny’s place, as I figured out what to do. Today, I am moving into my new place —a bungalow above the bike shop where I work. I am in my final year of apprenticeship, and I am a motorcycle mechanic, proud of it, I might add. I can also work on cars and trucks. If it had a motor, I could fix it; I always could, thanks to my knack for it, which I developed since I was eight, when I fell in love with engines. My Grandpa taught me, kept me out of everyone's way. I guess you could say I was a tomboy, with no frills and lace. My Grandpa kept me sane and busy, so the BS in our house didn’t hurt me as much. The place has two bedrooms and is fully contained, meaning it has everything I need. I had purchased some new sheets and towels, that sort of thing, but it had a fully stocked kitchen; I only needed to buy the food. It might be small, and above a noisy bike shop, but at night it was a quiet area. No one would break into this shop; the local bikie gang owned it. They were good guys, scary, but so far, no trouble for me. My BFF, Jenny, was helping me take my belongings upstairs when a group of bikers arrived and assisted us. I had five boxes and two suitcases filled with all sorts of items. “Thanks, guys, for the help,” I said sweetly, my BFF batting her eyes at them and swaying her hips suggestively as she walked and thanked them. She makes me laugh with her antics, which are totally opposite to mine. I like jeans and am rarely seen in a dress, whereas she was seldom seen in jeans. “We got a party at the clubhouse, tomorrow Saturday, you should come and relax a bit, bring your girls with ya,” Bruiser suggested as he threw his arm over my shoulder, walked me to the settee, pushed me down, and handed me a beer they had brought with them. This was how they acted around me, ordered me about. Sometimes, I'm okay with it; other times, I get all worked up and growl back at them. Today was acceptance. I know they mean well, and I feel lucky to have them as family; they try to make me feel better. “That sounds like a blast, count me in, and I can bring two other girl friends with us. Max, do you want me to pick you up?” Jenny offered, taking a beer from one of the guys. She was not a beer drinker; however, in this situation, I could see her not refusing anything they offered. I guess I'm going, whether I want to or not. “No, I’ll ride over,” I replied as one of the guys ordered pizza. “That’s the spirit. Nothing like the wind in your hair to blow the cobwebs away.” They stayed because they didn’t want me to be alone, not on my first night here. Pizza arrived not long after, and my little bungalow was soon feeling too small and crowded, with six huge bikers in the room. Some sat on the floor; others pulled up one of the three kitchen chairs. I know, I know, three chairs sound odd, but that's what was here, and beggars can’t be choosers; the rent was dirt cheap, and I think the boys are the ones to make sure I had everything I needed. They found out about my situation the next day, because, I was still quiet at work, which was not like me, often I am singing to the radio, or swearing at something, so one of the guys approached me, to find out what gives, and I softly told them, what went down, and when word got around the bikers heard I needed a place to stay, because I was kicked out of my home and why, they came to me, like protective brothers. Now I have a whole gang of bikers who have my back. I feel privileged to call them friends. They even offered to rough the ex up for me, but I refused the offer, because strangely, I was happy to get rid of the loser if he was a cheating build. Better now than when I am fully invested in our relationship. Plus, I was in deep enough shite with my parents and sister without making it worse. The pizza was gone, my BFF left for home, and the guys did too. It was late, well, for me, midnight. I usually fall asleep quickly because I have to be up for work at five. Tomorrow, being Saturday, I have the morning shift before the party later. They let me leave work early so I can move in here. “Hey, don’t forget to come, we need our prettiest mechanic at the party, some of the boys might need a tune-up,” Bruiser said with a laugh as they climbed on their bikes and left. I know what sort of tune-up he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with a motor. I looked around my new home. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. The guys were great; they took the empty pizza boxes and beer cans with them, and the place was relatively clean. Not at all what you would expect from a group of rowdy men. The clubhouse. I had never been to it, despite having worked there for nearly four years, and they had never extended an invitation to me. I know they had lots of parties; maybe I was too young. I turned twenty recently, but they might think of me as the fifteen-year-old who showed up one day and told the boss I was going to be his apprentice. He laughed at first and said he would give me a go to prove myself. He thought I was joking and that I would be gone by the weekend, but over the holidays, I worked hard and have been here ever since. Maxine POV The beeping sound of my phone alarm made me sit up and look around. It took a moment to remember where I was. The room had a small curtain that barely kept the light out. There was a streetlight just outside my window. I can envisage myself getting better blackout curtains soon. Although it was annoying, it wasn't among my top priorities for making this a home. The shower was decent, with nice pressure. I followed my morning routine, only to realize how foolish I was to wake up so early, living above my place of work; I didn’t need to ride here. After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I still had half an hour before I needed to be at work. I had two ways to get into my place: one was through the back stairs, and the other was through the shop. With the code to turn off the alarm, I decided to head down and start work early. It was better than moving stuff around; I can do that later. I had a bike to finish by this afternoon. The customer would be here at two. Turned off the alarm, turned on the coffee pot, the radio, and headed to my workstation, where the fat boy was waiting for me to finish. I sat on the stool with casters and began my job, singing loudly to the heavy rock song that came on the radio as I installed the new spark plugs and double-checked the oil. It was a simple, easy-peasy service. Once finished, I started the bike up, let it idle while I made coffee, then returned to rev it a few times. It sounds lumpy, like it was just turning over perfectly; it was music to my ears. I love that throaty, deep, lumpy sound. You can feel it vibrate through my chest. “That’s a sound I loved to hear as I enter work.” My boss, Mike, said as I turned the bike off. “It’s ready to go, unless you want to take it out for a test ride. Want a coffee, pots hot.” I offered as I threw the dirty rag in the bin. “Sure, I will take the bike out for a spin, and you can make me a coffee.” He smirked as he grabbed the bike. I opened the garage door, and Mike took off. I smiled as he disappeared down the street, and I turned to make both of us coffee. If you hadn’t guessed already, I would drink a lot of coffee. I am not a fan of soft drinks or tea; for me, it's coffee or water. With a broom in hand, I began cleaning the shop. I am not out here very often, but I try to sweep the floor at least once a week; they have another apprentice who’s a second year, who gets to do most of the cleaning up, but he’s never here on a Saturday. The sound of the bike returning prompted me to pick up the two cups of coffee and head back out to the workshop. Mike had a massive grin on his face as he parked the bike. “Great job, you are our top mechanic. But don’t tell anyone, or I will have to deny it.” He joked, taking his coffee from my hand as he walked by, no doubt letting the customer know the bike was ready ahead of time. I moved to the next bike, which was a total rebuild; it had been in a minor accident, and while the frame was being checked, I would work on the engine and gearbox. It was the only job on my list at the moment. The bike owner was in no hurry; he had a broken leg, giving me a few weeks to work on his bike and any urgent jobs that might come into the shop. The client arrived and happily took possession of his bike, very happy with the job done. “I hear you’ve been invited to the club party tonight,” Mike said as he rang up the sale on the cash register. “Yep.” I said popping the ‘p’. “You can leave now, we have no more customers expected. Good job today.” It was close to one o’clock, near the time I would knock off. “Thanks, boss.” I saluted him and rushed upstairs, before he could change his mind. Giggling all the way up. I heard him chuckling as he locked the door below, behind me. I decided on a quick shower; I didn’t want to smell of oil when going to a party. Put on my skinny black jeans, a black blouse that had red flames on the back and on the pockets, black boots that had some chains around the ankle, and hair in a ponytail. I will get what we call helmet hair, so it's a waste to do much with it now. I use mascara and strawberry lip gloss, which is more to moisturize my lips, which tend to dry out when I ride my bike, and that's it. The last thing I grabbed before leaving was my jacket. My mum used to grumble that I wasn’t like my sister and put more effort into my appearance, but I like who I am, and I didn’t like wearing lots of makeup; it was my choice, and I feel that I am not a frilly, lacey chick. It was a deal breaker with my mum. She had my sister dress up and left me in the care of Grandpa until he died when I was seventeen. It broke me when he left the world. He was the only person who got me. My grandma had been gone since I was young, and I filled the hole in his heart with my love for bikes and fishing. He left me his money and bikes. Dad got his house and business. My mum hated that I gained all that money. When Grandma died, she left me her jewelry, and Grandpa made sure to keep it safe till I was old enough to have it. I ate something and put some more of my stuff in the cupboards before my phone chimed to let me know my girlfriends were on their way to the party. I pulled my bike out of the small garage and started it up. I threw my leg over and took off, heading to the property. The clubhouse was half an hour out of town, set on a large property a little bit back from the road. Ten minutes later, I came up behind the girls and hung out behind them. My friend waved me on to take the lead. I shrugged and overtook her. The turn off arrived, and I rode happily up the long drive, and trees lined the road. An open, large steel gate appeared, and I was glad it was still enough light to see clearly. Men stood by the entrance, watching us arrive. “Hey.” I greeted the biggest man I had ever seen. “Who invited you here?” The man asked gruffly, in a deep husky voice. “Bruiser,” I answered, with a firm, clear voice, hoping that the fact that he frightened me would be noticed in my voice. He pulled out his phone and called, I assumed, Bruiser. “Max?” He asked, as he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. He said something more and hung up the phone. “Come in, the car behind your girls?” He looked at the car behind, which clearly had a woman in it. “Yep,” I replied, not at all liking how he intimidated me with his manner. Perhaps it was the way they greeted strangers. One look makes the weak run. Well, I am not weak, and I won't be running. Maxine POV This rather large biker leaned in to look inside the car, his bulky figure partially blocking the open window, causing the girl nearest it to back away. Satisfied, he looked at me with a knowing smirk, then motioned for us to enter. The clubhouse was nothing like I had imagined. Firstly, it was four levels high. Verandah all the way around, that I could see. It was more like a mansion than a clubhouse. Women were gathered near the door, looking in, as if they were waiting for something; some were sitting on the wooden fence that surrounded the verandah. They were dressed in barely anything, showing all that was available, some love that sort of thing. People like me dress to stay warm or cool and don’t care about showing off the goods. Bikes sat in neat rows in front, and cars were parked to the left of the building; the ratio of bikes to cars was approximately four bikes to one car. I parked the bike with the others, climbed off, and took off my helmet. I placed the lid on the bike and shook out my hair while waiting for the girls to park and come to me. I heard some muffled scoffs, but I couldn’t care less —I wasn't here to please them. Bruiser came out of the clubhouse behind me. “Max, you came by bike. Sweet.” He gave me a gentle squeeze and moved to take a closer look at my bike. The paint job was a wolf, fading in smoke. It took me months to finish, as I kept changing my mind, and the smoke obscured the mistakes. “Who did the paint job?” He asked as he moved around to look at it from all sides. “Me.” I was proud of the results. “Does Mike know you can paint?” He sounded surprised. “He has seen my bike when I used the garage to do a service. He never asked who did the paint work, just that he liked it.” “Sweet, looks like we have someone to do touch-ups, and possibly a full paint job. We have a family reunion in a few weeks, and the ladies are invited to come along. You can join us.” Bruiser offered as my ladies arrived; they were not included in that invitation, I assumed, because I have a bike. “Bruiser, you already met Jenny, Melony, Karen, and Heather, my other BFF, and Alice, Karen's sister, and BFF to my sister.” Adding that comment, hoping that Bruiser knew precisely what that woman was like. Alice battered her eyes and leaned forward to show off what was under that almost shirt. My ladies greeted him with the respect he deserved. “Ladies. Hands out.” Bruiser stamped the girl's backs of their hands; they all had a bear, except Alice, who had a rabbit on her hand. I frowned, trying to figure out what the rabbit was all about. He pushed my hand away. “You are family, no need for a stamp.” I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my face. I felt so special. Then the shoe dropped. Rabbit meant she would open her legs. Bruiser got my meaning loud and clear. It took a while to understand the purpose of the stamps. “Come inside and meet the ole ladies.” I understood what he meant; these were ladies who had been claimed and had a different level of respect that those not claimed would never understand. I have met a few of them over the years and gained more insight into club life. They respect me as much as I respect them. We entered the place, and the girls who had been waiting outside gave us a dirty look, as they were still stopped from entering. “What's so special about them?” One pouted, but Bruiser ignored her. Inside was cleaner than I had expected —my fault for judging a group of men, since they often look messy when I see them at the shop. The place had a large, open space, with tables where you stand, as well as booths dotted along the walls, and stools at the bar, which ran the full length of the room. I loved the spacious room, the pictures on the walls, and some bike parts scattered about as decoration. A few barstools are bike seats; it was different, and it appealed to me. Being a lover of bikes. “Sticks.” I greeted her as we got closer to the ladies Bruiser was taking us to. “Hey, Maxie Max. How's it blowing?” She stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. This chick had no filter or personal space. Sticks was the President's; her real name was Sandra, but she was my height at five-nine, and she had no shape to her body, just a lovely bean pole, almost no chest to speak of, yet she had had two boys. Hence the name Sticks. “Doing better,” I replied. She would know what was going on. She introduced us to the other ladies with her, and it didn’t surprise me that Alice had already moved away from us before we had finished the introductions. “What’s her story?” Sticks asked as she watched Alice start to try her luck with the club men. “Same as my sister. Bruiser put a rabbit stamp on her hand.” Sticks and the other girl roared out laughing. “She will be used, abused, and kicked to the side by the time the night is over, and I doubt they would let her back in. We don’t need her sort in the club.” Maggie spouted as we watched a patch member knock her offer back. “The regulars are not going to like her working their turf. So, to speak.” Tootsie said, with a smirk, that the regulars know the rules and stick with them. Don’t approach a patch member; if interested, they will come to you. Nom’s are fair game. But most girls would prefer a patch member. Don’t touch a taken member; the women will gang up and make your life miserable if you feel one of theirs. Wait to be let into the clubhouse and then stay in the public area. No going upstairs uninvited. The first two floors are designated for guest rooms, while the top floor is reserved for permanent residences. Those who don’t have a home of their own to go to. They are private and not open to wandering girls. Don’t touch or sit on someone’s bike, unless you are given permission. The patched old ladies are the bosses of the girls; they tell you to leave or do something, and you do it. There were more rules for the girls visiting, but I couldn’t remember them all at that moment. None had applied to me until now. Alice had already broken at least three, to my knowledge. I am staying out of it. That rabbit on her hand told the members that she would open her legs for any of them, and no one would support her if she broke the rules. That she was not welcome to return, in other words, have your fun, and then kick her to the curb. The doors were opened to let the other girls in. They looked at us in the no-go zone and pouted. We were sitting in an off-limits area unless we were invited. From what I understood, they were here to spread their legs and give the guys some relief, but not become part of the family. They might be hopeful that something would change; it was rare for a patch member to take one of these ladies, who had most likely been with every unattached member of the gang, at some point. My girls left me with Sticks and wandered about with the other ladies, getting the tour of the place. “Want to look around?” Sticks were offered, and before I knew it, we were walking around the vast ground floor. “Ready to see the workshop, the guys might talk you into helping out, once they know who you are.” Sticks led me down a small pathway, lined with flowering shrubs, and to a set of large, farm-size sheds. Inside were bikes, some in bits, others crumpled from an accident, and others like they had just been detailed and were someone's pride and joy. There was a workshop here, where men were working on their bikes. They looked up at us when we entered and frowned. If Sticks were not with me, they would have most likely growled at me to get out. “Who’s this Sticks?” A monster of a man asked, in the deepest voice I have ever heard, he looked a lot like the man at the gate, but with more toned muscles, that I would love to run my fingers over. Just a tad taller, and although he looked big and scary, he made my lady parts sing in a way they had never sung before. Tank POV A few guys aren't into parties, so I stopped going until later in the night, when the girls who showed up were already taken. I dislike the women who come here hoping to adopt our lifestyle. I prefer to use my hand rather than one of those women. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my share of women; however, I had a girl who pushed me to take her, and when I did, she ended up in the hospital, because I am not exactly a little man, and I ripped her apart. She needed stitches, and I have not been with a woman since. Like my brother, we are both large men; he is six feet six inches tall, and I am six feet eight inches tall. He’s carrying extra weight, where I am all muscle. I pride myself on keeping in shape, but being this large has its downfall, and having a large build has had me worried about hurting another woman. No matter how much I might want to, I can’t; I never want to go through that again. The Prez was the only person who knew why I wouldn’t join the parties; he was with me when we took the girl to the hospital, she forgave me, and tried to pursue me to keep her, but I couldn’t. Each time I started to get intimate, I had flashes of her screams, and my confidence went down like a popped balloon. We were in the workshop, doing some minor tune-ups. As I prepare for our ride, I'm excited. When they bring the ladies, the men are usually in a better mood and on their best behavior. I was looking at rebuild. I started it last week. We have a few wrecks that need to be started; some have been sitting here far too long. We can only go so far before we need Mike's help. None of us was a mechanic. I was scratching my head, as I was almost at the end of my knowledge, when I heard someone enter, and a soft perfume that shouldn’t be in this shed hit my nose. Stick’s voice reached my ears, and I lifted my head up to look in her direction. “Who’s this Sticks?” The most beautiful girl I have ever seen had entered our sanctuary, a place where few girls are allowed, which made Sticks bring this beauty down to this dirt and grease, which was unexpectedly. “That is Max, from the shop, Mike's apprentice, who I think had finished her apprenticeship and is doing something extra on Harleys and getting some specialized license,” Banjo said as he moved forward to greet them. The others stood up and moved forward too, making me feel like a dill for not recognizing Max. Although I have only seen her a few times from a distance, and she was usually deep in bike repair, I barely got to see her face. We have not been introduced because I wouldn’t have forgotten that beauty if I had. Sticks introduced us all, and we greeted her before I decided I could use her help. I put the thoughts of what I wouldn’t mind doing to her behind me, not that I could do it. “Max, come look at this wreck. I am stuck with what to do next.” I called her over on the bike I was working on. “Tank, surely you could have waited for another day? She came for the party, not to work.” Sticks grumbled as Max walked to me. She was clean and smelled nice, and I had a fleeting moment of guilt for calling her over. The few times I had seen her, she was covered in oil and grease, wearing coveralls that hid her shapely figure. “Max, are you sure?” Sticks pulled on her hand to get her attention. “Yeah, I am more at home in here than out there,” Max said with a smile and turned back to me. “What's the problem?” She asked me to move forward and inspect the bike. I went into detail about what happened to the bike, what I had managed to do so far, and what I needed to move forward. Max removed her leather jacket and slung it over a nearby bike seat, then squatted down. For the next two hours, Max worked on the bike with me, guiding me through the tricky bits I couldn’t do. The others came forward and used this time as a sort of training session, and Max didn’t seem to mind at all. We asked questions as she worked on the bike, and she used me to lift the heavy parts. It was teamwork, and we completed more repairs in that time than I would have on my own. “Hey, Max,” Bruiser called out at the door. He stood with his legs apart, arms folded, and I wondered if we had done something wrong. “Back here.” She returned to the call of her name. He arrived and burst out laughing at us. “Max, I invited you to a party, you know, dancing and drinking, and socializing. This was not what I meant as a party.” He was still chuckling when the Prez walked in, with Sticks on his arm. “You still got her working out here?” Stick all but growled at us, when the Prez’s lady growls, we all listen. She’s the last person we want to make angry. “What?” I was confused, Max didn’t seem to mind, and we all were having a good time out here. “Hey, Prez. The party over?” Max calmly asked, but it sounded more like she had hoped it was. “Not even close, babes.” The Prez answered with a smile. He had gotten closer to Max over the years she had been at the bike shop. He had often talked about the female mechanic and her sassy ways. I had thought he was exaggerating, but after spending a little time with her, I was hooked. “We have nearly completed the repair job on Spider's bike. If we can have Max here for a few days, I bet we could hit the road by the end of the week.” I said it as it was my way of asking her to stay for a while and fix the bike. Spider was almost healed and ready to get back on his own bike. “Would have to ask Mike about that, she’s his employee, even if we own the shop, he runs it, and I don’t get involved with his employees,” Prez replied contemplatively. “He here?” I asked, as Mike often doesn’t show up at the weekend parties. “Yep, came half an hour ago.” Sticks answered as she handed Max a bottle of water. “Max, if Mike’s okay with it, would you work with us for a week, get some of these ready for the weekend ride?” Sparks asked, and I kicked myself for not considering that she might not want to spend a week here. “Sure, if Mike doesn’t need me, we have several bikes in for service before the ladies run.” Her sweet voice carried across the warehouse, and the guys nodded in understanding. “Thanks, babes,” Spike called out. Each one of us here enjoyed that she worked on our bikes; it might sound odd that we're letting a chick touch our bikes, but Max was not like most chicks. Who wants to sit on the bikes or lie on them? Max knows what she’s doing and has proven herself on numerous occasions. I wish I had known how attractive she was. Man, I had a semi since she walked in the door. The Prez will even let her ride her own bike, a privilege few ladies get. She was more part of the crew; no other girl I know works on bikes like she does, and her reputation over the time she's been an apprentice has been exemplary. Not a guy chaser. When word got out that our girl had been cheated on in the worst possible way, we all wanted to go and kill the man, even though half of us had never really met her, yeah, seen her in a distance, or legs poking out from under a truck, but never sat and talked with her before today. She was fun, had me chuckling a few times, but most of the time in here, she had been all about the bikes, and not flirting, like most chicks do when around us. They see the glamour of the lifestyle, but it's not for everyone. Maxine POV I was guided to a washroom on the side of the workshop, which had a deep steel sink and a shower, but no mirrors. There was a cupboard under the sink containing soaps and cleaning products, as well as a shelf with dark-colored towels. A door that led to a toilet, which was cleaner than I had expected. So far, this whole gang house had been cleaner than I thought a load of men would leave it. I had underestimated the guys and made assumptions about how guys I knew from school or parties would act; none of them were like that. Maybe it was because they are mostly men, whereas my experience had been with boys my age and lower. I cleaned the grease off my hands and arms and dried them. As I went through the routine of cleaning myself up, I thought about the party they had been pushing me to attend and how it had churned up my stomach. The last few times I went to a party, I was with my ex-boyfriend, and he ended up with my sister, so parties were not my thing. I always seem to lose something at parties. Mostly friends, who don’t like the fact that I don’t drink, I have never been a drinker, I might drink a beer to be sociable, and it would take me ages to finish it. Still, I never take shots and am never blind drunk. I had only once been drunk, and I didn’t like the feeling or the way it took me all day to recover, nor the hangover that seemed to be more than a headache. My friends get drunk, and I spend a lot of time cleaning up the messes they make, so I seem to be the one doing the cleanup most of the time, as they know I have their backs, even when I prefer not to do that part of it. I had just finished cleaning up when Tank came in, took one look at me, and started to chuckle. “What?” I asked, looking confused as he laughed. What did I do that was so funny? He didn’t say a word. He leaned over, picked up a cloth, and soaped it up, then gripped my chin in his huge hand, and gently wiped the side of my face, his eyes concentrating on the task, as if it was the most important job he had to do with care. He was so gentle, touching my face with soft, quick movements. His eyes then met mine, and I was lost in the deepest blue orbs I have ever seen. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat and blinked a few times to break the trance he had put me in, and took a step back, my body hitting the sink behind me. “You had some grease on your cheek.” He whispered in a husky voice so deep that it had my lady parts jumping for joy and need, something I am not familiar with. “Thank you,” I whispered back, my voice croaking, and I was shocked by the sound of my own voice; it was lower, warmer, and surprised me as much as Tank's did. His eyes widened at the husky sound. He took a step back and motioned with his hand for me to move past him. I quickly left the washroom and waited in the workshop, taking in the wrecks and wondering how badly the rider would have been hurt if the bike had looked like this. Hoping no one lost their lives. I thought about that for a while. I loved my bike, but I would never ditch it because I was scared. That the thought of falling off had never entered my mind, if I died while riding my bike, then I would have been doing what I love doing. I found I was okay with that. Not that I want to die, but I have thought about how I would like to go when my heart has been broken. “Hey, what are you doing still in here?” Rocket asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Hiding?” I joked back, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and came to stand beside me, looking at the bike I had been staring at. “Can it be fixed? It’s been sitting here for a long time, with no one having the skill to start repairing it. Well, they could give it a go, but this bike is so old that parts are almost impossible to get.” “Yeah, I can give it a try. I have some contacts who can obtain parts, but I can also manufacture some parts. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can come over on weekends and dedicate some time to it.” I suggested it would be a shame to let this panhead go to waste. There are enough pieces of the wrecked bike left to serve as a starting point. “Sweet, it will be good to see this bike out on the road again.” Rocket looked genuinely pleased that the bike could be restored. I restore old cars, trucks, and bikes with Grandpa. I have the equipment stored in a shed for when I have a place of my own to use the machines. I wonder if they have a shed where I can put them. I will need one of the machines. “Ready?” Tank asked; he had shed the work shirt and pulled on a gang shirt. His muscles are on display. Yummy. He makes me feel tiny when I am beside him. “Tank, Max said she can restore the baby.” Tank’s head turned to look at the wreck, and then at me. “For real? Max, can you do that?” Tank looked surprised. After spending a few hours with me, working on bikes, he had to ask that? “Yeah, I can, need to talk to the Prez about some space, but I can do it.” Both guys frowned and looked around the workshop. But they didn’t say anything. Or question me further. Tank put his hand on my lower back and gave a slight push, making me start to walk out of the workshop. It was dark out. Tank guided me to the back door, Rocket leading the way. He opened the door for me and waved me in, as if I were someone important. Causing me to giggle. Yeah, you heard me; I giggled like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous, and not something I had ever expected to come out of my mouth. The guys didn’t even blink at the giggle. The place was warm inside, vibrating with the loud thump of the bass. You could hardly hear the person next to you speak over the heavy music. It reeked of cigarettes and booze. The girls who had been at the door waiting to get in were busy with patch members kissing and almost doing the deed right there on the chair. Some were grinding their hips against the man below them, and the small amount of clothing they had on was even less now. I assumed they were well on their way to being drunk. This was a classic visual of why men lose respect for some kinds of women. I am embarrassed to see it in front of me. I looked around the room and saw my friends still with Sticks, and a couple of guys hanging around nearby. My friends look like they are having fun, and they have a few patch members who seem friendly to them. I hope the girls know what they are doing. The gang life was not for everyone. Dad had once spoken badly about gangs, and he hated it when I became an apprentice at the bike shop. Grandpa was the one who encouraged me to have an apprenticeship. He hated that Dad and Mum were backing my sister in everything, and maybe encouraging me to be a mechanic at the bike shop was his way to get back at Dad. Dad had even tried to get me to leave the bike shop when Grandpa had died. But I had made a pact with Grandpa that I wouldn’t give in to Dad. To live the life I want, and never give in, no matter what the consequences are. I wonder what Grandpa would say if he were alive and saw Dad kick me out of the family home, for the sake of my sister. He would be livered, that’s for sure. But I did as Grandpa said, stood firm, and stayed true to myself. “Hey Maxi Max, come join us. Cricket, grab Max an iced water.” Sticks patted the chair next to her, and before I could move to sit beside her, Tank grabbed me around the waist and took a couple of giant steps to the chair, and sat down, holding me on his lap. The girls looked at each other, then, between Tank and me, the confused look changed to a grin and a nod —whatever that was about.
"“My guys found her. She’s at the MagDog clubhouse. Fixing their bikes.” “What?” Her father’s brow furrowed. “Then tell her to come home. Our business is drowning.” “She wouldn’t. Maxine sent back a message: ‘You gave my room to a bast3rd baby. I gave my keys to a biker.’” The room froze. Dan, Maxine’s ex-boyfriend, now her sister’s fiancé, remembered the last Christmas. Zoey’s moans. Maxine’s bed. Her white sheets. Zoey remembered stealing him—the third boyfriend she’d taken from her sister. And Mom and Dad never once said stop. Her parents remembered looking at their bleeding daughter and telling her to leave. For a nursery. For the cheater’s child. None of them had ever chosen her. “At least she’s safe,” her mother whispered, sobbing with regret. “Safe? She’s living above a bike shop. But she’s got the whole club at her back. Especially their giant—Tank. Six-foot-eight. Never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her. And... their president also sent a message.” “Go on,” her father urged, anxiety simmering beneath. “‘You didn’t want her. We do. Touch her fortune? We’ll end you.’” The words landed like a punch. No one moved. No one breathed. Outside, a Harley roared past the window. She didn’t even slow down." --- Maxine POV “Go home, you have worked too much overtime this week. Have an early night and give that boyfriend of yours an early treat.” My boss practically pushed me out the door, a wicked grin on his face. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’m going. I straddled my bike and started her up. This was going to be a great night. Today was my boyfriend's birthday, and I was going to give him my V-card as a special gift. I had brought new lingerie, black lace, see-through, and I had shaved my mound, leaving a trail that looked like an arrow pointing down to my juncture. I was ready to give him my all, my first, my heart, take the big plunge. I felt I was ready. I pulled into the driveway to see my sister's and my boyfriend’s cars. I had no idea my sister was coming home today. She was still at college in her final year, though I heard she wasn't doing so well. The poor golden girl has not met up with expectations, not that I was worried. My ex-boyfriend showed up three hours early; our date was not for a few more hours. What was he doing here already? Walking in the back door, I heard voices and headed towards them; they were in Dad’s office, with the door slightly ajar. I moved silently to the door and waited outside to hear what secrets they were having now. They occasionally do this when they are planning something and don’t want to include me, but I'm puzzled as to why my boyfriend and sister were included. “We never planned for it to happen.” My sister replied softly, as if she were some kind of victim; she was an expert at that. She should have been an actress; she would have won multiple Oscars by now. “When?” Dad asked, and I waited in the hallway to hear what this was all about. “Christmas day, we had too many of your special eggnogs, and things got heated. The party was more or less over; the presents had been given out, and the food had been eaten. We were all mulling around, talking, when Zoey said something, I don’t remember what—but we went upstairs to continue talking, and ended up in Maxine’s room. We did start by just talking, and before I knew it, we were kissing and things got heated, and ended up in her bed, like I said, and I was so lost in that moment that I forgot to use a protection. When we came out, no one seemed to notice we had been gone, so we pretended it never happened.” My boyfriend replied, and my heart just hit the floor, as I took in that my sister and boyfriend did the dirty in my bed at Christmas. MY BED. I slept in that bed, with their mess on the sheets. I feel suddenly sick at that thought. How could they do that to me? She stole another boyfriend from me again. But he was just as much to blame; I guess our relationship was not that strong yet. Not on his side at least. He continued to pretend, kissing me and taking me out on dates, as if that never happened. What a jerk. Now I feel cheated, dirty, ashamed, and angry all at once. What if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, and I ended up married to that cheating scumbag? Would her wedding present be to tell me she had slept with him first? I wouldn’t put it past her to do such a thing. She had done that before with my boyfriends, and I guess this one was just as vulnerable to her advances as the last one. “He gave me the best Christmas present ever.” My sister crowed with delight. I could imagine her tenderly touching her belly. “This is good news. I have wanted grandchildren, and the last grandchild I would have expected would be from you; you have never kept a relationship for long.” Mum said, sounding excited at the news. “What now?” My sister asked, still playing the perfect victim. “We get married?’ My now ex-boyfriend suggested —sounds more like a question. “What about Maxine?” My sister asked, as if I were an inconvenience that needed to be sorted out, and now they think about me, but it didn’t sound like concern. “What about her? This is about my first grandchild, and his or her safety comes first. She will have to live with it.” My mother spat, revealing that famous favoritism, because she had always taken my sister's side in everything, even when proven wrong. They never backed me up. “I am technically her boyfriend.” He started to say something, but was interrupted. “Not anymore, you're not. I will arrange with the local publican to hire the outdoor garden area, and we shall have an engagement party this Saturday. Get that sorted before you start to show, and Maxine will show her support.” Dad’s voice floated out, sounding resolute. I had no say in this, not that I wanted to be his girlfriend any longer; he had proven not to be what I wanted in a guy. “She will have to leave. I need her room for the nursery. I would prefer it if she didn't attend the engagement party. What will those who know she was the real girlfriend show up, and see that it was not Maxine getting engaged?” Mum added. Yep, that was my mother, trying to regain her dignity and save face. I couldn’t take it any longer. I was devastated enough, and listening further to their support for the love for the cheater was eating me up inside. I didn’t want to cry in front of them; the tears were a mix of anger and hurt. I pushed the door open, revealing myself standing there. All faces turned to look at me. “Let me get this straight. You took my boyfriend to MY bed, did the dirty with him, leaving your mess in my bed, as a sort of Christmas present for me. Guess that made your day, thinking I was sleeping in your mess. Now you want my bedroom for the child baby you have created, and I am what, just pushed out the door? Like yesterday’s trash?” I asked to ensure I understood correctly that the whole family was fine with me being tossed aside. “Exactly, I am taking your boyfriend, your bedroom, and you, my dear sister, have to move out.” My sister sounded like she had won the lottery. Her face beamed at her triumph. “Fine with me.” The look of shock would have made me laugh if I were not so numb inside. I moved away to my room and packed what I could into my duffel bag. I will come back for the rest later, when they are not around. My heart was breaking, not because I lost my boyfriend, although that hurt a lot, considering that what I was going to give him for his present today was saved for doing something foolish at least. But also because both parents were supporting this deception, as if it were the best news they had received in a while, that they had been trying to get rid of me for a while, and now succeeded in a spectacular way. I walked downstairs and looked at them. “When I find a place to stay, I will be back for the rest.” I spat at them, a mixture of hurt, anger, and defeat. I never fit into the family, a black sheep, so maybe I should become one. I had always had top grades, won awards, done my best, but even being first, I was still last. My best friend was the only place I could think of going to; it had to be temporary. Jenny will be cool and let me sleep on her couch till I find a new home. I climbed onto my bike and took off to the only sanctuary I had over the years. Jenny welcomed me into her home, like I knew she would, and together we had a pity party consisting of beer and vanilla fudge ice cream. We called the family and my ex some interesting names, some of which I had never heard before, but they sounded good. The drunker I got, the more inventive the names became. The next morning, after waking up on Jenny’s couch and remembering yesterday, it did not go as planned. I pulled myself together, had a quick shower, and left for work. It was eight in the morning, and Jenny was still asleep when I left. That might be okay for some, but my workday today would be ten hours long, and I was running late. “You're late, night must have gone better than planned,” Mike said jovially. They sort of knew what I was planning last night. The others chuckled along with Mike. I grumbled some shiet and got to work. By the end of the day, Mike pulled me to his office. “Okay, out with it. The guys have been tiptoeing around you all day. What happened? He rejected your advances?” He asked, his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, looking at me with concerned eyes, a father figure, better than my dad had ever been. So, I told him what happened when I got home and where I spent the night, and now I'm looking for a place to stay. I was proud of myself; I didn’t cry, or whine, or show any emotion at all —just explained my predicament in cold, emotionless words. Clear and succinct. He said he wouldn’t say anything in the shop, but would talk to the prez. I had no idea why, but I was not in the right frame of mind to question it. Maxine POV Today was my sister's engagement party; engaged to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, you heard me right, my ex. What a joke that was. I had been dating Dan for six months when my sister, who was a year older than I, came home for Christmas and ended up in bed with my boyfriend. She’s a shameless woman, always has been, but I never expected him to sleep with her. I thought we were secure in our relationship. The only good thing I took away from this was that I never went to bed with him; my virginity card was still intact, not that I was trying to keep it - I just never got the chance to lose it. She always managed to have any guy I was interested in dump me for her, and when she got bored with them, she’d move on. So, in a way, I didn’t have a boyfriend till she moved out of her home and headed to college. But when my sister came home and met him, she seduced him and got pregnant. He did the whole ‘get down on one knee and proposed’ scene. Apparently, it was romantic, but I wasn't there when he did it because they didn’t want me around. It hurt a lot at the time, and I was glad to have my girlfriends around me, helping me get over it. They say, I dodged a bullet. I agree with them, stupidly. He might have been a sports jock with good looks, but doing this tells me he was weak and shallow, and I was too good for him, or so my BFF says. I prefer to believe them over the excuses my ex made. I had to move out of my home after I had a massive fight with my parents a few days ago, when the truth was exposed; they supported her, not me, and the next thing I knew, I was out the door and the evil sister. The engagement party was intended to introduce him to her friends and make the relationship official, but I was not invited. My parents want nothing to do with me. I made them all uncomfortable, considering he was my boyfriend first. Anyone working out the timeline for the baby can piece it together, and see they were cheating on me, and it would have been awkward, and too many questions would have been raised. Not that I needed to say all of that, I kind of said it all before, but grrrrr, I am so angry at how my so-called ‘family’ kicked me out of my so-called home, with no care for me or my feelings. It was easier to push me away and disown me than have to explain to them that my sister cheated with my boyfriend, and hey presto, a baby was on the way. Because I was kicked out of the house, and only had a short time to pack anything, I took the opportunity of the party to sneak into the house and take more of my possessions, like opening my father's safe, and grabbing every piece of paper relating to me, and a little money too, no a lot of money, and grandma’s jewelry that she left me. So, with the help of my BFF, we packed my belongings and took them to her place until I found a new one. I ride a motorcycle, so I need help. I have the money to buy a new place, but I'm unsure if I want to stay in this town now. Once my apprenticeship is over, I might move away. I stayed that night at Jenny’s place, as I figured out what to do. Today, I am moving into my new place —a bungalow above the bike shop where I work. I am in my final year of apprenticeship, and I am a motorcycle mechanic, proud of it, I might add. I can also work on cars and trucks. If it had a motor, I could fix it; I always could, thanks to my knack for it, which I developed since I was eight, when I fell in love with engines. My Grandpa taught me, kept me out of everyone's way. I guess you could say I was a tomboy, with no frills and lace. My Grandpa kept me sane and busy, so the BS in our house didn’t hurt me as much. The place has two bedrooms and is fully contained, meaning it has everything I need. I had purchased some new sheets and towels, that sort of thing, but it had a fully stocked kitchen; I only needed to buy the food. It might be small, and above a noisy bike shop, but at night it was a quiet area. No one would break into this shop; the local bikie gang owned it. They were good guys, scary, but so far, no trouble for me. My BFF, Jenny, was helping me take my belongings upstairs when a group of bikers arrived and assisted us. I had five boxes and two suitcases filled with all sorts of items. “Thanks, guys, for the help,” I said sweetly, my BFF batting her eyes at them and swaying her hips suggestively as she walked and thanked them. She makes me laugh with her antics, which are totally opposite to mine. I like jeans and am rarely seen in a dress, whereas she was seldom seen in jeans. “We got a party at the clubhouse, tomorrow Saturday, you should come and relax a bit, bring your girls with ya,” Bruiser suggested as he threw his arm over my shoulder, walked me to the settee, pushed me down, and handed me a beer they had brought with them. This was how they acted around me, ordered me about. Sometimes, I'm okay with it; other times, I get all worked up and growl back at them. Today was acceptance. I know they mean well, and I feel lucky to have them as family; they try to make me feel better. “That sounds like a blast, count me in, and I can bring two other girl friends with us. Max, do you want me to pick you up?” Jenny offered, taking a beer from one of the guys. She was not a beer drinker; however, in this situation, I could see her not refusing anything they offered. I guess I'm going, whether I want to or not. “No, I’ll ride over,” I replied as one of the guys ordered pizza. “That’s the spirit. Nothing like the wind in your hair to blow the cobwebs away.” They stayed because they didn’t want me to be alone, not on my first night here. Pizza arrived not long after, and my little bungalow was soon feeling too small and crowded, with six huge bikers in the room. Some sat on the floor; others pulled up one of the three kitchen chairs. I know, I know, three chairs sound odd, but that's what was here, and beggars can’t be choosers; the rent was dirt cheap, and I think the boys are the ones to make sure I had everything I needed. They found out about my situation the next day, because, I was still quiet at work, which was not like me, often I am singing to the radio, or swearing at something, so one of the guys approached me, to find out what gives, and I softly told them, what went down, and when word got around the bikers heard I needed a place to stay, because I was kicked out of my home and why, they came to me, like protective brothers. Now I have a whole gang of bikers who have my back. I feel privileged to call them friends. They even offered to rough the ex up for me, but I refused the offer, because strangely, I was happy to get rid of the loser if he was a cheating build. Better now than when I am fully invested in our relationship. Plus, I was in deep enough shite with my parents and sister without making it worse. The pizza was gone, my BFF left for home, and the guys did too. It was late, well, for me, midnight. I usually fall asleep quickly because I have to be up for work at five. Tomorrow, being Saturday, I have the morning shift before the party later. They let me leave work early so I can move in here. “Hey, don’t forget to come, we need our prettiest mechanic at the party, some of the boys might need a tune-up,” Bruiser said with a laugh as they climbed on their bikes and left. I know what sort of tune-up he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with a motor. I looked around my new home. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. The guys were great; they took the empty pizza boxes and beer cans with them, and the place was relatively clean. Not at all what you would expect from a group of rowdy men. The clubhouse. I had never been to it, despite having worked there for nearly four years, and they had never extended an invitation to me. I know they had lots of parties; maybe I was too young. I turned twenty recently, but they might think of me as the fifteen-year-old who showed up one day and told the boss I was going to be his apprentice. He laughed at first and said he would give me a go to prove myself. He thought I was joking and that I would be gone by the weekend, but over the holidays, I worked hard and have been here ever since. Maxine POV The beeping sound of my phone alarm made me sit up and look around. It took a moment to remember where I was. The room had a small curtain that barely kept the light out. There was a streetlight just outside my window. I can envisage myself getting better blackout curtains soon. Although it was annoying, it wasn't among my top priorities for making this a home. The shower was decent, with nice pressure. I followed my morning routine, only to realize how foolish I was to wake up so early, living above my place of work; I didn’t need to ride here. After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I still had half an hour before I needed to be at work. I had two ways to get into my place: one was through the back stairs, and the other was through the shop. With the code to turn off the alarm, I decided to head down and start work early. It was better than moving stuff around; I can do that later. I had a bike to finish by this afternoon. The customer would be here at two. Turned off the alarm, turned on the coffee pot, the radio, and headed to my workstation, where the fat boy was waiting for me to finish. I sat on the stool with casters and began my job, singing loudly to the heavy rock song that came on the radio as I installed the new spark plugs and double-checked the oil. It was a simple, easy-peasy service. Once finished, I started the bike up, let it idle while I made coffee, then returned to rev it a few times. It sounds lumpy, like it was just turning over perfectly; it was music to my ears. I love that throaty, deep, lumpy sound. You can feel it vibrate through my chest. “That’s a sound I loved to hear as I enter work.” My boss, Mike, said as I turned the bike off. “It’s ready to go, unless you want to take it out for a test ride. Want a coffee, pots hot.” I offered as I threw the dirty rag in the bin. “Sure, I will take the bike out for a spin, and you can make me a coffee.” He smirked as he grabbed the bike. I opened the garage door, and Mike took off. I smiled as he disappeared down the street, and I turned to make both of us coffee. If you hadn’t guessed already, I would drink a lot of coffee. I am not a fan of soft drinks or tea; for me, it's coffee or water. With a broom in hand, I began cleaning the shop. I am not out here very often, but I try to sweep the floor at least once a week; they have another apprentice who’s a second year, who gets to do most of the cleaning up, but he’s never here on a Saturday. The sound of the bike returning prompted me to pick up the two cups of coffee and head back out to the workshop. Mike had a massive grin on his face as he parked the bike. “Great job, you are our top mechanic. But don’t tell anyone, or I will have to deny it.” He joked, taking his coffee from my hand as he walked by, no doubt letting the customer know the bike was ready ahead of time. I moved to the next bike, which was a total rebuild; it had been in a minor accident, and while the frame was being checked, I would work on the engine and gearbox. It was the only job on my list at the moment. The bike owner was in no hurry; he had a broken leg, giving me a few weeks to work on his bike and any urgent jobs that might come into the shop. The client arrived and happily took possession of his bike, very happy with the job done. “I hear you’ve been invited to the club party tonight,” Mike said as he rang up the sale on the cash register. “Yep.” I said popping the ‘p’. “You can leave now, we have no more customers expected. Good job today.” It was close to one o’clock, near the time I would knock off. “Thanks, boss.” I saluted him and rushed upstairs, before he could change his mind. Giggling all the way up. I heard him chuckling as he locked the door below, behind me. I decided on a quick shower; I didn’t want to smell of oil when going to a party. Put on my skinny black jeans, a black blouse that had red flames on the back and on the pockets, black boots that had some chains around the ankle, and hair in a ponytail. I will get what we call helmet hair, so it's a waste to do much with it now. I use mascara and strawberry lip gloss, which is more to moisturize my lips, which tend to dry out when I ride my bike, and that's it. The last thing I grabbed before leaving was my jacket. My mum used to grumble that I wasn’t like my sister and put more effort into my appearance, but I like who I am, and I didn’t like wearing lots of makeup; it was my choice, and I feel that I am not a frilly, lacey chick. It was a deal breaker with my mum. She had my sister dress up and left me in the care of Grandpa until he died when I was seventeen. It broke me when he left the world. He was the only person who got me. My grandma had been gone since I was young, and I filled the hole in his heart with my love for bikes and fishing. He left me his money and bikes. Dad got his house and business. My mum hated that I gained all that money. When Grandma died, she left me her jewelry, and Grandpa made sure to keep it safe till I was old enough to have it. I ate something and put some more of my stuff in the cupboards before my phone chimed to let me know my girlfriends were on their way to the party. I pulled my bike out of the small garage and started it up. I threw my leg over and took off, heading to the property. The clubhouse was half an hour out of town, set on a large property a little bit back from the road. Ten minutes later, I came up behind the girls and hung out behind them. My friend waved me on to take the lead. I shrugged and overtook her. The turn off arrived, and I rode happily up the long drive, and trees lined the road. An open, large steel gate appeared, and I was glad it was still enough light to see clearly. Men stood by the entrance, watching us arrive. “Hey.” I greeted the biggest man I had ever seen. “Who invited you here?” The man asked gruffly, in a deep husky voice. “Bruiser,” I answered, with a firm, clear voice, hoping that the fact that he frightened me would be noticed in my voice. He pulled out his phone and called, I assumed, Bruiser. “Max?” He asked, as he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. He said something more and hung up the phone. “Come in, the car behind your girls?” He looked at the car behind, which clearly had a woman in it. “Yep,” I replied, not at all liking how he intimidated me with his manner. Perhaps it was the way they greeted strangers. One look makes the weak run. Well, I am not weak, and I won't be running. Maxine POV This rather large biker leaned in to look inside the car, his bulky figure partially blocking the open window, causing the girl nearest it to back away. Satisfied, he looked at me with a knowing smirk, then motioned for us to enter. The clubhouse was nothing like I had imagined. Firstly, it was four levels high. Verandah all the way around, that I could see. It was more like a mansion than a clubhouse. Women were gathered near the door, looking in, as if they were waiting for something; some were sitting on the wooden fence that surrounded the verandah. They were dressed in barely anything, showing all that was available, some love that sort of thing. People like me dress to stay warm or cool and don’t care about showing off the goods. Bikes sat in neat rows in front, and cars were parked to the left of the building; the ratio of bikes to cars was approximately four bikes to one car. I parked the bike with the others, climbed off, and took off my helmet. I placed the lid on the bike and shook out my hair while waiting for the girls to park and come to me. I heard some muffled scoffs, but I couldn’t care less —I wasn't here to please them. Bruiser came out of the clubhouse behind me. “Max, you came by bike. Sweet.” He gave me a gentle squeeze and moved to take a closer look at my bike. The paint job was a wolf, fading in smoke. It took me months to finish, as I kept changing my mind, and the smoke obscured the mistakes. “Who did the paint job?” He asked as he moved around to look at it from all sides. “Me.” I was proud of the results. “Does Mike know you can paint?” He sounded surprised. “He has seen my bike when I used the garage to do a service. He never asked who did the paint work, just that he liked it.” “Sweet, looks like we have someone to do touch-ups, and possibly a full paint job. We have a family reunion in a few weeks, and the ladies are invited to come along. You can join us.” Bruiser offered as my ladies arrived; they were not included in that invitation, I assumed, because I have a bike. “Bruiser, you already met Jenny, Melony, Karen, and Heather, my other BFF, and Alice, Karen's sister, and BFF to my sister.” Adding that comment, hoping that Bruiser knew precisely what that woman was like. Alice battered her eyes and leaned forward to show off what was under that almost shirt. My ladies greeted him with the respect he deserved. “Ladies. Hands out.” Bruiser stamped the girl's backs of their hands; they all had a bear, except Alice, who had a rabbit on her hand. I frowned, trying to figure out what the rabbit was all about. He pushed my hand away. “You are family, no need for a stamp.” I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my face. I felt so special. Then the shoe dropped. Rabbit meant she would open her legs. Bruiser got my meaning loud and clear. It took a while to understand the purpose of the stamps. “Come inside and meet the ole ladies.” I understood what he meant; these were ladies who had been claimed and had a different level of respect that those not claimed would never understand. I have met a few of them over the years and gained more insight into club life. They respect me as much as I respect them. We entered the place, and the girls who had been waiting outside gave us a dirty look, as they were still stopped from entering. “What's so special about them?” One pouted, but Bruiser ignored her. Inside was cleaner than I had expected —my fault for judging a group of men, since they often look messy when I see them at the shop. The place had a large, open space, with tables where you stand, as well as booths dotted along the walls, and stools at the bar, which ran the full length of the room. I loved the spacious room, the pictures on the walls, and some bike parts scattered about as decoration. A few barstools are bike seats; it was different, and it appealed to me. Being a lover of bikes. “Sticks.” I greeted her as we got closer to the ladies Bruiser was taking us to. “Hey, Maxie Max. How's it blowing?” She stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. This chick had no filter or personal space. Sticks was the President's; her real name was Sandra, but she was my height at five-nine, and she had no shape to her body, just a lovely bean pole, almost no chest to speak of, yet she had had two boys. Hence the name Sticks. “Doing better,” I replied. She would know what was going on. She introduced us to the other ladies with her, and it didn’t surprise me that Alice had already moved away from us before we had finished the introductions. “What’s her story?” Sticks asked as she watched Alice start to try her luck with the club men. “Same as my sister. Bruiser put a rabbit stamp on her hand.” Sticks and the other girl roared out laughing. “She will be used, abused, and kicked to the side by the time the night is over, and I doubt they would let her back in. We don’t need her sort in the club.” Maggie spouted as we watched a patch member knock her offer back. “The regulars are not going to like her working their turf. So, to speak.” Tootsie said, with a smirk, that the regulars know the rules and stick with them. Don’t approach a patch member; if interested, they will come to you. Nom’s are fair game. But most girls would prefer a patch member. Don’t touch a taken member; the women will gang up and make your life miserable if you feel one of theirs. Wait to be let into the clubhouse and then stay in the public area. No going upstairs uninvited. The first two floors are designated for guest rooms, while the top floor is reserved for permanent residences. Those who don’t have a home of their own to go to. They are private and not open to wandering girls. Don’t touch or sit on someone’s bike, unless you are given permission. The patched old ladies are the bosses of the girls; they tell you to leave or do something, and you do it. There were more rules for the girls visiting, but I couldn’t remember them all at that moment. None had applied to me until now. Alice had already broken at least three, to my knowledge. I am staying out of it. That rabbit on her hand told the members that she would open her legs for any of them, and no one would support her if she broke the rules. That she was not welcome to return, in other words, have your fun, and then kick her to the curb. The doors were opened to let the other girls in. They looked at us in the no-go zone and pouted. We were sitting in an off-limits area unless we were invited. From what I understood, they were here to spread their legs and give the guys some relief, but not become part of the family. They might be hopeful that something would change; it was rare for a patch member to take one of these ladies, who had most likely been with every unattached member of the gang, at some point. My girls left me with Sticks and wandered about with the other ladies, getting the tour of the place. “Want to look around?” Sticks were offered, and before I knew it, we were walking around the vast ground floor. “Ready to see the workshop, the guys might talk you into helping out, once they know who you are.” Sticks led me down a small pathway, lined with flowering shrubs, and to a set of large, farm-size sheds. Inside were bikes, some in bits, others crumpled from an accident, and others like they had just been detailed and were someone's pride and joy. There was a workshop here, where men were working on their bikes. They looked up at us when we entered and frowned. If Sticks were not with me, they would have most likely growled at me to get out. “Who’s this Sticks?” A monster of a man asked, in the deepest voice I have ever heard, he looked a lot like the man at the gate, but with more toned muscles, that I would love to run my fingers over. Just a tad taller, and although he looked big and scary, he made my lady parts sing in a way they had never sung before. Tank POV A few guys aren't into parties, so I stopped going until later in the night, when the girls who showed up were already taken. I dislike the women who come here hoping to adopt our lifestyle. I prefer to use my hand rather than one of those women. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my share of women; however, I had a girl who pushed me to take her, and when I did, she ended up in the hospital, because I am not exactly a little man, and I ripped her apart. She needed stitches, and I have not been with a woman since. Like my brother, we are both large men; he is six feet six inches tall, and I am six feet eight inches tall. He’s carrying extra weight, where I am all muscle. I pride myself on keeping in shape, but being this large has its downfall, and having a large build has had me worried about hurting another woman. No matter how much I might want to, I can’t; I never want to go through that again. The Prez was the only person who knew why I wouldn’t join the parties; he was with me when we took the girl to the hospital, she forgave me, and tried to pursue me to keep her, but I couldn’t. Each time I started to get intimate, I had flashes of her screams, and my confidence went down like a popped balloon. We were in the workshop, doing some minor tune-ups. As I prepare for our ride, I'm excited. When they bring the ladies, the men are usually in a better mood and on their best behavior. I was looking at rebuild. I started it last week. We have a few wrecks that need to be started; some have been sitting here far too long. We can only go so far before we need Mike's help. None of us was a mechanic. I was scratching my head, as I was almost at the end of my knowledge, when I heard someone enter, and a soft perfume that shouldn’t be in this shed hit my nose. Stick’s voice reached my ears, and I lifted my head up to look in her direction. “Who’s this Sticks?” The most beautiful girl I have ever seen had entered our sanctuary, a place where few girls are allowed, which made Sticks bring this beauty down to this dirt and grease, which was unexpectedly. “That is Max, from the shop, Mike's apprentice, who I think had finished her apprenticeship and is doing something extra on Harleys and getting some specialized license,” Banjo said as he moved forward to greet them. The others stood up and moved forward too, making me feel like a dill for not recognizing Max. Although I have only seen her a few times from a distance, and she was usually deep in bike repair, I barely got to see her face. We have not been introduced because I wouldn’t have forgotten that beauty if I had. Sticks introduced us all, and we greeted her before I decided I could use her help. I put the thoughts of what I wouldn’t mind doing to her behind me, not that I could do it. “Max, come look at this wreck. I am stuck with what to do next.” I called her over on the bike I was working on. “Tank, surely you could have waited for another day? She came for the party, not to work.” Sticks grumbled as Max walked to me. She was clean and smelled nice, and I had a fleeting moment of guilt for calling her over. The few times I had seen her, she was covered in oil and grease, wearing coveralls that hid her shapely figure. “Max, are you sure?” Sticks pulled on her hand to get her attention. “Yeah, I am more at home in here than out there,” Max said with a smile and turned back to me. “What's the problem?” She asked me to move forward and inspect the bike. I went into detail about what happened to the bike, what I had managed to do so far, and what I needed to move forward. Max removed her leather jacket and slung it over a nearby bike seat, then squatted down. For the next two hours, Max worked on the bike with me, guiding me through the tricky bits I couldn’t do. The others came forward and used this time as a sort of training session, and Max didn’t seem to mind at all. We asked questions as she worked on the bike, and she used me to lift the heavy parts. It was teamwork, and we completed more repairs in that time than I would have on my own. “Hey, Max,” Bruiser called out at the door. He stood with his legs apart, arms folded, and I wondered if we had done something wrong. “Back here.” She returned to the call of her name. He arrived and burst out laughing at us. “Max, I invited you to a party, you know, dancing and drinking, and socializing. This was not what I meant as a party.” He was still chuckling when the Prez walked in, with Sticks on his arm. “You still got her working out here?” Stick all but growled at us, when the Prez’s lady growls, we all listen. She’s the last person we want to make angry. “What?” I was confused, Max didn’t seem to mind, and we all were having a good time out here. “Hey, Prez. The party over?” Max calmly asked, but it sounded more like she had hoped it was. “Not even close, babes.” The Prez answered with a smile. He had gotten closer to Max over the years she had been at the bike shop. He had often talked about the female mechanic and her sassy ways. I had thought he was exaggerating, but after spending a little time with her, I was hooked. “We have nearly completed the repair job on Spider's bike. If we can have Max here for a few days, I bet we could hit the road by the end of the week.” I said it as it was my way of asking her to stay for a while and fix the bike. Spider was almost healed and ready to get back on his own bike. “Would have to ask Mike about that, she’s his employee, even if we own the shop, he runs it, and I don’t get involved with his employees,” Prez replied contemplatively. “He here?” I asked, as Mike often doesn’t show up at the weekend parties. “Yep, came half an hour ago.” Sticks answered as she handed Max a bottle of water. “Max, if Mike’s okay with it, would you work with us for a week, get some of these ready for the weekend ride?” Sparks asked, and I kicked myself for not considering that she might not want to spend a week here. “Sure, if Mike doesn’t need me, we have several bikes in for service before the ladies run.” Her sweet voice carried across the warehouse, and the guys nodded in understanding. “Thanks, babes,” Spike called out. Each one of us here enjoyed that she worked on our bikes; it might sound odd that we're letting a chick touch our bikes, but Max was not like most chicks. Who wants to sit on the bikes or lie on them? Max knows what she’s doing and has proven herself on numerous occasions. I wish I had known how attractive she was. Man, I had a semi since she walked in the door. The Prez will even let her ride her own bike, a privilege few ladies get. She was more part of the crew; no other girl I know works on bikes like she does, and her reputation over the time she's been an apprentice has been exemplary. Not a guy chaser. When word got out that our girl had been cheated on in the worst possible way, we all wanted to go and kill the man, even though half of us had never really met her, yeah, seen her in a distance, or legs poking out from under a truck, but never sat and talked with her before today. She was fun, had me chuckling a few times, but most of the time in here, she had been all about the bikes, and not flirting, like most chicks do when around us. They see the glamour of the lifestyle, but it's not for everyone. Maxine POV I was guided to a washroom on the side of the workshop, which had a deep steel sink and a shower, but no mirrors. There was a cupboard under the sink containing soaps and cleaning products, as well as a shelf with dark-colored towels. A door that led to a toilet, which was cleaner than I had expected. So far, this whole gang house had been cleaner than I thought a load of men would leave it. I had underestimated the guys and made assumptions about how guys I knew from school or parties would act; none of them were like that. Maybe it was because they are mostly men, whereas my experience had been with boys my age and lower. I cleaned the grease off my hands and arms and dried them. As I went through the routine of cleaning myself up, I thought about the party they had been pushing me to attend and how it had churned up my stomach. The last few times I went to a party, I was with my ex-boyfriend, and he ended up with my sister, so parties were not my thing. I always seem to lose something at parties. Mostly friends, who don’t like the fact that I don’t drink, I have never been a drinker, I might drink a beer to be sociable, and it would take me ages to finish it. Still, I never take shots and am never blind drunk. I had only once been drunk, and I didn’t like the feeling or the way it took me all day to recover, nor the hangover that seemed to be more than a headache. My friends get drunk, and I spend a lot of time cleaning up the messes they make, so I seem to be the one doing the cleanup most of the time, as they know I have their backs, even when I prefer not to do that part of it. I had just finished cleaning up when Tank came in, took one look at me, and started to chuckle. “What?” I asked, looking confused as he laughed. What did I do that was so funny? He didn’t say a word. He leaned over, picked up a cloth, and soaped it up, then gripped my chin in his huge hand, and gently wiped the side of my face, his eyes concentrating on the task, as if it was the most important job he had to do with care. He was so gentle, touching my face with soft, quick movements. His eyes then met mine, and I was lost in the deepest blue orbs I have ever seen. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat and blinked a few times to break the trance he had put me in, and took a step back, my body hitting the sink behind me. “You had some grease on your cheek.” He whispered in a husky voice so deep that it had my lady parts jumping for joy and need, something I am not familiar with. “Thank you,” I whispered back, my voice croaking, and I was shocked by the sound of my own voice; it was lower, warmer, and surprised me as much as Tank's did. His eyes widened at the husky sound. He took a step back and motioned with his hand for me to move past him. I quickly left the washroom and waited in the workshop, taking in the wrecks and wondering how badly the rider would have been hurt if the bike had looked like this. Hoping no one lost their lives. I thought about that for a while. I loved my bike, but I would never ditch it because I was scared. That the thought of falling off had never entered my mind, if I died while riding my bike, then I would have been doing what I love doing. I found I was okay with that. Not that I want to die, but I have thought about how I would like to go when my heart has been broken. “Hey, what are you doing still in here?” Rocket asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Hiding?” I joked back, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and came to stand beside me, looking at the bike I had been staring at. “Can it be fixed? It’s been sitting here for a long time, with no one having the skill to start repairing it. Well, they could give it a go, but this bike is so old that parts are almost impossible to get.” “Yeah, I can give it a try. I have some contacts who can obtain parts, but I can also manufacture some parts. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can come over on weekends and dedicate some time to it.” I suggested it would be a shame to let this panhead go to waste. There are enough pieces of the wrecked bike left to serve as a starting point. “Sweet, it will be good to see this bike out on the road again.” Rocket looked genuinely pleased that the bike could be restored. I restore old cars, trucks, and bikes with Grandpa. I have the equipment stored in a shed for when I have a place of my own to use the machines. I wonder if they have a shed where I can put them. I will need one of the machines. “Ready?” Tank asked; he had shed the work shirt and pulled on a gang shirt. His muscles are on display. Yummy. He makes me feel tiny when I am beside him. “Tank, Max said she can restore the baby.” Tank’s head turned to look at the wreck, and then at me. “For real? Max, can you do that?” Tank looked surprised. After spending a few hours with me, working on bikes, he had to ask that? “Yeah, I can, need to talk to the Prez about some space, but I can do it.” Both guys frowned and looked around the workshop. But they didn’t say anything. Or question me further. Tank put his hand on my lower back and gave a slight push, making me start to walk out of the workshop. It was dark out. Tank guided me to the back door, Rocket leading the way. He opened the door for me and waved me in, as if I were someone important. Causing me to giggle. Yeah, you heard me; I giggled like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous, and not something I had ever expected to come out of my mouth. The guys didn’t even blink at the giggle. The place was warm inside, vibrating with the loud thump of the bass. You could hardly hear the person next to you speak over the heavy music. It reeked of cigarettes and booze. The girls who had been at the door waiting to get in were busy with patch members kissing and almost doing the deed right there on the chair. Some were grinding their hips against the man below them, and the small amount of clothing they had on was even less now. I assumed they were well on their way to being drunk. This was a classic visual of why men lose respect for some kinds of women. I am embarrassed to see it in front of me. I looked around the room and saw my friends still with Sticks, and a couple of guys hanging around nearby. My friends look like they are having fun, and they have a few patch members who seem friendly to them. I hope the girls know what they are doing. The gang life was not for everyone. Dad had once spoken badly about gangs, and he hated it when I became an apprentice at the bike shop. Grandpa was the one who encouraged me to have an apprenticeship. He hated that Dad and Mum were backing my sister in everything, and maybe encouraging me to be a mechanic at the bike shop was his way to get back at Dad. Dad had even tried to get me to leave the bike shop when Grandpa had died. But I had made a pact with Grandpa that I wouldn’t give in to Dad. To live the life I want, and never give in, no matter what the consequences are. I wonder what Grandpa would say if he were alive and saw Dad kick me out of the family home, for the sake of my sister. He would be livered, that’s for sure. But I did as Grandpa said, stood firm, and stayed true to myself. “Hey Maxi Max, come join us. Cricket, grab Max an iced water.” Sticks patted the chair next to her, and before I could move to sit beside her, Tank grabbed me around the waist and took a couple of giant steps to the chair, and sat down, holding me on his lap. The girls looked at each other, then, between Tank and me, the confused look changed to a grin and a nod —whatever that was about.
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It's Comin Home!?! Thanks mum ... Contrary to pop belief we don't write ALL our own ... Stop press ... Burgers R Back!! The best albondi spiced Beavers belters ... on Bedale Brioche ... gotta love a B... when your stick on a train and lookin for inspo ... GAMBAS PIL PIL ... prob current best seller ... #seriously spiced and seared on the flames ... #bestintheworld Party restarts at 5 today - yes Monday!? How many times?? 6 days on ... but we're looking well on it ... Sign that bleedin petition meantime ... let's get the street culture Ripon sorted ... Oh ... nd thanks for all the luv ups for the Villa ... excitin times I'd agree Party on @La ManXa ... come challenge us with your animal impersonations ... we're looking for a local dolphin? Y Viva!! XXX #TapasHeaven #Ripontapas #ripon #visitripon #riponcathedral #northyorkshire #bestrestaurant #besttapas
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"“My guys found her. She’s at the MagDog clubhouse. Fixing their bikes.” “What?” Her father’s brow furrowed. “Then tell her to come home. Our business is drowning.” “She wouldn’t. Maxine sent back a message: ‘You gave my room to a bast3rd baby. I gave my keys to a biker.’” The room froze. Dan, Maxine’s ex-boyfriend, now her sister’s fiancé, remembered the last Christmas. Zoey’s moans. Maxine’s bed. Her white sheets. Zoey remembered stealing him—the third boyfriend she’d taken from her sister. And Mom and Dad never once said stop. Her parents remembered looking at their bleeding daughter and telling her to leave. For a nursery. For the cheater’s child. None of them had ever chosen her. “At least she’s safe,” her mother whispered, sobbing with regret. “Safe? She’s living above a bike shop. But she’s got the whole club at her back. Especially their giant—Tank. Six-foot-eight. Never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her. And... their president also sent a message.” “Go on,” her father urged, anxiety simmering beneath. “‘You didn’t want her. We do. Touch her fortune? We’ll end you.’” The words landed like a punch. No one moved. No one breathed. Outside, a Harley roared past the window. She didn’t even slow down." --- Maxine POV “Go home, you have worked too much overtime this week. Have an early night and give that boyfriend of yours an early treat.” My boss practically pushed me out the door, a wicked grin on his face. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’m going. I straddled my bike and started her up. This was going to be a great night. Today was my boyfriend's birthday, and I was going to give him my V-card as a special gift. I had brought new lingerie, black lace, see-through, and I had shaved my mound, leaving a trail that looked like an arrow pointing down to my juncture. I was ready to give him my all, my first, my heart, take the big plunge. I felt I was ready. I pulled into the driveway to see my sister's and my boyfriend’s cars. I had no idea my sister was coming home today. She was still at college in her final year, though I heard she wasn't doing so well. The poor golden girl has not met up with expectations, not that I was worried. My ex-boyfriend showed up three hours early; our date was not for a few more hours. What was he doing here already? Walking in the back door, I heard voices and headed towards them; they were in Dad’s office, with the door slightly ajar. I moved silently to the door and waited outside to hear what secrets they were having now. They occasionally do this when they are planning something and don’t want to include me, but I'm puzzled as to why my boyfriend and sister were included. “We never planned for it to happen.” My sister replied softly, as if she were some kind of victim; she was an expert at that. She should have been an actress; she would have won multiple Oscars by now. “When?” Dad asked, and I waited in the hallway to hear what this was all about. “Christmas day, we had too many of your special eggnogs, and things got heated. The party was more or less over; the presents had been given out, and the food had been eaten. We were all mulling around, talking, when Zoey said something, I don’t remember what—but we went upstairs to continue talking, and ended up in Maxine’s room. We did start by just talking, and before I knew it, we were kissing and things got heated, and ended up in her bed, like I said, and I was so lost in that moment that I forgot to use a protection. When we came out, no one seemed to notice we had been gone, so we pretended it never happened.” My boyfriend replied, and my heart just hit the floor, as I took in that my sister and boyfriend did the dirty in my bed at Christmas. MY BED. I slept in that bed, with their mess on the sheets. I feel suddenly sick at that thought. How could they do that to me? She stole another boyfriend from me again. But he was just as much to blame; I guess our relationship was not that strong yet. Not on his side at least. He continued to pretend, kissing me and taking me out on dates, as if that never happened. What a jerk. Now I feel cheated, dirty, ashamed, and angry all at once. What if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, and I ended up married to that cheating scumbag? Would her wedding present be to tell me she had slept with him first? I wouldn’t put it past her to do such a thing. She had done that before with my boyfriends, and I guess this one was just as vulnerable to her advances as the last one. “He gave me the best Christmas present ever.” My sister crowed with delight. I could imagine her tenderly touching her belly. “This is good news. I have wanted grandchildren, and the last grandchild I would have expected would be from you; you have never kept a relationship for long.” Mum said, sounding excited at the news. “What now?” My sister asked, still playing the perfect victim. “We get married?’ My now ex-boyfriend suggested —sounds more like a question. “What about Maxine?” My sister asked, as if I were an inconvenience that needed to be sorted out, and now they think about me, but it didn’t sound like concern. “What about her? This is about my first grandchild, and his or her safety comes first. She will have to live with it.” My mother spat, revealing that famous favoritism, because she had always taken my sister's side in everything, even when proven wrong. They never backed me up. “I am technically her boyfriend.” He started to say something, but was interrupted. “Not anymore, you're not. I will arrange with the local publican to hire the outdoor garden area, and we shall have an engagement party this Saturday. Get that sorted before you start to show, and Maxine will show her support.” Dad’s voice floated out, sounding resolute. I had no say in this, not that I wanted to be his girlfriend any longer; he had proven not to be what I wanted in a guy. “She will have to leave. I need her room for the nursery. I would prefer it if she didn't attend the engagement party. What will those who know she was the real girlfriend show up, and see that it was not Maxine getting engaged?” Mum added. Yep, that was my mother, trying to regain her dignity and save face. I couldn’t take it any longer. I was devastated enough, and listening further to their support for the love for the cheater was eating me up inside. I didn’t want to cry in front of them; the tears were a mix of anger and hurt. I pushed the door open, revealing myself standing there. All faces turned to look at me. “Let me get this straight. You took my boyfriend to MY bed, did the dirty with him, leaving your mess in my bed, as a sort of Christmas present for me. Guess that made your day, thinking I was sleeping in your mess. Now you want my bedroom for the child baby you have created, and I am what, just pushed out the door? Like yesterday’s trash?” I asked to ensure I understood correctly that the whole family was fine with me being tossed aside. “Exactly, I am taking your boyfriend, your bedroom, and you, my dear sister, have to move out.” My sister sounded like she had won the lottery. Her face beamed at her triumph. “Fine with me.” The look of shock would have made me laugh if I were not so numb inside. I moved away to my room and packed what I could into my duffel bag. I will come back for the rest later, when they are not around. My heart was breaking, not because I lost my boyfriend, although that hurt a lot, considering that what I was going to give him for his present today was saved for doing something foolish at least. But also because both parents were supporting this deception, as if it were the best news they had received in a while, that they had been trying to get rid of me for a while, and now succeeded in a spectacular way. I walked downstairs and looked at them. “When I find a place to stay, I will be back for the rest.” I spat at them, a mixture of hurt, anger, and defeat. I never fit into the family, a black sheep, so maybe I should become one. I had always had top grades, won awards, done my best, but even being first, I was still last. My best friend was the only place I could think of going to; it had to be temporary. Jenny will be cool and let me sleep on her couch till I find a new home. I climbed onto my bike and took off to the only sanctuary I had over the years. Jenny welcomed me into her home, like I knew she would, and together we had a pity party consisting of beer and vanilla fudge ice cream. We called the family and my ex some interesting names, some of which I had never heard before, but they sounded good. The drunker I got, the more inventive the names became. The next morning, after waking up on Jenny’s couch and remembering yesterday, it did not go as planned. I pulled myself together, had a quick shower, and left for work. It was eight in the morning, and Jenny was still asleep when I left. That might be okay for some, but my workday today would be ten hours long, and I was running late. “You're late, night must have gone better than planned,” Mike said jovially. They sort of knew what I was planning last night. The others chuckled along with Mike. I grumbled some shiet and got to work. By the end of the day, Mike pulled me to his office. “Okay, out with it. The guys have been tiptoeing around you all day. What happened? He rejected your advances?” He asked, his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, looking at me with concerned eyes, a father figure, better than my dad had ever been. So, I told him what happened when I got home and where I spent the night, and now I'm looking for a place to stay. I was proud of myself; I didn’t cry, or whine, or show any emotion at all —just explained my predicament in cold, emotionless words. Clear and succinct. He said he wouldn’t say anything in the shop, but would talk to the prez. I had no idea why, but I was not in the right frame of mind to question it. Maxine POV Today was my sister's engagement party; engaged to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, you heard me right, my ex. What a joke that was. I had been dating Dan for six months when my sister, who was a year older than I, came home for Christmas and ended up in bed with my boyfriend. She’s a shameless woman, always has been, but I never expected him to sleep with her. I thought we were secure in our relationship. The only good thing I took away from this was that I never went to bed with him; my virginity card was still intact, not that I was trying to keep it - I just never got the chance to lose it. She always managed to have any guy I was interested in dump me for her, and when she got bored with them, she’d move on. So, in a way, I didn’t have a boyfriend till she moved out of her home and headed to college. But when my sister came home and met him, she seduced him and got pregnant. He did the whole ‘get down on one knee and proposed’ scene. Apparently, it was romantic, but I wasn't there when he did it because they didn’t want me around. It hurt a lot at the time, and I was glad to have my girlfriends around me, helping me get over it. They say, I dodged a bullet. I agree with them, stupidly. He might have been a sports jock with good looks, but doing this tells me he was weak and shallow, and I was too good for him, or so my BFF says. I prefer to believe them over the excuses my ex made. I had to move out of my home after I had a massive fight with my parents a few days ago, when the truth was exposed; they supported her, not me, and the next thing I knew, I was out the door and the evil sister. The engagement party was intended to introduce him to her friends and make the relationship official, but I was not invited. My parents want nothing to do with me. I made them all uncomfortable, considering he was my boyfriend first. Anyone working out the timeline for the baby can piece it together, and see they were cheating on me, and it would have been awkward, and too many questions would have been raised. Not that I needed to say all of that, I kind of said it all before, but grrrrr, I am so angry at how my so-called ‘family’ kicked me out of my so-called home, with no care for me or my feelings. It was easier to push me away and disown me than have to explain to them that my sister cheated with my boyfriend, and hey presto, a baby was on the way. Because I was kicked out of the house, and only had a short time to pack anything, I took the opportunity of the party to sneak into the house and take more of my possessions, like opening my father's safe, and grabbing every piece of paper relating to me, and a little money too, no a lot of money, and grandma’s jewelry that she left me. So, with the help of my BFF, we packed my belongings and took them to her place until I found a new one. I ride a motorcycle, so I need help. I have the money to buy a new place, but I'm unsure if I want to stay in this town now. Once my apprenticeship is over, I might move away. I stayed that night at Jenny’s place, as I figured out what to do. Today, I am moving into my new place —a bungalow above the bike shop where I work. I am in my final year of apprenticeship, and I am a motorcycle mechanic, proud of it, I might add. I can also work on cars and trucks. If it had a motor, I could fix it; I always could, thanks to my knack for it, which I developed since I was eight, when I fell in love with engines. My Grandpa taught me, kept me out of everyone's way. I guess you could say I was a tomboy, with no frills and lace. My Grandpa kept me sane and busy, so the BS in our house didn’t hurt me as much. The place has two bedrooms and is fully contained, meaning it has everything I need. I had purchased some new sheets and towels, that sort of thing, but it had a fully stocked kitchen; I only needed to buy the food. It might be small, and above a noisy bike shop, but at night it was a quiet area. No one would break into this shop; the local bikie gang owned it. They were good guys, scary, but so far, no trouble for me. My BFF, Jenny, was helping me take my belongings upstairs when a group of bikers arrived and assisted us. I had five boxes and two suitcases filled with all sorts of items. “Thanks, guys, for the help,” I said sweetly, my BFF batting her eyes at them and swaying her hips suggestively as she walked and thanked them. She makes me laugh with her antics, which are totally opposite to mine. I like jeans and am rarely seen in a dress, whereas she was seldom seen in jeans. “We got a party at the clubhouse, tomorrow Saturday, you should come and relax a bit, bring your girls with ya,” Bruiser suggested as he threw his arm over my shoulder, walked me to the settee, pushed me down, and handed me a beer they had brought with them. This was how they acted around me, ordered me about. Sometimes, I'm okay with it; other times, I get all worked up and growl back at them. Today was acceptance. I know they mean well, and I feel lucky to have them as family; they try to make me feel better. “That sounds like a blast, count me in, and I can bring two other girl friends with us. Max, do you want me to pick you up?” Jenny offered, taking a beer from one of the guys. She was not a beer drinker; however, in this situation, I could see her not refusing anything they offered. I guess I'm going, whether I want to or not. “No, I’ll ride over,” I replied as one of the guys ordered pizza. “That’s the spirit. Nothing like the wind in your hair to blow the cobwebs away.” They stayed because they didn’t want me to be alone, not on my first night here. Pizza arrived not long after, and my little bungalow was soon feeling too small and crowded, with six huge bikers in the room. Some sat on the floor; others pulled up one of the three kitchen chairs. I know, I know, three chairs sound odd, but that's what was here, and beggars can’t be choosers; the rent was dirt cheap, and I think the boys are the ones to make sure I had everything I needed. They found out about my situation the next day, because, I was still quiet at work, which was not like me, often I am singing to the radio, or swearing at something, so one of the guys approached me, to find out what gives, and I softly told them, what went down, and when word got around the bikers heard I needed a place to stay, because I was kicked out of my home and why, they came to me, like protective brothers. Now I have a whole gang of bikers who have my back. I feel privileged to call them friends. They even offered to rough the ex up for me, but I refused the offer, because strangely, I was happy to get rid of the loser if he was a cheating build. Better now than when I am fully invested in our relationship. Plus, I was in deep enough shite with my parents and sister without making it worse. The pizza was gone, my BFF left for home, and the guys did too. It was late, well, for me, midnight. I usually fall asleep quickly because I have to be up for work at five. Tomorrow, being Saturday, I have the morning shift before the party later. They let me leave work early so I can move in here. “Hey, don’t forget to come, we need our prettiest mechanic at the party, some of the boys might need a tune-up,” Bruiser said with a laugh as they climbed on their bikes and left. I know what sort of tune-up he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with a motor. I looked around my new home. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. The guys were great; they took the empty pizza boxes and beer cans with them, and the place was relatively clean. Not at all what you would expect from a group of rowdy men. The clubhouse. I had never been to it, despite having worked there for nearly four years, and they had never extended an invitation to me. I know they had lots of parties; maybe I was too young. I turned twenty recently, but they might think of me as the fifteen-year-old who showed up one day and told the boss I was going to be his apprentice. He laughed at first and said he would give me a go to prove myself. He thought I was joking and that I would be gone by the weekend, but over the holidays, I worked hard and have been here ever since. Maxine POV The beeping sound of my phone alarm made me sit up and look around. It took a moment to remember where I was. The room had a small curtain that barely kept the light out. There was a streetlight just outside my window. I can envisage myself getting better blackout curtains soon. Although it was annoying, it wasn't among my top priorities for making this a home. The shower was decent, with nice pressure. I followed my morning routine, only to realize how foolish I was to wake up so early, living above my place of work; I didn’t need to ride here. After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I still had half an hour before I needed to be at work. I had two ways to get into my place: one was through the back stairs, and the other was through the shop. With the code to turn off the alarm, I decided to head down and start work early. It was better than moving stuff around; I can do that later. I had a bike to finish by this afternoon. The customer would be here at two. Turned off the alarm, turned on the coffee pot, the radio, and headed to my workstation, where the fat boy was waiting for me to finish. I sat on the stool with casters and began my job, singing loudly to the heavy rock song that came on the radio as I installed the new spark plugs and double-checked the oil. It was a simple, easy-peasy service. Once finished, I started the bike up, let it idle while I made coffee, then returned to rev it a few times. It sounds lumpy, like it was just turning over perfectly; it was music to my ears. I love that throaty, deep, lumpy sound. You can feel it vibrate through my chest. “That’s a sound I loved to hear as I enter work.” My boss, Mike, said as I turned the bike off. “It’s ready to go, unless you want to take it out for a test ride. Want a coffee, pots hot.” I offered as I threw the dirty rag in the bin. “Sure, I will take the bike out for a spin, and you can make me a coffee.” He smirked as he grabbed the bike. I opened the garage door, and Mike took off. I smiled as he disappeared down the street, and I turned to make both of us coffee. If you hadn’t guessed already, I would drink a lot of coffee. I am not a fan of soft drinks or tea; for me, it's coffee or water. With a broom in hand, I began cleaning the shop. I am not out here very often, but I try to sweep the floor at least once a week; they have another apprentice who’s a second year, who gets to do most of the cleaning up, but he’s never here on a Saturday. The sound of the bike returning prompted me to pick up the two cups of coffee and head back out to the workshop. Mike had a massive grin on his face as he parked the bike. “Great job, you are our top mechanic. But don’t tell anyone, or I will have to deny it.” He joked, taking his coffee from my hand as he walked by, no doubt letting the customer know the bike was ready ahead of time. I moved to the next bike, which was a total rebuild; it had been in a minor accident, and while the frame was being checked, I would work on the engine and gearbox. It was the only job on my list at the moment. The bike owner was in no hurry; he had a broken leg, giving me a few weeks to work on his bike and any urgent jobs that might come into the shop. The client arrived and happily took possession of his bike, very happy with the job done. “I hear you’ve been invited to the club party tonight,” Mike said as he rang up the sale on the cash register. “Yep.” I said popping the ‘p’. “You can leave now, we have no more customers expected. Good job today.” It was close to one o’clock, near the time I would knock off. “Thanks, boss.” I saluted him and rushed upstairs, before he could change his mind. Giggling all the way up. I heard him chuckling as he locked the door below, behind me. I decided on a quick shower; I didn’t want to smell of oil when going to a party. Put on my skinny black jeans, a black blouse that had red flames on the back and on the pockets, black boots that had some chains around the ankle, and hair in a ponytail. I will get what we call helmet hair, so it's a waste to do much with it now. I use mascara and strawberry lip gloss, which is more to moisturize my lips, which tend to dry out when I ride my bike, and that's it. The last thing I grabbed before leaving was my jacket. My mum used to grumble that I wasn’t like my sister and put more effort into my appearance, but I like who I am, and I didn’t like wearing lots of makeup; it was my choice, and I feel that I am not a frilly, lacey chick. It was a deal breaker with my mum. She had my sister dress up and left me in the care of Grandpa until he died when I was seventeen. It broke me when he left the world. He was the only person who got me. My grandma had been gone since I was young, and I filled the hole in his heart with my love for bikes and fishing. He left me his money and bikes. Dad got his house and business. My mum hated that I gained all that money. When Grandma died, she left me her jewelry, and Grandpa made sure to keep it safe till I was old enough to have it. I ate something and put some more of my stuff in the cupboards before my phone chimed to let me know my girlfriends were on their way to the party. I pulled my bike out of the small garage and started it up. I threw my leg over and took off, heading to the property. The clubhouse was half an hour out of town, set on a large property a little bit back from the road. Ten minutes later, I came up behind the girls and hung out behind them. My friend waved me on to take the lead. I shrugged and overtook her. The turn off arrived, and I rode happily up the long drive, and trees lined the road. An open, large steel gate appeared, and I was glad it was still enough light to see clearly. Men stood by the entrance, watching us arrive. “Hey.” I greeted the biggest man I had ever seen. “Who invited you here?” The man asked gruffly, in a deep husky voice. “Bruiser,” I answered, with a firm, clear voice, hoping that the fact that he frightened me would be noticed in my voice. He pulled out his phone and called, I assumed, Bruiser. “Max?” He asked, as he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. He said something more and hung up the phone. “Come in, the car behind your girls?” He looked at the car behind, which clearly had a woman in it. “Yep,” I replied, not at all liking how he intimidated me with his manner. Perhaps it was the way they greeted strangers. One look makes the weak run. Well, I am not weak, and I won't be running. Maxine POV This rather large biker leaned in to look inside the car, his bulky figure partially blocking the open window, causing the girl nearest it to back away. Satisfied, he looked at me with a knowing smirk, then motioned for us to enter. The clubhouse was nothing like I had imagined. Firstly, it was four levels high. Verandah all the way around, that I could see. It was more like a mansion than a clubhouse. Women were gathered near the door, looking in, as if they were waiting for something; some were sitting on the wooden fence that surrounded the verandah. They were dressed in barely anything, showing all that was available, some love that sort of thing. People like me dress to stay warm or cool and don’t care about showing off the goods. Bikes sat in neat rows in front, and cars were parked to the left of the building; the ratio of bikes to cars was approximately four bikes to one car. I parked the bike with the others, climbed off, and took off my helmet. I placed the lid on the bike and shook out my hair while waiting for the girls to park and come to me. I heard some muffled scoffs, but I couldn’t care less —I wasn't here to please them. Bruiser came out of the clubhouse behind me. “Max, you came by bike. Sweet.” He gave me a gentle squeeze and moved to take a closer look at my bike. The paint job was a wolf, fading in smoke. It took me months to finish, as I kept changing my mind, and the smoke obscured the mistakes. “Who did the paint job?” He asked as he moved around to look at it from all sides. “Me.” I was proud of the results. “Does Mike know you can paint?” He sounded surprised. “He has seen my bike when I used the garage to do a service. He never asked who did the paint work, just that he liked it.” “Sweet, looks like we have someone to do touch-ups, and possibly a full paint job. We have a family reunion in a few weeks, and the ladies are invited to come along. You can join us.” Bruiser offered as my ladies arrived; they were not included in that invitation, I assumed, because I have a bike. “Bruiser, you already met Jenny, Melony, Karen, and Heather, my other BFF, and Alice, Karen's sister, and BFF to my sister.” Adding that comment, hoping that Bruiser knew precisely what that woman was like. Alice battered her eyes and leaned forward to show off what was under that almost shirt. My ladies greeted him with the respect he deserved. “Ladies. Hands out.” Bruiser stamped the girl's backs of their hands; they all had a bear, except Alice, who had a rabbit on her hand. I frowned, trying to figure out what the rabbit was all about. He pushed my hand away. “You are family, no need for a stamp.” I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my face. I felt so special. Then the shoe dropped. Rabbit meant she would open her legs. Bruiser got my meaning loud and clear. It took a while to understand the purpose of the stamps. “Come inside and meet the ole ladies.” I understood what he meant; these were ladies who had been claimed and had a different level of respect that those not claimed would never understand. I have met a few of them over the years and gained more insight into club life. They respect me as much as I respect them. We entered the place, and the girls who had been waiting outside gave us a dirty look, as they were still stopped from entering. “What's so special about them?” One pouted, but Bruiser ignored her. Inside was cleaner than I had expected —my fault for judging a group of men, since they often look messy when I see them at the shop. The place had a large, open space, with tables where you stand, as well as booths dotted along the walls, and stools at the bar, which ran the full length of the room. I loved the spacious room, the pictures on the walls, and some bike parts scattered about as decoration. A few barstools are bike seats; it was different, and it appealed to me. Being a lover of bikes. “Sticks.” I greeted her as we got closer to the ladies Bruiser was taking us to. “Hey, Maxie Max. How's it blowing?” She stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. This chick had no filter or personal space. Sticks was the President's; her real name was Sandra, but she was my height at five-nine, and she had no shape to her body, just a lovely bean pole, almost no chest to speak of, yet she had had two boys. Hence the name Sticks. “Doing better,” I replied. She would know what was going on. She introduced us to the other ladies with her, and it didn’t surprise me that Alice had already moved away from us before we had finished the introductions. “What’s her story?” Sticks asked as she watched Alice start to try her luck with the club men. “Same as my sister. Bruiser put a rabbit stamp on her hand.” Sticks and the other girl roared out laughing. “She will be used, abused, and kicked to the side by the time the night is over, and I doubt they would let her back in. We don’t need her sort in the club.” Maggie spouted as we watched a patch member knock her offer back. “The regulars are not going to like her working their turf. So, to speak.” Tootsie said, with a smirk, that the regulars know the rules and stick with them. Don’t approach a patch member; if interested, they will come to you. Nom’s are fair game. But most girls would prefer a patch member. Don’t touch a taken member; the women will gang up and make your life miserable if you feel one of theirs. Wait to be let into the clubhouse and then stay in the public area. No going upstairs uninvited. The first two floors are designated for guest rooms, while the top floor is reserved for permanent residences. Those who don’t have a home of their own to go to. They are private and not open to wandering girls. Don’t touch or sit on someone’s bike, unless you are given permission. The patched old ladies are the bosses of the girls; they tell you to leave or do something, and you do it. There were more rules for the girls visiting, but I couldn’t remember them all at that moment. None had applied to me until now. Alice had already broken at least three, to my knowledge. I am staying out of it. That rabbit on her hand told the members that she would open her legs for any of them, and no one would support her if she broke the rules. That she was not welcome to return, in other words, have your fun, and then kick her to the curb. The doors were opened to let the other girls in. They looked at us in the no-go zone and pouted. We were sitting in an off-limits area unless we were invited. From what I understood, they were here to spread their legs and give the guys some relief, but not become part of the family. They might be hopeful that something would change; it was rare for a patch member to take one of these ladies, who had most likely been with every unattached member of the gang, at some point. My girls left me with Sticks and wandered about with the other ladies, getting the tour of the place. “Want to look around?” Sticks were offered, and before I knew it, we were walking around the vast ground floor. “Ready to see the workshop, the guys might talk you into helping out, once they know who you are.” Sticks led me down a small pathway, lined with flowering shrubs, and to a set of large, farm-size sheds. Inside were bikes, some in bits, others crumpled from an accident, and others like they had just been detailed and were someone's pride and joy. There was a workshop here, where men were working on their bikes. They looked up at us when we entered and frowned. If Sticks were not with me, they would have most likely growled at me to get out. “Who’s this Sticks?” A monster of a man asked, in the deepest voice I have ever heard, he looked a lot like the man at the gate, but with more toned muscles, that I would love to run my fingers over. Just a tad taller, and although he looked big and scary, he made my lady parts sing in a way they had never sung before. Tank POV A few guys aren't into parties, so I stopped going until later in the night, when the girls who showed up were already taken. I dislike the women who come here hoping to adopt our lifestyle. I prefer to use my hand rather than one of those women. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my share of women; however, I had a girl who pushed me to take her, and when I did, she ended up in the hospital, because I am not exactly a little man, and I ripped her apart. She needed stitches, and I have not been with a woman since. Like my brother, we are both large men; he is six feet six inches tall, and I am six feet eight inches tall. He’s carrying extra weight, where I am all muscle. I pride myself on keeping in shape, but being this large has its downfall, and having a large build has had me worried about hurting another woman. No matter how much I might want to, I can’t; I never want to go through that again. The Prez was the only person who knew why I wouldn’t join the parties; he was with me when we took the girl to the hospital, she forgave me, and tried to pursue me to keep her, but I couldn’t. Each time I started to get intimate, I had flashes of her screams, and my confidence went down like a popped balloon. We were in the workshop, doing some minor tune-ups. As I prepare for our ride, I'm excited. When they bring the ladies, the men are usually in a better mood and on their best behavior. I was looking at rebuild. I started it last week. We have a few wrecks that need to be started; some have been sitting here far too long. We can only go so far before we need Mike's help. None of us was a mechanic. I was scratching my head, as I was almost at the end of my knowledge, when I heard someone enter, and a soft perfume that shouldn’t be in this shed hit my nose. Stick’s voice reached my ears, and I lifted my head up to look in her direction. “Who’s this Sticks?” The most beautiful girl I have ever seen had entered our sanctuary, a place where few girls are allowed, which made Sticks bring this beauty down to this dirt and grease, which was unexpectedly. “That is Max, from the shop, Mike's apprentice, who I think had finished her apprenticeship and is doing something extra on Harleys and getting some specialized license,” Banjo said as he moved forward to greet them. The others stood up and moved forward too, making me feel like a dill for not recognizing Max. Although I have only seen her a few times from a distance, and she was usually deep in bike repair, I barely got to see her face. We have not been introduced because I wouldn’t have forgotten that beauty if I had. Sticks introduced us all, and we greeted her before I decided I could use her help. I put the thoughts of what I wouldn’t mind doing to her behind me, not that I could do it. “Max, come look at this wreck. I am stuck with what to do next.” I called her over on the bike I was working on. “Tank, surely you could have waited for another day? She came for the party, not to work.” Sticks grumbled as Max walked to me. She was clean and smelled nice, and I had a fleeting moment of guilt for calling her over. The few times I had seen her, she was covered in oil and grease, wearing coveralls that hid her shapely figure. “Max, are you sure?” Sticks pulled on her hand to get her attention. “Yeah, I am more at home in here than out there,” Max said with a smile and turned back to me. “What's the problem?” She asked me to move forward and inspect the bike. I went into detail about what happened to the bike, what I had managed to do so far, and what I needed to move forward. Max removed her leather jacket and slung it over a nearby bike seat, then squatted down. For the next two hours, Max worked on the bike with me, guiding me through the tricky bits I couldn’t do. The others came forward and used this time as a sort of training session, and Max didn’t seem to mind at all. We asked questions as she worked on the bike, and she used me to lift the heavy parts. It was teamwork, and we completed more repairs in that time than I would have on my own. “Hey, Max,” Bruiser called out at the door. He stood with his legs apart, arms folded, and I wondered if we had done something wrong. “Back here.” She returned to the call of her name. He arrived and burst out laughing at us. “Max, I invited you to a party, you know, dancing and drinking, and socializing. This was not what I meant as a party.” He was still chuckling when the Prez walked in, with Sticks on his arm. “You still got her working out here?” Stick all but growled at us, when the Prez’s lady growls, we all listen. She’s the last person we want to make angry. “What?” I was confused, Max didn’t seem to mind, and we all were having a good time out here. “Hey, Prez. The party over?” Max calmly asked, but it sounded more like she had hoped it was. “Not even close, babes.” The Prez answered with a smile. He had gotten closer to Max over the years she had been at the bike shop. He had often talked about the female mechanic and her sassy ways. I had thought he was exaggerating, but after spending a little time with her, I was hooked. “We have nearly completed the repair job on Spider's bike. If we can have Max here for a few days, I bet we could hit the road by the end of the week.” I said it as it was my way of asking her to stay for a while and fix the bike. Spider was almost healed and ready to get back on his own bike. “Would have to ask Mike about that, she’s his employee, even if we own the shop, he runs it, and I don’t get involved with his employees,” Prez replied contemplatively. “He here?” I asked, as Mike often doesn’t show up at the weekend parties. “Yep, came half an hour ago.” Sticks answered as she handed Max a bottle of water. “Max, if Mike’s okay with it, would you work with us for a week, get some of these ready for the weekend ride?” Sparks asked, and I kicked myself for not considering that she might not want to spend a week here. “Sure, if Mike doesn’t need me, we have several bikes in for service before the ladies run.” Her sweet voice carried across the warehouse, and the guys nodded in understanding. “Thanks, babes,” Spike called out. Each one of us here enjoyed that she worked on our bikes; it might sound odd that we're letting a chick touch our bikes, but Max was not like most chicks. Who wants to sit on the bikes or lie on them? Max knows what she’s doing and has proven herself on numerous occasions. I wish I had known how attractive she was. Man, I had a semi since she walked in the door. The Prez will even let her ride her own bike, a privilege few ladies get. She was more part of the crew; no other girl I know works on bikes like she does, and her reputation over the time she's been an apprentice has been exemplary. Not a guy chaser. When word got out that our girl had been cheated on in the worst possible way, we all wanted to go and kill the man, even though half of us had never really met her, yeah, seen her in a distance, or legs poking out from under a truck, but never sat and talked with her before today. She was fun, had me chuckling a few times, but most of the time in here, she had been all about the bikes, and not flirting, like most chicks do when around us. They see the glamour of the lifestyle, but it's not for everyone. Maxine POV I was guided to a washroom on the side of the workshop, which had a deep steel sink and a shower, but no mirrors. There was a cupboard under the sink containing soaps and cleaning products, as well as a shelf with dark-colored towels. A door that led to a toilet, which was cleaner than I had expected. So far, this whole gang house had been cleaner than I thought a load of men would leave it. I had underestimated the guys and made assumptions about how guys I knew from school or parties would act; none of them were like that. Maybe it was because they are mostly men, whereas my experience had been with boys my age and lower. I cleaned the grease off my hands and arms and dried them. As I went through the routine of cleaning myself up, I thought about the party they had been pushing me to attend and how it had churned up my stomach. The last few times I went to a party, I was with my ex-boyfriend, and he ended up with my sister, so parties were not my thing. I always seem to lose something at parties. Mostly friends, who don’t like the fact that I don’t drink, I have never been a drinker, I might drink a beer to be sociable, and it would take me ages to finish it. Still, I never take shots and am never blind drunk. I had only once been drunk, and I didn’t like the feeling or the way it took me all day to recover, nor the hangover that seemed to be more than a headache. My friends get drunk, and I spend a lot of time cleaning up the messes they make, so I seem to be the one doing the cleanup most of the time, as they know I have their backs, even when I prefer not to do that part of it. I had just finished cleaning up when Tank came in, took one look at me, and started to chuckle. “What?” I asked, looking confused as he laughed. What did I do that was so funny? He didn’t say a word. He leaned over, picked up a cloth, and soaped it up, then gripped my chin in his huge hand, and gently wiped the side of my face, his eyes concentrating on the task, as if it was the most important job he had to do with care. He was so gentle, touching my face with soft, quick movements. His eyes then met mine, and I was lost in the deepest blue orbs I have ever seen. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat and blinked a few times to break the trance he had put me in, and took a step back, my body hitting the sink behind me. “You had some grease on your cheek.” He whispered in a husky voice so deep that it had my lady parts jumping for joy and need, something I am not familiar with. “Thank you,” I whispered back, my voice croaking, and I was shocked by the sound of my own voice; it was lower, warmer, and surprised me as much as Tank's did. His eyes widened at the husky sound. He took a step back and motioned with his hand for me to move past him. I quickly left the washroom and waited in the workshop, taking in the wrecks and wondering how badly the rider would have been hurt if the bike had looked like this. Hoping no one lost their lives. I thought about that for a while. I loved my bike, but I would never ditch it because I was scared. That the thought of falling off had never entered my mind, if I died while riding my bike, then I would have been doing what I love doing. I found I was okay with that. Not that I want to die, but I have thought about how I would like to go when my heart has been broken. “Hey, what are you doing still in here?” Rocket asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Hiding?” I joked back, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and came to stand beside me, looking at the bike I had been staring at. “Can it be fixed? It’s been sitting here for a long time, with no one having the skill to start repairing it. Well, they could give it a go, but this bike is so old that parts are almost impossible to get.” “Yeah, I can give it a try. I have some contacts who can obtain parts, but I can also manufacture some parts. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can come over on weekends and dedicate some time to it.” I suggested it would be a shame to let this panhead go to waste. There are enough pieces of the wrecked bike left to serve as a starting point. “Sweet, it will be good to see this bike out on the road again.” Rocket looked genuinely pleased that the bike could be restored. I restore old cars, trucks, and bikes with Grandpa. I have the equipment stored in a shed for when I have a place of my own to use the machines. I wonder if they have a shed where I can put them. I will need one of the machines. “Ready?” Tank asked; he had shed the work shirt and pulled on a gang shirt. His muscles are on display. Yummy. He makes me feel tiny when I am beside him. “Tank, Max said she can restore the baby.” Tank’s head turned to look at the wreck, and then at me. “For real? Max, can you do that?” Tank looked surprised. After spending a few hours with me, working on bikes, he had to ask that? “Yeah, I can, need to talk to the Prez about some space, but I can do it.” Both guys frowned and looked around the workshop. But they didn’t say anything. Or question me further. Tank put his hand on my lower back and gave a slight push, making me start to walk out of the workshop. It was dark out. Tank guided me to the back door, Rocket leading the way. He opened the door for me and waved me in, as if I were someone important. Causing me to giggle. Yeah, you heard me; I giggled like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous, and not something I had ever expected to come out of my mouth. The guys didn’t even blink at the giggle. The place was warm inside, vibrating with the loud thump of the bass. You could hardly hear the person next to you speak over the heavy music. It reeked of cigarettes and booze. The girls who had been at the door waiting to get in were busy with patch members kissing and almost doing the deed right there on the chair. Some were grinding their hips against the man below them, and the small amount of clothing they had on was even less now. I assumed they were well on their way to being drunk. This was a classic visual of why men lose respect for some kinds of women. I am embarrassed to see it in front of me. I looked around the room and saw my friends still with Sticks, and a couple of guys hanging around nearby. My friends look like they are having fun, and they have a few patch members who seem friendly to them. I hope the girls know what they are doing. The gang life was not for everyone. Dad had once spoken badly about gangs, and he hated it when I became an apprentice at the bike shop. Grandpa was the one who encouraged me to have an apprenticeship. He hated that Dad and Mum were backing my sister in everything, and maybe encouraging me to be a mechanic at the bike shop was his way to get back at Dad. Dad had even tried to get me to leave the bike shop when Grandpa had died. But I had made a pact with Grandpa that I wouldn’t give in to Dad. To live the life I want, and never give in, no matter what the consequences are. I wonder what Grandpa would say if he were alive and saw Dad kick me out of the family home, for the sake of my sister. He would be livered, that’s for sure. But I did as Grandpa said, stood firm, and stayed true to myself. “Hey Maxi Max, come join us. Cricket, grab Max an iced water.” Sticks patted the chair next to her, and before I could move to sit beside her, Tank grabbed me around the waist and took a couple of giant steps to the chair, and sat down, holding me on his lap. The girls looked at each other, then, between Tank and me, the confused look changed to a grin and a nod —whatever that was about.
"“My guys found her. She’s at the MagDog clubhouse. Fixing their bikes.” “What?” Her father’s brow furrowed. “Then tell her to come home. Our business is drowning.” “She wouldn’t. Maxine sent back a message: ‘You gave my room to a bast3rd baby. I gave my keys to a biker.’” The room froze. Dan, Maxine’s ex-boyfriend, now her sister’s fiancé, remembered the last Christmas. Zoey’s moans. Maxine’s bed. Her white sheets. Zoey remembered stealing him—the third boyfriend she’d taken from her sister. And Mom and Dad never once said stop. Her parents remembered looking at their bleeding daughter and telling her to leave. For a nursery. For the cheater’s child. None of them had ever chosen her. “At least she’s safe,” her mother whispered, sobbing with regret. “Safe? She’s living above a bike shop. But she’s got the whole club at her back. Especially their giant—Tank. Six-foot-eight. Never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her. And... their president also sent a message.” “Go on,” her father urged, anxiety simmering beneath. “‘You didn’t want her. We do. Touch her fortune? We’ll end you.’” The words landed like a punch. No one moved. No one breathed. Outside, a Harley roared past the window. She didn’t even slow down." --- Maxine POV “Go home, you have worked too much overtime this week. Have an early night and give that boyfriend of yours an early treat.” My boss practically pushed me out the door, a wicked grin on his face. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’m going. I straddled my bike and started her up. This was going to be a great night. Today was my boyfriend's birthday, and I was going to give him my V-card as a special gift. I had brought new lingerie, black lace, see-through, and I had shaved my mound, leaving a trail that looked like an arrow pointing down to my juncture. I was ready to give him my all, my first, my heart, take the big plunge. I felt I was ready. I pulled into the driveway to see my sister's and my boyfriend’s cars. I had no idea my sister was coming home today. She was still at college in her final year, though I heard she wasn't doing so well. The poor golden girl has not met up with expectations, not that I was worried. My ex-boyfriend showed up three hours early; our date was not for a few more hours. What was he doing here already? Walking in the back door, I heard voices and headed towards them; they were in Dad’s office, with the door slightly ajar. I moved silently to the door and waited outside to hear what secrets they were having now. They occasionally do this when they are planning something and don’t want to include me, but I'm puzzled as to why my boyfriend and sister were included. “We never planned for it to happen.” My sister replied softly, as if she were some kind of victim; she was an expert at that. She should have been an actress; she would have won multiple Oscars by now. “When?” Dad asked, and I waited in the hallway to hear what this was all about. “Christmas day, we had too many of your special eggnogs, and things got heated. The party was more or less over; the presents had been given out, and the food had been eaten. We were all mulling around, talking, when Zoey said something, I don’t remember what—but we went upstairs to continue talking, and ended up in Maxine’s room. We did start by just talking, and before I knew it, we were kissing and things got heated, and ended up in her bed, like I said, and I was so lost in that moment that I forgot to use a protection. When we came out, no one seemed to notice we had been gone, so we pretended it never happened.” My boyfriend replied, and my heart just hit the floor, as I took in that my sister and boyfriend did the dirty in my bed at Christmas. MY BED. I slept in that bed, with their mess on the sheets. I feel suddenly sick at that thought. How could they do that to me? She stole another boyfriend from me again. But he was just as much to blame; I guess our relationship was not that strong yet. Not on his side at least. He continued to pretend, kissing me and taking me out on dates, as if that never happened. What a jerk. Now I feel cheated, dirty, ashamed, and angry all at once. What if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, and I ended up married to that cheating scumbag? Would her wedding present be to tell me she had slept with him first? I wouldn’t put it past her to do such a thing. She had done that before with my boyfriends, and I guess this one was just as vulnerable to her advances as the last one. “He gave me the best Christmas present ever.” My sister crowed with delight. I could imagine her tenderly touching her belly. “This is good news. I have wanted grandchildren, and the last grandchild I would have expected would be from you; you have never kept a relationship for long.” Mum said, sounding excited at the news. “What now?” My sister asked, still playing the perfect victim. “We get married?’ My now ex-boyfriend suggested —sounds more like a question. “What about Maxine?” My sister asked, as if I were an inconvenience that needed to be sorted out, and now they think about me, but it didn’t sound like concern. “What about her? This is about my first grandchild, and his or her safety comes first. She will have to live with it.” My mother spat, revealing that famous favoritism, because she had always taken my sister's side in everything, even when proven wrong. They never backed me up. “I am technically her boyfriend.” He started to say something, but was interrupted. “Not anymore, you're not. I will arrange with the local publican to hire the outdoor garden area, and we shall have an engagement party this Saturday. Get that sorted before you start to show, and Maxine will show her support.” Dad’s voice floated out, sounding resolute. I had no say in this, not that I wanted to be his girlfriend any longer; he had proven not to be what I wanted in a guy. “She will have to leave. I need her room for the nursery. I would prefer it if she didn't attend the engagement party. What will those who know she was the real girlfriend show up, and see that it was not Maxine getting engaged?” Mum added. Yep, that was my mother, trying to regain her dignity and save face. I couldn’t take it any longer. I was devastated enough, and listening further to their support for the love for the cheater was eating me up inside. I didn’t want to cry in front of them; the tears were a mix of anger and hurt. I pushed the door open, revealing myself standing there. All faces turned to look at me. “Let me get this straight. You took my boyfriend to MY bed, did the dirty with him, leaving your mess in my bed, as a sort of Christmas present for me. Guess that made your day, thinking I was sleeping in your mess. Now you want my bedroom for the child baby you have created, and I am what, just pushed out the door? Like yesterday’s trash?” I asked to ensure I understood correctly that the whole family was fine with me being tossed aside. “Exactly, I am taking your boyfriend, your bedroom, and you, my dear sister, have to move out.” My sister sounded like she had won the lottery. Her face beamed at her triumph. “Fine with me.” The look of shock would have made me laugh if I were not so numb inside. I moved away to my room and packed what I could into my duffel bag. I will come back for the rest later, when they are not around. My heart was breaking, not because I lost my boyfriend, although that hurt a lot, considering that what I was going to give him for his present today was saved for doing something foolish at least. But also because both parents were supporting this deception, as if it were the best news they had received in a while, that they had been trying to get rid of me for a while, and now succeeded in a spectacular way. I walked downstairs and looked at them. “When I find a place to stay, I will be back for the rest.” I spat at them, a mixture of hurt, anger, and defeat. I never fit into the family, a black sheep, so maybe I should become one. I had always had top grades, won awards, done my best, but even being first, I was still last. My best friend was the only place I could think of going to; it had to be temporary. Jenny will be cool and let me sleep on her couch till I find a new home. I climbed onto my bike and took off to the only sanctuary I had over the years. Jenny welcomed me into her home, like I knew she would, and together we had a pity party consisting of beer and vanilla fudge ice cream. We called the family and my ex some interesting names, some of which I had never heard before, but they sounded good. The drunker I got, the more inventive the names became. The next morning, after waking up on Jenny’s couch and remembering yesterday, it did not go as planned. I pulled myself together, had a quick shower, and left for work. It was eight in the morning, and Jenny was still asleep when I left. That might be okay for some, but my workday today would be ten hours long, and I was running late. “You're late, night must have gone better than planned,” Mike said jovially. They sort of knew what I was planning last night. The others chuckled along with Mike. I grumbled some shiet and got to work. By the end of the day, Mike pulled me to his office. “Okay, out with it. The guys have been tiptoeing around you all day. What happened? He rejected your advances?” He asked, his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, looking at me with concerned eyes, a father figure, better than my dad had ever been. So, I told him what happened when I got home and where I spent the night, and now I'm looking for a place to stay. I was proud of myself; I didn’t cry, or whine, or show any emotion at all —just explained my predicament in cold, emotionless words. Clear and succinct. He said he wouldn’t say anything in the shop, but would talk to the prez. I had no idea why, but I was not in the right frame of mind to question it. Maxine POV Today was my sister's engagement party; engaged to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, you heard me right, my ex. What a joke that was. I had been dating Dan for six months when my sister, who was a year older than I, came home for Christmas and ended up in bed with my boyfriend. She’s a shameless woman, always has been, but I never expected him to sleep with her. I thought we were secure in our relationship. The only good thing I took away from this was that I never went to bed with him; my virginity card was still intact, not that I was trying to keep it - I just never got the chance to lose it. She always managed to have any guy I was interested in dump me for her, and when she got bored with them, she’d move on. So, in a way, I didn’t have a boyfriend till she moved out of her home and headed to college. But when my sister came home and met him, she seduced him and got pregnant. He did the whole ‘get down on one knee and proposed’ scene. Apparently, it was romantic, but I wasn't there when he did it because they didn’t want me around. It hurt a lot at the time, and I was glad to have my girlfriends around me, helping me get over it. They say, I dodged a bullet. I agree with them, stupidly. He might have been a sports jock with good looks, but doing this tells me he was weak and shallow, and I was too good for him, or so my BFF says. I prefer to believe them over the excuses my ex made. I had to move out of my home after I had a massive fight with my parents a few days ago, when the truth was exposed; they supported her, not me, and the next thing I knew, I was out the door and the evil sister. The engagement party was intended to introduce him to her friends and make the relationship official, but I was not invited. My parents want nothing to do with me. I made them all uncomfortable, considering he was my boyfriend first. Anyone working out the timeline for the baby can piece it together, and see they were cheating on me, and it would have been awkward, and too many questions would have been raised. Not that I needed to say all of that, I kind of said it all before, but grrrrr, I am so angry at how my so-called ‘family’ kicked me out of my so-called home, with no care for me or my feelings. It was easier to push me away and disown me than have to explain to them that my sister cheated with my boyfriend, and hey presto, a baby was on the way. Because I was kicked out of the house, and only had a short time to pack anything, I took the opportunity of the party to sneak into the house and take more of my possessions, like opening my father's safe, and grabbing every piece of paper relating to me, and a little money too, no a lot of money, and grandma’s jewelry that she left me. So, with the help of my BFF, we packed my belongings and took them to her place until I found a new one. I ride a motorcycle, so I need help. I have the money to buy a new place, but I'm unsure if I want to stay in this town now. Once my apprenticeship is over, I might move away. I stayed that night at Jenny’s place, as I figured out what to do. Today, I am moving into my new place —a bungalow above the bike shop where I work. I am in my final year of apprenticeship, and I am a motorcycle mechanic, proud of it, I might add. I can also work on cars and trucks. If it had a motor, I could fix it; I always could, thanks to my knack for it, which I developed since I was eight, when I fell in love with engines. My Grandpa taught me, kept me out of everyone's way. I guess you could say I was a tomboy, with no frills and lace. My Grandpa kept me sane and busy, so the BS in our house didn’t hurt me as much. The place has two bedrooms and is fully contained, meaning it has everything I need. I had purchased some new sheets and towels, that sort of thing, but it had a fully stocked kitchen; I only needed to buy the food. It might be small, and above a noisy bike shop, but at night it was a quiet area. No one would break into this shop; the local bikie gang owned it. They were good guys, scary, but so far, no trouble for me. My BFF, Jenny, was helping me take my belongings upstairs when a group of bikers arrived and assisted us. I had five boxes and two suitcases filled with all sorts of items. “Thanks, guys, for the help,” I said sweetly, my BFF batting her eyes at them and swaying her hips suggestively as she walked and thanked them. She makes me laugh with her antics, which are totally opposite to mine. I like jeans and am rarely seen in a dress, whereas she was seldom seen in jeans. “We got a party at the clubhouse, tomorrow Saturday, you should come and relax a bit, bring your girls with ya,” Bruiser suggested as he threw his arm over my shoulder, walked me to the settee, pushed me down, and handed me a beer they had brought with them. This was how they acted around me, ordered me about. Sometimes, I'm okay with it; other times, I get all worked up and growl back at them. Today was acceptance. I know they mean well, and I feel lucky to have them as family; they try to make me feel better. “That sounds like a blast, count me in, and I can bring two other girl friends with us. Max, do you want me to pick you up?” Jenny offered, taking a beer from one of the guys. She was not a beer drinker; however, in this situation, I could see her not refusing anything they offered. I guess I'm going, whether I want to or not. “No, I’ll ride over,” I replied as one of the guys ordered pizza. “That’s the spirit. Nothing like the wind in your hair to blow the cobwebs away.” They stayed because they didn’t want me to be alone, not on my first night here. Pizza arrived not long after, and my little bungalow was soon feeling too small and crowded, with six huge bikers in the room. Some sat on the floor; others pulled up one of the three kitchen chairs. I know, I know, three chairs sound odd, but that's what was here, and beggars can’t be choosers; the rent was dirt cheap, and I think the boys are the ones to make sure I had everything I needed. They found out about my situation the next day, because, I was still quiet at work, which was not like me, often I am singing to the radio, or swearing at something, so one of the guys approached me, to find out what gives, and I softly told them, what went down, and when word got around the bikers heard I needed a place to stay, because I was kicked out of my home and why, they came to me, like protective brothers. Now I have a whole gang of bikers who have my back. I feel privileged to call them friends. They even offered to rough the ex up for me, but I refused the offer, because strangely, I was happy to get rid of the loser if he was a cheating build. Better now than when I am fully invested in our relationship. Plus, I was in deep enough shite with my parents and sister without making it worse. The pizza was gone, my BFF left for home, and the guys did too. It was late, well, for me, midnight. I usually fall asleep quickly because I have to be up for work at five. Tomorrow, being Saturday, I have the morning shift before the party later. They let me leave work early so I can move in here. “Hey, don’t forget to come, we need our prettiest mechanic at the party, some of the boys might need a tune-up,” Bruiser said with a laugh as they climbed on their bikes and left. I know what sort of tune-up he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with a motor. I looked around my new home. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. The guys were great; they took the empty pizza boxes and beer cans with them, and the place was relatively clean. Not at all what you would expect from a group of rowdy men. The clubhouse. I had never been to it, despite having worked there for nearly four years, and they had never extended an invitation to me. I know they had lots of parties; maybe I was too young. I turned twenty recently, but they might think of me as the fifteen-year-old who showed up one day and told the boss I was going to be his apprentice. He laughed at first and said he would give me a go to prove myself. He thought I was joking and that I would be gone by the weekend, but over the holidays, I worked hard and have been here ever since. Maxine POV The beeping sound of my phone alarm made me sit up and look around. It took a moment to remember where I was. The room had a small curtain that barely kept the light out. There was a streetlight just outside my window. I can envisage myself getting better blackout curtains soon. Although it was annoying, it wasn't among my top priorities for making this a home. The shower was decent, with nice pressure. I followed my morning routine, only to realize how foolish I was to wake up so early, living above my place of work; I didn’t need to ride here. After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I still had half an hour before I needed to be at work. I had two ways to get into my place: one was through the back stairs, and the other was through the shop. With the code to turn off the alarm, I decided to head down and start work early. It was better than moving stuff around; I can do that later. I had a bike to finish by this afternoon. The customer would be here at two. Turned off the alarm, turned on the coffee pot, the radio, and headed to my workstation, where the fat boy was waiting for me to finish. I sat on the stool with casters and began my job, singing loudly to the heavy rock song that came on the radio as I installed the new spark plugs and double-checked the oil. It was a simple, easy-peasy service. Once finished, I started the bike up, let it idle while I made coffee, then returned to rev it a few times. It sounds lumpy, like it was just turning over perfectly; it was music to my ears. I love that throaty, deep, lumpy sound. You can feel it vibrate through my chest. “That’s a sound I loved to hear as I enter work.” My boss, Mike, said as I turned the bike off. “It’s ready to go, unless you want to take it out for a test ride. Want a coffee, pots hot.” I offered as I threw the dirty rag in the bin. “Sure, I will take the bike out for a spin, and you can make me a coffee.” He smirked as he grabbed the bike. I opened the garage door, and Mike took off. I smiled as he disappeared down the street, and I turned to make both of us coffee. If you hadn’t guessed already, I would drink a lot of coffee. I am not a fan of soft drinks or tea; for me, it's coffee or water. With a broom in hand, I began cleaning the shop. I am not out here very often, but I try to sweep the floor at least once a week; they have another apprentice who’s a second year, who gets to do most of the cleaning up, but he’s never here on a Saturday. The sound of the bike returning prompted me to pick up the two cups of coffee and head back out to the workshop. Mike had a massive grin on his face as he parked the bike. “Great job, you are our top mechanic. But don’t tell anyone, or I will have to deny it.” He joked, taking his coffee from my hand as he walked by, no doubt letting the customer know the bike was ready ahead of time. I moved to the next bike, which was a total rebuild; it had been in a minor accident, and while the frame was being checked, I would work on the engine and gearbox. It was the only job on my list at the moment. The bike owner was in no hurry; he had a broken leg, giving me a few weeks to work on his bike and any urgent jobs that might come into the shop. The client arrived and happily took possession of his bike, very happy with the job done. “I hear you’ve been invited to the club party tonight,” Mike said as he rang up the sale on the cash register. “Yep.” I said popping the ‘p’. “You can leave now, we have no more customers expected. Good job today.” It was close to one o’clock, near the time I would knock off. “Thanks, boss.” I saluted him and rushed upstairs, before he could change his mind. Giggling all the way up. I heard him chuckling as he locked the door below, behind me. I decided on a quick shower; I didn’t want to smell of oil when going to a party. Put on my skinny black jeans, a black blouse that had red flames on the back and on the pockets, black boots that had some chains around the ankle, and hair in a ponytail. I will get what we call helmet hair, so it's a waste to do much with it now. I use mascara and strawberry lip gloss, which is more to moisturize my lips, which tend to dry out when I ride my bike, and that's it. The last thing I grabbed before leaving was my jacket. My mum used to grumble that I wasn’t like my sister and put more effort into my appearance, but I like who I am, and I didn’t like wearing lots of makeup; it was my choice, and I feel that I am not a frilly, lacey chick. It was a deal breaker with my mum. She had my sister dress up and left me in the care of Grandpa until he died when I was seventeen. It broke me when he left the world. He was the only person who got me. My grandma had been gone since I was young, and I filled the hole in his heart with my love for bikes and fishing. He left me his money and bikes. Dad got his house and business. My mum hated that I gained all that money. When Grandma died, she left me her jewelry, and Grandpa made sure to keep it safe till I was old enough to have it. I ate something and put some more of my stuff in the cupboards before my phone chimed to let me know my girlfriends were on their way to the party. I pulled my bike out of the small garage and started it up. I threw my leg over and took off, heading to the property. The clubhouse was half an hour out of town, set on a large property a little bit back from the road. Ten minutes later, I came up behind the girls and hung out behind them. My friend waved me on to take the lead. I shrugged and overtook her. The turn off arrived, and I rode happily up the long drive, and trees lined the road. An open, large steel gate appeared, and I was glad it was still enough light to see clearly. Men stood by the entrance, watching us arrive. “Hey.” I greeted the biggest man I had ever seen. “Who invited you here?” The man asked gruffly, in a deep husky voice. “Bruiser,” I answered, with a firm, clear voice, hoping that the fact that he frightened me would be noticed in my voice. He pulled out his phone and called, I assumed, Bruiser. “Max?” He asked, as he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. He said something more and hung up the phone. “Come in, the car behind your girls?” He looked at the car behind, which clearly had a woman in it. “Yep,” I replied, not at all liking how he intimidated me with his manner. Perhaps it was the way they greeted strangers. One look makes the weak run. Well, I am not weak, and I won't be running. Maxine POV This rather large biker leaned in to look inside the car, his bulky figure partially blocking the open window, causing the girl nearest it to back away. Satisfied, he looked at me with a knowing smirk, then motioned for us to enter. The clubhouse was nothing like I had imagined. Firstly, it was four levels high. Verandah all the way around, that I could see. It was more like a mansion than a clubhouse. Women were gathered near the door, looking in, as if they were waiting for something; some were sitting on the wooden fence that surrounded the verandah. They were dressed in barely anything, showing all that was available, some love that sort of thing. People like me dress to stay warm or cool and don’t care about showing off the goods. Bikes sat in neat rows in front, and cars were parked to the left of the building; the ratio of bikes to cars was approximately four bikes to one car. I parked the bike with the others, climbed off, and took off my helmet. I placed the lid on the bike and shook out my hair while waiting for the girls to park and come to me. I heard some muffled scoffs, but I couldn’t care less —I wasn't here to please them. Bruiser came out of the clubhouse behind me. “Max, you came by bike. Sweet.” He gave me a gentle squeeze and moved to take a closer look at my bike. The paint job was a wolf, fading in smoke. It took me months to finish, as I kept changing my mind, and the smoke obscured the mistakes. “Who did the paint job?” He asked as he moved around to look at it from all sides. “Me.” I was proud of the results. “Does Mike know you can paint?” He sounded surprised. “He has seen my bike when I used the garage to do a service. He never asked who did the paint work, just that he liked it.” “Sweet, looks like we have someone to do touch-ups, and possibly a full paint job. We have a family reunion in a few weeks, and the ladies are invited to come along. You can join us.” Bruiser offered as my ladies arrived; they were not included in that invitation, I assumed, because I have a bike. “Bruiser, you already met Jenny, Melony, Karen, and Heather, my other BFF, and Alice, Karen's sister, and BFF to my sister.” Adding that comment, hoping that Bruiser knew precisely what that woman was like. Alice battered her eyes and leaned forward to show off what was under that almost shirt. My ladies greeted him with the respect he deserved. “Ladies. Hands out.” Bruiser stamped the girl's backs of their hands; they all had a bear, except Alice, who had a rabbit on her hand. I frowned, trying to figure out what the rabbit was all about. He pushed my hand away. “You are family, no need for a stamp.” I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my face. I felt so special. Then the shoe dropped. Rabbit meant she would open her legs. Bruiser got my meaning loud and clear. It took a while to understand the purpose of the stamps. “Come inside and meet the ole ladies.” I understood what he meant; these were ladies who had been claimed and had a different level of respect that those not claimed would never understand. I have met a few of them over the years and gained more insight into club life. They respect me as much as I respect them. We entered the place, and the girls who had been waiting outside gave us a dirty look, as they were still stopped from entering. “What's so special about them?” One pouted, but Bruiser ignored her. Inside was cleaner than I had expected —my fault for judging a group of men, since they often look messy when I see them at the shop. The place had a large, open space, with tables where you stand, as well as booths dotted along the walls, and stools at the bar, which ran the full length of the room. I loved the spacious room, the pictures on the walls, and some bike parts scattered about as decoration. A few barstools are bike seats; it was different, and it appealed to me. Being a lover of bikes. “Sticks.” I greeted her as we got closer to the ladies Bruiser was taking us to. “Hey, Maxie Max. How's it blowing?” She stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. This chick had no filter or personal space. Sticks was the President's; her real name was Sandra, but she was my height at five-nine, and she had no shape to her body, just a lovely bean pole, almost no chest to speak of, yet she had had two boys. Hence the name Sticks. “Doing better,” I replied. She would know what was going on. She introduced us to the other ladies with her, and it didn’t surprise me that Alice had already moved away from us before we had finished the introductions. “What’s her story?” Sticks asked as she watched Alice start to try her luck with the club men. “Same as my sister. Bruiser put a rabbit stamp on her hand.” Sticks and the other girl roared out laughing. “She will be used, abused, and kicked to the side by the time the night is over, and I doubt they would let her back in. We don’t need her sort in the club.” Maggie spouted as we watched a patch member knock her offer back. “The regulars are not going to like her working their turf. So, to speak.” Tootsie said, with a smirk, that the regulars know the rules and stick with them. Don’t approach a patch member; if interested, they will come to you. Nom’s are fair game. But most girls would prefer a patch member. Don’t touch a taken member; the women will gang up and make your life miserable if you feel one of theirs. Wait to be let into the clubhouse and then stay in the public area. No going upstairs uninvited. The first two floors are designated for guest rooms, while the top floor is reserved for permanent residences. Those who don’t have a home of their own to go to. They are private and not open to wandering girls. Don’t touch or sit on someone’s bike, unless you are given permission. The patched old ladies are the bosses of the girls; they tell you to leave or do something, and you do it. There were more rules for the girls visiting, but I couldn’t remember them all at that moment. None had applied to me until now. Alice had already broken at least three, to my knowledge. I am staying out of it. That rabbit on her hand told the members that she would open her legs for any of them, and no one would support her if she broke the rules. That she was not welcome to return, in other words, have your fun, and then kick her to the curb. The doors were opened to let the other girls in. They looked at us in the no-go zone and pouted. We were sitting in an off-limits area unless we were invited. From what I understood, they were here to spread their legs and give the guys some relief, but not become part of the family. They might be hopeful that something would change; it was rare for a patch member to take one of these ladies, who had most likely been with every unattached member of the gang, at some point. My girls left me with Sticks and wandered about with the other ladies, getting the tour of the place. “Want to look around?” Sticks were offered, and before I knew it, we were walking around the vast ground floor. “Ready to see the workshop, the guys might talk you into helping out, once they know who you are.” Sticks led me down a small pathway, lined with flowering shrubs, and to a set of large, farm-size sheds. Inside were bikes, some in bits, others crumpled from an accident, and others like they had just been detailed and were someone's pride and joy. There was a workshop here, where men were working on their bikes. They looked up at us when we entered and frowned. If Sticks were not with me, they would have most likely growled at me to get out. “Who’s this Sticks?” A monster of a man asked, in the deepest voice I have ever heard, he looked a lot like the man at the gate, but with more toned muscles, that I would love to run my fingers over. Just a tad taller, and although he looked big and scary, he made my lady parts sing in a way they had never sung before. Tank POV A few guys aren't into parties, so I stopped going until later in the night, when the girls who showed up were already taken. I dislike the women who come here hoping to adopt our lifestyle. I prefer to use my hand rather than one of those women. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my share of women; however, I had a girl who pushed me to take her, and when I did, she ended up in the hospital, because I am not exactly a little man, and I ripped her apart. She needed stitches, and I have not been with a woman since. Like my brother, we are both large men; he is six feet six inches tall, and I am six feet eight inches tall. He’s carrying extra weight, where I am all muscle. I pride myself on keeping in shape, but being this large has its downfall, and having a large build has had me worried about hurting another woman. No matter how much I might want to, I can’t; I never want to go through that again. The Prez was the only person who knew why I wouldn’t join the parties; he was with me when we took the girl to the hospital, she forgave me, and tried to pursue me to keep her, but I couldn’t. Each time I started to get intimate, I had flashes of her screams, and my confidence went down like a popped balloon. We were in the workshop, doing some minor tune-ups. As I prepare for our ride, I'm excited. When they bring the ladies, the men are usually in a better mood and on their best behavior. I was looking at rebuild. I started it last week. We have a few wrecks that need to be started; some have been sitting here far too long. We can only go so far before we need Mike's help. None of us was a mechanic. I was scratching my head, as I was almost at the end of my knowledge, when I heard someone enter, and a soft perfume that shouldn’t be in this shed hit my nose. Stick’s voice reached my ears, and I lifted my head up to look in her direction. “Who’s this Sticks?” The most beautiful girl I have ever seen had entered our sanctuary, a place where few girls are allowed, which made Sticks bring this beauty down to this dirt and grease, which was unexpectedly. “That is Max, from the shop, Mike's apprentice, who I think had finished her apprenticeship and is doing something extra on Harleys and getting some specialized license,” Banjo said as he moved forward to greet them. The others stood up and moved forward too, making me feel like a dill for not recognizing Max. Although I have only seen her a few times from a distance, and she was usually deep in bike repair, I barely got to see her face. We have not been introduced because I wouldn’t have forgotten that beauty if I had. Sticks introduced us all, and we greeted her before I decided I could use her help. I put the thoughts of what I wouldn’t mind doing to her behind me, not that I could do it. “Max, come look at this wreck. I am stuck with what to do next.” I called her over on the bike I was working on. “Tank, surely you could have waited for another day? She came for the party, not to work.” Sticks grumbled as Max walked to me. She was clean and smelled nice, and I had a fleeting moment of guilt for calling her over. The few times I had seen her, she was covered in oil and grease, wearing coveralls that hid her shapely figure. “Max, are you sure?” Sticks pulled on her hand to get her attention. “Yeah, I am more at home in here than out there,” Max said with a smile and turned back to me. “What's the problem?” She asked me to move forward and inspect the bike. I went into detail about what happened to the bike, what I had managed to do so far, and what I needed to move forward. Max removed her leather jacket and slung it over a nearby bike seat, then squatted down. For the next two hours, Max worked on the bike with me, guiding me through the tricky bits I couldn’t do. The others came forward and used this time as a sort of training session, and Max didn’t seem to mind at all. We asked questions as she worked on the bike, and she used me to lift the heavy parts. It was teamwork, and we completed more repairs in that time than I would have on my own. “Hey, Max,” Bruiser called out at the door. He stood with his legs apart, arms folded, and I wondered if we had done something wrong. “Back here.” She returned to the call of her name. He arrived and burst out laughing at us. “Max, I invited you to a party, you know, dancing and drinking, and socializing. This was not what I meant as a party.” He was still chuckling when the Prez walked in, with Sticks on his arm. “You still got her working out here?” Stick all but growled at us, when the Prez’s lady growls, we all listen. She’s the last person we want to make angry. “What?” I was confused, Max didn’t seem to mind, and we all were having a good time out here. “Hey, Prez. The party over?” Max calmly asked, but it sounded more like she had hoped it was. “Not even close, babes.” The Prez answered with a smile. He had gotten closer to Max over the years she had been at the bike shop. He had often talked about the female mechanic and her sassy ways. I had thought he was exaggerating, but after spending a little time with her, I was hooked. “We have nearly completed the repair job on Spider's bike. If we can have Max here for a few days, I bet we could hit the road by the end of the week.” I said it as it was my way of asking her to stay for a while and fix the bike. Spider was almost healed and ready to get back on his own bike. “Would have to ask Mike about that, she’s his employee, even if we own the shop, he runs it, and I don’t get involved with his employees,” Prez replied contemplatively. “He here?” I asked, as Mike often doesn’t show up at the weekend parties. “Yep, came half an hour ago.” Sticks answered as she handed Max a bottle of water. “Max, if Mike’s okay with it, would you work with us for a week, get some of these ready for the weekend ride?” Sparks asked, and I kicked myself for not considering that she might not want to spend a week here. “Sure, if Mike doesn’t need me, we have several bikes in for service before the ladies run.” Her sweet voice carried across the warehouse, and the guys nodded in understanding. “Thanks, babes,” Spike called out. Each one of us here enjoyed that she worked on our bikes; it might sound odd that we're letting a chick touch our bikes, but Max was not like most chicks. Who wants to sit on the bikes or lie on them? Max knows what she’s doing and has proven herself on numerous occasions. I wish I had known how attractive she was. Man, I had a semi since she walked in the door. The Prez will even let her ride her own bike, a privilege few ladies get. She was more part of the crew; no other girl I know works on bikes like she does, and her reputation over the time she's been an apprentice has been exemplary. Not a guy chaser. When word got out that our girl had been cheated on in the worst possible way, we all wanted to go and kill the man, even though half of us had never really met her, yeah, seen her in a distance, or legs poking out from under a truck, but never sat and talked with her before today. She was fun, had me chuckling a few times, but most of the time in here, she had been all about the bikes, and not flirting, like most chicks do when around us. They see the glamour of the lifestyle, but it's not for everyone. Maxine POV I was guided to a washroom on the side of the workshop, which had a deep steel sink and a shower, but no mirrors. There was a cupboard under the sink containing soaps and cleaning products, as well as a shelf with dark-colored towels. A door that led to a toilet, which was cleaner than I had expected. So far, this whole gang house had been cleaner than I thought a load of men would leave it. I had underestimated the guys and made assumptions about how guys I knew from school or parties would act; none of them were like that. Maybe it was because they are mostly men, whereas my experience had been with boys my age and lower. I cleaned the grease off my hands and arms and dried them. As I went through the routine of cleaning myself up, I thought about the party they had been pushing me to attend and how it had churned up my stomach. The last few times I went to a party, I was with my ex-boyfriend, and he ended up with my sister, so parties were not my thing. I always seem to lose something at parties. Mostly friends, who don’t like the fact that I don’t drink, I have never been a drinker, I might drink a beer to be sociable, and it would take me ages to finish it. Still, I never take shots and am never blind drunk. I had only once been drunk, and I didn’t like the feeling or the way it took me all day to recover, nor the hangover that seemed to be more than a headache. My friends get drunk, and I spend a lot of time cleaning up the messes they make, so I seem to be the one doing the cleanup most of the time, as they know I have their backs, even when I prefer not to do that part of it. I had just finished cleaning up when Tank came in, took one look at me, and started to chuckle. “What?” I asked, looking confused as he laughed. What did I do that was so funny? He didn’t say a word. He leaned over, picked up a cloth, and soaped it up, then gripped my chin in his huge hand, and gently wiped the side of my face, his eyes concentrating on the task, as if it was the most important job he had to do with care. He was so gentle, touching my face with soft, quick movements. His eyes then met mine, and I was lost in the deepest blue orbs I have ever seen. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat and blinked a few times to break the trance he had put me in, and took a step back, my body hitting the sink behind me. “You had some grease on your cheek.” He whispered in a husky voice so deep that it had my lady parts jumping for joy and need, something I am not familiar with. “Thank you,” I whispered back, my voice croaking, and I was shocked by the sound of my own voice; it was lower, warmer, and surprised me as much as Tank's did. His eyes widened at the husky sound. He took a step back and motioned with his hand for me to move past him. I quickly left the washroom and waited in the workshop, taking in the wrecks and wondering how badly the rider would have been hurt if the bike had looked like this. Hoping no one lost their lives. I thought about that for a while. I loved my bike, but I would never ditch it because I was scared. That the thought of falling off had never entered my mind, if I died while riding my bike, then I would have been doing what I love doing. I found I was okay with that. Not that I want to die, but I have thought about how I would like to go when my heart has been broken. “Hey, what are you doing still in here?” Rocket asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Hiding?” I joked back, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and came to stand beside me, looking at the bike I had been staring at. “Can it be fixed? It’s been sitting here for a long time, with no one having the skill to start repairing it. Well, they could give it a go, but this bike is so old that parts are almost impossible to get.” “Yeah, I can give it a try. I have some contacts who can obtain parts, but I can also manufacture some parts. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can come over on weekends and dedicate some time to it.” I suggested it would be a shame to let this panhead go to waste. There are enough pieces of the wrecked bike left to serve as a starting point. “Sweet, it will be good to see this bike out on the road again.” Rocket looked genuinely pleased that the bike could be restored. I restore old cars, trucks, and bikes with Grandpa. I have the equipment stored in a shed for when I have a place of my own to use the machines. I wonder if they have a shed where I can put them. I will need one of the machines. “Ready?” Tank asked; he had shed the work shirt and pulled on a gang shirt. His muscles are on display. Yummy. He makes me feel tiny when I am beside him. “Tank, Max said she can restore the baby.” Tank’s head turned to look at the wreck, and then at me. “For real? Max, can you do that?” Tank looked surprised. After spending a few hours with me, working on bikes, he had to ask that? “Yeah, I can, need to talk to the Prez about some space, but I can do it.” Both guys frowned and looked around the workshop. But they didn’t say anything. Or question me further. Tank put his hand on my lower back and gave a slight push, making me start to walk out of the workshop. It was dark out. Tank guided me to the back door, Rocket leading the way. He opened the door for me and waved me in, as if I were someone important. Causing me to giggle. Yeah, you heard me; I giggled like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous, and not something I had ever expected to come out of my mouth. The guys didn’t even blink at the giggle. The place was warm inside, vibrating with the loud thump of the bass. You could hardly hear the person next to you speak over the heavy music. It reeked of cigarettes and booze. The girls who had been at the door waiting to get in were busy with patch members kissing and almost doing the deed right there on the chair. Some were grinding their hips against the man below them, and the small amount of clothing they had on was even less now. I assumed they were well on their way to being drunk. This was a classic visual of why men lose respect for some kinds of women. I am embarrassed to see it in front of me. I looked around the room and saw my friends still with Sticks, and a couple of guys hanging around nearby. My friends look like they are having fun, and they have a few patch members who seem friendly to them. I hope the girls know what they are doing. The gang life was not for everyone. Dad had once spoken badly about gangs, and he hated it when I became an apprentice at the bike shop. Grandpa was the one who encouraged me to have an apprenticeship. He hated that Dad and Mum were backing my sister in everything, and maybe encouraging me to be a mechanic at the bike shop was his way to get back at Dad. Dad had even tried to get me to leave the bike shop when Grandpa had died. But I had made a pact with Grandpa that I wouldn’t give in to Dad. To live the life I want, and never give in, no matter what the consequences are. I wonder what Grandpa would say if he were alive and saw Dad kick me out of the family home, for the sake of my sister. He would be livered, that’s for sure. But I did as Grandpa said, stood firm, and stayed true to myself. “Hey Maxi Max, come join us. Cricket, grab Max an iced water.” Sticks patted the chair next to her, and before I could move to sit beside her, Tank grabbed me around the waist and took a couple of giant steps to the chair, and sat down, holding me on his lap. The girls looked at each other, then, between Tank and me, the confused look changed to a grin and a nod —whatever that was about.
"“My guys found her. She’s at the MagDog clubhouse. Fixing their bikes.” “What?” Her father’s brow furrowed. “Then tell her to come home. Our business is drowning.” “She wouldn’t. Maxine sent back a message: ‘You gave my room to a bast3rd baby. I gave my keys to a biker.’” The room froze. Dan, Maxine’s ex-boyfriend, now her sister’s fiancé, remembered the last Christmas. Zoey’s moans. Maxine’s bed. Her white sheets. Zoey remembered stealing him—the third boyfriend she’d taken from her sister. And Mom and Dad never once said stop. Her parents remembered looking at their bleeding daughter and telling her to leave. For a nursery. For the cheater’s child. None of them had ever chosen her. “At least she’s safe,” her mother whispered, sobbing with regret. “Safe? She’s living above a bike shop. But she’s got the whole club at her back. Especially their giant—Tank. Six-foot-eight. Never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her. And... their president also sent a message.” “Go on,” her father urged, anxiety simmering beneath. “‘You didn’t want her. We do. Touch her fortune? We’ll end you.’” The words landed like a punch. No one moved. No one breathed. Outside, a Harley roared past the window. She didn’t even slow down." --- Maxine POV “Go home, you have worked too much overtime this week. Have an early night and give that boyfriend of yours an early treat.” My boss practically pushed me out the door, a wicked grin on his face. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’m going. I straddled my bike and started her up. This was going to be a great night. Today was my boyfriend's birthday, and I was going to give him my V-card as a special gift. I had brought new lingerie, black lace, see-through, and I had shaved my mound, leaving a trail that looked like an arrow pointing down to my juncture. I was ready to give him my all, my first, my heart, take the big plunge. I felt I was ready. I pulled into the driveway to see my sister's and my boyfriend’s cars. I had no idea my sister was coming home today. She was still at college in her final year, though I heard she wasn't doing so well. The poor golden girl has not met up with expectations, not that I was worried. My ex-boyfriend showed up three hours early; our date was not for a few more hours. What was he doing here already? Walking in the back door, I heard voices and headed towards them; they were in Dad’s office, with the door slightly ajar. I moved silently to the door and waited outside to hear what secrets they were having now. They occasionally do this when they are planning something and don’t want to include me, but I'm puzzled as to why my boyfriend and sister were included. “We never planned for it to happen.” My sister replied softly, as if she were some kind of victim; she was an expert at that. She should have been an actress; she would have won multiple Oscars by now. “When?” Dad asked, and I waited in the hallway to hear what this was all about. “Christmas day, we had too many of your special eggnogs, and things got heated. The party was more or less over; the presents had been given out, and the food had been eaten. We were all mulling around, talking, when Zoey said something, I don’t remember what—but we went upstairs to continue talking, and ended up in Maxine’s room. We did start by just talking, and before I knew it, we were kissing and things got heated, and ended up in her bed, like I said, and I was so lost in that moment that I forgot to use a protection. When we came out, no one seemed to notice we had been gone, so we pretended it never happened.” My boyfriend replied, and my heart just hit the floor, as I took in that my sister and boyfriend did the dirty in my bed at Christmas. MY BED. I slept in that bed, with their mess on the sheets. I feel suddenly sick at that thought. How could they do that to me? She stole another boyfriend from me again. But he was just as much to blame; I guess our relationship was not that strong yet. Not on his side at least. He continued to pretend, kissing me and taking me out on dates, as if that never happened. What a jerk. Now I feel cheated, dirty, ashamed, and angry all at once. What if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, and I ended up married to that cheating scumbag? Would her wedding present be to tell me she had slept with him first? I wouldn’t put it past her to do such a thing. She had done that before with my boyfriends, and I guess this one was just as vulnerable to her advances as the last one. “He gave me the best Christmas present ever.” My sister crowed with delight. I could imagine her tenderly touching her belly. “This is good news. I have wanted grandchildren, and the last grandchild I would have expected would be from you; you have never kept a relationship for long.” Mum said, sounding excited at the news. “What now?” My sister asked, still playing the perfect victim. “We get married?’ My now ex-boyfriend suggested —sounds more like a question. “What about Maxine?” My sister asked, as if I were an inconvenience that needed to be sorted out, and now they think about me, but it didn’t sound like concern. “What about her? This is about my first grandchild, and his or her safety comes first. She will have to live with it.” My mother spat, revealing that famous favoritism, because she had always taken my sister's side in everything, even when proven wrong. They never backed me up. “I am technically her boyfriend.” He started to say something, but was interrupted. “Not anymore, you're not. I will arrange with the local publican to hire the outdoor garden area, and we shall have an engagement party this Saturday. Get that sorted before you start to show, and Maxine will show her support.” Dad’s voice floated out, sounding resolute. I had no say in this, not that I wanted to be his girlfriend any longer; he had proven not to be what I wanted in a guy. “She will have to leave. I need her room for the nursery. I would prefer it if she didn't attend the engagement party. What will those who know she was the real girlfriend show up, and see that it was not Maxine getting engaged?” Mum added. Yep, that was my mother, trying to regain her dignity and save face. I couldn’t take it any longer. I was devastated enough, and listening further to their support for the love for the cheater was eating me up inside. I didn’t want to cry in front of them; the tears were a mix of anger and hurt. I pushed the door open, revealing myself standing there. All faces turned to look at me. “Let me get this straight. You took my boyfriend to MY bed, did the dirty with him, leaving your mess in my bed, as a sort of Christmas present for me. Guess that made your day, thinking I was sleeping in your mess. Now you want my bedroom for the child baby you have created, and I am what, just pushed out the door? Like yesterday’s trash?” I asked to ensure I understood correctly that the whole family was fine with me being tossed aside. “Exactly, I am taking your boyfriend, your bedroom, and you, my dear sister, have to move out.” My sister sounded like she had won the lottery. Her face beamed at her triumph. “Fine with me.” The look of shock would have made me laugh if I were not so numb inside. I moved away to my room and packed what I could into my duffel bag. I will come back for the rest later, when they are not around. My heart was breaking, not because I lost my boyfriend, although that hurt a lot, considering that what I was going to give him for his present today was saved for doing something foolish at least. But also because both parents were supporting this deception, as if it were the best news they had received in a while, that they had been trying to get rid of me for a while, and now succeeded in a spectacular way. I walked downstairs and looked at them. “When I find a place to stay, I will be back for the rest.” I spat at them, a mixture of hurt, anger, and defeat. I never fit into the family, a black sheep, so maybe I should become one. I had always had top grades, won awards, done my best, but even being first, I was still last. My best friend was the only place I could think of going to; it had to be temporary. Jenny will be cool and let me sleep on her couch till I find a new home. I climbed onto my bike and took off to the only sanctuary I had over the years. Jenny welcomed me into her home, like I knew she would, and together we had a pity party consisting of beer and vanilla fudge ice cream. We called the family and my ex some interesting names, some of which I had never heard before, but they sounded good. The drunker I got, the more inventive the names became. The next morning, after waking up on Jenny’s couch and remembering yesterday, it did not go as planned. I pulled myself together, had a quick shower, and left for work. It was eight in the morning, and Jenny was still asleep when I left. That might be okay for some, but my workday today would be ten hours long, and I was running late. “You're late, night must have gone better than planned,” Mike said jovially. They sort of knew what I was planning last night. The others chuckled along with Mike. I grumbled some shiet and got to work. By the end of the day, Mike pulled me to his office. “Okay, out with it. The guys have been tiptoeing around you all day. What happened? He rejected your advances?” He asked, his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, looking at me with concerned eyes, a father figure, better than my dad had ever been. So, I told him what happened when I got home and where I spent the night, and now I'm looking for a place to stay. I was proud of myself; I didn’t cry, or whine, or show any emotion at all —just explained my predicament in cold, emotionless words. Clear and succinct. He said he wouldn’t say anything in the shop, but would talk to the prez. I had no idea why, but I was not in the right frame of mind to question it. Maxine POV Today was my sister's engagement party; engaged to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, you heard me right, my ex. What a joke that was. I had been dating Dan for six months when my sister, who was a year older than I, came home for Christmas and ended up in bed with my boyfriend. She’s a shameless woman, always has been, but I never expected him to sleep with her. I thought we were secure in our relationship. The only good thing I took away from this was that I never went to bed with him; my virginity card was still intact, not that I was trying to keep it - I just never got the chance to lose it. She always managed to have any guy I was interested in dump me for her, and when she got bored with them, she’d move on. So, in a way, I didn’t have a boyfriend till she moved out of her home and headed to college. But when my sister came home and met him, she seduced him and got pregnant. He did the whole ‘get down on one knee and proposed’ scene. Apparently, it was romantic, but I wasn't there when he did it because they didn’t want me around. It hurt a lot at the time, and I was glad to have my girlfriends around me, helping me get over it. They say, I dodged a bullet. I agree with them, stupidly. He might have been a sports jock with good looks, but doing this tells me he was weak and shallow, and I was too good for him, or so my BFF says. I prefer to believe them over the excuses my ex made. I had to move out of my home after I had a massive fight with my parents a few days ago, when the truth was exposed; they supported her, not me, and the next thing I knew, I was out the door and the evil sister. The engagement party was intended to introduce him to her friends and make the relationship official, but I was not invited. My parents want nothing to do with me. I made them all uncomfortable, considering he was my boyfriend first. Anyone working out the timeline for the baby can piece it together, and see they were cheating on me, and it would have been awkward, and too many questions would have been raised. Not that I needed to say all of that, I kind of said it all before, but grrrrr, I am so angry at how my so-called ‘family’ kicked me out of my so-called home, with no care for me or my feelings. It was easier to push me away and disown me than have to explain to them that my sister cheated with my boyfriend, and hey presto, a baby was on the way. Because I was kicked out of the house, and only had a short time to pack anything, I took the opportunity of the party to sneak into the house and take more of my possessions, like opening my father's safe, and grabbing every piece of paper relating to me, and a little money too, no a lot of money, and grandma’s jewelry that she left me. So, with the help of my BFF, we packed my belongings and took them to her place until I found a new one. I ride a motorcycle, so I need help. I have the money to buy a new place, but I'm unsure if I want to stay in this town now. Once my apprenticeship is over, I might move away. I stayed that night at Jenny’s place, as I figured out what to do. Today, I am moving into my new place —a bungalow above the bike shop where I work. I am in my final year of apprenticeship, and I am a motorcycle mechanic, proud of it, I might add. I can also work on cars and trucks. If it had a motor, I could fix it; I always could, thanks to my knack for it, which I developed since I was eight, when I fell in love with engines. My Grandpa taught me, kept me out of everyone's way. I guess you could say I was a tomboy, with no frills and lace. My Grandpa kept me sane and busy, so the BS in our house didn’t hurt me as much. The place has two bedrooms and is fully contained, meaning it has everything I need. I had purchased some new sheets and towels, that sort of thing, but it had a fully stocked kitchen; I only needed to buy the food. It might be small, and above a noisy bike shop, but at night it was a quiet area. No one would break into this shop; the local bikie gang owned it. They were good guys, scary, but so far, no trouble for me. My BFF, Jenny, was helping me take my belongings upstairs when a group of bikers arrived and assisted us. I had five boxes and two suitcases filled with all sorts of items. “Thanks, guys, for the help,” I said sweetly, my BFF batting her eyes at them and swaying her hips suggestively as she walked and thanked them. She makes me laugh with her antics, which are totally opposite to mine. I like jeans and am rarely seen in a dress, whereas she was seldom seen in jeans. “We got a party at the clubhouse, tomorrow Saturday, you should come and relax a bit, bring your girls with ya,” Bruiser suggested as he threw his arm over my shoulder, walked me to the settee, pushed me down, and handed me a beer they had brought with them. This was how they acted around me, ordered me about. Sometimes, I'm okay with it; other times, I get all worked up and growl back at them. Today was acceptance. I know they mean well, and I feel lucky to have them as family; they try to make me feel better. “That sounds like a blast, count me in, and I can bring two other girl friends with us. Max, do you want me to pick you up?” Jenny offered, taking a beer from one of the guys. She was not a beer drinker; however, in this situation, I could see her not refusing anything they offered. I guess I'm going, whether I want to or not. “No, I’ll ride over,” I replied as one of the guys ordered pizza. “That’s the spirit. Nothing like the wind in your hair to blow the cobwebs away.” They stayed because they didn’t want me to be alone, not on my first night here. Pizza arrived not long after, and my little bungalow was soon feeling too small and crowded, with six huge bikers in the room. Some sat on the floor; others pulled up one of the three kitchen chairs. I know, I know, three chairs sound odd, but that's what was here, and beggars can’t be choosers; the rent was dirt cheap, and I think the boys are the ones to make sure I had everything I needed. They found out about my situation the next day, because, I was still quiet at work, which was not like me, often I am singing to the radio, or swearing at something, so one of the guys approached me, to find out what gives, and I softly told them, what went down, and when word got around the bikers heard I needed a place to stay, because I was kicked out of my home and why, they came to me, like protective brothers. Now I have a whole gang of bikers who have my back. I feel privileged to call them friends. They even offered to rough the ex up for me, but I refused the offer, because strangely, I was happy to get rid of the loser if he was a cheating build. Better now than when I am fully invested in our relationship. Plus, I was in deep enough shite with my parents and sister without making it worse. The pizza was gone, my BFF left for home, and the guys did too. It was late, well, for me, midnight. I usually fall asleep quickly because I have to be up for work at five. Tomorrow, being Saturday, I have the morning shift before the party later. They let me leave work early so I can move in here. “Hey, don’t forget to come, we need our prettiest mechanic at the party, some of the boys might need a tune-up,” Bruiser said with a laugh as they climbed on their bikes and left. I know what sort of tune-up he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with a motor. I looked around my new home. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. The guys were great; they took the empty pizza boxes and beer cans with them, and the place was relatively clean. Not at all what you would expect from a group of rowdy men. The clubhouse. I had never been to it, despite having worked there for nearly four years, and they had never extended an invitation to me. I know they had lots of parties; maybe I was too young. I turned twenty recently, but they might think of me as the fifteen-year-old who showed up one day and told the boss I was going to be his apprentice. He laughed at first and said he would give me a go to prove myself. He thought I was joking and that I would be gone by the weekend, but over the holidays, I worked hard and have been here ever since. Maxine POV The beeping sound of my phone alarm made me sit up and look around. It took a moment to remember where I was. The room had a small curtain that barely kept the light out. There was a streetlight just outside my window. I can envisage myself getting better blackout curtains soon. Although it was annoying, it wasn't among my top priorities for making this a home. The shower was decent, with nice pressure. I followed my morning routine, only to realize how foolish I was to wake up so early, living above my place of work; I didn’t need to ride here. After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I still had half an hour before I needed to be at work. I had two ways to get into my place: one was through the back stairs, and the other was through the shop. With the code to turn off the alarm, I decided to head down and start work early. It was better than moving stuff around; I can do that later. I had a bike to finish by this afternoon. The customer would be here at two. Turned off the alarm, turned on the coffee pot, the radio, and headed to my workstation, where the fat boy was waiting for me to finish. I sat on the stool with casters and began my job, singing loudly to the heavy rock song that came on the radio as I installed the new spark plugs and double-checked the oil. It was a simple, easy-peasy service. Once finished, I started the bike up, let it idle while I made coffee, then returned to rev it a few times. It sounds lumpy, like it was just turning over perfectly; it was music to my ears. I love that throaty, deep, lumpy sound. You can feel it vibrate through my chest. “That’s a sound I loved to hear as I enter work.” My boss, Mike, said as I turned the bike off. “It’s ready to go, unless you want to take it out for a test ride. Want a coffee, pots hot.” I offered as I threw the dirty rag in the bin. “Sure, I will take the bike out for a spin, and you can make me a coffee.” He smirked as he grabbed the bike. I opened the garage door, and Mike took off. I smiled as he disappeared down the street, and I turned to make both of us coffee. If you hadn’t guessed already, I would drink a lot of coffee. I am not a fan of soft drinks or tea; for me, it's coffee or water. With a broom in hand, I began cleaning the shop. I am not out here very often, but I try to sweep the floor at least once a week; they have another apprentice who’s a second year, who gets to do most of the cleaning up, but he’s never here on a Saturday. The sound of the bike returning prompted me to pick up the two cups of coffee and head back out to the workshop. Mike had a massive grin on his face as he parked the bike. “Great job, you are our top mechanic. But don’t tell anyone, or I will have to deny it.” He joked, taking his coffee from my hand as he walked by, no doubt letting the customer know the bike was ready ahead of time. I moved to the next bike, which was a total rebuild; it had been in a minor accident, and while the frame was being checked, I would work on the engine and gearbox. It was the only job on my list at the moment. The bike owner was in no hurry; he had a broken leg, giving me a few weeks to work on his bike and any urgent jobs that might come into the shop. The client arrived and happily took possession of his bike, very happy with the job done. “I hear you’ve been invited to the club party tonight,” Mike said as he rang up the sale on the cash register. “Yep.” I said popping the ‘p’. “You can leave now, we have no more customers expected. Good job today.” It was close to one o’clock, near the time I would knock off. “Thanks, boss.” I saluted him and rushed upstairs, before he could change his mind. Giggling all the way up. I heard him chuckling as he locked the door below, behind me. I decided on a quick shower; I didn’t want to smell of oil when going to a party. Put on my skinny black jeans, a black blouse that had red flames on the back and on the pockets, black boots that had some chains around the ankle, and hair in a ponytail. I will get what we call helmet hair, so it's a waste to do much with it now. I use mascara and strawberry lip gloss, which is more to moisturize my lips, which tend to dry out when I ride my bike, and that's it. The last thing I grabbed before leaving was my jacket. My mum used to grumble that I wasn’t like my sister and put more effort into my appearance, but I like who I am, and I didn’t like wearing lots of makeup; it was my choice, and I feel that I am not a frilly, lacey chick. It was a deal breaker with my mum. She had my sister dress up and left me in the care of Grandpa until he died when I was seventeen. It broke me when he left the world. He was the only person who got me. My grandma had been gone since I was young, and I filled the hole in his heart with my love for bikes and fishing. He left me his money and bikes. Dad got his house and business. My mum hated that I gained all that money. When Grandma died, she left me her jewelry, and Grandpa made sure to keep it safe till I was old enough to have it. I ate something and put some more of my stuff in the cupboards before my phone chimed to let me know my girlfriends were on their way to the party. I pulled my bike out of the small garage and started it up. I threw my leg over and took off, heading to the property. The clubhouse was half an hour out of town, set on a large property a little bit back from the road. Ten minutes later, I came up behind the girls and hung out behind them. My friend waved me on to take the lead. I shrugged and overtook her. The turn off arrived, and I rode happily up the long drive, and trees lined the road. An open, large steel gate appeared, and I was glad it was still enough light to see clearly. Men stood by the entrance, watching us arrive. “Hey.” I greeted the biggest man I had ever seen. “Who invited you here?” The man asked gruffly, in a deep husky voice. “Bruiser,” I answered, with a firm, clear voice, hoping that the fact that he frightened me would be noticed in my voice. He pulled out his phone and called, I assumed, Bruiser. “Max?” He asked, as he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. He said something more and hung up the phone. “Come in, the car behind your girls?” He looked at the car behind, which clearly had a woman in it. “Yep,” I replied, not at all liking how he intimidated me with his manner. Perhaps it was the way they greeted strangers. One look makes the weak run. Well, I am not weak, and I won't be running. Maxine POV This rather large biker leaned in to look inside the car, his bulky figure partially blocking the open window, causing the girl nearest it to back away. Satisfied, he looked at me with a knowing smirk, then motioned for us to enter. The clubhouse was nothing like I had imagined. Firstly, it was four levels high. Verandah all the way around, that I could see. It was more like a mansion than a clubhouse. Women were gathered near the door, looking in, as if they were waiting for something; some were sitting on the wooden fence that surrounded the verandah. They were dressed in barely anything, showing all that was available, some love that sort of thing. People like me dress to stay warm or cool and don’t care about showing off the goods. Bikes sat in neat rows in front, and cars were parked to the left of the building; the ratio of bikes to cars was approximately four bikes to one car. I parked the bike with the others, climbed off, and took off my helmet. I placed the lid on the bike and shook out my hair while waiting for the girls to park and come to me. I heard some muffled scoffs, but I couldn’t care less —I wasn't here to please them. Bruiser came out of the clubhouse behind me. “Max, you came by bike. Sweet.” He gave me a gentle squeeze and moved to take a closer look at my bike. The paint job was a wolf, fading in smoke. It took me months to finish, as I kept changing my mind, and the smoke obscured the mistakes. “Who did the paint job?” He asked as he moved around to look at it from all sides. “Me.” I was proud of the results. “Does Mike know you can paint?” He sounded surprised. “He has seen my bike when I used the garage to do a service. He never asked who did the paint work, just that he liked it.” “Sweet, looks like we have someone to do touch-ups, and possibly a full paint job. We have a family reunion in a few weeks, and the ladies are invited to come along. You can join us.” Bruiser offered as my ladies arrived; they were not included in that invitation, I assumed, because I have a bike. “Bruiser, you already met Jenny, Melony, Karen, and Heather, my other BFF, and Alice, Karen's sister, and BFF to my sister.” Adding that comment, hoping that Bruiser knew precisely what that woman was like. Alice battered her eyes and leaned forward to show off what was under that almost shirt. My ladies greeted him with the respect he deserved. “Ladies. Hands out.” Bruiser stamped the girl's backs of their hands; they all had a bear, except Alice, who had a rabbit on her hand. I frowned, trying to figure out what the rabbit was all about. He pushed my hand away. “You are family, no need for a stamp.” I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my face. I felt so special. Then the shoe dropped. Rabbit meant she would open her legs. Bruiser got my meaning loud and clear. It took a while to understand the purpose of the stamps. “Come inside and meet the ole ladies.” I understood what he meant; these were ladies who had been claimed and had a different level of respect that those not claimed would never understand. I have met a few of them over the years and gained more insight into club life. They respect me as much as I respect them. We entered the place, and the girls who had been waiting outside gave us a dirty look, as they were still stopped from entering. “What's so special about them?” One pouted, but Bruiser ignored her. Inside was cleaner than I had expected —my fault for judging a group of men, since they often look messy when I see them at the shop. The place had a large, open space, with tables where you stand, as well as booths dotted along the walls, and stools at the bar, which ran the full length of the room. I loved the spacious room, the pictures on the walls, and some bike parts scattered about as decoration. A few barstools are bike seats; it was different, and it appealed to me. Being a lover of bikes. “Sticks.” I greeted her as we got closer to the ladies Bruiser was taking us to. “Hey, Maxie Max. How's it blowing?” She stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. This chick had no filter or personal space. Sticks was the President's; her real name was Sandra, but she was my height at five-nine, and she had no shape to her body, just a lovely bean pole, almost no chest to speak of, yet she had had two boys. Hence the name Sticks. “Doing better,” I replied. She would know what was going on. She introduced us to the other ladies with her, and it didn’t surprise me that Alice had already moved away from us before we had finished the introductions. “What’s her story?” Sticks asked as she watched Alice start to try her luck with the club men. “Same as my sister. Bruiser put a rabbit stamp on her hand.” Sticks and the other girl roared out laughing. “She will be used, abused, and kicked to the side by the time the night is over, and I doubt they would let her back in. We don’t need her sort in the club.” Maggie spouted as we watched a patch member knock her offer back. “The regulars are not going to like her working their turf. So, to speak.” Tootsie said, with a smirk, that the regulars know the rules and stick with them. Don’t approach a patch member; if interested, they will come to you. Nom’s are fair game. But most girls would prefer a patch member. Don’t touch a taken member; the women will gang up and make your life miserable if you feel one of theirs. Wait to be let into the clubhouse and then stay in the public area. No going upstairs uninvited. The first two floors are designated for guest rooms, while the top floor is reserved for permanent residences. Those who don’t have a home of their own to go to. They are private and not open to wandering girls. Don’t touch or sit on someone’s bike, unless you are given permission. The patched old ladies are the bosses of the girls; they tell you to leave or do something, and you do it. There were more rules for the girls visiting, but I couldn’t remember them all at that moment. None had applied to me until now. Alice had already broken at least three, to my knowledge. I am staying out of it. That rabbit on her hand told the members that she would open her legs for any of them, and no one would support her if she broke the rules. That she was not welcome to return, in other words, have your fun, and then kick her to the curb. The doors were opened to let the other girls in. They looked at us in the no-go zone and pouted. We were sitting in an off-limits area unless we were invited. From what I understood, they were here to spread their legs and give the guys some relief, but not become part of the family. They might be hopeful that something would change; it was rare for a patch member to take one of these ladies, who had most likely been with every unattached member of the gang, at some point. My girls left me with Sticks and wandered about with the other ladies, getting the tour of the place. “Want to look around?” Sticks were offered, and before I knew it, we were walking around the vast ground floor. “Ready to see the workshop, the guys might talk you into helping out, once they know who you are.” Sticks led me down a small pathway, lined with flowering shrubs, and to a set of large, farm-size sheds. Inside were bikes, some in bits, others crumpled from an accident, and others like they had just been detailed and were someone's pride and joy. There was a workshop here, where men were working on their bikes. They looked up at us when we entered and frowned. If Sticks were not with me, they would have most likely growled at me to get out. “Who’s this Sticks?” A monster of a man asked, in the deepest voice I have ever heard, he looked a lot like the man at the gate, but with more toned muscles, that I would love to run my fingers over. Just a tad taller, and although he looked big and scary, he made my lady parts sing in a way they had never sung before. Tank POV A few guys aren't into parties, so I stopped going until later in the night, when the girls who showed up were already taken. I dislike the women who come here hoping to adopt our lifestyle. I prefer to use my hand rather than one of those women. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my share of women; however, I had a girl who pushed me to take her, and when I did, she ended up in the hospital, because I am not exactly a little man, and I ripped her apart. She needed stitches, and I have not been with a woman since. Like my brother, we are both large men; he is six feet six inches tall, and I am six feet eight inches tall. He’s carrying extra weight, where I am all muscle. I pride myself on keeping in shape, but being this large has its downfall, and having a large build has had me worried about hurting another woman. No matter how much I might want to, I can’t; I never want to go through that again. The Prez was the only person who knew why I wouldn’t join the parties; he was with me when we took the girl to the hospital, she forgave me, and tried to pursue me to keep her, but I couldn’t. Each time I started to get intimate, I had flashes of her screams, and my confidence went down like a popped balloon. We were in the workshop, doing some minor tune-ups. As I prepare for our ride, I'm excited. When they bring the ladies, the men are usually in a better mood and on their best behavior. I was looking at rebuild. I started it last week. We have a few wrecks that need to be started; some have been sitting here far too long. We can only go so far before we need Mike's help. None of us was a mechanic. I was scratching my head, as I was almost at the end of my knowledge, when I heard someone enter, and a soft perfume that shouldn’t be in this shed hit my nose. Stick’s voice reached my ears, and I lifted my head up to look in her direction. “Who’s this Sticks?” The most beautiful girl I have ever seen had entered our sanctuary, a place where few girls are allowed, which made Sticks bring this beauty down to this dirt and grease, which was unexpectedly. “That is Max, from the shop, Mike's apprentice, who I think had finished her apprenticeship and is doing something extra on Harleys and getting some specialized license,” Banjo said as he moved forward to greet them. The others stood up and moved forward too, making me feel like a dill for not recognizing Max. Although I have only seen her a few times from a distance, and she was usually deep in bike repair, I barely got to see her face. We have not been introduced because I wouldn’t have forgotten that beauty if I had. Sticks introduced us all, and we greeted her before I decided I could use her help. I put the thoughts of what I wouldn’t mind doing to her behind me, not that I could do it. “Max, come look at this wreck. I am stuck with what to do next.” I called her over on the bike I was working on. “Tank, surely you could have waited for another day? She came for the party, not to work.” Sticks grumbled as Max walked to me. She was clean and smelled nice, and I had a fleeting moment of guilt for calling her over. The few times I had seen her, she was covered in oil and grease, wearing coveralls that hid her shapely figure. “Max, are you sure?” Sticks pulled on her hand to get her attention. “Yeah, I am more at home in here than out there,” Max said with a smile and turned back to me. “What's the problem?” She asked me to move forward and inspect the bike. I went into detail about what happened to the bike, what I had managed to do so far, and what I needed to move forward. Max removed her leather jacket and slung it over a nearby bike seat, then squatted down. For the next two hours, Max worked on the bike with me, guiding me through the tricky bits I couldn’t do. The others came forward and used this time as a sort of training session, and Max didn’t seem to mind at all. We asked questions as she worked on the bike, and she used me to lift the heavy parts. It was teamwork, and we completed more repairs in that time than I would have on my own. “Hey, Max,” Bruiser called out at the door. He stood with his legs apart, arms folded, and I wondered if we had done something wrong. “Back here.” She returned to the call of her name. He arrived and burst out laughing at us. “Max, I invited you to a party, you know, dancing and drinking, and socializing. This was not what I meant as a party.” He was still chuckling when the Prez walked in, with Sticks on his arm. “You still got her working out here?” Stick all but growled at us, when the Prez’s lady growls, we all listen. She’s the last person we want to make angry. “What?” I was confused, Max didn’t seem to mind, and we all were having a good time out here. “Hey, Prez. The party over?” Max calmly asked, but it sounded more like she had hoped it was. “Not even close, babes.” The Prez answered with a smile. He had gotten closer to Max over the years she had been at the bike shop. He had often talked about the female mechanic and her sassy ways. I had thought he was exaggerating, but after spending a little time with her, I was hooked. “We have nearly completed the repair job on Spider's bike. If we can have Max here for a few days, I bet we could hit the road by the end of the week.” I said it as it was my way of asking her to stay for a while and fix the bike. Spider was almost healed and ready to get back on his own bike. “Would have to ask Mike about that, she’s his employee, even if we own the shop, he runs it, and I don’t get involved with his employees,” Prez replied contemplatively. “He here?” I asked, as Mike often doesn’t show up at the weekend parties. “Yep, came half an hour ago.” Sticks answered as she handed Max a bottle of water. “Max, if Mike’s okay with it, would you work with us for a week, get some of these ready for the weekend ride?” Sparks asked, and I kicked myself for not considering that she might not want to spend a week here. “Sure, if Mike doesn’t need me, we have several bikes in for service before the ladies run.” Her sweet voice carried across the warehouse, and the guys nodded in understanding. “Thanks, babes,” Spike called out. Each one of us here enjoyed that she worked on our bikes; it might sound odd that we're letting a chick touch our bikes, but Max was not like most chicks. Who wants to sit on the bikes or lie on them? Max knows what she’s doing and has proven herself on numerous occasions. I wish I had known how attractive she was. Man, I had a semi since she walked in the door. The Prez will even let her ride her own bike, a privilege few ladies get. She was more part of the crew; no other girl I know works on bikes like she does, and her reputation over the time she's been an apprentice has been exemplary. Not a guy chaser. When word got out that our girl had been cheated on in the worst possible way, we all wanted to go and kill the man, even though half of us had never really met her, yeah, seen her in a distance, or legs poking out from under a truck, but never sat and talked with her before today. She was fun, had me chuckling a few times, but most of the time in here, she had been all about the bikes, and not flirting, like most chicks do when around us. They see the glamour of the lifestyle, but it's not for everyone. Maxine POV I was guided to a washroom on the side of the workshop, which had a deep steel sink and a shower, but no mirrors. There was a cupboard under the sink containing soaps and cleaning products, as well as a shelf with dark-colored towels. A door that led to a toilet, which was cleaner than I had expected. So far, this whole gang house had been cleaner than I thought a load of men would leave it. I had underestimated the guys and made assumptions about how guys I knew from school or parties would act; none of them were like that. Maybe it was because they are mostly men, whereas my experience had been with boys my age and lower. I cleaned the grease off my hands and arms and dried them. As I went through the routine of cleaning myself up, I thought about the party they had been pushing me to attend and how it had churned up my stomach. The last few times I went to a party, I was with my ex-boyfriend, and he ended up with my sister, so parties were not my thing. I always seem to lose something at parties. Mostly friends, who don’t like the fact that I don’t drink, I have never been a drinker, I might drink a beer to be sociable, and it would take me ages to finish it. Still, I never take shots and am never blind drunk. I had only once been drunk, and I didn’t like the feeling or the way it took me all day to recover, nor the hangover that seemed to be more than a headache. My friends get drunk, and I spend a lot of time cleaning up the messes they make, so I seem to be the one doing the cleanup most of the time, as they know I have their backs, even when I prefer not to do that part of it. I had just finished cleaning up when Tank came in, took one look at me, and started to chuckle. “What?” I asked, looking confused as he laughed. What did I do that was so funny? He didn’t say a word. He leaned over, picked up a cloth, and soaped it up, then gripped my chin in his huge hand, and gently wiped the side of my face, his eyes concentrating on the task, as if it was the most important job he had to do with care. He was so gentle, touching my face with soft, quick movements. His eyes then met mine, and I was lost in the deepest blue orbs I have ever seen. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat and blinked a few times to break the trance he had put me in, and took a step back, my body hitting the sink behind me. “You had some grease on your cheek.” He whispered in a husky voice so deep that it had my lady parts jumping for joy and need, something I am not familiar with. “Thank you,” I whispered back, my voice croaking, and I was shocked by the sound of my own voice; it was lower, warmer, and surprised me as much as Tank's did. His eyes widened at the husky sound. He took a step back and motioned with his hand for me to move past him. I quickly left the washroom and waited in the workshop, taking in the wrecks and wondering how badly the rider would have been hurt if the bike had looked like this. Hoping no one lost their lives. I thought about that for a while. I loved my bike, but I would never ditch it because I was scared. That the thought of falling off had never entered my mind, if I died while riding my bike, then I would have been doing what I love doing. I found I was okay with that. Not that I want to die, but I have thought about how I would like to go when my heart has been broken. “Hey, what are you doing still in here?” Rocket asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Hiding?” I joked back, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and came to stand beside me, looking at the bike I had been staring at. “Can it be fixed? It’s been sitting here for a long time, with no one having the skill to start repairing it. Well, they could give it a go, but this bike is so old that parts are almost impossible to get.” “Yeah, I can give it a try. I have some contacts who can obtain parts, but I can also manufacture some parts. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can come over on weekends and dedicate some time to it.” I suggested it would be a shame to let this panhead go to waste. There are enough pieces of the wrecked bike left to serve as a starting point. “Sweet, it will be good to see this bike out on the road again.” Rocket looked genuinely pleased that the bike could be restored. I restore old cars, trucks, and bikes with Grandpa. I have the equipment stored in a shed for when I have a place of my own to use the machines. I wonder if they have a shed where I can put them. I will need one of the machines. “Ready?” Tank asked; he had shed the work shirt and pulled on a gang shirt. His muscles are on display. Yummy. He makes me feel tiny when I am beside him. “Tank, Max said she can restore the baby.” Tank’s head turned to look at the wreck, and then at me. “For real? Max, can you do that?” Tank looked surprised. After spending a few hours with me, working on bikes, he had to ask that? “Yeah, I can, need to talk to the Prez about some space, but I can do it.” Both guys frowned and looked around the workshop. But they didn’t say anything. Or question me further. Tank put his hand on my lower back and gave a slight push, making me start to walk out of the workshop. It was dark out. Tank guided me to the back door, Rocket leading the way. He opened the door for me and waved me in, as if I were someone important. Causing me to giggle. Yeah, you heard me; I giggled like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous, and not something I had ever expected to come out of my mouth. The guys didn’t even blink at the giggle. The place was warm inside, vibrating with the loud thump of the bass. You could hardly hear the person next to you speak over the heavy music. It reeked of cigarettes and booze. The girls who had been at the door waiting to get in were busy with patch members kissing and almost doing the deed right there on the chair. Some were grinding their hips against the man below them, and the small amount of clothing they had on was even less now. I assumed they were well on their way to being drunk. This was a classic visual of why men lose respect for some kinds of women. I am embarrassed to see it in front of me. I looked around the room and saw my friends still with Sticks, and a couple of guys hanging around nearby. My friends look like they are having fun, and they have a few patch members who seem friendly to them. I hope the girls know what they are doing. The gang life was not for everyone. Dad had once spoken badly about gangs, and he hated it when I became an apprentice at the bike shop. Grandpa was the one who encouraged me to have an apprenticeship. He hated that Dad and Mum were backing my sister in everything, and maybe encouraging me to be a mechanic at the bike shop was his way to get back at Dad. Dad had even tried to get me to leave the bike shop when Grandpa had died. But I had made a pact with Grandpa that I wouldn’t give in to Dad. To live the life I want, and never give in, no matter what the consequences are. I wonder what Grandpa would say if he were alive and saw Dad kick me out of the family home, for the sake of my sister. He would be livered, that’s for sure. But I did as Grandpa said, stood firm, and stayed true to myself. “Hey Maxi Max, come join us. Cricket, grab Max an iced water.” Sticks patted the chair next to her, and before I could move to sit beside her, Tank grabbed me around the waist and took a couple of giant steps to the chair, and sat down, holding me on his lap. The girls looked at each other, then, between Tank and me, the confused look changed to a grin and a nod —whatever that was about.
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"“My guys found her. She’s at the MagDog clubhouse. Fixing their bikes.” “What?” Her father’s brow furrowed. “Then tell her to come home. Our business is drowning.” “She wouldn’t. Maxine sent back a message: ‘You gave my room to a bast3rd baby. I gave my keys to a biker.’” The room froze. Dan, Maxine’s ex-boyfriend, now her sister’s fiancé, remembered the last Christmas. Zoey’s moans. Maxine’s bed. Her white sheets. Zoey remembered stealing him—the third boyfriend she’d taken from her sister. And Mom and Dad never once said stop. Her parents remembered looking at their bleeding daughter and telling her to leave. For a nursery. For the cheater’s child. None of them had ever chosen her. “At least she’s safe,” her mother whispered, sobbing with regret. “Safe? She’s living above a bike shop. But she’s got the whole club at her back. Especially their giant—Tank. Six-foot-eight. Never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her. And... their president also sent a message.” “Go on,” her father urged, anxiety simmering beneath. “‘You didn’t want her. We do. Touch her fortune? We’ll end you.’” The words landed like a punch. No one moved. No one breathed. Outside, a Harley roared past the window. She didn’t even slow down." --- Maxine POV “Go home, you have worked too much overtime this week. Have an early night and give that boyfriend of yours an early treat.” My boss practically pushed me out the door, a wicked grin on his face. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’m going. I straddled my bike and started her up. This was going to be a great night. Today was my boyfriend's birthday, and I was going to give him my V-card as a special gift. I had brought new lingerie, black lace, see-through, and I had shaved my mound, leaving a trail that looked like an arrow pointing down to my juncture. I was ready to give him my all, my first, my heart, take the big plunge. I felt I was ready. I pulled into the driveway to see my sister's and my boyfriend’s cars. I had no idea my sister was coming home today. She was still at college in her final year, though I heard she wasn't doing so well. The poor golden girl has not met up with expectations, not that I was worried. My ex-boyfriend showed up three hours early; our date was not for a few more hours. What was he doing here already? Walking in the back door, I heard voices and headed towards them; they were in Dad’s office, with the door slightly ajar. I moved silently to the door and waited outside to hear what secrets they were having now. They occasionally do this when they are planning something and don’t want to include me, but I'm puzzled as to why my boyfriend and sister were included. “We never planned for it to happen.” My sister replied softly, as if she were some kind of victim; she was an expert at that. She should have been an actress; she would have won multiple Oscars by now. “When?” Dad asked, and I waited in the hallway to hear what this was all about. “Christmas day, we had too many of your special eggnogs, and things got heated. The party was more or less over; the presents had been given out, and the food had been eaten. We were all mulling around, talking, when Zoey said something, I don’t remember what—but we went upstairs to continue talking, and ended up in Maxine’s room. We did start by just talking, and before I knew it, we were kissing and things got heated, and ended up in her bed, like I said, and I was so lost in that moment that I forgot to use a protection. When we came out, no one seemed to notice we had been gone, so we pretended it never happened.” My boyfriend replied, and my heart just hit the floor, as I took in that my sister and boyfriend did the dirty in my bed at Christmas. MY BED. I slept in that bed, with their mess on the sheets. I feel suddenly sick at that thought. How could they do that to me? She stole another boyfriend from me again. But he was just as much to blame; I guess our relationship was not that strong yet. Not on his side at least. He continued to pretend, kissing me and taking me out on dates, as if that never happened. What a jerk. Now I feel cheated, dirty, ashamed, and angry all at once. What if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, and I ended up married to that cheating scumbag? Would her wedding present be to tell me she had slept with him first? I wouldn’t put it past her to do such a thing. She had done that before with my boyfriends, and I guess this one was just as vulnerable to her advances as the last one. “He gave me the best Christmas present ever.” My sister crowed with delight. I could imagine her tenderly touching her belly. “This is good news. I have wanted grandchildren, and the last grandchild I would have expected would be from you; you have never kept a relationship for long.” Mum said, sounding excited at the news. “What now?” My sister asked, still playing the perfect victim. “We get married?’ My now ex-boyfriend suggested —sounds more like a question. “What about Maxine?” My sister asked, as if I were an inconvenience that needed to be sorted out, and now they think about me, but it didn’t sound like concern. “What about her? This is about my first grandchild, and his or her safety comes first. She will have to live with it.” My mother spat, revealing that famous favoritism, because she had always taken my sister's side in everything, even when proven wrong. They never backed me up. “I am technically her boyfriend.” He started to say something, but was interrupted. “Not anymore, you're not. I will arrange with the local publican to hire the outdoor garden area, and we shall have an engagement party this Saturday. Get that sorted before you start to show, and Maxine will show her support.” Dad’s voice floated out, sounding resolute. I had no say in this, not that I wanted to be his girlfriend any longer; he had proven not to be what I wanted in a guy. “She will have to leave. I need her room for the nursery. I would prefer it if she didn't attend the engagement party. What will those who know she was the real girlfriend show up, and see that it was not Maxine getting engaged?” Mum added. Yep, that was my mother, trying to regain her dignity and save face. I couldn’t take it any longer. I was devastated enough, and listening further to their support for the love for the cheater was eating me up inside. I didn’t want to cry in front of them; the tears were a mix of anger and hurt. I pushed the door open, revealing myself standing there. All faces turned to look at me. “Let me get this straight. You took my boyfriend to MY bed, did the dirty with him, leaving your mess in my bed, as a sort of Christmas present for me. Guess that made your day, thinking I was sleeping in your mess. Now you want my bedroom for the child baby you have created, and I am what, just pushed out the door? Like yesterday’s trash?” I asked to ensure I understood correctly that the whole family was fine with me being tossed aside. “Exactly, I am taking your boyfriend, your bedroom, and you, my dear sister, have to move out.” My sister sounded like she had won the lottery. Her face beamed at her triumph. “Fine with me.” The look of shock would have made me laugh if I were not so numb inside. I moved away to my room and packed what I could into my duffel bag. I will come back for the rest later, when they are not around. My heart was breaking, not because I lost my boyfriend, although that hurt a lot, considering that what I was going to give him for his present today was saved for doing something foolish at least. But also because both parents were supporting this deception, as if it were the best news they had received in a while, that they had been trying to get rid of me for a while, and now succeeded in a spectacular way. I walked downstairs and looked at them. “When I find a place to stay, I will be back for the rest.” I spat at them, a mixture of hurt, anger, and defeat. I never fit into the family, a black sheep, so maybe I should become one. I had always had top grades, won awards, done my best, but even being first, I was still last. My best friend was the only place I could think of going to; it had to be temporary. Jenny will be cool and let me sleep on her couch till I find a new home. I climbed onto my bike and took off to the only sanctuary I had over the years. Jenny welcomed me into her home, like I knew she would, and together we had a pity party consisting of beer and vanilla fudge ice cream. We called the family and my ex some interesting names, some of which I had never heard before, but they sounded good. The drunker I got, the more inventive the names became. The next morning, after waking up on Jenny’s couch and remembering yesterday, it did not go as planned. I pulled myself together, had a quick shower, and left for work. It was eight in the morning, and Jenny was still asleep when I left. That might be okay for some, but my workday today would be ten hours long, and I was running late. “You're late, night must have gone better than planned,” Mike said jovially. They sort of knew what I was planning last night. The others chuckled along with Mike. I grumbled some shiet and got to work. By the end of the day, Mike pulled me to his office. “Okay, out with it. The guys have been tiptoeing around you all day. What happened? He rejected your advances?” He asked, his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, looking at me with concerned eyes, a father figure, better than my dad had ever been. So, I told him what happened when I got home and where I spent the night, and now I'm looking for a place to stay. I was proud of myself; I didn’t cry, or whine, or show any emotion at all —just explained my predicament in cold, emotionless words. Clear and succinct. He said he wouldn’t say anything in the shop, but would talk to the prez. I had no idea why, but I was not in the right frame of mind to question it. Maxine POV Today was my sister's engagement party; engaged to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, you heard me right, my ex. What a joke that was. I had been dating Dan for six months when my sister, who was a year older than I, came home for Christmas and ended up in bed with my boyfriend. She’s a shameless woman, always has been, but I never expected him to sleep with her. I thought we were secure in our relationship. The only good thing I took away from this was that I never went to bed with him; my virginity card was still intact, not that I was trying to keep it - I just never got the chance to lose it. She always managed to have any guy I was interested in dump me for her, and when she got bored with them, she’d move on. So, in a way, I didn’t have a boyfriend till she moved out of her home and headed to college. But when my sister came home and met him, she seduced him and got pregnant. He did the whole ‘get down on one knee and proposed’ scene. Apparently, it was romantic, but I wasn't there when he did it because they didn’t want me around. It hurt a lot at the time, and I was glad to have my girlfriends around me, helping me get over it. They say, I dodged a bullet. I agree with them, stupidly. He might have been a sports jock with good looks, but doing this tells me he was weak and shallow, and I was too good for him, or so my BFF says. I prefer to believe them over the excuses my ex made. I had to move out of my home after I had a massive fight with my parents a few days ago, when the truth was exposed; they supported her, not me, and the next thing I knew, I was out the door and the evil sister. The engagement party was intended to introduce him to her friends and make the relationship official, but I was not invited. My parents want nothing to do with me. I made them all uncomfortable, considering he was my boyfriend first. Anyone working out the timeline for the baby can piece it together, and see they were cheating on me, and it would have been awkward, and too many questions would have been raised. Not that I needed to say all of that, I kind of said it all before, but grrrrr, I am so angry at how my so-called ‘family’ kicked me out of my so-called home, with no care for me or my feelings. It was easier to push me away and disown me than have to explain to them that my sister cheated with my boyfriend, and hey presto, a baby was on the way. Because I was kicked out of the house, and only had a short time to pack anything, I took the opportunity of the party to sneak into the house and take more of my possessions, like opening my father's safe, and grabbing every piece of paper relating to me, and a little money too, no a lot of money, and grandma’s jewelry that she left me. So, with the help of my BFF, we packed my belongings and took them to her place until I found a new one. I ride a motorcycle, so I need help. I have the money to buy a new place, but I'm unsure if I want to stay in this town now. Once my apprenticeship is over, I might move away. I stayed that night at Jenny’s place, as I figured out what to do. Today, I am moving into my new place —a bungalow above the bike shop where I work. I am in my final year of apprenticeship, and I am a motorcycle mechanic, proud of it, I might add. I can also work on cars and trucks. If it had a motor, I could fix it; I always could, thanks to my knack for it, which I developed since I was eight, when I fell in love with engines. My Grandpa taught me, kept me out of everyone's way. I guess you could say I was a tomboy, with no frills and lace. My Grandpa kept me sane and busy, so the BS in our house didn’t hurt me as much. The place has two bedrooms and is fully contained, meaning it has everything I need. I had purchased some new sheets and towels, that sort of thing, but it had a fully stocked kitchen; I only needed to buy the food. It might be small, and above a noisy bike shop, but at night it was a quiet area. No one would break into this shop; the local bikie gang owned it. They were good guys, scary, but so far, no trouble for me. My BFF, Jenny, was helping me take my belongings upstairs when a group of bikers arrived and assisted us. I had five boxes and two suitcases filled with all sorts of items. “Thanks, guys, for the help,” I said sweetly, my BFF batting her eyes at them and swaying her hips suggestively as she walked and thanked them. She makes me laugh with her antics, which are totally opposite to mine. I like jeans and am rarely seen in a dress, whereas she was seldom seen in jeans. “We got a party at the clubhouse, tomorrow Saturday, you should come and relax a bit, bring your girls with ya,” Bruiser suggested as he threw his arm over my shoulder, walked me to the settee, pushed me down, and handed me a beer they had brought with them. This was how they acted around me, ordered me about. Sometimes, I'm okay with it; other times, I get all worked up and growl back at them. Today was acceptance. I know they mean well, and I feel lucky to have them as family; they try to make me feel better. “That sounds like a blast, count me in, and I can bring two other girl friends with us. Max, do you want me to pick you up?” Jenny offered, taking a beer from one of the guys. She was not a beer drinker; however, in this situation, I could see her not refusing anything they offered. I guess I'm going, whether I want to or not. “No, I’ll ride over,” I replied as one of the guys ordered pizza. “That’s the spirit. Nothing like the wind in your hair to blow the cobwebs away.” They stayed because they didn’t want me to be alone, not on my first night here. Pizza arrived not long after, and my little bungalow was soon feeling too small and crowded, with six huge bikers in the room. Some sat on the floor; others pulled up one of the three kitchen chairs. I know, I know, three chairs sound odd, but that's what was here, and beggars can’t be choosers; the rent was dirt cheap, and I think the boys are the ones to make sure I had everything I needed. They found out about my situation the next day, because, I was still quiet at work, which was not like me, often I am singing to the radio, or swearing at something, so one of the guys approached me, to find out what gives, and I softly told them, what went down, and when word got around the bikers heard I needed a place to stay, because I was kicked out of my home and why, they came to me, like protective brothers. Now I have a whole gang of bikers who have my back. I feel privileged to call them friends. They even offered to rough the ex up for me, but I refused the offer, because strangely, I was happy to get rid of the loser if he was a cheating build. Better now than when I am fully invested in our relationship. Plus, I was in deep enough shite with my parents and sister without making it worse. The pizza was gone, my BFF left for home, and the guys did too. It was late, well, for me, midnight. I usually fall asleep quickly because I have to be up for work at five. Tomorrow, being Saturday, I have the morning shift before the party later. They let me leave work early so I can move in here. “Hey, don’t forget to come, we need our prettiest mechanic at the party, some of the boys might need a tune-up,” Bruiser said with a laugh as they climbed on their bikes and left. I know what sort of tune-up he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with a motor. I looked around my new home. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. The guys were great; they took the empty pizza boxes and beer cans with them, and the place was relatively clean. Not at all what you would expect from a group of rowdy men. The clubhouse. I had never been to it, despite having worked there for nearly four years, and they had never extended an invitation to me. I know they had lots of parties; maybe I was too young. I turned twenty recently, but they might think of me as the fifteen-year-old who showed up one day and told the boss I was going to be his apprentice. He laughed at first and said he would give me a go to prove myself. He thought I was joking and that I would be gone by the weekend, but over the holidays, I worked hard and have been here ever since. Maxine POV The beeping sound of my phone alarm made me sit up and look around. It took a moment to remember where I was. The room had a small curtain that barely kept the light out. There was a streetlight just outside my window. I can envisage myself getting better blackout curtains soon. Although it was annoying, it wasn't among my top priorities for making this a home. The shower was decent, with nice pressure. I followed my morning routine, only to realize how foolish I was to wake up so early, living above my place of work; I didn’t need to ride here. After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I still had half an hour before I needed to be at work. I had two ways to get into my place: one was through the back stairs, and the other was through the shop. With the code to turn off the alarm, I decided to head down and start work early. It was better than moving stuff around; I can do that later. I had a bike to finish by this afternoon. The customer would be here at two. Turned off the alarm, turned on the coffee pot, the radio, and headed to my workstation, where the fat boy was waiting for me to finish. I sat on the stool with casters and began my job, singing loudly to the heavy rock song that came on the radio as I installed the new spark plugs and double-checked the oil. It was a simple, easy-peasy service. Once finished, I started the bike up, let it idle while I made coffee, then returned to rev it a few times. It sounds lumpy, like it was just turning over perfectly; it was music to my ears. I love that throaty, deep, lumpy sound. You can feel it vibrate through my chest. “That’s a sound I loved to hear as I enter work.” My boss, Mike, said as I turned the bike off. “It’s ready to go, unless you want to take it out for a test ride. Want a coffee, pots hot.” I offered as I threw the dirty rag in the bin. “Sure, I will take the bike out for a spin, and you can make me a coffee.” He smirked as he grabbed the bike. I opened the garage door, and Mike took off. I smiled as he disappeared down the street, and I turned to make both of us coffee. If you hadn’t guessed already, I would drink a lot of coffee. I am not a fan of soft drinks or tea; for me, it's coffee or water. With a broom in hand, I began cleaning the shop. I am not out here very often, but I try to sweep the floor at least once a week; they have another apprentice who’s a second year, who gets to do most of the cleaning up, but he’s never here on a Saturday. The sound of the bike returning prompted me to pick up the two cups of coffee and head back out to the workshop. Mike had a massive grin on his face as he parked the bike. “Great job, you are our top mechanic. But don’t tell anyone, or I will have to deny it.” He joked, taking his coffee from my hand as he walked by, no doubt letting the customer know the bike was ready ahead of time. I moved to the next bike, which was a total rebuild; it had been in a minor accident, and while the frame was being checked, I would work on the engine and gearbox. It was the only job on my list at the moment. The bike owner was in no hurry; he had a broken leg, giving me a few weeks to work on his bike and any urgent jobs that might come into the shop. The client arrived and happily took possession of his bike, very happy with the job done. “I hear you’ve been invited to the club party tonight,” Mike said as he rang up the sale on the cash register. “Yep.” I said popping the ‘p’. “You can leave now, we have no more customers expected. Good job today.” It was close to one o’clock, near the time I would knock off. “Thanks, boss.” I saluted him and rushed upstairs, before he could change his mind. Giggling all the way up. I heard him chuckling as he locked the door below, behind me. I decided on a quick shower; I didn’t want to smell of oil when going to a party. Put on my skinny black jeans, a black blouse that had red flames on the back and on the pockets, black boots that had some chains around the ankle, and hair in a ponytail. I will get what we call helmet hair, so it's a waste to do much with it now. I use mascara and strawberry lip gloss, which is more to moisturize my lips, which tend to dry out when I ride my bike, and that's it. The last thing I grabbed before leaving was my jacket. My mum used to grumble that I wasn’t like my sister and put more effort into my appearance, but I like who I am, and I didn’t like wearing lots of makeup; it was my choice, and I feel that I am not a frilly, lacey chick. It was a deal breaker with my mum. She had my sister dress up and left me in the care of Grandpa until he died when I was seventeen. It broke me when he left the world. He was the only person who got me. My grandma had been gone since I was young, and I filled the hole in his heart with my love for bikes and fishing. He left me his money and bikes. Dad got his house and business. My mum hated that I gained all that money. When Grandma died, she left me her jewelry, and Grandpa made sure to keep it safe till I was old enough to have it. I ate something and put some more of my stuff in the cupboards before my phone chimed to let me know my girlfriends were on their way to the party. I pulled my bike out of the small garage and started it up. I threw my leg over and took off, heading to the property. The clubhouse was half an hour out of town, set on a large property a little bit back from the road. Ten minutes later, I came up behind the girls and hung out behind them. My friend waved me on to take the lead. I shrugged and overtook her. The turn off arrived, and I rode happily up the long drive, and trees lined the road. An open, large steel gate appeared, and I was glad it was still enough light to see clearly. Men stood by the entrance, watching us arrive. “Hey.” I greeted the biggest man I had ever seen. “Who invited you here?” The man asked gruffly, in a deep husky voice. “Bruiser,” I answered, with a firm, clear voice, hoping that the fact that he frightened me would be noticed in my voice. He pulled out his phone and called, I assumed, Bruiser. “Max?” He asked, as he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. He said something more and hung up the phone. “Come in, the car behind your girls?” He looked at the car behind, which clearly had a woman in it. “Yep,” I replied, not at all liking how he intimidated me with his manner. Perhaps it was the way they greeted strangers. One look makes the weak run. Well, I am not weak, and I won't be running. Maxine POV This rather large biker leaned in to look inside the car, his bulky figure partially blocking the open window, causing the girl nearest it to back away. Satisfied, he looked at me with a knowing smirk, then motioned for us to enter. The clubhouse was nothing like I had imagined. Firstly, it was four levels high. Verandah all the way around, that I could see. It was more like a mansion than a clubhouse. Women were gathered near the door, looking in, as if they were waiting for something; some were sitting on the wooden fence that surrounded the verandah. They were dressed in barely anything, showing all that was available, some love that sort of thing. People like me dress to stay warm or cool and don’t care about showing off the goods. Bikes sat in neat rows in front, and cars were parked to the left of the building; the ratio of bikes to cars was approximately four bikes to one car. I parked the bike with the others, climbed off, and took off my helmet. I placed the lid on the bike and shook out my hair while waiting for the girls to park and come to me. I heard some muffled scoffs, but I couldn’t care less —I wasn't here to please them. Bruiser came out of the clubhouse behind me. “Max, you came by bike. Sweet.” He gave me a gentle squeeze and moved to take a closer look at my bike. The paint job was a wolf, fading in smoke. It took me months to finish, as I kept changing my mind, and the smoke obscured the mistakes. “Who did the paint job?” He asked as he moved around to look at it from all sides. “Me.” I was proud of the results. “Does Mike know you can paint?” He sounded surprised. “He has seen my bike when I used the garage to do a service. He never asked who did the paint work, just that he liked it.” “Sweet, looks like we have someone to do touch-ups, and possibly a full paint job. We have a family reunion in a few weeks, and the ladies are invited to come along. You can join us.” Bruiser offered as my ladies arrived; they were not included in that invitation, I assumed, because I have a bike. “Bruiser, you already met Jenny, Melony, Karen, and Heather, my other BFF, and Alice, Karen's sister, and BFF to my sister.” Adding that comment, hoping that Bruiser knew precisely what that woman was like. Alice battered her eyes and leaned forward to show off what was under that almost shirt. My ladies greeted him with the respect he deserved. “Ladies. Hands out.” Bruiser stamped the girl's backs of their hands; they all had a bear, except Alice, who had a rabbit on her hand. I frowned, trying to figure out what the rabbit was all about. He pushed my hand away. “You are family, no need for a stamp.” I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my face. I felt so special. Then the shoe dropped. Rabbit meant she would open her legs. Bruiser got my meaning loud and clear. It took a while to understand the purpose of the stamps. “Come inside and meet the ole ladies.” I understood what he meant; these were ladies who had been claimed and had a different level of respect that those not claimed would never understand. I have met a few of them over the years and gained more insight into club life. They respect me as much as I respect them. We entered the place, and the girls who had been waiting outside gave us a dirty look, as they were still stopped from entering. “What's so special about them?” One pouted, but Bruiser ignored her. Inside was cleaner than I had expected —my fault for judging a group of men, since they often look messy when I see them at the shop. The place had a large, open space, with tables where you stand, as well as booths dotted along the walls, and stools at the bar, which ran the full length of the room. I loved the spacious room, the pictures on the walls, and some bike parts scattered about as decoration. A few barstools are bike seats; it was different, and it appealed to me. Being a lover of bikes. “Sticks.” I greeted her as we got closer to the ladies Bruiser was taking us to. “Hey, Maxie Max. How's it blowing?” She stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. This chick had no filter or personal space. Sticks was the President's; her real name was Sandra, but she was my height at five-nine, and she had no shape to her body, just a lovely bean pole, almost no chest to speak of, yet she had had two boys. Hence the name Sticks. “Doing better,” I replied. She would know what was going on. She introduced us to the other ladies with her, and it didn’t surprise me that Alice had already moved away from us before we had finished the introductions. “What’s her story?” Sticks asked as she watched Alice start to try her luck with the club men. “Same as my sister. Bruiser put a rabbit stamp on her hand.” Sticks and the other girl roared out laughing. “She will be used, abused, and kicked to the side by the time the night is over, and I doubt they would let her back in. We don’t need her sort in the club.” Maggie spouted as we watched a patch member knock her offer back. “The regulars are not going to like her working their turf. So, to speak.” Tootsie said, with a smirk, that the regulars know the rules and stick with them. Don’t approach a patch member; if interested, they will come to you. Nom’s are fair game. But most girls would prefer a patch member. Don’t touch a taken member; the women will gang up and make your life miserable if you feel one of theirs. Wait to be let into the clubhouse and then stay in the public area. No going upstairs uninvited. The first two floors are designated for guest rooms, while the top floor is reserved for permanent residences. Those who don’t have a home of their own to go to. They are private and not open to wandering girls. Don’t touch or sit on someone’s bike, unless you are given permission. The patched old ladies are the bosses of the girls; they tell you to leave or do something, and you do it. There were more rules for the girls visiting, but I couldn’t remember them all at that moment. None had applied to me until now. Alice had already broken at least three, to my knowledge. I am staying out of it. That rabbit on her hand told the members that she would open her legs for any of them, and no one would support her if she broke the rules. That she was not welcome to return, in other words, have your fun, and then kick her to the curb. The doors were opened to let the other girls in. They looked at us in the no-go zone and pouted. We were sitting in an off-limits area unless we were invited. From what I understood, they were here to spread their legs and give the guys some relief, but not become part of the family. They might be hopeful that something would change; it was rare for a patch member to take one of these ladies, who had most likely been with every unattached member of the gang, at some point. My girls left me with Sticks and wandered about with the other ladies, getting the tour of the place. “Want to look around?” Sticks were offered, and before I knew it, we were walking around the vast ground floor. “Ready to see the workshop, the guys might talk you into helping out, once they know who you are.” Sticks led me down a small pathway, lined with flowering shrubs, and to a set of large, farm-size sheds. Inside were bikes, some in bits, others crumpled from an accident, and others like they had just been detailed and were someone's pride and joy. There was a workshop here, where men were working on their bikes. They looked up at us when we entered and frowned. If Sticks were not with me, they would have most likely growled at me to get out. “Who’s this Sticks?” A monster of a man asked, in the deepest voice I have ever heard, he looked a lot like the man at the gate, but with more toned muscles, that I would love to run my fingers over. Just a tad taller, and although he looked big and scary, he made my lady parts sing in a way they had never sung before. Tank POV A few guys aren't into parties, so I stopped going until later in the night, when the girls who showed up were already taken. I dislike the women who come here hoping to adopt our lifestyle. I prefer to use my hand rather than one of those women. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my share of women; however, I had a girl who pushed me to take her, and when I did, she ended up in the hospital, because I am not exactly a little man, and I ripped her apart. She needed stitches, and I have not been with a woman since. Like my brother, we are both large men; he is six feet six inches tall, and I am six feet eight inches tall. He’s carrying extra weight, where I am all muscle. I pride myself on keeping in shape, but being this large has its downfall, and having a large build has had me worried about hurting another woman. No matter how much I might want to, I can’t; I never want to go through that again. The Prez was the only person who knew why I wouldn’t join the parties; he was with me when we took the girl to the hospital, she forgave me, and tried to pursue me to keep her, but I couldn’t. Each time I started to get intimate, I had flashes of her screams, and my confidence went down like a popped balloon. We were in the workshop, doing some minor tune-ups. As I prepare for our ride, I'm excited. When they bring the ladies, the men are usually in a better mood and on their best behavior. I was looking at rebuild. I started it last week. We have a few wrecks that need to be started; some have been sitting here far too long. We can only go so far before we need Mike's help. None of us was a mechanic. I was scratching my head, as I was almost at the end of my knowledge, when I heard someone enter, and a soft perfume that shouldn’t be in this shed hit my nose. Stick’s voice reached my ears, and I lifted my head up to look in her direction. “Who’s this Sticks?” The most beautiful girl I have ever seen had entered our sanctuary, a place where few girls are allowed, which made Sticks bring this beauty down to this dirt and grease, which was unexpectedly. “That is Max, from the shop, Mike's apprentice, who I think had finished her apprenticeship and is doing something extra on Harleys and getting some specialized license,” Banjo said as he moved forward to greet them. The others stood up and moved forward too, making me feel like a dill for not recognizing Max. Although I have only seen her a few times from a distance, and she was usually deep in bike repair, I barely got to see her face. We have not been introduced because I wouldn’t have forgotten that beauty if I had. Sticks introduced us all, and we greeted her before I decided I could use her help. I put the thoughts of what I wouldn’t mind doing to her behind me, not that I could do it. “Max, come look at this wreck. I am stuck with what to do next.” I called her over on the bike I was working on. “Tank, surely you could have waited for another day? She came for the party, not to work.” Sticks grumbled as Max walked to me. She was clean and smelled nice, and I had a fleeting moment of guilt for calling her over. The few times I had seen her, she was covered in oil and grease, wearing coveralls that hid her shapely figure. “Max, are you sure?” Sticks pulled on her hand to get her attention. “Yeah, I am more at home in here than out there,” Max said with a smile and turned back to me. “What's the problem?” She asked me to move forward and inspect the bike. I went into detail about what happened to the bike, what I had managed to do so far, and what I needed to move forward. Max removed her leather jacket and slung it over a nearby bike seat, then squatted down. For the next two hours, Max worked on the bike with me, guiding me through the tricky bits I couldn’t do. The others came forward and used this time as a sort of training session, and Max didn’t seem to mind at all. We asked questions as she worked on the bike, and she used me to lift the heavy parts. It was teamwork, and we completed more repairs in that time than I would have on my own. “Hey, Max,” Bruiser called out at the door. He stood with his legs apart, arms folded, and I wondered if we had done something wrong. “Back here.” She returned to the call of her name. He arrived and burst out laughing at us. “Max, I invited you to a party, you know, dancing and drinking, and socializing. This was not what I meant as a party.” He was still chuckling when the Prez walked in, with Sticks on his arm. “You still got her working out here?” Stick all but growled at us, when the Prez’s lady growls, we all listen. She’s the last person we want to make angry. “What?” I was confused, Max didn’t seem to mind, and we all were having a good time out here. “Hey, Prez. The party over?” Max calmly asked, but it sounded more like she had hoped it was. “Not even close, babes.” The Prez answered with a smile. He had gotten closer to Max over the years she had been at the bike shop. He had often talked about the female mechanic and her sassy ways. I had thought he was exaggerating, but after spending a little time with her, I was hooked. “We have nearly completed the repair job on Spider's bike. If we can have Max here for a few days, I bet we could hit the road by the end of the week.” I said it as it was my way of asking her to stay for a while and fix the bike. Spider was almost healed and ready to get back on his own bike. “Would have to ask Mike about that, she’s his employee, even if we own the shop, he runs it, and I don’t get involved with his employees,” Prez replied contemplatively. “He here?” I asked, as Mike often doesn’t show up at the weekend parties. “Yep, came half an hour ago.” Sticks answered as she handed Max a bottle of water. “Max, if Mike’s okay with it, would you work with us for a week, get some of these ready for the weekend ride?” Sparks asked, and I kicked myself for not considering that she might not want to spend a week here. “Sure, if Mike doesn’t need me, we have several bikes in for service before the ladies run.” Her sweet voice carried across the warehouse, and the guys nodded in understanding. “Thanks, babes,” Spike called out. Each one of us here enjoyed that she worked on our bikes; it might sound odd that we're letting a chick touch our bikes, but Max was not like most chicks. Who wants to sit on the bikes or lie on them? Max knows what she’s doing and has proven herself on numerous occasions. I wish I had known how attractive she was. Man, I had a semi since she walked in the door. The Prez will even let her ride her own bike, a privilege few ladies get. She was more part of the crew; no other girl I know works on bikes like she does, and her reputation over the time she's been an apprentice has been exemplary. Not a guy chaser. When word got out that our girl had been cheated on in the worst possible way, we all wanted to go and kill the man, even though half of us had never really met her, yeah, seen her in a distance, or legs poking out from under a truck, but never sat and talked with her before today. She was fun, had me chuckling a few times, but most of the time in here, she had been all about the bikes, and not flirting, like most chicks do when around us. They see the glamour of the lifestyle, but it's not for everyone. Maxine POV I was guided to a washroom on the side of the workshop, which had a deep steel sink and a shower, but no mirrors. There was a cupboard under the sink containing soaps and cleaning products, as well as a shelf with dark-colored towels. A door that led to a toilet, which was cleaner than I had expected. So far, this whole gang house had been cleaner than I thought a load of men would leave it. I had underestimated the guys and made assumptions about how guys I knew from school or parties would act; none of them were like that. Maybe it was because they are mostly men, whereas my experience had been with boys my age and lower. I cleaned the grease off my hands and arms and dried them. As I went through the routine of cleaning myself up, I thought about the party they had been pushing me to attend and how it had churned up my stomach. The last few times I went to a party, I was with my ex-boyfriend, and he ended up with my sister, so parties were not my thing. I always seem to lose something at parties. Mostly friends, who don’t like the fact that I don’t drink, I have never been a drinker, I might drink a beer to be sociable, and it would take me ages to finish it. Still, I never take shots and am never blind drunk. I had only once been drunk, and I didn’t like the feeling or the way it took me all day to recover, nor the hangover that seemed to be more than a headache. My friends get drunk, and I spend a lot of time cleaning up the messes they make, so I seem to be the one doing the cleanup most of the time, as they know I have their backs, even when I prefer not to do that part of it. I had just finished cleaning up when Tank came in, took one look at me, and started to chuckle. “What?” I asked, looking confused as he laughed. What did I do that was so funny? He didn’t say a word. He leaned over, picked up a cloth, and soaped it up, then gripped my chin in his huge hand, and gently wiped the side of my face, his eyes concentrating on the task, as if it was the most important job he had to do with care. He was so gentle, touching my face with soft, quick movements. His eyes then met mine, and I was lost in the deepest blue orbs I have ever seen. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat and blinked a few times to break the trance he had put me in, and took a step back, my body hitting the sink behind me. “You had some grease on your cheek.” He whispered in a husky voice so deep that it had my lady parts jumping for joy and need, something I am not familiar with. “Thank you,” I whispered back, my voice croaking, and I was shocked by the sound of my own voice; it was lower, warmer, and surprised me as much as Tank's did. His eyes widened at the husky sound. He took a step back and motioned with his hand for me to move past him. I quickly left the washroom and waited in the workshop, taking in the wrecks and wondering how badly the rider would have been hurt if the bike had looked like this. Hoping no one lost their lives. I thought about that for a while. I loved my bike, but I would never ditch it because I was scared. That the thought of falling off had never entered my mind, if I died while riding my bike, then I would have been doing what I love doing. I found I was okay with that. Not that I want to die, but I have thought about how I would like to go when my heart has been broken. “Hey, what are you doing still in here?” Rocket asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Hiding?” I joked back, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and came to stand beside me, looking at the bike I had been staring at. “Can it be fixed? It’s been sitting here for a long time, with no one having the skill to start repairing it. Well, they could give it a go, but this bike is so old that parts are almost impossible to get.” “Yeah, I can give it a try. I have some contacts who can obtain parts, but I can also manufacture some parts. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can come over on weekends and dedicate some time to it.” I suggested it would be a shame to let this panhead go to waste. There are enough pieces of the wrecked bike left to serve as a starting point. “Sweet, it will be good to see this bike out on the road again.” Rocket looked genuinely pleased that the bike could be restored. I restore old cars, trucks, and bikes with Grandpa. I have the equipment stored in a shed for when I have a place of my own to use the machines. I wonder if they have a shed where I can put them. I will need one of the machines. “Ready?” Tank asked; he had shed the work shirt and pulled on a gang shirt. His muscles are on display. Yummy. He makes me feel tiny when I am beside him. “Tank, Max said she can restore the baby.” Tank’s head turned to look at the wreck, and then at me. “For real? Max, can you do that?” Tank looked surprised. After spending a few hours with me, working on bikes, he had to ask that? “Yeah, I can, need to talk to the Prez about some space, but I can do it.” Both guys frowned and looked around the workshop. But they didn’t say anything. Or question me further. Tank put his hand on my lower back and gave a slight push, making me start to walk out of the workshop. It was dark out. Tank guided me to the back door, Rocket leading the way. He opened the door for me and waved me in, as if I were someone important. Causing me to giggle. Yeah, you heard me; I giggled like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous, and not something I had ever expected to come out of my mouth. The guys didn’t even blink at the giggle. The place was warm inside, vibrating with the loud thump of the bass. You could hardly hear the person next to you speak over the heavy music. It reeked of cigarettes and booze. The girls who had been at the door waiting to get in were busy with patch members kissing and almost doing the deed right there on the chair. Some were grinding their hips against the man below them, and the small amount of clothing they had on was even less now. I assumed they were well on their way to being drunk. This was a classic visual of why men lose respect for some kinds of women. I am embarrassed to see it in front of me. I looked around the room and saw my friends still with Sticks, and a couple of guys hanging around nearby. My friends look like they are having fun, and they have a few patch members who seem friendly to them. I hope the girls know what they are doing. The gang life was not for everyone. Dad had once spoken badly about gangs, and he hated it when I became an apprentice at the bike shop. Grandpa was the one who encouraged me to have an apprenticeship. He hated that Dad and Mum were backing my sister in everything, and maybe encouraging me to be a mechanic at the bike shop was his way to get back at Dad. Dad had even tried to get me to leave the bike shop when Grandpa had died. But I had made a pact with Grandpa that I wouldn’t give in to Dad. To live the life I want, and never give in, no matter what the consequences are. I wonder what Grandpa would say if he were alive and saw Dad kick me out of the family home, for the sake of my sister. He would be livered, that’s for sure. But I did as Grandpa said, stood firm, and stayed true to myself. “Hey Maxi Max, come join us. Cricket, grab Max an iced water.” Sticks patted the chair next to her, and before I could move to sit beside her, Tank grabbed me around the waist and took a couple of giant steps to the chair, and sat down, holding me on his lap. The girls looked at each other, then, between Tank and me, the confused look changed to a grin and a nod —whatever that was about.
"“My guys found her. She’s at the MagDog clubhouse. Fixing their bikes.” “What?” Her father’s brow furrowed. “Then tell her to come home. Our business is drowning.” “She wouldn’t. Maxine sent back a message: ‘You gave my room to a bast3rd baby. I gave my keys to a biker.’” The room froze. Dan, Maxine’s ex-boyfriend, now her sister’s fiancé, remembered the last Christmas. Zoey’s moans. Maxine’s bed. Her white sheets. Zoey remembered stealing him—the third boyfriend she’d taken from her sister. And Mom and Dad never once said stop. Her parents remembered looking at their bleeding daughter and telling her to leave. For a nursery. For the cheater’s child. None of them had ever chosen her. “At least she’s safe,” her mother whispered, sobbing with regret. “Safe? She’s living above a bike shop. But she’s got the whole club at her back. Especially their giant—Tank. Six-foot-eight. Never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her. And... their president also sent a message.” “Go on,” her father urged, anxiety simmering beneath. “‘You didn’t want her. We do. Touch her fortune? We’ll end you.’” The words landed like a punch. No one moved. No one breathed. Outside, a Harley roared past the window. She didn’t even slow down." --- Maxine POV “Go home, you have worked too much overtime this week. Have an early night and give that boyfriend of yours an early treat.” My boss practically pushed me out the door, a wicked grin on his face. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’m going. I straddled my bike and started her up. This was going to be a great night. Today was my boyfriend's birthday, and I was going to give him my V-card as a special gift. I had brought new lingerie, black lace, see-through, and I had shaved my mound, leaving a trail that looked like an arrow pointing down to my juncture. I was ready to give him my all, my first, my heart, take the big plunge. I felt I was ready. I pulled into the driveway to see my sister's and my boyfriend’s cars. I had no idea my sister was coming home today. She was still at college in her final year, though I heard she wasn't doing so well. The poor golden girl has not met up with expectations, not that I was worried. My ex-boyfriend showed up three hours early; our date was not for a few more hours. What was he doing here already? Walking in the back door, I heard voices and headed towards them; they were in Dad’s office, with the door slightly ajar. I moved silently to the door and waited outside to hear what secrets they were having now. They occasionally do this when they are planning something and don’t want to include me, but I'm puzzled as to why my boyfriend and sister were included. “We never planned for it to happen.” My sister replied softly, as if she were some kind of victim; she was an expert at that. She should have been an actress; she would have won multiple Oscars by now. “When?” Dad asked, and I waited in the hallway to hear what this was all about. “Christmas day, we had too many of your special eggnogs, and things got heated. The party was more or less over; the presents had been given out, and the food had been eaten. We were all mulling around, talking, when Zoey said something, I don’t remember what—but we went upstairs to continue talking, and ended up in Maxine’s room. We did start by just talking, and before I knew it, we were kissing and things got heated, and ended up in her bed, like I said, and I was so lost in that moment that I forgot to use a protection. When we came out, no one seemed to notice we had been gone, so we pretended it never happened.” My boyfriend replied, and my heart just hit the floor, as I took in that my sister and boyfriend did the dirty in my bed at Christmas. MY BED. I slept in that bed, with their mess on the sheets. I feel suddenly sick at that thought. How could they do that to me? She stole another boyfriend from me again. But he was just as much to blame; I guess our relationship was not that strong yet. Not on his side at least. He continued to pretend, kissing me and taking me out on dates, as if that never happened. What a jerk. Now I feel cheated, dirty, ashamed, and angry all at once. What if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, and I ended up married to that cheating scumbag? Would her wedding present be to tell me she had slept with him first? I wouldn’t put it past her to do such a thing. She had done that before with my boyfriends, and I guess this one was just as vulnerable to her advances as the last one. “He gave me the best Christmas present ever.” My sister crowed with delight. I could imagine her tenderly touching her belly. “This is good news. I have wanted grandchildren, and the last grandchild I would have expected would be from you; you have never kept a relationship for long.” Mum said, sounding excited at the news. “What now?” My sister asked, still playing the perfect victim. “We get married?’ My now ex-boyfriend suggested —sounds more like a question. “What about Maxine?” My sister asked, as if I were an inconvenience that needed to be sorted out, and now they think about me, but it didn’t sound like concern. “What about her? This is about my first grandchild, and his or her safety comes first. She will have to live with it.” My mother spat, revealing that famous favoritism, because she had always taken my sister's side in everything, even when proven wrong. They never backed me up. “I am technically her boyfriend.” He started to say something, but was interrupted. “Not anymore, you're not. I will arrange with the local publican to hire the outdoor garden area, and we shall have an engagement party this Saturday. Get that sorted before you start to show, and Maxine will show her support.” Dad’s voice floated out, sounding resolute. I had no say in this, not that I wanted to be his girlfriend any longer; he had proven not to be what I wanted in a guy. “She will have to leave. I need her room for the nursery. I would prefer it if she didn't attend the engagement party. What will those who know she was the real girlfriend show up, and see that it was not Maxine getting engaged?” Mum added. Yep, that was my mother, trying to regain her dignity and save face. I couldn’t take it any longer. I was devastated enough, and listening further to their support for the love for the cheater was eating me up inside. I didn’t want to cry in front of them; the tears were a mix of anger and hurt. I pushed the door open, revealing myself standing there. All faces turned to look at me. “Let me get this straight. You took my boyfriend to MY bed, did the dirty with him, leaving your mess in my bed, as a sort of Christmas present for me. Guess that made your day, thinking I was sleeping in your mess. Now you want my bedroom for the child baby you have created, and I am what, just pushed out the door? Like yesterday’s trash?” I asked to ensure I understood correctly that the whole family was fine with me being tossed aside. “Exactly, I am taking your boyfriend, your bedroom, and you, my dear sister, have to move out.” My sister sounded like she had won the lottery. Her face beamed at her triumph. “Fine with me.” The look of shock would have made me laugh if I were not so numb inside. I moved away to my room and packed what I could into my duffel bag. I will come back for the rest later, when they are not around. My heart was breaking, not because I lost my boyfriend, although that hurt a lot, considering that what I was going to give him for his present today was saved for doing something foolish at least. But also because both parents were supporting this deception, as if it were the best news they had received in a while, that they had been trying to get rid of me for a while, and now succeeded in a spectacular way. I walked downstairs and looked at them. “When I find a place to stay, I will be back for the rest.” I spat at them, a mixture of hurt, anger, and defeat. I never fit into the family, a black sheep, so maybe I should become one. I had always had top grades, won awards, done my best, but even being first, I was still last. My best friend was the only place I could think of going to; it had to be temporary. Jenny will be cool and let me sleep on her couch till I find a new home. I climbed onto my bike and took off to the only sanctuary I had over the years. Jenny welcomed me into her home, like I knew she would, and together we had a pity party consisting of beer and vanilla fudge ice cream. We called the family and my ex some interesting names, some of which I had never heard before, but they sounded good. The drunker I got, the more inventive the names became. The next morning, after waking up on Jenny’s couch and remembering yesterday, it did not go as planned. I pulled myself together, had a quick shower, and left for work. It was eight in the morning, and Jenny was still asleep when I left. That might be okay for some, but my workday today would be ten hours long, and I was running late. “You're late, night must have gone better than planned,” Mike said jovially. They sort of knew what I was planning last night. The others chuckled along with Mike. I grumbled some shiet and got to work. By the end of the day, Mike pulled me to his office. “Okay, out with it. The guys have been tiptoeing around you all day. What happened? He rejected your advances?” He asked, his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, looking at me with concerned eyes, a father figure, better than my dad had ever been. So, I told him what happened when I got home and where I spent the night, and now I'm looking for a place to stay. I was proud of myself; I didn’t cry, or whine, or show any emotion at all —just explained my predicament in cold, emotionless words. Clear and succinct. He said he wouldn’t say anything in the shop, but would talk to the prez. I had no idea why, but I was not in the right frame of mind to question it. Maxine POV Today was my sister's engagement party; engaged to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, you heard me right, my ex. What a joke that was. I had been dating Dan for six months when my sister, who was a year older than I, came home for Christmas and ended up in bed with my boyfriend. She’s a shameless woman, always has been, but I never expected him to sleep with her. I thought we were secure in our relationship. The only good thing I took away from this was that I never went to bed with him; my virginity card was still intact, not that I was trying to keep it - I just never got the chance to lose it. She always managed to have any guy I was interested in dump me for her, and when she got bored with them, she’d move on. So, in a way, I didn’t have a boyfriend till she moved out of her home and headed to college. But when my sister came home and met him, she seduced him and got pregnant. He did the whole ‘get down on one knee and proposed’ scene. Apparently, it was romantic, but I wasn't there when he did it because they didn’t want me around. It hurt a lot at the time, and I was glad to have my girlfriends around me, helping me get over it. They say, I dodged a bullet. I agree with them, stupidly. He might have been a sports jock with good looks, but doing this tells me he was weak and shallow, and I was too good for him, or so my BFF says. I prefer to believe them over the excuses my ex made. I had to move out of my home after I had a massive fight with my parents a few days ago, when the truth was exposed; they supported her, not me, and the next thing I knew, I was out the door and the evil sister. The engagement party was intended to introduce him to her friends and make the relationship official, but I was not invited. My parents want nothing to do with me. I made them all uncomfortable, considering he was my boyfriend first. Anyone working out the timeline for the baby can piece it together, and see they were cheating on me, and it would have been awkward, and too many questions would have been raised. Not that I needed to say all of that, I kind of said it all before, but grrrrr, I am so angry at how my so-called ‘family’ kicked me out of my so-called home, with no care for me or my feelings. It was easier to push me away and disown me than have to explain to them that my sister cheated with my boyfriend, and hey presto, a baby was on the way. Because I was kicked out of the house, and only had a short time to pack anything, I took the opportunity of the party to sneak into the house and take more of my possessions, like opening my father's safe, and grabbing every piece of paper relating to me, and a little money too, no a lot of money, and grandma’s jewelry that she left me. So, with the help of my BFF, we packed my belongings and took them to her place until I found a new one. I ride a motorcycle, so I need help. I have the money to buy a new place, but I'm unsure if I want to stay in this town now. Once my apprenticeship is over, I might move away. I stayed that night at Jenny’s place, as I figured out what to do. Today, I am moving into my new place —a bungalow above the bike shop where I work. I am in my final year of apprenticeship, and I am a motorcycle mechanic, proud of it, I might add. I can also work on cars and trucks. If it had a motor, I could fix it; I always could, thanks to my knack for it, which I developed since I was eight, when I fell in love with engines. My Grandpa taught me, kept me out of everyone's way. I guess you could say I was a tomboy, with no frills and lace. My Grandpa kept me sane and busy, so the BS in our house didn’t hurt me as much. The place has two bedrooms and is fully contained, meaning it has everything I need. I had purchased some new sheets and towels, that sort of thing, but it had a fully stocked kitchen; I only needed to buy the food. It might be small, and above a noisy bike shop, but at night it was a quiet area. No one would break into this shop; the local bikie gang owned it. They were good guys, scary, but so far, no trouble for me. My BFF, Jenny, was helping me take my belongings upstairs when a group of bikers arrived and assisted us. I had five boxes and two suitcases filled with all sorts of items. “Thanks, guys, for the help,” I said sweetly, my BFF batting her eyes at them and swaying her hips suggestively as she walked and thanked them. She makes me laugh with her antics, which are totally opposite to mine. I like jeans and am rarely seen in a dress, whereas she was seldom seen in jeans. “We got a party at the clubhouse, tomorrow Saturday, you should come and relax a bit, bring your girls with ya,” Bruiser suggested as he threw his arm over my shoulder, walked me to the settee, pushed me down, and handed me a beer they had brought with them. This was how they acted around me, ordered me about. Sometimes, I'm okay with it; other times, I get all worked up and growl back at them. Today was acceptance. I know they mean well, and I feel lucky to have them as family; they try to make me feel better. “That sounds like a blast, count me in, and I can bring two other girl friends with us. Max, do you want me to pick you up?” Jenny offered, taking a beer from one of the guys. She was not a beer drinker; however, in this situation, I could see her not refusing anything they offered. I guess I'm going, whether I want to or not. “No, I’ll ride over,” I replied as one of the guys ordered pizza. “That’s the spirit. Nothing like the wind in your hair to blow the cobwebs away.” They stayed because they didn’t want me to be alone, not on my first night here. Pizza arrived not long after, and my little bungalow was soon feeling too small and crowded, with six huge bikers in the room. Some sat on the floor; others pulled up one of the three kitchen chairs. I know, I know, three chairs sound odd, but that's what was here, and beggars can’t be choosers; the rent was dirt cheap, and I think the boys are the ones to make sure I had everything I needed. They found out about my situation the next day, because, I was still quiet at work, which was not like me, often I am singing to the radio, or swearing at something, so one of the guys approached me, to find out what gives, and I softly told them, what went down, and when word got around the bikers heard I needed a place to stay, because I was kicked out of my home and why, they came to me, like protective brothers. Now I have a whole gang of bikers who have my back. I feel privileged to call them friends. They even offered to rough the ex up for me, but I refused the offer, because strangely, I was happy to get rid of the loser if he was a cheating build. Better now than when I am fully invested in our relationship. Plus, I was in deep enough shite with my parents and sister without making it worse. The pizza was gone, my BFF left for home, and the guys did too. It was late, well, for me, midnight. I usually fall asleep quickly because I have to be up for work at five. Tomorrow, being Saturday, I have the morning shift before the party later. They let me leave work early so I can move in here. “Hey, don’t forget to come, we need our prettiest mechanic at the party, some of the boys might need a tune-up,” Bruiser said with a laugh as they climbed on their bikes and left. I know what sort of tune-up he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with a motor. I looked around my new home. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. The guys were great; they took the empty pizza boxes and beer cans with them, and the place was relatively clean. Not at all what you would expect from a group of rowdy men. The clubhouse. I had never been to it, despite having worked there for nearly four years, and they had never extended an invitation to me. I know they had lots of parties; maybe I was too young. I turned twenty recently, but they might think of me as the fifteen-year-old who showed up one day and told the boss I was going to be his apprentice. He laughed at first and said he would give me a go to prove myself. He thought I was joking and that I would be gone by the weekend, but over the holidays, I worked hard and have been here ever since. Maxine POV The beeping sound of my phone alarm made me sit up and look around. It took a moment to remember where I was. The room had a small curtain that barely kept the light out. There was a streetlight just outside my window. I can envisage myself getting better blackout curtains soon. Although it was annoying, it wasn't among my top priorities for making this a home. The shower was decent, with nice pressure. I followed my morning routine, only to realize how foolish I was to wake up so early, living above my place of work; I didn’t need to ride here. After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I still had half an hour before I needed to be at work. I had two ways to get into my place: one was through the back stairs, and the other was through the shop. With the code to turn off the alarm, I decided to head down and start work early. It was better than moving stuff around; I can do that later. I had a bike to finish by this afternoon. The customer would be here at two. Turned off the alarm, turned on the coffee pot, the radio, and headed to my workstation, where the fat boy was waiting for me to finish. I sat on the stool with casters and began my job, singing loudly to the heavy rock song that came on the radio as I installed the new spark plugs and double-checked the oil. It was a simple, easy-peasy service. Once finished, I started the bike up, let it idle while I made coffee, then returned to rev it a few times. It sounds lumpy, like it was just turning over perfectly; it was music to my ears. I love that throaty, deep, lumpy sound. You can feel it vibrate through my chest. “That’s a sound I loved to hear as I enter work.” My boss, Mike, said as I turned the bike off. “It’s ready to go, unless you want to take it out for a test ride. Want a coffee, pots hot.” I offered as I threw the dirty rag in the bin. “Sure, I will take the bike out for a spin, and you can make me a coffee.” He smirked as he grabbed the bike. I opened the garage door, and Mike took off. I smiled as he disappeared down the street, and I turned to make both of us coffee. If you hadn’t guessed already, I would drink a lot of coffee. I am not a fan of soft drinks or tea; for me, it's coffee or water. With a broom in hand, I began cleaning the shop. I am not out here very often, but I try to sweep the floor at least once a week; they have another apprentice who’s a second year, who gets to do most of the cleaning up, but he’s never here on a Saturday. The sound of the bike returning prompted me to pick up the two cups of coffee and head back out to the workshop. Mike had a massive grin on his face as he parked the bike. “Great job, you are our top mechanic. But don’t tell anyone, or I will have to deny it.” He joked, taking his coffee from my hand as he walked by, no doubt letting the customer know the bike was ready ahead of time. I moved to the next bike, which was a total rebuild; it had been in a minor accident, and while the frame was being checked, I would work on the engine and gearbox. It was the only job on my list at the moment. The bike owner was in no hurry; he had a broken leg, giving me a few weeks to work on his bike and any urgent jobs that might come into the shop. The client arrived and happily took possession of his bike, very happy with the job done. “I hear you’ve been invited to the club party tonight,” Mike said as he rang up the sale on the cash register. “Yep.” I said popping the ‘p’. “You can leave now, we have no more customers expected. Good job today.” It was close to one o’clock, near the time I would knock off. “Thanks, boss.” I saluted him and rushed upstairs, before he could change his mind. Giggling all the way up. I heard him chuckling as he locked the door below, behind me. I decided on a quick shower; I didn’t want to smell of oil when going to a party. Put on my skinny black jeans, a black blouse that had red flames on the back and on the pockets, black boots that had some chains around the ankle, and hair in a ponytail. I will get what we call helmet hair, so it's a waste to do much with it now. I use mascara and strawberry lip gloss, which is more to moisturize my lips, which tend to dry out when I ride my bike, and that's it. The last thing I grabbed before leaving was my jacket. My mum used to grumble that I wasn’t like my sister and put more effort into my appearance, but I like who I am, and I didn’t like wearing lots of makeup; it was my choice, and I feel that I am not a frilly, lacey chick. It was a deal breaker with my mum. She had my sister dress up and left me in the care of Grandpa until he died when I was seventeen. It broke me when he left the world. He was the only person who got me. My grandma had been gone since I was young, and I filled the hole in his heart with my love for bikes and fishing. He left me his money and bikes. Dad got his house and business. My mum hated that I gained all that money. When Grandma died, she left me her jewelry, and Grandpa made sure to keep it safe till I was old enough to have it. I ate something and put some more of my stuff in the cupboards before my phone chimed to let me know my girlfriends were on their way to the party. I pulled my bike out of the small garage and started it up. I threw my leg over and took off, heading to the property. The clubhouse was half an hour out of town, set on a large property a little bit back from the road. Ten minutes later, I came up behind the girls and hung out behind them. My friend waved me on to take the lead. I shrugged and overtook her. The turn off arrived, and I rode happily up the long drive, and trees lined the road. An open, large steel gate appeared, and I was glad it was still enough light to see clearly. Men stood by the entrance, watching us arrive. “Hey.” I greeted the biggest man I had ever seen. “Who invited you here?” The man asked gruffly, in a deep husky voice. “Bruiser,” I answered, with a firm, clear voice, hoping that the fact that he frightened me would be noticed in my voice. He pulled out his phone and called, I assumed, Bruiser. “Max?” He asked, as he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. He said something more and hung up the phone. “Come in, the car behind your girls?” He looked at the car behind, which clearly had a woman in it. “Yep,” I replied, not at all liking how he intimidated me with his manner. Perhaps it was the way they greeted strangers. One look makes the weak run. Well, I am not weak, and I won't be running. Maxine POV This rather large biker leaned in to look inside the car, his bulky figure partially blocking the open window, causing the girl nearest it to back away. Satisfied, he looked at me with a knowing smirk, then motioned for us to enter. The clubhouse was nothing like I had imagined. Firstly, it was four levels high. Verandah all the way around, that I could see. It was more like a mansion than a clubhouse. Women were gathered near the door, looking in, as if they were waiting for something; some were sitting on the wooden fence that surrounded the verandah. They were dressed in barely anything, showing all that was available, some love that sort of thing. People like me dress to stay warm or cool and don’t care about showing off the goods. Bikes sat in neat rows in front, and cars were parked to the left of the building; the ratio of bikes to cars was approximately four bikes to one car. I parked the bike with the others, climbed off, and took off my helmet. I placed the lid on the bike and shook out my hair while waiting for the girls to park and come to me. I heard some muffled scoffs, but I couldn’t care less —I wasn't here to please them. Bruiser came out of the clubhouse behind me. “Max, you came by bike. Sweet.” He gave me a gentle squeeze and moved to take a closer look at my bike. The paint job was a wolf, fading in smoke. It took me months to finish, as I kept changing my mind, and the smoke obscured the mistakes. “Who did the paint job?” He asked as he moved around to look at it from all sides. “Me.” I was proud of the results. “Does Mike know you can paint?” He sounded surprised. “He has seen my bike when I used the garage to do a service. He never asked who did the paint work, just that he liked it.” “Sweet, looks like we have someone to do touch-ups, and possibly a full paint job. We have a family reunion in a few weeks, and the ladies are invited to come along. You can join us.” Bruiser offered as my ladies arrived; they were not included in that invitation, I assumed, because I have a bike. “Bruiser, you already met Jenny, Melony, Karen, and Heather, my other BFF, and Alice, Karen's sister, and BFF to my sister.” Adding that comment, hoping that Bruiser knew precisely what that woman was like. Alice battered her eyes and leaned forward to show off what was under that almost shirt. My ladies greeted him with the respect he deserved. “Ladies. Hands out.” Bruiser stamped the girl's backs of their hands; they all had a bear, except Alice, who had a rabbit on her hand. I frowned, trying to figure out what the rabbit was all about. He pushed my hand away. “You are family, no need for a stamp.” I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my face. I felt so special. Then the shoe dropped. Rabbit meant she would open her legs. Bruiser got my meaning loud and clear. It took a while to understand the purpose of the stamps. “Come inside and meet the ole ladies.” I understood what he meant; these were ladies who had been claimed and had a different level of respect that those not claimed would never understand. I have met a few of them over the years and gained more insight into club life. They respect me as much as I respect them. We entered the place, and the girls who had been waiting outside gave us a dirty look, as they were still stopped from entering. “What's so special about them?” One pouted, but Bruiser ignored her. Inside was cleaner than I had expected —my fault for judging a group of men, since they often look messy when I see them at the shop. The place had a large, open space, with tables where you stand, as well as booths dotted along the walls, and stools at the bar, which ran the full length of the room. I loved the spacious room, the pictures on the walls, and some bike parts scattered about as decoration. A few barstools are bike seats; it was different, and it appealed to me. Being a lover of bikes. “Sticks.” I greeted her as we got closer to the ladies Bruiser was taking us to. “Hey, Maxie Max. How's it blowing?” She stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. This chick had no filter or personal space. Sticks was the President's; her real name was Sandra, but she was my height at five-nine, and she had no shape to her body, just a lovely bean pole, almost no chest to speak of, yet she had had two boys. Hence the name Sticks. “Doing better,” I replied. She would know what was going on. She introduced us to the other ladies with her, and it didn’t surprise me that Alice had already moved away from us before we had finished the introductions. “What’s her story?” Sticks asked as she watched Alice start to try her luck with the club men. “Same as my sister. Bruiser put a rabbit stamp on her hand.” Sticks and the other girl roared out laughing. “She will be used, abused, and kicked to the side by the time the night is over, and I doubt they would let her back in. We don’t need her sort in the club.” Maggie spouted as we watched a patch member knock her offer back. “The regulars are not going to like her working their turf. So, to speak.” Tootsie said, with a smirk, that the regulars know the rules and stick with them. Don’t approach a patch member; if interested, they will come to you. Nom’s are fair game. But most girls would prefer a patch member. Don’t touch a taken member; the women will gang up and make your life miserable if you feel one of theirs. Wait to be let into the clubhouse and then stay in the public area. No going upstairs uninvited. The first two floors are designated for guest rooms, while the top floor is reserved for permanent residences. Those who don’t have a home of their own to go to. They are private and not open to wandering girls. Don’t touch or sit on someone’s bike, unless you are given permission. The patched old ladies are the bosses of the girls; they tell you to leave or do something, and you do it. There were more rules for the girls visiting, but I couldn’t remember them all at that moment. None had applied to me until now. Alice had already broken at least three, to my knowledge. I am staying out of it. That rabbit on her hand told the members that she would open her legs for any of them, and no one would support her if she broke the rules. That she was not welcome to return, in other words, have your fun, and then kick her to the curb. The doors were opened to let the other girls in. They looked at us in the no-go zone and pouted. We were sitting in an off-limits area unless we were invited. From what I understood, they were here to spread their legs and give the guys some relief, but not become part of the family. They might be hopeful that something would change; it was rare for a patch member to take one of these ladies, who had most likely been with every unattached member of the gang, at some point. My girls left me with Sticks and wandered about with the other ladies, getting the tour of the place. “Want to look around?” Sticks were offered, and before I knew it, we were walking around the vast ground floor. “Ready to see the workshop, the guys might talk you into helping out, once they know who you are.” Sticks led me down a small pathway, lined with flowering shrubs, and to a set of large, farm-size sheds. Inside were bikes, some in bits, others crumpled from an accident, and others like they had just been detailed and were someone's pride and joy. There was a workshop here, where men were working on their bikes. They looked up at us when we entered and frowned. If Sticks were not with me, they would have most likely growled at me to get out. “Who’s this Sticks?” A monster of a man asked, in the deepest voice I have ever heard, he looked a lot like the man at the gate, but with more toned muscles, that I would love to run my fingers over. Just a tad taller, and although he looked big and scary, he made my lady parts sing in a way they had never sung before. Tank POV A few guys aren't into parties, so I stopped going until later in the night, when the girls who showed up were already taken. I dislike the women who come here hoping to adopt our lifestyle. I prefer to use my hand rather than one of those women. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my share of women; however, I had a girl who pushed me to take her, and when I did, she ended up in the hospital, because I am not exactly a little man, and I ripped her apart. She needed stitches, and I have not been with a woman since. Like my brother, we are both large men; he is six feet six inches tall, and I am six feet eight inches tall. He’s carrying extra weight, where I am all muscle. I pride myself on keeping in shape, but being this large has its downfall, and having a large build has had me worried about hurting another woman. No matter how much I might want to, I can’t; I never want to go through that again. The Prez was the only person who knew why I wouldn’t join the parties; he was with me when we took the girl to the hospital, she forgave me, and tried to pursue me to keep her, but I couldn’t. Each time I started to get intimate, I had flashes of her screams, and my confidence went down like a popped balloon. We were in the workshop, doing some minor tune-ups. As I prepare for our ride, I'm excited. When they bring the ladies, the men are usually in a better mood and on their best behavior. I was looking at rebuild. I started it last week. We have a few wrecks that need to be started; some have been sitting here far too long. We can only go so far before we need Mike's help. None of us was a mechanic. I was scratching my head, as I was almost at the end of my knowledge, when I heard someone enter, and a soft perfume that shouldn’t be in this shed hit my nose. Stick’s voice reached my ears, and I lifted my head up to look in her direction. “Who’s this Sticks?” The most beautiful girl I have ever seen had entered our sanctuary, a place where few girls are allowed, which made Sticks bring this beauty down to this dirt and grease, which was unexpectedly. “That is Max, from the shop, Mike's apprentice, who I think had finished her apprenticeship and is doing something extra on Harleys and getting some specialized license,” Banjo said as he moved forward to greet them. The others stood up and moved forward too, making me feel like a dill for not recognizing Max. Although I have only seen her a few times from a distance, and she was usually deep in bike repair, I barely got to see her face. We have not been introduced because I wouldn’t have forgotten that beauty if I had. Sticks introduced us all, and we greeted her before I decided I could use her help. I put the thoughts of what I wouldn’t mind doing to her behind me, not that I could do it. “Max, come look at this wreck. I am stuck with what to do next.” I called her over on the bike I was working on. “Tank, surely you could have waited for another day? She came for the party, not to work.” Sticks grumbled as Max walked to me. She was clean and smelled nice, and I had a fleeting moment of guilt for calling her over. The few times I had seen her, she was covered in oil and grease, wearing coveralls that hid her shapely figure. “Max, are you sure?” Sticks pulled on her hand to get her attention. “Yeah, I am more at home in here than out there,” Max said with a smile and turned back to me. “What's the problem?” She asked me to move forward and inspect the bike. I went into detail about what happened to the bike, what I had managed to do so far, and what I needed to move forward. Max removed her leather jacket and slung it over a nearby bike seat, then squatted down. For the next two hours, Max worked on the bike with me, guiding me through the tricky bits I couldn’t do. The others came forward and used this time as a sort of training session, and Max didn’t seem to mind at all. We asked questions as she worked on the bike, and she used me to lift the heavy parts. It was teamwork, and we completed more repairs in that time than I would have on my own. “Hey, Max,” Bruiser called out at the door. He stood with his legs apart, arms folded, and I wondered if we had done something wrong. “Back here.” She returned to the call of her name. He arrived and burst out laughing at us. “Max, I invited you to a party, you know, dancing and drinking, and socializing. This was not what I meant as a party.” He was still chuckling when the Prez walked in, with Sticks on his arm. “You still got her working out here?” Stick all but growled at us, when the Prez’s lady growls, we all listen. She’s the last person we want to make angry. “What?” I was confused, Max didn’t seem to mind, and we all were having a good time out here. “Hey, Prez. The party over?” Max calmly asked, but it sounded more like she had hoped it was. “Not even close, babes.” The Prez answered with a smile. He had gotten closer to Max over the years she had been at the bike shop. He had often talked about the female mechanic and her sassy ways. I had thought he was exaggerating, but after spending a little time with her, I was hooked. “We have nearly completed the repair job on Spider's bike. If we can have Max here for a few days, I bet we could hit the road by the end of the week.” I said it as it was my way of asking her to stay for a while and fix the bike. Spider was almost healed and ready to get back on his own bike. “Would have to ask Mike about that, she’s his employee, even if we own the shop, he runs it, and I don’t get involved with his employees,” Prez replied contemplatively. “He here?” I asked, as Mike often doesn’t show up at the weekend parties. “Yep, came half an hour ago.” Sticks answered as she handed Max a bottle of water. “Max, if Mike’s okay with it, would you work with us for a week, get some of these ready for the weekend ride?” Sparks asked, and I kicked myself for not considering that she might not want to spend a week here. “Sure, if Mike doesn’t need me, we have several bikes in for service before the ladies run.” Her sweet voice carried across the warehouse, and the guys nodded in understanding. “Thanks, babes,” Spike called out. Each one of us here enjoyed that she worked on our bikes; it might sound odd that we're letting a chick touch our bikes, but Max was not like most chicks. Who wants to sit on the bikes or lie on them? Max knows what she’s doing and has proven herself on numerous occasions. I wish I had known how attractive she was. Man, I had a semi since she walked in the door. The Prez will even let her ride her own bike, a privilege few ladies get. She was more part of the crew; no other girl I know works on bikes like she does, and her reputation over the time she's been an apprentice has been exemplary. Not a guy chaser. When word got out that our girl had been cheated on in the worst possible way, we all wanted to go and kill the man, even though half of us had never really met her, yeah, seen her in a distance, or legs poking out from under a truck, but never sat and talked with her before today. She was fun, had me chuckling a few times, but most of the time in here, she had been all about the bikes, and not flirting, like most chicks do when around us. They see the glamour of the lifestyle, but it's not for everyone. Maxine POV I was guided to a washroom on the side of the workshop, which had a deep steel sink and a shower, but no mirrors. There was a cupboard under the sink containing soaps and cleaning products, as well as a shelf with dark-colored towels. A door that led to a toilet, which was cleaner than I had expected. So far, this whole gang house had been cleaner than I thought a load of men would leave it. I had underestimated the guys and made assumptions about how guys I knew from school or parties would act; none of them were like that. Maybe it was because they are mostly men, whereas my experience had been with boys my age and lower. I cleaned the grease off my hands and arms and dried them. As I went through the routine of cleaning myself up, I thought about the party they had been pushing me to attend and how it had churned up my stomach. The last few times I went to a party, I was with my ex-boyfriend, and he ended up with my sister, so parties were not my thing. I always seem to lose something at parties. Mostly friends, who don’t like the fact that I don’t drink, I have never been a drinker, I might drink a beer to be sociable, and it would take me ages to finish it. Still, I never take shots and am never blind drunk. I had only once been drunk, and I didn’t like the feeling or the way it took me all day to recover, nor the hangover that seemed to be more than a headache. My friends get drunk, and I spend a lot of time cleaning up the messes they make, so I seem to be the one doing the cleanup most of the time, as they know I have their backs, even when I prefer not to do that part of it. I had just finished cleaning up when Tank came in, took one look at me, and started to chuckle. “What?” I asked, looking confused as he laughed. What did I do that was so funny? He didn’t say a word. He leaned over, picked up a cloth, and soaped it up, then gripped my chin in his huge hand, and gently wiped the side of my face, his eyes concentrating on the task, as if it was the most important job he had to do with care. He was so gentle, touching my face with soft, quick movements. His eyes then met mine, and I was lost in the deepest blue orbs I have ever seen. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat and blinked a few times to break the trance he had put me in, and took a step back, my body hitting the sink behind me. “You had some grease on your cheek.” He whispered in a husky voice so deep that it had my lady parts jumping for joy and need, something I am not familiar with. “Thank you,” I whispered back, my voice croaking, and I was shocked by the sound of my own voice; it was lower, warmer, and surprised me as much as Tank's did. His eyes widened at the husky sound. He took a step back and motioned with his hand for me to move past him. I quickly left the washroom and waited in the workshop, taking in the wrecks and wondering how badly the rider would have been hurt if the bike had looked like this. Hoping no one lost their lives. I thought about that for a while. I loved my bike, but I would never ditch it because I was scared. That the thought of falling off had never entered my mind, if I died while riding my bike, then I would have been doing what I love doing. I found I was okay with that. Not that I want to die, but I have thought about how I would like to go when my heart has been broken. “Hey, what are you doing still in here?” Rocket asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Hiding?” I joked back, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and came to stand beside me, looking at the bike I had been staring at. “Can it be fixed? It’s been sitting here for a long time, with no one having the skill to start repairing it. Well, they could give it a go, but this bike is so old that parts are almost impossible to get.” “Yeah, I can give it a try. I have some contacts who can obtain parts, but I can also manufacture some parts. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can come over on weekends and dedicate some time to it.” I suggested it would be a shame to let this panhead go to waste. There are enough pieces of the wrecked bike left to serve as a starting point. “Sweet, it will be good to see this bike out on the road again.” Rocket looked genuinely pleased that the bike could be restored. I restore old cars, trucks, and bikes with Grandpa. I have the equipment stored in a shed for when I have a place of my own to use the machines. I wonder if they have a shed where I can put them. I will need one of the machines. “Ready?” Tank asked; he had shed the work shirt and pulled on a gang shirt. His muscles are on display. Yummy. He makes me feel tiny when I am beside him. “Tank, Max said she can restore the baby.” Tank’s head turned to look at the wreck, and then at me. “For real? Max, can you do that?” Tank looked surprised. After spending a few hours with me, working on bikes, he had to ask that? “Yeah, I can, need to talk to the Prez about some space, but I can do it.” Both guys frowned and looked around the workshop. But they didn’t say anything. Or question me further. Tank put his hand on my lower back and gave a slight push, making me start to walk out of the workshop. It was dark out. Tank guided me to the back door, Rocket leading the way. He opened the door for me and waved me in, as if I were someone important. Causing me to giggle. Yeah, you heard me; I giggled like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous, and not something I had ever expected to come out of my mouth. The guys didn’t even blink at the giggle. The place was warm inside, vibrating with the loud thump of the bass. You could hardly hear the person next to you speak over the heavy music. It reeked of cigarettes and booze. The girls who had been at the door waiting to get in were busy with patch members kissing and almost doing the deed right there on the chair. Some were grinding their hips against the man below them, and the small amount of clothing they had on was even less now. I assumed they were well on their way to being drunk. This was a classic visual of why men lose respect for some kinds of women. I am embarrassed to see it in front of me. I looked around the room and saw my friends still with Sticks, and a couple of guys hanging around nearby. My friends look like they are having fun, and they have a few patch members who seem friendly to them. I hope the girls know what they are doing. The gang life was not for everyone. Dad had once spoken badly about gangs, and he hated it when I became an apprentice at the bike shop. Grandpa was the one who encouraged me to have an apprenticeship. He hated that Dad and Mum were backing my sister in everything, and maybe encouraging me to be a mechanic at the bike shop was his way to get back at Dad. Dad had even tried to get me to leave the bike shop when Grandpa had died. But I had made a pact with Grandpa that I wouldn’t give in to Dad. To live the life I want, and never give in, no matter what the consequences are. I wonder what Grandpa would say if he were alive and saw Dad kick me out of the family home, for the sake of my sister. He would be livered, that’s for sure. But I did as Grandpa said, stood firm, and stayed true to myself. “Hey Maxi Max, come join us. Cricket, grab Max an iced water.” Sticks patted the chair next to her, and before I could move to sit beside her, Tank grabbed me around the waist and took a couple of giant steps to the chair, and sat down, holding me on his lap. The girls looked at each other, then, between Tank and me, the confused look changed to a grin and a nod —whatever that was about.
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I had a knee replacement at 58. I'm 67 now. And I've spent almost a DECADE being told I have "early diabetic neuropathy" from blood sugar that's barely above normal. Last week, I sat at my kitchen table reading the appointment reminder for my endocrinologist. And I caught myself thinking: How much you want to bet she has never even heard of what I am dealing with? Because for 9 years, this has been my life: I go in with burning, tingling, electric-shock pain in both feet. They draw my blood. It comes back "your A1C is 5.9. Pre-diabetic. The nerve damage is only going to get worse." They write me a prescription for gabapentin. Then Lyrica when that didn't work. Then a referral to a "diabetic foot care" specialist. I take the pills like they tell me to. I cut sugar. I lost 14 pounds. And nothing changes. No relief from the burning. No feeling back in my toes. No improvement in my balance. No change in the way my feet wake me up at 2am. Just another lecture about my blood sugar for nerve damage that somehow keeps getting worse. I am 67 years old. I had my left knee replaced at 58. And somehow I am still stuck in the same loop. And I have started asking myself: Is it too late for me now? ======== The truth is, no one prepares you for what happens after a knee replacement. Especially one that "went perfectly." You wake up one day a few years later and realize: - The bottoms of your feet feel like they're on fire all night - You can't tell if the floor is cold or hot until you look down - You've started shuffling when you walk because you can't feel where your feet are - Standing in line at the grocery store is unbearable - You've fallen twice in the last year reaching for something - Sheets touching your toes feel like sandpaper - You can't drive long distances anymore — your foot can't tell the gas pedal from the brake - Every doctor appointment ends with "your A1C is borderline" And none of it gets explained. Doctors look at your chart, see the 5.9 A1C, and say "this is the start of diabetic neuropathy." That's it. End of story. I still remember one appointment where the nurse asked: "Have you been checking your blood sugar after meals? Cutting carbs?" I said, "Yes… but the burning never stops." She shrugged and said, "Well, we will just bump up the gabapentin." Just bump up the gabapentin. Like this is a subscription service I never signed up for. A few months ago I finally asked the question that had been haunting me: "If this is from my blood sugar, why did the burning start three years AFTER my knee replacement, when my A1C was lower than it is now?" The doctor paused. Then immediately pivoted to "Well, neuropathy can have multiple contributing factors." But I could tell she didn't actually know. It felt like guessing. Like I had become a walking question mark. And I left that appointment thinking: If no one knows what is wrong with me… how can I possibly fix it? Then one night, I was scrolling a post-surgical recovery forum. And I found a thread of women who sounded exactly like me. - Knee replacement in their late 50s. - Now in their mid-60s. - Years of "diabetic neuropathy" diagnoses. - A1Cs that were barely elevated. - Gabapentin and Lyrica that never solved anything. - Burning feet that started years after surgery. - Falls. Numbness. Sandpaper sheets. But they were not talking about diabetes. They were talking about a nerve repair collapse. A post-surgical nerve repair collapse no doctor ever explained. And when I read what they wrote, I felt my heart stop. They explained that after a major surgery — especially knee replacement, where the surgical field is right next to the nerves running down to your feet — your peripheral nervous system loses three critical support systems at the same time. System 1: Magnesium Depletion - Surgery, anesthesia, and post-op IV fluids drain cellular magnesium - Painkillers, BP meds, and PPIs continue draining it for years afterward - Without magnesium, nerves can't regulate when they fire - They start firing constantly, even when nothing is touching the skin - That's the burning. That's the electric-shock pain at 2am. - Testing can show "early diabetic neuropathy" even when blood sugar isn't the problem System 2: B12 Methylation Failure - Damaged nerves can only rebuild with active B12 driving the repair - Most adults over 50 have a hidden form of B12 deficiency - Surgery + general anesthesia knocks B12 levels down even further - Without B12, the protective sheath around your nerves can't regrow - Bare, exposed nerves keep sending pain signals because they have nothing insulating them - These flares trigger the numbness, the tingling, the loss of position sense even when blood work looks "fine" System 3: Cellular Energy Collapse - Nerves are the most energy-hungry cells in the body - Surgical trauma + anesthesia damage the mitochondria inside nerve cells - Without alpha-lipoic acid, the nerves don't have the energy to use the magnesium and B12 that ARE there - Damaged nerves with no fuel can't repair themselves - They sit in a state of constant low-grade injury - That's why the symptoms get worse over years, not better I sat there whispering: This is me. This has been me for years. Why has no one ever told me this? Then someone in the comments wrote: "Most surgeons never disclose this risk. Knee replacement consent forms warn about a 1-in-200 stroke risk. They never mention that nerve damage shows up in roughly 1 out of every 10 patients." I stared at the screen. One in ten. I had signed a consent form that listed bleeding, infection, blood clots, stroke, anesthesia death. It said nothing about my feet. So of course no one warned me about any of this. Of course doctors are guessing. Of course I have been stuck in this cycle for years. It is not just my body. It is the system. I booked an appointment with a new doctor — a functional medicine MD who specializes in post-surgical recovery. Dr. Reyes. She listened. She explained things no one else ever bothered to explain. She talked to me like an adult, not like an inconvenience. After examining me she said: "You do not have a blood sugar problem. You have a nerve starvation problem." I froze. "A nerve starvation problem?" She nodded. "What you are calling diabetic neuropathy is not from your A1C. It's the result of magnesium that surgery drained out of you, B12 your body can't activate, and mitochondria in your nerves that are running on empty. Gabapentin and Lyrica can't fix any of that. They just turn the volume down on the pain signal." And suddenly, everything made sense. The "diabetic neuropathy" my A1C couldn't explain. The burning that started three years after surgery, not before. The way it got worse every winter. The falls. The shuffling. The sleepless nights. The endless prescriptions. The lack of progress. For the first time in 9 years… someone was explaining the root cause. "So how do I fix it?" I asked. She wrote down three things on her pad: - Get magnesium back into the nerve cells - Restore active B12 so the nerve sheath can rebuild - Bring alpha-lipoic acid in so the nerves have the energy to do the repair Not gabapentin. Not Lyrica. Not another A1C lecture. Actual rebuilding. Then she said something I didn't expect: "And whatever you do, don't try to do this with pills. Your gut barely absorbs magnesium and B12 by mouth — especially after years of acid reducers and pain medication. You need it going through the skin while you sleep, when your nerves are doing their repair work." She listed exactly what I needed: ✅ Transdermal Magnesium - Delivered through the skin, not the gut - To restore nerve firing regulation - Clinically studied to reduce neuropathic burning when applied consistently ✅ Methylated B12 (the active form) - Not cyanocobalamin — that's the cheap form your body can't use - To rebuild the myelin sheath around damaged nerves - Active even when oral B12 has stopped working ✅ Alpha-Lipoic Acid - The nerve mitochondria fuel - To give starving nerves the energy to repair themselves overnight - The one ingredient most "neuropathy supplements" leave out Then she said: "No prescription does this. That is why you have not healed." That night, I spent hours online searching. Most "neuropathy supplements" were just B-complex pills. Most magnesium products were oral tablets that go straight through you. Most ALA products were sold separately and required taking 3-4 capsules a day. Most "nerve support" patches were just cooling menthol — a counter-irritant that masks the pain without fixing anything. Then I found NerVana+. A patch designed specifically for post-surgical nerve recovery in adults over 55 with persistent burning, tingling, and numbness. People like me. People years past their surgery. People who had been dismissed for years. NerVana+ had all three components: 🌿 Transdermal Magnesium — 250mcg Delivered overnight through the skin While the nerves do their repair work 🌿 Methylated B12 — 1200mcg The active form To rebuild the myelin sheath 🔗 Alpha-Lipoic Acid — 250mcg Mitochondrial fuel So damaged nerves have the energy to heal Everything Dr. Reyes told me I needed. In one patch. You wear it for 8 hours while you sleep. Then you peel it off in the morning. I ordered immediately. Here is what happened. 🗓️ Night 1: - I peeled the patch open and stuck it on the back of my calf before bed. - I expected nothing. I had tried everything. - I slept four hours straight before the burning woke me up. - That was already an hour longer than usual. 🗓️ Week 1: - The burning at 2am started dulling. - I wasn't kicking the sheets off as much. - I slept five, sometimes six hours. 🗓️ Week 2: - I noticed I could feel the bath mat under my feet again. - It had been so long I had forgotten what texture felt like. - I stood in the bathroom and just pressed my feet into the mat. 🗓️ Week 3: - The electric-shock pains while I was sitting at dinner stopped. - I could sit through a meal without shifting my feet around under the table. 🗓️ Week 4: - I drove to my daughter's house — 47 minutes — without my foot getting confused on the pedals. - I cried in her driveway. 🗓️ Week 6: - I went grocery shopping and stood in the checkout line without scanning for somewhere to sit. - I walked out with the bags. - I didn't shuffle. 🗓️ Week 10: - The numbness on the outside edge of my left foot started filling back in. - I could feel my husband's hand when he rubbed my feet for the first time in years. 🗓️ Week 12: - I spent an entire afternoon at the park with my grandkids. Walking. Standing. Bending down to their level. Feeling the grass under my feet. - Without burning. - Without falling. - Without planning around the pain afterward. 🗓️ Week 13 onwards: No more 2am wake-ups No more gabapentin No more shuffling No more falls No more "your A1C is borderline" lectures For the first time in years… I felt my feet again. At my follow-up, Dr. Reyes ran a nerve conduction test and said: "Your conduction velocity has improved on both sides. Your nerves are repairing. You rebuilt your support systems." I cried. Not because I was scared. But because I finally felt hope. So if you are like me… If you had a major surgery years ago If you keep being told it's diabetic neuropathy from a borderline A1C If gabapentin or Lyrica never fix anything If 2am wake-ups have taken over your sleep If your feet feel "older" than the rest of you If you've started shuffling If you feel dismissed If you feel hopeless If you feel like your balance is slipping away Please hear me: You are not fragile. You are not broken. You are not too old. And it is not your blood sugar. You are missing three systems. And you can rebuild them. 👉 Try NerVana+ Risk Free Today: https://uk.avalaine.com/pages/avalaine%C2%AE-magnesium-nerve-relief-patches-story One patch. Worn overnight. Everything your nerves have been missing since your surgery. 💕 60 Day Money Back Guarantee 🌿 Doctor recommended formula 🧬 The only patch that delivers all three nerve-repair systems transdermally ⭐ Trusted by thousands of post-surgical patients 🔒 No subscriptions unless you choose one P.S. It has now been 87 nights since I took my last gabapentin. 87 nights without 2am burning. 87 nights of real sleep. 87 nights of not feeling fragile or dismissed. 87 nights of waking up and feeling the floor under my feet. And at 67… I am not done living. This is the first time in years that I feel safe in my own body. And that peace… Is priceless. Try NerVana+ Risk-Free Today 👉 https://uk.avalaine.com/pages/avalaine%C2%AE-magnesium-nerve-relief-patches-story P.P.S. Remember: all first-time orders are protected by a 60-day moneyback guarantee. If you don't see reduced burning and restored feeling in your feet in 60 days… Simply email the company and they'll refund every cent. No questions asked. 60 days from now, you can be: - Sleeping through the night without 2am burning - Standing in line without scanning for a chair - Driving without your foot getting confused on the pedals - Feeling the floor under your feet again - Living your life without planning around the pain All you have to do is take this first step. 👉 Try NerVana+ Risk Free Today: https://uk.avalaine.com/pages/avalaine%C2%AE-magnesium-nerve-relief-patches-story
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"“My guys found her. She’s at the MagDog clubhouse. Fixing their bikes.” “What?” Her father’s brow furrowed. “Then tell her to come home. Our business is drowning.” “She wouldn’t. Maxine sent back a message: ‘You gave my room to a bast3rd baby. I gave my keys to a biker.’” The room froze. Dan, Maxine’s ex-boyfriend, now her sister’s fiancé, remembered the last Christmas. Zoey’s moans. Maxine’s bed. Her white sheets. Zoey remembered stealing him—the third boyfriend she’d taken from her sister. And Mom and Dad never once said stop. Her parents remembered looking at their bleeding daughter and telling her to leave. For a nursery. For the cheater’s child. None of them had ever chosen her. “At least she’s safe,” her mother whispered, sobbing with regret. “Safe? She’s living above a bike shop. But she’s got the whole club at her back. Especially their giant—Tank. Six-foot-eight. Never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her. And... their president also sent a message.” “Go on,” her father urged, anxiety simmering beneath. “‘You didn’t want her. We do. Touch her fortune? We’ll end you.’” The words landed like a punch. No one moved. No one breathed. Outside, a Harley roared past the window. She didn’t even slow down." --- Maxine POV “Go home, you have worked too much overtime this week. Have an early night and give that boyfriend of yours an early treat.” My boss practically pushed me out the door, a wicked grin on his face. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’m going. I straddled my bike and started her up. This was going to be a great night. Today was my boyfriend's birthday, and I was going to give him my V-card as a special gift. I had brought new lingerie, black lace, see-through, and I had shaved my mound, leaving a trail that looked like an arrow pointing down to my juncture. I was ready to give him my all, my first, my heart, take the big plunge. I felt I was ready. I pulled into the driveway to see my sister's and my boyfriend’s cars. I had no idea my sister was coming home today. She was still at college in her final year, though I heard she wasn't doing so well. The poor golden girl has not met up with expectations, not that I was worried. My ex-boyfriend showed up three hours early; our date was not for a few more hours. What was he doing here already? Walking in the back door, I heard voices and headed towards them; they were in Dad’s office, with the door slightly ajar. I moved silently to the door and waited outside to hear what secrets they were having now. They occasionally do this when they are planning something and don’t want to include me, but I'm puzzled as to why my boyfriend and sister were included. “We never planned for it to happen.” My sister replied softly, as if she were some kind of victim; she was an expert at that. She should have been an actress; she would have won multiple Oscars by now. “When?” Dad asked, and I waited in the hallway to hear what this was all about. “Christmas day, we had too many of your special eggnogs, and things got heated. The party was more or less over; the presents had been given out, and the food had been eaten. We were all mulling around, talking, when Zoey said something, I don’t remember what—but we went upstairs to continue talking, and ended up in Maxine’s room. We did start by just talking, and before I knew it, we were kissing and things got heated, and ended up in her bed, like I said, and I was so lost in that moment that I forgot to use a protection. When we came out, no one seemed to notice we had been gone, so we pretended it never happened.” My boyfriend replied, and my heart just hit the floor, as I took in that my sister and boyfriend did the dirty in my bed at Christmas. MY BED. I slept in that bed, with their mess on the sheets. I feel suddenly sick at that thought. How could they do that to me? She stole another boyfriend from me again. But he was just as much to blame; I guess our relationship was not that strong yet. Not on his side at least. He continued to pretend, kissing me and taking me out on dates, as if that never happened. What a jerk. Now I feel cheated, dirty, ashamed, and angry all at once. What if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, and I ended up married to that cheating scumbag? Would her wedding present be to tell me she had slept with him first? I wouldn’t put it past her to do such a thing. She had done that before with my boyfriends, and I guess this one was just as vulnerable to her advances as the last one. “He gave me the best Christmas present ever.” My sister crowed with delight. I could imagine her tenderly touching her belly. “This is good news. I have wanted grandchildren, and the last grandchild I would have expected would be from you; you have never kept a relationship for long.” Mum said, sounding excited at the news. “What now?” My sister asked, still playing the perfect victim. “We get married?’ My now ex-boyfriend suggested —sounds more like a question. “What about Maxine?” My sister asked, as if I were an inconvenience that needed to be sorted out, and now they think about me, but it didn’t sound like concern. “What about her? This is about my first grandchild, and his or her safety comes first. She will have to live with it.” My mother spat, revealing that famous favoritism, because she had always taken my sister's side in everything, even when proven wrong. They never backed me up. “I am technically her boyfriend.” He started to say something, but was interrupted. “Not anymore, you're not. I will arrange with the local publican to hire the outdoor garden area, and we shall have an engagement party this Saturday. Get that sorted before you start to show, and Maxine will show her support.” Dad’s voice floated out, sounding resolute. I had no say in this, not that I wanted to be his girlfriend any longer; he had proven not to be what I wanted in a guy. “She will have to leave. I need her room for the nursery. I would prefer it if she didn't attend the engagement party. What will those who know she was the real girlfriend show up, and see that it was not Maxine getting engaged?” Mum added. Yep, that was my mother, trying to regain her dignity and save face. I couldn’t take it any longer. I was devastated enough, and listening further to their support for the love for the cheater was eating me up inside. I didn’t want to cry in front of them; the tears were a mix of anger and hurt. I pushed the door open, revealing myself standing there. All faces turned to look at me. “Let me get this straight. You took my boyfriend to MY bed, did the dirty with him, leaving your mess in my bed, as a sort of Christmas present for me. Guess that made your day, thinking I was sleeping in your mess. Now you want my bedroom for the child baby you have created, and I am what, just pushed out the door? Like yesterday’s trash?” I asked to ensure I understood correctly that the whole family was fine with me being tossed aside. “Exactly, I am taking your boyfriend, your bedroom, and you, my dear sister, have to move out.” My sister sounded like she had won the lottery. Her face beamed at her triumph. “Fine with me.” The look of shock would have made me laugh if I were not so numb inside. I moved away to my room and packed what I could into my duffel bag. I will come back for the rest later, when they are not around. My heart was breaking, not because I lost my boyfriend, although that hurt a lot, considering that what I was going to give him for his present today was saved for doing something foolish at least. But also because both parents were supporting this deception, as if it were the best news they had received in a while, that they had been trying to get rid of me for a while, and now succeeded in a spectacular way. I walked downstairs and looked at them. “When I find a place to stay, I will be back for the rest.” I spat at them, a mixture of hurt, anger, and defeat. I never fit into the family, a black sheep, so maybe I should become one. I had always had top grades, won awards, done my best, but even being first, I was still last. My best friend was the only place I could think of going to; it had to be temporary. Jenny will be cool and let me sleep on her couch till I find a new home. I climbed onto my bike and took off to the only sanctuary I had over the years. Jenny welcomed me into her home, like I knew she would, and together we had a pity party consisting of beer and vanilla fudge ice cream. We called the family and my ex some interesting names, some of which I had never heard before, but they sounded good. The drunker I got, the more inventive the names became. The next morning, after waking up on Jenny’s couch and remembering yesterday, it did not go as planned. I pulled myself together, had a quick shower, and left for work. It was eight in the morning, and Jenny was still asleep when I left. That might be okay for some, but my workday today would be ten hours long, and I was running late. “You're late, night must have gone better than planned,” Mike said jovially. They sort of knew what I was planning last night. The others chuckled along with Mike. I grumbled some shiet and got to work. By the end of the day, Mike pulled me to his office. “Okay, out with it. The guys have been tiptoeing around you all day. What happened? He rejected your advances?” He asked, his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, looking at me with concerned eyes, a father figure, better than my dad had ever been. So, I told him what happened when I got home and where I spent the night, and now I'm looking for a place to stay. I was proud of myself; I didn’t cry, or whine, or show any emotion at all —just explained my predicament in cold, emotionless words. Clear and succinct. He said he wouldn’t say anything in the shop, but would talk to the prez. I had no idea why, but I was not in the right frame of mind to question it. Maxine POV Today was my sister's engagement party; engaged to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, you heard me right, my ex. What a joke that was. I had been dating Dan for six months when my sister, who was a year older than I, came home for Christmas and ended up in bed with my boyfriend. She’s a shameless woman, always has been, but I never expected him to sleep with her. I thought we were secure in our relationship. The only good thing I took away from this was that I never went to bed with him; my virginity card was still intact, not that I was trying to keep it - I just never got the chance to lose it. She always managed to have any guy I was interested in dump me for her, and when she got bored with them, she’d move on. So, in a way, I didn’t have a boyfriend till she moved out of her home and headed to college. But when my sister came home and met him, she seduced him and got pregnant. He did the whole ‘get down on one knee and proposed’ scene. Apparently, it was romantic, but I wasn't there when he did it because they didn’t want me around. It hurt a lot at the time, and I was glad to have my girlfriends around me, helping me get over it. They say, I dodged a bullet. I agree with them, stupidly. He might have been a sports jock with good looks, but doing this tells me he was weak and shallow, and I was too good for him, or so my BFF says. I prefer to believe them over the excuses my ex made. I had to move out of my home after I had a massive fight with my parents a few days ago, when the truth was exposed; they supported her, not me, and the next thing I knew, I was out the door and the evil sister. The engagement party was intended to introduce him to her friends and make the relationship official, but I was not invited. My parents want nothing to do with me. I made them all uncomfortable, considering he was my boyfriend first. Anyone working out the timeline for the baby can piece it together, and see they were cheating on me, and it would have been awkward, and too many questions would have been raised. Not that I needed to say all of that, I kind of said it all before, but grrrrr, I am so angry at how my so-called ‘family’ kicked me out of my so-called home, with no care for me or my feelings. It was easier to push me away and disown me than have to explain to them that my sister cheated with my boyfriend, and hey presto, a baby was on the way. Because I was kicked out of the house, and only had a short time to pack anything, I took the opportunity of the party to sneak into the house and take more of my possessions, like opening my father's safe, and grabbing every piece of paper relating to me, and a little money too, no a lot of money, and grandma’s jewelry that she left me. So, with the help of my BFF, we packed my belongings and took them to her place until I found a new one. I ride a motorcycle, so I need help. I have the money to buy a new place, but I'm unsure if I want to stay in this town now. Once my apprenticeship is over, I might move away. I stayed that night at Jenny’s place, as I figured out what to do. Today, I am moving into my new place —a bungalow above the bike shop where I work. I am in my final year of apprenticeship, and I am a motorcycle mechanic, proud of it, I might add. I can also work on cars and trucks. If it had a motor, I could fix it; I always could, thanks to my knack for it, which I developed since I was eight, when I fell in love with engines. My Grandpa taught me, kept me out of everyone's way. I guess you could say I was a tomboy, with no frills and lace. My Grandpa kept me sane and busy, so the BS in our house didn’t hurt me as much. The place has two bedrooms and is fully contained, meaning it has everything I need. I had purchased some new sheets and towels, that sort of thing, but it had a fully stocked kitchen; I only needed to buy the food. It might be small, and above a noisy bike shop, but at night it was a quiet area. No one would break into this shop; the local bikie gang owned it. They were good guys, scary, but so far, no trouble for me. My BFF, Jenny, was helping me take my belongings upstairs when a group of bikers arrived and assisted us. I had five boxes and two suitcases filled with all sorts of items. “Thanks, guys, for the help,” I said sweetly, my BFF batting her eyes at them and swaying her hips suggestively as she walked and thanked them. She makes me laugh with her antics, which are totally opposite to mine. I like jeans and am rarely seen in a dress, whereas she was seldom seen in jeans. “We got a party at the clubhouse, tomorrow Saturday, you should come and relax a bit, bring your girls with ya,” Bruiser suggested as he threw his arm over my shoulder, walked me to the settee, pushed me down, and handed me a beer they had brought with them. This was how they acted around me, ordered me about. Sometimes, I'm okay with it; other times, I get all worked up and growl back at them. Today was acceptance. I know they mean well, and I feel lucky to have them as family; they try to make me feel better. “That sounds like a blast, count me in, and I can bring two other girl friends with us. Max, do you want me to pick you up?” Jenny offered, taking a beer from one of the guys. She was not a beer drinker; however, in this situation, I could see her not refusing anything they offered. I guess I'm going, whether I want to or not. “No, I’ll ride over,” I replied as one of the guys ordered pizza. “That’s the spirit. Nothing like the wind in your hair to blow the cobwebs away.” They stayed because they didn’t want me to be alone, not on my first night here. Pizza arrived not long after, and my little bungalow was soon feeling too small and crowded, with six huge bikers in the room. Some sat on the floor; others pulled up one of the three kitchen chairs. I know, I know, three chairs sound odd, but that's what was here, and beggars can’t be choosers; the rent was dirt cheap, and I think the boys are the ones to make sure I had everything I needed. They found out about my situation the next day, because, I was still quiet at work, which was not like me, often I am singing to the radio, or swearing at something, so one of the guys approached me, to find out what gives, and I softly told them, what went down, and when word got around the bikers heard I needed a place to stay, because I was kicked out of my home and why, they came to me, like protective brothers. Now I have a whole gang of bikers who have my back. I feel privileged to call them friends. They even offered to rough the ex up for me, but I refused the offer, because strangely, I was happy to get rid of the loser if he was a cheating build. Better now than when I am fully invested in our relationship. Plus, I was in deep enough shite with my parents and sister without making it worse. The pizza was gone, my BFF left for home, and the guys did too. It was late, well, for me, midnight. I usually fall asleep quickly because I have to be up for work at five. Tomorrow, being Saturday, I have the morning shift before the party later. They let me leave work early so I can move in here. “Hey, don’t forget to come, we need our prettiest mechanic at the party, some of the boys might need a tune-up,” Bruiser said with a laugh as they climbed on their bikes and left. I know what sort of tune-up he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with a motor. I looked around my new home. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. The guys were great; they took the empty pizza boxes and beer cans with them, and the place was relatively clean. Not at all what you would expect from a group of rowdy men. The clubhouse. I had never been to it, despite having worked there for nearly four years, and they had never extended an invitation to me. I know they had lots of parties; maybe I was too young. I turned twenty recently, but they might think of me as the fifteen-year-old who showed up one day and told the boss I was going to be his apprentice. He laughed at first and said he would give me a go to prove myself. He thought I was joking and that I would be gone by the weekend, but over the holidays, I worked hard and have been here ever since. Maxine POV The beeping sound of my phone alarm made me sit up and look around. It took a moment to remember where I was. The room had a small curtain that barely kept the light out. There was a streetlight just outside my window. I can envisage myself getting better blackout curtains soon. Although it was annoying, it wasn't among my top priorities for making this a home. The shower was decent, with nice pressure. I followed my morning routine, only to realize how foolish I was to wake up so early, living above my place of work; I didn’t need to ride here. After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I still had half an hour before I needed to be at work. I had two ways to get into my place: one was through the back stairs, and the other was through the shop. With the code to turn off the alarm, I decided to head down and start work early. It was better than moving stuff around; I can do that later. I had a bike to finish by this afternoon. The customer would be here at two. Turned off the alarm, turned on the coffee pot, the radio, and headed to my workstation, where the fat boy was waiting for me to finish. I sat on the stool with casters and began my job, singing loudly to the heavy rock song that came on the radio as I installed the new spark plugs and double-checked the oil. It was a simple, easy-peasy service. Once finished, I started the bike up, let it idle while I made coffee, then returned to rev it a few times. It sounds lumpy, like it was just turning over perfectly; it was music to my ears. I love that throaty, deep, lumpy sound. You can feel it vibrate through my chest. “That’s a sound I loved to hear as I enter work.” My boss, Mike, said as I turned the bike off. “It’s ready to go, unless you want to take it out for a test ride. Want a coffee, pots hot.” I offered as I threw the dirty rag in the bin. “Sure, I will take the bike out for a spin, and you can make me a coffee.” He smirked as he grabbed the bike. I opened the garage door, and Mike took off. I smiled as he disappeared down the street, and I turned to make both of us coffee. If you hadn’t guessed already, I would drink a lot of coffee. I am not a fan of soft drinks or tea; for me, it's coffee or water. With a broom in hand, I began cleaning the shop. I am not out here very often, but I try to sweep the floor at least once a week; they have another apprentice who’s a second year, who gets to do most of the cleaning up, but he’s never here on a Saturday. The sound of the bike returning prompted me to pick up the two cups of coffee and head back out to the workshop. Mike had a massive grin on his face as he parked the bike. “Great job, you are our top mechanic. But don’t tell anyone, or I will have to deny it.” He joked, taking his coffee from my hand as he walked by, no doubt letting the customer know the bike was ready ahead of time. I moved to the next bike, which was a total rebuild; it had been in a minor accident, and while the frame was being checked, I would work on the engine and gearbox. It was the only job on my list at the moment. The bike owner was in no hurry; he had a broken leg, giving me a few weeks to work on his bike and any urgent jobs that might come into the shop. The client arrived and happily took possession of his bike, very happy with the job done. “I hear you’ve been invited to the club party tonight,” Mike said as he rang up the sale on the cash register. “Yep.” I said popping the ‘p’. “You can leave now, we have no more customers expected. Good job today.” It was close to one o’clock, near the time I would knock off. “Thanks, boss.” I saluted him and rushed upstairs, before he could change his mind. Giggling all the way up. I heard him chuckling as he locked the door below, behind me. I decided on a quick shower; I didn’t want to smell of oil when going to a party. Put on my skinny black jeans, a black blouse that had red flames on the back and on the pockets, black boots that had some chains around the ankle, and hair in a ponytail. I will get what we call helmet hair, so it's a waste to do much with it now. I use mascara and strawberry lip gloss, which is more to moisturize my lips, which tend to dry out when I ride my bike, and that's it. The last thing I grabbed before leaving was my jacket. My mum used to grumble that I wasn’t like my sister and put more effort into my appearance, but I like who I am, and I didn’t like wearing lots of makeup; it was my choice, and I feel that I am not a frilly, lacey chick. It was a deal breaker with my mum. She had my sister dress up and left me in the care of Grandpa until he died when I was seventeen. It broke me when he left the world. He was the only person who got me. My grandma had been gone since I was young, and I filled the hole in his heart with my love for bikes and fishing. He left me his money and bikes. Dad got his house and business. My mum hated that I gained all that money. When Grandma died, she left me her jewelry, and Grandpa made sure to keep it safe till I was old enough to have it. I ate something and put some more of my stuff in the cupboards before my phone chimed to let me know my girlfriends were on their way to the party. I pulled my bike out of the small garage and started it up. I threw my leg over and took off, heading to the property. The clubhouse was half an hour out of town, set on a large property a little bit back from the road. Ten minutes later, I came up behind the girls and hung out behind them. My friend waved me on to take the lead. I shrugged and overtook her. The turn off arrived, and I rode happily up the long drive, and trees lined the road. An open, large steel gate appeared, and I was glad it was still enough light to see clearly. Men stood by the entrance, watching us arrive. “Hey.” I greeted the biggest man I had ever seen. “Who invited you here?” The man asked gruffly, in a deep husky voice. “Bruiser,” I answered, with a firm, clear voice, hoping that the fact that he frightened me would be noticed in my voice. He pulled out his phone and called, I assumed, Bruiser. “Max?” He asked, as he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. He said something more and hung up the phone. “Come in, the car behind your girls?” He looked at the car behind, which clearly had a woman in it. “Yep,” I replied, not at all liking how he intimidated me with his manner. Perhaps it was the way they greeted strangers. One look makes the weak run. Well, I am not weak, and I won't be running. Maxine POV This rather large biker leaned in to look inside the car, his bulky figure partially blocking the open window, causing the girl nearest it to back away. Satisfied, he looked at me with a knowing smirk, then motioned for us to enter. The clubhouse was nothing like I had imagined. Firstly, it was four levels high. Verandah all the way around, that I could see. It was more like a mansion than a clubhouse. Women were gathered near the door, looking in, as if they were waiting for something; some were sitting on the wooden fence that surrounded the verandah. They were dressed in barely anything, showing all that was available, some love that sort of thing. People like me dress to stay warm or cool and don’t care about showing off the goods. Bikes sat in neat rows in front, and cars were parked to the left of the building; the ratio of bikes to cars was approximately four bikes to one car. I parked the bike with the others, climbed off, and took off my helmet. I placed the lid on the bike and shook out my hair while waiting for the girls to park and come to me. I heard some muffled scoffs, but I couldn’t care less —I wasn't here to please them. Bruiser came out of the clubhouse behind me. “Max, you came by bike. Sweet.” He gave me a gentle squeeze and moved to take a closer look at my bike. The paint job was a wolf, fading in smoke. It took me months to finish, as I kept changing my mind, and the smoke obscured the mistakes. “Who did the paint job?” He asked as he moved around to look at it from all sides. “Me.” I was proud of the results. “Does Mike know you can paint?” He sounded surprised. “He has seen my bike when I used the garage to do a service. He never asked who did the paint work, just that he liked it.” “Sweet, looks like we have someone to do touch-ups, and possibly a full paint job. We have a family reunion in a few weeks, and the ladies are invited to come along. You can join us.” Bruiser offered as my ladies arrived; they were not included in that invitation, I assumed, because I have a bike. “Bruiser, you already met Jenny, Melony, Karen, and Heather, my other BFF, and Alice, Karen's sister, and BFF to my sister.” Adding that comment, hoping that Bruiser knew precisely what that woman was like. Alice battered her eyes and leaned forward to show off what was under that almost shirt. My ladies greeted him with the respect he deserved. “Ladies. Hands out.” Bruiser stamped the girl's backs of their hands; they all had a bear, except Alice, who had a rabbit on her hand. I frowned, trying to figure out what the rabbit was all about. He pushed my hand away. “You are family, no need for a stamp.” I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my face. I felt so special. Then the shoe dropped. Rabbit meant she would open her legs. Bruiser got my meaning loud and clear. It took a while to understand the purpose of the stamps. “Come inside and meet the ole ladies.” I understood what he meant; these were ladies who had been claimed and had a different level of respect that those not claimed would never understand. I have met a few of them over the years and gained more insight into club life. They respect me as much as I respect them. We entered the place, and the girls who had been waiting outside gave us a dirty look, as they were still stopped from entering. “What's so special about them?” One pouted, but Bruiser ignored her. Inside was cleaner than I had expected —my fault for judging a group of men, since they often look messy when I see them at the shop. The place had a large, open space, with tables where you stand, as well as booths dotted along the walls, and stools at the bar, which ran the full length of the room. I loved the spacious room, the pictures on the walls, and some bike parts scattered about as decoration. A few barstools are bike seats; it was different, and it appealed to me. Being a lover of bikes. “Sticks.” I greeted her as we got closer to the ladies Bruiser was taking us to. “Hey, Maxie Max. How's it blowing?” She stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. This chick had no filter or personal space. Sticks was the President's; her real name was Sandra, but she was my height at five-nine, and she had no shape to her body, just a lovely bean pole, almost no chest to speak of, yet she had had two boys. Hence the name Sticks. “Doing better,” I replied. She would know what was going on. She introduced us to the other ladies with her, and it didn’t surprise me that Alice had already moved away from us before we had finished the introductions. “What’s her story?” Sticks asked as she watched Alice start to try her luck with the club men. “Same as my sister. Bruiser put a rabbit stamp on her hand.” Sticks and the other girl roared out laughing. “She will be used, abused, and kicked to the side by the time the night is over, and I doubt they would let her back in. We don’t need her sort in the club.” Maggie spouted as we watched a patch member knock her offer back. “The regulars are not going to like her working their turf. So, to speak.” Tootsie said, with a smirk, that the regulars know the rules and stick with them. Don’t approach a patch member; if interested, they will come to you. Nom’s are fair game. But most girls would prefer a patch member. Don’t touch a taken member; the women will gang up and make your life miserable if you feel one of theirs. Wait to be let into the clubhouse and then stay in the public area. No going upstairs uninvited. The first two floors are designated for guest rooms, while the top floor is reserved for permanent residences. Those who don’t have a home of their own to go to. They are private and not open to wandering girls. Don’t touch or sit on someone’s bike, unless you are given permission. The patched old ladies are the bosses of the girls; they tell you to leave or do something, and you do it. There were more rules for the girls visiting, but I couldn’t remember them all at that moment. None had applied to me until now. Alice had already broken at least three, to my knowledge. I am staying out of it. That rabbit on her hand told the members that she would open her legs for any of them, and no one would support her if she broke the rules. That she was not welcome to return, in other words, have your fun, and then kick her to the curb. The doors were opened to let the other girls in. They looked at us in the no-go zone and pouted. We were sitting in an off-limits area unless we were invited. From what I understood, they were here to spread their legs and give the guys some relief, but not become part of the family. They might be hopeful that something would change; it was rare for a patch member to take one of these ladies, who had most likely been with every unattached member of the gang, at some point. My girls left me with Sticks and wandered about with the other ladies, getting the tour of the place. “Want to look around?” Sticks were offered, and before I knew it, we were walking around the vast ground floor. “Ready to see the workshop, the guys might talk you into helping out, once they know who you are.” Sticks led me down a small pathway, lined with flowering shrubs, and to a set of large, farm-size sheds. Inside were bikes, some in bits, others crumpled from an accident, and others like they had just been detailed and were someone's pride and joy. There was a workshop here, where men were working on their bikes. They looked up at us when we entered and frowned. If Sticks were not with me, they would have most likely growled at me to get out. “Who’s this Sticks?” A monster of a man asked, in the deepest voice I have ever heard, he looked a lot like the man at the gate, but with more toned muscles, that I would love to run my fingers over. Just a tad taller, and although he looked big and scary, he made my lady parts sing in a way they had never sung before. Tank POV A few guys aren't into parties, so I stopped going until later in the night, when the girls who showed up were already taken. I dislike the women who come here hoping to adopt our lifestyle. I prefer to use my hand rather than one of those women. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my share of women; however, I had a girl who pushed me to take her, and when I did, she ended up in the hospital, because I am not exactly a little man, and I ripped her apart. She needed stitches, and I have not been with a woman since. Like my brother, we are both large men; he is six feet six inches tall, and I am six feet eight inches tall. He’s carrying extra weight, where I am all muscle. I pride myself on keeping in shape, but being this large has its downfall, and having a large build has had me worried about hurting another woman. No matter how much I might want to, I can’t; I never want to go through that again. The Prez was the only person who knew why I wouldn’t join the parties; he was with me when we took the girl to the hospital, she forgave me, and tried to pursue me to keep her, but I couldn’t. Each time I started to get intimate, I had flashes of her screams, and my confidence went down like a popped balloon. We were in the workshop, doing some minor tune-ups. As I prepare for our ride, I'm excited. When they bring the ladies, the men are usually in a better mood and on their best behavior. I was looking at rebuild. I started it last week. We have a few wrecks that need to be started; some have been sitting here far too long. We can only go so far before we need Mike's help. None of us was a mechanic. I was scratching my head, as I was almost at the end of my knowledge, when I heard someone enter, and a soft perfume that shouldn’t be in this shed hit my nose. Stick’s voice reached my ears, and I lifted my head up to look in her direction. “Who’s this Sticks?” The most beautiful girl I have ever seen had entered our sanctuary, a place where few girls are allowed, which made Sticks bring this beauty down to this dirt and grease, which was unexpectedly. “That is Max, from the shop, Mike's apprentice, who I think had finished her apprenticeship and is doing something extra on Harleys and getting some specialized license,” Banjo said as he moved forward to greet them. The others stood up and moved forward too, making me feel like a dill for not recognizing Max. Although I have only seen her a few times from a distance, and she was usually deep in bike repair, I barely got to see her face. We have not been introduced because I wouldn’t have forgotten that beauty if I had. Sticks introduced us all, and we greeted her before I decided I could use her help. I put the thoughts of what I wouldn’t mind doing to her behind me, not that I could do it. “Max, come look at this wreck. I am stuck with what to do next.” I called her over on the bike I was working on. “Tank, surely you could have waited for another day? She came for the party, not to work.” Sticks grumbled as Max walked to me. She was clean and smelled nice, and I had a fleeting moment of guilt for calling her over. The few times I had seen her, she was covered in oil and grease, wearing coveralls that hid her shapely figure. “Max, are you sure?” Sticks pulled on her hand to get her attention. “Yeah, I am more at home in here than out there,” Max said with a smile and turned back to me. “What's the problem?” She asked me to move forward and inspect the bike. I went into detail about what happened to the bike, what I had managed to do so far, and what I needed to move forward. Max removed her leather jacket and slung it over a nearby bike seat, then squatted down. For the next two hours, Max worked on the bike with me, guiding me through the tricky bits I couldn’t do. The others came forward and used this time as a sort of training session, and Max didn’t seem to mind at all. We asked questions as she worked on the bike, and she used me to lift the heavy parts. It was teamwork, and we completed more repairs in that time than I would have on my own. “Hey, Max,” Bruiser called out at the door. He stood with his legs apart, arms folded, and I wondered if we had done something wrong. “Back here.” She returned to the call of her name. He arrived and burst out laughing at us. “Max, I invited you to a party, you know, dancing and drinking, and socializing. This was not what I meant as a party.” He was still chuckling when the Prez walked in, with Sticks on his arm. “You still got her working out here?” Stick all but growled at us, when the Prez’s lady growls, we all listen. She’s the last person we want to make angry. “What?” I was confused, Max didn’t seem to mind, and we all were having a good time out here. “Hey, Prez. The party over?” Max calmly asked, but it sounded more like she had hoped it was. “Not even close, babes.” The Prez answered with a smile. He had gotten closer to Max over the years she had been at the bike shop. He had often talked about the female mechanic and her sassy ways. I had thought he was exaggerating, but after spending a little time with her, I was hooked. “We have nearly completed the repair job on Spider's bike. If we can have Max here for a few days, I bet we could hit the road by the end of the week.” I said it as it was my way of asking her to stay for a while and fix the bike. Spider was almost healed and ready to get back on his own bike. “Would have to ask Mike about that, she’s his employee, even if we own the shop, he runs it, and I don’t get involved with his employees,” Prez replied contemplatively. “He here?” I asked, as Mike often doesn’t show up at the weekend parties. “Yep, came half an hour ago.” Sticks answered as she handed Max a bottle of water. “Max, if Mike’s okay with it, would you work with us for a week, get some of these ready for the weekend ride?” Sparks asked, and I kicked myself for not considering that she might not want to spend a week here. “Sure, if Mike doesn’t need me, we have several bikes in for service before the ladies run.” Her sweet voice carried across the warehouse, and the guys nodded in understanding. “Thanks, babes,” Spike called out. Each one of us here enjoyed that she worked on our bikes; it might sound odd that we're letting a chick touch our bikes, but Max was not like most chicks. Who wants to sit on the bikes or lie on them? Max knows what she’s doing and has proven herself on numerous occasions. I wish I had known how attractive she was. Man, I had a semi since she walked in the door. The Prez will even let her ride her own bike, a privilege few ladies get. She was more part of the crew; no other girl I know works on bikes like she does, and her reputation over the time she's been an apprentice has been exemplary. Not a guy chaser. When word got out that our girl had been cheated on in the worst possible way, we all wanted to go and kill the man, even though half of us had never really met her, yeah, seen her in a distance, or legs poking out from under a truck, but never sat and talked with her before today. She was fun, had me chuckling a few times, but most of the time in here, she had been all about the bikes, and not flirting, like most chicks do when around us. They see the glamour of the lifestyle, but it's not for everyone. Maxine POV I was guided to a washroom on the side of the workshop, which had a deep steel sink and a shower, but no mirrors. There was a cupboard under the sink containing soaps and cleaning products, as well as a shelf with dark-colored towels. A door that led to a toilet, which was cleaner than I had expected. So far, this whole gang house had been cleaner than I thought a load of men would leave it. I had underestimated the guys and made assumptions about how guys I knew from school or parties would act; none of them were like that. Maybe it was because they are mostly men, whereas my experience had been with boys my age and lower. I cleaned the grease off my hands and arms and dried them. As I went through the routine of cleaning myself up, I thought about the party they had been pushing me to attend and how it had churned up my stomach. The last few times I went to a party, I was with my ex-boyfriend, and he ended up with my sister, so parties were not my thing. I always seem to lose something at parties. Mostly friends, who don’t like the fact that I don’t drink, I have never been a drinker, I might drink a beer to be sociable, and it would take me ages to finish it. Still, I never take shots and am never blind drunk. I had only once been drunk, and I didn’t like the feeling or the way it took me all day to recover, nor the hangover that seemed to be more than a headache. My friends get drunk, and I spend a lot of time cleaning up the messes they make, so I seem to be the one doing the cleanup most of the time, as they know I have their backs, even when I prefer not to do that part of it. I had just finished cleaning up when Tank came in, took one look at me, and started to chuckle. “What?” I asked, looking confused as he laughed. What did I do that was so funny? He didn’t say a word. He leaned over, picked up a cloth, and soaped it up, then gripped my chin in his huge hand, and gently wiped the side of my face, his eyes concentrating on the task, as if it was the most important job he had to do with care. He was so gentle, touching my face with soft, quick movements. His eyes then met mine, and I was lost in the deepest blue orbs I have ever seen. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat and blinked a few times to break the trance he had put me in, and took a step back, my body hitting the sink behind me. “You had some grease on your cheek.” He whispered in a husky voice so deep that it had my lady parts jumping for joy and need, something I am not familiar with. “Thank you,” I whispered back, my voice croaking, and I was shocked by the sound of my own voice; it was lower, warmer, and surprised me as much as Tank's did. His eyes widened at the husky sound. He took a step back and motioned with his hand for me to move past him. I quickly left the washroom and waited in the workshop, taking in the wrecks and wondering how badly the rider would have been hurt if the bike had looked like this. Hoping no one lost their lives. I thought about that for a while. I loved my bike, but I would never ditch it because I was scared. That the thought of falling off had never entered my mind, if I died while riding my bike, then I would have been doing what I love doing. I found I was okay with that. Not that I want to die, but I have thought about how I would like to go when my heart has been broken. “Hey, what are you doing still in here?” Rocket asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Hiding?” I joked back, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and came to stand beside me, looking at the bike I had been staring at. “Can it be fixed? It’s been sitting here for a long time, with no one having the skill to start repairing it. Well, they could give it a go, but this bike is so old that parts are almost impossible to get.” “Yeah, I can give it a try. I have some contacts who can obtain parts, but I can also manufacture some parts. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can come over on weekends and dedicate some time to it.” I suggested it would be a shame to let this panhead go to waste. There are enough pieces of the wrecked bike left to serve as a starting point. “Sweet, it will be good to see this bike out on the road again.” Rocket looked genuinely pleased that the bike could be restored. I restore old cars, trucks, and bikes with Grandpa. I have the equipment stored in a shed for when I have a place of my own to use the machines. I wonder if they have a shed where I can put them. I will need one of the machines. “Ready?” Tank asked; he had shed the work shirt and pulled on a gang shirt. His muscles are on display. Yummy. He makes me feel tiny when I am beside him. “Tank, Max said she can restore the baby.” Tank’s head turned to look at the wreck, and then at me. “For real? Max, can you do that?” Tank looked surprised. After spending a few hours with me, working on bikes, he had to ask that? “Yeah, I can, need to talk to the Prez about some space, but I can do it.” Both guys frowned and looked around the workshop. But they didn’t say anything. Or question me further. Tank put his hand on my lower back and gave a slight push, making me start to walk out of the workshop. It was dark out. Tank guided me to the back door, Rocket leading the way. He opened the door for me and waved me in, as if I were someone important. Causing me to giggle. Yeah, you heard me; I giggled like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous, and not something I had ever expected to come out of my mouth. The guys didn’t even blink at the giggle. The place was warm inside, vibrating with the loud thump of the bass. You could hardly hear the person next to you speak over the heavy music. It reeked of cigarettes and booze. The girls who had been at the door waiting to get in were busy with patch members kissing and almost doing the deed right there on the chair. Some were grinding their hips against the man below them, and the small amount of clothing they had on was even less now. I assumed they were well on their way to being drunk. This was a classic visual of why men lose respect for some kinds of women. I am embarrassed to see it in front of me. I looked around the room and saw my friends still with Sticks, and a couple of guys hanging around nearby. My friends look like they are having fun, and they have a few patch members who seem friendly to them. I hope the girls know what they are doing. The gang life was not for everyone. Dad had once spoken badly about gangs, and he hated it when I became an apprentice at the bike shop. Grandpa was the one who encouraged me to have an apprenticeship. He hated that Dad and Mum were backing my sister in everything, and maybe encouraging me to be a mechanic at the bike shop was his way to get back at Dad. Dad had even tried to get me to leave the bike shop when Grandpa had died. But I had made a pact with Grandpa that I wouldn’t give in to Dad. To live the life I want, and never give in, no matter what the consequences are. I wonder what Grandpa would say if he were alive and saw Dad kick me out of the family home, for the sake of my sister. He would be livered, that’s for sure. But I did as Grandpa said, stood firm, and stayed true to myself. “Hey Maxi Max, come join us. Cricket, grab Max an iced water.” Sticks patted the chair next to her, and before I could move to sit beside her, Tank grabbed me around the waist and took a couple of giant steps to the chair, and sat down, holding me on his lap. The girls looked at each other, then, between Tank and me, the confused look changed to a grin and a nod —whatever that was about.
"“My guys found her. She’s at the MagDog clubhouse. Fixing their bikes.” “What?” Her father’s brow furrowed. “Then tell her to come home. Our business is drowning.” “She wouldn’t. Maxine sent back a message: ‘You gave my room to a bast3rd baby. I gave my keys to a biker.’” The room froze. Dan, Maxine’s ex-boyfriend, now her sister’s fiancé, remembered the last Christmas. Zoey’s moans. Maxine’s bed. Her white sheets. Zoey remembered stealing him—the third boyfriend she’d taken from her sister. And Mom and Dad never once said stop. Her parents remembered looking at their bleeding daughter and telling her to leave. For a nursery. For the cheater’s child. None of them had ever chosen her. “At least she’s safe,” her mother whispered, sobbing with regret. “Safe? She’s living above a bike shop. But she’s got the whole club at her back. Especially their giant—Tank. Six-foot-eight. Never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her. And... their president also sent a message.” “Go on,” her father urged, anxiety simmering beneath. “‘You didn’t want her. We do. Touch her fortune? We’ll end you.’” The words landed like a punch. No one moved. No one breathed. Outside, a Harley roared past the window. She didn’t even slow down." --- Maxine POV “Go home, you have worked too much overtime this week. Have an early night and give that boyfriend of yours an early treat.” My boss practically pushed me out the door, a wicked grin on his face. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’m going. I straddled my bike and started her up. This was going to be a great night. Today was my boyfriend's birthday, and I was going to give him my V-card as a special gift. I had brought new lingerie, black lace, see-through, and I had shaved my mound, leaving a trail that looked like an arrow pointing down to my juncture. I was ready to give him my all, my first, my heart, take the big plunge. I felt I was ready. I pulled into the driveway to see my sister's and my boyfriend’s cars. I had no idea my sister was coming home today. She was still at college in her final year, though I heard she wasn't doing so well. The poor golden girl has not met up with expectations, not that I was worried. My ex-boyfriend showed up three hours early; our date was not for a few more hours. What was he doing here already? Walking in the back door, I heard voices and headed towards them; they were in Dad’s office, with the door slightly ajar. I moved silently to the door and waited outside to hear what secrets they were having now. They occasionally do this when they are planning something and don’t want to include me, but I'm puzzled as to why my boyfriend and sister were included. “We never planned for it to happen.” My sister replied softly, as if she were some kind of victim; she was an expert at that. She should have been an actress; she would have won multiple Oscars by now. “When?” Dad asked, and I waited in the hallway to hear what this was all about. “Christmas day, we had too many of your special eggnogs, and things got heated. The party was more or less over; the presents had been given out, and the food had been eaten. We were all mulling around, talking, when Zoey said something, I don’t remember what—but we went upstairs to continue talking, and ended up in Maxine’s room. We did start by just talking, and before I knew it, we were kissing and things got heated, and ended up in her bed, like I said, and I was so lost in that moment that I forgot to use a protection. When we came out, no one seemed to notice we had been gone, so we pretended it never happened.” My boyfriend replied, and my heart just hit the floor, as I took in that my sister and boyfriend did the dirty in my bed at Christmas. MY BED. I slept in that bed, with their mess on the sheets. I feel suddenly sick at that thought. How could they do that to me? She stole another boyfriend from me again. But he was just as much to blame; I guess our relationship was not that strong yet. Not on his side at least. He continued to pretend, kissing me and taking me out on dates, as if that never happened. What a jerk. Now I feel cheated, dirty, ashamed, and angry all at once. What if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, and I ended up married to that cheating scumbag? Would her wedding present be to tell me she had slept with him first? I wouldn’t put it past her to do such a thing. She had done that before with my boyfriends, and I guess this one was just as vulnerable to her advances as the last one. “He gave me the best Christmas present ever.” My sister crowed with delight. I could imagine her tenderly touching her belly. “This is good news. I have wanted grandchildren, and the last grandchild I would have expected would be from you; you have never kept a relationship for long.” Mum said, sounding excited at the news. “What now?” My sister asked, still playing the perfect victim. “We get married?’ My now ex-boyfriend suggested —sounds more like a question. “What about Maxine?” My sister asked, as if I were an inconvenience that needed to be sorted out, and now they think about me, but it didn’t sound like concern. “What about her? This is about my first grandchild, and his or her safety comes first. She will have to live with it.” My mother spat, revealing that famous favoritism, because she had always taken my sister's side in everything, even when proven wrong. They never backed me up. “I am technically her boyfriend.” He started to say something, but was interrupted. “Not anymore, you're not. I will arrange with the local publican to hire the outdoor garden area, and we shall have an engagement party this Saturday. Get that sorted before you start to show, and Maxine will show her support.” Dad’s voice floated out, sounding resolute. I had no say in this, not that I wanted to be his girlfriend any longer; he had proven not to be what I wanted in a guy. “She will have to leave. I need her room for the nursery. I would prefer it if she didn't attend the engagement party. What will those who know she was the real girlfriend show up, and see that it was not Maxine getting engaged?” Mum added. Yep, that was my mother, trying to regain her dignity and save face. I couldn’t take it any longer. I was devastated enough, and listening further to their support for the love for the cheater was eating me up inside. I didn’t want to cry in front of them; the tears were a mix of anger and hurt. I pushed the door open, revealing myself standing there. All faces turned to look at me. “Let me get this straight. You took my boyfriend to MY bed, did the dirty with him, leaving your mess in my bed, as a sort of Christmas present for me. Guess that made your day, thinking I was sleeping in your mess. Now you want my bedroom for the child baby you have created, and I am what, just pushed out the door? Like yesterday’s trash?” I asked to ensure I understood correctly that the whole family was fine with me being tossed aside. “Exactly, I am taking your boyfriend, your bedroom, and you, my dear sister, have to move out.” My sister sounded like she had won the lottery. Her face beamed at her triumph. “Fine with me.” The look of shock would have made me laugh if I were not so numb inside. I moved away to my room and packed what I could into my duffel bag. I will come back for the rest later, when they are not around. My heart was breaking, not because I lost my boyfriend, although that hurt a lot, considering that what I was going to give him for his present today was saved for doing something foolish at least. But also because both parents were supporting this deception, as if it were the best news they had received in a while, that they had been trying to get rid of me for a while, and now succeeded in a spectacular way. I walked downstairs and looked at them. “When I find a place to stay, I will be back for the rest.” I spat at them, a mixture of hurt, anger, and defeat. I never fit into the family, a black sheep, so maybe I should become one. I had always had top grades, won awards, done my best, but even being first, I was still last. My best friend was the only place I could think of going to; it had to be temporary. Jenny will be cool and let me sleep on her couch till I find a new home. I climbed onto my bike and took off to the only sanctuary I had over the years. Jenny welcomed me into her home, like I knew she would, and together we had a pity party consisting of beer and vanilla fudge ice cream. We called the family and my ex some interesting names, some of which I had never heard before, but they sounded good. The drunker I got, the more inventive the names became. The next morning, after waking up on Jenny’s couch and remembering yesterday, it did not go as planned. I pulled myself together, had a quick shower, and left for work. It was eight in the morning, and Jenny was still asleep when I left. That might be okay for some, but my workday today would be ten hours long, and I was running late. “You're late, night must have gone better than planned,” Mike said jovially. They sort of knew what I was planning last night. The others chuckled along with Mike. I grumbled some shiet and got to work. By the end of the day, Mike pulled me to his office. “Okay, out with it. The guys have been tiptoeing around you all day. What happened? He rejected your advances?” He asked, his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, looking at me with concerned eyes, a father figure, better than my dad had ever been. So, I told him what happened when I got home and where I spent the night, and now I'm looking for a place to stay. I was proud of myself; I didn’t cry, or whine, or show any emotion at all —just explained my predicament in cold, emotionless words. Clear and succinct. He said he wouldn’t say anything in the shop, but would talk to the prez. I had no idea why, but I was not in the right frame of mind to question it. Maxine POV Today was my sister's engagement party; engaged to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, you heard me right, my ex. What a joke that was. I had been dating Dan for six months when my sister, who was a year older than I, came home for Christmas and ended up in bed with my boyfriend. She’s a shameless woman, always has been, but I never expected him to sleep with her. I thought we were secure in our relationship. The only good thing I took away from this was that I never went to bed with him; my virginity card was still intact, not that I was trying to keep it - I just never got the chance to lose it. She always managed to have any guy I was interested in dump me for her, and when she got bored with them, she’d move on. So, in a way, I didn’t have a boyfriend till she moved out of her home and headed to college. But when my sister came home and met him, she seduced him and got pregnant. He did the whole ‘get down on one knee and proposed’ scene. Apparently, it was romantic, but I wasn't there when he did it because they didn’t want me around. It hurt a lot at the time, and I was glad to have my girlfriends around me, helping me get over it. They say, I dodged a bullet. I agree with them, stupidly. He might have been a sports jock with good looks, but doing this tells me he was weak and shallow, and I was too good for him, or so my BFF says. I prefer to believe them over the excuses my ex made. I had to move out of my home after I had a massive fight with my parents a few days ago, when the truth was exposed; they supported her, not me, and the next thing I knew, I was out the door and the evil sister. The engagement party was intended to introduce him to her friends and make the relationship official, but I was not invited. My parents want nothing to do with me. I made them all uncomfortable, considering he was my boyfriend first. Anyone working out the timeline for the baby can piece it together, and see they were cheating on me, and it would have been awkward, and too many questions would have been raised. Not that I needed to say all of that, I kind of said it all before, but grrrrr, I am so angry at how my so-called ‘family’ kicked me out of my so-called home, with no care for me or my feelings. It was easier to push me away and disown me than have to explain to them that my sister cheated with my boyfriend, and hey presto, a baby was on the way. Because I was kicked out of the house, and only had a short time to pack anything, I took the opportunity of the party to sneak into the house and take more of my possessions, like opening my father's safe, and grabbing every piece of paper relating to me, and a little money too, no a lot of money, and grandma’s jewelry that she left me. So, with the help of my BFF, we packed my belongings and took them to her place until I found a new one. I ride a motorcycle, so I need help. I have the money to buy a new place, but I'm unsure if I want to stay in this town now. Once my apprenticeship is over, I might move away. I stayed that night at Jenny’s place, as I figured out what to do. Today, I am moving into my new place —a bungalow above the bike shop where I work. I am in my final year of apprenticeship, and I am a motorcycle mechanic, proud of it, I might add. I can also work on cars and trucks. If it had a motor, I could fix it; I always could, thanks to my knack for it, which I developed since I was eight, when I fell in love with engines. My Grandpa taught me, kept me out of everyone's way. I guess you could say I was a tomboy, with no frills and lace. My Grandpa kept me sane and busy, so the BS in our house didn’t hurt me as much. The place has two bedrooms and is fully contained, meaning it has everything I need. I had purchased some new sheets and towels, that sort of thing, but it had a fully stocked kitchen; I only needed to buy the food. It might be small, and above a noisy bike shop, but at night it was a quiet area. No one would break into this shop; the local bikie gang owned it. They were good guys, scary, but so far, no trouble for me. My BFF, Jenny, was helping me take my belongings upstairs when a group of bikers arrived and assisted us. I had five boxes and two suitcases filled with all sorts of items. “Thanks, guys, for the help,” I said sweetly, my BFF batting her eyes at them and swaying her hips suggestively as she walked and thanked them. She makes me laugh with her antics, which are totally opposite to mine. I like jeans and am rarely seen in a dress, whereas she was seldom seen in jeans. “We got a party at the clubhouse, tomorrow Saturday, you should come and relax a bit, bring your girls with ya,” Bruiser suggested as he threw his arm over my shoulder, walked me to the settee, pushed me down, and handed me a beer they had brought with them. This was how they acted around me, ordered me about. Sometimes, I'm okay with it; other times, I get all worked up and growl back at them. Today was acceptance. I know they mean well, and I feel lucky to have them as family; they try to make me feel better. “That sounds like a blast, count me in, and I can bring two other girl friends with us. Max, do you want me to pick you up?” Jenny offered, taking a beer from one of the guys. She was not a beer drinker; however, in this situation, I could see her not refusing anything they offered. I guess I'm going, whether I want to or not. “No, I’ll ride over,” I replied as one of the guys ordered pizza. “That’s the spirit. Nothing like the wind in your hair to blow the cobwebs away.” They stayed because they didn’t want me to be alone, not on my first night here. Pizza arrived not long after, and my little bungalow was soon feeling too small and crowded, with six huge bikers in the room. Some sat on the floor; others pulled up one of the three kitchen chairs. I know, I know, three chairs sound odd, but that's what was here, and beggars can’t be choosers; the rent was dirt cheap, and I think the boys are the ones to make sure I had everything I needed. They found out about my situation the next day, because, I was still quiet at work, which was not like me, often I am singing to the radio, or swearing at something, so one of the guys approached me, to find out what gives, and I softly told them, what went down, and when word got around the bikers heard I needed a place to stay, because I was kicked out of my home and why, they came to me, like protective brothers. Now I have a whole gang of bikers who have my back. I feel privileged to call them friends. They even offered to rough the ex up for me, but I refused the offer, because strangely, I was happy to get rid of the loser if he was a cheating build. Better now than when I am fully invested in our relationship. Plus, I was in deep enough shite with my parents and sister without making it worse. The pizza was gone, my BFF left for home, and the guys did too. It was late, well, for me, midnight. I usually fall asleep quickly because I have to be up for work at five. Tomorrow, being Saturday, I have the morning shift before the party later. They let me leave work early so I can move in here. “Hey, don’t forget to come, we need our prettiest mechanic at the party, some of the boys might need a tune-up,” Bruiser said with a laugh as they climbed on their bikes and left. I know what sort of tune-up he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with a motor. I looked around my new home. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. The guys were great; they took the empty pizza boxes and beer cans with them, and the place was relatively clean. Not at all what you would expect from a group of rowdy men. The clubhouse. I had never been to it, despite having worked there for nearly four years, and they had never extended an invitation to me. I know they had lots of parties; maybe I was too young. I turned twenty recently, but they might think of me as the fifteen-year-old who showed up one day and told the boss I was going to be his apprentice. He laughed at first and said he would give me a go to prove myself. He thought I was joking and that I would be gone by the weekend, but over the holidays, I worked hard and have been here ever since. Maxine POV The beeping sound of my phone alarm made me sit up and look around. It took a moment to remember where I was. The room had a small curtain that barely kept the light out. There was a streetlight just outside my window. I can envisage myself getting better blackout curtains soon. Although it was annoying, it wasn't among my top priorities for making this a home. The shower was decent, with nice pressure. I followed my morning routine, only to realize how foolish I was to wake up so early, living above my place of work; I didn’t need to ride here. After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I still had half an hour before I needed to be at work. I had two ways to get into my place: one was through the back stairs, and the other was through the shop. With the code to turn off the alarm, I decided to head down and start work early. It was better than moving stuff around; I can do that later. I had a bike to finish by this afternoon. The customer would be here at two. Turned off the alarm, turned on the coffee pot, the radio, and headed to my workstation, where the fat boy was waiting for me to finish. I sat on the stool with casters and began my job, singing loudly to the heavy rock song that came on the radio as I installed the new spark plugs and double-checked the oil. It was a simple, easy-peasy service. Once finished, I started the bike up, let it idle while I made coffee, then returned to rev it a few times. It sounds lumpy, like it was just turning over perfectly; it was music to my ears. I love that throaty, deep, lumpy sound. You can feel it vibrate through my chest. “That’s a sound I loved to hear as I enter work.” My boss, Mike, said as I turned the bike off. “It’s ready to go, unless you want to take it out for a test ride. Want a coffee, pots hot.” I offered as I threw the dirty rag in the bin. “Sure, I will take the bike out for a spin, and you can make me a coffee.” He smirked as he grabbed the bike. I opened the garage door, and Mike took off. I smiled as he disappeared down the street, and I turned to make both of us coffee. If you hadn’t guessed already, I would drink a lot of coffee. I am not a fan of soft drinks or tea; for me, it's coffee or water. With a broom in hand, I began cleaning the shop. I am not out here very often, but I try to sweep the floor at least once a week; they have another apprentice who’s a second year, who gets to do most of the cleaning up, but he’s never here on a Saturday. The sound of the bike returning prompted me to pick up the two cups of coffee and head back out to the workshop. Mike had a massive grin on his face as he parked the bike. “Great job, you are our top mechanic. But don’t tell anyone, or I will have to deny it.” He joked, taking his coffee from my hand as he walked by, no doubt letting the customer know the bike was ready ahead of time. I moved to the next bike, which was a total rebuild; it had been in a minor accident, and while the frame was being checked, I would work on the engine and gearbox. It was the only job on my list at the moment. The bike owner was in no hurry; he had a broken leg, giving me a few weeks to work on his bike and any urgent jobs that might come into the shop. The client arrived and happily took possession of his bike, very happy with the job done. “I hear you’ve been invited to the club party tonight,” Mike said as he rang up the sale on the cash register. “Yep.” I said popping the ‘p’. “You can leave now, we have no more customers expected. Good job today.” It was close to one o’clock, near the time I would knock off. “Thanks, boss.” I saluted him and rushed upstairs, before he could change his mind. Giggling all the way up. I heard him chuckling as he locked the door below, behind me. I decided on a quick shower; I didn’t want to smell of oil when going to a party. Put on my skinny black jeans, a black blouse that had red flames on the back and on the pockets, black boots that had some chains around the ankle, and hair in a ponytail. I will get what we call helmet hair, so it's a waste to do much with it now. I use mascara and strawberry lip gloss, which is more to moisturize my lips, which tend to dry out when I ride my bike, and that's it. The last thing I grabbed before leaving was my jacket. My mum used to grumble that I wasn’t like my sister and put more effort into my appearance, but I like who I am, and I didn’t like wearing lots of makeup; it was my choice, and I feel that I am not a frilly, lacey chick. It was a deal breaker with my mum. She had my sister dress up and left me in the care of Grandpa until he died when I was seventeen. It broke me when he left the world. He was the only person who got me. My grandma had been gone since I was young, and I filled the hole in his heart with my love for bikes and fishing. He left me his money and bikes. Dad got his house and business. My mum hated that I gained all that money. When Grandma died, she left me her jewelry, and Grandpa made sure to keep it safe till I was old enough to have it. I ate something and put some more of my stuff in the cupboards before my phone chimed to let me know my girlfriends were on their way to the party. I pulled my bike out of the small garage and started it up. I threw my leg over and took off, heading to the property. The clubhouse was half an hour out of town, set on a large property a little bit back from the road. Ten minutes later, I came up behind the girls and hung out behind them. My friend waved me on to take the lead. I shrugged and overtook her. The turn off arrived, and I rode happily up the long drive, and trees lined the road. An open, large steel gate appeared, and I was glad it was still enough light to see clearly. Men stood by the entrance, watching us arrive. “Hey.” I greeted the biggest man I had ever seen. “Who invited you here?” The man asked gruffly, in a deep husky voice. “Bruiser,” I answered, with a firm, clear voice, hoping that the fact that he frightened me would be noticed in my voice. He pulled out his phone and called, I assumed, Bruiser. “Max?” He asked, as he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. He said something more and hung up the phone. “Come in, the car behind your girls?” He looked at the car behind, which clearly had a woman in it. “Yep,” I replied, not at all liking how he intimidated me with his manner. Perhaps it was the way they greeted strangers. One look makes the weak run. Well, I am not weak, and I won't be running. Maxine POV This rather large biker leaned in to look inside the car, his bulky figure partially blocking the open window, causing the girl nearest it to back away. Satisfied, he looked at me with a knowing smirk, then motioned for us to enter. The clubhouse was nothing like I had imagined. Firstly, it was four levels high. Verandah all the way around, that I could see. It was more like a mansion than a clubhouse. Women were gathered near the door, looking in, as if they were waiting for something; some were sitting on the wooden fence that surrounded the verandah. They were dressed in barely anything, showing all that was available, some love that sort of thing. People like me dress to stay warm or cool and don’t care about showing off the goods. Bikes sat in neat rows in front, and cars were parked to the left of the building; the ratio of bikes to cars was approximately four bikes to one car. I parked the bike with the others, climbed off, and took off my helmet. I placed the lid on the bike and shook out my hair while waiting for the girls to park and come to me. I heard some muffled scoffs, but I couldn’t care less —I wasn't here to please them. Bruiser came out of the clubhouse behind me. “Max, you came by bike. Sweet.” He gave me a gentle squeeze and moved to take a closer look at my bike. The paint job was a wolf, fading in smoke. It took me months to finish, as I kept changing my mind, and the smoke obscured the mistakes. “Who did the paint job?” He asked as he moved around to look at it from all sides. “Me.” I was proud of the results. “Does Mike know you can paint?” He sounded surprised. “He has seen my bike when I used the garage to do a service. He never asked who did the paint work, just that he liked it.” “Sweet, looks like we have someone to do touch-ups, and possibly a full paint job. We have a family reunion in a few weeks, and the ladies are invited to come along. You can join us.” Bruiser offered as my ladies arrived; they were not included in that invitation, I assumed, because I have a bike. “Bruiser, you already met Jenny, Melony, Karen, and Heather, my other BFF, and Alice, Karen's sister, and BFF to my sister.” Adding that comment, hoping that Bruiser knew precisely what that woman was like. Alice battered her eyes and leaned forward to show off what was under that almost shirt. My ladies greeted him with the respect he deserved. “Ladies. Hands out.” Bruiser stamped the girl's backs of their hands; they all had a bear, except Alice, who had a rabbit on her hand. I frowned, trying to figure out what the rabbit was all about. He pushed my hand away. “You are family, no need for a stamp.” I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my face. I felt so special. Then the shoe dropped. Rabbit meant she would open her legs. Bruiser got my meaning loud and clear. It took a while to understand the purpose of the stamps. “Come inside and meet the ole ladies.” I understood what he meant; these were ladies who had been claimed and had a different level of respect that those not claimed would never understand. I have met a few of them over the years and gained more insight into club life. They respect me as much as I respect them. We entered the place, and the girls who had been waiting outside gave us a dirty look, as they were still stopped from entering. “What's so special about them?” One pouted, but Bruiser ignored her. Inside was cleaner than I had expected —my fault for judging a group of men, since they often look messy when I see them at the shop. The place had a large, open space, with tables where you stand, as well as booths dotted along the walls, and stools at the bar, which ran the full length of the room. I loved the spacious room, the pictures on the walls, and some bike parts scattered about as decoration. A few barstools are bike seats; it was different, and it appealed to me. Being a lover of bikes. “Sticks.” I greeted her as we got closer to the ladies Bruiser was taking us to. “Hey, Maxie Max. How's it blowing?” She stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. This chick had no filter or personal space. Sticks was the President's; her real name was Sandra, but she was my height at five-nine, and she had no shape to her body, just a lovely bean pole, almost no chest to speak of, yet she had had two boys. Hence the name Sticks. “Doing better,” I replied. She would know what was going on. She introduced us to the other ladies with her, and it didn’t surprise me that Alice had already moved away from us before we had finished the introductions. “What’s her story?” Sticks asked as she watched Alice start to try her luck with the club men. “Same as my sister. Bruiser put a rabbit stamp on her hand.” Sticks and the other girl roared out laughing. “She will be used, abused, and kicked to the side by the time the night is over, and I doubt they would let her back in. We don’t need her sort in the club.” Maggie spouted as we watched a patch member knock her offer back. “The regulars are not going to like her working their turf. So, to speak.” Tootsie said, with a smirk, that the regulars know the rules and stick with them. Don’t approach a patch member; if interested, they will come to you. Nom’s are fair game. But most girls would prefer a patch member. Don’t touch a taken member; the women will gang up and make your life miserable if you feel one of theirs. Wait to be let into the clubhouse and then stay in the public area. No going upstairs uninvited. The first two floors are designated for guest rooms, while the top floor is reserved for permanent residences. Those who don’t have a home of their own to go to. They are private and not open to wandering girls. Don’t touch or sit on someone’s bike, unless you are given permission. The patched old ladies are the bosses of the girls; they tell you to leave or do something, and you do it. There were more rules for the girls visiting, but I couldn’t remember them all at that moment. None had applied to me until now. Alice had already broken at least three, to my knowledge. I am staying out of it. That rabbit on her hand told the members that she would open her legs for any of them, and no one would support her if she broke the rules. That she was not welcome to return, in other words, have your fun, and then kick her to the curb. The doors were opened to let the other girls in. They looked at us in the no-go zone and pouted. We were sitting in an off-limits area unless we were invited. From what I understood, they were here to spread their legs and give the guys some relief, but not become part of the family. They might be hopeful that something would change; it was rare for a patch member to take one of these ladies, who had most likely been with every unattached member of the gang, at some point. My girls left me with Sticks and wandered about with the other ladies, getting the tour of the place. “Want to look around?” Sticks were offered, and before I knew it, we were walking around the vast ground floor. “Ready to see the workshop, the guys might talk you into helping out, once they know who you are.” Sticks led me down a small pathway, lined with flowering shrubs, and to a set of large, farm-size sheds. Inside were bikes, some in bits, others crumpled from an accident, and others like they had just been detailed and were someone's pride and joy. There was a workshop here, where men were working on their bikes. They looked up at us when we entered and frowned. If Sticks were not with me, they would have most likely growled at me to get out. “Who’s this Sticks?” A monster of a man asked, in the deepest voice I have ever heard, he looked a lot like the man at the gate, but with more toned muscles, that I would love to run my fingers over. Just a tad taller, and although he looked big and scary, he made my lady parts sing in a way they had never sung before. Tank POV A few guys aren't into parties, so I stopped going until later in the night, when the girls who showed up were already taken. I dislike the women who come here hoping to adopt our lifestyle. I prefer to use my hand rather than one of those women. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my share of women; however, I had a girl who pushed me to take her, and when I did, she ended up in the hospital, because I am not exactly a little man, and I ripped her apart. She needed stitches, and I have not been with a woman since. Like my brother, we are both large men; he is six feet six inches tall, and I am six feet eight inches tall. He’s carrying extra weight, where I am all muscle. I pride myself on keeping in shape, but being this large has its downfall, and having a large build has had me worried about hurting another woman. No matter how much I might want to, I can’t; I never want to go through that again. The Prez was the only person who knew why I wouldn’t join the parties; he was with me when we took the girl to the hospital, she forgave me, and tried to pursue me to keep her, but I couldn’t. Each time I started to get intimate, I had flashes of her screams, and my confidence went down like a popped balloon. We were in the workshop, doing some minor tune-ups. As I prepare for our ride, I'm excited. When they bring the ladies, the men are usually in a better mood and on their best behavior. I was looking at rebuild. I started it last week. We have a few wrecks that need to be started; some have been sitting here far too long. We can only go so far before we need Mike's help. None of us was a mechanic. I was scratching my head, as I was almost at the end of my knowledge, when I heard someone enter, and a soft perfume that shouldn’t be in this shed hit my nose. Stick’s voice reached my ears, and I lifted my head up to look in her direction. “Who’s this Sticks?” The most beautiful girl I have ever seen had entered our sanctuary, a place where few girls are allowed, which made Sticks bring this beauty down to this dirt and grease, which was unexpectedly. “That is Max, from the shop, Mike's apprentice, who I think had finished her apprenticeship and is doing something extra on Harleys and getting some specialized license,” Banjo said as he moved forward to greet them. The others stood up and moved forward too, making me feel like a dill for not recognizing Max. Although I have only seen her a few times from a distance, and she was usually deep in bike repair, I barely got to see her face. We have not been introduced because I wouldn’t have forgotten that beauty if I had. Sticks introduced us all, and we greeted her before I decided I could use her help. I put the thoughts of what I wouldn’t mind doing to her behind me, not that I could do it. “Max, come look at this wreck. I am stuck with what to do next.” I called her over on the bike I was working on. “Tank, surely you could have waited for another day? She came for the party, not to work.” Sticks grumbled as Max walked to me. She was clean and smelled nice, and I had a fleeting moment of guilt for calling her over. The few times I had seen her, she was covered in oil and grease, wearing coveralls that hid her shapely figure. “Max, are you sure?” Sticks pulled on her hand to get her attention. “Yeah, I am more at home in here than out there,” Max said with a smile and turned back to me. “What's the problem?” She asked me to move forward and inspect the bike. I went into detail about what happened to the bike, what I had managed to do so far, and what I needed to move forward. Max removed her leather jacket and slung it over a nearby bike seat, then squatted down. For the next two hours, Max worked on the bike with me, guiding me through the tricky bits I couldn’t do. The others came forward and used this time as a sort of training session, and Max didn’t seem to mind at all. We asked questions as she worked on the bike, and she used me to lift the heavy parts. It was teamwork, and we completed more repairs in that time than I would have on my own. “Hey, Max,” Bruiser called out at the door. He stood with his legs apart, arms folded, and I wondered if we had done something wrong. “Back here.” She returned to the call of her name. He arrived and burst out laughing at us. “Max, I invited you to a party, you know, dancing and drinking, and socializing. This was not what I meant as a party.” He was still chuckling when the Prez walked in, with Sticks on his arm. “You still got her working out here?” Stick all but growled at us, when the Prez’s lady growls, we all listen. She’s the last person we want to make angry. “What?” I was confused, Max didn’t seem to mind, and we all were having a good time out here. “Hey, Prez. The party over?” Max calmly asked, but it sounded more like she had hoped it was. “Not even close, babes.” The Prez answered with a smile. He had gotten closer to Max over the years she had been at the bike shop. He had often talked about the female mechanic and her sassy ways. I had thought he was exaggerating, but after spending a little time with her, I was hooked. “We have nearly completed the repair job on Spider's bike. If we can have Max here for a few days, I bet we could hit the road by the end of the week.” I said it as it was my way of asking her to stay for a while and fix the bike. Spider was almost healed and ready to get back on his own bike. “Would have to ask Mike about that, she’s his employee, even if we own the shop, he runs it, and I don’t get involved with his employees,” Prez replied contemplatively. “He here?” I asked, as Mike often doesn’t show up at the weekend parties. “Yep, came half an hour ago.” Sticks answered as she handed Max a bottle of water. “Max, if Mike’s okay with it, would you work with us for a week, get some of these ready for the weekend ride?” Sparks asked, and I kicked myself for not considering that she might not want to spend a week here. “Sure, if Mike doesn’t need me, we have several bikes in for service before the ladies run.” Her sweet voice carried across the warehouse, and the guys nodded in understanding. “Thanks, babes,” Spike called out. Each one of us here enjoyed that she worked on our bikes; it might sound odd that we're letting a chick touch our bikes, but Max was not like most chicks. Who wants to sit on the bikes or lie on them? Max knows what she’s doing and has proven herself on numerous occasions. I wish I had known how attractive she was. Man, I had a semi since she walked in the door. The Prez will even let her ride her own bike, a privilege few ladies get. She was more part of the crew; no other girl I know works on bikes like she does, and her reputation over the time she's been an apprentice has been exemplary. Not a guy chaser. When word got out that our girl had been cheated on in the worst possible way, we all wanted to go and kill the man, even though half of us had never really met her, yeah, seen her in a distance, or legs poking out from under a truck, but never sat and talked with her before today. She was fun, had me chuckling a few times, but most of the time in here, she had been all about the bikes, and not flirting, like most chicks do when around us. They see the glamour of the lifestyle, but it's not for everyone. Maxine POV I was guided to a washroom on the side of the workshop, which had a deep steel sink and a shower, but no mirrors. There was a cupboard under the sink containing soaps and cleaning products, as well as a shelf with dark-colored towels. A door that led to a toilet, which was cleaner than I had expected. So far, this whole gang house had been cleaner than I thought a load of men would leave it. I had underestimated the guys and made assumptions about how guys I knew from school or parties would act; none of them were like that. Maybe it was because they are mostly men, whereas my experience had been with boys my age and lower. I cleaned the grease off my hands and arms and dried them. As I went through the routine of cleaning myself up, I thought about the party they had been pushing me to attend and how it had churned up my stomach. The last few times I went to a party, I was with my ex-boyfriend, and he ended up with my sister, so parties were not my thing. I always seem to lose something at parties. Mostly friends, who don’t like the fact that I don’t drink, I have never been a drinker, I might drink a beer to be sociable, and it would take me ages to finish it. Still, I never take shots and am never blind drunk. I had only once been drunk, and I didn’t like the feeling or the way it took me all day to recover, nor the hangover that seemed to be more than a headache. My friends get drunk, and I spend a lot of time cleaning up the messes they make, so I seem to be the one doing the cleanup most of the time, as they know I have their backs, even when I prefer not to do that part of it. I had just finished cleaning up when Tank came in, took one look at me, and started to chuckle. “What?” I asked, looking confused as he laughed. What did I do that was so funny? He didn’t say a word. He leaned over, picked up a cloth, and soaped it up, then gripped my chin in his huge hand, and gently wiped the side of my face, his eyes concentrating on the task, as if it was the most important job he had to do with care. He was so gentle, touching my face with soft, quick movements. His eyes then met mine, and I was lost in the deepest blue orbs I have ever seen. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat and blinked a few times to break the trance he had put me in, and took a step back, my body hitting the sink behind me. “You had some grease on your cheek.” He whispered in a husky voice so deep that it had my lady parts jumping for joy and need, something I am not familiar with. “Thank you,” I whispered back, my voice croaking, and I was shocked by the sound of my own voice; it was lower, warmer, and surprised me as much as Tank's did. His eyes widened at the husky sound. He took a step back and motioned with his hand for me to move past him. I quickly left the washroom and waited in the workshop, taking in the wrecks and wondering how badly the rider would have been hurt if the bike had looked like this. Hoping no one lost their lives. I thought about that for a while. I loved my bike, but I would never ditch it because I was scared. That the thought of falling off had never entered my mind, if I died while riding my bike, then I would have been doing what I love doing. I found I was okay with that. Not that I want to die, but I have thought about how I would like to go when my heart has been broken. “Hey, what are you doing still in here?” Rocket asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Hiding?” I joked back, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and came to stand beside me, looking at the bike I had been staring at. “Can it be fixed? It’s been sitting here for a long time, with no one having the skill to start repairing it. Well, they could give it a go, but this bike is so old that parts are almost impossible to get.” “Yeah, I can give it a try. I have some contacts who can obtain parts, but I can also manufacture some parts. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can come over on weekends and dedicate some time to it.” I suggested it would be a shame to let this panhead go to waste. There are enough pieces of the wrecked bike left to serve as a starting point. “Sweet, it will be good to see this bike out on the road again.” Rocket looked genuinely pleased that the bike could be restored. I restore old cars, trucks, and bikes with Grandpa. I have the equipment stored in a shed for when I have a place of my own to use the machines. I wonder if they have a shed where I can put them. I will need one of the machines. “Ready?” Tank asked; he had shed the work shirt and pulled on a gang shirt. His muscles are on display. Yummy. He makes me feel tiny when I am beside him. “Tank, Max said she can restore the baby.” Tank’s head turned to look at the wreck, and then at me. “For real? Max, can you do that?” Tank looked surprised. After spending a few hours with me, working on bikes, he had to ask that? “Yeah, I can, need to talk to the Prez about some space, but I can do it.” Both guys frowned and looked around the workshop. But they didn’t say anything. Or question me further. Tank put his hand on my lower back and gave a slight push, making me start to walk out of the workshop. It was dark out. Tank guided me to the back door, Rocket leading the way. He opened the door for me and waved me in, as if I were someone important. Causing me to giggle. Yeah, you heard me; I giggled like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous, and not something I had ever expected to come out of my mouth. The guys didn’t even blink at the giggle. The place was warm inside, vibrating with the loud thump of the bass. You could hardly hear the person next to you speak over the heavy music. It reeked of cigarettes and booze. The girls who had been at the door waiting to get in were busy with patch members kissing and almost doing the deed right there on the chair. Some were grinding their hips against the man below them, and the small amount of clothing they had on was even less now. I assumed they were well on their way to being drunk. This was a classic visual of why men lose respect for some kinds of women. I am embarrassed to see it in front of me. I looked around the room and saw my friends still with Sticks, and a couple of guys hanging around nearby. My friends look like they are having fun, and they have a few patch members who seem friendly to them. I hope the girls know what they are doing. The gang life was not for everyone. Dad had once spoken badly about gangs, and he hated it when I became an apprentice at the bike shop. Grandpa was the one who encouraged me to have an apprenticeship. He hated that Dad and Mum were backing my sister in everything, and maybe encouraging me to be a mechanic at the bike shop was his way to get back at Dad. Dad had even tried to get me to leave the bike shop when Grandpa had died. But I had made a pact with Grandpa that I wouldn’t give in to Dad. To live the life I want, and never give in, no matter what the consequences are. I wonder what Grandpa would say if he were alive and saw Dad kick me out of the family home, for the sake of my sister. He would be livered, that’s for sure. But I did as Grandpa said, stood firm, and stayed true to myself. “Hey Maxi Max, come join us. Cricket, grab Max an iced water.” Sticks patted the chair next to her, and before I could move to sit beside her, Tank grabbed me around the waist and took a couple of giant steps to the chair, and sat down, holding me on his lap. The girls looked at each other, then, between Tank and me, the confused look changed to a grin and a nod —whatever that was about.
"“My guys found her. She’s at the MagDog clubhouse. Fixing their bikes.” “What?” Her father’s brow furrowed. “Then tell her to come home. Our business is drowning.” “She wouldn’t. Maxine sent back a message: ‘You gave my room to a bast3rd baby. I gave my keys to a biker.’” The room froze. Dan, Maxine’s ex-boyfriend, now her sister’s fiancé, remembered the last Christmas. Zoey’s moans. Maxine’s bed. Her white sheets. Zoey remembered stealing him—the third boyfriend she’d taken from her sister. And Mom and Dad never once said stop. Her parents remembered looking at their bleeding daughter and telling her to leave. For a nursery. For the cheater’s child. None of them had ever chosen her. “At least she’s safe,” her mother whispered, sobbing with regret. “Safe? She’s living above a bike shop. But she’s got the whole club at her back. Especially their giant—Tank. Six-foot-eight. Never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her. And... their president also sent a message.” “Go on,” her father urged, anxiety simmering beneath. “‘You didn’t want her. We do. Touch her fortune? We’ll end you.’” The words landed like a punch. No one moved. No one breathed. Outside, a Harley roared past the window. She didn’t even slow down." --- Maxine POV “Go home, you have worked too much overtime this week. Have an early night and give that boyfriend of yours an early treat.” My boss practically pushed me out the door, a wicked grin on his face. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’m going. I straddled my bike and started her up. This was going to be a great night. Today was my boyfriend's birthday, and I was going to give him my V-card as a special gift. I had brought new lingerie, black lace, see-through, and I had shaved my mound, leaving a trail that looked like an arrow pointing down to my juncture. I was ready to give him my all, my first, my heart, take the big plunge. I felt I was ready. I pulled into the driveway to see my sister's and my boyfriend’s cars. I had no idea my sister was coming home today. She was still at college in her final year, though I heard she wasn't doing so well. The poor golden girl has not met up with expectations, not that I was worried. My ex-boyfriend showed up three hours early; our date was not for a few more hours. What was he doing here already? Walking in the back door, I heard voices and headed towards them; they were in Dad’s office, with the door slightly ajar. I moved silently to the door and waited outside to hear what secrets they were having now. They occasionally do this when they are planning something and don’t want to include me, but I'm puzzled as to why my boyfriend and sister were included. “We never planned for it to happen.” My sister replied softly, as if she were some kind of victim; she was an expert at that. She should have been an actress; she would have won multiple Oscars by now. “When?” Dad asked, and I waited in the hallway to hear what this was all about. “Christmas day, we had too many of your special eggnogs, and things got heated. The party was more or less over; the presents had been given out, and the food had been eaten. We were all mulling around, talking, when Zoey said something, I don’t remember what—but we went upstairs to continue talking, and ended up in Maxine’s room. We did start by just talking, and before I knew it, we were kissing and things got heated, and ended up in her bed, like I said, and I was so lost in that moment that I forgot to use a protection. When we came out, no one seemed to notice we had been gone, so we pretended it never happened.” My boyfriend replied, and my heart just hit the floor, as I took in that my sister and boyfriend did the dirty in my bed at Christmas. MY BED. I slept in that bed, with their mess on the sheets. I feel suddenly sick at that thought. How could they do that to me? She stole another boyfriend from me again. But he was just as much to blame; I guess our relationship was not that strong yet. Not on his side at least. He continued to pretend, kissing me and taking me out on dates, as if that never happened. What a jerk. Now I feel cheated, dirty, ashamed, and angry all at once. What if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, and I ended up married to that cheating scumbag? Would her wedding present be to tell me she had slept with him first? I wouldn’t put it past her to do such a thing. She had done that before with my boyfriends, and I guess this one was just as vulnerable to her advances as the last one. “He gave me the best Christmas present ever.” My sister crowed with delight. I could imagine her tenderly touching her belly. “This is good news. I have wanted grandchildren, and the last grandchild I would have expected would be from you; you have never kept a relationship for long.” Mum said, sounding excited at the news. “What now?” My sister asked, still playing the perfect victim. “We get married?’ My now ex-boyfriend suggested —sounds more like a question. “What about Maxine?” My sister asked, as if I were an inconvenience that needed to be sorted out, and now they think about me, but it didn’t sound like concern. “What about her? This is about my first grandchild, and his or her safety comes first. She will have to live with it.” My mother spat, revealing that famous favoritism, because she had always taken my sister's side in everything, even when proven wrong. They never backed me up. “I am technically her boyfriend.” He started to say something, but was interrupted. “Not anymore, you're not. I will arrange with the local publican to hire the outdoor garden area, and we shall have an engagement party this Saturday. Get that sorted before you start to show, and Maxine will show her support.” Dad’s voice floated out, sounding resolute. I had no say in this, not that I wanted to be his girlfriend any longer; he had proven not to be what I wanted in a guy. “She will have to leave. I need her room for the nursery. I would prefer it if she didn't attend the engagement party. What will those who know she was the real girlfriend show up, and see that it was not Maxine getting engaged?” Mum added. Yep, that was my mother, trying to regain her dignity and save face. I couldn’t take it any longer. I was devastated enough, and listening further to their support for the love for the cheater was eating me up inside. I didn’t want to cry in front of them; the tears were a mix of anger and hurt. I pushed the door open, revealing myself standing there. All faces turned to look at me. “Let me get this straight. You took my boyfriend to MY bed, did the dirty with him, leaving your mess in my bed, as a sort of Christmas present for me. Guess that made your day, thinking I was sleeping in your mess. Now you want my bedroom for the child baby you have created, and I am what, just pushed out the door? Like yesterday’s trash?” I asked to ensure I understood correctly that the whole family was fine with me being tossed aside. “Exactly, I am taking your boyfriend, your bedroom, and you, my dear sister, have to move out.” My sister sounded like she had won the lottery. Her face beamed at her triumph. “Fine with me.” The look of shock would have made me laugh if I were not so numb inside. I moved away to my room and packed what I could into my duffel bag. I will come back for the rest later, when they are not around. My heart was breaking, not because I lost my boyfriend, although that hurt a lot, considering that what I was going to give him for his present today was saved for doing something foolish at least. But also because both parents were supporting this deception, as if it were the best news they had received in a while, that they had been trying to get rid of me for a while, and now succeeded in a spectacular way. I walked downstairs and looked at them. “When I find a place to stay, I will be back for the rest.” I spat at them, a mixture of hurt, anger, and defeat. I never fit into the family, a black sheep, so maybe I should become one. I had always had top grades, won awards, done my best, but even being first, I was still last. My best friend was the only place I could think of going to; it had to be temporary. Jenny will be cool and let me sleep on her couch till I find a new home. I climbed onto my bike and took off to the only sanctuary I had over the years. Jenny welcomed me into her home, like I knew she would, and together we had a pity party consisting of beer and vanilla fudge ice cream. We called the family and my ex some interesting names, some of which I had never heard before, but they sounded good. The drunker I got, the more inventive the names became. The next morning, after waking up on Jenny’s couch and remembering yesterday, it did not go as planned. I pulled myself together, had a quick shower, and left for work. It was eight in the morning, and Jenny was still asleep when I left. That might be okay for some, but my workday today would be ten hours long, and I was running late. “You're late, night must have gone better than planned,” Mike said jovially. They sort of knew what I was planning last night. The others chuckled along with Mike. I grumbled some shiet and got to work. By the end of the day, Mike pulled me to his office. “Okay, out with it. The guys have been tiptoeing around you all day. What happened? He rejected your advances?” He asked, his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, looking at me with concerned eyes, a father figure, better than my dad had ever been. So, I told him what happened when I got home and where I spent the night, and now I'm looking for a place to stay. I was proud of myself; I didn’t cry, or whine, or show any emotion at all —just explained my predicament in cold, emotionless words. Clear and succinct. He said he wouldn’t say anything in the shop, but would talk to the prez. I had no idea why, but I was not in the right frame of mind to question it. Maxine POV Today was my sister's engagement party; engaged to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, you heard me right, my ex. What a joke that was. I had been dating Dan for six months when my sister, who was a year older than I, came home for Christmas and ended up in bed with my boyfriend. She’s a shameless woman, always has been, but I never expected him to sleep with her. I thought we were secure in our relationship. The only good thing I took away from this was that I never went to bed with him; my virginity card was still intact, not that I was trying to keep it - I just never got the chance to lose it. She always managed to have any guy I was interested in dump me for her, and when she got bored with them, she’d move on. So, in a way, I didn’t have a boyfriend till she moved out of her home and headed to college. But when my sister came home and met him, she seduced him and got pregnant. He did the whole ‘get down on one knee and proposed’ scene. Apparently, it was romantic, but I wasn't there when he did it because they didn’t want me around. It hurt a lot at the time, and I was glad to have my girlfriends around me, helping me get over it. They say, I dodged a bullet. I agree with them, stupidly. He might have been a sports jock with good looks, but doing this tells me he was weak and shallow, and I was too good for him, or so my BFF says. I prefer to believe them over the excuses my ex made. I had to move out of my home after I had a massive fight with my parents a few days ago, when the truth was exposed; they supported her, not me, and the next thing I knew, I was out the door and the evil sister. The engagement party was intended to introduce him to her friends and make the relationship official, but I was not invited. My parents want nothing to do with me. I made them all uncomfortable, considering he was my boyfriend first. Anyone working out the timeline for the baby can piece it together, and see they were cheating on me, and it would have been awkward, and too many questions would have been raised. Not that I needed to say all of that, I kind of said it all before, but grrrrr, I am so angry at how my so-called ‘family’ kicked me out of my so-called home, with no care for me or my feelings. It was easier to push me away and disown me than have to explain to them that my sister cheated with my boyfriend, and hey presto, a baby was on the way. Because I was kicked out of the house, and only had a short time to pack anything, I took the opportunity of the party to sneak into the house and take more of my possessions, like opening my father's safe, and grabbing every piece of paper relating to me, and a little money too, no a lot of money, and grandma’s jewelry that she left me. So, with the help of my BFF, we packed my belongings and took them to her place until I found a new one. I ride a motorcycle, so I need help. I have the money to buy a new place, but I'm unsure if I want to stay in this town now. Once my apprenticeship is over, I might move away. I stayed that night at Jenny’s place, as I figured out what to do. Today, I am moving into my new place —a bungalow above the bike shop where I work. I am in my final year of apprenticeship, and I am a motorcycle mechanic, proud of it, I might add. I can also work on cars and trucks. If it had a motor, I could fix it; I always could, thanks to my knack for it, which I developed since I was eight, when I fell in love with engines. My Grandpa taught me, kept me out of everyone's way. I guess you could say I was a tomboy, with no frills and lace. My Grandpa kept me sane and busy, so the BS in our house didn’t hurt me as much. The place has two bedrooms and is fully contained, meaning it has everything I need. I had purchased some new sheets and towels, that sort of thing, but it had a fully stocked kitchen; I only needed to buy the food. It might be small, and above a noisy bike shop, but at night it was a quiet area. No one would break into this shop; the local bikie gang owned it. They were good guys, scary, but so far, no trouble for me. My BFF, Jenny, was helping me take my belongings upstairs when a group of bikers arrived and assisted us. I had five boxes and two suitcases filled with all sorts of items. “Thanks, guys, for the help,” I said sweetly, my BFF batting her eyes at them and swaying her hips suggestively as she walked and thanked them. She makes me laugh with her antics, which are totally opposite to mine. I like jeans and am rarely seen in a dress, whereas she was seldom seen in jeans. “We got a party at the clubhouse, tomorrow Saturday, you should come and relax a bit, bring your girls with ya,” Bruiser suggested as he threw his arm over my shoulder, walked me to the settee, pushed me down, and handed me a beer they had brought with them. This was how they acted around me, ordered me about. Sometimes, I'm okay with it; other times, I get all worked up and growl back at them. Today was acceptance. I know they mean well, and I feel lucky to have them as family; they try to make me feel better. “That sounds like a blast, count me in, and I can bring two other girl friends with us. Max, do you want me to pick you up?” Jenny offered, taking a beer from one of the guys. She was not a beer drinker; however, in this situation, I could see her not refusing anything they offered. I guess I'm going, whether I want to or not. “No, I’ll ride over,” I replied as one of the guys ordered pizza. “That’s the spirit. Nothing like the wind in your hair to blow the cobwebs away.” They stayed because they didn’t want me to be alone, not on my first night here. Pizza arrived not long after, and my little bungalow was soon feeling too small and crowded, with six huge bikers in the room. Some sat on the floor; others pulled up one of the three kitchen chairs. I know, I know, three chairs sound odd, but that's what was here, and beggars can’t be choosers; the rent was dirt cheap, and I think the boys are the ones to make sure I had everything I needed. They found out about my situation the next day, because, I was still quiet at work, which was not like me, often I am singing to the radio, or swearing at something, so one of the guys approached me, to find out what gives, and I softly told them, what went down, and when word got around the bikers heard I needed a place to stay, because I was kicked out of my home and why, they came to me, like protective brothers. Now I have a whole gang of bikers who have my back. I feel privileged to call them friends. They even offered to rough the ex up for me, but I refused the offer, because strangely, I was happy to get rid of the loser if he was a cheating build. Better now than when I am fully invested in our relationship. Plus, I was in deep enough shite with my parents and sister without making it worse. The pizza was gone, my BFF left for home, and the guys did too. It was late, well, for me, midnight. I usually fall asleep quickly because I have to be up for work at five. Tomorrow, being Saturday, I have the morning shift before the party later. They let me leave work early so I can move in here. “Hey, don’t forget to come, we need our prettiest mechanic at the party, some of the boys might need a tune-up,” Bruiser said with a laugh as they climbed on their bikes and left. I know what sort of tune-up he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with a motor. I looked around my new home. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. The guys were great; they took the empty pizza boxes and beer cans with them, and the place was relatively clean. Not at all what you would expect from a group of rowdy men. The clubhouse. I had never been to it, despite having worked there for nearly four years, and they had never extended an invitation to me. I know they had lots of parties; maybe I was too young. I turned twenty recently, but they might think of me as the fifteen-year-old who showed up one day and told the boss I was going to be his apprentice. He laughed at first and said he would give me a go to prove myself. He thought I was joking and that I would be gone by the weekend, but over the holidays, I worked hard and have been here ever since. Maxine POV The beeping sound of my phone alarm made me sit up and look around. It took a moment to remember where I was. The room had a small curtain that barely kept the light out. There was a streetlight just outside my window. I can envisage myself getting better blackout curtains soon. Although it was annoying, it wasn't among my top priorities for making this a home. The shower was decent, with nice pressure. I followed my morning routine, only to realize how foolish I was to wake up so early, living above my place of work; I didn’t need to ride here. After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I still had half an hour before I needed to be at work. I had two ways to get into my place: one was through the back stairs, and the other was through the shop. With the code to turn off the alarm, I decided to head down and start work early. It was better than moving stuff around; I can do that later. I had a bike to finish by this afternoon. The customer would be here at two. Turned off the alarm, turned on the coffee pot, the radio, and headed to my workstation, where the fat boy was waiting for me to finish. I sat on the stool with casters and began my job, singing loudly to the heavy rock song that came on the radio as I installed the new spark plugs and double-checked the oil. It was a simple, easy-peasy service. Once finished, I started the bike up, let it idle while I made coffee, then returned to rev it a few times. It sounds lumpy, like it was just turning over perfectly; it was music to my ears. I love that throaty, deep, lumpy sound. You can feel it vibrate through my chest. “That’s a sound I loved to hear as I enter work.” My boss, Mike, said as I turned the bike off. “It’s ready to go, unless you want to take it out for a test ride. Want a coffee, pots hot.” I offered as I threw the dirty rag in the bin. “Sure, I will take the bike out for a spin, and you can make me a coffee.” He smirked as he grabbed the bike. I opened the garage door, and Mike took off. I smiled as he disappeared down the street, and I turned to make both of us coffee. If you hadn’t guessed already, I would drink a lot of coffee. I am not a fan of soft drinks or tea; for me, it's coffee or water. With a broom in hand, I began cleaning the shop. I am not out here very often, but I try to sweep the floor at least once a week; they have another apprentice who’s a second year, who gets to do most of the cleaning up, but he’s never here on a Saturday. The sound of the bike returning prompted me to pick up the two cups of coffee and head back out to the workshop. Mike had a massive grin on his face as he parked the bike. “Great job, you are our top mechanic. But don’t tell anyone, or I will have to deny it.” He joked, taking his coffee from my hand as he walked by, no doubt letting the customer know the bike was ready ahead of time. I moved to the next bike, which was a total rebuild; it had been in a minor accident, and while the frame was being checked, I would work on the engine and gearbox. It was the only job on my list at the moment. The bike owner was in no hurry; he had a broken leg, giving me a few weeks to work on his bike and any urgent jobs that might come into the shop. The client arrived and happily took possession of his bike, very happy with the job done. “I hear you’ve been invited to the club party tonight,” Mike said as he rang up the sale on the cash register. “Yep.” I said popping the ‘p’. “You can leave now, we have no more customers expected. Good job today.” It was close to one o’clock, near the time I would knock off. “Thanks, boss.” I saluted him and rushed upstairs, before he could change his mind. Giggling all the way up. I heard him chuckling as he locked the door below, behind me. I decided on a quick shower; I didn’t want to smell of oil when going to a party. Put on my skinny black jeans, a black blouse that had red flames on the back and on the pockets, black boots that had some chains around the ankle, and hair in a ponytail. I will get what we call helmet hair, so it's a waste to do much with it now. I use mascara and strawberry lip gloss, which is more to moisturize my lips, which tend to dry out when I ride my bike, and that's it. The last thing I grabbed before leaving was my jacket. My mum used to grumble that I wasn’t like my sister and put more effort into my appearance, but I like who I am, and I didn’t like wearing lots of makeup; it was my choice, and I feel that I am not a frilly, lacey chick. It was a deal breaker with my mum. She had my sister dress up and left me in the care of Grandpa until he died when I was seventeen. It broke me when he left the world. He was the only person who got me. My grandma had been gone since I was young, and I filled the hole in his heart with my love for bikes and fishing. He left me his money and bikes. Dad got his house and business. My mum hated that I gained all that money. When Grandma died, she left me her jewelry, and Grandpa made sure to keep it safe till I was old enough to have it. I ate something and put some more of my stuff in the cupboards before my phone chimed to let me know my girlfriends were on their way to the party. I pulled my bike out of the small garage and started it up. I threw my leg over and took off, heading to the property. The clubhouse was half an hour out of town, set on a large property a little bit back from the road. Ten minutes later, I came up behind the girls and hung out behind them. My friend waved me on to take the lead. I shrugged and overtook her. The turn off arrived, and I rode happily up the long drive, and trees lined the road. An open, large steel gate appeared, and I was glad it was still enough light to see clearly. Men stood by the entrance, watching us arrive. “Hey.” I greeted the biggest man I had ever seen. “Who invited you here?” The man asked gruffly, in a deep husky voice. “Bruiser,” I answered, with a firm, clear voice, hoping that the fact that he frightened me would be noticed in my voice. He pulled out his phone and called, I assumed, Bruiser. “Max?” He asked, as he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. He said something more and hung up the phone. “Come in, the car behind your girls?” He looked at the car behind, which clearly had a woman in it. “Yep,” I replied, not at all liking how he intimidated me with his manner. Perhaps it was the way they greeted strangers. One look makes the weak run. Well, I am not weak, and I won't be running. Maxine POV This rather large biker leaned in to look inside the car, his bulky figure partially blocking the open window, causing the girl nearest it to back away. Satisfied, he looked at me with a knowing smirk, then motioned for us to enter. The clubhouse was nothing like I had imagined. Firstly, it was four levels high. Verandah all the way around, that I could see. It was more like a mansion than a clubhouse. Women were gathered near the door, looking in, as if they were waiting for something; some were sitting on the wooden fence that surrounded the verandah. They were dressed in barely anything, showing all that was available, some love that sort of thing. People like me dress to stay warm or cool and don’t care about showing off the goods. Bikes sat in neat rows in front, and cars were parked to the left of the building; the ratio of bikes to cars was approximately four bikes to one car. I parked the bike with the others, climbed off, and took off my helmet. I placed the lid on the bike and shook out my hair while waiting for the girls to park and come to me. I heard some muffled scoffs, but I couldn’t care less —I wasn't here to please them. Bruiser came out of the clubhouse behind me. “Max, you came by bike. Sweet.” He gave me a gentle squeeze and moved to take a closer look at my bike. The paint job was a wolf, fading in smoke. It took me months to finish, as I kept changing my mind, and the smoke obscured the mistakes. “Who did the paint job?” He asked as he moved around to look at it from all sides. “Me.” I was proud of the results. “Does Mike know you can paint?” He sounded surprised. “He has seen my bike when I used the garage to do a service. He never asked who did the paint work, just that he liked it.” “Sweet, looks like we have someone to do touch-ups, and possibly a full paint job. We have a family reunion in a few weeks, and the ladies are invited to come along. You can join us.” Bruiser offered as my ladies arrived; they were not included in that invitation, I assumed, because I have a bike. “Bruiser, you already met Jenny, Melony, Karen, and Heather, my other BFF, and Alice, Karen's sister, and BFF to my sister.” Adding that comment, hoping that Bruiser knew precisely what that woman was like. Alice battered her eyes and leaned forward to show off what was under that almost shirt. My ladies greeted him with the respect he deserved. “Ladies. Hands out.” Bruiser stamped the girl's backs of their hands; they all had a bear, except Alice, who had a rabbit on her hand. I frowned, trying to figure out what the rabbit was all about. He pushed my hand away. “You are family, no need for a stamp.” I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my face. I felt so special. Then the shoe dropped. Rabbit meant she would open her legs. Bruiser got my meaning loud and clear. It took a while to understand the purpose of the stamps. “Come inside and meet the ole ladies.” I understood what he meant; these were ladies who had been claimed and had a different level of respect that those not claimed would never understand. I have met a few of them over the years and gained more insight into club life. They respect me as much as I respect them. We entered the place, and the girls who had been waiting outside gave us a dirty look, as they were still stopped from entering. “What's so special about them?” One pouted, but Bruiser ignored her. Inside was cleaner than I had expected —my fault for judging a group of men, since they often look messy when I see them at the shop. The place had a large, open space, with tables where you stand, as well as booths dotted along the walls, and stools at the bar, which ran the full length of the room. I loved the spacious room, the pictures on the walls, and some bike parts scattered about as decoration. A few barstools are bike seats; it was different, and it appealed to me. Being a lover of bikes. “Sticks.” I greeted her as we got closer to the ladies Bruiser was taking us to. “Hey, Maxie Max. How's it blowing?” She stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. This chick had no filter or personal space. Sticks was the President's; her real name was Sandra, but she was my height at five-nine, and she had no shape to her body, just a lovely bean pole, almost no chest to speak of, yet she had had two boys. Hence the name Sticks. “Doing better,” I replied. She would know what was going on. She introduced us to the other ladies with her, and it didn’t surprise me that Alice had already moved away from us before we had finished the introductions. “What’s her story?” Sticks asked as she watched Alice start to try her luck with the club men. “Same as my sister. Bruiser put a rabbit stamp on her hand.” Sticks and the other girl roared out laughing. “She will be used, abused, and kicked to the side by the time the night is over, and I doubt they would let her back in. We don’t need her sort in the club.” Maggie spouted as we watched a patch member knock her offer back. “The regulars are not going to like her working their turf. So, to speak.” Tootsie said, with a smirk, that the regulars know the rules and stick with them. Don’t approach a patch member; if interested, they will come to you. Nom’s are fair game. But most girls would prefer a patch member. Don’t touch a taken member; the women will gang up and make your life miserable if you feel one of theirs. Wait to be let into the clubhouse and then stay in the public area. No going upstairs uninvited. The first two floors are designated for guest rooms, while the top floor is reserved for permanent residences. Those who don’t have a home of their own to go to. They are private and not open to wandering girls. Don’t touch or sit on someone’s bike, unless you are given permission. The patched old ladies are the bosses of the girls; they tell you to leave or do something, and you do it. There were more rules for the girls visiting, but I couldn’t remember them all at that moment. None had applied to me until now. Alice had already broken at least three, to my knowledge. I am staying out of it. That rabbit on her hand told the members that she would open her legs for any of them, and no one would support her if she broke the rules. That she was not welcome to return, in other words, have your fun, and then kick her to the curb. The doors were opened to let the other girls in. They looked at us in the no-go zone and pouted. We were sitting in an off-limits area unless we were invited. From what I understood, they were here to spread their legs and give the guys some relief, but not become part of the family. They might be hopeful that something would change; it was rare for a patch member to take one of these ladies, who had most likely been with every unattached member of the gang, at some point. My girls left me with Sticks and wandered about with the other ladies, getting the tour of the place. “Want to look around?” Sticks were offered, and before I knew it, we were walking around the vast ground floor. “Ready to see the workshop, the guys might talk you into helping out, once they know who you are.” Sticks led me down a small pathway, lined with flowering shrubs, and to a set of large, farm-size sheds. Inside were bikes, some in bits, others crumpled from an accident, and others like they had just been detailed and were someone's pride and joy. There was a workshop here, where men were working on their bikes. They looked up at us when we entered and frowned. If Sticks were not with me, they would have most likely growled at me to get out. “Who’s this Sticks?” A monster of a man asked, in the deepest voice I have ever heard, he looked a lot like the man at the gate, but with more toned muscles, that I would love to run my fingers over. Just a tad taller, and although he looked big and scary, he made my lady parts sing in a way they had never sung before. Tank POV A few guys aren't into parties, so I stopped going until later in the night, when the girls who showed up were already taken. I dislike the women who come here hoping to adopt our lifestyle. I prefer to use my hand rather than one of those women. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my share of women; however, I had a girl who pushed me to take her, and when I did, she ended up in the hospital, because I am not exactly a little man, and I ripped her apart. She needed stitches, and I have not been with a woman since. Like my brother, we are both large men; he is six feet six inches tall, and I am six feet eight inches tall. He’s carrying extra weight, where I am all muscle. I pride myself on keeping in shape, but being this large has its downfall, and having a large build has had me worried about hurting another woman. No matter how much I might want to, I can’t; I never want to go through that again. The Prez was the only person who knew why I wouldn’t join the parties; he was with me when we took the girl to the hospital, she forgave me, and tried to pursue me to keep her, but I couldn’t. Each time I started to get intimate, I had flashes of her screams, and my confidence went down like a popped balloon. We were in the workshop, doing some minor tune-ups. As I prepare for our ride, I'm excited. When they bring the ladies, the men are usually in a better mood and on their best behavior. I was looking at rebuild. I started it last week. We have a few wrecks that need to be started; some have been sitting here far too long. We can only go so far before we need Mike's help. None of us was a mechanic. I was scratching my head, as I was almost at the end of my knowledge, when I heard someone enter, and a soft perfume that shouldn’t be in this shed hit my nose. Stick’s voice reached my ears, and I lifted my head up to look in her direction. “Who’s this Sticks?” The most beautiful girl I have ever seen had entered our sanctuary, a place where few girls are allowed, which made Sticks bring this beauty down to this dirt and grease, which was unexpectedly. “That is Max, from the shop, Mike's apprentice, who I think had finished her apprenticeship and is doing something extra on Harleys and getting some specialized license,” Banjo said as he moved forward to greet them. The others stood up and moved forward too, making me feel like a dill for not recognizing Max. Although I have only seen her a few times from a distance, and she was usually deep in bike repair, I barely got to see her face. We have not been introduced because I wouldn’t have forgotten that beauty if I had. Sticks introduced us all, and we greeted her before I decided I could use her help. I put the thoughts of what I wouldn’t mind doing to her behind me, not that I could do it. “Max, come look at this wreck. I am stuck with what to do next.” I called her over on the bike I was working on. “Tank, surely you could have waited for another day? She came for the party, not to work.” Sticks grumbled as Max walked to me. She was clean and smelled nice, and I had a fleeting moment of guilt for calling her over. The few times I had seen her, she was covered in oil and grease, wearing coveralls that hid her shapely figure. “Max, are you sure?” Sticks pulled on her hand to get her attention. “Yeah, I am more at home in here than out there,” Max said with a smile and turned back to me. “What's the problem?” She asked me to move forward and inspect the bike. I went into detail about what happened to the bike, what I had managed to do so far, and what I needed to move forward. Max removed her leather jacket and slung it over a nearby bike seat, then squatted down. For the next two hours, Max worked on the bike with me, guiding me through the tricky bits I couldn’t do. The others came forward and used this time as a sort of training session, and Max didn’t seem to mind at all. We asked questions as she worked on the bike, and she used me to lift the heavy parts. It was teamwork, and we completed more repairs in that time than I would have on my own. “Hey, Max,” Bruiser called out at the door. He stood with his legs apart, arms folded, and I wondered if we had done something wrong. “Back here.” She returned to the call of her name. He arrived and burst out laughing at us. “Max, I invited you to a party, you know, dancing and drinking, and socializing. This was not what I meant as a party.” He was still chuckling when the Prez walked in, with Sticks on his arm. “You still got her working out here?” Stick all but growled at us, when the Prez’s lady growls, we all listen. She’s the last person we want to make angry. “What?” I was confused, Max didn’t seem to mind, and we all were having a good time out here. “Hey, Prez. The party over?” Max calmly asked, but it sounded more like she had hoped it was. “Not even close, babes.” The Prez answered with a smile. He had gotten closer to Max over the years she had been at the bike shop. He had often talked about the female mechanic and her sassy ways. I had thought he was exaggerating, but after spending a little time with her, I was hooked. “We have nearly completed the repair job on Spider's bike. If we can have Max here for a few days, I bet we could hit the road by the end of the week.” I said it as it was my way of asking her to stay for a while and fix the bike. Spider was almost healed and ready to get back on his own bike. “Would have to ask Mike about that, she’s his employee, even if we own the shop, he runs it, and I don’t get involved with his employees,” Prez replied contemplatively. “He here?” I asked, as Mike often doesn’t show up at the weekend parties. “Yep, came half an hour ago.” Sticks answered as she handed Max a bottle of water. “Max, if Mike’s okay with it, would you work with us for a week, get some of these ready for the weekend ride?” Sparks asked, and I kicked myself for not considering that she might not want to spend a week here. “Sure, if Mike doesn’t need me, we have several bikes in for service before the ladies run.” Her sweet voice carried across the warehouse, and the guys nodded in understanding. “Thanks, babes,” Spike called out. Each one of us here enjoyed that she worked on our bikes; it might sound odd that we're letting a chick touch our bikes, but Max was not like most chicks. Who wants to sit on the bikes or lie on them? Max knows what she’s doing and has proven herself on numerous occasions. I wish I had known how attractive she was. Man, I had a semi since she walked in the door. The Prez will even let her ride her own bike, a privilege few ladies get. She was more part of the crew; no other girl I know works on bikes like she does, and her reputation over the time she's been an apprentice has been exemplary. Not a guy chaser. When word got out that our girl had been cheated on in the worst possible way, we all wanted to go and kill the man, even though half of us had never really met her, yeah, seen her in a distance, or legs poking out from under a truck, but never sat and talked with her before today. She was fun, had me chuckling a few times, but most of the time in here, she had been all about the bikes, and not flirting, like most chicks do when around us. They see the glamour of the lifestyle, but it's not for everyone. Maxine POV I was guided to a washroom on the side of the workshop, which had a deep steel sink and a shower, but no mirrors. There was a cupboard under the sink containing soaps and cleaning products, as well as a shelf with dark-colored towels. A door that led to a toilet, which was cleaner than I had expected. So far, this whole gang house had been cleaner than I thought a load of men would leave it. I had underestimated the guys and made assumptions about how guys I knew from school or parties would act; none of them were like that. Maybe it was because they are mostly men, whereas my experience had been with boys my age and lower. I cleaned the grease off my hands and arms and dried them. As I went through the routine of cleaning myself up, I thought about the party they had been pushing me to attend and how it had churned up my stomach. The last few times I went to a party, I was with my ex-boyfriend, and he ended up with my sister, so parties were not my thing. I always seem to lose something at parties. Mostly friends, who don’t like the fact that I don’t drink, I have never been a drinker, I might drink a beer to be sociable, and it would take me ages to finish it. Still, I never take shots and am never blind drunk. I had only once been drunk, and I didn’t like the feeling or the way it took me all day to recover, nor the hangover that seemed to be more than a headache. My friends get drunk, and I spend a lot of time cleaning up the messes they make, so I seem to be the one doing the cleanup most of the time, as they know I have their backs, even when I prefer not to do that part of it. I had just finished cleaning up when Tank came in, took one look at me, and started to chuckle. “What?” I asked, looking confused as he laughed. What did I do that was so funny? He didn’t say a word. He leaned over, picked up a cloth, and soaped it up, then gripped my chin in his huge hand, and gently wiped the side of my face, his eyes concentrating on the task, as if it was the most important job he had to do with care. He was so gentle, touching my face with soft, quick movements. His eyes then met mine, and I was lost in the deepest blue orbs I have ever seen. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat and blinked a few times to break the trance he had put me in, and took a step back, my body hitting the sink behind me. “You had some grease on your cheek.” He whispered in a husky voice so deep that it had my lady parts jumping for joy and need, something I am not familiar with. “Thank you,” I whispered back, my voice croaking, and I was shocked by the sound of my own voice; it was lower, warmer, and surprised me as much as Tank's did. His eyes widened at the husky sound. He took a step back and motioned with his hand for me to move past him. I quickly left the washroom and waited in the workshop, taking in the wrecks and wondering how badly the rider would have been hurt if the bike had looked like this. Hoping no one lost their lives. I thought about that for a while. I loved my bike, but I would never ditch it because I was scared. That the thought of falling off had never entered my mind, if I died while riding my bike, then I would have been doing what I love doing. I found I was okay with that. Not that I want to die, but I have thought about how I would like to go when my heart has been broken. “Hey, what are you doing still in here?” Rocket asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Hiding?” I joked back, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and came to stand beside me, looking at the bike I had been staring at. “Can it be fixed? It’s been sitting here for a long time, with no one having the skill to start repairing it. Well, they could give it a go, but this bike is so old that parts are almost impossible to get.” “Yeah, I can give it a try. I have some contacts who can obtain parts, but I can also manufacture some parts. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can come over on weekends and dedicate some time to it.” I suggested it would be a shame to let this panhead go to waste. There are enough pieces of the wrecked bike left to serve as a starting point. “Sweet, it will be good to see this bike out on the road again.” Rocket looked genuinely pleased that the bike could be restored. I restore old cars, trucks, and bikes with Grandpa. I have the equipment stored in a shed for when I have a place of my own to use the machines. I wonder if they have a shed where I can put them. I will need one of the machines. “Ready?” Tank asked; he had shed the work shirt and pulled on a gang shirt. His muscles are on display. Yummy. He makes me feel tiny when I am beside him. “Tank, Max said she can restore the baby.” Tank’s head turned to look at the wreck, and then at me. “For real? Max, can you do that?” Tank looked surprised. After spending a few hours with me, working on bikes, he had to ask that? “Yeah, I can, need to talk to the Prez about some space, but I can do it.” Both guys frowned and looked around the workshop. But they didn’t say anything. Or question me further. Tank put his hand on my lower back and gave a slight push, making me start to walk out of the workshop. It was dark out. Tank guided me to the back door, Rocket leading the way. He opened the door for me and waved me in, as if I were someone important. Causing me to giggle. Yeah, you heard me; I giggled like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous, and not something I had ever expected to come out of my mouth. The guys didn’t even blink at the giggle. The place was warm inside, vibrating with the loud thump of the bass. You could hardly hear the person next to you speak over the heavy music. It reeked of cigarettes and booze. The girls who had been at the door waiting to get in were busy with patch members kissing and almost doing the deed right there on the chair. Some were grinding their hips against the man below them, and the small amount of clothing they had on was even less now. I assumed they were well on their way to being drunk. This was a classic visual of why men lose respect for some kinds of women. I am embarrassed to see it in front of me. I looked around the room and saw my friends still with Sticks, and a couple of guys hanging around nearby. My friends look like they are having fun, and they have a few patch members who seem friendly to them. I hope the girls know what they are doing. The gang life was not for everyone. Dad had once spoken badly about gangs, and he hated it when I became an apprentice at the bike shop. Grandpa was the one who encouraged me to have an apprenticeship. He hated that Dad and Mum were backing my sister in everything, and maybe encouraging me to be a mechanic at the bike shop was his way to get back at Dad. Dad had even tried to get me to leave the bike shop when Grandpa had died. But I had made a pact with Grandpa that I wouldn’t give in to Dad. To live the life I want, and never give in, no matter what the consequences are. I wonder what Grandpa would say if he were alive and saw Dad kick me out of the family home, for the sake of my sister. He would be livered, that’s for sure. But I did as Grandpa said, stood firm, and stayed true to myself. “Hey Maxi Max, come join us. Cricket, grab Max an iced water.” Sticks patted the chair next to her, and before I could move to sit beside her, Tank grabbed me around the waist and took a couple of giant steps to the chair, and sat down, holding me on his lap. The girls looked at each other, then, between Tank and me, the confused look changed to a grin and a nod —whatever that was about.
"“My guys found her. She’s at the MagDog clubhouse. Fixing their bikes.” “What?” Her father’s brow furrowed. “Then tell her to come home. Our business is drowning.” “She wouldn’t. Maxine sent back a message: ‘You gave my room to a bast3rd baby. I gave my keys to a biker.’” The room froze. Dan, Maxine’s ex-boyfriend, now her sister’s fiancé, remembered the last Christmas. Zoey’s moans. Maxine’s bed. Her white sheets. Zoey remembered stealing him—the third boyfriend she’d taken from her sister. And Mom and Dad never once said stop. Her parents remembered looking at their bleeding daughter and telling her to leave. For a nursery. For the cheater’s child. None of them had ever chosen her. “At least she’s safe,” her mother whispered, sobbing with regret. “Safe? She’s living above a bike shop. But she’s got the whole club at her back. Especially their giant—Tank. Six-foot-eight. Never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her. And... their president also sent a message.” “Go on,” her father urged, anxiety simmering beneath. “‘You didn’t want her. We do. Touch her fortune? We’ll end you.’” The words landed like a punch. No one moved. No one breathed. Outside, a Harley roared past the window. She didn’t even slow down." --- Maxine POV “Go home, you have worked too much overtime this week. Have an early night and give that boyfriend of yours an early treat.” My boss practically pushed me out the door, a wicked grin on his face. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’m going. I straddled my bike and started her up. This was going to be a great night. Today was my boyfriend's birthday, and I was going to give him my V-card as a special gift. I had brought new lingerie, black lace, see-through, and I had shaved my mound, leaving a trail that looked like an arrow pointing down to my juncture. I was ready to give him my all, my first, my heart, take the big plunge. I felt I was ready. I pulled into the driveway to see my sister's and my boyfriend’s cars. I had no idea my sister was coming home today. She was still at college in her final year, though I heard she wasn't doing so well. The poor golden girl has not met up with expectations, not that I was worried. My ex-boyfriend showed up three hours early; our date was not for a few more hours. What was he doing here already? Walking in the back door, I heard voices and headed towards them; they were in Dad’s office, with the door slightly ajar. I moved silently to the door and waited outside to hear what secrets they were having now. They occasionally do this when they are planning something and don’t want to include me, but I'm puzzled as to why my boyfriend and sister were included. “We never planned for it to happen.” My sister replied softly, as if she were some kind of victim; she was an expert at that. She should have been an actress; she would have won multiple Oscars by now. “When?” Dad asked, and I waited in the hallway to hear what this was all about. “Christmas day, we had too many of your special eggnogs, and things got heated. The party was more or less over; the presents had been given out, and the food had been eaten. We were all mulling around, talking, when Zoey said something, I don’t remember what—but we went upstairs to continue talking, and ended up in Maxine’s room. We did start by just talking, and before I knew it, we were kissing and things got heated, and ended up in her bed, like I said, and I was so lost in that moment that I forgot to use a protection. When we came out, no one seemed to notice we had been gone, so we pretended it never happened.” My boyfriend replied, and my heart just hit the floor, as I took in that my sister and boyfriend did the dirty in my bed at Christmas. MY BED. I slept in that bed, with their mess on the sheets. I feel suddenly sick at that thought. How could they do that to me? She stole another boyfriend from me again. But he was just as much to blame; I guess our relationship was not that strong yet. Not on his side at least. He continued to pretend, kissing me and taking me out on dates, as if that never happened. What a jerk. Now I feel cheated, dirty, ashamed, and angry all at once. What if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, and I ended up married to that cheating scumbag? Would her wedding present be to tell me she had slept with him first? I wouldn’t put it past her to do such a thing. She had done that before with my boyfriends, and I guess this one was just as vulnerable to her advances as the last one. “He gave me the best Christmas present ever.” My sister crowed with delight. I could imagine her tenderly touching her belly. “This is good news. I have wanted grandchildren, and the last grandchild I would have expected would be from you; you have never kept a relationship for long.” Mum said, sounding excited at the news. “What now?” My sister asked, still playing the perfect victim. “We get married?’ My now ex-boyfriend suggested —sounds more like a question. “What about Maxine?” My sister asked, as if I were an inconvenience that needed to be sorted out, and now they think about me, but it didn’t sound like concern. “What about her? This is about my first grandchild, and his or her safety comes first. She will have to live with it.” My mother spat, revealing that famous favoritism, because she had always taken my sister's side in everything, even when proven wrong. They never backed me up. “I am technically her boyfriend.” He started to say something, but was interrupted. “Not anymore, you're not. I will arrange with the local publican to hire the outdoor garden area, and we shall have an engagement party this Saturday. Get that sorted before you start to show, and Maxine will show her support.” Dad’s voice floated out, sounding resolute. I had no say in this, not that I wanted to be his girlfriend any longer; he had proven not to be what I wanted in a guy. “She will have to leave. I need her room for the nursery. I would prefer it if she didn't attend the engagement party. What will those who know she was the real girlfriend show up, and see that it was not Maxine getting engaged?” Mum added. Yep, that was my mother, trying to regain her dignity and save face. I couldn’t take it any longer. I was devastated enough, and listening further to their support for the love for the cheater was eating me up inside. I didn’t want to cry in front of them; the tears were a mix of anger and hurt. I pushed the door open, revealing myself standing there. All faces turned to look at me. “Let me get this straight. You took my boyfriend to MY bed, did the dirty with him, leaving your mess in my bed, as a sort of Christmas present for me. Guess that made your day, thinking I was sleeping in your mess. Now you want my bedroom for the child baby you have created, and I am what, just pushed out the door? Like yesterday’s trash?” I asked to ensure I understood correctly that the whole family was fine with me being tossed aside. “Exactly, I am taking your boyfriend, your bedroom, and you, my dear sister, have to move out.” My sister sounded like she had won the lottery. Her face beamed at her triumph. “Fine with me.” The look of shock would have made me laugh if I were not so numb inside. I moved away to my room and packed what I could into my duffel bag. I will come back for the rest later, when they are not around. My heart was breaking, not because I lost my boyfriend, although that hurt a lot, considering that what I was going to give him for his present today was saved for doing something foolish at least. But also because both parents were supporting this deception, as if it were the best news they had received in a while, that they had been trying to get rid of me for a while, and now succeeded in a spectacular way. I walked downstairs and looked at them. “When I find a place to stay, I will be back for the rest.” I spat at them, a mixture of hurt, anger, and defeat. I never fit into the family, a black sheep, so maybe I should become one. I had always had top grades, won awards, done my best, but even being first, I was still last. My best friend was the only place I could think of going to; it had to be temporary. Jenny will be cool and let me sleep on her couch till I find a new home. I climbed onto my bike and took off to the only sanctuary I had over the years. Jenny welcomed me into her home, like I knew she would, and together we had a pity party consisting of beer and vanilla fudge ice cream. We called the family and my ex some interesting names, some of which I had never heard before, but they sounded good. The drunker I got, the more inventive the names became. The next morning, after waking up on Jenny’s couch and remembering yesterday, it did not go as planned. I pulled myself together, had a quick shower, and left for work. It was eight in the morning, and Jenny was still asleep when I left. That might be okay for some, but my workday today would be ten hours long, and I was running late. “You're late, night must have gone better than planned,” Mike said jovially. They sort of knew what I was planning last night. The others chuckled along with Mike. I grumbled some shiet and got to work. By the end of the day, Mike pulled me to his office. “Okay, out with it. The guys have been tiptoeing around you all day. What happened? He rejected your advances?” He asked, his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, looking at me with concerned eyes, a father figure, better than my dad had ever been. So, I told him what happened when I got home and where I spent the night, and now I'm looking for a place to stay. I was proud of myself; I didn’t cry, or whine, or show any emotion at all —just explained my predicament in cold, emotionless words. Clear and succinct. He said he wouldn’t say anything in the shop, but would talk to the prez. I had no idea why, but I was not in the right frame of mind to question it. Maxine POV Today was my sister's engagement party; engaged to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, you heard me right, my ex. What a joke that was. I had been dating Dan for six months when my sister, who was a year older than I, came home for Christmas and ended up in bed with my boyfriend. She’s a shameless woman, always has been, but I never expected him to sleep with her. I thought we were secure in our relationship. The only good thing I took away from this was that I never went to bed with him; my virginity card was still intact, not that I was trying to keep it - I just never got the chance to lose it. She always managed to have any guy I was interested in dump me for her, and when she got bored with them, she’d move on. So, in a way, I didn’t have a boyfriend till she moved out of her home and headed to college. But when my sister came home and met him, she seduced him and got pregnant. He did the whole ‘get down on one knee and proposed’ scene. Apparently, it was romantic, but I wasn't there when he did it because they didn’t want me around. It hurt a lot at the time, and I was glad to have my girlfriends around me, helping me get over it. They say, I dodged a bullet. I agree with them, stupidly. He might have been a sports jock with good looks, but doing this tells me he was weak and shallow, and I was too good for him, or so my BFF says. I prefer to believe them over the excuses my ex made. I had to move out of my home after I had a massive fight with my parents a few days ago, when the truth was exposed; they supported her, not me, and the next thing I knew, I was out the door and the evil sister. The engagement party was intended to introduce him to her friends and make the relationship official, but I was not invited. My parents want nothing to do with me. I made them all uncomfortable, considering he was my boyfriend first. Anyone working out the timeline for the baby can piece it together, and see they were cheating on me, and it would have been awkward, and too many questions would have been raised. Not that I needed to say all of that, I kind of said it all before, but grrrrr, I am so angry at how my so-called ‘family’ kicked me out of my so-called home, with no care for me or my feelings. It was easier to push me away and disown me than have to explain to them that my sister cheated with my boyfriend, and hey presto, a baby was on the way. Because I was kicked out of the house, and only had a short time to pack anything, I took the opportunity of the party to sneak into the house and take more of my possessions, like opening my father's safe, and grabbing every piece of paper relating to me, and a little money too, no a lot of money, and grandma’s jewelry that she left me. So, with the help of my BFF, we packed my belongings and took them to her place until I found a new one. I ride a motorcycle, so I need help. I have the money to buy a new place, but I'm unsure if I want to stay in this town now. Once my apprenticeship is over, I might move away. I stayed that night at Jenny’s place, as I figured out what to do. Today, I am moving into my new place —a bungalow above the bike shop where I work. I am in my final year of apprenticeship, and I am a motorcycle mechanic, proud of it, I might add. I can also work on cars and trucks. If it had a motor, I could fix it; I always could, thanks to my knack for it, which I developed since I was eight, when I fell in love with engines. My Grandpa taught me, kept me out of everyone's way. I guess you could say I was a tomboy, with no frills and lace. My Grandpa kept me sane and busy, so the BS in our house didn’t hurt me as much. The place has two bedrooms and is fully contained, meaning it has everything I need. I had purchased some new sheets and towels, that sort of thing, but it had a fully stocked kitchen; I only needed to buy the food. It might be small, and above a noisy bike shop, but at night it was a quiet area. No one would break into this shop; the local bikie gang owned it. They were good guys, scary, but so far, no trouble for me. My BFF, Jenny, was helping me take my belongings upstairs when a group of bikers arrived and assisted us. I had five boxes and two suitcases filled with all sorts of items. “Thanks, guys, for the help,” I said sweetly, my BFF batting her eyes at them and swaying her hips suggestively as she walked and thanked them. She makes me laugh with her antics, which are totally opposite to mine. I like jeans and am rarely seen in a dress, whereas she was seldom seen in jeans. “We got a party at the clubhouse, tomorrow Saturday, you should come and relax a bit, bring your girls with ya,” Bruiser suggested as he threw his arm over my shoulder, walked me to the settee, pushed me down, and handed me a beer they had brought with them. This was how they acted around me, ordered me about. Sometimes, I'm okay with it; other times, I get all worked up and growl back at them. Today was acceptance. I know they mean well, and I feel lucky to have them as family; they try to make me feel better. “That sounds like a blast, count me in, and I can bring two other girl friends with us. Max, do you want me to pick you up?” Jenny offered, taking a beer from one of the guys. She was not a beer drinker; however, in this situation, I could see her not refusing anything they offered. I guess I'm going, whether I want to or not. “No, I’ll ride over,” I replied as one of the guys ordered pizza. “That’s the spirit. Nothing like the wind in your hair to blow the cobwebs away.” They stayed because they didn’t want me to be alone, not on my first night here. Pizza arrived not long after, and my little bungalow was soon feeling too small and crowded, with six huge bikers in the room. Some sat on the floor; others pulled up one of the three kitchen chairs. I know, I know, three chairs sound odd, but that's what was here, and beggars can’t be choosers; the rent was dirt cheap, and I think the boys are the ones to make sure I had everything I needed. They found out about my situation the next day, because, I was still quiet at work, which was not like me, often I am singing to the radio, or swearing at something, so one of the guys approached me, to find out what gives, and I softly told them, what went down, and when word got around the bikers heard I needed a place to stay, because I was kicked out of my home and why, they came to me, like protective brothers. Now I have a whole gang of bikers who have my back. I feel privileged to call them friends. They even offered to rough the ex up for me, but I refused the offer, because strangely, I was happy to get rid of the loser if he was a cheating build. Better now than when I am fully invested in our relationship. Plus, I was in deep enough shite with my parents and sister without making it worse. The pizza was gone, my BFF left for home, and the guys did too. It was late, well, for me, midnight. I usually fall asleep quickly because I have to be up for work at five. Tomorrow, being Saturday, I have the morning shift before the party later. They let me leave work early so I can move in here. “Hey, don’t forget to come, we need our prettiest mechanic at the party, some of the boys might need a tune-up,” Bruiser said with a laugh as they climbed on their bikes and left. I know what sort of tune-up he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with a motor. I looked around my new home. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. The guys were great; they took the empty pizza boxes and beer cans with them, and the place was relatively clean. Not at all what you would expect from a group of rowdy men. The clubhouse. I had never been to it, despite having worked there for nearly four years, and they had never extended an invitation to me. I know they had lots of parties; maybe I was too young. I turned twenty recently, but they might think of me as the fifteen-year-old who showed up one day and told the boss I was going to be his apprentice. He laughed at first and said he would give me a go to prove myself. He thought I was joking and that I would be gone by the weekend, but over the holidays, I worked hard and have been here ever since. Maxine POV The beeping sound of my phone alarm made me sit up and look around. It took a moment to remember where I was. The room had a small curtain that barely kept the light out. There was a streetlight just outside my window. I can envisage myself getting better blackout curtains soon. Although it was annoying, it wasn't among my top priorities for making this a home. The shower was decent, with nice pressure. I followed my morning routine, only to realize how foolish I was to wake up so early, living above my place of work; I didn’t need to ride here. After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I still had half an hour before I needed to be at work. I had two ways to get into my place: one was through the back stairs, and the other was through the shop. With the code to turn off the alarm, I decided to head down and start work early. It was better than moving stuff around; I can do that later. I had a bike to finish by this afternoon. The customer would be here at two. Turned off the alarm, turned on the coffee pot, the radio, and headed to my workstation, where the fat boy was waiting for me to finish. I sat on the stool with casters and began my job, singing loudly to the heavy rock song that came on the radio as I installed the new spark plugs and double-checked the oil. It was a simple, easy-peasy service. Once finished, I started the bike up, let it idle while I made coffee, then returned to rev it a few times. It sounds lumpy, like it was just turning over perfectly; it was music to my ears. I love that throaty, deep, lumpy sound. You can feel it vibrate through my chest. “That’s a sound I loved to hear as I enter work.” My boss, Mike, said as I turned the bike off. “It’s ready to go, unless you want to take it out for a test ride. Want a coffee, pots hot.” I offered as I threw the dirty rag in the bin. “Sure, I will take the bike out for a spin, and you can make me a coffee.” He smirked as he grabbed the bike. I opened the garage door, and Mike took off. I smiled as he disappeared down the street, and I turned to make both of us coffee. If you hadn’t guessed already, I would drink a lot of coffee. I am not a fan of soft drinks or tea; for me, it's coffee or water. With a broom in hand, I began cleaning the shop. I am not out here very often, but I try to sweep the floor at least once a week; they have another apprentice who’s a second year, who gets to do most of the cleaning up, but he’s never here on a Saturday. The sound of the bike returning prompted me to pick up the two cups of coffee and head back out to the workshop. Mike had a massive grin on his face as he parked the bike. “Great job, you are our top mechanic. But don’t tell anyone, or I will have to deny it.” He joked, taking his coffee from my hand as he walked by, no doubt letting the customer know the bike was ready ahead of time. I moved to the next bike, which was a total rebuild; it had been in a minor accident, and while the frame was being checked, I would work on the engine and gearbox. It was the only job on my list at the moment. The bike owner was in no hurry; he had a broken leg, giving me a few weeks to work on his bike and any urgent jobs that might come into the shop. The client arrived and happily took possession of his bike, very happy with the job done. “I hear you’ve been invited to the club party tonight,” Mike said as he rang up the sale on the cash register. “Yep.” I said popping the ‘p’. “You can leave now, we have no more customers expected. Good job today.” It was close to one o’clock, near the time I would knock off. “Thanks, boss.” I saluted him and rushed upstairs, before he could change his mind. Giggling all the way up. I heard him chuckling as he locked the door below, behind me. I decided on a quick shower; I didn’t want to smell of oil when going to a party. Put on my skinny black jeans, a black blouse that had red flames on the back and on the pockets, black boots that had some chains around the ankle, and hair in a ponytail. I will get what we call helmet hair, so it's a waste to do much with it now. I use mascara and strawberry lip gloss, which is more to moisturize my lips, which tend to dry out when I ride my bike, and that's it. The last thing I grabbed before leaving was my jacket. My mum used to grumble that I wasn’t like my sister and put more effort into my appearance, but I like who I am, and I didn’t like wearing lots of makeup; it was my choice, and I feel that I am not a frilly, lacey chick. It was a deal breaker with my mum. She had my sister dress up and left me in the care of Grandpa until he died when I was seventeen. It broke me when he left the world. He was the only person who got me. My grandma had been gone since I was young, and I filled the hole in his heart with my love for bikes and fishing. He left me his money and bikes. Dad got his house and business. My mum hated that I gained all that money. When Grandma died, she left me her jewelry, and Grandpa made sure to keep it safe till I was old enough to have it. I ate something and put some more of my stuff in the cupboards before my phone chimed to let me know my girlfriends were on their way to the party. I pulled my bike out of the small garage and started it up. I threw my leg over and took off, heading to the property. The clubhouse was half an hour out of town, set on a large property a little bit back from the road. Ten minutes later, I came up behind the girls and hung out behind them. My friend waved me on to take the lead. I shrugged and overtook her. The turn off arrived, and I rode happily up the long drive, and trees lined the road. An open, large steel gate appeared, and I was glad it was still enough light to see clearly. Men stood by the entrance, watching us arrive. “Hey.” I greeted the biggest man I had ever seen. “Who invited you here?” The man asked gruffly, in a deep husky voice. “Bruiser,” I answered, with a firm, clear voice, hoping that the fact that he frightened me would be noticed in my voice. He pulled out his phone and called, I assumed, Bruiser. “Max?” He asked, as he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. He said something more and hung up the phone. “Come in, the car behind your girls?” He looked at the car behind, which clearly had a woman in it. “Yep,” I replied, not at all liking how he intimidated me with his manner. Perhaps it was the way they greeted strangers. One look makes the weak run. Well, I am not weak, and I won't be running. Maxine POV This rather large biker leaned in to look inside the car, his bulky figure partially blocking the open window, causing the girl nearest it to back away. Satisfied, he looked at me with a knowing smirk, then motioned for us to enter. The clubhouse was nothing like I had imagined. Firstly, it was four levels high. Verandah all the way around, that I could see. It was more like a mansion than a clubhouse. Women were gathered near the door, looking in, as if they were waiting for something; some were sitting on the wooden fence that surrounded the verandah. They were dressed in barely anything, showing all that was available, some love that sort of thing. People like me dress to stay warm or cool and don’t care about showing off the goods. Bikes sat in neat rows in front, and cars were parked to the left of the building; the ratio of bikes to cars was approximately four bikes to one car. I parked the bike with the others, climbed off, and took off my helmet. I placed the lid on the bike and shook out my hair while waiting for the girls to park and come to me. I heard some muffled scoffs, but I couldn’t care less —I wasn't here to please them. Bruiser came out of the clubhouse behind me. “Max, you came by bike. Sweet.” He gave me a gentle squeeze and moved to take a closer look at my bike. The paint job was a wolf, fading in smoke. It took me months to finish, as I kept changing my mind, and the smoke obscured the mistakes. “Who did the paint job?” He asked as he moved around to look at it from all sides. “Me.” I was proud of the results. “Does Mike know you can paint?” He sounded surprised. “He has seen my bike when I used the garage to do a service. He never asked who did the paint work, just that he liked it.” “Sweet, looks like we have someone to do touch-ups, and possibly a full paint job. We have a family reunion in a few weeks, and the ladies are invited to come along. You can join us.” Bruiser offered as my ladies arrived; they were not included in that invitation, I assumed, because I have a bike. “Bruiser, you already met Jenny, Melony, Karen, and Heather, my other BFF, and Alice, Karen's sister, and BFF to my sister.” Adding that comment, hoping that Bruiser knew precisely what that woman was like. Alice battered her eyes and leaned forward to show off what was under that almost shirt. My ladies greeted him with the respect he deserved. “Ladies. Hands out.” Bruiser stamped the girl's backs of their hands; they all had a bear, except Alice, who had a rabbit on her hand. I frowned, trying to figure out what the rabbit was all about. He pushed my hand away. “You are family, no need for a stamp.” I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my face. I felt so special. Then the shoe dropped. Rabbit meant she would open her legs. Bruiser got my meaning loud and clear. It took a while to understand the purpose of the stamps. “Come inside and meet the ole ladies.” I understood what he meant; these were ladies who had been claimed and had a different level of respect that those not claimed would never understand. I have met a few of them over the years and gained more insight into club life. They respect me as much as I respect them. We entered the place, and the girls who had been waiting outside gave us a dirty look, as they were still stopped from entering. “What's so special about them?” One pouted, but Bruiser ignored her. Inside was cleaner than I had expected —my fault for judging a group of men, since they often look messy when I see them at the shop. The place had a large, open space, with tables where you stand, as well as booths dotted along the walls, and stools at the bar, which ran the full length of the room. I loved the spacious room, the pictures on the walls, and some bike parts scattered about as decoration. A few barstools are bike seats; it was different, and it appealed to me. Being a lover of bikes. “Sticks.” I greeted her as we got closer to the ladies Bruiser was taking us to. “Hey, Maxie Max. How's it blowing?” She stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. This chick had no filter or personal space. Sticks was the President's; her real name was Sandra, but she was my height at five-nine, and she had no shape to her body, just a lovely bean pole, almost no chest to speak of, yet she had had two boys. Hence the name Sticks. “Doing better,” I replied. She would know what was going on. She introduced us to the other ladies with her, and it didn’t surprise me that Alice had already moved away from us before we had finished the introductions. “What’s her story?” Sticks asked as she watched Alice start to try her luck with the club men. “Same as my sister. Bruiser put a rabbit stamp on her hand.” Sticks and the other girl roared out laughing. “She will be used, abused, and kicked to the side by the time the night is over, and I doubt they would let her back in. We don’t need her sort in the club.” Maggie spouted as we watched a patch member knock her offer back. “The regulars are not going to like her working their turf. So, to speak.” Tootsie said, with a smirk, that the regulars know the rules and stick with them. Don’t approach a patch member; if interested, they will come to you. Nom’s are fair game. But most girls would prefer a patch member. Don’t touch a taken member; the women will gang up and make your life miserable if you feel one of theirs. Wait to be let into the clubhouse and then stay in the public area. No going upstairs uninvited. The first two floors are designated for guest rooms, while the top floor is reserved for permanent residences. Those who don’t have a home of their own to go to. They are private and not open to wandering girls. Don’t touch or sit on someone’s bike, unless you are given permission. The patched old ladies are the bosses of the girls; they tell you to leave or do something, and you do it. There were more rules for the girls visiting, but I couldn’t remember them all at that moment. None had applied to me until now. Alice had already broken at least three, to my knowledge. I am staying out of it. That rabbit on her hand told the members that she would open her legs for any of them, and no one would support her if she broke the rules. That she was not welcome to return, in other words, have your fun, and then kick her to the curb. The doors were opened to let the other girls in. They looked at us in the no-go zone and pouted. We were sitting in an off-limits area unless we were invited. From what I understood, they were here to spread their legs and give the guys some relief, but not become part of the family. They might be hopeful that something would change; it was rare for a patch member to take one of these ladies, who had most likely been with every unattached member of the gang, at some point. My girls left me with Sticks and wandered about with the other ladies, getting the tour of the place. “Want to look around?” Sticks were offered, and before I knew it, we were walking around the vast ground floor. “Ready to see the workshop, the guys might talk you into helping out, once they know who you are.” Sticks led me down a small pathway, lined with flowering shrubs, and to a set of large, farm-size sheds. Inside were bikes, some in bits, others crumpled from an accident, and others like they had just been detailed and were someone's pride and joy. There was a workshop here, where men were working on their bikes. They looked up at us when we entered and frowned. If Sticks were not with me, they would have most likely growled at me to get out. “Who’s this Sticks?” A monster of a man asked, in the deepest voice I have ever heard, he looked a lot like the man at the gate, but with more toned muscles, that I would love to run my fingers over. Just a tad taller, and although he looked big and scary, he made my lady parts sing in a way they had never sung before. Tank POV A few guys aren't into parties, so I stopped going until later in the night, when the girls who showed up were already taken. I dislike the women who come here hoping to adopt our lifestyle. I prefer to use my hand rather than one of those women. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my share of women; however, I had a girl who pushed me to take her, and when I did, she ended up in the hospital, because I am not exactly a little man, and I ripped her apart. She needed stitches, and I have not been with a woman since. Like my brother, we are both large men; he is six feet six inches tall, and I am six feet eight inches tall. He’s carrying extra weight, where I am all muscle. I pride myself on keeping in shape, but being this large has its downfall, and having a large build has had me worried about hurting another woman. No matter how much I might want to, I can’t; I never want to go through that again. The Prez was the only person who knew why I wouldn’t join the parties; he was with me when we took the girl to the hospital, she forgave me, and tried to pursue me to keep her, but I couldn’t. Each time I started to get intimate, I had flashes of her screams, and my confidence went down like a popped balloon. We were in the workshop, doing some minor tune-ups. As I prepare for our ride, I'm excited. When they bring the ladies, the men are usually in a better mood and on their best behavior. I was looking at rebuild. I started it last week. We have a few wrecks that need to be started; some have been sitting here far too long. We can only go so far before we need Mike's help. None of us was a mechanic. I was scratching my head, as I was almost at the end of my knowledge, when I heard someone enter, and a soft perfume that shouldn’t be in this shed hit my nose. Stick’s voice reached my ears, and I lifted my head up to look in her direction. “Who’s this Sticks?” The most beautiful girl I have ever seen had entered our sanctuary, a place where few girls are allowed, which made Sticks bring this beauty down to this dirt and grease, which was unexpectedly. “That is Max, from the shop, Mike's apprentice, who I think had finished her apprenticeship and is doing something extra on Harleys and getting some specialized license,” Banjo said as he moved forward to greet them. The others stood up and moved forward too, making me feel like a dill for not recognizing Max. Although I have only seen her a few times from a distance, and she was usually deep in bike repair, I barely got to see her face. We have not been introduced because I wouldn’t have forgotten that beauty if I had. Sticks introduced us all, and we greeted her before I decided I could use her help. I put the thoughts of what I wouldn’t mind doing to her behind me, not that I could do it. “Max, come look at this wreck. I am stuck with what to do next.” I called her over on the bike I was working on. “Tank, surely you could have waited for another day? She came for the party, not to work.” Sticks grumbled as Max walked to me. She was clean and smelled nice, and I had a fleeting moment of guilt for calling her over. The few times I had seen her, she was covered in oil and grease, wearing coveralls that hid her shapely figure. “Max, are you sure?” Sticks pulled on her hand to get her attention. “Yeah, I am more at home in here than out there,” Max said with a smile and turned back to me. “What's the problem?” She asked me to move forward and inspect the bike. I went into detail about what happened to the bike, what I had managed to do so far, and what I needed to move forward. Max removed her leather jacket and slung it over a nearby bike seat, then squatted down. For the next two hours, Max worked on the bike with me, guiding me through the tricky bits I couldn’t do. The others came forward and used this time as a sort of training session, and Max didn’t seem to mind at all. We asked questions as she worked on the bike, and she used me to lift the heavy parts. It was teamwork, and we completed more repairs in that time than I would have on my own. “Hey, Max,” Bruiser called out at the door. He stood with his legs apart, arms folded, and I wondered if we had done something wrong. “Back here.” She returned to the call of her name. He arrived and burst out laughing at us. “Max, I invited you to a party, you know, dancing and drinking, and socializing. This was not what I meant as a party.” He was still chuckling when the Prez walked in, with Sticks on his arm. “You still got her working out here?” Stick all but growled at us, when the Prez’s lady growls, we all listen. She’s the last person we want to make angry. “What?” I was confused, Max didn’t seem to mind, and we all were having a good time out here. “Hey, Prez. The party over?” Max calmly asked, but it sounded more like she had hoped it was. “Not even close, babes.” The Prez answered with a smile. He had gotten closer to Max over the years she had been at the bike shop. He had often talked about the female mechanic and her sassy ways. I had thought he was exaggerating, but after spending a little time with her, I was hooked. “We have nearly completed the repair job on Spider's bike. If we can have Max here for a few days, I bet we could hit the road by the end of the week.” I said it as it was my way of asking her to stay for a while and fix the bike. Spider was almost healed and ready to get back on his own bike. “Would have to ask Mike about that, she’s his employee, even if we own the shop, he runs it, and I don’t get involved with his employees,” Prez replied contemplatively. “He here?” I asked, as Mike often doesn’t show up at the weekend parties. “Yep, came half an hour ago.” Sticks answered as she handed Max a bottle of water. “Max, if Mike’s okay with it, would you work with us for a week, get some of these ready for the weekend ride?” Sparks asked, and I kicked myself for not considering that she might not want to spend a week here. “Sure, if Mike doesn’t need me, we have several bikes in for service before the ladies run.” Her sweet voice carried across the warehouse, and the guys nodded in understanding. “Thanks, babes,” Spike called out. Each one of us here enjoyed that she worked on our bikes; it might sound odd that we're letting a chick touch our bikes, but Max was not like most chicks. Who wants to sit on the bikes or lie on them? Max knows what she’s doing and has proven herself on numerous occasions. I wish I had known how attractive she was. Man, I had a semi since she walked in the door. The Prez will even let her ride her own bike, a privilege few ladies get. She was more part of the crew; no other girl I know works on bikes like she does, and her reputation over the time she's been an apprentice has been exemplary. Not a guy chaser. When word got out that our girl had been cheated on in the worst possible way, we all wanted to go and kill the man, even though half of us had never really met her, yeah, seen her in a distance, or legs poking out from under a truck, but never sat and talked with her before today. She was fun, had me chuckling a few times, but most of the time in here, she had been all about the bikes, and not flirting, like most chicks do when around us. They see the glamour of the lifestyle, but it's not for everyone. Maxine POV I was guided to a washroom on the side of the workshop, which had a deep steel sink and a shower, but no mirrors. There was a cupboard under the sink containing soaps and cleaning products, as well as a shelf with dark-colored towels. A door that led to a toilet, which was cleaner than I had expected. So far, this whole gang house had been cleaner than I thought a load of men would leave it. I had underestimated the guys and made assumptions about how guys I knew from school or parties would act; none of them were like that. Maybe it was because they are mostly men, whereas my experience had been with boys my age and lower. I cleaned the grease off my hands and arms and dried them. As I went through the routine of cleaning myself up, I thought about the party they had been pushing me to attend and how it had churned up my stomach. The last few times I went to a party, I was with my ex-boyfriend, and he ended up with my sister, so parties were not my thing. I always seem to lose something at parties. Mostly friends, who don’t like the fact that I don’t drink, I have never been a drinker, I might drink a beer to be sociable, and it would take me ages to finish it. Still, I never take shots and am never blind drunk. I had only once been drunk, and I didn’t like the feeling or the way it took me all day to recover, nor the hangover that seemed to be more than a headache. My friends get drunk, and I spend a lot of time cleaning up the messes they make, so I seem to be the one doing the cleanup most of the time, as they know I have their backs, even when I prefer not to do that part of it. I had just finished cleaning up when Tank came in, took one look at me, and started to chuckle. “What?” I asked, looking confused as he laughed. What did I do that was so funny? He didn’t say a word. He leaned over, picked up a cloth, and soaped it up, then gripped my chin in his huge hand, and gently wiped the side of my face, his eyes concentrating on the task, as if it was the most important job he had to do with care. He was so gentle, touching my face with soft, quick movements. His eyes then met mine, and I was lost in the deepest blue orbs I have ever seen. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat and blinked a few times to break the trance he had put me in, and took a step back, my body hitting the sink behind me. “You had some grease on your cheek.” He whispered in a husky voice so deep that it had my lady parts jumping for joy and need, something I am not familiar with. “Thank you,” I whispered back, my voice croaking, and I was shocked by the sound of my own voice; it was lower, warmer, and surprised me as much as Tank's did. His eyes widened at the husky sound. He took a step back and motioned with his hand for me to move past him. I quickly left the washroom and waited in the workshop, taking in the wrecks and wondering how badly the rider would have been hurt if the bike had looked like this. Hoping no one lost their lives. I thought about that for a while. I loved my bike, but I would never ditch it because I was scared. That the thought of falling off had never entered my mind, if I died while riding my bike, then I would have been doing what I love doing. I found I was okay with that. Not that I want to die, but I have thought about how I would like to go when my heart has been broken. “Hey, what are you doing still in here?” Rocket asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Hiding?” I joked back, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and came to stand beside me, looking at the bike I had been staring at. “Can it be fixed? It’s been sitting here for a long time, with no one having the skill to start repairing it. Well, they could give it a go, but this bike is so old that parts are almost impossible to get.” “Yeah, I can give it a try. I have some contacts who can obtain parts, but I can also manufacture some parts. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can come over on weekends and dedicate some time to it.” I suggested it would be a shame to let this panhead go to waste. There are enough pieces of the wrecked bike left to serve as a starting point. “Sweet, it will be good to see this bike out on the road again.” Rocket looked genuinely pleased that the bike could be restored. I restore old cars, trucks, and bikes with Grandpa. I have the equipment stored in a shed for when I have a place of my own to use the machines. I wonder if they have a shed where I can put them. I will need one of the machines. “Ready?” Tank asked; he had shed the work shirt and pulled on a gang shirt. His muscles are on display. Yummy. He makes me feel tiny when I am beside him. “Tank, Max said she can restore the baby.” Tank’s head turned to look at the wreck, and then at me. “For real? Max, can you do that?” Tank looked surprised. After spending a few hours with me, working on bikes, he had to ask that? “Yeah, I can, need to talk to the Prez about some space, but I can do it.” Both guys frowned and looked around the workshop. But they didn’t say anything. Or question me further. Tank put his hand on my lower back and gave a slight push, making me start to walk out of the workshop. It was dark out. Tank guided me to the back door, Rocket leading the way. He opened the door for me and waved me in, as if I were someone important. Causing me to giggle. Yeah, you heard me; I giggled like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous, and not something I had ever expected to come out of my mouth. The guys didn’t even blink at the giggle. The place was warm inside, vibrating with the loud thump of the bass. You could hardly hear the person next to you speak over the heavy music. It reeked of cigarettes and booze. The girls who had been at the door waiting to get in were busy with patch members kissing and almost doing the deed right there on the chair. Some were grinding their hips against the man below them, and the small amount of clothing they had on was even less now. I assumed they were well on their way to being drunk. This was a classic visual of why men lose respect for some kinds of women. I am embarrassed to see it in front of me. I looked around the room and saw my friends still with Sticks, and a couple of guys hanging around nearby. My friends look like they are having fun, and they have a few patch members who seem friendly to them. I hope the girls know what they are doing. The gang life was not for everyone. Dad had once spoken badly about gangs, and he hated it when I became an apprentice at the bike shop. Grandpa was the one who encouraged me to have an apprenticeship. He hated that Dad and Mum were backing my sister in everything, and maybe encouraging me to be a mechanic at the bike shop was his way to get back at Dad. Dad had even tried to get me to leave the bike shop when Grandpa had died. But I had made a pact with Grandpa that I wouldn’t give in to Dad. To live the life I want, and never give in, no matter what the consequences are. I wonder what Grandpa would say if he were alive and saw Dad kick me out of the family home, for the sake of my sister. He would be livered, that’s for sure. But I did as Grandpa said, stood firm, and stayed true to myself. “Hey Maxi Max, come join us. Cricket, grab Max an iced water.” Sticks patted the chair next to her, and before I could move to sit beside her, Tank grabbed me around the waist and took a couple of giant steps to the chair, and sat down, holding me on his lap. The girls looked at each other, then, between Tank and me, the confused look changed to a grin and a nod —whatever that was about.
"“My guys found her. She’s at the MagDog clubhouse. Fixing their bikes.” “What?” Her father’s brow furrowed. “Then tell her to come home. Our business is drowning.” “She wouldn’t. Maxine sent back a message: ‘You gave my room to a bast3rd baby. I gave my keys to a biker.’” The room froze. Dan, Maxine’s ex-boyfriend, now her sister’s fiancé, remembered the last Christmas. Zoey’s moans. Maxine’s bed. Her white sheets. Zoey remembered stealing him—the third boyfriend she’d taken from her sister. And Mom and Dad never once said stop. Her parents remembered looking at their bleeding daughter and telling her to leave. For a nursery. For the cheater’s child. None of them had ever chosen her. “At least she’s safe,” her mother whispered, sobbing with regret. “Safe? She’s living above a bike shop. But she’s got the whole club at her back. Especially their giant—Tank. Six-foot-eight. Never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her. And... their president also sent a message.” “Go on,” her father urged, anxiety simmering beneath. “‘You didn’t want her. We do. Touch her fortune? We’ll end you.’” The words landed like a punch. No one moved. No one breathed. Outside, a Harley roared past the window. She didn’t even slow down." --- Maxine POV “Go home, you have worked too much overtime this week. Have an early night and give that boyfriend of yours an early treat.” My boss practically pushed me out the door, a wicked grin on his face. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’m going. I straddled my bike and started her up. This was going to be a great night. Today was my boyfriend's birthday, and I was going to give him my V-card as a special gift. I had brought new lingerie, black lace, see-through, and I had shaved my mound, leaving a trail that looked like an arrow pointing down to my juncture. I was ready to give him my all, my first, my heart, take the big plunge. I felt I was ready. I pulled into the driveway to see my sister's and my boyfriend’s cars. I had no idea my sister was coming home today. She was still at college in her final year, though I heard she wasn't doing so well. The poor golden girl has not met up with expectations, not that I was worried. My ex-boyfriend showed up three hours early; our date was not for a few more hours. What was he doing here already? Walking in the back door, I heard voices and headed towards them; they were in Dad’s office, with the door slightly ajar. I moved silently to the door and waited outside to hear what secrets they were having now. They occasionally do this when they are planning something and don’t want to include me, but I'm puzzled as to why my boyfriend and sister were included. “We never planned for it to happen.” My sister replied softly, as if she were some kind of victim; she was an expert at that. She should have been an actress; she would have won multiple Oscars by now. “When?” Dad asked, and I waited in the hallway to hear what this was all about. “Christmas day, we had too many of your special eggnogs, and things got heated. The party was more or less over; the presents had been given out, and the food had been eaten. We were all mulling around, talking, when Zoey said something, I don’t remember what—but we went upstairs to continue talking, and ended up in Maxine’s room. We did start by just talking, and before I knew it, we were kissing and things got heated, and ended up in her bed, like I said, and I was so lost in that moment that I forgot to use a protection. When we came out, no one seemed to notice we had been gone, so we pretended it never happened.” My boyfriend replied, and my heart just hit the floor, as I took in that my sister and boyfriend did the dirty in my bed at Christmas. MY BED. I slept in that bed, with their mess on the sheets. I feel suddenly sick at that thought. How could they do that to me? She stole another boyfriend from me again. But he was just as much to blame; I guess our relationship was not that strong yet. Not on his side at least. He continued to pretend, kissing me and taking me out on dates, as if that never happened. What a jerk. Now I feel cheated, dirty, ashamed, and angry all at once. What if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, and I ended up married to that cheating scumbag? Would her wedding present be to tell me she had slept with him first? I wouldn’t put it past her to do such a thing. She had done that before with my boyfriends, and I guess this one was just as vulnerable to her advances as the last one. “He gave me the best Christmas present ever.” My sister crowed with delight. I could imagine her tenderly touching her belly. “This is good news. I have wanted grandchildren, and the last grandchild I would have expected would be from you; you have never kept a relationship for long.” Mum said, sounding excited at the news. “What now?” My sister asked, still playing the perfect victim. “We get married?’ My now ex-boyfriend suggested —sounds more like a question. “What about Maxine?” My sister asked, as if I were an inconvenience that needed to be sorted out, and now they think about me, but it didn’t sound like concern. “What about her? This is about my first grandchild, and his or her safety comes first. She will have to live with it.” My mother spat, revealing that famous favoritism, because she had always taken my sister's side in everything, even when proven wrong. They never backed me up. “I am technically her boyfriend.” He started to say something, but was interrupted. “Not anymore, you're not. I will arrange with the local publican to hire the outdoor garden area, and we shall have an engagement party this Saturday. Get that sorted before you start to show, and Maxine will show her support.” Dad’s voice floated out, sounding resolute. I had no say in this, not that I wanted to be his girlfriend any longer; he had proven not to be what I wanted in a guy. “She will have to leave. I need her room for the nursery. I would prefer it if she didn't attend the engagement party. What will those who know she was the real girlfriend show up, and see that it was not Maxine getting engaged?” Mum added. Yep, that was my mother, trying to regain her dignity and save face. I couldn’t take it any longer. I was devastated enough, and listening further to their support for the love for the cheater was eating me up inside. I didn’t want to cry in front of them; the tears were a mix of anger and hurt. I pushed the door open, revealing myself standing there. All faces turned to look at me. “Let me get this straight. You took my boyfriend to MY bed, did the dirty with him, leaving your mess in my bed, as a sort of Christmas present for me. Guess that made your day, thinking I was sleeping in your mess. Now you want my bedroom for the child baby you have created, and I am what, just pushed out the door? Like yesterday’s trash?” I asked to ensure I understood correctly that the whole family was fine with me being tossed aside. “Exactly, I am taking your boyfriend, your bedroom, and you, my dear sister, have to move out.” My sister sounded like she had won the lottery. Her face beamed at her triumph. “Fine with me.” The look of shock would have made me laugh if I were not so numb inside. I moved away to my room and packed what I could into my duffel bag. I will come back for the rest later, when they are not around. My heart was breaking, not because I lost my boyfriend, although that hurt a lot, considering that what I was going to give him for his present today was saved for doing something foolish at least. But also because both parents were supporting this deception, as if it were the best news they had received in a while, that they had been trying to get rid of me for a while, and now succeeded in a spectacular way. I walked downstairs and looked at them. “When I find a place to stay, I will be back for the rest.” I spat at them, a mixture of hurt, anger, and defeat. I never fit into the family, a black sheep, so maybe I should become one. I had always had top grades, won awards, done my best, but even being first, I was still last. My best friend was the only place I could think of going to; it had to be temporary. Jenny will be cool and let me sleep on her couch till I find a new home. I climbed onto my bike and took off to the only sanctuary I had over the years. Jenny welcomed me into her home, like I knew she would, and together we had a pity party consisting of beer and vanilla fudge ice cream. We called the family and my ex some interesting names, some of which I had never heard before, but they sounded good. The drunker I got, the more inventive the names became. The next morning, after waking up on Jenny’s couch and remembering yesterday, it did not go as planned. I pulled myself together, had a quick shower, and left for work. It was eight in the morning, and Jenny was still asleep when I left. That might be okay for some, but my workday today would be ten hours long, and I was running late. “You're late, night must have gone better than planned,” Mike said jovially. They sort of knew what I was planning last night. The others chuckled along with Mike. I grumbled some shiet and got to work. By the end of the day, Mike pulled me to his office. “Okay, out with it. The guys have been tiptoeing around you all day. What happened? He rejected your advances?” He asked, his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, looking at me with concerned eyes, a father figure, better than my dad had ever been. So, I told him what happened when I got home and where I spent the night, and now I'm looking for a place to stay. I was proud of myself; I didn’t cry, or whine, or show any emotion at all —just explained my predicament in cold, emotionless words. Clear and succinct. He said he wouldn’t say anything in the shop, but would talk to the prez. I had no idea why, but I was not in the right frame of mind to question it. Maxine POV Today was my sister's engagement party; engaged to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, you heard me right, my ex. What a joke that was. I had been dating Dan for six months when my sister, who was a year older than I, came home for Christmas and ended up in bed with my boyfriend. She’s a shameless woman, always has been, but I never expected him to sleep with her. I thought we were secure in our relationship. The only good thing I took away from this was that I never went to bed with him; my virginity card was still intact, not that I was trying to keep it - I just never got the chance to lose it. She always managed to have any guy I was interested in dump me for her, and when she got bored with them, she’d move on. So, in a way, I didn’t have a boyfriend till she moved out of her home and headed to college. But when my sister came home and met him, she seduced him and got pregnant. He did the whole ‘get down on one knee and proposed’ scene. Apparently, it was romantic, but I wasn't there when he did it because they didn’t want me around. It hurt a lot at the time, and I was glad to have my girlfriends around me, helping me get over it. They say, I dodged a bullet. I agree with them, stupidly. He might have been a sports jock with good looks, but doing this tells me he was weak and shallow, and I was too good for him, or so my BFF says. I prefer to believe them over the excuses my ex made. I had to move out of my home after I had a massive fight with my parents a few days ago, when the truth was exposed; they supported her, not me, and the next thing I knew, I was out the door and the evil sister. The engagement party was intended to introduce him to her friends and make the relationship official, but I was not invited. My parents want nothing to do with me. I made them all uncomfortable, considering he was my boyfriend first. Anyone working out the timeline for the baby can piece it together, and see they were cheating on me, and it would have been awkward, and too many questions would have been raised. Not that I needed to say all of that, I kind of said it all before, but grrrrr, I am so angry at how my so-called ‘family’ kicked me out of my so-called home, with no care for me or my feelings. It was easier to push me away and disown me than have to explain to them that my sister cheated with my boyfriend, and hey presto, a baby was on the way. Because I was kicked out of the house, and only had a short time to pack anything, I took the opportunity of the party to sneak into the house and take more of my possessions, like opening my father's safe, and grabbing every piece of paper relating to me, and a little money too, no a lot of money, and grandma’s jewelry that she left me. So, with the help of my BFF, we packed my belongings and took them to her place until I found a new one. I ride a motorcycle, so I need help. I have the money to buy a new place, but I'm unsure if I want to stay in this town now. Once my apprenticeship is over, I might move away. I stayed that night at Jenny’s place, as I figured out what to do. Today, I am moving into my new place —a bungalow above the bike shop where I work. I am in my final year of apprenticeship, and I am a motorcycle mechanic, proud of it, I might add. I can also work on cars and trucks. If it had a motor, I could fix it; I always could, thanks to my knack for it, which I developed since I was eight, when I fell in love with engines. My Grandpa taught me, kept me out of everyone's way. I guess you could say I was a tomboy, with no frills and lace. My Grandpa kept me sane and busy, so the BS in our house didn’t hurt me as much. The place has two bedrooms and is fully contained, meaning it has everything I need. I had purchased some new sheets and towels, that sort of thing, but it had a fully stocked kitchen; I only needed to buy the food. It might be small, and above a noisy bike shop, but at night it was a quiet area. No one would break into this shop; the local bikie gang owned it. They were good guys, scary, but so far, no trouble for me. My BFF, Jenny, was helping me take my belongings upstairs when a group of bikers arrived and assisted us. I had five boxes and two suitcases filled with all sorts of items. “Thanks, guys, for the help,” I said sweetly, my BFF batting her eyes at them and swaying her hips suggestively as she walked and thanked them. She makes me laugh with her antics, which are totally opposite to mine. I like jeans and am rarely seen in a dress, whereas she was seldom seen in jeans. “We got a party at the clubhouse, tomorrow Saturday, you should come and relax a bit, bring your girls with ya,” Bruiser suggested as he threw his arm over my shoulder, walked me to the settee, pushed me down, and handed me a beer they had brought with them. This was how they acted around me, ordered me about. Sometimes, I'm okay with it; other times, I get all worked up and growl back at them. Today was acceptance. I know they mean well, and I feel lucky to have them as family; they try to make me feel better. “That sounds like a blast, count me in, and I can bring two other girl friends with us. Max, do you want me to pick you up?” Jenny offered, taking a beer from one of the guys. She was not a beer drinker; however, in this situation, I could see her not refusing anything they offered. I guess I'm going, whether I want to or not. “No, I’ll ride over,” I replied as one of the guys ordered pizza. “That’s the spirit. Nothing like the wind in your hair to blow the cobwebs away.” They stayed because they didn’t want me to be alone, not on my first night here. Pizza arrived not long after, and my little bungalow was soon feeling too small and crowded, with six huge bikers in the room. Some sat on the floor; others pulled up one of the three kitchen chairs. I know, I know, three chairs sound odd, but that's what was here, and beggars can’t be choosers; the rent was dirt cheap, and I think the boys are the ones to make sure I had everything I needed. They found out about my situation the next day, because, I was still quiet at work, which was not like me, often I am singing to the radio, or swearing at something, so one of the guys approached me, to find out what gives, and I softly told them, what went down, and when word got around the bikers heard I needed a place to stay, because I was kicked out of my home and why, they came to me, like protective brothers. Now I have a whole gang of bikers who have my back. I feel privileged to call them friends. They even offered to rough the ex up for me, but I refused the offer, because strangely, I was happy to get rid of the loser if he was a cheating build. Better now than when I am fully invested in our relationship. Plus, I was in deep enough shite with my parents and sister without making it worse. The pizza was gone, my BFF left for home, and the guys did too. It was late, well, for me, midnight. I usually fall asleep quickly because I have to be up for work at five. Tomorrow, being Saturday, I have the morning shift before the party later. They let me leave work early so I can move in here. “Hey, don’t forget to come, we need our prettiest mechanic at the party, some of the boys might need a tune-up,” Bruiser said with a laugh as they climbed on their bikes and left. I know what sort of tune-up he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with a motor. I looked around my new home. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. The guys were great; they took the empty pizza boxes and beer cans with them, and the place was relatively clean. Not at all what you would expect from a group of rowdy men. The clubhouse. I had never been to it, despite having worked there for nearly four years, and they had never extended an invitation to me. I know they had lots of parties; maybe I was too young. I turned twenty recently, but they might think of me as the fifteen-year-old who showed up one day and told the boss I was going to be his apprentice. He laughed at first and said he would give me a go to prove myself. He thought I was joking and that I would be gone by the weekend, but over the holidays, I worked hard and have been here ever since. Maxine POV The beeping sound of my phone alarm made me sit up and look around. It took a moment to remember where I was. The room had a small curtain that barely kept the light out. There was a streetlight just outside my window. I can envisage myself getting better blackout curtains soon. Although it was annoying, it wasn't among my top priorities for making this a home. The shower was decent, with nice pressure. I followed my morning routine, only to realize how foolish I was to wake up so early, living above my place of work; I didn’t need to ride here. After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I still had half an hour before I needed to be at work. I had two ways to get into my place: one was through the back stairs, and the other was through the shop. With the code to turn off the alarm, I decided to head down and start work early. It was better than moving stuff around; I can do that later. I had a bike to finish by this afternoon. The customer would be here at two. Turned off the alarm, turned on the coffee pot, the radio, and headed to my workstation, where the fat boy was waiting for me to finish. I sat on the stool with casters and began my job, singing loudly to the heavy rock song that came on the radio as I installed the new spark plugs and double-checked the oil. It was a simple, easy-peasy service. Once finished, I started the bike up, let it idle while I made coffee, then returned to rev it a few times. It sounds lumpy, like it was just turning over perfectly; it was music to my ears. I love that throaty, deep, lumpy sound. You can feel it vibrate through my chest. “That’s a sound I loved to hear as I enter work.” My boss, Mike, said as I turned the bike off. “It’s ready to go, unless you want to take it out for a test ride. Want a coffee, pots hot.” I offered as I threw the dirty rag in the bin. “Sure, I will take the bike out for a spin, and you can make me a coffee.” He smirked as he grabbed the bike. I opened the garage door, and Mike took off. I smiled as he disappeared down the street, and I turned to make both of us coffee. If you hadn’t guessed already, I would drink a lot of coffee. I am not a fan of soft drinks or tea; for me, it's coffee or water. With a broom in hand, I began cleaning the shop. I am not out here very often, but I try to sweep the floor at least once a week; they have another apprentice who’s a second year, who gets to do most of the cleaning up, but he’s never here on a Saturday. The sound of the bike returning prompted me to pick up the two cups of coffee and head back out to the workshop. Mike had a massive grin on his face as he parked the bike. “Great job, you are our top mechanic. But don’t tell anyone, or I will have to deny it.” He joked, taking his coffee from my hand as he walked by, no doubt letting the customer know the bike was ready ahead of time. I moved to the next bike, which was a total rebuild; it had been in a minor accident, and while the frame was being checked, I would work on the engine and gearbox. It was the only job on my list at the moment. The bike owner was in no hurry; he had a broken leg, giving me a few weeks to work on his bike and any urgent jobs that might come into the shop. The client arrived and happily took possession of his bike, very happy with the job done. “I hear you’ve been invited to the club party tonight,” Mike said as he rang up the sale on the cash register. “Yep.” I said popping the ‘p’. “You can leave now, we have no more customers expected. Good job today.” It was close to one o’clock, near the time I would knock off. “Thanks, boss.” I saluted him and rushed upstairs, before he could change his mind. Giggling all the way up. I heard him chuckling as he locked the door below, behind me. I decided on a quick shower; I didn’t want to smell of oil when going to a party. Put on my skinny black jeans, a black blouse that had red flames on the back and on the pockets, black boots that had some chains around the ankle, and hair in a ponytail. I will get what we call helmet hair, so it's a waste to do much with it now. I use mascara and strawberry lip gloss, which is more to moisturize my lips, which tend to dry out when I ride my bike, and that's it. The last thing I grabbed before leaving was my jacket. My mum used to grumble that I wasn’t like my sister and put more effort into my appearance, but I like who I am, and I didn’t like wearing lots of makeup; it was my choice, and I feel that I am not a frilly, lacey chick. It was a deal breaker with my mum. She had my sister dress up and left me in the care of Grandpa until he died when I was seventeen. It broke me when he left the world. He was the only person who got me. My grandma had been gone since I was young, and I filled the hole in his heart with my love for bikes and fishing. He left me his money and bikes. Dad got his house and business. My mum hated that I gained all that money. When Grandma died, she left me her jewelry, and Grandpa made sure to keep it safe till I was old enough to have it. I ate something and put some more of my stuff in the cupboards before my phone chimed to let me know my girlfriends were on their way to the party. I pulled my bike out of the small garage and started it up. I threw my leg over and took off, heading to the property. The clubhouse was half an hour out of town, set on a large property a little bit back from the road. Ten minutes later, I came up behind the girls and hung out behind them. My friend waved me on to take the lead. I shrugged and overtook her. The turn off arrived, and I rode happily up the long drive, and trees lined the road. An open, large steel gate appeared, and I was glad it was still enough light to see clearly. Men stood by the entrance, watching us arrive. “Hey.” I greeted the biggest man I had ever seen. “Who invited you here?” The man asked gruffly, in a deep husky voice. “Bruiser,” I answered, with a firm, clear voice, hoping that the fact that he frightened me would be noticed in my voice. He pulled out his phone and called, I assumed, Bruiser. “Max?” He asked, as he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. He said something more and hung up the phone. “Come in, the car behind your girls?” He looked at the car behind, which clearly had a woman in it. “Yep,” I replied, not at all liking how he intimidated me with his manner. Perhaps it was the way they greeted strangers. One look makes the weak run. Well, I am not weak, and I won't be running. Maxine POV This rather large biker leaned in to look inside the car, his bulky figure partially blocking the open window, causing the girl nearest it to back away. Satisfied, he looked at me with a knowing smirk, then motioned for us to enter. The clubhouse was nothing like I had imagined. Firstly, it was four levels high. Verandah all the way around, that I could see. It was more like a mansion than a clubhouse. Women were gathered near the door, looking in, as if they were waiting for something; some were sitting on the wooden fence that surrounded the verandah. They were dressed in barely anything, showing all that was available, some love that sort of thing. People like me dress to stay warm or cool and don’t care about showing off the goods. Bikes sat in neat rows in front, and cars were parked to the left of the building; the ratio of bikes to cars was approximately four bikes to one car. I parked the bike with the others, climbed off, and took off my helmet. I placed the lid on the bike and shook out my hair while waiting for the girls to park and come to me. I heard some muffled scoffs, but I couldn’t care less —I wasn't here to please them. Bruiser came out of the clubhouse behind me. “Max, you came by bike. Sweet.” He gave me a gentle squeeze and moved to take a closer look at my bike. The paint job was a wolf, fading in smoke. It took me months to finish, as I kept changing my mind, and the smoke obscured the mistakes. “Who did the paint job?” He asked as he moved around to look at it from all sides. “Me.” I was proud of the results. “Does Mike know you can paint?” He sounded surprised. “He has seen my bike when I used the garage to do a service. He never asked who did the paint work, just that he liked it.” “Sweet, looks like we have someone to do touch-ups, and possibly a full paint job. We have a family reunion in a few weeks, and the ladies are invited to come along. You can join us.” Bruiser offered as my ladies arrived; they were not included in that invitation, I assumed, because I have a bike. “Bruiser, you already met Jenny, Melony, Karen, and Heather, my other BFF, and Alice, Karen's sister, and BFF to my sister.” Adding that comment, hoping that Bruiser knew precisely what that woman was like. Alice battered her eyes and leaned forward to show off what was under that almost shirt. My ladies greeted him with the respect he deserved. “Ladies. Hands out.” Bruiser stamped the girl's backs of their hands; they all had a bear, except Alice, who had a rabbit on her hand. I frowned, trying to figure out what the rabbit was all about. He pushed my hand away. “You are family, no need for a stamp.” I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my face. I felt so special. Then the shoe dropped. Rabbit meant she would open her legs. Bruiser got my meaning loud and clear. It took a while to understand the purpose of the stamps. “Come inside and meet the ole ladies.” I understood what he meant; these were ladies who had been claimed and had a different level of respect that those not claimed would never understand. I have met a few of them over the years and gained more insight into club life. They respect me as much as I respect them. We entered the place, and the girls who had been waiting outside gave us a dirty look, as they were still stopped from entering. “What's so special about them?” One pouted, but Bruiser ignored her. Inside was cleaner than I had expected —my fault for judging a group of men, since they often look messy when I see them at the shop. The place had a large, open space, with tables where you stand, as well as booths dotted along the walls, and stools at the bar, which ran the full length of the room. I loved the spacious room, the pictures on the walls, and some bike parts scattered about as decoration. A few barstools are bike seats; it was different, and it appealed to me. Being a lover of bikes. “Sticks.” I greeted her as we got closer to the ladies Bruiser was taking us to. “Hey, Maxie Max. How's it blowing?” She stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. This chick had no filter or personal space. Sticks was the President's; her real name was Sandra, but she was my height at five-nine, and she had no shape to her body, just a lovely bean pole, almost no chest to speak of, yet she had had two boys. Hence the name Sticks. “Doing better,” I replied. She would know what was going on. She introduced us to the other ladies with her, and it didn’t surprise me that Alice had already moved away from us before we had finished the introductions. “What’s her story?” Sticks asked as she watched Alice start to try her luck with the club men. “Same as my sister. Bruiser put a rabbit stamp on her hand.” Sticks and the other girl roared out laughing. “She will be used, abused, and kicked to the side by the time the night is over, and I doubt they would let her back in. We don’t need her sort in the club.” Maggie spouted as we watched a patch member knock her offer back. “The regulars are not going to like her working their turf. So, to speak.” Tootsie said, with a smirk, that the regulars know the rules and stick with them. Don’t approach a patch member; if interested, they will come to you. Nom’s are fair game. But most girls would prefer a patch member. Don’t touch a taken member; the women will gang up and make your life miserable if you feel one of theirs. Wait to be let into the clubhouse and then stay in the public area. No going upstairs uninvited. The first two floors are designated for guest rooms, while the top floor is reserved for permanent residences. Those who don’t have a home of their own to go to. They are private and not open to wandering girls. Don’t touch or sit on someone’s bike, unless you are given permission. The patched old ladies are the bosses of the girls; they tell you to leave or do something, and you do it. There were more rules for the girls visiting, but I couldn’t remember them all at that moment. None had applied to me until now. Alice had already broken at least three, to my knowledge. I am staying out of it. That rabbit on her hand told the members that she would open her legs for any of them, and no one would support her if she broke the rules. That she was not welcome to return, in other words, have your fun, and then kick her to the curb. The doors were opened to let the other girls in. They looked at us in the no-go zone and pouted. We were sitting in an off-limits area unless we were invited. From what I understood, they were here to spread their legs and give the guys some relief, but not become part of the family. They might be hopeful that something would change; it was rare for a patch member to take one of these ladies, who had most likely been with every unattached member of the gang, at some point. My girls left me with Sticks and wandered about with the other ladies, getting the tour of the place. “Want to look around?” Sticks were offered, and before I knew it, we were walking around the vast ground floor. “Ready to see the workshop, the guys might talk you into helping out, once they know who you are.” Sticks led me down a small pathway, lined with flowering shrubs, and to a set of large, farm-size sheds. Inside were bikes, some in bits, others crumpled from an accident, and others like they had just been detailed and were someone's pride and joy. There was a workshop here, where men were working on their bikes. They looked up at us when we entered and frowned. If Sticks were not with me, they would have most likely growled at me to get out. “Who’s this Sticks?” A monster of a man asked, in the deepest voice I have ever heard, he looked a lot like the man at the gate, but with more toned muscles, that I would love to run my fingers over. Just a tad taller, and although he looked big and scary, he made my lady parts sing in a way they had never sung before. Tank POV A few guys aren't into parties, so I stopped going until later in the night, when the girls who showed up were already taken. I dislike the women who come here hoping to adopt our lifestyle. I prefer to use my hand rather than one of those women. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my share of women; however, I had a girl who pushed me to take her, and when I did, she ended up in the hospital, because I am not exactly a little man, and I ripped her apart. She needed stitches, and I have not been with a woman since. Like my brother, we are both large men; he is six feet six inches tall, and I am six feet eight inches tall. He’s carrying extra weight, where I am all muscle. I pride myself on keeping in shape, but being this large has its downfall, and having a large build has had me worried about hurting another woman. No matter how much I might want to, I can’t; I never want to go through that again. The Prez was the only person who knew why I wouldn’t join the parties; he was with me when we took the girl to the hospital, she forgave me, and tried to pursue me to keep her, but I couldn’t. Each time I started to get intimate, I had flashes of her screams, and my confidence went down like a popped balloon. We were in the workshop, doing some minor tune-ups. As I prepare for our ride, I'm excited. When they bring the ladies, the men are usually in a better mood and on their best behavior. I was looking at rebuild. I started it last week. We have a few wrecks that need to be started; some have been sitting here far too long. We can only go so far before we need Mike's help. None of us was a mechanic. I was scratching my head, as I was almost at the end of my knowledge, when I heard someone enter, and a soft perfume that shouldn’t be in this shed hit my nose. Stick’s voice reached my ears, and I lifted my head up to look in her direction. “Who’s this Sticks?” The most beautiful girl I have ever seen had entered our sanctuary, a place where few girls are allowed, which made Sticks bring this beauty down to this dirt and grease, which was unexpectedly. “That is Max, from the shop, Mike's apprentice, who I think had finished her apprenticeship and is doing something extra on Harleys and getting some specialized license,” Banjo said as he moved forward to greet them. The others stood up and moved forward too, making me feel like a dill for not recognizing Max. Although I have only seen her a few times from a distance, and she was usually deep in bike repair, I barely got to see her face. We have not been introduced because I wouldn’t have forgotten that beauty if I had. Sticks introduced us all, and we greeted her before I decided I could use her help. I put the thoughts of what I wouldn’t mind doing to her behind me, not that I could do it. “Max, come look at this wreck. I am stuck with what to do next.” I called her over on the bike I was working on. “Tank, surely you could have waited for another day? She came for the party, not to work.” Sticks grumbled as Max walked to me. She was clean and smelled nice, and I had a fleeting moment of guilt for calling her over. The few times I had seen her, she was covered in oil and grease, wearing coveralls that hid her shapely figure. “Max, are you sure?” Sticks pulled on her hand to get her attention. “Yeah, I am more at home in here than out there,” Max said with a smile and turned back to me. “What's the problem?” She asked me to move forward and inspect the bike. I went into detail about what happened to the bike, what I had managed to do so far, and what I needed to move forward. Max removed her leather jacket and slung it over a nearby bike seat, then squatted down. For the next two hours, Max worked on the bike with me, guiding me through the tricky bits I couldn’t do. The others came forward and used this time as a sort of training session, and Max didn’t seem to mind at all. We asked questions as she worked on the bike, and she used me to lift the heavy parts. It was teamwork, and we completed more repairs in that time than I would have on my own. “Hey, Max,” Bruiser called out at the door. He stood with his legs apart, arms folded, and I wondered if we had done something wrong. “Back here.” She returned to the call of her name. He arrived and burst out laughing at us. “Max, I invited you to a party, you know, dancing and drinking, and socializing. This was not what I meant as a party.” He was still chuckling when the Prez walked in, with Sticks on his arm. “You still got her working out here?” Stick all but growled at us, when the Prez’s lady growls, we all listen. She’s the last person we want to make angry. “What?” I was confused, Max didn’t seem to mind, and we all were having a good time out here. “Hey, Prez. The party over?” Max calmly asked, but it sounded more like she had hoped it was. “Not even close, babes.” The Prez answered with a smile. He had gotten closer to Max over the years she had been at the bike shop. He had often talked about the female mechanic and her sassy ways. I had thought he was exaggerating, but after spending a little time with her, I was hooked. “We have nearly completed the repair job on Spider's bike. If we can have Max here for a few days, I bet we could hit the road by the end of the week.” I said it as it was my way of asking her to stay for a while and fix the bike. Spider was almost healed and ready to get back on his own bike. “Would have to ask Mike about that, she’s his employee, even if we own the shop, he runs it, and I don’t get involved with his employees,” Prez replied contemplatively. “He here?” I asked, as Mike often doesn’t show up at the weekend parties. “Yep, came half an hour ago.” Sticks answered as she handed Max a bottle of water. “Max, if Mike’s okay with it, would you work with us for a week, get some of these ready for the weekend ride?” Sparks asked, and I kicked myself for not considering that she might not want to spend a week here. “Sure, if Mike doesn’t need me, we have several bikes in for service before the ladies run.” Her sweet voice carried across the warehouse, and the guys nodded in understanding. “Thanks, babes,” Spike called out. Each one of us here enjoyed that she worked on our bikes; it might sound odd that we're letting a chick touch our bikes, but Max was not like most chicks. Who wants to sit on the bikes or lie on them? Max knows what she’s doing and has proven herself on numerous occasions. I wish I had known how attractive she was. Man, I had a semi since she walked in the door. The Prez will even let her ride her own bike, a privilege few ladies get. She was more part of the crew; no other girl I know works on bikes like she does, and her reputation over the time she's been an apprentice has been exemplary. Not a guy chaser. When word got out that our girl had been cheated on in the worst possible way, we all wanted to go and kill the man, even though half of us had never really met her, yeah, seen her in a distance, or legs poking out from under a truck, but never sat and talked with her before today. She was fun, had me chuckling a few times, but most of the time in here, she had been all about the bikes, and not flirting, like most chicks do when around us. They see the glamour of the lifestyle, but it's not for everyone. Maxine POV I was guided to a washroom on the side of the workshop, which had a deep steel sink and a shower, but no mirrors. There was a cupboard under the sink containing soaps and cleaning products, as well as a shelf with dark-colored towels. A door that led to a toilet, which was cleaner than I had expected. So far, this whole gang house had been cleaner than I thought a load of men would leave it. I had underestimated the guys and made assumptions about how guys I knew from school or parties would act; none of them were like that. Maybe it was because they are mostly men, whereas my experience had been with boys my age and lower. I cleaned the grease off my hands and arms and dried them. As I went through the routine of cleaning myself up, I thought about the party they had been pushing me to attend and how it had churned up my stomach. The last few times I went to a party, I was with my ex-boyfriend, and he ended up with my sister, so parties were not my thing. I always seem to lose something at parties. Mostly friends, who don’t like the fact that I don’t drink, I have never been a drinker, I might drink a beer to be sociable, and it would take me ages to finish it. Still, I never take shots and am never blind drunk. I had only once been drunk, and I didn’t like the feeling or the way it took me all day to recover, nor the hangover that seemed to be more than a headache. My friends get drunk, and I spend a lot of time cleaning up the messes they make, so I seem to be the one doing the cleanup most of the time, as they know I have their backs, even when I prefer not to do that part of it. I had just finished cleaning up when Tank came in, took one look at me, and started to chuckle. “What?” I asked, looking confused as he laughed. What did I do that was so funny? He didn’t say a word. He leaned over, picked up a cloth, and soaped it up, then gripped my chin in his huge hand, and gently wiped the side of my face, his eyes concentrating on the task, as if it was the most important job he had to do with care. He was so gentle, touching my face with soft, quick movements. His eyes then met mine, and I was lost in the deepest blue orbs I have ever seen. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat and blinked a few times to break the trance he had put me in, and took a step back, my body hitting the sink behind me. “You had some grease on your cheek.” He whispered in a husky voice so deep that it had my lady parts jumping for joy and need, something I am not familiar with. “Thank you,” I whispered back, my voice croaking, and I was shocked by the sound of my own voice; it was lower, warmer, and surprised me as much as Tank's did. His eyes widened at the husky sound. He took a step back and motioned with his hand for me to move past him. I quickly left the washroom and waited in the workshop, taking in the wrecks and wondering how badly the rider would have been hurt if the bike had looked like this. Hoping no one lost their lives. I thought about that for a while. I loved my bike, but I would never ditch it because I was scared. That the thought of falling off had never entered my mind, if I died while riding my bike, then I would have been doing what I love doing. I found I was okay with that. Not that I want to die, but I have thought about how I would like to go when my heart has been broken. “Hey, what are you doing still in here?” Rocket asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Hiding?” I joked back, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and came to stand beside me, looking at the bike I had been staring at. “Can it be fixed? It’s been sitting here for a long time, with no one having the skill to start repairing it. Well, they could give it a go, but this bike is so old that parts are almost impossible to get.” “Yeah, I can give it a try. I have some contacts who can obtain parts, but I can also manufacture some parts. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can come over on weekends and dedicate some time to it.” I suggested it would be a shame to let this panhead go to waste. There are enough pieces of the wrecked bike left to serve as a starting point. “Sweet, it will be good to see this bike out on the road again.” Rocket looked genuinely pleased that the bike could be restored. I restore old cars, trucks, and bikes with Grandpa. I have the equipment stored in a shed for when I have a place of my own to use the machines. I wonder if they have a shed where I can put them. I will need one of the machines. “Ready?” Tank asked; he had shed the work shirt and pulled on a gang shirt. His muscles are on display. Yummy. He makes me feel tiny when I am beside him. “Tank, Max said she can restore the baby.” Tank’s head turned to look at the wreck, and then at me. “For real? Max, can you do that?” Tank looked surprised. After spending a few hours with me, working on bikes, he had to ask that? “Yeah, I can, need to talk to the Prez about some space, but I can do it.” Both guys frowned and looked around the workshop. But they didn’t say anything. Or question me further. Tank put his hand on my lower back and gave a slight push, making me start to walk out of the workshop. It was dark out. Tank guided me to the back door, Rocket leading the way. He opened the door for me and waved me in, as if I were someone important. Causing me to giggle. Yeah, you heard me; I giggled like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous, and not something I had ever expected to come out of my mouth. The guys didn’t even blink at the giggle. The place was warm inside, vibrating with the loud thump of the bass. You could hardly hear the person next to you speak over the heavy music. It reeked of cigarettes and booze. The girls who had been at the door waiting to get in were busy with patch members kissing and almost doing the deed right there on the chair. Some were grinding their hips against the man below them, and the small amount of clothing they had on was even less now. I assumed they were well on their way to being drunk. This was a classic visual of why men lose respect for some kinds of women. I am embarrassed to see it in front of me. I looked around the room and saw my friends still with Sticks, and a couple of guys hanging around nearby. My friends look like they are having fun, and they have a few patch members who seem friendly to them. I hope the girls know what they are doing. The gang life was not for everyone. Dad had once spoken badly about gangs, and he hated it when I became an apprentice at the bike shop. Grandpa was the one who encouraged me to have an apprenticeship. He hated that Dad and Mum were backing my sister in everything, and maybe encouraging me to be a mechanic at the bike shop was his way to get back at Dad. Dad had even tried to get me to leave the bike shop when Grandpa had died. But I had made a pact with Grandpa that I wouldn’t give in to Dad. To live the life I want, and never give in, no matter what the consequences are. I wonder what Grandpa would say if he were alive and saw Dad kick me out of the family home, for the sake of my sister. He would be livered, that’s for sure. But I did as Grandpa said, stood firm, and stayed true to myself. “Hey Maxi Max, come join us. Cricket, grab Max an iced water.” Sticks patted the chair next to her, and before I could move to sit beside her, Tank grabbed me around the waist and took a couple of giant steps to the chair, and sat down, holding me on his lap. The girls looked at each other, then, between Tank and me, the confused look changed to a grin and a nod —whatever that was about.
"“My guys found her. She’s at the MagDog clubhouse. Fixing their bikes.” “What?” Her father’s brow furrowed. “Then tell her to come home. Our business is drowning.” “She wouldn’t. Maxine sent back a message: ‘You gave my room to a bast3rd baby. I gave my keys to a biker.’” The room froze. Dan, Maxine’s ex-boyfriend, now her sister’s fiancé, remembered the last Christmas. Zoey’s moans. Maxine’s bed. Her white sheets. Zoey remembered stealing him—the third boyfriend she’d taken from her sister. And Mom and Dad never once said stop. Her parents remembered looking at their bleeding daughter and telling her to leave. For a nursery. For the cheater’s child. None of them had ever chosen her. “At least she’s safe,” her mother whispered, sobbing with regret. “Safe? She’s living above a bike shop. But she’s got the whole club at her back. Especially their giant—Tank. Six-foot-eight. Never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her. And... their president also sent a message.” “Go on,” her father urged, anxiety simmering beneath. “‘You didn’t want her. We do. Touch her fortune? We’ll end you.’” The words landed like a punch. No one moved. No one breathed. Outside, a Harley roared past the window. She didn’t even slow down." --- Maxine POV “Go home, you have worked too much overtime this week. Have an early night and give that boyfriend of yours an early treat.” My boss practically pushed me out the door, a wicked grin on his face. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’m going. I straddled my bike and started her up. This was going to be a great night. Today was my boyfriend's birthday, and I was going to give him my V-card as a special gift. I had brought new lingerie, black lace, see-through, and I had shaved my mound, leaving a trail that looked like an arrow pointing down to my juncture. I was ready to give him my all, my first, my heart, take the big plunge. I felt I was ready. I pulled into the driveway to see my sister's and my boyfriend’s cars. I had no idea my sister was coming home today. She was still at college in her final year, though I heard she wasn't doing so well. The poor golden girl has not met up with expectations, not that I was worried. My ex-boyfriend showed up three hours early; our date was not for a few more hours. What was he doing here already? Walking in the back door, I heard voices and headed towards them; they were in Dad’s office, with the door slightly ajar. I moved silently to the door and waited outside to hear what secrets they were having now. They occasionally do this when they are planning something and don’t want to include me, but I'm puzzled as to why my boyfriend and sister were included. “We never planned for it to happen.” My sister replied softly, as if she were some kind of victim; she was an expert at that. She should have been an actress; she would have won multiple Oscars by now. “When?” Dad asked, and I waited in the hallway to hear what this was all about. “Christmas day, we had too many of your special eggnogs, and things got heated. The party was more or less over; the presents had been given out, and the food had been eaten. We were all mulling around, talking, when Zoey said something, I don’t remember what—but we went upstairs to continue talking, and ended up in Maxine’s room. We did start by just talking, and before I knew it, we were kissing and things got heated, and ended up in her bed, like I said, and I was so lost in that moment that I forgot to use a protection. When we came out, no one seemed to notice we had been gone, so we pretended it never happened.” My boyfriend replied, and my heart just hit the floor, as I took in that my sister and boyfriend did the dirty in my bed at Christmas. MY BED. I slept in that bed, with their mess on the sheets. I feel suddenly sick at that thought. How could they do that to me? She stole another boyfriend from me again. But he was just as much to blame; I guess our relationship was not that strong yet. Not on his side at least. He continued to pretend, kissing me and taking me out on dates, as if that never happened. What a jerk. Now I feel cheated, dirty, ashamed, and angry all at once. What if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, and I ended up married to that cheating scumbag? Would her wedding present be to tell me she had slept with him first? I wouldn’t put it past her to do such a thing. She had done that before with my boyfriends, and I guess this one was just as vulnerable to her advances as the last one. “He gave me the best Christmas present ever.” My sister crowed with delight. I could imagine her tenderly touching her belly. “This is good news. I have wanted grandchildren, and the last grandchild I would have expected would be from you; you have never kept a relationship for long.” Mum said, sounding excited at the news. “What now?” My sister asked, still playing the perfect victim. “We get married?’ My now ex-boyfriend suggested —sounds more like a question. “What about Maxine?” My sister asked, as if I were an inconvenience that needed to be sorted out, and now they think about me, but it didn’t sound like concern. “What about her? This is about my first grandchild, and his or her safety comes first. She will have to live with it.” My mother spat, revealing that famous favoritism, because she had always taken my sister's side in everything, even when proven wrong. They never backed me up. “I am technically her boyfriend.” He started to say something, but was interrupted. “Not anymore, you're not. I will arrange with the local publican to hire the outdoor garden area, and we shall have an engagement party this Saturday. Get that sorted before you start to show, and Maxine will show her support.” Dad’s voice floated out, sounding resolute. I had no say in this, not that I wanted to be his girlfriend any longer; he had proven not to be what I wanted in a guy. “She will have to leave. I need her room for the nursery. I would prefer it if she didn't attend the engagement party. What will those who know she was the real girlfriend show up, and see that it was not Maxine getting engaged?” Mum added. Yep, that was my mother, trying to regain her dignity and save face. I couldn’t take it any longer. I was devastated enough, and listening further to their support for the love for the cheater was eating me up inside. I didn’t want to cry in front of them; the tears were a mix of anger and hurt. I pushed the door open, revealing myself standing there. All faces turned to look at me. “Let me get this straight. You took my boyfriend to MY bed, did the dirty with him, leaving your mess in my bed, as a sort of Christmas present for me. Guess that made your day, thinking I was sleeping in your mess. Now you want my bedroom for the child baby you have created, and I am what, just pushed out the door? Like yesterday’s trash?” I asked to ensure I understood correctly that the whole family was fine with me being tossed aside. “Exactly, I am taking your boyfriend, your bedroom, and you, my dear sister, have to move out.” My sister sounded like she had won the lottery. Her face beamed at her triumph. “Fine with me.” The look of shock would have made me laugh if I were not so numb inside. I moved away to my room and packed what I could into my duffel bag. I will come back for the rest later, when they are not around. My heart was breaking, not because I lost my boyfriend, although that hurt a lot, considering that what I was going to give him for his present today was saved for doing something foolish at least. But also because both parents were supporting this deception, as if it were the best news they had received in a while, that they had been trying to get rid of me for a while, and now succeeded in a spectacular way. I walked downstairs and looked at them. “When I find a place to stay, I will be back for the rest.” I spat at them, a mixture of hurt, anger, and defeat. I never fit into the family, a black sheep, so maybe I should become one. I had always had top grades, won awards, done my best, but even being first, I was still last. My best friend was the only place I could think of going to; it had to be temporary. Jenny will be cool and let me sleep on her couch till I find a new home. I climbed onto my bike and took off to the only sanctuary I had over the years. Jenny welcomed me into her home, like I knew she would, and together we had a pity party consisting of beer and vanilla fudge ice cream. We called the family and my ex some interesting names, some of which I had never heard before, but they sounded good. The drunker I got, the more inventive the names became. The next morning, after waking up on Jenny’s couch and remembering yesterday, it did not go as planned. I pulled myself together, had a quick shower, and left for work. It was eight in the morning, and Jenny was still asleep when I left. That might be okay for some, but my workday today would be ten hours long, and I was running late. “You're late, night must have gone better than planned,” Mike said jovially. They sort of knew what I was planning last night. The others chuckled along with Mike. I grumbled some shiet and got to work. By the end of the day, Mike pulled me to his office. “Okay, out with it. The guys have been tiptoeing around you all day. What happened? He rejected your advances?” He asked, his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, looking at me with concerned eyes, a father figure, better than my dad had ever been. So, I told him what happened when I got home and where I spent the night, and now I'm looking for a place to stay. I was proud of myself; I didn’t cry, or whine, or show any emotion at all —just explained my predicament in cold, emotionless words. Clear and succinct. He said he wouldn’t say anything in the shop, but would talk to the prez. I had no idea why, but I was not in the right frame of mind to question it. Maxine POV Today was my sister's engagement party; engaged to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, you heard me right, my ex. What a joke that was. I had been dating Dan for six months when my sister, who was a year older than I, came home for Christmas and ended up in bed with my boyfriend. She’s a shameless woman, always has been, but I never expected him to sleep with her. I thought we were secure in our relationship. The only good thing I took away from this was that I never went to bed with him; my virginity card was still intact, not that I was trying to keep it - I just never got the chance to lose it. She always managed to have any guy I was interested in dump me for her, and when she got bored with them, she’d move on. So, in a way, I didn’t have a boyfriend till she moved out of her home and headed to college. But when my sister came home and met him, she seduced him and got pregnant. He did the whole ‘get down on one knee and proposed’ scene. Apparently, it was romantic, but I wasn't there when he did it because they didn’t want me around. It hurt a lot at the time, and I was glad to have my girlfriends around me, helping me get over it. They say, I dodged a bullet. I agree with them, stupidly. He might have been a sports jock with good looks, but doing this tells me he was weak and shallow, and I was too good for him, or so my BFF says. I prefer to believe them over the excuses my ex made. I had to move out of my home after I had a massive fight with my parents a few days ago, when the truth was exposed; they supported her, not me, and the next thing I knew, I was out the door and the evil sister. The engagement party was intended to introduce him to her friends and make the relationship official, but I was not invited. My parents want nothing to do with me. I made them all uncomfortable, considering he was my boyfriend first. Anyone working out the timeline for the baby can piece it together, and see they were cheating on me, and it would have been awkward, and too many questions would have been raised. Not that I needed to say all of that, I kind of said it all before, but grrrrr, I am so angry at how my so-called ‘family’ kicked me out of my so-called home, with no care for me or my feelings. It was easier to push me away and disown me than have to explain to them that my sister cheated with my boyfriend, and hey presto, a baby was on the way. Because I was kicked out of the house, and only had a short time to pack anything, I took the opportunity of the party to sneak into the house and take more of my possessions, like opening my father's safe, and grabbing every piece of paper relating to me, and a little money too, no a lot of money, and grandma’s jewelry that she left me. So, with the help of my BFF, we packed my belongings and took them to her place until I found a new one. I ride a motorcycle, so I need help. I have the money to buy a new place, but I'm unsure if I want to stay in this town now. Once my apprenticeship is over, I might move away. I stayed that night at Jenny’s place, as I figured out what to do. Today, I am moving into my new place —a bungalow above the bike shop where I work. I am in my final year of apprenticeship, and I am a motorcycle mechanic, proud of it, I might add. I can also work on cars and trucks. If it had a motor, I could fix it; I always could, thanks to my knack for it, which I developed since I was eight, when I fell in love with engines. My Grandpa taught me, kept me out of everyone's way. I guess you could say I was a tomboy, with no frills and lace. My Grandpa kept me sane and busy, so the BS in our house didn’t hurt me as much. The place has two bedrooms and is fully contained, meaning it has everything I need. I had purchased some new sheets and towels, that sort of thing, but it had a fully stocked kitchen; I only needed to buy the food. It might be small, and above a noisy bike shop, but at night it was a quiet area. No one would break into this shop; the local bikie gang owned it. They were good guys, scary, but so far, no trouble for me. My BFF, Jenny, was helping me take my belongings upstairs when a group of bikers arrived and assisted us. I had five boxes and two suitcases filled with all sorts of items. “Thanks, guys, for the help,” I said sweetly, my BFF batting her eyes at them and swaying her hips suggestively as she walked and thanked them. She makes me laugh with her antics, which are totally opposite to mine. I like jeans and am rarely seen in a dress, whereas she was seldom seen in jeans. “We got a party at the clubhouse, tomorrow Saturday, you should come and relax a bit, bring your girls with ya,” Bruiser suggested as he threw his arm over my shoulder, walked me to the settee, pushed me down, and handed me a beer they had brought with them. This was how they acted around me, ordered me about. Sometimes, I'm okay with it; other times, I get all worked up and growl back at them. Today was acceptance. I know they mean well, and I feel lucky to have them as family; they try to make me feel better. “That sounds like a blast, count me in, and I can bring two other girl friends with us. Max, do you want me to pick you up?” Jenny offered, taking a beer from one of the guys. She was not a beer drinker; however, in this situation, I could see her not refusing anything they offered. I guess I'm going, whether I want to or not. “No, I’ll ride over,” I replied as one of the guys ordered pizza. “That’s the spirit. Nothing like the wind in your hair to blow the cobwebs away.” They stayed because they didn’t want me to be alone, not on my first night here. Pizza arrived not long after, and my little bungalow was soon feeling too small and crowded, with six huge bikers in the room. Some sat on the floor; others pulled up one of the three kitchen chairs. I know, I know, three chairs sound odd, but that's what was here, and beggars can’t be choosers; the rent was dirt cheap, and I think the boys are the ones to make sure I had everything I needed. They found out about my situation the next day, because, I was still quiet at work, which was not like me, often I am singing to the radio, or swearing at something, so one of the guys approached me, to find out what gives, and I softly told them, what went down, and when word got around the bikers heard I needed a place to stay, because I was kicked out of my home and why, they came to me, like protective brothers. Now I have a whole gang of bikers who have my back. I feel privileged to call them friends. They even offered to rough the ex up for me, but I refused the offer, because strangely, I was happy to get rid of the loser if he was a cheating build. Better now than when I am fully invested in our relationship. Plus, I was in deep enough shite with my parents and sister without making it worse. The pizza was gone, my BFF left for home, and the guys did too. It was late, well, for me, midnight. I usually fall asleep quickly because I have to be up for work at five. Tomorrow, being Saturday, I have the morning shift before the party later. They let me leave work early so I can move in here. “Hey, don’t forget to come, we need our prettiest mechanic at the party, some of the boys might need a tune-up,” Bruiser said with a laugh as they climbed on their bikes and left. I know what sort of tune-up he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with a motor. I looked around my new home. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. The guys were great; they took the empty pizza boxes and beer cans with them, and the place was relatively clean. Not at all what you would expect from a group of rowdy men. The clubhouse. I had never been to it, despite having worked there for nearly four years, and they had never extended an invitation to me. I know they had lots of parties; maybe I was too young. I turned twenty recently, but they might think of me as the fifteen-year-old who showed up one day and told the boss I was going to be his apprentice. He laughed at first and said he would give me a go to prove myself. He thought I was joking and that I would be gone by the weekend, but over the holidays, I worked hard and have been here ever since. Maxine POV The beeping sound of my phone alarm made me sit up and look around. It took a moment to remember where I was. The room had a small curtain that barely kept the light out. There was a streetlight just outside my window. I can envisage myself getting better blackout curtains soon. Although it was annoying, it wasn't among my top priorities for making this a home. The shower was decent, with nice pressure. I followed my morning routine, only to realize how foolish I was to wake up so early, living above my place of work; I didn’t need to ride here. After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I still had half an hour before I needed to be at work. I had two ways to get into my place: one was through the back stairs, and the other was through the shop. With the code to turn off the alarm, I decided to head down and start work early. It was better than moving stuff around; I can do that later. I had a bike to finish by this afternoon. The customer would be here at two. Turned off the alarm, turned on the coffee pot, the radio, and headed to my workstation, where the fat boy was waiting for me to finish. I sat on the stool with casters and began my job, singing loudly to the heavy rock song that came on the radio as I installed the new spark plugs and double-checked the oil. It was a simple, easy-peasy service. Once finished, I started the bike up, let it idle while I made coffee, then returned to rev it a few times. It sounds lumpy, like it was just turning over perfectly; it was music to my ears. I love that throaty, deep, lumpy sound. You can feel it vibrate through my chest. “That’s a sound I loved to hear as I enter work.” My boss, Mike, said as I turned the bike off. “It’s ready to go, unless you want to take it out for a test ride. Want a coffee, pots hot.” I offered as I threw the dirty rag in the bin. “Sure, I will take the bike out for a spin, and you can make me a coffee.” He smirked as he grabbed the bike. I opened the garage door, and Mike took off. I smiled as he disappeared down the street, and I turned to make both of us coffee. If you hadn’t guessed already, I would drink a lot of coffee. I am not a fan of soft drinks or tea; for me, it's coffee or water. With a broom in hand, I began cleaning the shop. I am not out here very often, but I try to sweep the floor at least once a week; they have another apprentice who’s a second year, who gets to do most of the cleaning up, but he’s never here on a Saturday. The sound of the bike returning prompted me to pick up the two cups of coffee and head back out to the workshop. Mike had a massive grin on his face as he parked the bike. “Great job, you are our top mechanic. But don’t tell anyone, or I will have to deny it.” He joked, taking his coffee from my hand as he walked by, no doubt letting the customer know the bike was ready ahead of time. I moved to the next bike, which was a total rebuild; it had been in a minor accident, and while the frame was being checked, I would work on the engine and gearbox. It was the only job on my list at the moment. The bike owner was in no hurry; he had a broken leg, giving me a few weeks to work on his bike and any urgent jobs that might come into the shop. The client arrived and happily took possession of his bike, very happy with the job done. “I hear you’ve been invited to the club party tonight,” Mike said as he rang up the sale on the cash register. “Yep.” I said popping the ‘p’. “You can leave now, we have no more customers expected. Good job today.” It was close to one o’clock, near the time I would knock off. “Thanks, boss.” I saluted him and rushed upstairs, before he could change his mind. Giggling all the way up. I heard him chuckling as he locked the door below, behind me. I decided on a quick shower; I didn’t want to smell of oil when going to a party. Put on my skinny black jeans, a black blouse that had red flames on the back and on the pockets, black boots that had some chains around the ankle, and hair in a ponytail. I will get what we call helmet hair, so it's a waste to do much with it now. I use mascara and strawberry lip gloss, which is more to moisturize my lips, which tend to dry out when I ride my bike, and that's it. The last thing I grabbed before leaving was my jacket. My mum used to grumble that I wasn’t like my sister and put more effort into my appearance, but I like who I am, and I didn’t like wearing lots of makeup; it was my choice, and I feel that I am not a frilly, lacey chick. It was a deal breaker with my mum. She had my sister dress up and left me in the care of Grandpa until he died when I was seventeen. It broke me when he left the world. He was the only person who got me. My grandma had been gone since I was young, and I filled the hole in his heart with my love for bikes and fishing. He left me his money and bikes. Dad got his house and business. My mum hated that I gained all that money. When Grandma died, she left me her jewelry, and Grandpa made sure to keep it safe till I was old enough to have it. I ate something and put some more of my stuff in the cupboards before my phone chimed to let me know my girlfriends were on their way to the party. I pulled my bike out of the small garage and started it up. I threw my leg over and took off, heading to the property. The clubhouse was half an hour out of town, set on a large property a little bit back from the road. Ten minutes later, I came up behind the girls and hung out behind them. My friend waved me on to take the lead. I shrugged and overtook her. The turn off arrived, and I rode happily up the long drive, and trees lined the road. An open, large steel gate appeared, and I was glad it was still enough light to see clearly. Men stood by the entrance, watching us arrive. “Hey.” I greeted the biggest man I had ever seen. “Who invited you here?” The man asked gruffly, in a deep husky voice. “Bruiser,” I answered, with a firm, clear voice, hoping that the fact that he frightened me would be noticed in my voice. He pulled out his phone and called, I assumed, Bruiser. “Max?” He asked, as he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. He said something more and hung up the phone. “Come in, the car behind your girls?” He looked at the car behind, which clearly had a woman in it. “Yep,” I replied, not at all liking how he intimidated me with his manner. Perhaps it was the way they greeted strangers. One look makes the weak run. Well, I am not weak, and I won't be running. Maxine POV This rather large biker leaned in to look inside the car, his bulky figure partially blocking the open window, causing the girl nearest it to back away. Satisfied, he looked at me with a knowing smirk, then motioned for us to enter. The clubhouse was nothing like I had imagined. Firstly, it was four levels high. Verandah all the way around, that I could see. It was more like a mansion than a clubhouse. Women were gathered near the door, looking in, as if they were waiting for something; some were sitting on the wooden fence that surrounded the verandah. They were dressed in barely anything, showing all that was available, some love that sort of thing. People like me dress to stay warm or cool and don’t care about showing off the goods. Bikes sat in neat rows in front, and cars were parked to the left of the building; the ratio of bikes to cars was approximately four bikes to one car. I parked the bike with the others, climbed off, and took off my helmet. I placed the lid on the bike and shook out my hair while waiting for the girls to park and come to me. I heard some muffled scoffs, but I couldn’t care less —I wasn't here to please them. Bruiser came out of the clubhouse behind me. “Max, you came by bike. Sweet.” He gave me a gentle squeeze and moved to take a closer look at my bike. The paint job was a wolf, fading in smoke. It took me months to finish, as I kept changing my mind, and the smoke obscured the mistakes. “Who did the paint job?” He asked as he moved around to look at it from all sides. “Me.” I was proud of the results. “Does Mike know you can paint?” He sounded surprised. “He has seen my bike when I used the garage to do a service. He never asked who did the paint work, just that he liked it.” “Sweet, looks like we have someone to do touch-ups, and possibly a full paint job. We have a family reunion in a few weeks, and the ladies are invited to come along. You can join us.” Bruiser offered as my ladies arrived; they were not included in that invitation, I assumed, because I have a bike. “Bruiser, you already met Jenny, Melony, Karen, and Heather, my other BFF, and Alice, Karen's sister, and BFF to my sister.” Adding that comment, hoping that Bruiser knew precisely what that woman was like. Alice battered her eyes and leaned forward to show off what was under that almost shirt. My ladies greeted him with the respect he deserved. “Ladies. Hands out.” Bruiser stamped the girl's backs of their hands; they all had a bear, except Alice, who had a rabbit on her hand. I frowned, trying to figure out what the rabbit was all about. He pushed my hand away. “You are family, no need for a stamp.” I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my face. I felt so special. Then the shoe dropped. Rabbit meant she would open her legs. Bruiser got my meaning loud and clear. It took a while to understand the purpose of the stamps. “Come inside and meet the ole ladies.” I understood what he meant; these were ladies who had been claimed and had a different level of respect that those not claimed would never understand. I have met a few of them over the years and gained more insight into club life. They respect me as much as I respect them. We entered the place, and the girls who had been waiting outside gave us a dirty look, as they were still stopped from entering. “What's so special about them?” One pouted, but Bruiser ignored her. Inside was cleaner than I had expected —my fault for judging a group of men, since they often look messy when I see them at the shop. The place had a large, open space, with tables where you stand, as well as booths dotted along the walls, and stools at the bar, which ran the full length of the room. I loved the spacious room, the pictures on the walls, and some bike parts scattered about as decoration. A few barstools are bike seats; it was different, and it appealed to me. Being a lover of bikes. “Sticks.” I greeted her as we got closer to the ladies Bruiser was taking us to. “Hey, Maxie Max. How's it blowing?” She stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. This chick had no filter or personal space. Sticks was the President's; her real name was Sandra, but she was my height at five-nine, and she had no shape to her body, just a lovely bean pole, almost no chest to speak of, yet she had had two boys. Hence the name Sticks. “Doing better,” I replied. She would know what was going on. She introduced us to the other ladies with her, and it didn’t surprise me that Alice had already moved away from us before we had finished the introductions. “What’s her story?” Sticks asked as she watched Alice start to try her luck with the club men. “Same as my sister. Bruiser put a rabbit stamp on her hand.” Sticks and the other girl roared out laughing. “She will be used, abused, and kicked to the side by the time the night is over, and I doubt they would let her back in. We don’t need her sort in the club.” Maggie spouted as we watched a patch member knock her offer back. “The regulars are not going to like her working their turf. So, to speak.” Tootsie said, with a smirk, that the regulars know the rules and stick with them. Don’t approach a patch member; if interested, they will come to you. Nom’s are fair game. But most girls would prefer a patch member. Don’t touch a taken member; the women will gang up and make your life miserable if you feel one of theirs. Wait to be let into the clubhouse and then stay in the public area. No going upstairs uninvited. The first two floors are designated for guest rooms, while the top floor is reserved for permanent residences. Those who don’t have a home of their own to go to. They are private and not open to wandering girls. Don’t touch or sit on someone’s bike, unless you are given permission. The patched old ladies are the bosses of the girls; they tell you to leave or do something, and you do it. There were more rules for the girls visiting, but I couldn’t remember them all at that moment. None had applied to me until now. Alice had already broken at least three, to my knowledge. I am staying out of it. That rabbit on her hand told the members that she would open her legs for any of them, and no one would support her if she broke the rules. That she was not welcome to return, in other words, have your fun, and then kick her to the curb. The doors were opened to let the other girls in. They looked at us in the no-go zone and pouted. We were sitting in an off-limits area unless we were invited. From what I understood, they were here to spread their legs and give the guys some relief, but not become part of the family. They might be hopeful that something would change; it was rare for a patch member to take one of these ladies, who had most likely been with every unattached member of the gang, at some point. My girls left me with Sticks and wandered about with the other ladies, getting the tour of the place. “Want to look around?” Sticks were offered, and before I knew it, we were walking around the vast ground floor. “Ready to see the workshop, the guys might talk you into helping out, once they know who you are.” Sticks led me down a small pathway, lined with flowering shrubs, and to a set of large, farm-size sheds. Inside were bikes, some in bits, others crumpled from an accident, and others like they had just been detailed and were someone's pride and joy. There was a workshop here, where men were working on their bikes. They looked up at us when we entered and frowned. If Sticks were not with me, they would have most likely growled at me to get out. “Who’s this Sticks?” A monster of a man asked, in the deepest voice I have ever heard, he looked a lot like the man at the gate, but with more toned muscles, that I would love to run my fingers over. Just a tad taller, and although he looked big and scary, he made my lady parts sing in a way they had never sung before. Tank POV A few guys aren't into parties, so I stopped going until later in the night, when the girls who showed up were already taken. I dislike the women who come here hoping to adopt our lifestyle. I prefer to use my hand rather than one of those women. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my share of women; however, I had a girl who pushed me to take her, and when I did, she ended up in the hospital, because I am not exactly a little man, and I ripped her apart. She needed stitches, and I have not been with a woman since. Like my brother, we are both large men; he is six feet six inches tall, and I am six feet eight inches tall. He’s carrying extra weight, where I am all muscle. I pride myself on keeping in shape, but being this large has its downfall, and having a large build has had me worried about hurting another woman. No matter how much I might want to, I can’t; I never want to go through that again. The Prez was the only person who knew why I wouldn’t join the parties; he was with me when we took the girl to the hospital, she forgave me, and tried to pursue me to keep her, but I couldn’t. Each time I started to get intimate, I had flashes of her screams, and my confidence went down like a popped balloon. We were in the workshop, doing some minor tune-ups. As I prepare for our ride, I'm excited. When they bring the ladies, the men are usually in a better mood and on their best behavior. I was looking at rebuild. I started it last week. We have a few wrecks that need to be started; some have been sitting here far too long. We can only go so far before we need Mike's help. None of us was a mechanic. I was scratching my head, as I was almost at the end of my knowledge, when I heard someone enter, and a soft perfume that shouldn’t be in this shed hit my nose. Stick’s voice reached my ears, and I lifted my head up to look in her direction. “Who’s this Sticks?” The most beautiful girl I have ever seen had entered our sanctuary, a place where few girls are allowed, which made Sticks bring this beauty down to this dirt and grease, which was unexpectedly. “That is Max, from the shop, Mike's apprentice, who I think had finished her apprenticeship and is doing something extra on Harleys and getting some specialized license,” Banjo said as he moved forward to greet them. The others stood up and moved forward too, making me feel like a dill for not recognizing Max. Although I have only seen her a few times from a distance, and she was usually deep in bike repair, I barely got to see her face. We have not been introduced because I wouldn’t have forgotten that beauty if I had. Sticks introduced us all, and we greeted her before I decided I could use her help. I put the thoughts of what I wouldn’t mind doing to her behind me, not that I could do it. “Max, come look at this wreck. I am stuck with what to do next.” I called her over on the bike I was working on. “Tank, surely you could have waited for another day? She came for the party, not to work.” Sticks grumbled as Max walked to me. She was clean and smelled nice, and I had a fleeting moment of guilt for calling her over. The few times I had seen her, she was covered in oil and grease, wearing coveralls that hid her shapely figure. “Max, are you sure?” Sticks pulled on her hand to get her attention. “Yeah, I am more at home in here than out there,” Max said with a smile and turned back to me. “What's the problem?” She asked me to move forward and inspect the bike. I went into detail about what happened to the bike, what I had managed to do so far, and what I needed to move forward. Max removed her leather jacket and slung it over a nearby bike seat, then squatted down. For the next two hours, Max worked on the bike with me, guiding me through the tricky bits I couldn’t do. The others came forward and used this time as a sort of training session, and Max didn’t seem to mind at all. We asked questions as she worked on the bike, and she used me to lift the heavy parts. It was teamwork, and we completed more repairs in that time than I would have on my own. “Hey, Max,” Bruiser called out at the door. He stood with his legs apart, arms folded, and I wondered if we had done something wrong. “Back here.” She returned to the call of her name. He arrived and burst out laughing at us. “Max, I invited you to a party, you know, dancing and drinking, and socializing. This was not what I meant as a party.” He was still chuckling when the Prez walked in, with Sticks on his arm. “You still got her working out here?” Stick all but growled at us, when the Prez’s lady growls, we all listen. She’s the last person we want to make angry. “What?” I was confused, Max didn’t seem to mind, and we all were having a good time out here. “Hey, Prez. The party over?” Max calmly asked, but it sounded more like she had hoped it was. “Not even close, babes.” The Prez answered with a smile. He had gotten closer to Max over the years she had been at the bike shop. He had often talked about the female mechanic and her sassy ways. I had thought he was exaggerating, but after spending a little time with her, I was hooked. “We have nearly completed the repair job on Spider's bike. If we can have Max here for a few days, I bet we could hit the road by the end of the week.” I said it as it was my way of asking her to stay for a while and fix the bike. Spider was almost healed and ready to get back on his own bike. “Would have to ask Mike about that, she’s his employee, even if we own the shop, he runs it, and I don’t get involved with his employees,” Prez replied contemplatively. “He here?” I asked, as Mike often doesn’t show up at the weekend parties. “Yep, came half an hour ago.” Sticks answered as she handed Max a bottle of water. “Max, if Mike’s okay with it, would you work with us for a week, get some of these ready for the weekend ride?” Sparks asked, and I kicked myself for not considering that she might not want to spend a week here. “Sure, if Mike doesn’t need me, we have several bikes in for service before the ladies run.” Her sweet voice carried across the warehouse, and the guys nodded in understanding. “Thanks, babes,” Spike called out. Each one of us here enjoyed that she worked on our bikes; it might sound odd that we're letting a chick touch our bikes, but Max was not like most chicks. Who wants to sit on the bikes or lie on them? Max knows what she’s doing and has proven herself on numerous occasions. I wish I had known how attractive she was. Man, I had a semi since she walked in the door. The Prez will even let her ride her own bike, a privilege few ladies get. She was more part of the crew; no other girl I know works on bikes like she does, and her reputation over the time she's been an apprentice has been exemplary. Not a guy chaser. When word got out that our girl had been cheated on in the worst possible way, we all wanted to go and kill the man, even though half of us had never really met her, yeah, seen her in a distance, or legs poking out from under a truck, but never sat and talked with her before today. She was fun, had me chuckling a few times, but most of the time in here, she had been all about the bikes, and not flirting, like most chicks do when around us. They see the glamour of the lifestyle, but it's not for everyone. Maxine POV I was guided to a washroom on the side of the workshop, which had a deep steel sink and a shower, but no mirrors. There was a cupboard under the sink containing soaps and cleaning products, as well as a shelf with dark-colored towels. A door that led to a toilet, which was cleaner than I had expected. So far, this whole gang house had been cleaner than I thought a load of men would leave it. I had underestimated the guys and made assumptions about how guys I knew from school or parties would act; none of them were like that. Maybe it was because they are mostly men, whereas my experience had been with boys my age and lower. I cleaned the grease off my hands and arms and dried them. As I went through the routine of cleaning myself up, I thought about the party they had been pushing me to attend and how it had churned up my stomach. The last few times I went to a party, I was with my ex-boyfriend, and he ended up with my sister, so parties were not my thing. I always seem to lose something at parties. Mostly friends, who don’t like the fact that I don’t drink, I have never been a drinker, I might drink a beer to be sociable, and it would take me ages to finish it. Still, I never take shots and am never blind drunk. I had only once been drunk, and I didn’t like the feeling or the way it took me all day to recover, nor the hangover that seemed to be more than a headache. My friends get drunk, and I spend a lot of time cleaning up the messes they make, so I seem to be the one doing the cleanup most of the time, as they know I have their backs, even when I prefer not to do that part of it. I had just finished cleaning up when Tank came in, took one look at me, and started to chuckle. “What?” I asked, looking confused as he laughed. What did I do that was so funny? He didn’t say a word. He leaned over, picked up a cloth, and soaped it up, then gripped my chin in his huge hand, and gently wiped the side of my face, his eyes concentrating on the task, as if it was the most important job he had to do with care. He was so gentle, touching my face with soft, quick movements. His eyes then met mine, and I was lost in the deepest blue orbs I have ever seen. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat and blinked a few times to break the trance he had put me in, and took a step back, my body hitting the sink behind me. “You had some grease on your cheek.” He whispered in a husky voice so deep that it had my lady parts jumping for joy and need, something I am not familiar with. “Thank you,” I whispered back, my voice croaking, and I was shocked by the sound of my own voice; it was lower, warmer, and surprised me as much as Tank's did. His eyes widened at the husky sound. He took a step back and motioned with his hand for me to move past him. I quickly left the washroom and waited in the workshop, taking in the wrecks and wondering how badly the rider would have been hurt if the bike had looked like this. Hoping no one lost their lives. I thought about that for a while. I loved my bike, but I would never ditch it because I was scared. That the thought of falling off had never entered my mind, if I died while riding my bike, then I would have been doing what I love doing. I found I was okay with that. Not that I want to die, but I have thought about how I would like to go when my heart has been broken. “Hey, what are you doing still in here?” Rocket asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Hiding?” I joked back, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and came to stand beside me, looking at the bike I had been staring at. “Can it be fixed? It’s been sitting here for a long time, with no one having the skill to start repairing it. Well, they could give it a go, but this bike is so old that parts are almost impossible to get.” “Yeah, I can give it a try. I have some contacts who can obtain parts, but I can also manufacture some parts. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can come over on weekends and dedicate some time to it.” I suggested it would be a shame to let this panhead go to waste. There are enough pieces of the wrecked bike left to serve as a starting point. “Sweet, it will be good to see this bike out on the road again.” Rocket looked genuinely pleased that the bike could be restored. I restore old cars, trucks, and bikes with Grandpa. I have the equipment stored in a shed for when I have a place of my own to use the machines. I wonder if they have a shed where I can put them. I will need one of the machines. “Ready?” Tank asked; he had shed the work shirt and pulled on a gang shirt. His muscles are on display. Yummy. He makes me feel tiny when I am beside him. “Tank, Max said she can restore the baby.” Tank’s head turned to look at the wreck, and then at me. “For real? Max, can you do that?” Tank looked surprised. After spending a few hours with me, working on bikes, he had to ask that? “Yeah, I can, need to talk to the Prez about some space, but I can do it.” Both guys frowned and looked around the workshop. But they didn’t say anything. Or question me further. Tank put his hand on my lower back and gave a slight push, making me start to walk out of the workshop. It was dark out. Tank guided me to the back door, Rocket leading the way. He opened the door for me and waved me in, as if I were someone important. Causing me to giggle. Yeah, you heard me; I giggled like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous, and not something I had ever expected to come out of my mouth. The guys didn’t even blink at the giggle. The place was warm inside, vibrating with the loud thump of the bass. You could hardly hear the person next to you speak over the heavy music. It reeked of cigarettes and booze. The girls who had been at the door waiting to get in were busy with patch members kissing and almost doing the deed right there on the chair. Some were grinding their hips against the man below them, and the small amount of clothing they had on was even less now. I assumed they were well on their way to being drunk. This was a classic visual of why men lose respect for some kinds of women. I am embarrassed to see it in front of me. I looked around the room and saw my friends still with Sticks, and a couple of guys hanging around nearby. My friends look like they are having fun, and they have a few patch members who seem friendly to them. I hope the girls know what they are doing. The gang life was not for everyone. Dad had once spoken badly about gangs, and he hated it when I became an apprentice at the bike shop. Grandpa was the one who encouraged me to have an apprenticeship. He hated that Dad and Mum were backing my sister in everything, and maybe encouraging me to be a mechanic at the bike shop was his way to get back at Dad. Dad had even tried to get me to leave the bike shop when Grandpa had died. But I had made a pact with Grandpa that I wouldn’t give in to Dad. To live the life I want, and never give in, no matter what the consequences are. I wonder what Grandpa would say if he were alive and saw Dad kick me out of the family home, for the sake of my sister. He would be livered, that’s for sure. But I did as Grandpa said, stood firm, and stayed true to myself. “Hey Maxi Max, come join us. Cricket, grab Max an iced water.” Sticks patted the chair next to her, and before I could move to sit beside her, Tank grabbed me around the waist and took a couple of giant steps to the chair, and sat down, holding me on his lap. The girls looked at each other, then, between Tank and me, the confused look changed to a grin and a nod —whatever that was about.
"“My guys found her. She’s at the MagDog clubhouse. Fixing their bikes.” “What?” Her father’s brow furrowed. “Then tell her to come home. Our business is drowning.” “She wouldn’t. Maxine sent back a message: ‘You gave my room to a bast3rd baby. I gave my keys to a biker.’” The room froze. Dan, Maxine’s ex-boyfriend, now her sister’s fiancé, remembered the last Christmas. Zoey’s moans. Maxine’s bed. Her white sheets. Zoey remembered stealing him—the third boyfriend she’d taken from her sister. And Mom and Dad never once said stop. Her parents remembered looking at their bleeding daughter and telling her to leave. For a nursery. For the cheater’s child. None of them had ever chosen her. “At least she’s safe,” her mother whispered, sobbing with regret. “Safe? She’s living above a bike shop. But she’s got the whole club at her back. Especially their giant—Tank. Six-foot-eight. Never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her. And... their president also sent a message.” “Go on,” her father urged, anxiety simmering beneath. “‘You didn’t want her. We do. Touch her fortune? We’ll end you.’” The words landed like a punch. No one moved. No one breathed. Outside, a Harley roared past the window. She didn’t even slow down." --- Maxine POV “Go home, you have worked too much overtime this week. Have an early night and give that boyfriend of yours an early treat.” My boss practically pushed me out the door, a wicked grin on his face. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’m going. I straddled my bike and started her up. This was going to be a great night. Today was my boyfriend's birthday, and I was going to give him my V-card as a special gift. I had brought new lingerie, black lace, see-through, and I had shaved my mound, leaving a trail that looked like an arrow pointing down to my juncture. I was ready to give him my all, my first, my heart, take the big plunge. I felt I was ready. I pulled into the driveway to see my sister's and my boyfriend’s cars. I had no idea my sister was coming home today. She was still at college in her final year, though I heard she wasn't doing so well. The poor golden girl has not met up with expectations, not that I was worried. My ex-boyfriend showed up three hours early; our date was not for a few more hours. What was he doing here already? Walking in the back door, I heard voices and headed towards them; they were in Dad’s office, with the door slightly ajar. I moved silently to the door and waited outside to hear what secrets they were having now. They occasionally do this when they are planning something and don’t want to include me, but I'm puzzled as to why my boyfriend and sister were included. “We never planned for it to happen.” My sister replied softly, as if she were some kind of victim; she was an expert at that. She should have been an actress; she would have won multiple Oscars by now. “When?” Dad asked, and I waited in the hallway to hear what this was all about. “Christmas day, we had too many of your special eggnogs, and things got heated. The party was more or less over; the presents had been given out, and the food had been eaten. We were all mulling around, talking, when Zoey said something, I don’t remember what—but we went upstairs to continue talking, and ended up in Maxine’s room. We did start by just talking, and before I knew it, we were kissing and things got heated, and ended up in her bed, like I said, and I was so lost in that moment that I forgot to use a protection. When we came out, no one seemed to notice we had been gone, so we pretended it never happened.” My boyfriend replied, and my heart just hit the floor, as I took in that my sister and boyfriend did the dirty in my bed at Christmas. MY BED. I slept in that bed, with their mess on the sheets. I feel suddenly sick at that thought. How could they do that to me? She stole another boyfriend from me again. But he was just as much to blame; I guess our relationship was not that strong yet. Not on his side at least. He continued to pretend, kissing me and taking me out on dates, as if that never happened. What a jerk. Now I feel cheated, dirty, ashamed, and angry all at once. What if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, and I ended up married to that cheating scumbag? Would her wedding present be to tell me she had slept with him first? I wouldn’t put it past her to do such a thing. She had done that before with my boyfriends, and I guess this one was just as vulnerable to her advances as the last one. “He gave me the best Christmas present ever.” My sister crowed with delight. I could imagine her tenderly touching her belly. “This is good news. I have wanted grandchildren, and the last grandchild I would have expected would be from you; you have never kept a relationship for long.” Mum said, sounding excited at the news. “What now?” My sister asked, still playing the perfect victim. “We get married?’ My now ex-boyfriend suggested —sounds more like a question. “What about Maxine?” My sister asked, as if I were an inconvenience that needed to be sorted out, and now they think about me, but it didn’t sound like concern. “What about her? This is about my first grandchild, and his or her safety comes first. She will have to live with it.” My mother spat, revealing that famous favoritism, because she had always taken my sister's side in everything, even when proven wrong. They never backed me up. “I am technically her boyfriend.” He started to say something, but was interrupted. “Not anymore, you're not. I will arrange with the local publican to hire the outdoor garden area, and we shall have an engagement party this Saturday. Get that sorted before you start to show, and Maxine will show her support.” Dad’s voice floated out, sounding resolute. I had no say in this, not that I wanted to be his girlfriend any longer; he had proven not to be what I wanted in a guy. “She will have to leave. I need her room for the nursery. I would prefer it if she didn't attend the engagement party. What will those who know she was the real girlfriend show up, and see that it was not Maxine getting engaged?” Mum added. Yep, that was my mother, trying to regain her dignity and save face. I couldn’t take it any longer. I was devastated enough, and listening further to their support for the love for the cheater was eating me up inside. I didn’t want to cry in front of them; the tears were a mix of anger and hurt. I pushed the door open, revealing myself standing there. All faces turned to look at me. “Let me get this straight. You took my boyfriend to MY bed, did the dirty with him, leaving your mess in my bed, as a sort of Christmas present for me. Guess that made your day, thinking I was sleeping in your mess. Now you want my bedroom for the child baby you have created, and I am what, just pushed out the door? Like yesterday’s trash?” I asked to ensure I understood correctly that the whole family was fine with me being tossed aside. “Exactly, I am taking your boyfriend, your bedroom, and you, my dear sister, have to move out.” My sister sounded like she had won the lottery. Her face beamed at her triumph. “Fine with me.” The look of shock would have made me laugh if I were not so numb inside. I moved away to my room and packed what I could into my duffel bag. I will come back for the rest later, when they are not around. My heart was breaking, not because I lost my boyfriend, although that hurt a lot, considering that what I was going to give him for his present today was saved for doing something foolish at least. But also because both parents were supporting this deception, as if it were the best news they had received in a while, that they had been trying to get rid of me for a while, and now succeeded in a spectacular way. I walked downstairs and looked at them. “When I find a place to stay, I will be back for the rest.” I spat at them, a mixture of hurt, anger, and defeat. I never fit into the family, a black sheep, so maybe I should become one. I had always had top grades, won awards, done my best, but even being first, I was still last. My best friend was the only place I could think of going to; it had to be temporary. Jenny will be cool and let me sleep on her couch till I find a new home. I climbed onto my bike and took off to the only sanctuary I had over the years. Jenny welcomed me into her home, like I knew she would, and together we had a pity party consisting of beer and vanilla fudge ice cream. We called the family and my ex some interesting names, some of which I had never heard before, but they sounded good. The drunker I got, the more inventive the names became. The next morning, after waking up on Jenny’s couch and remembering yesterday, it did not go as planned. I pulled myself together, had a quick shower, and left for work. It was eight in the morning, and Jenny was still asleep when I left. That might be okay for some, but my workday today would be ten hours long, and I was running late. “You're late, night must have gone better than planned,” Mike said jovially. They sort of knew what I was planning last night. The others chuckled along with Mike. I grumbled some shiet and got to work. By the end of the day, Mike pulled me to his office. “Okay, out with it. The guys have been tiptoeing around you all day. What happened? He rejected your advances?” He asked, his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, looking at me with concerned eyes, a father figure, better than my dad had ever been. So, I told him what happened when I got home and where I spent the night, and now I'm looking for a place to stay. I was proud of myself; I didn’t cry, or whine, or show any emotion at all —just explained my predicament in cold, emotionless words. Clear and succinct. He said he wouldn’t say anything in the shop, but would talk to the prez. I had no idea why, but I was not in the right frame of mind to question it. Maxine POV Today was my sister's engagement party; engaged to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, you heard me right, my ex. What a joke that was. I had been dating Dan for six months when my sister, who was a year older than I, came home for Christmas and ended up in bed with my boyfriend. She’s a shameless woman, always has been, but I never expected him to sleep with her. I thought we were secure in our relationship. The only good thing I took away from this was that I never went to bed with him; my virginity card was still intact, not that I was trying to keep it - I just never got the chance to lose it. She always managed to have any guy I was interested in dump me for her, and when she got bored with them, she’d move on. So, in a way, I didn’t have a boyfriend till she moved out of her home and headed to college. But when my sister came home and met him, she seduced him and got pregnant. He did the whole ‘get down on one knee and proposed’ scene. Apparently, it was romantic, but I wasn't there when he did it because they didn’t want me around. It hurt a lot at the time, and I was glad to have my girlfriends around me, helping me get over it. They say, I dodged a bullet. I agree with them, stupidly. He might have been a sports jock with good looks, but doing this tells me he was weak and shallow, and I was too good for him, or so my BFF says. I prefer to believe them over the excuses my ex made. I had to move out of my home after I had a massive fight with my parents a few days ago, when the truth was exposed; they supported her, not me, and the next thing I knew, I was out the door and the evil sister. The engagement party was intended to introduce him to her friends and make the relationship official, but I was not invited. My parents want nothing to do with me. I made them all uncomfortable, considering he was my boyfriend first. Anyone working out the timeline for the baby can piece it together, and see they were cheating on me, and it would have been awkward, and too many questions would have been raised. Not that I needed to say all of that, I kind of said it all before, but grrrrr, I am so angry at how my so-called ‘family’ kicked me out of my so-called home, with no care for me or my feelings. It was easier to push me away and disown me than have to explain to them that my sister cheated with my boyfriend, and hey presto, a baby was on the way. Because I was kicked out of the house, and only had a short time to pack anything, I took the opportunity of the party to sneak into the house and take more of my possessions, like opening my father's safe, and grabbing every piece of paper relating to me, and a little money too, no a lot of money, and grandma’s jewelry that she left me. So, with the help of my BFF, we packed my belongings and took them to her place until I found a new one. I ride a motorcycle, so I need help. I have the money to buy a new place, but I'm unsure if I want to stay in this town now. Once my apprenticeship is over, I might move away. I stayed that night at Jenny’s place, as I figured out what to do. Today, I am moving into my new place —a bungalow above the bike shop where I work. I am in my final year of apprenticeship, and I am a motorcycle mechanic, proud of it, I might add. I can also work on cars and trucks. If it had a motor, I could fix it; I always could, thanks to my knack for it, which I developed since I was eight, when I fell in love with engines. My Grandpa taught me, kept me out of everyone's way. I guess you could say I was a tomboy, with no frills and lace. My Grandpa kept me sane and busy, so the BS in our house didn’t hurt me as much. The place has two bedrooms and is fully contained, meaning it has everything I need. I had purchased some new sheets and towels, that sort of thing, but it had a fully stocked kitchen; I only needed to buy the food. It might be small, and above a noisy bike shop, but at night it was a quiet area. No one would break into this shop; the local bikie gang owned it. They were good guys, scary, but so far, no trouble for me. My BFF, Jenny, was helping me take my belongings upstairs when a group of bikers arrived and assisted us. I had five boxes and two suitcases filled with all sorts of items. “Thanks, guys, for the help,” I said sweetly, my BFF batting her eyes at them and swaying her hips suggestively as she walked and thanked them. She makes me laugh with her antics, which are totally opposite to mine. I like jeans and am rarely seen in a dress, whereas she was seldom seen in jeans. “We got a party at the clubhouse, tomorrow Saturday, you should come and relax a bit, bring your girls with ya,” Bruiser suggested as he threw his arm over my shoulder, walked me to the settee, pushed me down, and handed me a beer they had brought with them. This was how they acted around me, ordered me about. Sometimes, I'm okay with it; other times, I get all worked up and growl back at them. Today was acceptance. I know they mean well, and I feel lucky to have them as family; they try to make me feel better. “That sounds like a blast, count me in, and I can bring two other girl friends with us. Max, do you want me to pick you up?” Jenny offered, taking a beer from one of the guys. She was not a beer drinker; however, in this situation, I could see her not refusing anything they offered. I guess I'm going, whether I want to or not. “No, I’ll ride over,” I replied as one of the guys ordered pizza. “That’s the spirit. Nothing like the wind in your hair to blow the cobwebs away.” They stayed because they didn’t want me to be alone, not on my first night here. Pizza arrived not long after, and my little bungalow was soon feeling too small and crowded, with six huge bikers in the room. Some sat on the floor; others pulled up one of the three kitchen chairs. I know, I know, three chairs sound odd, but that's what was here, and beggars can’t be choosers; the rent was dirt cheap, and I think the boys are the ones to make sure I had everything I needed. They found out about my situation the next day, because, I was still quiet at work, which was not like me, often I am singing to the radio, or swearing at something, so one of the guys approached me, to find out what gives, and I softly told them, what went down, and when word got around the bikers heard I needed a place to stay, because I was kicked out of my home and why, they came to me, like protective brothers. Now I have a whole gang of bikers who have my back. I feel privileged to call them friends. They even offered to rough the ex up for me, but I refused the offer, because strangely, I was happy to get rid of the loser if he was a cheating build. Better now than when I am fully invested in our relationship. Plus, I was in deep enough shite with my parents and sister without making it worse. The pizza was gone, my BFF left for home, and the guys did too. It was late, well, for me, midnight. I usually fall asleep quickly because I have to be up for work at five. Tomorrow, being Saturday, I have the morning shift before the party later. They let me leave work early so I can move in here. “Hey, don’t forget to come, we need our prettiest mechanic at the party, some of the boys might need a tune-up,” Bruiser said with a laugh as they climbed on their bikes and left. I know what sort of tune-up he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with a motor. I looked around my new home. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. The guys were great; they took the empty pizza boxes and beer cans with them, and the place was relatively clean. Not at all what you would expect from a group of rowdy men. The clubhouse. I had never been to it, despite having worked there for nearly four years, and they had never extended an invitation to me. I know they had lots of parties; maybe I was too young. I turned twenty recently, but they might think of me as the fifteen-year-old who showed up one day and told the boss I was going to be his apprentice. He laughed at first and said he would give me a go to prove myself. He thought I was joking and that I would be gone by the weekend, but over the holidays, I worked hard and have been here ever since. Maxine POV The beeping sound of my phone alarm made me sit up and look around. It took a moment to remember where I was. The room had a small curtain that barely kept the light out. There was a streetlight just outside my window. I can envisage myself getting better blackout curtains soon. Although it was annoying, it wasn't among my top priorities for making this a home. The shower was decent, with nice pressure. I followed my morning routine, only to realize how foolish I was to wake up so early, living above my place of work; I didn’t need to ride here. After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I still had half an hour before I needed to be at work. I had two ways to get into my place: one was through the back stairs, and the other was through the shop. With the code to turn off the alarm, I decided to head down and start work early. It was better than moving stuff around; I can do that later. I had a bike to finish by this afternoon. The customer would be here at two. Turned off the alarm, turned on the coffee pot, the radio, and headed to my workstation, where the fat boy was waiting for me to finish. I sat on the stool with casters and began my job, singing loudly to the heavy rock song that came on the radio as I installed the new spark plugs and double-checked the oil. It was a simple, easy-peasy service. Once finished, I started the bike up, let it idle while I made coffee, then returned to rev it a few times. It sounds lumpy, like it was just turning over perfectly; it was music to my ears. I love that throaty, deep, lumpy sound. You can feel it vibrate through my chest. “That’s a sound I loved to hear as I enter work.” My boss, Mike, said as I turned the bike off. “It’s ready to go, unless you want to take it out for a test ride. Want a coffee, pots hot.” I offered as I threw the dirty rag in the bin. “Sure, I will take the bike out for a spin, and you can make me a coffee.” He smirked as he grabbed the bike. I opened the garage door, and Mike took off. I smiled as he disappeared down the street, and I turned to make both of us coffee. If you hadn’t guessed already, I would drink a lot of coffee. I am not a fan of soft drinks or tea; for me, it's coffee or water. With a broom in hand, I began cleaning the shop. I am not out here very often, but I try to sweep the floor at least once a week; they have another apprentice who’s a second year, who gets to do most of the cleaning up, but he’s never here on a Saturday. The sound of the bike returning prompted me to pick up the two cups of coffee and head back out to the workshop. Mike had a massive grin on his face as he parked the bike. “Great job, you are our top mechanic. But don’t tell anyone, or I will have to deny it.” He joked, taking his coffee from my hand as he walked by, no doubt letting the customer know the bike was ready ahead of time. I moved to the next bike, which was a total rebuild; it had been in a minor accident, and while the frame was being checked, I would work on the engine and gearbox. It was the only job on my list at the moment. The bike owner was in no hurry; he had a broken leg, giving me a few weeks to work on his bike and any urgent jobs that might come into the shop. The client arrived and happily took possession of his bike, very happy with the job done. “I hear you’ve been invited to the club party tonight,” Mike said as he rang up the sale on the cash register. “Yep.” I said popping the ‘p’. “You can leave now, we have no more customers expected. Good job today.” It was close to one o’clock, near the time I would knock off. “Thanks, boss.” I saluted him and rushed upstairs, before he could change his mind. Giggling all the way up. I heard him chuckling as he locked the door below, behind me. I decided on a quick shower; I didn’t want to smell of oil when going to a party. Put on my skinny black jeans, a black blouse that had red flames on the back and on the pockets, black boots that had some chains around the ankle, and hair in a ponytail. I will get what we call helmet hair, so it's a waste to do much with it now. I use mascara and strawberry lip gloss, which is more to moisturize my lips, which tend to dry out when I ride my bike, and that's it. The last thing I grabbed before leaving was my jacket. My mum used to grumble that I wasn’t like my sister and put more effort into my appearance, but I like who I am, and I didn’t like wearing lots of makeup; it was my choice, and I feel that I am not a frilly, lacey chick. It was a deal breaker with my mum. She had my sister dress up and left me in the care of Grandpa until he died when I was seventeen. It broke me when he left the world. He was the only person who got me. My grandma had been gone since I was young, and I filled the hole in his heart with my love for bikes and fishing. He left me his money and bikes. Dad got his house and business. My mum hated that I gained all that money. When Grandma died, she left me her jewelry, and Grandpa made sure to keep it safe till I was old enough to have it. I ate something and put some more of my stuff in the cupboards before my phone chimed to let me know my girlfriends were on their way to the party. I pulled my bike out of the small garage and started it up. I threw my leg over and took off, heading to the property. The clubhouse was half an hour out of town, set on a large property a little bit back from the road. Ten minutes later, I came up behind the girls and hung out behind them. My friend waved me on to take the lead. I shrugged and overtook her. The turn off arrived, and I rode happily up the long drive, and trees lined the road. An open, large steel gate appeared, and I was glad it was still enough light to see clearly. Men stood by the entrance, watching us arrive. “Hey.” I greeted the biggest man I had ever seen. “Who invited you here?” The man asked gruffly, in a deep husky voice. “Bruiser,” I answered, with a firm, clear voice, hoping that the fact that he frightened me would be noticed in my voice. He pulled out his phone and called, I assumed, Bruiser. “Max?” He asked, as he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. He said something more and hung up the phone. “Come in, the car behind your girls?” He looked at the car behind, which clearly had a woman in it. “Yep,” I replied, not at all liking how he intimidated me with his manner. Perhaps it was the way they greeted strangers. One look makes the weak run. Well, I am not weak, and I won't be running. Maxine POV This rather large biker leaned in to look inside the car, his bulky figure partially blocking the open window, causing the girl nearest it to back away. Satisfied, he looked at me with a knowing smirk, then motioned for us to enter. The clubhouse was nothing like I had imagined. Firstly, it was four levels high. Verandah all the way around, that I could see. It was more like a mansion than a clubhouse. Women were gathered near the door, looking in, as if they were waiting for something; some were sitting on the wooden fence that surrounded the verandah. They were dressed in barely anything, showing all that was available, some love that sort of thing. People like me dress to stay warm or cool and don’t care about showing off the goods. Bikes sat in neat rows in front, and cars were parked to the left of the building; the ratio of bikes to cars was approximately four bikes to one car. I parked the bike with the others, climbed off, and took off my helmet. I placed the lid on the bike and shook out my hair while waiting for the girls to park and come to me. I heard some muffled scoffs, but I couldn’t care less —I wasn't here to please them. Bruiser came out of the clubhouse behind me. “Max, you came by bike. Sweet.” He gave me a gentle squeeze and moved to take a closer look at my bike. The paint job was a wolf, fading in smoke. It took me months to finish, as I kept changing my mind, and the smoke obscured the mistakes. “Who did the paint job?” He asked as he moved around to look at it from all sides. “Me.” I was proud of the results. “Does Mike know you can paint?” He sounded surprised. “He has seen my bike when I used the garage to do a service. He never asked who did the paint work, just that he liked it.” “Sweet, looks like we have someone to do touch-ups, and possibly a full paint job. We have a family reunion in a few weeks, and the ladies are invited to come along. You can join us.” Bruiser offered as my ladies arrived; they were not included in that invitation, I assumed, because I have a bike. “Bruiser, you already met Jenny, Melony, Karen, and Heather, my other BFF, and Alice, Karen's sister, and BFF to my sister.” Adding that comment, hoping that Bruiser knew precisely what that woman was like. Alice battered her eyes and leaned forward to show off what was under that almost shirt. My ladies greeted him with the respect he deserved. “Ladies. Hands out.” Bruiser stamped the girl's backs of their hands; they all had a bear, except Alice, who had a rabbit on her hand. I frowned, trying to figure out what the rabbit was all about. He pushed my hand away. “You are family, no need for a stamp.” I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my face. I felt so special. Then the shoe dropped. Rabbit meant she would open her legs. Bruiser got my meaning loud and clear. It took a while to understand the purpose of the stamps. “Come inside and meet the ole ladies.” I understood what he meant; these were ladies who had been claimed and had a different level of respect that those not claimed would never understand. I have met a few of them over the years and gained more insight into club life. They respect me as much as I respect them. We entered the place, and the girls who had been waiting outside gave us a dirty look, as they were still stopped from entering. “What's so special about them?” One pouted, but Bruiser ignored her. Inside was cleaner than I had expected —my fault for judging a group of men, since they often look messy when I see them at the shop. The place had a large, open space, with tables where you stand, as well as booths dotted along the walls, and stools at the bar, which ran the full length of the room. I loved the spacious room, the pictures on the walls, and some bike parts scattered about as decoration. A few barstools are bike seats; it was different, and it appealed to me. Being a lover of bikes. “Sticks.” I greeted her as we got closer to the ladies Bruiser was taking us to. “Hey, Maxie Max. How's it blowing?” She stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. This chick had no filter or personal space. Sticks was the President's; her real name was Sandra, but she was my height at five-nine, and she had no shape to her body, just a lovely bean pole, almost no chest to speak of, yet she had had two boys. Hence the name Sticks. “Doing better,” I replied. She would know what was going on. She introduced us to the other ladies with her, and it didn’t surprise me that Alice had already moved away from us before we had finished the introductions. “What’s her story?” Sticks asked as she watched Alice start to try her luck with the club men. “Same as my sister. Bruiser put a rabbit stamp on her hand.” Sticks and the other girl roared out laughing. “She will be used, abused, and kicked to the side by the time the night is over, and I doubt they would let her back in. We don’t need her sort in the club.” Maggie spouted as we watched a patch member knock her offer back. “The regulars are not going to like her working their turf. So, to speak.” Tootsie said, with a smirk, that the regulars know the rules and stick with them. Don’t approach a patch member; if interested, they will come to you. Nom’s are fair game. But most girls would prefer a patch member. Don’t touch a taken member; the women will gang up and make your life miserable if you feel one of theirs. Wait to be let into the clubhouse and then stay in the public area. No going upstairs uninvited. The first two floors are designated for guest rooms, while the top floor is reserved for permanent residences. Those who don’t have a home of their own to go to. They are private and not open to wandering girls. Don’t touch or sit on someone’s bike, unless you are given permission. The patched old ladies are the bosses of the girls; they tell you to leave or do something, and you do it. There were more rules for the girls visiting, but I couldn’t remember them all at that moment. None had applied to me until now. Alice had already broken at least three, to my knowledge. I am staying out of it. That rabbit on her hand told the members that she would open her legs for any of them, and no one would support her if she broke the rules. That she was not welcome to return, in other words, have your fun, and then kick her to the curb. The doors were opened to let the other girls in. They looked at us in the no-go zone and pouted. We were sitting in an off-limits area unless we were invited. From what I understood, they were here to spread their legs and give the guys some relief, but not become part of the family. They might be hopeful that something would change; it was rare for a patch member to take one of these ladies, who had most likely been with every unattached member of the gang, at some point. My girls left me with Sticks and wandered about with the other ladies, getting the tour of the place. “Want to look around?” Sticks were offered, and before I knew it, we were walking around the vast ground floor. “Ready to see the workshop, the guys might talk you into helping out, once they know who you are.” Sticks led me down a small pathway, lined with flowering shrubs, and to a set of large, farm-size sheds. Inside were bikes, some in bits, others crumpled from an accident, and others like they had just been detailed and were someone's pride and joy. There was a workshop here, where men were working on their bikes. They looked up at us when we entered and frowned. If Sticks were not with me, they would have most likely growled at me to get out. “Who’s this Sticks?” A monster of a man asked, in the deepest voice I have ever heard, he looked a lot like the man at the gate, but with more toned muscles, that I would love to run my fingers over. Just a tad taller, and although he looked big and scary, he made my lady parts sing in a way they had never sung before. Tank POV A few guys aren't into parties, so I stopped going until later in the night, when the girls who showed up were already taken. I dislike the women who come here hoping to adopt our lifestyle. I prefer to use my hand rather than one of those women. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my share of women; however, I had a girl who pushed me to take her, and when I did, she ended up in the hospital, because I am not exactly a little man, and I ripped her apart. She needed stitches, and I have not been with a woman since. Like my brother, we are both large men; he is six feet six inches tall, and I am six feet eight inches tall. He’s carrying extra weight, where I am all muscle. I pride myself on keeping in shape, but being this large has its downfall, and having a large build has had me worried about hurting another woman. No matter how much I might want to, I can’t; I never want to go through that again. The Prez was the only person who knew why I wouldn’t join the parties; he was with me when we took the girl to the hospital, she forgave me, and tried to pursue me to keep her, but I couldn’t. Each time I started to get intimate, I had flashes of her screams, and my confidence went down like a popped balloon. We were in the workshop, doing some minor tune-ups. As I prepare for our ride, I'm excited. When they bring the ladies, the men are usually in a better mood and on their best behavior. I was looking at rebuild. I started it last week. We have a few wrecks that need to be started; some have been sitting here far too long. We can only go so far before we need Mike's help. None of us was a mechanic. I was scratching my head, as I was almost at the end of my knowledge, when I heard someone enter, and a soft perfume that shouldn’t be in this shed hit my nose. Stick’s voice reached my ears, and I lifted my head up to look in her direction. “Who’s this Sticks?” The most beautiful girl I have ever seen had entered our sanctuary, a place where few girls are allowed, which made Sticks bring this beauty down to this dirt and grease, which was unexpectedly. “That is Max, from the shop, Mike's apprentice, who I think had finished her apprenticeship and is doing something extra on Harleys and getting some specialized license,” Banjo said as he moved forward to greet them. The others stood up and moved forward too, making me feel like a dill for not recognizing Max. Although I have only seen her a few times from a distance, and she was usually deep in bike repair, I barely got to see her face. We have not been introduced because I wouldn’t have forgotten that beauty if I had. Sticks introduced us all, and we greeted her before I decided I could use her help. I put the thoughts of what I wouldn’t mind doing to her behind me, not that I could do it. “Max, come look at this wreck. I am stuck with what to do next.” I called her over on the bike I was working on. “Tank, surely you could have waited for another day? She came for the party, not to work.” Sticks grumbled as Max walked to me. She was clean and smelled nice, and I had a fleeting moment of guilt for calling her over. The few times I had seen her, she was covered in oil and grease, wearing coveralls that hid her shapely figure. “Max, are you sure?” Sticks pulled on her hand to get her attention. “Yeah, I am more at home in here than out there,” Max said with a smile and turned back to me. “What's the problem?” She asked me to move forward and inspect the bike. I went into detail about what happened to the bike, what I had managed to do so far, and what I needed to move forward. Max removed her leather jacket and slung it over a nearby bike seat, then squatted down. For the next two hours, Max worked on the bike with me, guiding me through the tricky bits I couldn’t do. The others came forward and used this time as a sort of training session, and Max didn’t seem to mind at all. We asked questions as she worked on the bike, and she used me to lift the heavy parts. It was teamwork, and we completed more repairs in that time than I would have on my own. “Hey, Max,” Bruiser called out at the door. He stood with his legs apart, arms folded, and I wondered if we had done something wrong. “Back here.” She returned to the call of her name. He arrived and burst out laughing at us. “Max, I invited you to a party, you know, dancing and drinking, and socializing. This was not what I meant as a party.” He was still chuckling when the Prez walked in, with Sticks on his arm. “You still got her working out here?” Stick all but growled at us, when the Prez’s lady growls, we all listen. She’s the last person we want to make angry. “What?” I was confused, Max didn’t seem to mind, and we all were having a good time out here. “Hey, Prez. The party over?” Max calmly asked, but it sounded more like she had hoped it was. “Not even close, babes.” The Prez answered with a smile. He had gotten closer to Max over the years she had been at the bike shop. He had often talked about the female mechanic and her sassy ways. I had thought he was exaggerating, but after spending a little time with her, I was hooked. “We have nearly completed the repair job on Spider's bike. If we can have Max here for a few days, I bet we could hit the road by the end of the week.” I said it as it was my way of asking her to stay for a while and fix the bike. Spider was almost healed and ready to get back on his own bike. “Would have to ask Mike about that, she’s his employee, even if we own the shop, he runs it, and I don’t get involved with his employees,” Prez replied contemplatively. “He here?” I asked, as Mike often doesn’t show up at the weekend parties. “Yep, came half an hour ago.” Sticks answered as she handed Max a bottle of water. “Max, if Mike’s okay with it, would you work with us for a week, get some of these ready for the weekend ride?” Sparks asked, and I kicked myself for not considering that she might not want to spend a week here. “Sure, if Mike doesn’t need me, we have several bikes in for service before the ladies run.” Her sweet voice carried across the warehouse, and the guys nodded in understanding. “Thanks, babes,” Spike called out. Each one of us here enjoyed that she worked on our bikes; it might sound odd that we're letting a chick touch our bikes, but Max was not like most chicks. Who wants to sit on the bikes or lie on them? Max knows what she’s doing and has proven herself on numerous occasions. I wish I had known how attractive she was. Man, I had a semi since she walked in the door. The Prez will even let her ride her own bike, a privilege few ladies get. She was more part of the crew; no other girl I know works on bikes like she does, and her reputation over the time she's been an apprentice has been exemplary. Not a guy chaser. When word got out that our girl had been cheated on in the worst possible way, we all wanted to go and kill the man, even though half of us had never really met her, yeah, seen her in a distance, or legs poking out from under a truck, but never sat and talked with her before today. She was fun, had me chuckling a few times, but most of the time in here, she had been all about the bikes, and not flirting, like most chicks do when around us. They see the glamour of the lifestyle, but it's not for everyone. Maxine POV I was guided to a washroom on the side of the workshop, which had a deep steel sink and a shower, but no mirrors. There was a cupboard under the sink containing soaps and cleaning products, as well as a shelf with dark-colored towels. A door that led to a toilet, which was cleaner than I had expected. So far, this whole gang house had been cleaner than I thought a load of men would leave it. I had underestimated the guys and made assumptions about how guys I knew from school or parties would act; none of them were like that. Maybe it was because they are mostly men, whereas my experience had been with boys my age and lower. I cleaned the grease off my hands and arms and dried them. As I went through the routine of cleaning myself up, I thought about the party they had been pushing me to attend and how it had churned up my stomach. The last few times I went to a party, I was with my ex-boyfriend, and he ended up with my sister, so parties were not my thing. I always seem to lose something at parties. Mostly friends, who don’t like the fact that I don’t drink, I have never been a drinker, I might drink a beer to be sociable, and it would take me ages to finish it. Still, I never take shots and am never blind drunk. I had only once been drunk, and I didn’t like the feeling or the way it took me all day to recover, nor the hangover that seemed to be more than a headache. My friends get drunk, and I spend a lot of time cleaning up the messes they make, so I seem to be the one doing the cleanup most of the time, as they know I have their backs, even when I prefer not to do that part of it. I had just finished cleaning up when Tank came in, took one look at me, and started to chuckle. “What?” I asked, looking confused as he laughed. What did I do that was so funny? He didn’t say a word. He leaned over, picked up a cloth, and soaped it up, then gripped my chin in his huge hand, and gently wiped the side of my face, his eyes concentrating on the task, as if it was the most important job he had to do with care. He was so gentle, touching my face with soft, quick movements. His eyes then met mine, and I was lost in the deepest blue orbs I have ever seen. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat and blinked a few times to break the trance he had put me in, and took a step back, my body hitting the sink behind me. “You had some grease on your cheek.” He whispered in a husky voice so deep that it had my lady parts jumping for joy and need, something I am not familiar with. “Thank you,” I whispered back, my voice croaking, and I was shocked by the sound of my own voice; it was lower, warmer, and surprised me as much as Tank's did. His eyes widened at the husky sound. He took a step back and motioned with his hand for me to move past him. I quickly left the washroom and waited in the workshop, taking in the wrecks and wondering how badly the rider would have been hurt if the bike had looked like this. Hoping no one lost their lives. I thought about that for a while. I loved my bike, but I would never ditch it because I was scared. That the thought of falling off had never entered my mind, if I died while riding my bike, then I would have been doing what I love doing. I found I was okay with that. Not that I want to die, but I have thought about how I would like to go when my heart has been broken. “Hey, what are you doing still in here?” Rocket asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Hiding?” I joked back, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and came to stand beside me, looking at the bike I had been staring at. “Can it be fixed? It’s been sitting here for a long time, with no one having the skill to start repairing it. Well, they could give it a go, but this bike is so old that parts are almost impossible to get.” “Yeah, I can give it a try. I have some contacts who can obtain parts, but I can also manufacture some parts. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can come over on weekends and dedicate some time to it.” I suggested it would be a shame to let this panhead go to waste. There are enough pieces of the wrecked bike left to serve as a starting point. “Sweet, it will be good to see this bike out on the road again.” Rocket looked genuinely pleased that the bike could be restored. I restore old cars, trucks, and bikes with Grandpa. I have the equipment stored in a shed for when I have a place of my own to use the machines. I wonder if they have a shed where I can put them. I will need one of the machines. “Ready?” Tank asked; he had shed the work shirt and pulled on a gang shirt. His muscles are on display. Yummy. He makes me feel tiny when I am beside him. “Tank, Max said she can restore the baby.” Tank’s head turned to look at the wreck, and then at me. “For real? Max, can you do that?” Tank looked surprised. After spending a few hours with me, working on bikes, he had to ask that? “Yeah, I can, need to talk to the Prez about some space, but I can do it.” Both guys frowned and looked around the workshop. But they didn’t say anything. Or question me further. Tank put his hand on my lower back and gave a slight push, making me start to walk out of the workshop. It was dark out. Tank guided me to the back door, Rocket leading the way. He opened the door for me and waved me in, as if I were someone important. Causing me to giggle. Yeah, you heard me; I giggled like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous, and not something I had ever expected to come out of my mouth. The guys didn’t even blink at the giggle. The place was warm inside, vibrating with the loud thump of the bass. You could hardly hear the person next to you speak over the heavy music. It reeked of cigarettes and booze. The girls who had been at the door waiting to get in were busy with patch members kissing and almost doing the deed right there on the chair. Some were grinding their hips against the man below them, and the small amount of clothing they had on was even less now. I assumed they were well on their way to being drunk. This was a classic visual of why men lose respect for some kinds of women. I am embarrassed to see it in front of me. I looked around the room and saw my friends still with Sticks, and a couple of guys hanging around nearby. My friends look like they are having fun, and they have a few patch members who seem friendly to them. I hope the girls know what they are doing. The gang life was not for everyone. Dad had once spoken badly about gangs, and he hated it when I became an apprentice at the bike shop. Grandpa was the one who encouraged me to have an apprenticeship. He hated that Dad and Mum were backing my sister in everything, and maybe encouraging me to be a mechanic at the bike shop was his way to get back at Dad. Dad had even tried to get me to leave the bike shop when Grandpa had died. But I had made a pact with Grandpa that I wouldn’t give in to Dad. To live the life I want, and never give in, no matter what the consequences are. I wonder what Grandpa would say if he were alive and saw Dad kick me out of the family home, for the sake of my sister. He would be livered, that’s for sure. But I did as Grandpa said, stood firm, and stayed true to myself. “Hey Maxi Max, come join us. Cricket, grab Max an iced water.” Sticks patted the chair next to her, and before I could move to sit beside her, Tank grabbed me around the waist and took a couple of giant steps to the chair, and sat down, holding me on his lap. The girls looked at each other, then, between Tank and me, the confused look changed to a grin and a nod —whatever that was about.
"“My guys found her. She’s at the MagDog clubhouse. Fixing their bikes.” “What?” Her father’s brow furrowed. “Then tell her to come home. Our business is drowning.” “She wouldn’t. Maxine sent back a message: ‘You gave my room to a bast3rd baby. I gave my keys to a biker.’” The room froze. Dan, Maxine’s ex-boyfriend, now her sister’s fiancé, remembered the last Christmas. Zoey’s moans. Maxine’s bed. Her white sheets. Zoey remembered stealing him—the third boyfriend she’d taken from her sister. And Mom and Dad never once said stop. Her parents remembered looking at their bleeding daughter and telling her to leave. For a nursery. For the cheater’s child. None of them had ever chosen her. “At least she’s safe,” her mother whispered, sobbing with regret. “Safe? She’s living above a bike shop. But she’s got the whole club at her back. Especially their giant—Tank. Six-foot-eight. Never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her. And... their president also sent a message.” “Go on,” her father urged, anxiety simmering beneath. “‘You didn’t want her. We do. Touch her fortune? We’ll end you.’” The words landed like a punch. No one moved. No one breathed. Outside, a Harley roared past the window. She didn’t even slow down." --- Maxine POV “Go home, you have worked too much overtime this week. Have an early night and give that boyfriend of yours an early treat.” My boss practically pushed me out the door, a wicked grin on his face. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’m going. I straddled my bike and started her up. This was going to be a great night. Today was my boyfriend's birthday, and I was going to give him my V-card as a special gift. I had brought new lingerie, black lace, see-through, and I had shaved my mound, leaving a trail that looked like an arrow pointing down to my juncture. I was ready to give him my all, my first, my heart, take the big plunge. I felt I was ready. I pulled into the driveway to see my sister's and my boyfriend’s cars. I had no idea my sister was coming home today. She was still at college in her final year, though I heard she wasn't doing so well. The poor golden girl has not met up with expectations, not that I was worried. My ex-boyfriend showed up three hours early; our date was not for a few more hours. What was he doing here already? Walking in the back door, I heard voices and headed towards them; they were in Dad’s office, with the door slightly ajar. I moved silently to the door and waited outside to hear what secrets they were having now. They occasionally do this when they are planning something and don’t want to include me, but I'm puzzled as to why my boyfriend and sister were included. “We never planned for it to happen.” My sister replied softly, as if she were some kind of victim; she was an expert at that. She should have been an actress; she would have won multiple Oscars by now. “When?” Dad asked, and I waited in the hallway to hear what this was all about. “Christmas day, we had too many of your special eggnogs, and things got heated. The party was more or less over; the presents had been given out, and the food had been eaten. We were all mulling around, talking, when Zoey said something, I don’t remember what—but we went upstairs to continue talking, and ended up in Maxine’s room. We did start by just talking, and before I knew it, we were kissing and things got heated, and ended up in her bed, like I said, and I was so lost in that moment that I forgot to use a protection. When we came out, no one seemed to notice we had been gone, so we pretended it never happened.” My boyfriend replied, and my heart just hit the floor, as I took in that my sister and boyfriend did the dirty in my bed at Christmas. MY BED. I slept in that bed, with their mess on the sheets. I feel suddenly sick at that thought. How could they do that to me? She stole another boyfriend from me again. But he was just as much to blame; I guess our relationship was not that strong yet. Not on his side at least. He continued to pretend, kissing me and taking me out on dates, as if that never happened. What a jerk. Now I feel cheated, dirty, ashamed, and angry all at once. What if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, and I ended up married to that cheating scumbag? Would her wedding present be to tell me she had slept with him first? I wouldn’t put it past her to do such a thing. She had done that before with my boyfriends, and I guess this one was just as vulnerable to her advances as the last one. “He gave me the best Christmas present ever.” My sister crowed with delight. I could imagine her tenderly touching her belly. “This is good news. I have wanted grandchildren, and the last grandchild I would have expected would be from you; you have never kept a relationship for long.” Mum said, sounding excited at the news. “What now?” My sister asked, still playing the perfect victim. “We get married?’ My now ex-boyfriend suggested —sounds more like a question. “What about Maxine?” My sister asked, as if I were an inconvenience that needed to be sorted out, and now they think about me, but it didn’t sound like concern. “What about her? This is about my first grandchild, and his or her safety comes first. She will have to live with it.” My mother spat, revealing that famous favoritism, because she had always taken my sister's side in everything, even when proven wrong. They never backed me up. “I am technically her boyfriend.” He started to say something, but was interrupted. “Not anymore, you're not. I will arrange with the local publican to hire the outdoor garden area, and we shall have an engagement party this Saturday. Get that sorted before you start to show, and Maxine will show her support.” Dad’s voice floated out, sounding resolute. I had no say in this, not that I wanted to be his girlfriend any longer; he had proven not to be what I wanted in a guy. “She will have to leave. I need her room for the nursery. I would prefer it if she didn't attend the engagement party. What will those who know she was the real girlfriend show up, and see that it was not Maxine getting engaged?” Mum added. Yep, that was my mother, trying to regain her dignity and save face. I couldn’t take it any longer. I was devastated enough, and listening further to their support for the love for the cheater was eating me up inside. I didn’t want to cry in front of them; the tears were a mix of anger and hurt. I pushed the door open, revealing myself standing there. All faces turned to look at me. “Let me get this straight. You took my boyfriend to MY bed, did the dirty with him, leaving your mess in my bed, as a sort of Christmas present for me. Guess that made your day, thinking I was sleeping in your mess. Now you want my bedroom for the child baby you have created, and I am what, just pushed out the door? Like yesterday’s trash?” I asked to ensure I understood correctly that the whole family was fine with me being tossed aside. “Exactly, I am taking your boyfriend, your bedroom, and you, my dear sister, have to move out.” My sister sounded like she had won the lottery. Her face beamed at her triumph. “Fine with me.” The look of shock would have made me laugh if I were not so numb inside. I moved away to my room and packed what I could into my duffel bag. I will come back for the rest later, when they are not around. My heart was breaking, not because I lost my boyfriend, although that hurt a lot, considering that what I was going to give him for his present today was saved for doing something foolish at least. But also because both parents were supporting this deception, as if it were the best news they had received in a while, that they had been trying to get rid of me for a while, and now succeeded in a spectacular way. I walked downstairs and looked at them. “When I find a place to stay, I will be back for the rest.” I spat at them, a mixture of hurt, anger, and defeat. I never fit into the family, a black sheep, so maybe I should become one. I had always had top grades, won awards, done my best, but even being first, I was still last. My best friend was the only place I could think of going to; it had to be temporary. Jenny will be cool and let me sleep on her couch till I find a new home. I climbed onto my bike and took off to the only sanctuary I had over the years. Jenny welcomed me into her home, like I knew she would, and together we had a pity party consisting of beer and vanilla fudge ice cream. We called the family and my ex some interesting names, some of which I had never heard before, but they sounded good. The drunker I got, the more inventive the names became. The next morning, after waking up on Jenny’s couch and remembering yesterday, it did not go as planned. I pulled myself together, had a quick shower, and left for work. It was eight in the morning, and Jenny was still asleep when I left. That might be okay for some, but my workday today would be ten hours long, and I was running late. “You're late, night must have gone better than planned,” Mike said jovially. They sort of knew what I was planning last night. The others chuckled along with Mike. I grumbled some shiet and got to work. By the end of the day, Mike pulled me to his office. “Okay, out with it. The guys have been tiptoeing around you all day. What happened? He rejected your advances?” He asked, his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, looking at me with concerned eyes, a father figure, better than my dad had ever been. So, I told him what happened when I got home and where I spent the night, and now I'm looking for a place to stay. I was proud of myself; I didn’t cry, or whine, or show any emotion at all —just explained my predicament in cold, emotionless words. Clear and succinct. He said he wouldn’t say anything in the shop, but would talk to the prez. I had no idea why, but I was not in the right frame of mind to question it. Maxine POV Today was my sister's engagement party; engaged to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, you heard me right, my ex. What a joke that was. I had been dating Dan for six months when my sister, who was a year older than I, came home for Christmas and ended up in bed with my boyfriend. She’s a shameless woman, always has been, but I never expected him to sleep with her. I thought we were secure in our relationship. The only good thing I took away from this was that I never went to bed with him; my virginity card was still intact, not that I was trying to keep it - I just never got the chance to lose it. She always managed to have any guy I was interested in dump me for her, and when she got bored with them, she’d move on. So, in a way, I didn’t have a boyfriend till she moved out of her home and headed to college. But when my sister came home and met him, she seduced him and got pregnant. He did the whole ‘get down on one knee and proposed’ scene. Apparently, it was romantic, but I wasn't there when he did it because they didn’t want me around. It hurt a lot at the time, and I was glad to have my girlfriends around me, helping me get over it. They say, I dodged a bullet. I agree with them, stupidly. He might have been a sports jock with good looks, but doing this tells me he was weak and shallow, and I was too good for him, or so my BFF says. I prefer to believe them over the excuses my ex made. I had to move out of my home after I had a massive fight with my parents a few days ago, when the truth was exposed; they supported her, not me, and the next thing I knew, I was out the door and the evil sister. The engagement party was intended to introduce him to her friends and make the relationship official, but I was not invited. My parents want nothing to do with me. I made them all uncomfortable, considering he was my boyfriend first. Anyone working out the timeline for the baby can piece it together, and see they were cheating on me, and it would have been awkward, and too many questions would have been raised. Not that I needed to say all of that, I kind of said it all before, but grrrrr, I am so angry at how my so-called ‘family’ kicked me out of my so-called home, with no care for me or my feelings. It was easier to push me away and disown me than have to explain to them that my sister cheated with my boyfriend, and hey presto, a baby was on the way. Because I was kicked out of the house, and only had a short time to pack anything, I took the opportunity of the party to sneak into the house and take more of my possessions, like opening my father's safe, and grabbing every piece of paper relating to me, and a little money too, no a lot of money, and grandma’s jewelry that she left me. So, with the help of my BFF, we packed my belongings and took them to her place until I found a new one. I ride a motorcycle, so I need help. I have the money to buy a new place, but I'm unsure if I want to stay in this town now. Once my apprenticeship is over, I might move away. I stayed that night at Jenny’s place, as I figured out what to do. Today, I am moving into my new place —a bungalow above the bike shop where I work. I am in my final year of apprenticeship, and I am a motorcycle mechanic, proud of it, I might add. I can also work on cars and trucks. If it had a motor, I could fix it; I always could, thanks to my knack for it, which I developed since I was eight, when I fell in love with engines. My Grandpa taught me, kept me out of everyone's way. I guess you could say I was a tomboy, with no frills and lace. My Grandpa kept me sane and busy, so the BS in our house didn’t hurt me as much. The place has two bedrooms and is fully contained, meaning it has everything I need. I had purchased some new sheets and towels, that sort of thing, but it had a fully stocked kitchen; I only needed to buy the food. It might be small, and above a noisy bike shop, but at night it was a quiet area. No one would break into this shop; the local bikie gang owned it. They were good guys, scary, but so far, no trouble for me. My BFF, Jenny, was helping me take my belongings upstairs when a group of bikers arrived and assisted us. I had five boxes and two suitcases filled with all sorts of items. “Thanks, guys, for the help,” I said sweetly, my BFF batting her eyes at them and swaying her hips suggestively as she walked and thanked them. She makes me laugh with her antics, which are totally opposite to mine. I like jeans and am rarely seen in a dress, whereas she was seldom seen in jeans. “We got a party at the clubhouse, tomorrow Saturday, you should come and relax a bit, bring your girls with ya,” Bruiser suggested as he threw his arm over my shoulder, walked me to the settee, pushed me down, and handed me a beer they had brought with them. This was how they acted around me, ordered me about. Sometimes, I'm okay with it; other times, I get all worked up and growl back at them. Today was acceptance. I know they mean well, and I feel lucky to have them as family; they try to make me feel better. “That sounds like a blast, count me in, and I can bring two other girl friends with us. Max, do you want me to pick you up?” Jenny offered, taking a beer from one of the guys. She was not a beer drinker; however, in this situation, I could see her not refusing anything they offered. I guess I'm going, whether I want to or not. “No, I’ll ride over,” I replied as one of the guys ordered pizza. “That’s the spirit. Nothing like the wind in your hair to blow the cobwebs away.” They stayed because they didn’t want me to be alone, not on my first night here. Pizza arrived not long after, and my little bungalow was soon feeling too small and crowded, with six huge bikers in the room. Some sat on the floor; others pulled up one of the three kitchen chairs. I know, I know, three chairs sound odd, but that's what was here, and beggars can’t be choosers; the rent was dirt cheap, and I think the boys are the ones to make sure I had everything I needed. They found out about my situation the next day, because, I was still quiet at work, which was not like me, often I am singing to the radio, or swearing at something, so one of the guys approached me, to find out what gives, and I softly told them, what went down, and when word got around the bikers heard I needed a place to stay, because I was kicked out of my home and why, they came to me, like protective brothers. Now I have a whole gang of bikers who have my back. I feel privileged to call them friends. They even offered to rough the ex up for me, but I refused the offer, because strangely, I was happy to get rid of the loser if he was a cheating build. Better now than when I am fully invested in our relationship. Plus, I was in deep enough shite with my parents and sister without making it worse. The pizza was gone, my BFF left for home, and the guys did too. It was late, well, for me, midnight. I usually fall asleep quickly because I have to be up for work at five. Tomorrow, being Saturday, I have the morning shift before the party later. They let me leave work early so I can move in here. “Hey, don’t forget to come, we need our prettiest mechanic at the party, some of the boys might need a tune-up,” Bruiser said with a laugh as they climbed on their bikes and left. I know what sort of tune-up he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with a motor. I looked around my new home. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. The guys were great; they took the empty pizza boxes and beer cans with them, and the place was relatively clean. Not at all what you would expect from a group of rowdy men. The clubhouse. I had never been to it, despite having worked there for nearly four years, and they had never extended an invitation to me. I know they had lots of parties; maybe I was too young. I turned twenty recently, but they might think of me as the fifteen-year-old who showed up one day and told the boss I was going to be his apprentice. He laughed at first and said he would give me a go to prove myself. He thought I was joking and that I would be gone by the weekend, but over the holidays, I worked hard and have been here ever since. Maxine POV The beeping sound of my phone alarm made me sit up and look around. It took a moment to remember where I was. The room had a small curtain that barely kept the light out. There was a streetlight just outside my window. I can envisage myself getting better blackout curtains soon. Although it was annoying, it wasn't among my top priorities for making this a home. The shower was decent, with nice pressure. I followed my morning routine, only to realize how foolish I was to wake up so early, living above my place of work; I didn’t need to ride here. After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I still had half an hour before I needed to be at work. I had two ways to get into my place: one was through the back stairs, and the other was through the shop. With the code to turn off the alarm, I decided to head down and start work early. It was better than moving stuff around; I can do that later. I had a bike to finish by this afternoon. The customer would be here at two. Turned off the alarm, turned on the coffee pot, the radio, and headed to my workstation, where the fat boy was waiting for me to finish. I sat on the stool with casters and began my job, singing loudly to the heavy rock song that came on the radio as I installed the new spark plugs and double-checked the oil. It was a simple, easy-peasy service. Once finished, I started the bike up, let it idle while I made coffee, then returned to rev it a few times. It sounds lumpy, like it was just turning over perfectly; it was music to my ears. I love that throaty, deep, lumpy sound. You can feel it vibrate through my chest. “That’s a sound I loved to hear as I enter work.” My boss, Mike, said as I turned the bike off. “It’s ready to go, unless you want to take it out for a test ride. Want a coffee, pots hot.” I offered as I threw the dirty rag in the bin. “Sure, I will take the bike out for a spin, and you can make me a coffee.” He smirked as he grabbed the bike. I opened the garage door, and Mike took off. I smiled as he disappeared down the street, and I turned to make both of us coffee. If you hadn’t guessed already, I would drink a lot of coffee. I am not a fan of soft drinks or tea; for me, it's coffee or water. With a broom in hand, I began cleaning the shop. I am not out here very often, but I try to sweep the floor at least once a week; they have another apprentice who’s a second year, who gets to do most of the cleaning up, but he’s never here on a Saturday. The sound of the bike returning prompted me to pick up the two cups of coffee and head back out to the workshop. Mike had a massive grin on his face as he parked the bike. “Great job, you are our top mechanic. But don’t tell anyone, or I will have to deny it.” He joked, taking his coffee from my hand as he walked by, no doubt letting the customer know the bike was ready ahead of time. I moved to the next bike, which was a total rebuild; it had been in a minor accident, and while the frame was being checked, I would work on the engine and gearbox. It was the only job on my list at the moment. The bike owner was in no hurry; he had a broken leg, giving me a few weeks to work on his bike and any urgent jobs that might come into the shop. The client arrived and happily took possession of his bike, very happy with the job done. “I hear you’ve been invited to the club party tonight,” Mike said as he rang up the sale on the cash register. “Yep.” I said popping the ‘p’. “You can leave now, we have no more customers expected. Good job today.” It was close to one o’clock, near the time I would knock off. “Thanks, boss.” I saluted him and rushed upstairs, before he could change his mind. Giggling all the way up. I heard him chuckling as he locked the door below, behind me. I decided on a quick shower; I didn’t want to smell of oil when going to a party. Put on my skinny black jeans, a black blouse that had red flames on the back and on the pockets, black boots that had some chains around the ankle, and hair in a ponytail. I will get what we call helmet hair, so it's a waste to do much with it now. I use mascara and strawberry lip gloss, which is more to moisturize my lips, which tend to dry out when I ride my bike, and that's it. The last thing I grabbed before leaving was my jacket. My mum used to grumble that I wasn’t like my sister and put more effort into my appearance, but I like who I am, and I didn’t like wearing lots of makeup; it was my choice, and I feel that I am not a frilly, lacey chick. It was a deal breaker with my mum. She had my sister dress up and left me in the care of Grandpa until he died when I was seventeen. It broke me when he left the world. He was the only person who got me. My grandma had been gone since I was young, and I filled the hole in his heart with my love for bikes and fishing. He left me his money and bikes. Dad got his house and business. My mum hated that I gained all that money. When Grandma died, she left me her jewelry, and Grandpa made sure to keep it safe till I was old enough to have it. I ate something and put some more of my stuff in the cupboards before my phone chimed to let me know my girlfriends were on their way to the party. I pulled my bike out of the small garage and started it up. I threw my leg over and took off, heading to the property. The clubhouse was half an hour out of town, set on a large property a little bit back from the road. Ten minutes later, I came up behind the girls and hung out behind them. My friend waved me on to take the lead. I shrugged and overtook her. The turn off arrived, and I rode happily up the long drive, and trees lined the road. An open, large steel gate appeared, and I was glad it was still enough light to see clearly. Men stood by the entrance, watching us arrive. “Hey.” I greeted the biggest man I had ever seen. “Who invited you here?” The man asked gruffly, in a deep husky voice. “Bruiser,” I answered, with a firm, clear voice, hoping that the fact that he frightened me would be noticed in my voice. He pulled out his phone and called, I assumed, Bruiser. “Max?” He asked, as he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. He said something more and hung up the phone. “Come in, the car behind your girls?” He looked at the car behind, which clearly had a woman in it. “Yep,” I replied, not at all liking how he intimidated me with his manner. Perhaps it was the way they greeted strangers. One look makes the weak run. Well, I am not weak, and I won't be running. Maxine POV This rather large biker leaned in to look inside the car, his bulky figure partially blocking the open window, causing the girl nearest it to back away. Satisfied, he looked at me with a knowing smirk, then motioned for us to enter. The clubhouse was nothing like I had imagined. Firstly, it was four levels high. Verandah all the way around, that I could see. It was more like a mansion than a clubhouse. Women were gathered near the door, looking in, as if they were waiting for something; some were sitting on the wooden fence that surrounded the verandah. They were dressed in barely anything, showing all that was available, some love that sort of thing. People like me dress to stay warm or cool and don’t care about showing off the goods. Bikes sat in neat rows in front, and cars were parked to the left of the building; the ratio of bikes to cars was approximately four bikes to one car. I parked the bike with the others, climbed off, and took off my helmet. I placed the lid on the bike and shook out my hair while waiting for the girls to park and come to me. I heard some muffled scoffs, but I couldn’t care less —I wasn't here to please them. Bruiser came out of the clubhouse behind me. “Max, you came by bike. Sweet.” He gave me a gentle squeeze and moved to take a closer look at my bike. The paint job was a wolf, fading in smoke. It took me months to finish, as I kept changing my mind, and the smoke obscured the mistakes. “Who did the paint job?” He asked as he moved around to look at it from all sides. “Me.” I was proud of the results. “Does Mike know you can paint?” He sounded surprised. “He has seen my bike when I used the garage to do a service. He never asked who did the paint work, just that he liked it.” “Sweet, looks like we have someone to do touch-ups, and possibly a full paint job. We have a family reunion in a few weeks, and the ladies are invited to come along. You can join us.” Bruiser offered as my ladies arrived; they were not included in that invitation, I assumed, because I have a bike. “Bruiser, you already met Jenny, Melony, Karen, and Heather, my other BFF, and Alice, Karen's sister, and BFF to my sister.” Adding that comment, hoping that Bruiser knew precisely what that woman was like. Alice battered her eyes and leaned forward to show off what was under that almost shirt. My ladies greeted him with the respect he deserved. “Ladies. Hands out.” Bruiser stamped the girl's backs of their hands; they all had a bear, except Alice, who had a rabbit on her hand. I frowned, trying to figure out what the rabbit was all about. He pushed my hand away. “You are family, no need for a stamp.” I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my face. I felt so special. Then the shoe dropped. Rabbit meant she would open her legs. Bruiser got my meaning loud and clear. It took a while to understand the purpose of the stamps. “Come inside and meet the ole ladies.” I understood what he meant; these were ladies who had been claimed and had a different level of respect that those not claimed would never understand. I have met a few of them over the years and gained more insight into club life. They respect me as much as I respect them. We entered the place, and the girls who had been waiting outside gave us a dirty look, as they were still stopped from entering. “What's so special about them?” One pouted, but Bruiser ignored her. Inside was cleaner than I had expected —my fault for judging a group of men, since they often look messy when I see them at the shop. The place had a large, open space, with tables where you stand, as well as booths dotted along the walls, and stools at the bar, which ran the full length of the room. I loved the spacious room, the pictures on the walls, and some bike parts scattered about as decoration. A few barstools are bike seats; it was different, and it appealed to me. Being a lover of bikes. “Sticks.” I greeted her as we got closer to the ladies Bruiser was taking us to. “Hey, Maxie Max. How's it blowing?” She stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. This chick had no filter or personal space. Sticks was the President's; her real name was Sandra, but she was my height at five-nine, and she had no shape to her body, just a lovely bean pole, almost no chest to speak of, yet she had had two boys. Hence the name Sticks. “Doing better,” I replied. She would know what was going on. She introduced us to the other ladies with her, and it didn’t surprise me that Alice had already moved away from us before we had finished the introductions. “What’s her story?” Sticks asked as she watched Alice start to try her luck with the club men. “Same as my sister. Bruiser put a rabbit stamp on her hand.” Sticks and the other girl roared out laughing. “She will be used, abused, and kicked to the side by the time the night is over, and I doubt they would let her back in. We don’t need her sort in the club.” Maggie spouted as we watched a patch member knock her offer back. “The regulars are not going to like her working their turf. So, to speak.” Tootsie said, with a smirk, that the regulars know the rules and stick with them. Don’t approach a patch member; if interested, they will come to you. Nom’s are fair game. But most girls would prefer a patch member. Don’t touch a taken member; the women will gang up and make your life miserable if you feel one of theirs. Wait to be let into the clubhouse and then stay in the public area. No going upstairs uninvited. The first two floors are designated for guest rooms, while the top floor is reserved for permanent residences. Those who don’t have a home of their own to go to. They are private and not open to wandering girls. Don’t touch or sit on someone’s bike, unless you are given permission. The patched old ladies are the bosses of the girls; they tell you to leave or do something, and you do it. There were more rules for the girls visiting, but I couldn’t remember them all at that moment. None had applied to me until now. Alice had already broken at least three, to my knowledge. I am staying out of it. That rabbit on her hand told the members that she would open her legs for any of them, and no one would support her if she broke the rules. That she was not welcome to return, in other words, have your fun, and then kick her to the curb. The doors were opened to let the other girls in. They looked at us in the no-go zone and pouted. We were sitting in an off-limits area unless we were invited. From what I understood, they were here to spread their legs and give the guys some relief, but not become part of the family. They might be hopeful that something would change; it was rare for a patch member to take one of these ladies, who had most likely been with every unattached member of the gang, at some point. My girls left me with Sticks and wandered about with the other ladies, getting the tour of the place. “Want to look around?” Sticks were offered, and before I knew it, we were walking around the vast ground floor. “Ready to see the workshop, the guys might talk you into helping out, once they know who you are.” Sticks led me down a small pathway, lined with flowering shrubs, and to a set of large, farm-size sheds. Inside were bikes, some in bits, others crumpled from an accident, and others like they had just been detailed and were someone's pride and joy. There was a workshop here, where men were working on their bikes. They looked up at us when we entered and frowned. If Sticks were not with me, they would have most likely growled at me to get out. “Who’s this Sticks?” A monster of a man asked, in the deepest voice I have ever heard, he looked a lot like the man at the gate, but with more toned muscles, that I would love to run my fingers over. Just a tad taller, and although he looked big and scary, he made my lady parts sing in a way they had never sung before. Tank POV A few guys aren't into parties, so I stopped going until later in the night, when the girls who showed up were already taken. I dislike the women who come here hoping to adopt our lifestyle. I prefer to use my hand rather than one of those women. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my share of women; however, I had a girl who pushed me to take her, and when I did, she ended up in the hospital, because I am not exactly a little man, and I ripped her apart. She needed stitches, and I have not been with a woman since. Like my brother, we are both large men; he is six feet six inches tall, and I am six feet eight inches tall. He’s carrying extra weight, where I am all muscle. I pride myself on keeping in shape, but being this large has its downfall, and having a large build has had me worried about hurting another woman. No matter how much I might want to, I can’t; I never want to go through that again. The Prez was the only person who knew why I wouldn’t join the parties; he was with me when we took the girl to the hospital, she forgave me, and tried to pursue me to keep her, but I couldn’t. Each time I started to get intimate, I had flashes of her screams, and my confidence went down like a popped balloon. We were in the workshop, doing some minor tune-ups. As I prepare for our ride, I'm excited. When they bring the ladies, the men are usually in a better mood and on their best behavior. I was looking at rebuild. I started it last week. We have a few wrecks that need to be started; some have been sitting here far too long. We can only go so far before we need Mike's help. None of us was a mechanic. I was scratching my head, as I was almost at the end of my knowledge, when I heard someone enter, and a soft perfume that shouldn’t be in this shed hit my nose. Stick’s voice reached my ears, and I lifted my head up to look in her direction. “Who’s this Sticks?” The most beautiful girl I have ever seen had entered our sanctuary, a place where few girls are allowed, which made Sticks bring this beauty down to this dirt and grease, which was unexpectedly. “That is Max, from the shop, Mike's apprentice, who I think had finished her apprenticeship and is doing something extra on Harleys and getting some specialized license,” Banjo said as he moved forward to greet them. The others stood up and moved forward too, making me feel like a dill for not recognizing Max. Although I have only seen her a few times from a distance, and she was usually deep in bike repair, I barely got to see her face. We have not been introduced because I wouldn’t have forgotten that beauty if I had. Sticks introduced us all, and we greeted her before I decided I could use her help. I put the thoughts of what I wouldn’t mind doing to her behind me, not that I could do it. “Max, come look at this wreck. I am stuck with what to do next.” I called her over on the bike I was working on. “Tank, surely you could have waited for another day? She came for the party, not to work.” Sticks grumbled as Max walked to me. She was clean and smelled nice, and I had a fleeting moment of guilt for calling her over. The few times I had seen her, she was covered in oil and grease, wearing coveralls that hid her shapely figure. “Max, are you sure?” Sticks pulled on her hand to get her attention. “Yeah, I am more at home in here than out there,” Max said with a smile and turned back to me. “What's the problem?” She asked me to move forward and inspect the bike. I went into detail about what happened to the bike, what I had managed to do so far, and what I needed to move forward. Max removed her leather jacket and slung it over a nearby bike seat, then squatted down. For the next two hours, Max worked on the bike with me, guiding me through the tricky bits I couldn’t do. The others came forward and used this time as a sort of training session, and Max didn’t seem to mind at all. We asked questions as she worked on the bike, and she used me to lift the heavy parts. It was teamwork, and we completed more repairs in that time than I would have on my own. “Hey, Max,” Bruiser called out at the door. He stood with his legs apart, arms folded, and I wondered if we had done something wrong. “Back here.” She returned to the call of her name. He arrived and burst out laughing at us. “Max, I invited you to a party, you know, dancing and drinking, and socializing. This was not what I meant as a party.” He was still chuckling when the Prez walked in, with Sticks on his arm. “You still got her working out here?” Stick all but growled at us, when the Prez’s lady growls, we all listen. She’s the last person we want to make angry. “What?” I was confused, Max didn’t seem to mind, and we all were having a good time out here. “Hey, Prez. The party over?” Max calmly asked, but it sounded more like she had hoped it was. “Not even close, babes.” The Prez answered with a smile. He had gotten closer to Max over the years she had been at the bike shop. He had often talked about the female mechanic and her sassy ways. I had thought he was exaggerating, but after spending a little time with her, I was hooked. “We have nearly completed the repair job on Spider's bike. If we can have Max here for a few days, I bet we could hit the road by the end of the week.” I said it as it was my way of asking her to stay for a while and fix the bike. Spider was almost healed and ready to get back on his own bike. “Would have to ask Mike about that, she’s his employee, even if we own the shop, he runs it, and I don’t get involved with his employees,” Prez replied contemplatively. “He here?” I asked, as Mike often doesn’t show up at the weekend parties. “Yep, came half an hour ago.” Sticks answered as she handed Max a bottle of water. “Max, if Mike’s okay with it, would you work with us for a week, get some of these ready for the weekend ride?” Sparks asked, and I kicked myself for not considering that she might not want to spend a week here. “Sure, if Mike doesn’t need me, we have several bikes in for service before the ladies run.” Her sweet voice carried across the warehouse, and the guys nodded in understanding. “Thanks, babes,” Spike called out. Each one of us here enjoyed that she worked on our bikes; it might sound odd that we're letting a chick touch our bikes, but Max was not like most chicks. Who wants to sit on the bikes or lie on them? Max knows what she’s doing and has proven herself on numerous occasions. I wish I had known how attractive she was. Man, I had a semi since she walked in the door. The Prez will even let her ride her own bike, a privilege few ladies get. She was more part of the crew; no other girl I know works on bikes like she does, and her reputation over the time she's been an apprentice has been exemplary. Not a guy chaser. When word got out that our girl had been cheated on in the worst possible way, we all wanted to go and kill the man, even though half of us had never really met her, yeah, seen her in a distance, or legs poking out from under a truck, but never sat and talked with her before today. She was fun, had me chuckling a few times, but most of the time in here, she had been all about the bikes, and not flirting, like most chicks do when around us. They see the glamour of the lifestyle, but it's not for everyone. Maxine POV I was guided to a washroom on the side of the workshop, which had a deep steel sink and a shower, but no mirrors. There was a cupboard under the sink containing soaps and cleaning products, as well as a shelf with dark-colored towels. A door that led to a toilet, which was cleaner than I had expected. So far, this whole gang house had been cleaner than I thought a load of men would leave it. I had underestimated the guys and made assumptions about how guys I knew from school or parties would act; none of them were like that. Maybe it was because they are mostly men, whereas my experience had been with boys my age and lower. I cleaned the grease off my hands and arms and dried them. As I went through the routine of cleaning myself up, I thought about the party they had been pushing me to attend and how it had churned up my stomach. The last few times I went to a party, I was with my ex-boyfriend, and he ended up with my sister, so parties were not my thing. I always seem to lose something at parties. Mostly friends, who don’t like the fact that I don’t drink, I have never been a drinker, I might drink a beer to be sociable, and it would take me ages to finish it. Still, I never take shots and am never blind drunk. I had only once been drunk, and I didn’t like the feeling or the way it took me all day to recover, nor the hangover that seemed to be more than a headache. My friends get drunk, and I spend a lot of time cleaning up the messes they make, so I seem to be the one doing the cleanup most of the time, as they know I have their backs, even when I prefer not to do that part of it. I had just finished cleaning up when Tank came in, took one look at me, and started to chuckle. “What?” I asked, looking confused as he laughed. What did I do that was so funny? He didn’t say a word. He leaned over, picked up a cloth, and soaped it up, then gripped my chin in his huge hand, and gently wiped the side of my face, his eyes concentrating on the task, as if it was the most important job he had to do with care. He was so gentle, touching my face with soft, quick movements. His eyes then met mine, and I was lost in the deepest blue orbs I have ever seen. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat and blinked a few times to break the trance he had put me in, and took a step back, my body hitting the sink behind me. “You had some grease on your cheek.” He whispered in a husky voice so deep that it had my lady parts jumping for joy and need, something I am not familiar with. “Thank you,” I whispered back, my voice croaking, and I was shocked by the sound of my own voice; it was lower, warmer, and surprised me as much as Tank's did. His eyes widened at the husky sound. He took a step back and motioned with his hand for me to move past him. I quickly left the washroom and waited in the workshop, taking in the wrecks and wondering how badly the rider would have been hurt if the bike had looked like this. Hoping no one lost their lives. I thought about that for a while. I loved my bike, but I would never ditch it because I was scared. That the thought of falling off had never entered my mind, if I died while riding my bike, then I would have been doing what I love doing. I found I was okay with that. Not that I want to die, but I have thought about how I would like to go when my heart has been broken. “Hey, what are you doing still in here?” Rocket asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Hiding?” I joked back, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and came to stand beside me, looking at the bike I had been staring at. “Can it be fixed? It’s been sitting here for a long time, with no one having the skill to start repairing it. Well, they could give it a go, but this bike is so old that parts are almost impossible to get.” “Yeah, I can give it a try. I have some contacts who can obtain parts, but I can also manufacture some parts. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can come over on weekends and dedicate some time to it.” I suggested it would be a shame to let this panhead go to waste. There are enough pieces of the wrecked bike left to serve as a starting point. “Sweet, it will be good to see this bike out on the road again.” Rocket looked genuinely pleased that the bike could be restored. I restore old cars, trucks, and bikes with Grandpa. I have the equipment stored in a shed for when I have a place of my own to use the machines. I wonder if they have a shed where I can put them. I will need one of the machines. “Ready?” Tank asked; he had shed the work shirt and pulled on a gang shirt. His muscles are on display. Yummy. He makes me feel tiny when I am beside him. “Tank, Max said she can restore the baby.” Tank’s head turned to look at the wreck, and then at me. “For real? Max, can you do that?” Tank looked surprised. After spending a few hours with me, working on bikes, he had to ask that? “Yeah, I can, need to talk to the Prez about some space, but I can do it.” Both guys frowned and looked around the workshop. But they didn’t say anything. Or question me further. Tank put his hand on my lower back and gave a slight push, making me start to walk out of the workshop. It was dark out. Tank guided me to the back door, Rocket leading the way. He opened the door for me and waved me in, as if I were someone important. Causing me to giggle. Yeah, you heard me; I giggled like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous, and not something I had ever expected to come out of my mouth. The guys didn’t even blink at the giggle. The place was warm inside, vibrating with the loud thump of the bass. You could hardly hear the person next to you speak over the heavy music. It reeked of cigarettes and booze. The girls who had been at the door waiting to get in were busy with patch members kissing and almost doing the deed right there on the chair. Some were grinding their hips against the man below them, and the small amount of clothing they had on was even less now. I assumed they were well on their way to being drunk. This was a classic visual of why men lose respect for some kinds of women. I am embarrassed to see it in front of me. I looked around the room and saw my friends still with Sticks, and a couple of guys hanging around nearby. My friends look like they are having fun, and they have a few patch members who seem friendly to them. I hope the girls know what they are doing. The gang life was not for everyone. Dad had once spoken badly about gangs, and he hated it when I became an apprentice at the bike shop. Grandpa was the one who encouraged me to have an apprenticeship. He hated that Dad and Mum were backing my sister in everything, and maybe encouraging me to be a mechanic at the bike shop was his way to get back at Dad. Dad had even tried to get me to leave the bike shop when Grandpa had died. But I had made a pact with Grandpa that I wouldn’t give in to Dad. To live the life I want, and never give in, no matter what the consequences are. I wonder what Grandpa would say if he were alive and saw Dad kick me out of the family home, for the sake of my sister. He would be livered, that’s for sure. But I did as Grandpa said, stood firm, and stayed true to myself. “Hey Maxi Max, come join us. Cricket, grab Max an iced water.” Sticks patted the chair next to her, and before I could move to sit beside her, Tank grabbed me around the waist and took a couple of giant steps to the chair, and sat down, holding me on his lap. The girls looked at each other, then, between Tank and me, the confused look changed to a grin and a nod —whatever that was about.
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"“My guys found her. She’s at the MagDog clubhouse. Fixing their bikes.” “What?” Her father’s brow furrowed. “Then tell her to come home. Our business is drowning.” “She wouldn’t. Maxine sent back a message: ‘You gave my room to a bast3rd baby. I gave my keys to a biker.’” The room froze. Dan, Maxine’s ex-boyfriend, now her sister’s fiancé, remembered the last Christmas. Zoey’s moans. Maxine’s bed. Her white sheets. Zoey remembered stealing him—the third boyfriend she’d taken from her sister. And Mom and Dad never once said stop. Her parents remembered looking at their bleeding daughter and telling her to leave. For a nursery. For the cheater’s child. None of them had ever chosen her. “At least she’s safe,” her mother whispered, sobbing with regret. “Safe? She’s living above a bike shop. But she’s got the whole club at her back. Especially their giant—Tank. Six-foot-eight. Never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her. And... their president also sent a message.” “Go on,” her father urged, anxiety simmering beneath. “‘You didn’t want her. We do. Touch her fortune? We’ll end you.’” The words landed like a punch. No one moved. No one breathed. Outside, a Harley roared past the window. She didn’t even slow down." --- Maxine POV “Go home, you have worked too much overtime this week. Have an early night and give that boyfriend of yours an early treat.” My boss practically pushed me out the door, a wicked grin on his face. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’m going. I straddled my bike and started her up. This was going to be a great night. Today was my boyfriend's birthday, and I was going to give him my V-card as a special gift. I had brought new lingerie, black lace, see-through, and I had shaved my mound, leaving a trail that looked like an arrow pointing down to my juncture. I was ready to give him my all, my first, my heart, take the big plunge. I felt I was ready. I pulled into the driveway to see my sister's and my boyfriend’s cars. I had no idea my sister was coming home today. She was still at college in her final year, though I heard she wasn't doing so well. The poor golden girl has not met up with expectations, not that I was worried. My ex-boyfriend showed up three hours early; our date was not for a few more hours. What was he doing here already? Walking in the back door, I heard voices and headed towards them; they were in Dad’s office, with the door slightly ajar. I moved silently to the door and waited outside to hear what secrets they were having now. They occasionally do this when they are planning something and don’t want to include me, but I'm puzzled as to why my boyfriend and sister were included. “We never planned for it to happen.” My sister replied softly, as if she were some kind of victim; she was an expert at that. She should have been an actress; she would have won multiple Oscars by now. “When?” Dad asked, and I waited in the hallway to hear what this was all about. “Christmas day, we had too many of your special eggnogs, and things got heated. The party was more or less over; the presents had been given out, and the food had been eaten. We were all mulling around, talking, when Zoey said something, I don’t remember what—but we went upstairs to continue talking, and ended up in Maxine’s room. We did start by just talking, and before I knew it, we were kissing and things got heated, and ended up in her bed, like I said, and I was so lost in that moment that I forgot to use a protection. When we came out, no one seemed to notice we had been gone, so we pretended it never happened.” My boyfriend replied, and my heart just hit the floor, as I took in that my sister and boyfriend did the dirty in my bed at Christmas. MY BED. I slept in that bed, with their mess on the sheets. I feel suddenly sick at that thought. How could they do that to me? She stole another boyfriend from me again. But he was just as much to blame; I guess our relationship was not that strong yet. Not on his side at least. He continued to pretend, kissing me and taking me out on dates, as if that never happened. What a jerk. Now I feel cheated, dirty, ashamed, and angry all at once. What if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, and I ended up married to that cheating scumbag? Would her wedding present be to tell me she had slept with him first? I wouldn’t put it past her to do such a thing. She had done that before with my boyfriends, and I guess this one was just as vulnerable to her advances as the last one. “He gave me the best Christmas present ever.” My sister crowed with delight. I could imagine her tenderly touching her belly. “This is good news. I have wanted grandchildren, and the last grandchild I would have expected would be from you; you have never kept a relationship for long.” Mum said, sounding excited at the news. “What now?” My sister asked, still playing the perfect victim. “We get married?’ My now ex-boyfriend suggested —sounds more like a question. “What about Maxine?” My sister asked, as if I were an inconvenience that needed to be sorted out, and now they think about me, but it didn’t sound like concern. “What about her? This is about my first grandchild, and his or her safety comes first. She will have to live with it.” My mother spat, revealing that famous favoritism, because she had always taken my sister's side in everything, even when proven wrong. They never backed me up. “I am technically her boyfriend.” He started to say something, but was interrupted. “Not anymore, you're not. I will arrange with the local publican to hire the outdoor garden area, and we shall have an engagement party this Saturday. Get that sorted before you start to show, and Maxine will show her support.” Dad’s voice floated out, sounding resolute. I had no say in this, not that I wanted to be his girlfriend any longer; he had proven not to be what I wanted in a guy. “She will have to leave. I need her room for the nursery. I would prefer it if she didn't attend the engagement party. What will those who know she was the real girlfriend show up, and see that it was not Maxine getting engaged?” Mum added. Yep, that was my mother, trying to regain her dignity and save face. I couldn’t take it any longer. I was devastated enough, and listening further to their support for the love for the cheater was eating me up inside. I didn’t want to cry in front of them; the tears were a mix of anger and hurt. I pushed the door open, revealing myself standing there. All faces turned to look at me. “Let me get this straight. You took my boyfriend to MY bed, did the dirty with him, leaving your mess in my bed, as a sort of Christmas present for me. Guess that made your day, thinking I was sleeping in your mess. Now you want my bedroom for the child baby you have created, and I am what, just pushed out the door? Like yesterday’s trash?” I asked to ensure I understood correctly that the whole family was fine with me being tossed aside. “Exactly, I am taking your boyfriend, your bedroom, and you, my dear sister, have to move out.” My sister sounded like she had won the lottery. Her face beamed at her triumph. “Fine with me.” The look of shock would have made me laugh if I were not so numb inside. I moved away to my room and packed what I could into my duffel bag. I will come back for the rest later, when they are not around. My heart was breaking, not because I lost my boyfriend, although that hurt a lot, considering that what I was going to give him for his present today was saved for doing something foolish at least. But also because both parents were supporting this deception, as if it were the best news they had received in a while, that they had been trying to get rid of me for a while, and now succeeded in a spectacular way. I walked downstairs and looked at them. “When I find a place to stay, I will be back for the rest.” I spat at them, a mixture of hurt, anger, and defeat. I never fit into the family, a black sheep, so maybe I should become one. I had always had top grades, won awards, done my best, but even being first, I was still last. My best friend was the only place I could think of going to; it had to be temporary. Jenny will be cool and let me sleep on her couch till I find a new home. I climbed onto my bike and took off to the only sanctuary I had over the years. Jenny welcomed me into her home, like I knew she would, and together we had a pity party consisting of beer and vanilla fudge ice cream. We called the family and my ex some interesting names, some of which I had never heard before, but they sounded good. The drunker I got, the more inventive the names became. The next morning, after waking up on Jenny’s couch and remembering yesterday, it did not go as planned. I pulled myself together, had a quick shower, and left for work. It was eight in the morning, and Jenny was still asleep when I left. That might be okay for some, but my workday today would be ten hours long, and I was running late. “You're late, night must have gone better than planned,” Mike said jovially. They sort of knew what I was planning last night. The others chuckled along with Mike. I grumbled some shiet and got to work. By the end of the day, Mike pulled me to his office. “Okay, out with it. The guys have been tiptoeing around you all day. What happened? He rejected your advances?” He asked, his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, looking at me with concerned eyes, a father figure, better than my dad had ever been. So, I told him what happened when I got home and where I spent the night, and now I'm looking for a place to stay. I was proud of myself; I didn’t cry, or whine, or show any emotion at all —just explained my predicament in cold, emotionless words. Clear and succinct. He said he wouldn’t say anything in the shop, but would talk to the prez. I had no idea why, but I was not in the right frame of mind to question it. Maxine POV Today was my sister's engagement party; engaged to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, you heard me right, my ex. What a joke that was. I had been dating Dan for six months when my sister, who was a year older than I, came home for Christmas and ended up in bed with my boyfriend. She’s a shameless woman, always has been, but I never expected him to sleep with her. I thought we were secure in our relationship. The only good thing I took away from this was that I never went to bed with him; my virginity card was still intact, not that I was trying to keep it - I just never got the chance to lose it. She always managed to have any guy I was interested in dump me for her, and when she got bored with them, she’d move on. So, in a way, I didn’t have a boyfriend till she moved out of her home and headed to college. But when my sister came home and met him, she seduced him and got pregnant. He did the whole ‘get down on one knee and proposed’ scene. Apparently, it was romantic, but I wasn't there when he did it because they didn’t want me around. It hurt a lot at the time, and I was glad to have my girlfriends around me, helping me get over it. They say, I dodged a bullet. I agree with them, stupidly. He might have been a sports jock with good looks, but doing this tells me he was weak and shallow, and I was too good for him, or so my BFF says. I prefer to believe them over the excuses my ex made. I had to move out of my home after I had a massive fight with my parents a few days ago, when the truth was exposed; they supported her, not me, and the next thing I knew, I was out the door and the evil sister. The engagement party was intended to introduce him to her friends and make the relationship official, but I was not invited. My parents want nothing to do with me. I made them all uncomfortable, considering he was my boyfriend first. Anyone working out the timeline for the baby can piece it together, and see they were cheating on me, and it would have been awkward, and too many questions would have been raised. Not that I needed to say all of that, I kind of said it all before, but grrrrr, I am so angry at how my so-called ‘family’ kicked me out of my so-called home, with no care for me or my feelings. It was easier to push me away and disown me than have to explain to them that my sister cheated with my boyfriend, and hey presto, a baby was on the way. Because I was kicked out of the house, and only had a short time to pack anything, I took the opportunity of the party to sneak into the house and take more of my possessions, like opening my father's safe, and grabbing every piece of paper relating to me, and a little money too, no a lot of money, and grandma’s jewelry that she left me. So, with the help of my BFF, we packed my belongings and took them to her place until I found a new one. I ride a motorcycle, so I need help. I have the money to buy a new place, but I'm unsure if I want to stay in this town now. Once my apprenticeship is over, I might move away. I stayed that night at Jenny’s place, as I figured out what to do. Today, I am moving into my new place —a bungalow above the bike shop where I work. I am in my final year of apprenticeship, and I am a motorcycle mechanic, proud of it, I might add. I can also work on cars and trucks. If it had a motor, I could fix it; I always could, thanks to my knack for it, which I developed since I was eight, when I fell in love with engines. My Grandpa taught me, kept me out of everyone's way. I guess you could say I was a tomboy, with no frills and lace. My Grandpa kept me sane and busy, so the BS in our house didn’t hurt me as much. The place has two bedrooms and is fully contained, meaning it has everything I need. I had purchased some new sheets and towels, that sort of thing, but it had a fully stocked kitchen; I only needed to buy the food. It might be small, and above a noisy bike shop, but at night it was a quiet area. No one would break into this shop; the local bikie gang owned it. They were good guys, scary, but so far, no trouble for me. My BFF, Jenny, was helping me take my belongings upstairs when a group of bikers arrived and assisted us. I had five boxes and two suitcases filled with all sorts of items. “Thanks, guys, for the help,” I said sweetly, my BFF batting her eyes at them and swaying her hips suggestively as she walked and thanked them. She makes me laugh with her antics, which are totally opposite to mine. I like jeans and am rarely seen in a dress, whereas she was seldom seen in jeans. “We got a party at the clubhouse, tomorrow Saturday, you should come and relax a bit, bring your girls with ya,” Bruiser suggested as he threw his arm over my shoulder, walked me to the settee, pushed me down, and handed me a beer they had brought with them. This was how they acted around me, ordered me about. Sometimes, I'm okay with it; other times, I get all worked up and growl back at them. Today was acceptance. I know they mean well, and I feel lucky to have them as family; they try to make me feel better. “That sounds like a blast, count me in, and I can bring two other girl friends with us. Max, do you want me to pick you up?” Jenny offered, taking a beer from one of the guys. She was not a beer drinker; however, in this situation, I could see her not refusing anything they offered. I guess I'm going, whether I want to or not. “No, I’ll ride over,” I replied as one of the guys ordered pizza. “That’s the spirit. Nothing like the wind in your hair to blow the cobwebs away.” They stayed because they didn’t want me to be alone, not on my first night here. Pizza arrived not long after, and my little bungalow was soon feeling too small and crowded, with six huge bikers in the room. Some sat on the floor; others pulled up one of the three kitchen chairs. I know, I know, three chairs sound odd, but that's what was here, and beggars can’t be choosers; the rent was dirt cheap, and I think the boys are the ones to make sure I had everything I needed. They found out about my situation the next day, because, I was still quiet at work, which was not like me, often I am singing to the radio, or swearing at something, so one of the guys approached me, to find out what gives, and I softly told them, what went down, and when word got around the bikers heard I needed a place to stay, because I was kicked out of my home and why, they came to me, like protective brothers. Now I have a whole gang of bikers who have my back. I feel privileged to call them friends. They even offered to rough the ex up for me, but I refused the offer, because strangely, I was happy to get rid of the loser if he was a cheating build. Better now than when I am fully invested in our relationship. Plus, I was in deep enough shite with my parents and sister without making it worse. The pizza was gone, my BFF left for home, and the guys did too. It was late, well, for me, midnight. I usually fall asleep quickly because I have to be up for work at five. Tomorrow, being Saturday, I have the morning shift before the party later. They let me leave work early so I can move in here. “Hey, don’t forget to come, we need our prettiest mechanic at the party, some of the boys might need a tune-up,” Bruiser said with a laugh as they climbed on their bikes and left. I know what sort of tune-up he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with a motor. I looked around my new home. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. The guys were great; they took the empty pizza boxes and beer cans with them, and the place was relatively clean. Not at all what you would expect from a group of rowdy men. The clubhouse. I had never been to it, despite having worked there for nearly four years, and they had never extended an invitation to me. I know they had lots of parties; maybe I was too young. I turned twenty recently, but they might think of me as the fifteen-year-old who showed up one day and told the boss I was going to be his apprentice. He laughed at first and said he would give me a go to prove myself. He thought I was joking and that I would be gone by the weekend, but over the holidays, I worked hard and have been here ever since. Maxine POV The beeping sound of my phone alarm made me sit up and look around. It took a moment to remember where I was. The room had a small curtain that barely kept the light out. There was a streetlight just outside my window. I can envisage myself getting better blackout curtains soon. Although it was annoying, it wasn't among my top priorities for making this a home. The shower was decent, with nice pressure. I followed my morning routine, only to realize how foolish I was to wake up so early, living above my place of work; I didn’t need to ride here. After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I still had half an hour before I needed to be at work. I had two ways to get into my place: one was through the back stairs, and the other was through the shop. With the code to turn off the alarm, I decided to head down and start work early. It was better than moving stuff around; I can do that later. I had a bike to finish by this afternoon. The customer would be here at two. Turned off the alarm, turned on the coffee pot, the radio, and headed to my workstation, where the fat boy was waiting for me to finish. I sat on the stool with casters and began my job, singing loudly to the heavy rock song that came on the radio as I installed the new spark plugs and double-checked the oil. It was a simple, easy-peasy service. Once finished, I started the bike up, let it idle while I made coffee, then returned to rev it a few times. It sounds lumpy, like it was just turning over perfectly; it was music to my ears. I love that throaty, deep, lumpy sound. You can feel it vibrate through my chest. “That’s a sound I loved to hear as I enter work.” My boss, Mike, said as I turned the bike off. “It’s ready to go, unless you want to take it out for a test ride. Want a coffee, pots hot.” I offered as I threw the dirty rag in the bin. “Sure, I will take the bike out for a spin, and you can make me a coffee.” He smirked as he grabbed the bike. I opened the garage door, and Mike took off. I smiled as he disappeared down the street, and I turned to make both of us coffee. If you hadn’t guessed already, I would drink a lot of coffee. I am not a fan of soft drinks or tea; for me, it's coffee or water. With a broom in hand, I began cleaning the shop. I am not out here very often, but I try to sweep the floor at least once a week; they have another apprentice who’s a second year, who gets to do most of the cleaning up, but he’s never here on a Saturday. The sound of the bike returning prompted me to pick up the two cups of coffee and head back out to the workshop. Mike had a massive grin on his face as he parked the bike. “Great job, you are our top mechanic. But don’t tell anyone, or I will have to deny it.” He joked, taking his coffee from my hand as he walked by, no doubt letting the customer know the bike was ready ahead of time. I moved to the next bike, which was a total rebuild; it had been in a minor accident, and while the frame was being checked, I would work on the engine and gearbox. It was the only job on my list at the moment. The bike owner was in no hurry; he had a broken leg, giving me a few weeks to work on his bike and any urgent jobs that might come into the shop. The client arrived and happily took possession of his bike, very happy with the job done. “I hear you’ve been invited to the club party tonight,” Mike said as he rang up the sale on the cash register. “Yep.” I said popping the ‘p’. “You can leave now, we have no more customers expected. Good job today.” It was close to one o’clock, near the time I would knock off. “Thanks, boss.” I saluted him and rushed upstairs, before he could change his mind. Giggling all the way up. I heard him chuckling as he locked the door below, behind me. I decided on a quick shower; I didn’t want to smell of oil when going to a party. Put on my skinny black jeans, a black blouse that had red flames on the back and on the pockets, black boots that had some chains around the ankle, and hair in a ponytail. I will get what we call helmet hair, so it's a waste to do much with it now. I use mascara and strawberry lip gloss, which is more to moisturize my lips, which tend to dry out when I ride my bike, and that's it. The last thing I grabbed before leaving was my jacket. My mum used to grumble that I wasn’t like my sister and put more effort into my appearance, but I like who I am, and I didn’t like wearing lots of makeup; it was my choice, and I feel that I am not a frilly, lacey chick. It was a deal breaker with my mum. She had my sister dress up and left me in the care of Grandpa until he died when I was seventeen. It broke me when he left the world. He was the only person who got me. My grandma had been gone since I was young, and I filled the hole in his heart with my love for bikes and fishing. He left me his money and bikes. Dad got his house and business. My mum hated that I gained all that money. When Grandma died, she left me her jewelry, and Grandpa made sure to keep it safe till I was old enough to have it. I ate something and put some more of my stuff in the cupboards before my phone chimed to let me know my girlfriends were on their way to the party. I pulled my bike out of the small garage and started it up. I threw my leg over and took off, heading to the property. The clubhouse was half an hour out of town, set on a large property a little bit back from the road. Ten minutes later, I came up behind the girls and hung out behind them. My friend waved me on to take the lead. I shrugged and overtook her. The turn off arrived, and I rode happily up the long drive, and trees lined the road. An open, large steel gate appeared, and I was glad it was still enough light to see clearly. Men stood by the entrance, watching us arrive. “Hey.” I greeted the biggest man I had ever seen. “Who invited you here?” The man asked gruffly, in a deep husky voice. “Bruiser,” I answered, with a firm, clear voice, hoping that the fact that he frightened me would be noticed in my voice. He pulled out his phone and called, I assumed, Bruiser. “Max?” He asked, as he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. He said something more and hung up the phone. “Come in, the car behind your girls?” He looked at the car behind, which clearly had a woman in it. “Yep,” I replied, not at all liking how he intimidated me with his manner. Perhaps it was the way they greeted strangers. One look makes the weak run. Well, I am not weak, and I won't be running. Maxine POV This rather large biker leaned in to look inside the car, his bulky figure partially blocking the open window, causing the girl nearest it to back away. Satisfied, he looked at me with a knowing smirk, then motioned for us to enter. The clubhouse was nothing like I had imagined. Firstly, it was four levels high. Verandah all the way around, that I could see. It was more like a mansion than a clubhouse. Women were gathered near the door, looking in, as if they were waiting for something; some were sitting on the wooden fence that surrounded the verandah. They were dressed in barely anything, showing all that was available, some love that sort of thing. People like me dress to stay warm or cool and don’t care about showing off the goods. Bikes sat in neat rows in front, and cars were parked to the left of the building; the ratio of bikes to cars was approximately four bikes to one car. I parked the bike with the others, climbed off, and took off my helmet. I placed the lid on the bike and shook out my hair while waiting for the girls to park and come to me. I heard some muffled scoffs, but I couldn’t care less —I wasn't here to please them. Bruiser came out of the clubhouse behind me. “Max, you came by bike. Sweet.” He gave me a gentle squeeze and moved to take a closer look at my bike. The paint job was a wolf, fading in smoke. It took me months to finish, as I kept changing my mind, and the smoke obscured the mistakes. “Who did the paint job?” He asked as he moved around to look at it from all sides. “Me.” I was proud of the results. “Does Mike know you can paint?” He sounded surprised. “He has seen my bike when I used the garage to do a service. He never asked who did the paint work, just that he liked it.” “Sweet, looks like we have someone to do touch-ups, and possibly a full paint job. We have a family reunion in a few weeks, and the ladies are invited to come along. You can join us.” Bruiser offered as my ladies arrived; they were not included in that invitation, I assumed, because I have a bike. “Bruiser, you already met Jenny, Melony, Karen, and Heather, my other BFF, and Alice, Karen's sister, and BFF to my sister.” Adding that comment, hoping that Bruiser knew precisely what that woman was like. Alice battered her eyes and leaned forward to show off what was under that almost shirt. My ladies greeted him with the respect he deserved. “Ladies. Hands out.” Bruiser stamped the girl's backs of their hands; they all had a bear, except Alice, who had a rabbit on her hand. I frowned, trying to figure out what the rabbit was all about. He pushed my hand away. “You are family, no need for a stamp.” I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my face. I felt so special. Then the shoe dropped. Rabbit meant she would open her legs. Bruiser got my meaning loud and clear. It took a while to understand the purpose of the stamps. “Come inside and meet the ole ladies.” I understood what he meant; these were ladies who had been claimed and had a different level of respect that those not claimed would never understand. I have met a few of them over the years and gained more insight into club life. They respect me as much as I respect them. We entered the place, and the girls who had been waiting outside gave us a dirty look, as they were still stopped from entering. “What's so special about them?” One pouted, but Bruiser ignored her. Inside was cleaner than I had expected —my fault for judging a group of men, since they often look messy when I see them at the shop. The place had a large, open space, with tables where you stand, as well as booths dotted along the walls, and stools at the bar, which ran the full length of the room. I loved the spacious room, the pictures on the walls, and some bike parts scattered about as decoration. A few barstools are bike seats; it was different, and it appealed to me. Being a lover of bikes. “Sticks.” I greeted her as we got closer to the ladies Bruiser was taking us to. “Hey, Maxie Max. How's it blowing?” She stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. This chick had no filter or personal space. Sticks was the President's; her real name was Sandra, but she was my height at five-nine, and she had no shape to her body, just a lovely bean pole, almost no chest to speak of, yet she had had two boys. Hence the name Sticks. “Doing better,” I replied. She would know what was going on. She introduced us to the other ladies with her, and it didn’t surprise me that Alice had already moved away from us before we had finished the introductions. “What’s her story?” Sticks asked as she watched Alice start to try her luck with the club men. “Same as my sister. Bruiser put a rabbit stamp on her hand.” Sticks and the other girl roared out laughing. “She will be used, abused, and kicked to the side by the time the night is over, and I doubt they would let her back in. We don’t need her sort in the club.” Maggie spouted as we watched a patch member knock her offer back. “The regulars are not going to like her working their turf. So, to speak.” Tootsie said, with a smirk, that the regulars know the rules and stick with them. Don’t approach a patch member; if interested, they will come to you. Nom’s are fair game. But most girls would prefer a patch member. Don’t touch a taken member; the women will gang up and make your life miserable if you feel one of theirs. Wait to be let into the clubhouse and then stay in the public area. No going upstairs uninvited. The first two floors are designated for guest rooms, while the top floor is reserved for permanent residences. Those who don’t have a home of their own to go to. They are private and not open to wandering girls. Don’t touch or sit on someone’s bike, unless you are given permission. The patched old ladies are the bosses of the girls; they tell you to leave or do something, and you do it. There were more rules for the girls visiting, but I couldn’t remember them all at that moment. None had applied to me until now. Alice had already broken at least three, to my knowledge. I am staying out of it. That rabbit on her hand told the members that she would open her legs for any of them, and no one would support her if she broke the rules. That she was not welcome to return, in other words, have your fun, and then kick her to the curb. The doors were opened to let the other girls in. They looked at us in the no-go zone and pouted. We were sitting in an off-limits area unless we were invited. From what I understood, they were here to spread their legs and give the guys some relief, but not become part of the family. They might be hopeful that something would change; it was rare for a patch member to take one of these ladies, who had most likely been with every unattached member of the gang, at some point. My girls left me with Sticks and wandered about with the other ladies, getting the tour of the place. “Want to look around?” Sticks were offered, and before I knew it, we were walking around the vast ground floor. “Ready to see the workshop, the guys might talk you into helping out, once they know who you are.” Sticks led me down a small pathway, lined with flowering shrubs, and to a set of large, farm-size sheds. Inside were bikes, some in bits, others crumpled from an accident, and others like they had just been detailed and were someone's pride and joy. There was a workshop here, where men were working on their bikes. They looked up at us when we entered and frowned. If Sticks were not with me, they would have most likely growled at me to get out. “Who’s this Sticks?” A monster of a man asked, in the deepest voice I have ever heard, he looked a lot like the man at the gate, but with more toned muscles, that I would love to run my fingers over. Just a tad taller, and although he looked big and scary, he made my lady parts sing in a way they had never sung before. Tank POV A few guys aren't into parties, so I stopped going until later in the night, when the girls who showed up were already taken. I dislike the women who come here hoping to adopt our lifestyle. I prefer to use my hand rather than one of those women. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my share of women; however, I had a girl who pushed me to take her, and when I did, she ended up in the hospital, because I am not exactly a little man, and I ripped her apart. She needed stitches, and I have not been with a woman since. Like my brother, we are both large men; he is six feet six inches tall, and I am six feet eight inches tall. He’s carrying extra weight, where I am all muscle. I pride myself on keeping in shape, but being this large has its downfall, and having a large build has had me worried about hurting another woman. No matter how much I might want to, I can’t; I never want to go through that again. The Prez was the only person who knew why I wouldn’t join the parties; he was with me when we took the girl to the hospital, she forgave me, and tried to pursue me to keep her, but I couldn’t. Each time I started to get intimate, I had flashes of her screams, and my confidence went down like a popped balloon. We were in the workshop, doing some minor tune-ups. As I prepare for our ride, I'm excited. When they bring the ladies, the men are usually in a better mood and on their best behavior. I was looking at rebuild. I started it last week. We have a few wrecks that need to be started; some have been sitting here far too long. We can only go so far before we need Mike's help. None of us was a mechanic. I was scratching my head, as I was almost at the end of my knowledge, when I heard someone enter, and a soft perfume that shouldn’t be in this shed hit my nose. Stick’s voice reached my ears, and I lifted my head up to look in her direction. “Who’s this Sticks?” The most beautiful girl I have ever seen had entered our sanctuary, a place where few girls are allowed, which made Sticks bring this beauty down to this dirt and grease, which was unexpectedly. “That is Max, from the shop, Mike's apprentice, who I think had finished her apprenticeship and is doing something extra on Harleys and getting some specialized license,” Banjo said as he moved forward to greet them. The others stood up and moved forward too, making me feel like a dill for not recognizing Max. Although I have only seen her a few times from a distance, and she was usually deep in bike repair, I barely got to see her face. We have not been introduced because I wouldn’t have forgotten that beauty if I had. Sticks introduced us all, and we greeted her before I decided I could use her help. I put the thoughts of what I wouldn’t mind doing to her behind me, not that I could do it. “Max, come look at this wreck. I am stuck with what to do next.” I called her over on the bike I was working on. “Tank, surely you could have waited for another day? She came for the party, not to work.” Sticks grumbled as Max walked to me. She was clean and smelled nice, and I had a fleeting moment of guilt for calling her over. The few times I had seen her, she was covered in oil and grease, wearing coveralls that hid her shapely figure. “Max, are you sure?” Sticks pulled on her hand to get her attention. “Yeah, I am more at home in here than out there,” Max said with a smile and turned back to me. “What's the problem?” She asked me to move forward and inspect the bike. I went into detail about what happened to the bike, what I had managed to do so far, and what I needed to move forward. Max removed her leather jacket and slung it over a nearby bike seat, then squatted down. For the next two hours, Max worked on the bike with me, guiding me through the tricky bits I couldn’t do. The others came forward and used this time as a sort of training session, and Max didn’t seem to mind at all. We asked questions as she worked on the bike, and she used me to lift the heavy parts. It was teamwork, and we completed more repairs in that time than I would have on my own. “Hey, Max,” Bruiser called out at the door. He stood with his legs apart, arms folded, and I wondered if we had done something wrong. “Back here.” She returned to the call of her name. He arrived and burst out laughing at us. “Max, I invited you to a party, you know, dancing and drinking, and socializing. This was not what I meant as a party.” He was still chuckling when the Prez walked in, with Sticks on his arm. “You still got her working out here?” Stick all but growled at us, when the Prez’s lady growls, we all listen. She’s the last person we want to make angry. “What?” I was confused, Max didn’t seem to mind, and we all were having a good time out here. “Hey, Prez. The party over?” Max calmly asked, but it sounded more like she had hoped it was. “Not even close, babes.” The Prez answered with a smile. He had gotten closer to Max over the years she had been at the bike shop. He had often talked about the female mechanic and her sassy ways. I had thought he was exaggerating, but after spending a little time with her, I was hooked. “We have nearly completed the repair job on Spider's bike. If we can have Max here for a few days, I bet we could hit the road by the end of the week.” I said it as it was my way of asking her to stay for a while and fix the bike. Spider was almost healed and ready to get back on his own bike. “Would have to ask Mike about that, she’s his employee, even if we own the shop, he runs it, and I don’t get involved with his employees,” Prez replied contemplatively. “He here?” I asked, as Mike often doesn’t show up at the weekend parties. “Yep, came half an hour ago.” Sticks answered as she handed Max a bottle of water. “Max, if Mike’s okay with it, would you work with us for a week, get some of these ready for the weekend ride?” Sparks asked, and I kicked myself for not considering that she might not want to spend a week here. “Sure, if Mike doesn’t need me, we have several bikes in for service before the ladies run.” Her sweet voice carried across the warehouse, and the guys nodded in understanding. “Thanks, babes,” Spike called out. Each one of us here enjoyed that she worked on our bikes; it might sound odd that we're letting a chick touch our bikes, but Max was not like most chicks. Who wants to sit on the bikes or lie on them? Max knows what she’s doing and has proven herself on numerous occasions. I wish I had known how attractive she was. Man, I had a semi since she walked in the door. The Prez will even let her ride her own bike, a privilege few ladies get. She was more part of the crew; no other girl I know works on bikes like she does, and her reputation over the time she's been an apprentice has been exemplary. Not a guy chaser. When word got out that our girl had been cheated on in the worst possible way, we all wanted to go and kill the man, even though half of us had never really met her, yeah, seen her in a distance, or legs poking out from under a truck, but never sat and talked with her before today. She was fun, had me chuckling a few times, but most of the time in here, she had been all about the bikes, and not flirting, like most chicks do when around us. They see the glamour of the lifestyle, but it's not for everyone. Maxine POV I was guided to a washroom on the side of the workshop, which had a deep steel sink and a shower, but no mirrors. There was a cupboard under the sink containing soaps and cleaning products, as well as a shelf with dark-colored towels. A door that led to a toilet, which was cleaner than I had expected. So far, this whole gang house had been cleaner than I thought a load of men would leave it. I had underestimated the guys and made assumptions about how guys I knew from school or parties would act; none of them were like that. Maybe it was because they are mostly men, whereas my experience had been with boys my age and lower. I cleaned the grease off my hands and arms and dried them. As I went through the routine of cleaning myself up, I thought about the party they had been pushing me to attend and how it had churned up my stomach. The last few times I went to a party, I was with my ex-boyfriend, and he ended up with my sister, so parties were not my thing. I always seem to lose something at parties. Mostly friends, who don’t like the fact that I don’t drink, I have never been a drinker, I might drink a beer to be sociable, and it would take me ages to finish it. Still, I never take shots and am never blind drunk. I had only once been drunk, and I didn’t like the feeling or the way it took me all day to recover, nor the hangover that seemed to be more than a headache. My friends get drunk, and I spend a lot of time cleaning up the messes they make, so I seem to be the one doing the cleanup most of the time, as they know I have their backs, even when I prefer not to do that part of it. I had just finished cleaning up when Tank came in, took one look at me, and started to chuckle. “What?” I asked, looking confused as he laughed. What did I do that was so funny? He didn’t say a word. He leaned over, picked up a cloth, and soaped it up, then gripped my chin in his huge hand, and gently wiped the side of my face, his eyes concentrating on the task, as if it was the most important job he had to do with care. He was so gentle, touching my face with soft, quick movements. His eyes then met mine, and I was lost in the deepest blue orbs I have ever seen. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat and blinked a few times to break the trance he had put me in, and took a step back, my body hitting the sink behind me. “You had some grease on your cheek.” He whispered in a husky voice so deep that it had my lady parts jumping for joy and need, something I am not familiar with. “Thank you,” I whispered back, my voice croaking, and I was shocked by the sound of my own voice; it was lower, warmer, and surprised me as much as Tank's did. His eyes widened at the husky sound. He took a step back and motioned with his hand for me to move past him. I quickly left the washroom and waited in the workshop, taking in the wrecks and wondering how badly the rider would have been hurt if the bike had looked like this. Hoping no one lost their lives. I thought about that for a while. I loved my bike, but I would never ditch it because I was scared. That the thought of falling off had never entered my mind, if I died while riding my bike, then I would have been doing what I love doing. I found I was okay with that. Not that I want to die, but I have thought about how I would like to go when my heart has been broken. “Hey, what are you doing still in here?” Rocket asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Hiding?” I joked back, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and came to stand beside me, looking at the bike I had been staring at. “Can it be fixed? It’s been sitting here for a long time, with no one having the skill to start repairing it. Well, they could give it a go, but this bike is so old that parts are almost impossible to get.” “Yeah, I can give it a try. I have some contacts who can obtain parts, but I can also manufacture some parts. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can come over on weekends and dedicate some time to it.” I suggested it would be a shame to let this panhead go to waste. There are enough pieces of the wrecked bike left to serve as a starting point. “Sweet, it will be good to see this bike out on the road again.” Rocket looked genuinely pleased that the bike could be restored. I restore old cars, trucks, and bikes with Grandpa. I have the equipment stored in a shed for when I have a place of my own to use the machines. I wonder if they have a shed where I can put them. I will need one of the machines. “Ready?” Tank asked; he had shed the work shirt and pulled on a gang shirt. His muscles are on display. Yummy. He makes me feel tiny when I am beside him. “Tank, Max said she can restore the baby.” Tank’s head turned to look at the wreck, and then at me. “For real? Max, can you do that?” Tank looked surprised. After spending a few hours with me, working on bikes, he had to ask that? “Yeah, I can, need to talk to the Prez about some space, but I can do it.” Both guys frowned and looked around the workshop. But they didn’t say anything. Or question me further. Tank put his hand on my lower back and gave a slight push, making me start to walk out of the workshop. It was dark out. Tank guided me to the back door, Rocket leading the way. He opened the door for me and waved me in, as if I were someone important. Causing me to giggle. Yeah, you heard me; I giggled like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous, and not something I had ever expected to come out of my mouth. The guys didn’t even blink at the giggle. The place was warm inside, vibrating with the loud thump of the bass. You could hardly hear the person next to you speak over the heavy music. It reeked of cigarettes and booze. The girls who had been at the door waiting to get in were busy with patch members kissing and almost doing the deed right there on the chair. Some were grinding their hips against the man below them, and the small amount of clothing they had on was even less now. I assumed they were well on their way to being drunk. This was a classic visual of why men lose respect for some kinds of women. I am embarrassed to see it in front of me. I looked around the room and saw my friends still with Sticks, and a couple of guys hanging around nearby. My friends look like they are having fun, and they have a few patch members who seem friendly to them. I hope the girls know what they are doing. The gang life was not for everyone. Dad had once spoken badly about gangs, and he hated it when I became an apprentice at the bike shop. Grandpa was the one who encouraged me to have an apprenticeship. He hated that Dad and Mum were backing my sister in everything, and maybe encouraging me to be a mechanic at the bike shop was his way to get back at Dad. Dad had even tried to get me to leave the bike shop when Grandpa had died. But I had made a pact with Grandpa that I wouldn’t give in to Dad. To live the life I want, and never give in, no matter what the consequences are. I wonder what Grandpa would say if he were alive and saw Dad kick me out of the family home, for the sake of my sister. He would be livered, that’s for sure. But I did as Grandpa said, stood firm, and stayed true to myself. “Hey Maxi Max, come join us. Cricket, grab Max an iced water.” Sticks patted the chair next to her, and before I could move to sit beside her, Tank grabbed me around the waist and took a couple of giant steps to the chair, and sat down, holding me on his lap. The girls looked at each other, then, between Tank and me, the confused look changed to a grin and a nod —whatever that was about.
"“My guys found her. She’s at the MagDog clubhouse. Fixing their bikes.” “What?” Her father’s brow furrowed. “Then tell her to come home. Our business is drowning.” “She wouldn’t. Maxine sent back a message: ‘You gave my room to a bast3rd baby. I gave my keys to a biker.’” The room froze. Dan, Maxine’s ex-boyfriend, now her sister’s fiancé, remembered the last Christmas. Zoey’s moans. Maxine’s bed. Her white sheets. Zoey remembered stealing him—the third boyfriend she’d taken from her sister. And Mom and Dad never once said stop. Her parents remembered looking at their bleeding daughter and telling her to leave. For a nursery. For the cheater’s child. None of them had ever chosen her. “At least she’s safe,” her mother whispered, sobbing with regret. “Safe? She’s living above a bike shop. But she’s got the whole club at her back. Especially their giant—Tank. Six-foot-eight. Never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her. And... their president also sent a message.” “Go on,” her father urged, anxiety simmering beneath. “‘You didn’t want her. We do. Touch her fortune? We’ll end you.’” The words landed like a punch. No one moved. No one breathed. Outside, a Harley roared past the window. She didn’t even slow down." --- Maxine POV “Go home, you have worked too much overtime this week. Have an early night and give that boyfriend of yours an early treat.” My boss practically pushed me out the door, a wicked grin on his face. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’m going. I straddled my bike and started her up. This was going to be a great night. Today was my boyfriend's birthday, and I was going to give him my V-card as a special gift. I had brought new lingerie, black lace, see-through, and I had shaved my mound, leaving a trail that looked like an arrow pointing down to my juncture. I was ready to give him my all, my first, my heart, take the big plunge. I felt I was ready. I pulled into the driveway to see my sister's and my boyfriend’s cars. I had no idea my sister was coming home today. She was still at college in her final year, though I heard she wasn't doing so well. The poor golden girl has not met up with expectations, not that I was worried. My ex-boyfriend showed up three hours early; our date was not for a few more hours. What was he doing here already? Walking in the back door, I heard voices and headed towards them; they were in Dad’s office, with the door slightly ajar. I moved silently to the door and waited outside to hear what secrets they were having now. They occasionally do this when they are planning something and don’t want to include me, but I'm puzzled as to why my boyfriend and sister were included. “We never planned for it to happen.” My sister replied softly, as if she were some kind of victim; she was an expert at that. She should have been an actress; she would have won multiple Oscars by now. “When?” Dad asked, and I waited in the hallway to hear what this was all about. “Christmas day, we had too many of your special eggnogs, and things got heated. The party was more or less over; the presents had been given out, and the food had been eaten. We were all mulling around, talking, when Zoey said something, I don’t remember what—but we went upstairs to continue talking, and ended up in Maxine’s room. We did start by just talking, and before I knew it, we were kissing and things got heated, and ended up in her bed, like I said, and I was so lost in that moment that I forgot to use a protection. When we came out, no one seemed to notice we had been gone, so we pretended it never happened.” My boyfriend replied, and my heart just hit the floor, as I took in that my sister and boyfriend did the dirty in my bed at Christmas. MY BED. I slept in that bed, with their mess on the sheets. I feel suddenly sick at that thought. How could they do that to me? She stole another boyfriend from me again. But he was just as much to blame; I guess our relationship was not that strong yet. Not on his side at least. He continued to pretend, kissing me and taking me out on dates, as if that never happened. What a jerk. Now I feel cheated, dirty, ashamed, and angry all at once. What if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, and I ended up married to that cheating scumbag? Would her wedding present be to tell me she had slept with him first? I wouldn’t put it past her to do such a thing. She had done that before with my boyfriends, and I guess this one was just as vulnerable to her advances as the last one. “He gave me the best Christmas present ever.” My sister crowed with delight. I could imagine her tenderly touching her belly. “This is good news. I have wanted grandchildren, and the last grandchild I would have expected would be from you; you have never kept a relationship for long.” Mum said, sounding excited at the news. “What now?” My sister asked, still playing the perfect victim. “We get married?’ My now ex-boyfriend suggested —sounds more like a question. “What about Maxine?” My sister asked, as if I were an inconvenience that needed to be sorted out, and now they think about me, but it didn’t sound like concern. “What about her? This is about my first grandchild, and his or her safety comes first. She will have to live with it.” My mother spat, revealing that famous favoritism, because she had always taken my sister's side in everything, even when proven wrong. They never backed me up. “I am technically her boyfriend.” He started to say something, but was interrupted. “Not anymore, you're not. I will arrange with the local publican to hire the outdoor garden area, and we shall have an engagement party this Saturday. Get that sorted before you start to show, and Maxine will show her support.” Dad’s voice floated out, sounding resolute. I had no say in this, not that I wanted to be his girlfriend any longer; he had proven not to be what I wanted in a guy. “She will have to leave. I need her room for the nursery. I would prefer it if she didn't attend the engagement party. What will those who know she was the real girlfriend show up, and see that it was not Maxine getting engaged?” Mum added. Yep, that was my mother, trying to regain her dignity and save face. I couldn’t take it any longer. I was devastated enough, and listening further to their support for the love for the cheater was eating me up inside. I didn’t want to cry in front of them; the tears were a mix of anger and hurt. I pushed the door open, revealing myself standing there. All faces turned to look at me. “Let me get this straight. You took my boyfriend to MY bed, did the dirty with him, leaving your mess in my bed, as a sort of Christmas present for me. Guess that made your day, thinking I was sleeping in your mess. Now you want my bedroom for the child baby you have created, and I am what, just pushed out the door? Like yesterday’s trash?” I asked to ensure I understood correctly that the whole family was fine with me being tossed aside. “Exactly, I am taking your boyfriend, your bedroom, and you, my dear sister, have to move out.” My sister sounded like she had won the lottery. Her face beamed at her triumph. “Fine with me.” The look of shock would have made me laugh if I were not so numb inside. I moved away to my room and packed what I could into my duffel bag. I will come back for the rest later, when they are not around. My heart was breaking, not because I lost my boyfriend, although that hurt a lot, considering that what I was going to give him for his present today was saved for doing something foolish at least. But also because both parents were supporting this deception, as if it were the best news they had received in a while, that they had been trying to get rid of me for a while, and now succeeded in a spectacular way. I walked downstairs and looked at them. “When I find a place to stay, I will be back for the rest.” I spat at them, a mixture of hurt, anger, and defeat. I never fit into the family, a black sheep, so maybe I should become one. I had always had top grades, won awards, done my best, but even being first, I was still last. My best friend was the only place I could think of going to; it had to be temporary. Jenny will be cool and let me sleep on her couch till I find a new home. I climbed onto my bike and took off to the only sanctuary I had over the years. Jenny welcomed me into her home, like I knew she would, and together we had a pity party consisting of beer and vanilla fudge ice cream. We called the family and my ex some interesting names, some of which I had never heard before, but they sounded good. The drunker I got, the more inventive the names became. The next morning, after waking up on Jenny’s couch and remembering yesterday, it did not go as planned. I pulled myself together, had a quick shower, and left for work. It was eight in the morning, and Jenny was still asleep when I left. That might be okay for some, but my workday today would be ten hours long, and I was running late. “You're late, night must have gone better than planned,” Mike said jovially. They sort of knew what I was planning last night. The others chuckled along with Mike. I grumbled some shiet and got to work. By the end of the day, Mike pulled me to his office. “Okay, out with it. The guys have been tiptoeing around you all day. What happened? He rejected your advances?” He asked, his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, looking at me with concerned eyes, a father figure, better than my dad had ever been. So, I told him what happened when I got home and where I spent the night, and now I'm looking for a place to stay. I was proud of myself; I didn’t cry, or whine, or show any emotion at all —just explained my predicament in cold, emotionless words. Clear and succinct. He said he wouldn’t say anything in the shop, but would talk to the prez. I had no idea why, but I was not in the right frame of mind to question it. Maxine POV Today was my sister's engagement party; engaged to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, you heard me right, my ex. What a joke that was. I had been dating Dan for six months when my sister, who was a year older than I, came home for Christmas and ended up in bed with my boyfriend. She’s a shameless woman, always has been, but I never expected him to sleep with her. I thought we were secure in our relationship. The only good thing I took away from this was that I never went to bed with him; my virginity card was still intact, not that I was trying to keep it - I just never got the chance to lose it. She always managed to have any guy I was interested in dump me for her, and when she got bored with them, she’d move on. So, in a way, I didn’t have a boyfriend till she moved out of her home and headed to college. But when my sister came home and met him, she seduced him and got pregnant. He did the whole ‘get down on one knee and proposed’ scene. Apparently, it was romantic, but I wasn't there when he did it because they didn’t want me around. It hurt a lot at the time, and I was glad to have my girlfriends around me, helping me get over it. They say, I dodged a bullet. I agree with them, stupidly. He might have been a sports jock with good looks, but doing this tells me he was weak and shallow, and I was too good for him, or so my BFF says. I prefer to believe them over the excuses my ex made. I had to move out of my home after I had a massive fight with my parents a few days ago, when the truth was exposed; they supported her, not me, and the next thing I knew, I was out the door and the evil sister. The engagement party was intended to introduce him to her friends and make the relationship official, but I was not invited. My parents want nothing to do with me. I made them all uncomfortable, considering he was my boyfriend first. Anyone working out the timeline for the baby can piece it together, and see they were cheating on me, and it would have been awkward, and too many questions would have been raised. Not that I needed to say all of that, I kind of said it all before, but grrrrr, I am so angry at how my so-called ‘family’ kicked me out of my so-called home, with no care for me or my feelings. It was easier to push me away and disown me than have to explain to them that my sister cheated with my boyfriend, and hey presto, a baby was on the way. Because I was kicked out of the house, and only had a short time to pack anything, I took the opportunity of the party to sneak into the house and take more of my possessions, like opening my father's safe, and grabbing every piece of paper relating to me, and a little money too, no a lot of money, and grandma’s jewelry that she left me. So, with the help of my BFF, we packed my belongings and took them to her place until I found a new one. I ride a motorcycle, so I need help. I have the money to buy a new place, but I'm unsure if I want to stay in this town now. Once my apprenticeship is over, I might move away. I stayed that night at Jenny’s place, as I figured out what to do. Today, I am moving into my new place —a bungalow above the bike shop where I work. I am in my final year of apprenticeship, and I am a motorcycle mechanic, proud of it, I might add. I can also work on cars and trucks. If it had a motor, I could fix it; I always could, thanks to my knack for it, which I developed since I was eight, when I fell in love with engines. My Grandpa taught me, kept me out of everyone's way. I guess you could say I was a tomboy, with no frills and lace. My Grandpa kept me sane and busy, so the BS in our house didn’t hurt me as much. The place has two bedrooms and is fully contained, meaning it has everything I need. I had purchased some new sheets and towels, that sort of thing, but it had a fully stocked kitchen; I only needed to buy the food. It might be small, and above a noisy bike shop, but at night it was a quiet area. No one would break into this shop; the local bikie gang owned it. They were good guys, scary, but so far, no trouble for me. My BFF, Jenny, was helping me take my belongings upstairs when a group of bikers arrived and assisted us. I had five boxes and two suitcases filled with all sorts of items. “Thanks, guys, for the help,” I said sweetly, my BFF batting her eyes at them and swaying her hips suggestively as she walked and thanked them. She makes me laugh with her antics, which are totally opposite to mine. I like jeans and am rarely seen in a dress, whereas she was seldom seen in jeans. “We got a party at the clubhouse, tomorrow Saturday, you should come and relax a bit, bring your girls with ya,” Bruiser suggested as he threw his arm over my shoulder, walked me to the settee, pushed me down, and handed me a beer they had brought with them. This was how they acted around me, ordered me about. Sometimes, I'm okay with it; other times, I get all worked up and growl back at them. Today was acceptance. I know they mean well, and I feel lucky to have them as family; they try to make me feel better. “That sounds like a blast, count me in, and I can bring two other girl friends with us. Max, do you want me to pick you up?” Jenny offered, taking a beer from one of the guys. She was not a beer drinker; however, in this situation, I could see her not refusing anything they offered. I guess I'm going, whether I want to or not. “No, I’ll ride over,” I replied as one of the guys ordered pizza. “That’s the spirit. Nothing like the wind in your hair to blow the cobwebs away.” They stayed because they didn’t want me to be alone, not on my first night here. Pizza arrived not long after, and my little bungalow was soon feeling too small and crowded, with six huge bikers in the room. Some sat on the floor; others pulled up one of the three kitchen chairs. I know, I know, three chairs sound odd, but that's what was here, and beggars can’t be choosers; the rent was dirt cheap, and I think the boys are the ones to make sure I had everything I needed. They found out about my situation the next day, because, I was still quiet at work, which was not like me, often I am singing to the radio, or swearing at something, so one of the guys approached me, to find out what gives, and I softly told them, what went down, and when word got around the bikers heard I needed a place to stay, because I was kicked out of my home and why, they came to me, like protective brothers. Now I have a whole gang of bikers who have my back. I feel privileged to call them friends. They even offered to rough the ex up for me, but I refused the offer, because strangely, I was happy to get rid of the loser if he was a cheating build. Better now than when I am fully invested in our relationship. Plus, I was in deep enough shite with my parents and sister without making it worse. The pizza was gone, my BFF left for home, and the guys did too. It was late, well, for me, midnight. I usually fall asleep quickly because I have to be up for work at five. Tomorrow, being Saturday, I have the morning shift before the party later. They let me leave work early so I can move in here. “Hey, don’t forget to come, we need our prettiest mechanic at the party, some of the boys might need a tune-up,” Bruiser said with a laugh as they climbed on their bikes and left. I know what sort of tune-up he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with a motor. I looked around my new home. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. The guys were great; they took the empty pizza boxes and beer cans with them, and the place was relatively clean. Not at all what you would expect from a group of rowdy men. The clubhouse. I had never been to it, despite having worked there for nearly four years, and they had never extended an invitation to me. I know they had lots of parties; maybe I was too young. I turned twenty recently, but they might think of me as the fifteen-year-old who showed up one day and told the boss I was going to be his apprentice. He laughed at first and said he would give me a go to prove myself. He thought I was joking and that I would be gone by the weekend, but over the holidays, I worked hard and have been here ever since. Maxine POV The beeping sound of my phone alarm made me sit up and look around. It took a moment to remember where I was. The room had a small curtain that barely kept the light out. There was a streetlight just outside my window. I can envisage myself getting better blackout curtains soon. Although it was annoying, it wasn't among my top priorities for making this a home. The shower was decent, with nice pressure. I followed my morning routine, only to realize how foolish I was to wake up so early, living above my place of work; I didn’t need to ride here. After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I still had half an hour before I needed to be at work. I had two ways to get into my place: one was through the back stairs, and the other was through the shop. With the code to turn off the alarm, I decided to head down and start work early. It was better than moving stuff around; I can do that later. I had a bike to finish by this afternoon. The customer would be here at two. Turned off the alarm, turned on the coffee pot, the radio, and headed to my workstation, where the fat boy was waiting for me to finish. I sat on the stool with casters and began my job, singing loudly to the heavy rock song that came on the radio as I installed the new spark plugs and double-checked the oil. It was a simple, easy-peasy service. Once finished, I started the bike up, let it idle while I made coffee, then returned to rev it a few times. It sounds lumpy, like it was just turning over perfectly; it was music to my ears. I love that throaty, deep, lumpy sound. You can feel it vibrate through my chest. “That’s a sound I loved to hear as I enter work.” My boss, Mike, said as I turned the bike off. “It’s ready to go, unless you want to take it out for a test ride. Want a coffee, pots hot.” I offered as I threw the dirty rag in the bin. “Sure, I will take the bike out for a spin, and you can make me a coffee.” He smirked as he grabbed the bike. I opened the garage door, and Mike took off. I smiled as he disappeared down the street, and I turned to make both of us coffee. If you hadn’t guessed already, I would drink a lot of coffee. I am not a fan of soft drinks or tea; for me, it's coffee or water. With a broom in hand, I began cleaning the shop. I am not out here very often, but I try to sweep the floor at least once a week; they have another apprentice who’s a second year, who gets to do most of the cleaning up, but he’s never here on a Saturday. The sound of the bike returning prompted me to pick up the two cups of coffee and head back out to the workshop. Mike had a massive grin on his face as he parked the bike. “Great job, you are our top mechanic. But don’t tell anyone, or I will have to deny it.” He joked, taking his coffee from my hand as he walked by, no doubt letting the customer know the bike was ready ahead of time. I moved to the next bike, which was a total rebuild; it had been in a minor accident, and while the frame was being checked, I would work on the engine and gearbox. It was the only job on my list at the moment. The bike owner was in no hurry; he had a broken leg, giving me a few weeks to work on his bike and any urgent jobs that might come into the shop. The client arrived and happily took possession of his bike, very happy with the job done. “I hear you’ve been invited to the club party tonight,” Mike said as he rang up the sale on the cash register. “Yep.” I said popping the ‘p’. “You can leave now, we have no more customers expected. Good job today.” It was close to one o’clock, near the time I would knock off. “Thanks, boss.” I saluted him and rushed upstairs, before he could change his mind. Giggling all the way up. I heard him chuckling as he locked the door below, behind me. I decided on a quick shower; I didn’t want to smell of oil when going to a party. Put on my skinny black jeans, a black blouse that had red flames on the back and on the pockets, black boots that had some chains around the ankle, and hair in a ponytail. I will get what we call helmet hair, so it's a waste to do much with it now. I use mascara and strawberry lip gloss, which is more to moisturize my lips, which tend to dry out when I ride my bike, and that's it. The last thing I grabbed before leaving was my jacket. My mum used to grumble that I wasn’t like my sister and put more effort into my appearance, but I like who I am, and I didn’t like wearing lots of makeup; it was my choice, and I feel that I am not a frilly, lacey chick. It was a deal breaker with my mum. She had my sister dress up and left me in the care of Grandpa until he died when I was seventeen. It broke me when he left the world. He was the only person who got me. My grandma had been gone since I was young, and I filled the hole in his heart with my love for bikes and fishing. He left me his money and bikes. Dad got his house and business. My mum hated that I gained all that money. When Grandma died, she left me her jewelry, and Grandpa made sure to keep it safe till I was old enough to have it. I ate something and put some more of my stuff in the cupboards before my phone chimed to let me know my girlfriends were on their way to the party. I pulled my bike out of the small garage and started it up. I threw my leg over and took off, heading to the property. The clubhouse was half an hour out of town, set on a large property a little bit back from the road. Ten minutes later, I came up behind the girls and hung out behind them. My friend waved me on to take the lead. I shrugged and overtook her. The turn off arrived, and I rode happily up the long drive, and trees lined the road. An open, large steel gate appeared, and I was glad it was still enough light to see clearly. Men stood by the entrance, watching us arrive. “Hey.” I greeted the biggest man I had ever seen. “Who invited you here?” The man asked gruffly, in a deep husky voice. “Bruiser,” I answered, with a firm, clear voice, hoping that the fact that he frightened me would be noticed in my voice. He pulled out his phone and called, I assumed, Bruiser. “Max?” He asked, as he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. He said something more and hung up the phone. “Come in, the car behind your girls?” He looked at the car behind, which clearly had a woman in it. “Yep,” I replied, not at all liking how he intimidated me with his manner. Perhaps it was the way they greeted strangers. One look makes the weak run. Well, I am not weak, and I won't be running. Maxine POV This rather large biker leaned in to look inside the car, his bulky figure partially blocking the open window, causing the girl nearest it to back away. Satisfied, he looked at me with a knowing smirk, then motioned for us to enter. The clubhouse was nothing like I had imagined. Firstly, it was four levels high. Verandah all the way around, that I could see. It was more like a mansion than a clubhouse. Women were gathered near the door, looking in, as if they were waiting for something; some were sitting on the wooden fence that surrounded the verandah. They were dressed in barely anything, showing all that was available, some love that sort of thing. People like me dress to stay warm or cool and don’t care about showing off the goods. Bikes sat in neat rows in front, and cars were parked to the left of the building; the ratio of bikes to cars was approximately four bikes to one car. I parked the bike with the others, climbed off, and took off my helmet. I placed the lid on the bike and shook out my hair while waiting for the girls to park and come to me. I heard some muffled scoffs, but I couldn’t care less —I wasn't here to please them. Bruiser came out of the clubhouse behind me. “Max, you came by bike. Sweet.” He gave me a gentle squeeze and moved to take a closer look at my bike. The paint job was a wolf, fading in smoke. It took me months to finish, as I kept changing my mind, and the smoke obscured the mistakes. “Who did the paint job?” He asked as he moved around to look at it from all sides. “Me.” I was proud of the results. “Does Mike know you can paint?” He sounded surprised. “He has seen my bike when I used the garage to do a service. He never asked who did the paint work, just that he liked it.” “Sweet, looks like we have someone to do touch-ups, and possibly a full paint job. We have a family reunion in a few weeks, and the ladies are invited to come along. You can join us.” Bruiser offered as my ladies arrived; they were not included in that invitation, I assumed, because I have a bike. “Bruiser, you already met Jenny, Melony, Karen, and Heather, my other BFF, and Alice, Karen's sister, and BFF to my sister.” Adding that comment, hoping that Bruiser knew precisely what that woman was like. Alice battered her eyes and leaned forward to show off what was under that almost shirt. My ladies greeted him with the respect he deserved. “Ladies. Hands out.” Bruiser stamped the girl's backs of their hands; they all had a bear, except Alice, who had a rabbit on her hand. I frowned, trying to figure out what the rabbit was all about. He pushed my hand away. “You are family, no need for a stamp.” I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my face. I felt so special. Then the shoe dropped. Rabbit meant she would open her legs. Bruiser got my meaning loud and clear. It took a while to understand the purpose of the stamps. “Come inside and meet the ole ladies.” I understood what he meant; these were ladies who had been claimed and had a different level of respect that those not claimed would never understand. I have met a few of them over the years and gained more insight into club life. They respect me as much as I respect them. We entered the place, and the girls who had been waiting outside gave us a dirty look, as they were still stopped from entering. “What's so special about them?” One pouted, but Bruiser ignored her. Inside was cleaner than I had expected —my fault for judging a group of men, since they often look messy when I see them at the shop. The place had a large, open space, with tables where you stand, as well as booths dotted along the walls, and stools at the bar, which ran the full length of the room. I loved the spacious room, the pictures on the walls, and some bike parts scattered about as decoration. A few barstools are bike seats; it was different, and it appealed to me. Being a lover of bikes. “Sticks.” I greeted her as we got closer to the ladies Bruiser was taking us to. “Hey, Maxie Max. How's it blowing?” She stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. This chick had no filter or personal space. Sticks was the President's; her real name was Sandra, but she was my height at five-nine, and she had no shape to her body, just a lovely bean pole, almost no chest to speak of, yet she had had two boys. Hence the name Sticks. “Doing better,” I replied. She would know what was going on. She introduced us to the other ladies with her, and it didn’t surprise me that Alice had already moved away from us before we had finished the introductions. “What’s her story?” Sticks asked as she watched Alice start to try her luck with the club men. “Same as my sister. Bruiser put a rabbit stamp on her hand.” Sticks and the other girl roared out laughing. “She will be used, abused, and kicked to the side by the time the night is over, and I doubt they would let her back in. We don’t need her sort in the club.” Maggie spouted as we watched a patch member knock her offer back. “The regulars are not going to like her working their turf. So, to speak.” Tootsie said, with a smirk, that the regulars know the rules and stick with them. Don’t approach a patch member; if interested, they will come to you. Nom’s are fair game. But most girls would prefer a patch member. Don’t touch a taken member; the women will gang up and make your life miserable if you feel one of theirs. Wait to be let into the clubhouse and then stay in the public area. No going upstairs uninvited. The first two floors are designated for guest rooms, while the top floor is reserved for permanent residences. Those who don’t have a home of their own to go to. They are private and not open to wandering girls. Don’t touch or sit on someone’s bike, unless you are given permission. The patched old ladies are the bosses of the girls; they tell you to leave or do something, and you do it. There were more rules for the girls visiting, but I couldn’t remember them all at that moment. None had applied to me until now. Alice had already broken at least three, to my knowledge. I am staying out of it. That rabbit on her hand told the members that she would open her legs for any of them, and no one would support her if she broke the rules. That she was not welcome to return, in other words, have your fun, and then kick her to the curb. The doors were opened to let the other girls in. They looked at us in the no-go zone and pouted. We were sitting in an off-limits area unless we were invited. From what I understood, they were here to spread their legs and give the guys some relief, but not become part of the family. They might be hopeful that something would change; it was rare for a patch member to take one of these ladies, who had most likely been with every unattached member of the gang, at some point. My girls left me with Sticks and wandered about with the other ladies, getting the tour of the place. “Want to look around?” Sticks were offered, and before I knew it, we were walking around the vast ground floor. “Ready to see the workshop, the guys might talk you into helping out, once they know who you are.” Sticks led me down a small pathway, lined with flowering shrubs, and to a set of large, farm-size sheds. Inside were bikes, some in bits, others crumpled from an accident, and others like they had just been detailed and were someone's pride and joy. There was a workshop here, where men were working on their bikes. They looked up at us when we entered and frowned. If Sticks were not with me, they would have most likely growled at me to get out. “Who’s this Sticks?” A monster of a man asked, in the deepest voice I have ever heard, he looked a lot like the man at the gate, but with more toned muscles, that I would love to run my fingers over. Just a tad taller, and although he looked big and scary, he made my lady parts sing in a way they had never sung before. Tank POV A few guys aren't into parties, so I stopped going until later in the night, when the girls who showed up were already taken. I dislike the women who come here hoping to adopt our lifestyle. I prefer to use my hand rather than one of those women. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my share of women; however, I had a girl who pushed me to take her, and when I did, she ended up in the hospital, because I am not exactly a little man, and I ripped her apart. She needed stitches, and I have not been with a woman since. Like my brother, we are both large men; he is six feet six inches tall, and I am six feet eight inches tall. He’s carrying extra weight, where I am all muscle. I pride myself on keeping in shape, but being this large has its downfall, and having a large build has had me worried about hurting another woman. No matter how much I might want to, I can’t; I never want to go through that again. The Prez was the only person who knew why I wouldn’t join the parties; he was with me when we took the girl to the hospital, she forgave me, and tried to pursue me to keep her, but I couldn’t. Each time I started to get intimate, I had flashes of her screams, and my confidence went down like a popped balloon. We were in the workshop, doing some minor tune-ups. As I prepare for our ride, I'm excited. When they bring the ladies, the men are usually in a better mood and on their best behavior. I was looking at rebuild. I started it last week. We have a few wrecks that need to be started; some have been sitting here far too long. We can only go so far before we need Mike's help. None of us was a mechanic. I was scratching my head, as I was almost at the end of my knowledge, when I heard someone enter, and a soft perfume that shouldn’t be in this shed hit my nose. Stick’s voice reached my ears, and I lifted my head up to look in her direction. “Who’s this Sticks?” The most beautiful girl I have ever seen had entered our sanctuary, a place where few girls are allowed, which made Sticks bring this beauty down to this dirt and grease, which was unexpectedly. “That is Max, from the shop, Mike's apprentice, who I think had finished her apprenticeship and is doing something extra on Harleys and getting some specialized license,” Banjo said as he moved forward to greet them. The others stood up and moved forward too, making me feel like a dill for not recognizing Max. Although I have only seen her a few times from a distance, and she was usually deep in bike repair, I barely got to see her face. We have not been introduced because I wouldn’t have forgotten that beauty if I had. Sticks introduced us all, and we greeted her before I decided I could use her help. I put the thoughts of what I wouldn’t mind doing to her behind me, not that I could do it. “Max, come look at this wreck. I am stuck with what to do next.” I called her over on the bike I was working on. “Tank, surely you could have waited for another day? She came for the party, not to work.” Sticks grumbled as Max walked to me. She was clean and smelled nice, and I had a fleeting moment of guilt for calling her over. The few times I had seen her, she was covered in oil and grease, wearing coveralls that hid her shapely figure. “Max, are you sure?” Sticks pulled on her hand to get her attention. “Yeah, I am more at home in here than out there,” Max said with a smile and turned back to me. “What's the problem?” She asked me to move forward and inspect the bike. I went into detail about what happened to the bike, what I had managed to do so far, and what I needed to move forward. Max removed her leather jacket and slung it over a nearby bike seat, then squatted down. For the next two hours, Max worked on the bike with me, guiding me through the tricky bits I couldn’t do. The others came forward and used this time as a sort of training session, and Max didn’t seem to mind at all. We asked questions as she worked on the bike, and she used me to lift the heavy parts. It was teamwork, and we completed more repairs in that time than I would have on my own. “Hey, Max,” Bruiser called out at the door. He stood with his legs apart, arms folded, and I wondered if we had done something wrong. “Back here.” She returned to the call of her name. He arrived and burst out laughing at us. “Max, I invited you to a party, you know, dancing and drinking, and socializing. This was not what I meant as a party.” He was still chuckling when the Prez walked in, with Sticks on his arm. “You still got her working out here?” Stick all but growled at us, when the Prez’s lady growls, we all listen. She’s the last person we want to make angry. “What?” I was confused, Max didn’t seem to mind, and we all were having a good time out here. “Hey, Prez. The party over?” Max calmly asked, but it sounded more like she had hoped it was. “Not even close, babes.” The Prez answered with a smile. He had gotten closer to Max over the years she had been at the bike shop. He had often talked about the female mechanic and her sassy ways. I had thought he was exaggerating, but after spending a little time with her, I was hooked. “We have nearly completed the repair job on Spider's bike. If we can have Max here for a few days, I bet we could hit the road by the end of the week.” I said it as it was my way of asking her to stay for a while and fix the bike. Spider was almost healed and ready to get back on his own bike. “Would have to ask Mike about that, she’s his employee, even if we own the shop, he runs it, and I don’t get involved with his employees,” Prez replied contemplatively. “He here?” I asked, as Mike often doesn’t show up at the weekend parties. “Yep, came half an hour ago.” Sticks answered as she handed Max a bottle of water. “Max, if Mike’s okay with it, would you work with us for a week, get some of these ready for the weekend ride?” Sparks asked, and I kicked myself for not considering that she might not want to spend a week here. “Sure, if Mike doesn’t need me, we have several bikes in for service before the ladies run.” Her sweet voice carried across the warehouse, and the guys nodded in understanding. “Thanks, babes,” Spike called out. Each one of us here enjoyed that she worked on our bikes; it might sound odd that we're letting a chick touch our bikes, but Max was not like most chicks. Who wants to sit on the bikes or lie on them? Max knows what she’s doing and has proven herself on numerous occasions. I wish I had known how attractive she was. Man, I had a semi since she walked in the door. The Prez will even let her ride her own bike, a privilege few ladies get. She was more part of the crew; no other girl I know works on bikes like she does, and her reputation over the time she's been an apprentice has been exemplary. Not a guy chaser. When word got out that our girl had been cheated on in the worst possible way, we all wanted to go and kill the man, even though half of us had never really met her, yeah, seen her in a distance, or legs poking out from under a truck, but never sat and talked with her before today. She was fun, had me chuckling a few times, but most of the time in here, she had been all about the bikes, and not flirting, like most chicks do when around us. They see the glamour of the lifestyle, but it's not for everyone. Maxine POV I was guided to a washroom on the side of the workshop, which had a deep steel sink and a shower, but no mirrors. There was a cupboard under the sink containing soaps and cleaning products, as well as a shelf with dark-colored towels. A door that led to a toilet, which was cleaner than I had expected. So far, this whole gang house had been cleaner than I thought a load of men would leave it. I had underestimated the guys and made assumptions about how guys I knew from school or parties would act; none of them were like that. Maybe it was because they are mostly men, whereas my experience had been with boys my age and lower. I cleaned the grease off my hands and arms and dried them. As I went through the routine of cleaning myself up, I thought about the party they had been pushing me to attend and how it had churned up my stomach. The last few times I went to a party, I was with my ex-boyfriend, and he ended up with my sister, so parties were not my thing. I always seem to lose something at parties. Mostly friends, who don’t like the fact that I don’t drink, I have never been a drinker, I might drink a beer to be sociable, and it would take me ages to finish it. Still, I never take shots and am never blind drunk. I had only once been drunk, and I didn’t like the feeling or the way it took me all day to recover, nor the hangover that seemed to be more than a headache. My friends get drunk, and I spend a lot of time cleaning up the messes they make, so I seem to be the one doing the cleanup most of the time, as they know I have their backs, even when I prefer not to do that part of it. I had just finished cleaning up when Tank came in, took one look at me, and started to chuckle. “What?” I asked, looking confused as he laughed. What did I do that was so funny? He didn’t say a word. He leaned over, picked up a cloth, and soaped it up, then gripped my chin in his huge hand, and gently wiped the side of my face, his eyes concentrating on the task, as if it was the most important job he had to do with care. He was so gentle, touching my face with soft, quick movements. His eyes then met mine, and I was lost in the deepest blue orbs I have ever seen. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat and blinked a few times to break the trance he had put me in, and took a step back, my body hitting the sink behind me. “You had some grease on your cheek.” He whispered in a husky voice so deep that it had my lady parts jumping for joy and need, something I am not familiar with. “Thank you,” I whispered back, my voice croaking, and I was shocked by the sound of my own voice; it was lower, warmer, and surprised me as much as Tank's did. His eyes widened at the husky sound. He took a step back and motioned with his hand for me to move past him. I quickly left the washroom and waited in the workshop, taking in the wrecks and wondering how badly the rider would have been hurt if the bike had looked like this. Hoping no one lost their lives. I thought about that for a while. I loved my bike, but I would never ditch it because I was scared. That the thought of falling off had never entered my mind, if I died while riding my bike, then I would have been doing what I love doing. I found I was okay with that. Not that I want to die, but I have thought about how I would like to go when my heart has been broken. “Hey, what are you doing still in here?” Rocket asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Hiding?” I joked back, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and came to stand beside me, looking at the bike I had been staring at. “Can it be fixed? It’s been sitting here for a long time, with no one having the skill to start repairing it. Well, they could give it a go, but this bike is so old that parts are almost impossible to get.” “Yeah, I can give it a try. I have some contacts who can obtain parts, but I can also manufacture some parts. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can come over on weekends and dedicate some time to it.” I suggested it would be a shame to let this panhead go to waste. There are enough pieces of the wrecked bike left to serve as a starting point. “Sweet, it will be good to see this bike out on the road again.” Rocket looked genuinely pleased that the bike could be restored. I restore old cars, trucks, and bikes with Grandpa. I have the equipment stored in a shed for when I have a place of my own to use the machines. I wonder if they have a shed where I can put them. I will need one of the machines. “Ready?” Tank asked; he had shed the work shirt and pulled on a gang shirt. His muscles are on display. Yummy. He makes me feel tiny when I am beside him. “Tank, Max said she can restore the baby.” Tank’s head turned to look at the wreck, and then at me. “For real? Max, can you do that?” Tank looked surprised. After spending a few hours with me, working on bikes, he had to ask that? “Yeah, I can, need to talk to the Prez about some space, but I can do it.” Both guys frowned and looked around the workshop. But they didn’t say anything. Or question me further. Tank put his hand on my lower back and gave a slight push, making me start to walk out of the workshop. It was dark out. Tank guided me to the back door, Rocket leading the way. He opened the door for me and waved me in, as if I were someone important. Causing me to giggle. Yeah, you heard me; I giggled like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous, and not something I had ever expected to come out of my mouth. The guys didn’t even blink at the giggle. The place was warm inside, vibrating with the loud thump of the bass. You could hardly hear the person next to you speak over the heavy music. It reeked of cigarettes and booze. The girls who had been at the door waiting to get in were busy with patch members kissing and almost doing the deed right there on the chair. Some were grinding their hips against the man below them, and the small amount of clothing they had on was even less now. I assumed they were well on their way to being drunk. This was a classic visual of why men lose respect for some kinds of women. I am embarrassed to see it in front of me. I looked around the room and saw my friends still with Sticks, and a couple of guys hanging around nearby. My friends look like they are having fun, and they have a few patch members who seem friendly to them. I hope the girls know what they are doing. The gang life was not for everyone. Dad had once spoken badly about gangs, and he hated it when I became an apprentice at the bike shop. Grandpa was the one who encouraged me to have an apprenticeship. He hated that Dad and Mum were backing my sister in everything, and maybe encouraging me to be a mechanic at the bike shop was his way to get back at Dad. Dad had even tried to get me to leave the bike shop when Grandpa had died. But I had made a pact with Grandpa that I wouldn’t give in to Dad. To live the life I want, and never give in, no matter what the consequences are. I wonder what Grandpa would say if he were alive and saw Dad kick me out of the family home, for the sake of my sister. He would be livered, that’s for sure. But I did as Grandpa said, stood firm, and stayed true to myself. “Hey Maxi Max, come join us. Cricket, grab Max an iced water.” Sticks patted the chair next to her, and before I could move to sit beside her, Tank grabbed me around the waist and took a couple of giant steps to the chair, and sat down, holding me on his lap. The girls looked at each other, then, between Tank and me, the confused look changed to a grin and a nod —whatever that was about.
"“My guys found her. She’s at the MagDog clubhouse. Fixing their bikes.” “What?” Her father’s brow furrowed. “Then tell her to come home. Our business is drowning.” “She wouldn’t. Maxine sent back a message: ‘You gave my room to a bast3rd baby. I gave my keys to a biker.’” The room froze. Dan, Maxine’s ex-boyfriend, now her sister’s fiancé, remembered the last Christmas. Zoey’s moans. Maxine’s bed. Her white sheets. Zoey remembered stealing him—the third boyfriend she’d taken from her sister. And Mom and Dad never once said stop. Her parents remembered looking at their bleeding daughter and telling her to leave. For a nursery. For the cheater’s child. None of them had ever chosen her. “At least she’s safe,” her mother whispered, sobbing with regret. “Safe? She’s living above a bike shop. But she’s got the whole club at her back. Especially their giant—Tank. Six-foot-eight. Never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her. And... their president also sent a message.” “Go on,” her father urged, anxiety simmering beneath. “‘You didn’t want her. We do. Touch her fortune? We’ll end you.’” The words landed like a punch. No one moved. No one breathed. Outside, a Harley roared past the window. She didn’t even slow down." --- Maxine POV “Go home, you have worked too much overtime this week. Have an early night and give that boyfriend of yours an early treat.” My boss practically pushed me out the door, a wicked grin on his face. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’m going. I straddled my bike and started her up. This was going to be a great night. Today was my boyfriend's birthday, and I was going to give him my V-card as a special gift. I had brought new lingerie, black lace, see-through, and I had shaved my mound, leaving a trail that looked like an arrow pointing down to my juncture. I was ready to give him my all, my first, my heart, take the big plunge. I felt I was ready. I pulled into the driveway to see my sister's and my boyfriend’s cars. I had no idea my sister was coming home today. She was still at college in her final year, though I heard she wasn't doing so well. The poor golden girl has not met up with expectations, not that I was worried. My ex-boyfriend showed up three hours early; our date was not for a few more hours. What was he doing here already? Walking in the back door, I heard voices and headed towards them; they were in Dad’s office, with the door slightly ajar. I moved silently to the door and waited outside to hear what secrets they were having now. They occasionally do this when they are planning something and don’t want to include me, but I'm puzzled as to why my boyfriend and sister were included. “We never planned for it to happen.” My sister replied softly, as if she were some kind of victim; she was an expert at that. She should have been an actress; she would have won multiple Oscars by now. “When?” Dad asked, and I waited in the hallway to hear what this was all about. “Christmas day, we had too many of your special eggnogs, and things got heated. The party was more or less over; the presents had been given out, and the food had been eaten. We were all mulling around, talking, when Zoey said something, I don’t remember what—but we went upstairs to continue talking, and ended up in Maxine’s room. We did start by just talking, and before I knew it, we were kissing and things got heated, and ended up in her bed, like I said, and I was so lost in that moment that I forgot to use a protection. When we came out, no one seemed to notice we had been gone, so we pretended it never happened.” My boyfriend replied, and my heart just hit the floor, as I took in that my sister and boyfriend did the dirty in my bed at Christmas. MY BED. I slept in that bed, with their mess on the sheets. I feel suddenly sick at that thought. How could they do that to me? She stole another boyfriend from me again. But he was just as much to blame; I guess our relationship was not that strong yet. Not on his side at least. He continued to pretend, kissing me and taking me out on dates, as if that never happened. What a jerk. Now I feel cheated, dirty, ashamed, and angry all at once. What if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, and I ended up married to that cheating scumbag? Would her wedding present be to tell me she had slept with him first? I wouldn’t put it past her to do such a thing. She had done that before with my boyfriends, and I guess this one was just as vulnerable to her advances as the last one. “He gave me the best Christmas present ever.” My sister crowed with delight. I could imagine her tenderly touching her belly. “This is good news. I have wanted grandchildren, and the last grandchild I would have expected would be from you; you have never kept a relationship for long.” Mum said, sounding excited at the news. “What now?” My sister asked, still playing the perfect victim. “We get married?’ My now ex-boyfriend suggested —sounds more like a question. “What about Maxine?” My sister asked, as if I were an inconvenience that needed to be sorted out, and now they think about me, but it didn’t sound like concern. “What about her? This is about my first grandchild, and his or her safety comes first. She will have to live with it.” My mother spat, revealing that famous favoritism, because she had always taken my sister's side in everything, even when proven wrong. They never backed me up. “I am technically her boyfriend.” He started to say something, but was interrupted. “Not anymore, you're not. I will arrange with the local publican to hire the outdoor garden area, and we shall have an engagement party this Saturday. Get that sorted before you start to show, and Maxine will show her support.” Dad’s voice floated out, sounding resolute. I had no say in this, not that I wanted to be his girlfriend any longer; he had proven not to be what I wanted in a guy. “She will have to leave. I need her room for the nursery. I would prefer it if she didn't attend the engagement party. What will those who know she was the real girlfriend show up, and see that it was not Maxine getting engaged?” Mum added. Yep, that was my mother, trying to regain her dignity and save face. I couldn’t take it any longer. I was devastated enough, and listening further to their support for the love for the cheater was eating me up inside. I didn’t want to cry in front of them; the tears were a mix of anger and hurt. I pushed the door open, revealing myself standing there. All faces turned to look at me. “Let me get this straight. You took my boyfriend to MY bed, did the dirty with him, leaving your mess in my bed, as a sort of Christmas present for me. Guess that made your day, thinking I was sleeping in your mess. Now you want my bedroom for the child baby you have created, and I am what, just pushed out the door? Like yesterday’s trash?” I asked to ensure I understood correctly that the whole family was fine with me being tossed aside. “Exactly, I am taking your boyfriend, your bedroom, and you, my dear sister, have to move out.” My sister sounded like she had won the lottery. Her face beamed at her triumph. “Fine with me.” The look of shock would have made me laugh if I were not so numb inside. I moved away to my room and packed what I could into my duffel bag. I will come back for the rest later, when they are not around. My heart was breaking, not because I lost my boyfriend, although that hurt a lot, considering that what I was going to give him for his present today was saved for doing something foolish at least. But also because both parents were supporting this deception, as if it were the best news they had received in a while, that they had been trying to get rid of me for a while, and now succeeded in a spectacular way. I walked downstairs and looked at them. “When I find a place to stay, I will be back for the rest.” I spat at them, a mixture of hurt, anger, and defeat. I never fit into the family, a black sheep, so maybe I should become one. I had always had top grades, won awards, done my best, but even being first, I was still last. My best friend was the only place I could think of going to; it had to be temporary. Jenny will be cool and let me sleep on her couch till I find a new home. I climbed onto my bike and took off to the only sanctuary I had over the years. Jenny welcomed me into her home, like I knew she would, and together we had a pity party consisting of beer and vanilla fudge ice cream. We called the family and my ex some interesting names, some of which I had never heard before, but they sounded good. The drunker I got, the more inventive the names became. The next morning, after waking up on Jenny’s couch and remembering yesterday, it did not go as planned. I pulled myself together, had a quick shower, and left for work. It was eight in the morning, and Jenny was still asleep when I left. That might be okay for some, but my workday today would be ten hours long, and I was running late. “You're late, night must have gone better than planned,” Mike said jovially. They sort of knew what I was planning last night. The others chuckled along with Mike. I grumbled some shiet and got to work. By the end of the day, Mike pulled me to his office. “Okay, out with it. The guys have been tiptoeing around you all day. What happened? He rejected your advances?” He asked, his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, looking at me with concerned eyes, a father figure, better than my dad had ever been. So, I told him what happened when I got home and where I spent the night, and now I'm looking for a place to stay. I was proud of myself; I didn’t cry, or whine, or show any emotion at all —just explained my predicament in cold, emotionless words. Clear and succinct. He said he wouldn’t say anything in the shop, but would talk to the prez. I had no idea why, but I was not in the right frame of mind to question it. Maxine POV Today was my sister's engagement party; engaged to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, you heard me right, my ex. What a joke that was. I had been dating Dan for six months when my sister, who was a year older than I, came home for Christmas and ended up in bed with my boyfriend. She’s a shameless woman, always has been, but I never expected him to sleep with her. I thought we were secure in our relationship. The only good thing I took away from this was that I never went to bed with him; my virginity card was still intact, not that I was trying to keep it - I just never got the chance to lose it. She always managed to have any guy I was interested in dump me for her, and when she got bored with them, she’d move on. So, in a way, I didn’t have a boyfriend till she moved out of her home and headed to college. But when my sister came home and met him, she seduced him and got pregnant. He did the whole ‘get down on one knee and proposed’ scene. Apparently, it was romantic, but I wasn't there when he did it because they didn’t want me around. It hurt a lot at the time, and I was glad to have my girlfriends around me, helping me get over it. They say, I dodged a bullet. I agree with them, stupidly. He might have been a sports jock with good looks, but doing this tells me he was weak and shallow, and I was too good for him, or so my BFF says. I prefer to believe them over the excuses my ex made. I had to move out of my home after I had a massive fight with my parents a few days ago, when the truth was exposed; they supported her, not me, and the next thing I knew, I was out the door and the evil sister. The engagement party was intended to introduce him to her friends and make the relationship official, but I was not invited. My parents want nothing to do with me. I made them all uncomfortable, considering he was my boyfriend first. Anyone working out the timeline for the baby can piece it together, and see they were cheating on me, and it would have been awkward, and too many questions would have been raised. Not that I needed to say all of that, I kind of said it all before, but grrrrr, I am so angry at how my so-called ‘family’ kicked me out of my so-called home, with no care for me or my feelings. It was easier to push me away and disown me than have to explain to them that my sister cheated with my boyfriend, and hey presto, a baby was on the way. Because I was kicked out of the house, and only had a short time to pack anything, I took the opportunity of the party to sneak into the house and take more of my possessions, like opening my father's safe, and grabbing every piece of paper relating to me, and a little money too, no a lot of money, and grandma’s jewelry that she left me. So, with the help of my BFF, we packed my belongings and took them to her place until I found a new one. I ride a motorcycle, so I need help. I have the money to buy a new place, but I'm unsure if I want to stay in this town now. Once my apprenticeship is over, I might move away. I stayed that night at Jenny’s place, as I figured out what to do. Today, I am moving into my new place —a bungalow above the bike shop where I work. I am in my final year of apprenticeship, and I am a motorcycle mechanic, proud of it, I might add. I can also work on cars and trucks. If it had a motor, I could fix it; I always could, thanks to my knack for it, which I developed since I was eight, when I fell in love with engines. My Grandpa taught me, kept me out of everyone's way. I guess you could say I was a tomboy, with no frills and lace. My Grandpa kept me sane and busy, so the BS in our house didn’t hurt me as much. The place has two bedrooms and is fully contained, meaning it has everything I need. I had purchased some new sheets and towels, that sort of thing, but it had a fully stocked kitchen; I only needed to buy the food. It might be small, and above a noisy bike shop, but at night it was a quiet area. No one would break into this shop; the local bikie gang owned it. They were good guys, scary, but so far, no trouble for me. My BFF, Jenny, was helping me take my belongings upstairs when a group of bikers arrived and assisted us. I had five boxes and two suitcases filled with all sorts of items. “Thanks, guys, for the help,” I said sweetly, my BFF batting her eyes at them and swaying her hips suggestively as she walked and thanked them. She makes me laugh with her antics, which are totally opposite to mine. I like jeans and am rarely seen in a dress, whereas she was seldom seen in jeans. “We got a party at the clubhouse, tomorrow Saturday, you should come and relax a bit, bring your girls with ya,” Bruiser suggested as he threw his arm over my shoulder, walked me to the settee, pushed me down, and handed me a beer they had brought with them. This was how they acted around me, ordered me about. Sometimes, I'm okay with it; other times, I get all worked up and growl back at them. Today was acceptance. I know they mean well, and I feel lucky to have them as family; they try to make me feel better. “That sounds like a blast, count me in, and I can bring two other girl friends with us. Max, do you want me to pick you up?” Jenny offered, taking a beer from one of the guys. She was not a beer drinker; however, in this situation, I could see her not refusing anything they offered. I guess I'm going, whether I want to or not. “No, I’ll ride over,” I replied as one of the guys ordered pizza. “That’s the spirit. Nothing like the wind in your hair to blow the cobwebs away.” They stayed because they didn’t want me to be alone, not on my first night here. Pizza arrived not long after, and my little bungalow was soon feeling too small and crowded, with six huge bikers in the room. Some sat on the floor; others pulled up one of the three kitchen chairs. I know, I know, three chairs sound odd, but that's what was here, and beggars can’t be choosers; the rent was dirt cheap, and I think the boys are the ones to make sure I had everything I needed. They found out about my situation the next day, because, I was still quiet at work, which was not like me, often I am singing to the radio, or swearing at something, so one of the guys approached me, to find out what gives, and I softly told them, what went down, and when word got around the bikers heard I needed a place to stay, because I was kicked out of my home and why, they came to me, like protective brothers. Now I have a whole gang of bikers who have my back. I feel privileged to call them friends. They even offered to rough the ex up for me, but I refused the offer, because strangely, I was happy to get rid of the loser if he was a cheating build. Better now than when I am fully invested in our relationship. Plus, I was in deep enough shite with my parents and sister without making it worse. The pizza was gone, my BFF left for home, and the guys did too. It was late, well, for me, midnight. I usually fall asleep quickly because I have to be up for work at five. Tomorrow, being Saturday, I have the morning shift before the party later. They let me leave work early so I can move in here. “Hey, don’t forget to come, we need our prettiest mechanic at the party, some of the boys might need a tune-up,” Bruiser said with a laugh as they climbed on their bikes and left. I know what sort of tune-up he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with a motor. I looked around my new home. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. The guys were great; they took the empty pizza boxes and beer cans with them, and the place was relatively clean. Not at all what you would expect from a group of rowdy men. The clubhouse. I had never been to it, despite having worked there for nearly four years, and they had never extended an invitation to me. I know they had lots of parties; maybe I was too young. I turned twenty recently, but they might think of me as the fifteen-year-old who showed up one day and told the boss I was going to be his apprentice. He laughed at first and said he would give me a go to prove myself. He thought I was joking and that I would be gone by the weekend, but over the holidays, I worked hard and have been here ever since. Maxine POV The beeping sound of my phone alarm made me sit up and look around. It took a moment to remember where I was. The room had a small curtain that barely kept the light out. There was a streetlight just outside my window. I can envisage myself getting better blackout curtains soon. Although it was annoying, it wasn't among my top priorities for making this a home. The shower was decent, with nice pressure. I followed my morning routine, only to realize how foolish I was to wake up so early, living above my place of work; I didn’t need to ride here. After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I still had half an hour before I needed to be at work. I had two ways to get into my place: one was through the back stairs, and the other was through the shop. With the code to turn off the alarm, I decided to head down and start work early. It was better than moving stuff around; I can do that later. I had a bike to finish by this afternoon. The customer would be here at two. Turned off the alarm, turned on the coffee pot, the radio, and headed to my workstation, where the fat boy was waiting for me to finish. I sat on the stool with casters and began my job, singing loudly to the heavy rock song that came on the radio as I installed the new spark plugs and double-checked the oil. It was a simple, easy-peasy service. Once finished, I started the bike up, let it idle while I made coffee, then returned to rev it a few times. It sounds lumpy, like it was just turning over perfectly; it was music to my ears. I love that throaty, deep, lumpy sound. You can feel it vibrate through my chest. “That’s a sound I loved to hear as I enter work.” My boss, Mike, said as I turned the bike off. “It’s ready to go, unless you want to take it out for a test ride. Want a coffee, pots hot.” I offered as I threw the dirty rag in the bin. “Sure, I will take the bike out for a spin, and you can make me a coffee.” He smirked as he grabbed the bike. I opened the garage door, and Mike took off. I smiled as he disappeared down the street, and I turned to make both of us coffee. If you hadn’t guessed already, I would drink a lot of coffee. I am not a fan of soft drinks or tea; for me, it's coffee or water. With a broom in hand, I began cleaning the shop. I am not out here very often, but I try to sweep the floor at least once a week; they have another apprentice who’s a second year, who gets to do most of the cleaning up, but he’s never here on a Saturday. The sound of the bike returning prompted me to pick up the two cups of coffee and head back out to the workshop. Mike had a massive grin on his face as he parked the bike. “Great job, you are our top mechanic. But don’t tell anyone, or I will have to deny it.” He joked, taking his coffee from my hand as he walked by, no doubt letting the customer know the bike was ready ahead of time. I moved to the next bike, which was a total rebuild; it had been in a minor accident, and while the frame was being checked, I would work on the engine and gearbox. It was the only job on my list at the moment. The bike owner was in no hurry; he had a broken leg, giving me a few weeks to work on his bike and any urgent jobs that might come into the shop. The client arrived and happily took possession of his bike, very happy with the job done. “I hear you’ve been invited to the club party tonight,” Mike said as he rang up the sale on the cash register. “Yep.” I said popping the ‘p’. “You can leave now, we have no more customers expected. Good job today.” It was close to one o’clock, near the time I would knock off. “Thanks, boss.” I saluted him and rushed upstairs, before he could change his mind. Giggling all the way up. I heard him chuckling as he locked the door below, behind me. I decided on a quick shower; I didn’t want to smell of oil when going to a party. Put on my skinny black jeans, a black blouse that had red flames on the back and on the pockets, black boots that had some chains around the ankle, and hair in a ponytail. I will get what we call helmet hair, so it's a waste to do much with it now. I use mascara and strawberry lip gloss, which is more to moisturize my lips, which tend to dry out when I ride my bike, and that's it. The last thing I grabbed before leaving was my jacket. My mum used to grumble that I wasn’t like my sister and put more effort into my appearance, but I like who I am, and I didn’t like wearing lots of makeup; it was my choice, and I feel that I am not a frilly, lacey chick. It was a deal breaker with my mum. She had my sister dress up and left me in the care of Grandpa until he died when I was seventeen. It broke me when he left the world. He was the only person who got me. My grandma had been gone since I was young, and I filled the hole in his heart with my love for bikes and fishing. He left me his money and bikes. Dad got his house and business. My mum hated that I gained all that money. When Grandma died, she left me her jewelry, and Grandpa made sure to keep it safe till I was old enough to have it. I ate something and put some more of my stuff in the cupboards before my phone chimed to let me know my girlfriends were on their way to the party. I pulled my bike out of the small garage and started it up. I threw my leg over and took off, heading to the property. The clubhouse was half an hour out of town, set on a large property a little bit back from the road. Ten minutes later, I came up behind the girls and hung out behind them. My friend waved me on to take the lead. I shrugged and overtook her. The turn off arrived, and I rode happily up the long drive, and trees lined the road. An open, large steel gate appeared, and I was glad it was still enough light to see clearly. Men stood by the entrance, watching us arrive. “Hey.” I greeted the biggest man I had ever seen. “Who invited you here?” The man asked gruffly, in a deep husky voice. “Bruiser,” I answered, with a firm, clear voice, hoping that the fact that he frightened me would be noticed in my voice. He pulled out his phone and called, I assumed, Bruiser. “Max?” He asked, as he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. He said something more and hung up the phone. “Come in, the car behind your girls?” He looked at the car behind, which clearly had a woman in it. “Yep,” I replied, not at all liking how he intimidated me with his manner. Perhaps it was the way they greeted strangers. One look makes the weak run. Well, I am not weak, and I won't be running. Maxine POV This rather large biker leaned in to look inside the car, his bulky figure partially blocking the open window, causing the girl nearest it to back away. Satisfied, he looked at me with a knowing smirk, then motioned for us to enter. The clubhouse was nothing like I had imagined. Firstly, it was four levels high. Verandah all the way around, that I could see. It was more like a mansion than a clubhouse. Women were gathered near the door, looking in, as if they were waiting for something; some were sitting on the wooden fence that surrounded the verandah. They were dressed in barely anything, showing all that was available, some love that sort of thing. People like me dress to stay warm or cool and don’t care about showing off the goods. Bikes sat in neat rows in front, and cars were parked to the left of the building; the ratio of bikes to cars was approximately four bikes to one car. I parked the bike with the others, climbed off, and took off my helmet. I placed the lid on the bike and shook out my hair while waiting for the girls to park and come to me. I heard some muffled scoffs, but I couldn’t care less —I wasn't here to please them. Bruiser came out of the clubhouse behind me. “Max, you came by bike. Sweet.” He gave me a gentle squeeze and moved to take a closer look at my bike. The paint job was a wolf, fading in smoke. It took me months to finish, as I kept changing my mind, and the smoke obscured the mistakes. “Who did the paint job?” He asked as he moved around to look at it from all sides. “Me.” I was proud of the results. “Does Mike know you can paint?” He sounded surprised. “He has seen my bike when I used the garage to do a service. He never asked who did the paint work, just that he liked it.” “Sweet, looks like we have someone to do touch-ups, and possibly a full paint job. We have a family reunion in a few weeks, and the ladies are invited to come along. You can join us.” Bruiser offered as my ladies arrived; they were not included in that invitation, I assumed, because I have a bike. “Bruiser, you already met Jenny, Melony, Karen, and Heather, my other BFF, and Alice, Karen's sister, and BFF to my sister.” Adding that comment, hoping that Bruiser knew precisely what that woman was like. Alice battered her eyes and leaned forward to show off what was under that almost shirt. My ladies greeted him with the respect he deserved. “Ladies. Hands out.” Bruiser stamped the girl's backs of their hands; they all had a bear, except Alice, who had a rabbit on her hand. I frowned, trying to figure out what the rabbit was all about. He pushed my hand away. “You are family, no need for a stamp.” I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my face. I felt so special. Then the shoe dropped. Rabbit meant she would open her legs. Bruiser got my meaning loud and clear. It took a while to understand the purpose of the stamps. “Come inside and meet the ole ladies.” I understood what he meant; these were ladies who had been claimed and had a different level of respect that those not claimed would never understand. I have met a few of them over the years and gained more insight into club life. They respect me as much as I respect them. We entered the place, and the girls who had been waiting outside gave us a dirty look, as they were still stopped from entering. “What's so special about them?” One pouted, but Bruiser ignored her. Inside was cleaner than I had expected —my fault for judging a group of men, since they often look messy when I see them at the shop. The place had a large, open space, with tables where you stand, as well as booths dotted along the walls, and stools at the bar, which ran the full length of the room. I loved the spacious room, the pictures on the walls, and some bike parts scattered about as decoration. A few barstools are bike seats; it was different, and it appealed to me. Being a lover of bikes. “Sticks.” I greeted her as we got closer to the ladies Bruiser was taking us to. “Hey, Maxie Max. How's it blowing?” She stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. This chick had no filter or personal space. Sticks was the President's; her real name was Sandra, but she was my height at five-nine, and she had no shape to her body, just a lovely bean pole, almost no chest to speak of, yet she had had two boys. Hence the name Sticks. “Doing better,” I replied. She would know what was going on. She introduced us to the other ladies with her, and it didn’t surprise me that Alice had already moved away from us before we had finished the introductions. “What’s her story?” Sticks asked as she watched Alice start to try her luck with the club men. “Same as my sister. Bruiser put a rabbit stamp on her hand.” Sticks and the other girl roared out laughing. “She will be used, abused, and kicked to the side by the time the night is over, and I doubt they would let her back in. We don’t need her sort in the club.” Maggie spouted as we watched a patch member knock her offer back. “The regulars are not going to like her working their turf. So, to speak.” Tootsie said, with a smirk, that the regulars know the rules and stick with them. Don’t approach a patch member; if interested, they will come to you. Nom’s are fair game. But most girls would prefer a patch member. Don’t touch a taken member; the women will gang up and make your life miserable if you feel one of theirs. Wait to be let into the clubhouse and then stay in the public area. No going upstairs uninvited. The first two floors are designated for guest rooms, while the top floor is reserved for permanent residences. Those who don’t have a home of their own to go to. They are private and not open to wandering girls. Don’t touch or sit on someone’s bike, unless you are given permission. The patched old ladies are the bosses of the girls; they tell you to leave or do something, and you do it. There were more rules for the girls visiting, but I couldn’t remember them all at that moment. None had applied to me until now. Alice had already broken at least three, to my knowledge. I am staying out of it. That rabbit on her hand told the members that she would open her legs for any of them, and no one would support her if she broke the rules. That she was not welcome to return, in other words, have your fun, and then kick her to the curb. The doors were opened to let the other girls in. They looked at us in the no-go zone and pouted. We were sitting in an off-limits area unless we were invited. From what I understood, they were here to spread their legs and give the guys some relief, but not become part of the family. They might be hopeful that something would change; it was rare for a patch member to take one of these ladies, who had most likely been with every unattached member of the gang, at some point. My girls left me with Sticks and wandered about with the other ladies, getting the tour of the place. “Want to look around?” Sticks were offered, and before I knew it, we were walking around the vast ground floor. “Ready to see the workshop, the guys might talk you into helping out, once they know who you are.” Sticks led me down a small pathway, lined with flowering shrubs, and to a set of large, farm-size sheds. Inside were bikes, some in bits, others crumpled from an accident, and others like they had just been detailed and were someone's pride and joy. There was a workshop here, where men were working on their bikes. They looked up at us when we entered and frowned. If Sticks were not with me, they would have most likely growled at me to get out. “Who’s this Sticks?” A monster of a man asked, in the deepest voice I have ever heard, he looked a lot like the man at the gate, but with more toned muscles, that I would love to run my fingers over. Just a tad taller, and although he looked big and scary, he made my lady parts sing in a way they had never sung before. Tank POV A few guys aren't into parties, so I stopped going until later in the night, when the girls who showed up were already taken. I dislike the women who come here hoping to adopt our lifestyle. I prefer to use my hand rather than one of those women. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my share of women; however, I had a girl who pushed me to take her, and when I did, she ended up in the hospital, because I am not exactly a little man, and I ripped her apart. She needed stitches, and I have not been with a woman since. Like my brother, we are both large men; he is six feet six inches tall, and I am six feet eight inches tall. He’s carrying extra weight, where I am all muscle. I pride myself on keeping in shape, but being this large has its downfall, and having a large build has had me worried about hurting another woman. No matter how much I might want to, I can’t; I never want to go through that again. The Prez was the only person who knew why I wouldn’t join the parties; he was with me when we took the girl to the hospital, she forgave me, and tried to pursue me to keep her, but I couldn’t. Each time I started to get intimate, I had flashes of her screams, and my confidence went down like a popped balloon. We were in the workshop, doing some minor tune-ups. As I prepare for our ride, I'm excited. When they bring the ladies, the men are usually in a better mood and on their best behavior. I was looking at rebuild. I started it last week. We have a few wrecks that need to be started; some have been sitting here far too long. We can only go so far before we need Mike's help. None of us was a mechanic. I was scratching my head, as I was almost at the end of my knowledge, when I heard someone enter, and a soft perfume that shouldn’t be in this shed hit my nose. Stick’s voice reached my ears, and I lifted my head up to look in her direction. “Who’s this Sticks?” The most beautiful girl I have ever seen had entered our sanctuary, a place where few girls are allowed, which made Sticks bring this beauty down to this dirt and grease, which was unexpectedly. “That is Max, from the shop, Mike's apprentice, who I think had finished her apprenticeship and is doing something extra on Harleys and getting some specialized license,” Banjo said as he moved forward to greet them. The others stood up and moved forward too, making me feel like a dill for not recognizing Max. Although I have only seen her a few times from a distance, and she was usually deep in bike repair, I barely got to see her face. We have not been introduced because I wouldn’t have forgotten that beauty if I had. Sticks introduced us all, and we greeted her before I decided I could use her help. I put the thoughts of what I wouldn’t mind doing to her behind me, not that I could do it. “Max, come look at this wreck. I am stuck with what to do next.” I called her over on the bike I was working on. “Tank, surely you could have waited for another day? She came for the party, not to work.” Sticks grumbled as Max walked to me. She was clean and smelled nice, and I had a fleeting moment of guilt for calling her over. The few times I had seen her, she was covered in oil and grease, wearing coveralls that hid her shapely figure. “Max, are you sure?” Sticks pulled on her hand to get her attention. “Yeah, I am more at home in here than out there,” Max said with a smile and turned back to me. “What's the problem?” She asked me to move forward and inspect the bike. I went into detail about what happened to the bike, what I had managed to do so far, and what I needed to move forward. Max removed her leather jacket and slung it over a nearby bike seat, then squatted down. For the next two hours, Max worked on the bike with me, guiding me through the tricky bits I couldn’t do. The others came forward and used this time as a sort of training session, and Max didn’t seem to mind at all. We asked questions as she worked on the bike, and she used me to lift the heavy parts. It was teamwork, and we completed more repairs in that time than I would have on my own. “Hey, Max,” Bruiser called out at the door. He stood with his legs apart, arms folded, and I wondered if we had done something wrong. “Back here.” She returned to the call of her name. He arrived and burst out laughing at us. “Max, I invited you to a party, you know, dancing and drinking, and socializing. This was not what I meant as a party.” He was still chuckling when the Prez walked in, with Sticks on his arm. “You still got her working out here?” Stick all but growled at us, when the Prez’s lady growls, we all listen. She’s the last person we want to make angry. “What?” I was confused, Max didn’t seem to mind, and we all were having a good time out here. “Hey, Prez. The party over?” Max calmly asked, but it sounded more like she had hoped it was. “Not even close, babes.” The Prez answered with a smile. He had gotten closer to Max over the years she had been at the bike shop. He had often talked about the female mechanic and her sassy ways. I had thought he was exaggerating, but after spending a little time with her, I was hooked. “We have nearly completed the repair job on Spider's bike. If we can have Max here for a few days, I bet we could hit the road by the end of the week.” I said it as it was my way of asking her to stay for a while and fix the bike. Spider was almost healed and ready to get back on his own bike. “Would have to ask Mike about that, she’s his employee, even if we own the shop, he runs it, and I don’t get involved with his employees,” Prez replied contemplatively. “He here?” I asked, as Mike often doesn’t show up at the weekend parties. “Yep, came half an hour ago.” Sticks answered as she handed Max a bottle of water. “Max, if Mike’s okay with it, would you work with us for a week, get some of these ready for the weekend ride?” Sparks asked, and I kicked myself for not considering that she might not want to spend a week here. “Sure, if Mike doesn’t need me, we have several bikes in for service before the ladies run.” Her sweet voice carried across the warehouse, and the guys nodded in understanding. “Thanks, babes,” Spike called out. Each one of us here enjoyed that she worked on our bikes; it might sound odd that we're letting a chick touch our bikes, but Max was not like most chicks. Who wants to sit on the bikes or lie on them? Max knows what she’s doing and has proven herself on numerous occasions. I wish I had known how attractive she was. Man, I had a semi since she walked in the door. The Prez will even let her ride her own bike, a privilege few ladies get. She was more part of the crew; no other girl I know works on bikes like she does, and her reputation over the time she's been an apprentice has been exemplary. Not a guy chaser. When word got out that our girl had been cheated on in the worst possible way, we all wanted to go and kill the man, even though half of us had never really met her, yeah, seen her in a distance, or legs poking out from under a truck, but never sat and talked with her before today. She was fun, had me chuckling a few times, but most of the time in here, she had been all about the bikes, and not flirting, like most chicks do when around us. They see the glamour of the lifestyle, but it's not for everyone. Maxine POV I was guided to a washroom on the side of the workshop, which had a deep steel sink and a shower, but no mirrors. There was a cupboard under the sink containing soaps and cleaning products, as well as a shelf with dark-colored towels. A door that led to a toilet, which was cleaner than I had expected. So far, this whole gang house had been cleaner than I thought a load of men would leave it. I had underestimated the guys and made assumptions about how guys I knew from school or parties would act; none of them were like that. Maybe it was because they are mostly men, whereas my experience had been with boys my age and lower. I cleaned the grease off my hands and arms and dried them. As I went through the routine of cleaning myself up, I thought about the party they had been pushing me to attend and how it had churned up my stomach. The last few times I went to a party, I was with my ex-boyfriend, and he ended up with my sister, so parties were not my thing. I always seem to lose something at parties. Mostly friends, who don’t like the fact that I don’t drink, I have never been a drinker, I might drink a beer to be sociable, and it would take me ages to finish it. Still, I never take shots and am never blind drunk. I had only once been drunk, and I didn’t like the feeling or the way it took me all day to recover, nor the hangover that seemed to be more than a headache. My friends get drunk, and I spend a lot of time cleaning up the messes they make, so I seem to be the one doing the cleanup most of the time, as they know I have their backs, even when I prefer not to do that part of it. I had just finished cleaning up when Tank came in, took one look at me, and started to chuckle. “What?” I asked, looking confused as he laughed. What did I do that was so funny? He didn’t say a word. He leaned over, picked up a cloth, and soaped it up, then gripped my chin in his huge hand, and gently wiped the side of my face, his eyes concentrating on the task, as if it was the most important job he had to do with care. He was so gentle, touching my face with soft, quick movements. His eyes then met mine, and I was lost in the deepest blue orbs I have ever seen. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat and blinked a few times to break the trance he had put me in, and took a step back, my body hitting the sink behind me. “You had some grease on your cheek.” He whispered in a husky voice so deep that it had my lady parts jumping for joy and need, something I am not familiar with. “Thank you,” I whispered back, my voice croaking, and I was shocked by the sound of my own voice; it was lower, warmer, and surprised me as much as Tank's did. His eyes widened at the husky sound. He took a step back and motioned with his hand for me to move past him. I quickly left the washroom and waited in the workshop, taking in the wrecks and wondering how badly the rider would have been hurt if the bike had looked like this. Hoping no one lost their lives. I thought about that for a while. I loved my bike, but I would never ditch it because I was scared. That the thought of falling off had never entered my mind, if I died while riding my bike, then I would have been doing what I love doing. I found I was okay with that. Not that I want to die, but I have thought about how I would like to go when my heart has been broken. “Hey, what are you doing still in here?” Rocket asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Hiding?” I joked back, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and came to stand beside me, looking at the bike I had been staring at. “Can it be fixed? It’s been sitting here for a long time, with no one having the skill to start repairing it. Well, they could give it a go, but this bike is so old that parts are almost impossible to get.” “Yeah, I can give it a try. I have some contacts who can obtain parts, but I can also manufacture some parts. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can come over on weekends and dedicate some time to it.” I suggested it would be a shame to let this panhead go to waste. There are enough pieces of the wrecked bike left to serve as a starting point. “Sweet, it will be good to see this bike out on the road again.” Rocket looked genuinely pleased that the bike could be restored. I restore old cars, trucks, and bikes with Grandpa. I have the equipment stored in a shed for when I have a place of my own to use the machines. I wonder if they have a shed where I can put them. I will need one of the machines. “Ready?” Tank asked; he had shed the work shirt and pulled on a gang shirt. His muscles are on display. Yummy. He makes me feel tiny when I am beside him. “Tank, Max said she can restore the baby.” Tank’s head turned to look at the wreck, and then at me. “For real? Max, can you do that?” Tank looked surprised. After spending a few hours with me, working on bikes, he had to ask that? “Yeah, I can, need to talk to the Prez about some space, but I can do it.” Both guys frowned and looked around the workshop. But they didn’t say anything. Or question me further. Tank put his hand on my lower back and gave a slight push, making me start to walk out of the workshop. It was dark out. Tank guided me to the back door, Rocket leading the way. He opened the door for me and waved me in, as if I were someone important. Causing me to giggle. Yeah, you heard me; I giggled like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous, and not something I had ever expected to come out of my mouth. The guys didn’t even blink at the giggle. The place was warm inside, vibrating with the loud thump of the bass. You could hardly hear the person next to you speak over the heavy music. It reeked of cigarettes and booze. The girls who had been at the door waiting to get in were busy with patch members kissing and almost doing the deed right there on the chair. Some were grinding their hips against the man below them, and the small amount of clothing they had on was even less now. I assumed they were well on their way to being drunk. This was a classic visual of why men lose respect for some kinds of women. I am embarrassed to see it in front of me. I looked around the room and saw my friends still with Sticks, and a couple of guys hanging around nearby. My friends look like they are having fun, and they have a few patch members who seem friendly to them. I hope the girls know what they are doing. The gang life was not for everyone. Dad had once spoken badly about gangs, and he hated it when I became an apprentice at the bike shop. Grandpa was the one who encouraged me to have an apprenticeship. He hated that Dad and Mum were backing my sister in everything, and maybe encouraging me to be a mechanic at the bike shop was his way to get back at Dad. Dad had even tried to get me to leave the bike shop when Grandpa had died. But I had made a pact with Grandpa that I wouldn’t give in to Dad. To live the life I want, and never give in, no matter what the consequences are. I wonder what Grandpa would say if he were alive and saw Dad kick me out of the family home, for the sake of my sister. He would be livered, that’s for sure. But I did as Grandpa said, stood firm, and stayed true to myself. “Hey Maxi Max, come join us. Cricket, grab Max an iced water.” Sticks patted the chair next to her, and before I could move to sit beside her, Tank grabbed me around the waist and took a couple of giant steps to the chair, and sat down, holding me on his lap. The girls looked at each other, then, between Tank and me, the confused look changed to a grin and a nod —whatever that was about.
"“My guys found her. She’s at the MagDog clubhouse. Fixing their bikes.” “What?” Her father’s brow furrowed. “Then tell her to come home. Our business is drowning.” “She wouldn’t. Maxine sent back a message: ‘You gave my room to a bast3rd baby. I gave my keys to a biker.’” The room froze. Dan, Maxine’s ex-boyfriend, now her sister’s fiancé, remembered the last Christmas. Zoey’s moans. Maxine’s bed. Her white sheets. Zoey remembered stealing him—the third boyfriend she’d taken from her sister. And Mom and Dad never once said stop. Her parents remembered looking at their bleeding daughter and telling her to leave. For a nursery. For the cheater’s child. None of them had ever chosen her. “At least she’s safe,” her mother whispered, sobbing with regret. “Safe? She’s living above a bike shop. But she’s got the whole club at her back. Especially their giant—Tank. Six-foot-eight. Never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her. And... their president also sent a message.” “Go on,” her father urged, anxiety simmering beneath. “‘You didn’t want her. We do. Touch her fortune? We’ll end you.’” The words landed like a punch. No one moved. No one breathed. Outside, a Harley roared past the window. She didn’t even slow down." --- Maxine POV “Go home, you have worked too much overtime this week. Have an early night and give that boyfriend of yours an early treat.” My boss practically pushed me out the door, a wicked grin on his face. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’m going. I straddled my bike and started her up. This was going to be a great night. Today was my boyfriend's birthday, and I was going to give him my V-card as a special gift. I had brought new lingerie, black lace, see-through, and I had shaved my mound, leaving a trail that looked like an arrow pointing down to my juncture. I was ready to give him my all, my first, my heart, take the big plunge. I felt I was ready. I pulled into the driveway to see my sister's and my boyfriend’s cars. I had no idea my sister was coming home today. She was still at college in her final year, though I heard she wasn't doing so well. The poor golden girl has not met up with expectations, not that I was worried. My ex-boyfriend showed up three hours early; our date was not for a few more hours. What was he doing here already? Walking in the back door, I heard voices and headed towards them; they were in Dad’s office, with the door slightly ajar. I moved silently to the door and waited outside to hear what secrets they were having now. They occasionally do this when they are planning something and don’t want to include me, but I'm puzzled as to why my boyfriend and sister were included. “We never planned for it to happen.” My sister replied softly, as if she were some kind of victim; she was an expert at that. She should have been an actress; she would have won multiple Oscars by now. “When?” Dad asked, and I waited in the hallway to hear what this was all about. “Christmas day, we had too many of your special eggnogs, and things got heated. The party was more or less over; the presents had been given out, and the food had been eaten. We were all mulling around, talking, when Zoey said something, I don’t remember what—but we went upstairs to continue talking, and ended up in Maxine’s room. We did start by just talking, and before I knew it, we were kissing and things got heated, and ended up in her bed, like I said, and I was so lost in that moment that I forgot to use a protection. When we came out, no one seemed to notice we had been gone, so we pretended it never happened.” My boyfriend replied, and my heart just hit the floor, as I took in that my sister and boyfriend did the dirty in my bed at Christmas. MY BED. I slept in that bed, with their mess on the sheets. I feel suddenly sick at that thought. How could they do that to me? She stole another boyfriend from me again. But he was just as much to blame; I guess our relationship was not that strong yet. Not on his side at least. He continued to pretend, kissing me and taking me out on dates, as if that never happened. What a jerk. Now I feel cheated, dirty, ashamed, and angry all at once. What if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, and I ended up married to that cheating scumbag? Would her wedding present be to tell me she had slept with him first? I wouldn’t put it past her to do such a thing. She had done that before with my boyfriends, and I guess this one was just as vulnerable to her advances as the last one. “He gave me the best Christmas present ever.” My sister crowed with delight. I could imagine her tenderly touching her belly. “This is good news. I have wanted grandchildren, and the last grandchild I would have expected would be from you; you have never kept a relationship for long.” Mum said, sounding excited at the news. “What now?” My sister asked, still playing the perfect victim. “We get married?’ My now ex-boyfriend suggested —sounds more like a question. “What about Maxine?” My sister asked, as if I were an inconvenience that needed to be sorted out, and now they think about me, but it didn’t sound like concern. “What about her? This is about my first grandchild, and his or her safety comes first. She will have to live with it.” My mother spat, revealing that famous favoritism, because she had always taken my sister's side in everything, even when proven wrong. They never backed me up. “I am technically her boyfriend.” He started to say something, but was interrupted. “Not anymore, you're not. I will arrange with the local publican to hire the outdoor garden area, and we shall have an engagement party this Saturday. Get that sorted before you start to show, and Maxine will show her support.” Dad’s voice floated out, sounding resolute. I had no say in this, not that I wanted to be his girlfriend any longer; he had proven not to be what I wanted in a guy. “She will have to leave. I need her room for the nursery. I would prefer it if she didn't attend the engagement party. What will those who know she was the real girlfriend show up, and see that it was not Maxine getting engaged?” Mum added. Yep, that was my mother, trying to regain her dignity and save face. I couldn’t take it any longer. I was devastated enough, and listening further to their support for the love for the cheater was eating me up inside. I didn’t want to cry in front of them; the tears were a mix of anger and hurt. I pushed the door open, revealing myself standing there. All faces turned to look at me. “Let me get this straight. You took my boyfriend to MY bed, did the dirty with him, leaving your mess in my bed, as a sort of Christmas present for me. Guess that made your day, thinking I was sleeping in your mess. Now you want my bedroom for the child baby you have created, and I am what, just pushed out the door? Like yesterday’s trash?” I asked to ensure I understood correctly that the whole family was fine with me being tossed aside. “Exactly, I am taking your boyfriend, your bedroom, and you, my dear sister, have to move out.” My sister sounded like she had won the lottery. Her face beamed at her triumph. “Fine with me.” The look of shock would have made me laugh if I were not so numb inside. I moved away to my room and packed what I could into my duffel bag. I will come back for the rest later, when they are not around. My heart was breaking, not because I lost my boyfriend, although that hurt a lot, considering that what I was going to give him for his present today was saved for doing something foolish at least. But also because both parents were supporting this deception, as if it were the best news they had received in a while, that they had been trying to get rid of me for a while, and now succeeded in a spectacular way. I walked downstairs and looked at them. “When I find a place to stay, I will be back for the rest.” I spat at them, a mixture of hurt, anger, and defeat. I never fit into the family, a black sheep, so maybe I should become one. I had always had top grades, won awards, done my best, but even being first, I was still last. My best friend was the only place I could think of going to; it had to be temporary. Jenny will be cool and let me sleep on her couch till I find a new home. I climbed onto my bike and took off to the only sanctuary I had over the years. Jenny welcomed me into her home, like I knew she would, and together we had a pity party consisting of beer and vanilla fudge ice cream. We called the family and my ex some interesting names, some of which I had never heard before, but they sounded good. The drunker I got, the more inventive the names became. The next morning, after waking up on Jenny’s couch and remembering yesterday, it did not go as planned. I pulled myself together, had a quick shower, and left for work. It was eight in the morning, and Jenny was still asleep when I left. That might be okay for some, but my workday today would be ten hours long, and I was running late. “You're late, night must have gone better than planned,” Mike said jovially. They sort of knew what I was planning last night. The others chuckled along with Mike. I grumbled some shiet and got to work. By the end of the day, Mike pulled me to his office. “Okay, out with it. The guys have been tiptoeing around you all day. What happened? He rejected your advances?” He asked, his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, looking at me with concerned eyes, a father figure, better than my dad had ever been. So, I told him what happened when I got home and where I spent the night, and now I'm looking for a place to stay. I was proud of myself; I didn’t cry, or whine, or show any emotion at all —just explained my predicament in cold, emotionless words. Clear and succinct. He said he wouldn’t say anything in the shop, but would talk to the prez. I had no idea why, but I was not in the right frame of mind to question it. Maxine POV Today was my sister's engagement party; engaged to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, you heard me right, my ex. What a joke that was. I had been dating Dan for six months when my sister, who was a year older than I, came home for Christmas and ended up in bed with my boyfriend. She’s a shameless woman, always has been, but I never expected him to sleep with her. I thought we were secure in our relationship. The only good thing I took away from this was that I never went to bed with him; my virginity card was still intact, not that I was trying to keep it - I just never got the chance to lose it. She always managed to have any guy I was interested in dump me for her, and when she got bored with them, she’d move on. So, in a way, I didn’t have a boyfriend till she moved out of her home and headed to college. But when my sister came home and met him, she seduced him and got pregnant. He did the whole ‘get down on one knee and proposed’ scene. Apparently, it was romantic, but I wasn't there when he did it because they didn’t want me around. It hurt a lot at the time, and I was glad to have my girlfriends around me, helping me get over it. They say, I dodged a bullet. I agree with them, stupidly. He might have been a sports jock with good looks, but doing this tells me he was weak and shallow, and I was too good for him, or so my BFF says. I prefer to believe them over the excuses my ex made. I had to move out of my home after I had a massive fight with my parents a few days ago, when the truth was exposed; they supported her, not me, and the next thing I knew, I was out the door and the evil sister. The engagement party was intended to introduce him to her friends and make the relationship official, but I was not invited. My parents want nothing to do with me. I made them all uncomfortable, considering he was my boyfriend first. Anyone working out the timeline for the baby can piece it together, and see they were cheating on me, and it would have been awkward, and too many questions would have been raised. Not that I needed to say all of that, I kind of said it all before, but grrrrr, I am so angry at how my so-called ‘family’ kicked me out of my so-called home, with no care for me or my feelings. It was easier to push me away and disown me than have to explain to them that my sister cheated with my boyfriend, and hey presto, a baby was on the way. Because I was kicked out of the house, and only had a short time to pack anything, I took the opportunity of the party to sneak into the house and take more of my possessions, like opening my father's safe, and grabbing every piece of paper relating to me, and a little money too, no a lot of money, and grandma’s jewelry that she left me. So, with the help of my BFF, we packed my belongings and took them to her place until I found a new one. I ride a motorcycle, so I need help. I have the money to buy a new place, but I'm unsure if I want to stay in this town now. Once my apprenticeship is over, I might move away. I stayed that night at Jenny’s place, as I figured out what to do. Today, I am moving into my new place —a bungalow above the bike shop where I work. I am in my final year of apprenticeship, and I am a motorcycle mechanic, proud of it, I might add. I can also work on cars and trucks. If it had a motor, I could fix it; I always could, thanks to my knack for it, which I developed since I was eight, when I fell in love with engines. My Grandpa taught me, kept me out of everyone's way. I guess you could say I was a tomboy, with no frills and lace. My Grandpa kept me sane and busy, so the BS in our house didn’t hurt me as much. The place has two bedrooms and is fully contained, meaning it has everything I need. I had purchased some new sheets and towels, that sort of thing, but it had a fully stocked kitchen; I only needed to buy the food. It might be small, and above a noisy bike shop, but at night it was a quiet area. No one would break into this shop; the local bikie gang owned it. They were good guys, scary, but so far, no trouble for me. My BFF, Jenny, was helping me take my belongings upstairs when a group of bikers arrived and assisted us. I had five boxes and two suitcases filled with all sorts of items. “Thanks, guys, for the help,” I said sweetly, my BFF batting her eyes at them and swaying her hips suggestively as she walked and thanked them. She makes me laugh with her antics, which are totally opposite to mine. I like jeans and am rarely seen in a dress, whereas she was seldom seen in jeans. “We got a party at the clubhouse, tomorrow Saturday, you should come and relax a bit, bring your girls with ya,” Bruiser suggested as he threw his arm over my shoulder, walked me to the settee, pushed me down, and handed me a beer they had brought with them. This was how they acted around me, ordered me about. Sometimes, I'm okay with it; other times, I get all worked up and growl back at them. Today was acceptance. I know they mean well, and I feel lucky to have them as family; they try to make me feel better. “That sounds like a blast, count me in, and I can bring two other girl friends with us. Max, do you want me to pick you up?” Jenny offered, taking a beer from one of the guys. She was not a beer drinker; however, in this situation, I could see her not refusing anything they offered. I guess I'm going, whether I want to or not. “No, I’ll ride over,” I replied as one of the guys ordered pizza. “That’s the spirit. Nothing like the wind in your hair to blow the cobwebs away.” They stayed because they didn’t want me to be alone, not on my first night here. Pizza arrived not long after, and my little bungalow was soon feeling too small and crowded, with six huge bikers in the room. Some sat on the floor; others pulled up one of the three kitchen chairs. I know, I know, three chairs sound odd, but that's what was here, and beggars can’t be choosers; the rent was dirt cheap, and I think the boys are the ones to make sure I had everything I needed. They found out about my situation the next day, because, I was still quiet at work, which was not like me, often I am singing to the radio, or swearing at something, so one of the guys approached me, to find out what gives, and I softly told them, what went down, and when word got around the bikers heard I needed a place to stay, because I was kicked out of my home and why, they came to me, like protective brothers. Now I have a whole gang of bikers who have my back. I feel privileged to call them friends. They even offered to rough the ex up for me, but I refused the offer, because strangely, I was happy to get rid of the loser if he was a cheating build. Better now than when I am fully invested in our relationship. Plus, I was in deep enough shite with my parents and sister without making it worse. The pizza was gone, my BFF left for home, and the guys did too. It was late, well, for me, midnight. I usually fall asleep quickly because I have to be up for work at five. Tomorrow, being Saturday, I have the morning shift before the party later. They let me leave work early so I can move in here. “Hey, don’t forget to come, we need our prettiest mechanic at the party, some of the boys might need a tune-up,” Bruiser said with a laugh as they climbed on their bikes and left. I know what sort of tune-up he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with a motor. I looked around my new home. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. The guys were great; they took the empty pizza boxes and beer cans with them, and the place was relatively clean. Not at all what you would expect from a group of rowdy men. The clubhouse. I had never been to it, despite having worked there for nearly four years, and they had never extended an invitation to me. I know they had lots of parties; maybe I was too young. I turned twenty recently, but they might think of me as the fifteen-year-old who showed up one day and told the boss I was going to be his apprentice. He laughed at first and said he would give me a go to prove myself. He thought I was joking and that I would be gone by the weekend, but over the holidays, I worked hard and have been here ever since. Maxine POV The beeping sound of my phone alarm made me sit up and look around. It took a moment to remember where I was. The room had a small curtain that barely kept the light out. There was a streetlight just outside my window. I can envisage myself getting better blackout curtains soon. Although it was annoying, it wasn't among my top priorities for making this a home. The shower was decent, with nice pressure. I followed my morning routine, only to realize how foolish I was to wake up so early, living above my place of work; I didn’t need to ride here. After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I still had half an hour before I needed to be at work. I had two ways to get into my place: one was through the back stairs, and the other was through the shop. With the code to turn off the alarm, I decided to head down and start work early. It was better than moving stuff around; I can do that later. I had a bike to finish by this afternoon. The customer would be here at two. Turned off the alarm, turned on the coffee pot, the radio, and headed to my workstation, where the fat boy was waiting for me to finish. I sat on the stool with casters and began my job, singing loudly to the heavy rock song that came on the radio as I installed the new spark plugs and double-checked the oil. It was a simple, easy-peasy service. Once finished, I started the bike up, let it idle while I made coffee, then returned to rev it a few times. It sounds lumpy, like it was just turning over perfectly; it was music to my ears. I love that throaty, deep, lumpy sound. You can feel it vibrate through my chest. “That’s a sound I loved to hear as I enter work.” My boss, Mike, said as I turned the bike off. “It’s ready to go, unless you want to take it out for a test ride. Want a coffee, pots hot.” I offered as I threw the dirty rag in the bin. “Sure, I will take the bike out for a spin, and you can make me a coffee.” He smirked as he grabbed the bike. I opened the garage door, and Mike took off. I smiled as he disappeared down the street, and I turned to make both of us coffee. If you hadn’t guessed already, I would drink a lot of coffee. I am not a fan of soft drinks or tea; for me, it's coffee or water. With a broom in hand, I began cleaning the shop. I am not out here very often, but I try to sweep the floor at least once a week; they have another apprentice who’s a second year, who gets to do most of the cleaning up, but he’s never here on a Saturday. The sound of the bike returning prompted me to pick up the two cups of coffee and head back out to the workshop. Mike had a massive grin on his face as he parked the bike. “Great job, you are our top mechanic. But don’t tell anyone, or I will have to deny it.” He joked, taking his coffee from my hand as he walked by, no doubt letting the customer know the bike was ready ahead of time. I moved to the next bike, which was a total rebuild; it had been in a minor accident, and while the frame was being checked, I would work on the engine and gearbox. It was the only job on my list at the moment. The bike owner was in no hurry; he had a broken leg, giving me a few weeks to work on his bike and any urgent jobs that might come into the shop. The client arrived and happily took possession of his bike, very happy with the job done. “I hear you’ve been invited to the club party tonight,” Mike said as he rang up the sale on the cash register. “Yep.” I said popping the ‘p’. “You can leave now, we have no more customers expected. Good job today.” It was close to one o’clock, near the time I would knock off. “Thanks, boss.” I saluted him and rushed upstairs, before he could change his mind. Giggling all the way up. I heard him chuckling as he locked the door below, behind me. I decided on a quick shower; I didn’t want to smell of oil when going to a party. Put on my skinny black jeans, a black blouse that had red flames on the back and on the pockets, black boots that had some chains around the ankle, and hair in a ponytail. I will get what we call helmet hair, so it's a waste to do much with it now. I use mascara and strawberry lip gloss, which is more to moisturize my lips, which tend to dry out when I ride my bike, and that's it. The last thing I grabbed before leaving was my jacket. My mum used to grumble that I wasn’t like my sister and put more effort into my appearance, but I like who I am, and I didn’t like wearing lots of makeup; it was my choice, and I feel that I am not a frilly, lacey chick. It was a deal breaker with my mum. She had my sister dress up and left me in the care of Grandpa until he died when I was seventeen. It broke me when he left the world. He was the only person who got me. My grandma had been gone since I was young, and I filled the hole in his heart with my love for bikes and fishing. He left me his money and bikes. Dad got his house and business. My mum hated that I gained all that money. When Grandma died, she left me her jewelry, and Grandpa made sure to keep it safe till I was old enough to have it. I ate something and put some more of my stuff in the cupboards before my phone chimed to let me know my girlfriends were on their way to the party. I pulled my bike out of the small garage and started it up. I threw my leg over and took off, heading to the property. The clubhouse was half an hour out of town, set on a large property a little bit back from the road. Ten minutes later, I came up behind the girls and hung out behind them. My friend waved me on to take the lead. I shrugged and overtook her. The turn off arrived, and I rode happily up the long drive, and trees lined the road. An open, large steel gate appeared, and I was glad it was still enough light to see clearly. Men stood by the entrance, watching us arrive. “Hey.” I greeted the biggest man I had ever seen. “Who invited you here?” The man asked gruffly, in a deep husky voice. “Bruiser,” I answered, with a firm, clear voice, hoping that the fact that he frightened me would be noticed in my voice. He pulled out his phone and called, I assumed, Bruiser. “Max?” He asked, as he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. He said something more and hung up the phone. “Come in, the car behind your girls?” He looked at the car behind, which clearly had a woman in it. “Yep,” I replied, not at all liking how he intimidated me with his manner. Perhaps it was the way they greeted strangers. One look makes the weak run. Well, I am not weak, and I won't be running. Maxine POV This rather large biker leaned in to look inside the car, his bulky figure partially blocking the open window, causing the girl nearest it to back away. Satisfied, he looked at me with a knowing smirk, then motioned for us to enter. The clubhouse was nothing like I had imagined. Firstly, it was four levels high. Verandah all the way around, that I could see. It was more like a mansion than a clubhouse. Women were gathered near the door, looking in, as if they were waiting for something; some were sitting on the wooden fence that surrounded the verandah. They were dressed in barely anything, showing all that was available, some love that sort of thing. People like me dress to stay warm or cool and don’t care about showing off the goods. Bikes sat in neat rows in front, and cars were parked to the left of the building; the ratio of bikes to cars was approximately four bikes to one car. I parked the bike with the others, climbed off, and took off my helmet. I placed the lid on the bike and shook out my hair while waiting for the girls to park and come to me. I heard some muffled scoffs, but I couldn’t care less —I wasn't here to please them. Bruiser came out of the clubhouse behind me. “Max, you came by bike. Sweet.” He gave me a gentle squeeze and moved to take a closer look at my bike. The paint job was a wolf, fading in smoke. It took me months to finish, as I kept changing my mind, and the smoke obscured the mistakes. “Who did the paint job?” He asked as he moved around to look at it from all sides. “Me.” I was proud of the results. “Does Mike know you can paint?” He sounded surprised. “He has seen my bike when I used the garage to do a service. He never asked who did the paint work, just that he liked it.” “Sweet, looks like we have someone to do touch-ups, and possibly a full paint job. We have a family reunion in a few weeks, and the ladies are invited to come along. You can join us.” Bruiser offered as my ladies arrived; they were not included in that invitation, I assumed, because I have a bike. “Bruiser, you already met Jenny, Melony, Karen, and Heather, my other BFF, and Alice, Karen's sister, and BFF to my sister.” Adding that comment, hoping that Bruiser knew precisely what that woman was like. Alice battered her eyes and leaned forward to show off what was under that almost shirt. My ladies greeted him with the respect he deserved. “Ladies. Hands out.” Bruiser stamped the girl's backs of their hands; they all had a bear, except Alice, who had a rabbit on her hand. I frowned, trying to figure out what the rabbit was all about. He pushed my hand away. “You are family, no need for a stamp.” I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my face. I felt so special. Then the shoe dropped. Rabbit meant she would open her legs. Bruiser got my meaning loud and clear. It took a while to understand the purpose of the stamps. “Come inside and meet the ole ladies.” I understood what he meant; these were ladies who had been claimed and had a different level of respect that those not claimed would never understand. I have met a few of them over the years and gained more insight into club life. They respect me as much as I respect them. We entered the place, and the girls who had been waiting outside gave us a dirty look, as they were still stopped from entering. “What's so special about them?” One pouted, but Bruiser ignored her. Inside was cleaner than I had expected —my fault for judging a group of men, since they often look messy when I see them at the shop. The place had a large, open space, with tables where you stand, as well as booths dotted along the walls, and stools at the bar, which ran the full length of the room. I loved the spacious room, the pictures on the walls, and some bike parts scattered about as decoration. A few barstools are bike seats; it was different, and it appealed to me. Being a lover of bikes. “Sticks.” I greeted her as we got closer to the ladies Bruiser was taking us to. “Hey, Maxie Max. How's it blowing?” She stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. This chick had no filter or personal space. Sticks was the President's; her real name was Sandra, but she was my height at five-nine, and she had no shape to her body, just a lovely bean pole, almost no chest to speak of, yet she had had two boys. Hence the name Sticks. “Doing better,” I replied. She would know what was going on. She introduced us to the other ladies with her, and it didn’t surprise me that Alice had already moved away from us before we had finished the introductions. “What’s her story?” Sticks asked as she watched Alice start to try her luck with the club men. “Same as my sister. Bruiser put a rabbit stamp on her hand.” Sticks and the other girl roared out laughing. “She will be used, abused, and kicked to the side by the time the night is over, and I doubt they would let her back in. We don’t need her sort in the club.” Maggie spouted as we watched a patch member knock her offer back. “The regulars are not going to like her working their turf. So, to speak.” Tootsie said, with a smirk, that the regulars know the rules and stick with them. Don’t approach a patch member; if interested, they will come to you. Nom’s are fair game. But most girls would prefer a patch member. Don’t touch a taken member; the women will gang up and make your life miserable if you feel one of theirs. Wait to be let into the clubhouse and then stay in the public area. No going upstairs uninvited. The first two floors are designated for guest rooms, while the top floor is reserved for permanent residences. Those who don’t have a home of their own to go to. They are private and not open to wandering girls. Don’t touch or sit on someone’s bike, unless you are given permission. The patched old ladies are the bosses of the girls; they tell you to leave or do something, and you do it. There were more rules for the girls visiting, but I couldn’t remember them all at that moment. None had applied to me until now. Alice had already broken at least three, to my knowledge. I am staying out of it. That rabbit on her hand told the members that she would open her legs for any of them, and no one would support her if she broke the rules. That she was not welcome to return, in other words, have your fun, and then kick her to the curb. The doors were opened to let the other girls in. They looked at us in the no-go zone and pouted. We were sitting in an off-limits area unless we were invited. From what I understood, they were here to spread their legs and give the guys some relief, but not become part of the family. They might be hopeful that something would change; it was rare for a patch member to take one of these ladies, who had most likely been with every unattached member of the gang, at some point. My girls left me with Sticks and wandered about with the other ladies, getting the tour of the place. “Want to look around?” Sticks were offered, and before I knew it, we were walking around the vast ground floor. “Ready to see the workshop, the guys might talk you into helping out, once they know who you are.” Sticks led me down a small pathway, lined with flowering shrubs, and to a set of large, farm-size sheds. Inside were bikes, some in bits, others crumpled from an accident, and others like they had just been detailed and were someone's pride and joy. There was a workshop here, where men were working on their bikes. They looked up at us when we entered and frowned. If Sticks were not with me, they would have most likely growled at me to get out. “Who’s this Sticks?” A monster of a man asked, in the deepest voice I have ever heard, he looked a lot like the man at the gate, but with more toned muscles, that I would love to run my fingers over. Just a tad taller, and although he looked big and scary, he made my lady parts sing in a way they had never sung before. Tank POV A few guys aren't into parties, so I stopped going until later in the night, when the girls who showed up were already taken. I dislike the women who come here hoping to adopt our lifestyle. I prefer to use my hand rather than one of those women. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my share of women; however, I had a girl who pushed me to take her, and when I did, she ended up in the hospital, because I am not exactly a little man, and I ripped her apart. She needed stitches, and I have not been with a woman since. Like my brother, we are both large men; he is six feet six inches tall, and I am six feet eight inches tall. He’s carrying extra weight, where I am all muscle. I pride myself on keeping in shape, but being this large has its downfall, and having a large build has had me worried about hurting another woman. No matter how much I might want to, I can’t; I never want to go through that again. The Prez was the only person who knew why I wouldn’t join the parties; he was with me when we took the girl to the hospital, she forgave me, and tried to pursue me to keep her, but I couldn’t. Each time I started to get intimate, I had flashes of her screams, and my confidence went down like a popped balloon. We were in the workshop, doing some minor tune-ups. As I prepare for our ride, I'm excited. When they bring the ladies, the men are usually in a better mood and on their best behavior. I was looking at rebuild. I started it last week. We have a few wrecks that need to be started; some have been sitting here far too long. We can only go so far before we need Mike's help. None of us was a mechanic. I was scratching my head, as I was almost at the end of my knowledge, when I heard someone enter, and a soft perfume that shouldn’t be in this shed hit my nose. Stick’s voice reached my ears, and I lifted my head up to look in her direction. “Who’s this Sticks?” The most beautiful girl I have ever seen had entered our sanctuary, a place where few girls are allowed, which made Sticks bring this beauty down to this dirt and grease, which was unexpectedly. “That is Max, from the shop, Mike's apprentice, who I think had finished her apprenticeship and is doing something extra on Harleys and getting some specialized license,” Banjo said as he moved forward to greet them. The others stood up and moved forward too, making me feel like a dill for not recognizing Max. Although I have only seen her a few times from a distance, and she was usually deep in bike repair, I barely got to see her face. We have not been introduced because I wouldn’t have forgotten that beauty if I had. Sticks introduced us all, and we greeted her before I decided I could use her help. I put the thoughts of what I wouldn’t mind doing to her behind me, not that I could do it. “Max, come look at this wreck. I am stuck with what to do next.” I called her over on the bike I was working on. “Tank, surely you could have waited for another day? She came for the party, not to work.” Sticks grumbled as Max walked to me. She was clean and smelled nice, and I had a fleeting moment of guilt for calling her over. The few times I had seen her, she was covered in oil and grease, wearing coveralls that hid her shapely figure. “Max, are you sure?” Sticks pulled on her hand to get her attention. “Yeah, I am more at home in here than out there,” Max said with a smile and turned back to me. “What's the problem?” She asked me to move forward and inspect the bike. I went into detail about what happened to the bike, what I had managed to do so far, and what I needed to move forward. Max removed her leather jacket and slung it over a nearby bike seat, then squatted down. For the next two hours, Max worked on the bike with me, guiding me through the tricky bits I couldn’t do. The others came forward and used this time as a sort of training session, and Max didn’t seem to mind at all. We asked questions as she worked on the bike, and she used me to lift the heavy parts. It was teamwork, and we completed more repairs in that time than I would have on my own. “Hey, Max,” Bruiser called out at the door. He stood with his legs apart, arms folded, and I wondered if we had done something wrong. “Back here.” She returned to the call of her name. He arrived and burst out laughing at us. “Max, I invited you to a party, you know, dancing and drinking, and socializing. This was not what I meant as a party.” He was still chuckling when the Prez walked in, with Sticks on his arm. “You still got her working out here?” Stick all but growled at us, when the Prez’s lady growls, we all listen. She’s the last person we want to make angry. “What?” I was confused, Max didn’t seem to mind, and we all were having a good time out here. “Hey, Prez. The party over?” Max calmly asked, but it sounded more like she had hoped it was. “Not even close, babes.” The Prez answered with a smile. He had gotten closer to Max over the years she had been at the bike shop. He had often talked about the female mechanic and her sassy ways. I had thought he was exaggerating, but after spending a little time with her, I was hooked. “We have nearly completed the repair job on Spider's bike. If we can have Max here for a few days, I bet we could hit the road by the end of the week.” I said it as it was my way of asking her to stay for a while and fix the bike. Spider was almost healed and ready to get back on his own bike. “Would have to ask Mike about that, she’s his employee, even if we own the shop, he runs it, and I don’t get involved with his employees,” Prez replied contemplatively. “He here?” I asked, as Mike often doesn’t show up at the weekend parties. “Yep, came half an hour ago.” Sticks answered as she handed Max a bottle of water. “Max, if Mike’s okay with it, would you work with us for a week, get some of these ready for the weekend ride?” Sparks asked, and I kicked myself for not considering that she might not want to spend a week here. “Sure, if Mike doesn’t need me, we have several bikes in for service before the ladies run.” Her sweet voice carried across the warehouse, and the guys nodded in understanding. “Thanks, babes,” Spike called out. Each one of us here enjoyed that she worked on our bikes; it might sound odd that we're letting a chick touch our bikes, but Max was not like most chicks. Who wants to sit on the bikes or lie on them? Max knows what she’s doing and has proven herself on numerous occasions. I wish I had known how attractive she was. Man, I had a semi since she walked in the door. The Prez will even let her ride her own bike, a privilege few ladies get. She was more part of the crew; no other girl I know works on bikes like she does, and her reputation over the time she's been an apprentice has been exemplary. Not a guy chaser. When word got out that our girl had been cheated on in the worst possible way, we all wanted to go and kill the man, even though half of us had never really met her, yeah, seen her in a distance, or legs poking out from under a truck, but never sat and talked with her before today. She was fun, had me chuckling a few times, but most of the time in here, she had been all about the bikes, and not flirting, like most chicks do when around us. They see the glamour of the lifestyle, but it's not for everyone. Maxine POV I was guided to a washroom on the side of the workshop, which had a deep steel sink and a shower, but no mirrors. There was a cupboard under the sink containing soaps and cleaning products, as well as a shelf with dark-colored towels. A door that led to a toilet, which was cleaner than I had expected. So far, this whole gang house had been cleaner than I thought a load of men would leave it. I had underestimated the guys and made assumptions about how guys I knew from school or parties would act; none of them were like that. Maybe it was because they are mostly men, whereas my experience had been with boys my age and lower. I cleaned the grease off my hands and arms and dried them. As I went through the routine of cleaning myself up, I thought about the party they had been pushing me to attend and how it had churned up my stomach. The last few times I went to a party, I was with my ex-boyfriend, and he ended up with my sister, so parties were not my thing. I always seem to lose something at parties. Mostly friends, who don’t like the fact that I don’t drink, I have never been a drinker, I might drink a beer to be sociable, and it would take me ages to finish it. Still, I never take shots and am never blind drunk. I had only once been drunk, and I didn’t like the feeling or the way it took me all day to recover, nor the hangover that seemed to be more than a headache. My friends get drunk, and I spend a lot of time cleaning up the messes they make, so I seem to be the one doing the cleanup most of the time, as they know I have their backs, even when I prefer not to do that part of it. I had just finished cleaning up when Tank came in, took one look at me, and started to chuckle. “What?” I asked, looking confused as he laughed. What did I do that was so funny? He didn’t say a word. He leaned over, picked up a cloth, and soaped it up, then gripped my chin in his huge hand, and gently wiped the side of my face, his eyes concentrating on the task, as if it was the most important job he had to do with care. He was so gentle, touching my face with soft, quick movements. His eyes then met mine, and I was lost in the deepest blue orbs I have ever seen. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat and blinked a few times to break the trance he had put me in, and took a step back, my body hitting the sink behind me. “You had some grease on your cheek.” He whispered in a husky voice so deep that it had my lady parts jumping for joy and need, something I am not familiar with. “Thank you,” I whispered back, my voice croaking, and I was shocked by the sound of my own voice; it was lower, warmer, and surprised me as much as Tank's did. His eyes widened at the husky sound. He took a step back and motioned with his hand for me to move past him. I quickly left the washroom and waited in the workshop, taking in the wrecks and wondering how badly the rider would have been hurt if the bike had looked like this. Hoping no one lost their lives. I thought about that for a while. I loved my bike, but I would never ditch it because I was scared. That the thought of falling off had never entered my mind, if I died while riding my bike, then I would have been doing what I love doing. I found I was okay with that. Not that I want to die, but I have thought about how I would like to go when my heart has been broken. “Hey, what are you doing still in here?” Rocket asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Hiding?” I joked back, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and came to stand beside me, looking at the bike I had been staring at. “Can it be fixed? It’s been sitting here for a long time, with no one having the skill to start repairing it. Well, they could give it a go, but this bike is so old that parts are almost impossible to get.” “Yeah, I can give it a try. I have some contacts who can obtain parts, but I can also manufacture some parts. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can come over on weekends and dedicate some time to it.” I suggested it would be a shame to let this panhead go to waste. There are enough pieces of the wrecked bike left to serve as a starting point. “Sweet, it will be good to see this bike out on the road again.” Rocket looked genuinely pleased that the bike could be restored. I restore old cars, trucks, and bikes with Grandpa. I have the equipment stored in a shed for when I have a place of my own to use the machines. I wonder if they have a shed where I can put them. I will need one of the machines. “Ready?” Tank asked; he had shed the work shirt and pulled on a gang shirt. His muscles are on display. Yummy. He makes me feel tiny when I am beside him. “Tank, Max said she can restore the baby.” Tank’s head turned to look at the wreck, and then at me. “For real? Max, can you do that?” Tank looked surprised. After spending a few hours with me, working on bikes, he had to ask that? “Yeah, I can, need to talk to the Prez about some space, but I can do it.” Both guys frowned and looked around the workshop. But they didn’t say anything. Or question me further. Tank put his hand on my lower back and gave a slight push, making me start to walk out of the workshop. It was dark out. Tank guided me to the back door, Rocket leading the way. He opened the door for me and waved me in, as if I were someone important. Causing me to giggle. Yeah, you heard me; I giggled like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous, and not something I had ever expected to come out of my mouth. The guys didn’t even blink at the giggle. The place was warm inside, vibrating with the loud thump of the bass. You could hardly hear the person next to you speak over the heavy music. It reeked of cigarettes and booze. The girls who had been at the door waiting to get in were busy with patch members kissing and almost doing the deed right there on the chair. Some were grinding their hips against the man below them, and the small amount of clothing they had on was even less now. I assumed they were well on their way to being drunk. This was a classic visual of why men lose respect for some kinds of women. I am embarrassed to see it in front of me. I looked around the room and saw my friends still with Sticks, and a couple of guys hanging around nearby. My friends look like they are having fun, and they have a few patch members who seem friendly to them. I hope the girls know what they are doing. The gang life was not for everyone. Dad had once spoken badly about gangs, and he hated it when I became an apprentice at the bike shop. Grandpa was the one who encouraged me to have an apprenticeship. He hated that Dad and Mum were backing my sister in everything, and maybe encouraging me to be a mechanic at the bike shop was his way to get back at Dad. Dad had even tried to get me to leave the bike shop when Grandpa had died. But I had made a pact with Grandpa that I wouldn’t give in to Dad. To live the life I want, and never give in, no matter what the consequences are. I wonder what Grandpa would say if he were alive and saw Dad kick me out of the family home, for the sake of my sister. He would be livered, that’s for sure. But I did as Grandpa said, stood firm, and stayed true to myself. “Hey Maxi Max, come join us. Cricket, grab Max an iced water.” Sticks patted the chair next to her, and before I could move to sit beside her, Tank grabbed me around the waist and took a couple of giant steps to the chair, and sat down, holding me on his lap. The girls looked at each other, then, between Tank and me, the confused look changed to a grin and a nod —whatever that was about.
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Tired of spending $15+ on every single Amiibo figure? Now you can unlock ALL in-game rewards, power-ups, and exclusive characters with just one tiny device. Compatible with Switch, Switch Lite, Wii U, 3DS — and even the upcoming Switch 2. No bulky figures. Just tap and play. 🧠 Smart. Affordable. Instant. 👉 Grab yours now: https://galmiibo.com/products/galmiibo
Through our Make a Difference initiative, The Pride community has helped direct over £19,000 to animal conservation projects worldwide. | Through our Make a Difference initiative, The Pride community has helped direct over £19,000 to animal conservation projects worldwide. | Through our Make a Difference initiative, The Pride community has helped direct over £19,000 to animal conservation projects worldwide. | Through our Make a Difference initiative, The Pride community has helped direct over £19,000 to animal conservation projects worldwide.
The Pride was created in 2020 at the request of the Animal Kingdom itself. | The Pride was created in 2020 at the request of the Animal Kingdom itself. | The Pride was created in 2020 at the request of the Animal Kingdom itself. | The Pride was created in 2020 at the request of the Animal Kingdom itself.
I had a knee replacement at 58. I'm 67 now. And I've spent almost a DECADE being told I have "early diabetic neuropathy" from blood sugar that's barely above normal. Last week, I sat at my kitchen table reading the appointment reminder for my endocrinologist. And I caught myself thinking: How much you want to bet she has never even heard of what I am dealing with? Because for 9 years, this has been my life: I go in with burning, tingling, electric-shock pain in both feet. They draw my blood. It comes back "your A1C is 5.9. Pre-diabetic. The nerve damage is only going to get worse." They write me a prescription for gabapentin. Then Lyrica when that didn't work. Then a referral to a "diabetic foot care" specialist. I take the pills like they tell me to. I cut sugar. I lost 14 pounds. And nothing changes. No relief from the burning. No feeling back in my toes. No improvement in my balance. No change in the way my feet wake me up at 2am. Just another lecture about my blood sugar for nerve damage that somehow keeps getting worse. I am 67 years old. I had my left knee replaced at 58. And somehow I am still stuck in the same loop. And I have started asking myself: Is it too late for me now? ======== The truth is, no one prepares you for what happens after a knee replacement. Especially one that "went perfectly." You wake up one day a few years later and realize: - The bottoms of your feet feel like they're on fire all night - You can't tell if the floor is cold or hot until you look down - You've started shuffling when you walk because you can't feel where your feet are - Standing in line at the grocery store is unbearable - You've fallen twice in the last year reaching for something - Sheets touching your toes feel like sandpaper - You can't drive long distances anymore — your foot can't tell the gas pedal from the brake - Every doctor appointment ends with "your A1C is borderline" And none of it gets explained. Doctors look at your chart, see the 5.9 A1C, and say "this is the start of diabetic neuropathy." That's it. End of story. I still remember one appointment where the nurse asked: "Have you been checking your blood sugar after meals? Cutting carbs?" I said, "Yes… but the burning never stops." She shrugged and said, "Well, we will just bump up the gabapentin." Just bump up the gabapentin. Like this is a subscription service I never signed up for. A few months ago I finally asked the question that had been haunting me: "If this is from my blood sugar, why did the burning start three years AFTER my knee replacement, when my A1C was lower than it is now?" The doctor paused. Then immediately pivoted to "Well, neuropathy can have multiple contributing factors." But I could tell she didn't actually know. It felt like guessing. Like I had become a walking question mark. And I left that appointment thinking: If no one knows what is wrong with me… how can I possibly fix it? Then one night, I was scrolling a post-surgical recovery forum. And I found a thread of women who sounded exactly like me. - Knee replacement in their late 50s. - Now in their mid-60s. - Years of "diabetic neuropathy" diagnoses. - A1Cs that were barely elevated. - Gabapentin and Lyrica that never solved anything. - Burning feet that started years after surgery. - Falls. Numbness. Sandpaper sheets. But they were not talking about diabetes. They were talking about a nerve repair collapse. A post-surgical nerve repair collapse no doctor ever explained. And when I read what they wrote, I felt my heart stop. They explained that after a major surgery — especially knee replacement, where the surgical field is right next to the nerves running down to your feet — your peripheral nervous system loses three critical support systems at the same time. System 1: Magnesium Depletion - Surgery, anesthesia, and post-op IV fluids drain cellular magnesium - Painkillers, BP meds, and PPIs continue draining it for years afterward - Without magnesium, nerves can't regulate when they fire - They start firing constantly, even when nothing is touching the skin - That's the burning. That's the electric-shock pain at 2am. - Testing can show "early diabetic neuropathy" even when blood sugar isn't the problem System 2: B12 Methylation Failure - Damaged nerves can only rebuild with active B12 driving the repair - Most adults over 50 have a hidden form of B12 deficiency - Surgery + general anesthesia knocks B12 levels down even further - Without B12, the protective sheath around your nerves can't regrow - Bare, exposed nerves keep sending pain signals because they have nothing insulating them - These flares trigger the numbness, the tingling, the loss of position sense even when blood work looks "fine" System 3: Cellular Energy Collapse - Nerves are the most energy-hungry cells in the body - Surgical trauma + anesthesia damage the mitochondria inside nerve cells - Without alpha-lipoic acid, the nerves don't have the energy to use the magnesium and B12 that ARE there - Damaged nerves with no fuel can't repair themselves - They sit in a state of constant low-grade injury - That's why the symptoms get worse over years, not better I sat there whispering: This is me. This has been me for years. Why has no one ever told me this? Then someone in the comments wrote: "Most surgeons never disclose this risk. Knee replacement consent forms warn about a 1-in-200 stroke risk. They never mention that nerve damage shows up in roughly 1 out of every 10 patients." I stared at the screen. One in ten. I had signed a consent form that listed bleeding, infection, blood clots, stroke, anesthesia death. It said nothing about my feet. So of course no one warned me about any of this. Of course doctors are guessing. Of course I have been stuck in this cycle for years. It is not just my body. It is the system. I booked an appointment with a new doctor — a functional medicine MD who specializes in post-surgical recovery. Dr. Reyes. She listened. She explained things no one else ever bothered to explain. She talked to me like an adult, not like an inconvenience. After examining me she said: "You do not have a blood sugar problem. You have a nerve starvation problem." I froze. "A nerve starvation problem?" She nodded. "What you are calling diabetic neuropathy is not from your A1C. It's the result of magnesium that surgery drained out of you, B12 your body can't activate, and mitochondria in your nerves that are running on empty. Gabapentin and Lyrica can't fix any of that. They just turn the volume down on the pain signal." And suddenly, everything made sense. The "diabetic neuropathy" my A1C couldn't explain. The burning that started three years after surgery, not before. The way it got worse every winter. The falls. The shuffling. The sleepless nights. The endless prescriptions. The lack of progress. For the first time in 9 years… someone was explaining the root cause. "So how do I fix it?" I asked. She wrote down three things on her pad: - Get magnesium back into the nerve cells - Restore active B12 so the nerve sheath can rebuild - Bring alpha-lipoic acid in so the nerves have the energy to do the repair Not gabapentin. Not Lyrica. Not another A1C lecture. Actual rebuilding. Then she said something I didn't expect: "And whatever you do, don't try to do this with pills. Your gut barely absorbs magnesium and B12 by mouth — especially after years of acid reducers and pain medication. You need it going through the skin while you sleep, when your nerves are doing their repair work." She listed exactly what I needed: ✅ Transdermal Magnesium - Delivered through the skin, not the gut - To restore nerve firing regulation - Clinically studied to reduce neuropathic burning when applied consistently ✅ Methylated B12 (the active form) - Not cyanocobalamin — that's the cheap form your body can't use - To rebuild the myelin sheath around damaged nerves - Active even when oral B12 has stopped working ✅ Alpha-Lipoic Acid - The nerve mitochondria fuel - To give starving nerves the energy to repair themselves overnight - The one ingredient most "neuropathy supplements" leave out Then she said: "No prescription does this. That is why you have not healed." That night, I spent hours online searching. Most "neuropathy supplements" were just B-complex pills. Most magnesium products were oral tablets that go straight through you. Most ALA products were sold separately and required taking 3-4 capsules a day. Most "nerve support" patches were just cooling menthol — a counter-irritant that masks the pain without fixing anything. Then I found NerVana+. A patch designed specifically for post-surgical nerve recovery in adults over 55 with persistent burning, tingling, and numbness. People like me. People years past their surgery. People who had been dismissed for years. NerVana+ had all three components: 🌿 Transdermal Magnesium — 250mcg Delivered overnight through the skin While the nerves do their repair work 🌿 Methylated B12 — 1200mcg The active form To rebuild the myelin sheath 🔗 Alpha-Lipoic Acid — 250mcg Mitochondrial fuel So damaged nerves have the energy to heal Everything Dr. Reyes told me I needed. In one patch. You wear it for 8 hours while you sleep. Then you peel it off in the morning. I ordered immediately. Here is what happened. 🗓️ Night 1: - I peeled the patch open and stuck it on the back of my calf before bed. - I expected nothing. I had tried everything. - I slept four hours straight before the burning woke me up. - That was already an hour longer than usual. 🗓️ Week 1: - The burning at 2am started dulling. - I wasn't kicking the sheets off as much. - I slept five, sometimes six hours. 🗓️ Week 2: - I noticed I could feel the bath mat under my feet again. - It had been so long I had forgotten what texture felt like. - I stood in the bathroom and just pressed my feet into the mat. 🗓️ Week 3: - The electric-shock pains while I was sitting at dinner stopped. - I could sit through a meal without shifting my feet around under the table. 🗓️ Week 4: - I drove to my daughter's house — 47 minutes — without my foot getting confused on the pedals. - I cried in her driveway. 🗓️ Week 6: - I went grocery shopping and stood in the checkout line without scanning for somewhere to sit. - I walked out with the bags. - I didn't shuffle. 🗓️ Week 10: - The numbness on the outside edge of my left foot started filling back in. - I could feel my husband's hand when he rubbed my feet for the first time in years. 🗓️ Week 12: - I spent an entire afternoon at the park with my grandkids. Walking. Standing. Bending down to their level. Feeling the grass under my feet. - Without burning. - Without falling. - Without planning around the pain afterward. 🗓️ Week 13 onwards: No more 2am wake-ups No more gabapentin No more shuffling No more falls No more "your A1C is borderline" lectures For the first time in years… I felt my feet again. At my follow-up, Dr. Reyes ran a nerve conduction test and said: "Your conduction velocity has improved on both sides. Your nerves are repairing. You rebuilt your support systems." I cried. Not because I was scared. But because I finally felt hope. So if you are like me… If you had a major surgery years ago If you keep being told it's diabetic neuropathy from a borderline A1C If gabapentin or Lyrica never fix anything If 2am wake-ups have taken over your sleep If your feet feel "older" than the rest of you If you've started shuffling If you feel dismissed If you feel hopeless If you feel like your balance is slipping away Please hear me: You are not fragile. You are not broken. You are not too old. And it is not your blood sugar. You are missing three systems. And you can rebuild them. 👉 Try NerVana+ Risk Free Today: https://uk.avalaine.com/pages/avalaine%C2%AE-magnesium-nerve-relief-patches-story One patch. Worn overnight. Everything your nerves have been missing since your surgery. 💕 60 Day Money Back Guarantee 🌿 Doctor recommended formula 🧬 The only patch that delivers all three nerve-repair systems transdermally ⭐ Trusted by thousands of post-surgical patients 🔒 No subscriptions unless you choose one P.S. It has now been 87 nights since I took my last gabapentin. 87 nights without 2am burning. 87 nights of real sleep. 87 nights of not feeling fragile or dismissed. 87 nights of waking up and feeling the floor under my feet. And at 67… I am not done living. This is the first time in years that I feel safe in my own body. And that peace… Is priceless. Try NerVana+ Risk-Free Today 👉 https://uk.avalaine.com/pages/avalaine%C2%AE-magnesium-nerve-relief-patches-story P.P.S. Remember: all first-time orders are protected by a 60-day moneyback guarantee. If you don't see reduced burning and restored feeling in your feet in 60 days… Simply email the company and they'll refund every cent. No questions asked. 60 days from now, you can be: - Sleeping through the night without 2am burning - Standing in line without scanning for a chair - Driving without your foot getting confused on the pedals - Feeling the floor under your feet again - Living your life without planning around the pain All you have to do is take this first step. 👉 Try NerVana+ Risk Free Today: https://uk.avalaine.com/pages/avalaine%C2%AE-magnesium-nerve-relief-patches-story
I had a knee replacement at 58. I'm 67 now. And I've spent almost a DECADE being told I have "early diabetic neuropathy" from blood sugar that's barely above normal. Last week, I sat at my kitchen table reading the appointment reminder for my endocrinologist. And I caught myself thinking: How much you want to bet she has never even heard of what I am dealing with? Because for 9 years, this has been my life: I go in with burning, tingling, electric-shock pain in both feet. They draw my blood. It comes back "your A1C is 5.9. Pre-diabetic. The nerve damage is only going to get worse." They write me a prescription for gabapentin. Then Lyrica when that didn't work. Then a referral to a "diabetic foot care" specialist. I take the pills like they tell me to. I cut sugar. I lost 14 pounds. And nothing changes. No relief from the burning. No feeling back in my toes. No improvement in my balance. No change in the way my feet wake me up at 2am. Just another lecture about my blood sugar for nerve damage that somehow keeps getting worse. I am 67 years old. I had my left knee replaced at 58. And somehow I am still stuck in the same loop. And I have started asking myself: Is it too late for me now? ======== The truth is, no one prepares you for what happens after a knee replacement. Especially one that "went perfectly." You wake up one day a few years later and realize: - The bottoms of your feet feel like they're on fire all night - You can't tell if the floor is cold or hot until you look down - You've started shuffling when you walk because you can't feel where your feet are - Standing in line at the grocery store is unbearable - You've fallen twice in the last year reaching for something - Sheets touching your toes feel like sandpaper - You can't drive long distances anymore — your foot can't tell the gas pedal from the brake - Every doctor appointment ends with "your A1C is borderline" And none of it gets explained. Doctors look at your chart, see the 5.9 A1C, and say "this is the start of diabetic neuropathy." That's it. End of story. I still remember one appointment where the nurse asked: "Have you been checking your blood sugar after meals? Cutting carbs?" I said, "Yes… but the burning never stops." She shrugged and said, "Well, we will just bump up the gabapentin." Just bump up the gabapentin. Like this is a subscription service I never signed up for. A few months ago I finally asked the question that had been haunting me: "If this is from my blood sugar, why did the burning start three years AFTER my knee replacement, when my A1C was lower than it is now?" The doctor paused. Then immediately pivoted to "Well, neuropathy can have multiple contributing factors." But I could tell she didn't actually know. It felt like guessing. Like I had become a walking question mark. And I left that appointment thinking: If no one knows what is wrong with me… how can I possibly fix it? Then one night, I was scrolling a post-surgical recovery forum. And I found a thread of women who sounded exactly like me. - Knee replacement in their late 50s. - Now in their mid-60s. - Years of "diabetic neuropathy" diagnoses. - A1Cs that were barely elevated. - Gabapentin and Lyrica that never solved anything. - Burning feet that started years after surgery. - Falls. Numbness. Sandpaper sheets. But they were not talking about diabetes. They were talking about a nerve repair collapse. A post-surgical nerve repair collapse no doctor ever explained. And when I read what they wrote, I felt my heart stop. They explained that after a major surgery — especially knee replacement, where the surgical field is right next to the nerves running down to your feet — your peripheral nervous system loses three critical support systems at the same time. System 1: Magnesium Depletion - Surgery, anesthesia, and post-op IV fluids drain cellular magnesium - Painkillers, BP meds, and PPIs continue draining it for years afterward - Without magnesium, nerves can't regulate when they fire - They start firing constantly, even when nothing is touching the skin - That's the burning. That's the electric-shock pain at 2am. - Testing can show "early diabetic neuropathy" even when blood sugar isn't the problem System 2: B12 Methylation Failure - Damaged nerves can only rebuild with active B12 driving the repair - Most adults over 50 have a hidden form of B12 deficiency - Surgery + general anesthesia knocks B12 levels down even further - Without B12, the protective sheath around your nerves can't regrow - Bare, exposed nerves keep sending pain signals because they have nothing insulating them - These flares trigger the numbness, the tingling, the loss of position sense even when blood work looks "fine" System 3: Cellular Energy Collapse - Nerves are the most energy-hungry cells in the body - Surgical trauma + anesthesia damage the mitochondria inside nerve cells - Without alpha-lipoic acid, the nerves don't have the energy to use the magnesium and B12 that ARE there - Damaged nerves with no fuel can't repair themselves - They sit in a state of constant low-grade injury - That's why the symptoms get worse over years, not better I sat there whispering: This is me. This has been me for years. Why has no one ever told me this? Then someone in the comments wrote: "Most surgeons never disclose this risk. Knee replacement consent forms warn about a 1-in-200 stroke risk. They never mention that nerve damage shows up in roughly 1 out of every 10 patients." I stared at the screen. One in ten. I had signed a consent form that listed bleeding, infection, blood clots, stroke, anesthesia death. It said nothing about my feet. So of course no one warned me about any of this. Of course doctors are guessing. Of course I have been stuck in this cycle for years. It is not just my body. It is the system. I booked an appointment with a new doctor — a functional medicine MD who specializes in post-surgical recovery. Dr. Reyes. She listened. She explained things no one else ever bothered to explain. She talked to me like an adult, not like an inconvenience. After examining me she said: "You do not have a blood sugar problem. You have a nerve starvation problem." I froze. "A nerve starvation problem?" She nodded. "What you are calling diabetic neuropathy is not from your A1C. It's the result of magnesium that surgery drained out of you, B12 your body can't activate, and mitochondria in your nerves that are running on empty. Gabapentin and Lyrica can't fix any of that. They just turn the volume down on the pain signal." And suddenly, everything made sense. The "diabetic neuropathy" my A1C couldn't explain. The burning that started three years after surgery, not before. The way it got worse every winter. The falls. The shuffling. The sleepless nights. The endless prescriptions. The lack of progress. For the first time in 9 years… someone was explaining the root cause. "So how do I fix it?" I asked. She wrote down three things on her pad: - Get magnesium back into the nerve cells - Restore active B12 so the nerve sheath can rebuild - Bring alpha-lipoic acid in so the nerves have the energy to do the repair Not gabapentin. Not Lyrica. Not another A1C lecture. Actual rebuilding. Then she said something I didn't expect: "And whatever you do, don't try to do this with pills. Your gut barely absorbs magnesium and B12 by mouth — especially after years of acid reducers and pain medication. You need it going through the skin while you sleep, when your nerves are doing their repair work." She listed exactly what I needed: ✅ Transdermal Magnesium - Delivered through the skin, not the gut - To restore nerve firing regulation - Clinically studied to reduce neuropathic burning when applied consistently ✅ Methylated B12 (the active form) - Not cyanocobalamin — that's the cheap form your body can't use - To rebuild the myelin sheath around damaged nerves - Active even when oral B12 has stopped working ✅ Alpha-Lipoic Acid - The nerve mitochondria fuel - To give starving nerves the energy to repair themselves overnight - The one ingredient most "neuropathy supplements" leave out Then she said: "No prescription does this. That is why you have not healed." That night, I spent hours online searching. Most "neuropathy supplements" were just B-complex pills. Most magnesium products were oral tablets that go straight through you. Most ALA products were sold separately and required taking 3-4 capsules a day. Most "nerve support" patches were just cooling menthol — a counter-irritant that masks the pain without fixing anything. Then I found NerVana+. A patch designed specifically for post-surgical nerve recovery in adults over 55 with persistent burning, tingling, and numbness. People like me. People years past their surgery. People who had been dismissed for years. NerVana+ had all three components: 🌿 Transdermal Magnesium — 250mcg Delivered overnight through the skin While the nerves do their repair work 🌿 Methylated B12 — 1200mcg The active form To rebuild the myelin sheath 🔗 Alpha-Lipoic Acid — 250mcg Mitochondrial fuel So damaged nerves have the energy to heal Everything Dr. Reyes told me I needed. In one patch. You wear it for 8 hours while you sleep. Then you peel it off in the morning. I ordered immediately. Here is what happened. 🗓️ Night 1: - I peeled the patch open and stuck it on the back of my calf before bed. - I expected nothing. I had tried everything. - I slept four hours straight before the burning woke me up. - That was already an hour longer than usual. 🗓️ Week 1: - The burning at 2am started dulling. - I wasn't kicking the sheets off as much. - I slept five, sometimes six hours. 🗓️ Week 2: - I noticed I could feel the bath mat under my feet again. - It had been so long I had forgotten what texture felt like. - I stood in the bathroom and just pressed my feet into the mat. 🗓️ Week 3: - The electric-shock pains while I was sitting at dinner stopped. - I could sit through a meal without shifting my feet around under the table. 🗓️ Week 4: - I drove to my daughter's house — 47 minutes — without my foot getting confused on the pedals. - I cried in her driveway. 🗓️ Week 6: - I went grocery shopping and stood in the checkout line without scanning for somewhere to sit. - I walked out with the bags. - I didn't shuffle. 🗓️ Week 10: - The numbness on the outside edge of my left foot started filling back in. - I could feel my husband's hand when he rubbed my feet for the first time in years. 🗓️ Week 12: - I spent an entire afternoon at the park with my grandkids. Walking. Standing. Bending down to their level. Feeling the grass under my feet. - Without burning. - Without falling. - Without planning around the pain afterward. 🗓️ Week 13 onwards: No more 2am wake-ups No more gabapentin No more shuffling No more falls No more "your A1C is borderline" lectures For the first time in years… I felt my feet again. At my follow-up, Dr. Reyes ran a nerve conduction test and said: "Your conduction velocity has improved on both sides. Your nerves are repairing. You rebuilt your support systems." I cried. Not because I was scared. But because I finally felt hope. So if you are like me… If you had a major surgery years ago If you keep being told it's diabetic neuropathy from a borderline A1C If gabapentin or Lyrica never fix anything If 2am wake-ups have taken over your sleep If your feet feel "older" than the rest of you If you've started shuffling If you feel dismissed If you feel hopeless If you feel like your balance is slipping away Please hear me: You are not fragile. You are not broken. You are not too old. And it is not your blood sugar. You are missing three systems. And you can rebuild them. 👉 Try NerVana+ Risk Free Today: https://uk.avalaine.com/pages/avalaine%C2%AE-magnesium-nerve-relief-patches-story One patch. Worn overnight. Everything your nerves have been missing since your surgery. 💕 60 Day Money Back Guarantee 🌿 Doctor recommended formula 🧬 The only patch that delivers all three nerve-repair systems transdermally ⭐ Trusted by thousands of post-surgical patients 🔒 No subscriptions unless you choose one P.S. It has now been 87 nights since I took my last gabapentin. 87 nights without 2am burning. 87 nights of real sleep. 87 nights of not feeling fragile or dismissed. 87 nights of waking up and feeling the floor under my feet. And at 67… I am not done living. This is the first time in years that I feel safe in my own body. And that peace… Is priceless. Try NerVana+ Risk-Free Today 👉 https://uk.avalaine.com/pages/avalaine%C2%AE-magnesium-nerve-relief-patches-story P.P.S. Remember: all first-time orders are protected by a 60-day moneyback guarantee. If you don't see reduced burning and restored feeling in your feet in 60 days… Simply email the company and they'll refund every cent. No questions asked. 60 days from now, you can be: - Sleeping through the night without 2am burning - Standing in line without scanning for a chair - Driving without your foot getting confused on the pedals - Feeling the floor under your feet again - Living your life without planning around the pain All you have to do is take this first step. 👉 Try NerVana+ Risk Free Today: https://uk.avalaine.com/pages/avalaine%C2%AE-magnesium-nerve-relief-patches-story
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"“My guys found her. She’s at the MagDog clubhouse. Fixing their bikes.” “What?” Her father’s brow furrowed. “Then tell her to come home. Our business is drowning.” “She wouldn’t. Maxine sent back a message: ‘You gave my room to a bast3rd baby. I gave my keys to a biker.’” The room froze. Dan, Maxine’s ex-boyfriend, now her sister’s fiancé, remembered the last Christmas. Zoey’s moans. Maxine’s bed. Her white sheets. Zoey remembered stealing him—the third boyfriend she’d taken from her sister. And Mom and Dad never once said stop. Her parents remembered looking at their bleeding daughter and telling her to leave. For a nursery. For the cheater’s child. None of them had ever chosen her. “At least she’s safe,” her mother whispered, sobbing with regret. “Safe? She’s living above a bike shop. But she’s got the whole club at her back. Especially their giant—Tank. Six-foot-eight. Never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her. And... their president also sent a message.” “Go on,” her father urged, anxiety simmering beneath. “‘You didn’t want her. We do. Touch her fortune? We’ll end you.’” The words landed like a punch. No one moved. No one breathed. Outside, a Harley roared past the window. She didn’t even slow down." --- Maxine POV “Go home, you have worked too much overtime this week. Have an early night and give that boyfriend of yours an early treat.” My boss practically pushed me out the door, a wicked grin on his face. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’m going. I straddled my bike and started her up. This was going to be a great night. Today was my boyfriend's birthday, and I was going to give him my V-card as a special gift. I had brought new lingerie, black lace, see-through, and I had shaved my mound, leaving a trail that looked like an arrow pointing down to my juncture. I was ready to give him my all, my first, my heart, take the big plunge. I felt I was ready. I pulled into the driveway to see my sister's and my boyfriend’s cars. I had no idea my sister was coming home today. She was still at college in her final year, though I heard she wasn't doing so well. The poor golden girl has not met up with expectations, not that I was worried. My ex-boyfriend showed up three hours early; our date was not for a few more hours. What was he doing here already? Walking in the back door, I heard voices and headed towards them; they were in Dad’s office, with the door slightly ajar. I moved silently to the door and waited outside to hear what secrets they were having now. They occasionally do this when they are planning something and don’t want to include me, but I'm puzzled as to why my boyfriend and sister were included. “We never planned for it to happen.” My sister replied softly, as if she were some kind of victim; she was an expert at that. She should have been an actress; she would have won multiple Oscars by now. “When?” Dad asked, and I waited in the hallway to hear what this was all about. “Christmas day, we had too many of your special eggnogs, and things got heated. The party was more or less over; the presents had been given out, and the food had been eaten. We were all mulling around, talking, when Zoey said something, I don’t remember what—but we went upstairs to continue talking, and ended up in Maxine’s room. We did start by just talking, and before I knew it, we were kissing and things got heated, and ended up in her bed, like I said, and I was so lost in that moment that I forgot to use a protection. When we came out, no one seemed to notice we had been gone, so we pretended it never happened.” My boyfriend replied, and my heart just hit the floor, as I took in that my sister and boyfriend did the dirty in my bed at Christmas. MY BED. I slept in that bed, with their mess on the sheets. I feel suddenly sick at that thought. How could they do that to me? She stole another boyfriend from me again. But he was just as much to blame; I guess our relationship was not that strong yet. Not on his side at least. He continued to pretend, kissing me and taking me out on dates, as if that never happened. What a jerk. Now I feel cheated, dirty, ashamed, and angry all at once. What if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, and I ended up married to that cheating scumbag? Would her wedding present be to tell me she had slept with him first? I wouldn’t put it past her to do such a thing. She had done that before with my boyfriends, and I guess this one was just as vulnerable to her advances as the last one. “He gave me the best Christmas present ever.” My sister crowed with delight. I could imagine her tenderly touching her belly. “This is good news. I have wanted grandchildren, and the last grandchild I would have expected would be from you; you have never kept a relationship for long.” Mum said, sounding excited at the news. “What now?” My sister asked, still playing the perfect victim. “We get married?’ My now ex-boyfriend suggested —sounds more like a question. “What about Maxine?” My sister asked, as if I were an inconvenience that needed to be sorted out, and now they think about me, but it didn’t sound like concern. “What about her? This is about my first grandchild, and his or her safety comes first. She will have to live with it.” My mother spat, revealing that famous favoritism, because she had always taken my sister's side in everything, even when proven wrong. They never backed me up. “I am technically her boyfriend.” He started to say something, but was interrupted. “Not anymore, you're not. I will arrange with the local publican to hire the outdoor garden area, and we shall have an engagement party this Saturday. Get that sorted before you start to show, and Maxine will show her support.” Dad’s voice floated out, sounding resolute. I had no say in this, not that I wanted to be his girlfriend any longer; he had proven not to be what I wanted in a guy. “She will have to leave. I need her room for the nursery. I would prefer it if she didn't attend the engagement party. What will those who know she was the real girlfriend show up, and see that it was not Maxine getting engaged?” Mum added. Yep, that was my mother, trying to regain her dignity and save face. I couldn’t take it any longer. I was devastated enough, and listening further to their support for the love for the cheater was eating me up inside. I didn’t want to cry in front of them; the tears were a mix of anger and hurt. I pushed the door open, revealing myself standing there. All faces turned to look at me. “Let me get this straight. You took my boyfriend to MY bed, did the dirty with him, leaving your mess in my bed, as a sort of Christmas present for me. Guess that made your day, thinking I was sleeping in your mess. Now you want my bedroom for the child baby you have created, and I am what, just pushed out the door? Like yesterday’s trash?” I asked to ensure I understood correctly that the whole family was fine with me being tossed aside. “Exactly, I am taking your boyfriend, your bedroom, and you, my dear sister, have to move out.” My sister sounded like she had won the lottery. Her face beamed at her triumph. “Fine with me.” The look of shock would have made me laugh if I were not so numb inside. I moved away to my room and packed what I could into my duffel bag. I will come back for the rest later, when they are not around. My heart was breaking, not because I lost my boyfriend, although that hurt a lot, considering that what I was going to give him for his present today was saved for doing something foolish at least. But also because both parents were supporting this deception, as if it were the best news they had received in a while, that they had been trying to get rid of me for a while, and now succeeded in a spectacular way. I walked downstairs and looked at them. “When I find a place to stay, I will be back for the rest.” I spat at them, a mixture of hurt, anger, and defeat. I never fit into the family, a black sheep, so maybe I should become one. I had always had top grades, won awards, done my best, but even being first, I was still last. My best friend was the only place I could think of going to; it had to be temporary. Jenny will be cool and let me sleep on her couch till I find a new home. I climbed onto my bike and took off to the only sanctuary I had over the years. Jenny welcomed me into her home, like I knew she would, and together we had a pity party consisting of beer and vanilla fudge ice cream. We called the family and my ex some interesting names, some of which I had never heard before, but they sounded good. The drunker I got, the more inventive the names became. The next morning, after waking up on Jenny’s couch and remembering yesterday, it did not go as planned. I pulled myself together, had a quick shower, and left for work. It was eight in the morning, and Jenny was still asleep when I left. That might be okay for some, but my workday today would be ten hours long, and I was running late. “You're late, night must have gone better than planned,” Mike said jovially. They sort of knew what I was planning last night. The others chuckled along with Mike. I grumbled some shiet and got to work. By the end of the day, Mike pulled me to his office. “Okay, out with it. The guys have been tiptoeing around you all day. What happened? He rejected your advances?” He asked, his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, looking at me with concerned eyes, a father figure, better than my dad had ever been. So, I told him what happened when I got home and where I spent the night, and now I'm looking for a place to stay. I was proud of myself; I didn’t cry, or whine, or show any emotion at all —just explained my predicament in cold, emotionless words. Clear and succinct. He said he wouldn’t say anything in the shop, but would talk to the prez. I had no idea why, but I was not in the right frame of mind to question it. Maxine POV Today was my sister's engagement party; engaged to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, you heard me right, my ex. What a joke that was. I had been dating Dan for six months when my sister, who was a year older than I, came home for Christmas and ended up in bed with my boyfriend. She’s a shameless woman, always has been, but I never expected him to sleep with her. I thought we were secure in our relationship. The only good thing I took away from this was that I never went to bed with him; my virginity card was still intact, not that I was trying to keep it - I just never got the chance to lose it. She always managed to have any guy I was interested in dump me for her, and when she got bored with them, she’d move on. So, in a way, I didn’t have a boyfriend till she moved out of her home and headed to college. But when my sister came home and met him, she seduced him and got pregnant. He did the whole ‘get down on one knee and proposed’ scene. Apparently, it was romantic, but I wasn't there when he did it because they didn’t want me around. It hurt a lot at the time, and I was glad to have my girlfriends around me, helping me get over it. They say, I dodged a bullet. I agree with them, stupidly. He might have been a sports jock with good looks, but doing this tells me he was weak and shallow, and I was too good for him, or so my BFF says. I prefer to believe them over the excuses my ex made. I had to move out of my home after I had a massive fight with my parents a few days ago, when the truth was exposed; they supported her, not me, and the next thing I knew, I was out the door and the evil sister. The engagement party was intended to introduce him to her friends and make the relationship official, but I was not invited. My parents want nothing to do with me. I made them all uncomfortable, considering he was my boyfriend first. Anyone working out the timeline for the baby can piece it together, and see they were cheating on me, and it would have been awkward, and too many questions would have been raised. Not that I needed to say all of that, I kind of said it all before, but grrrrr, I am so angry at how my so-called ‘family’ kicked me out of my so-called home, with no care for me or my feelings. It was easier to push me away and disown me than have to explain to them that my sister cheated with my boyfriend, and hey presto, a baby was on the way. Because I was kicked out of the house, and only had a short time to pack anything, I took the opportunity of the party to sneak into the house and take more of my possessions, like opening my father's safe, and grabbing every piece of paper relating to me, and a little money too, no a lot of money, and grandma’s jewelry that she left me. So, with the help of my BFF, we packed my belongings and took them to her place until I found a new one. I ride a motorcycle, so I need help. I have the money to buy a new place, but I'm unsure if I want to stay in this town now. Once my apprenticeship is over, I might move away. I stayed that night at Jenny’s place, as I figured out what to do. Today, I am moving into my new place —a bungalow above the bike shop where I work. I am in my final year of apprenticeship, and I am a motorcycle mechanic, proud of it, I might add. I can also work on cars and trucks. If it had a motor, I could fix it; I always could, thanks to my knack for it, which I developed since I was eight, when I fell in love with engines. My Grandpa taught me, kept me out of everyone's way. I guess you could say I was a tomboy, with no frills and lace. My Grandpa kept me sane and busy, so the BS in our house didn’t hurt me as much. The place has two bedrooms and is fully contained, meaning it has everything I need. I had purchased some new sheets and towels, that sort of thing, but it had a fully stocked kitchen; I only needed to buy the food. It might be small, and above a noisy bike shop, but at night it was a quiet area. No one would break into this shop; the local bikie gang owned it. They were good guys, scary, but so far, no trouble for me. My BFF, Jenny, was helping me take my belongings upstairs when a group of bikers arrived and assisted us. I had five boxes and two suitcases filled with all sorts of items. “Thanks, guys, for the help,” I said sweetly, my BFF batting her eyes at them and swaying her hips suggestively as she walked and thanked them. She makes me laugh with her antics, which are totally opposite to mine. I like jeans and am rarely seen in a dress, whereas she was seldom seen in jeans. “We got a party at the clubhouse, tomorrow Saturday, you should come and relax a bit, bring your girls with ya,” Bruiser suggested as he threw his arm over my shoulder, walked me to the settee, pushed me down, and handed me a beer they had brought with them. This was how they acted around me, ordered me about. Sometimes, I'm okay with it; other times, I get all worked up and growl back at them. Today was acceptance. I know they mean well, and I feel lucky to have them as family; they try to make me feel better. “That sounds like a blast, count me in, and I can bring two other girl friends with us. Max, do you want me to pick you up?” Jenny offered, taking a beer from one of the guys. She was not a beer drinker; however, in this situation, I could see her not refusing anything they offered. I guess I'm going, whether I want to or not. “No, I’ll ride over,” I replied as one of the guys ordered pizza. “That’s the spirit. Nothing like the wind in your hair to blow the cobwebs away.” They stayed because they didn’t want me to be alone, not on my first night here. Pizza arrived not long after, and my little bungalow was soon feeling too small and crowded, with six huge bikers in the room. Some sat on the floor; others pulled up one of the three kitchen chairs. I know, I know, three chairs sound odd, but that's what was here, and beggars can’t be choosers; the rent was dirt cheap, and I think the boys are the ones to make sure I had everything I needed. They found out about my situation the next day, because, I was still quiet at work, which was not like me, often I am singing to the radio, or swearing at something, so one of the guys approached me, to find out what gives, and I softly told them, what went down, and when word got around the bikers heard I needed a place to stay, because I was kicked out of my home and why, they came to me, like protective brothers. Now I have a whole gang of bikers who have my back. I feel privileged to call them friends. They even offered to rough the ex up for me, but I refused the offer, because strangely, I was happy to get rid of the loser if he was a cheating build. Better now than when I am fully invested in our relationship. Plus, I was in deep enough shite with my parents and sister without making it worse. The pizza was gone, my BFF left for home, and the guys did too. It was late, well, for me, midnight. I usually fall asleep quickly because I have to be up for work at five. Tomorrow, being Saturday, I have the morning shift before the party later. They let me leave work early so I can move in here. “Hey, don’t forget to come, we need our prettiest mechanic at the party, some of the boys might need a tune-up,” Bruiser said with a laugh as they climbed on their bikes and left. I know what sort of tune-up he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with a motor. I looked around my new home. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. The guys were great; they took the empty pizza boxes and beer cans with them, and the place was relatively clean. Not at all what you would expect from a group of rowdy men. The clubhouse. I had never been to it, despite having worked there for nearly four years, and they had never extended an invitation to me. I know they had lots of parties; maybe I was too young. I turned twenty recently, but they might think of me as the fifteen-year-old who showed up one day and told the boss I was going to be his apprentice. He laughed at first and said he would give me a go to prove myself. He thought I was joking and that I would be gone by the weekend, but over the holidays, I worked hard and have been here ever since. Maxine POV The beeping sound of my phone alarm made me sit up and look around. It took a moment to remember where I was. The room had a small curtain that barely kept the light out. There was a streetlight just outside my window. I can envisage myself getting better blackout curtains soon. Although it was annoying, it wasn't among my top priorities for making this a home. The shower was decent, with nice pressure. I followed my morning routine, only to realize how foolish I was to wake up so early, living above my place of work; I didn’t need to ride here. After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I still had half an hour before I needed to be at work. I had two ways to get into my place: one was through the back stairs, and the other was through the shop. With the code to turn off the alarm, I decided to head down and start work early. It was better than moving stuff around; I can do that later. I had a bike to finish by this afternoon. The customer would be here at two. Turned off the alarm, turned on the coffee pot, the radio, and headed to my workstation, where the fat boy was waiting for me to finish. I sat on the stool with casters and began my job, singing loudly to the heavy rock song that came on the radio as I installed the new spark plugs and double-checked the oil. It was a simple, easy-peasy service. Once finished, I started the bike up, let it idle while I made coffee, then returned to rev it a few times. It sounds lumpy, like it was just turning over perfectly; it was music to my ears. I love that throaty, deep, lumpy sound. You can feel it vibrate through my chest. “That’s a sound I loved to hear as I enter work.” My boss, Mike, said as I turned the bike off. “It’s ready to go, unless you want to take it out for a test ride. Want a coffee, pots hot.” I offered as I threw the dirty rag in the bin. “Sure, I will take the bike out for a spin, and you can make me a coffee.” He smirked as he grabbed the bike. I opened the garage door, and Mike took off. I smiled as he disappeared down the street, and I turned to make both of us coffee. If you hadn’t guessed already, I would drink a lot of coffee. I am not a fan of soft drinks or tea; for me, it's coffee or water. With a broom in hand, I began cleaning the shop. I am not out here very often, but I try to sweep the floor at least once a week; they have another apprentice who’s a second year, who gets to do most of the cleaning up, but he’s never here on a Saturday. The sound of the bike returning prompted me to pick up the two cups of coffee and head back out to the workshop. Mike had a massive grin on his face as he parked the bike. “Great job, you are our top mechanic. But don’t tell anyone, or I will have to deny it.” He joked, taking his coffee from my hand as he walked by, no doubt letting the customer know the bike was ready ahead of time. I moved to the next bike, which was a total rebuild; it had been in a minor accident, and while the frame was being checked, I would work on the engine and gearbox. It was the only job on my list at the moment. The bike owner was in no hurry; he had a broken leg, giving me a few weeks to work on his bike and any urgent jobs that might come into the shop. The client arrived and happily took possession of his bike, very happy with the job done. “I hear you’ve been invited to the club party tonight,” Mike said as he rang up the sale on the cash register. “Yep.” I said popping the ‘p’. “You can leave now, we have no more customers expected. Good job today.” It was close to one o’clock, near the time I would knock off. “Thanks, boss.” I saluted him and rushed upstairs, before he could change his mind. Giggling all the way up. I heard him chuckling as he locked the door below, behind me. I decided on a quick shower; I didn’t want to smell of oil when going to a party. Put on my skinny black jeans, a black blouse that had red flames on the back and on the pockets, black boots that had some chains around the ankle, and hair in a ponytail. I will get what we call helmet hair, so it's a waste to do much with it now. I use mascara and strawberry lip gloss, which is more to moisturize my lips, which tend to dry out when I ride my bike, and that's it. The last thing I grabbed before leaving was my jacket. My mum used to grumble that I wasn’t like my sister and put more effort into my appearance, but I like who I am, and I didn’t like wearing lots of makeup; it was my choice, and I feel that I am not a frilly, lacey chick. It was a deal breaker with my mum. She had my sister dress up and left me in the care of Grandpa until he died when I was seventeen. It broke me when he left the world. He was the only person who got me. My grandma had been gone since I was young, and I filled the hole in his heart with my love for bikes and fishing. He left me his money and bikes. Dad got his house and business. My mum hated that I gained all that money. When Grandma died, she left me her jewelry, and Grandpa made sure to keep it safe till I was old enough to have it. I ate something and put some more of my stuff in the cupboards before my phone chimed to let me know my girlfriends were on their way to the party. I pulled my bike out of the small garage and started it up. I threw my leg over and took off, heading to the property. The clubhouse was half an hour out of town, set on a large property a little bit back from the road. Ten minutes later, I came up behind the girls and hung out behind them. My friend waved me on to take the lead. I shrugged and overtook her. The turn off arrived, and I rode happily up the long drive, and trees lined the road. An open, large steel gate appeared, and I was glad it was still enough light to see clearly. Men stood by the entrance, watching us arrive. “Hey.” I greeted the biggest man I had ever seen. “Who invited you here?” The man asked gruffly, in a deep husky voice. “Bruiser,” I answered, with a firm, clear voice, hoping that the fact that he frightened me would be noticed in my voice. He pulled out his phone and called, I assumed, Bruiser. “Max?” He asked, as he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. He said something more and hung up the phone. “Come in, the car behind your girls?” He looked at the car behind, which clearly had a woman in it. “Yep,” I replied, not at all liking how he intimidated me with his manner. Perhaps it was the way they greeted strangers. One look makes the weak run. Well, I am not weak, and I won't be running. Maxine POV This rather large biker leaned in to look inside the car, his bulky figure partially blocking the open window, causing the girl nearest it to back away. Satisfied, he looked at me with a knowing smirk, then motioned for us to enter. The clubhouse was nothing like I had imagined. Firstly, it was four levels high. Verandah all the way around, that I could see. It was more like a mansion than a clubhouse. Women were gathered near the door, looking in, as if they were waiting for something; some were sitting on the wooden fence that surrounded the verandah. They were dressed in barely anything, showing all that was available, some love that sort of thing. People like me dress to stay warm or cool and don’t care about showing off the goods. Bikes sat in neat rows in front, and cars were parked to the left of the building; the ratio of bikes to cars was approximately four bikes to one car. I parked the bike with the others, climbed off, and took off my helmet. I placed the lid on the bike and shook out my hair while waiting for the girls to park and come to me. I heard some muffled scoffs, but I couldn’t care less —I wasn't here to please them. Bruiser came out of the clubhouse behind me. “Max, you came by bike. Sweet.” He gave me a gentle squeeze and moved to take a closer look at my bike. The paint job was a wolf, fading in smoke. It took me months to finish, as I kept changing my mind, and the smoke obscured the mistakes. “Who did the paint job?” He asked as he moved around to look at it from all sides. “Me.” I was proud of the results. “Does Mike know you can paint?” He sounded surprised. “He has seen my bike when I used the garage to do a service. He never asked who did the paint work, just that he liked it.” “Sweet, looks like we have someone to do touch-ups, and possibly a full paint job. We have a family reunion in a few weeks, and the ladies are invited to come along. You can join us.” Bruiser offered as my ladies arrived; they were not included in that invitation, I assumed, because I have a bike. “Bruiser, you already met Jenny, Melony, Karen, and Heather, my other BFF, and Alice, Karen's sister, and BFF to my sister.” Adding that comment, hoping that Bruiser knew precisely what that woman was like. Alice battered her eyes and leaned forward to show off what was under that almost shirt. My ladies greeted him with the respect he deserved. “Ladies. Hands out.” Bruiser stamped the girl's backs of their hands; they all had a bear, except Alice, who had a rabbit on her hand. I frowned, trying to figure out what the rabbit was all about. He pushed my hand away. “You are family, no need for a stamp.” I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my face. I felt so special. Then the shoe dropped. Rabbit meant she would open her legs. Bruiser got my meaning loud and clear. It took a while to understand the purpose of the stamps. “Come inside and meet the ole ladies.” I understood what he meant; these were ladies who had been claimed and had a different level of respect that those not claimed would never understand. I have met a few of them over the years and gained more insight into club life. They respect me as much as I respect them. We entered the place, and the girls who had been waiting outside gave us a dirty look, as they were still stopped from entering. “What's so special about them?” One pouted, but Bruiser ignored her. Inside was cleaner than I had expected —my fault for judging a group of men, since they often look messy when I see them at the shop. The place had a large, open space, with tables where you stand, as well as booths dotted along the walls, and stools at the bar, which ran the full length of the room. I loved the spacious room, the pictures on the walls, and some bike parts scattered about as decoration. A few barstools are bike seats; it was different, and it appealed to me. Being a lover of bikes. “Sticks.” I greeted her as we got closer to the ladies Bruiser was taking us to. “Hey, Maxie Max. How's it blowing?” She stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. This chick had no filter or personal space. Sticks was the President's; her real name was Sandra, but she was my height at five-nine, and she had no shape to her body, just a lovely bean pole, almost no chest to speak of, yet she had had two boys. Hence the name Sticks. “Doing better,” I replied. She would know what was going on. She introduced us to the other ladies with her, and it didn’t surprise me that Alice had already moved away from us before we had finished the introductions. “What’s her story?” Sticks asked as she watched Alice start to try her luck with the club men. “Same as my sister. Bruiser put a rabbit stamp on her hand.” Sticks and the other girl roared out laughing. “She will be used, abused, and kicked to the side by the time the night is over, and I doubt they would let her back in. We don’t need her sort in the club.” Maggie spouted as we watched a patch member knock her offer back. “The regulars are not going to like her working their turf. So, to speak.” Tootsie said, with a smirk, that the regulars know the rules and stick with them. Don’t approach a patch member; if interested, they will come to you. Nom’s are fair game. But most girls would prefer a patch member. Don’t touch a taken member; the women will gang up and make your life miserable if you feel one of theirs. Wait to be let into the clubhouse and then stay in the public area. No going upstairs uninvited. The first two floors are designated for guest rooms, while the top floor is reserved for permanent residences. Those who don’t have a home of their own to go to. They are private and not open to wandering girls. Don’t touch or sit on someone’s bike, unless you are given permission. The patched old ladies are the bosses of the girls; they tell you to leave or do something, and you do it. There were more rules for the girls visiting, but I couldn’t remember them all at that moment. None had applied to me until now. Alice had already broken at least three, to my knowledge. I am staying out of it. That rabbit on her hand told the members that she would open her legs for any of them, and no one would support her if she broke the rules. That she was not welcome to return, in other words, have your fun, and then kick her to the curb. The doors were opened to let the other girls in. They looked at us in the no-go zone and pouted. We were sitting in an off-limits area unless we were invited. From what I understood, they were here to spread their legs and give the guys some relief, but not become part of the family. They might be hopeful that something would change; it was rare for a patch member to take one of these ladies, who had most likely been with every unattached member of the gang, at some point. My girls left me with Sticks and wandered about with the other ladies, getting the tour of the place. “Want to look around?” Sticks were offered, and before I knew it, we were walking around the vast ground floor. “Ready to see the workshop, the guys might talk you into helping out, once they know who you are.” Sticks led me down a small pathway, lined with flowering shrubs, and to a set of large, farm-size sheds. Inside were bikes, some in bits, others crumpled from an accident, and others like they had just been detailed and were someone's pride and joy. There was a workshop here, where men were working on their bikes. They looked up at us when we entered and frowned. If Sticks were not with me, they would have most likely growled at me to get out. “Who’s this Sticks?” A monster of a man asked, in the deepest voice I have ever heard, he looked a lot like the man at the gate, but with more toned muscles, that I would love to run my fingers over. Just a tad taller, and although he looked big and scary, he made my lady parts sing in a way they had never sung before. Tank POV A few guys aren't into parties, so I stopped going until later in the night, when the girls who showed up were already taken. I dislike the women who come here hoping to adopt our lifestyle. I prefer to use my hand rather than one of those women. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my share of women; however, I had a girl who pushed me to take her, and when I did, she ended up in the hospital, because I am not exactly a little man, and I ripped her apart. She needed stitches, and I have not been with a woman since. Like my brother, we are both large men; he is six feet six inches tall, and I am six feet eight inches tall. He’s carrying extra weight, where I am all muscle. I pride myself on keeping in shape, but being this large has its downfall, and having a large build has had me worried about hurting another woman. No matter how much I might want to, I can’t; I never want to go through that again. The Prez was the only person who knew why I wouldn’t join the parties; he was with me when we took the girl to the hospital, she forgave me, and tried to pursue me to keep her, but I couldn’t. Each time I started to get intimate, I had flashes of her screams, and my confidence went down like a popped balloon. We were in the workshop, doing some minor tune-ups. As I prepare for our ride, I'm excited. When they bring the ladies, the men are usually in a better mood and on their best behavior. I was looking at rebuild. I started it last week. We have a few wrecks that need to be started; some have been sitting here far too long. We can only go so far before we need Mike's help. None of us was a mechanic. I was scratching my head, as I was almost at the end of my knowledge, when I heard someone enter, and a soft perfume that shouldn’t be in this shed hit my nose. Stick’s voice reached my ears, and I lifted my head up to look in her direction. “Who’s this Sticks?” The most beautiful girl I have ever seen had entered our sanctuary, a place where few girls are allowed, which made Sticks bring this beauty down to this dirt and grease, which was unexpectedly. “That is Max, from the shop, Mike's apprentice, who I think had finished her apprenticeship and is doing something extra on Harleys and getting some specialized license,” Banjo said as he moved forward to greet them. The others stood up and moved forward too, making me feel like a dill for not recognizing Max. Although I have only seen her a few times from a distance, and she was usually deep in bike repair, I barely got to see her face. We have not been introduced because I wouldn’t have forgotten that beauty if I had. Sticks introduced us all, and we greeted her before I decided I could use her help. I put the thoughts of what I wouldn’t mind doing to her behind me, not that I could do it. “Max, come look at this wreck. I am stuck with what to do next.” I called her over on the bike I was working on. “Tank, surely you could have waited for another day? She came for the party, not to work.” Sticks grumbled as Max walked to me. She was clean and smelled nice, and I had a fleeting moment of guilt for calling her over. The few times I had seen her, she was covered in oil and grease, wearing coveralls that hid her shapely figure. “Max, are you sure?” Sticks pulled on her hand to get her attention. “Yeah, I am more at home in here than out there,” Max said with a smile and turned back to me. “What's the problem?” She asked me to move forward and inspect the bike. I went into detail about what happened to the bike, what I had managed to do so far, and what I needed to move forward. Max removed her leather jacket and slung it over a nearby bike seat, then squatted down. For the next two hours, Max worked on the bike with me, guiding me through the tricky bits I couldn’t do. The others came forward and used this time as a sort of training session, and Max didn’t seem to mind at all. We asked questions as she worked on the bike, and she used me to lift the heavy parts. It was teamwork, and we completed more repairs in that time than I would have on my own. “Hey, Max,” Bruiser called out at the door. He stood with his legs apart, arms folded, and I wondered if we had done something wrong. “Back here.” She returned to the call of her name. He arrived and burst out laughing at us. “Max, I invited you to a party, you know, dancing and drinking, and socializing. This was not what I meant as a party.” He was still chuckling when the Prez walked in, with Sticks on his arm. “You still got her working out here?” Stick all but growled at us, when the Prez’s lady growls, we all listen. She’s the last person we want to make angry. “What?” I was confused, Max didn’t seem to mind, and we all were having a good time out here. “Hey, Prez. The party over?” Max calmly asked, but it sounded more like she had hoped it was. “Not even close, babes.” The Prez answered with a smile. He had gotten closer to Max over the years she had been at the bike shop. He had often talked about the female mechanic and her sassy ways. I had thought he was exaggerating, but after spending a little time with her, I was hooked. “We have nearly completed the repair job on Spider's bike. If we can have Max here for a few days, I bet we could hit the road by the end of the week.” I said it as it was my way of asking her to stay for a while and fix the bike. Spider was almost healed and ready to get back on his own bike. “Would have to ask Mike about that, she’s his employee, even if we own the shop, he runs it, and I don’t get involved with his employees,” Prez replied contemplatively. “He here?” I asked, as Mike often doesn’t show up at the weekend parties. “Yep, came half an hour ago.” Sticks answered as she handed Max a bottle of water. “Max, if Mike’s okay with it, would you work with us for a week, get some of these ready for the weekend ride?” Sparks asked, and I kicked myself for not considering that she might not want to spend a week here. “Sure, if Mike doesn’t need me, we have several bikes in for service before the ladies run.” Her sweet voice carried across the warehouse, and the guys nodded in understanding. “Thanks, babes,” Spike called out. Each one of us here enjoyed that she worked on our bikes; it might sound odd that we're letting a chick touch our bikes, but Max was not like most chicks. Who wants to sit on the bikes or lie on them? Max knows what she’s doing and has proven herself on numerous occasions. I wish I had known how attractive she was. Man, I had a semi since she walked in the door. The Prez will even let her ride her own bike, a privilege few ladies get. She was more part of the crew; no other girl I know works on bikes like she does, and her reputation over the time she's been an apprentice has been exemplary. Not a guy chaser. When word got out that our girl had been cheated on in the worst possible way, we all wanted to go and kill the man, even though half of us had never really met her, yeah, seen her in a distance, or legs poking out from under a truck, but never sat and talked with her before today. She was fun, had me chuckling a few times, but most of the time in here, she had been all about the bikes, and not flirting, like most chicks do when around us. They see the glamour of the lifestyle, but it's not for everyone. Maxine POV I was guided to a washroom on the side of the workshop, which had a deep steel sink and a shower, but no mirrors. There was a cupboard under the sink containing soaps and cleaning products, as well as a shelf with dark-colored towels. A door that led to a toilet, which was cleaner than I had expected. So far, this whole gang house had been cleaner than I thought a load of men would leave it. I had underestimated the guys and made assumptions about how guys I knew from school or parties would act; none of them were like that. Maybe it was because they are mostly men, whereas my experience had been with boys my age and lower. I cleaned the grease off my hands and arms and dried them. As I went through the routine of cleaning myself up, I thought about the party they had been pushing me to attend and how it had churned up my stomach. The last few times I went to a party, I was with my ex-boyfriend, and he ended up with my sister, so parties were not my thing. I always seem to lose something at parties. Mostly friends, who don’t like the fact that I don’t drink, I have never been a drinker, I might drink a beer to be sociable, and it would take me ages to finish it. Still, I never take shots and am never blind drunk. I had only once been drunk, and I didn’t like the feeling or the way it took me all day to recover, nor the hangover that seemed to be more than a headache. My friends get drunk, and I spend a lot of time cleaning up the messes they make, so I seem to be the one doing the cleanup most of the time, as they know I have their backs, even when I prefer not to do that part of it. I had just finished cleaning up when Tank came in, took one look at me, and started to chuckle. “What?” I asked, looking confused as he laughed. What did I do that was so funny? He didn’t say a word. He leaned over, picked up a cloth, and soaped it up, then gripped my chin in his huge hand, and gently wiped the side of my face, his eyes concentrating on the task, as if it was the most important job he had to do with care. He was so gentle, touching my face with soft, quick movements. His eyes then met mine, and I was lost in the deepest blue orbs I have ever seen. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat and blinked a few times to break the trance he had put me in, and took a step back, my body hitting the sink behind me. “You had some grease on your cheek.” He whispered in a husky voice so deep that it had my lady parts jumping for joy and need, something I am not familiar with. “Thank you,” I whispered back, my voice croaking, and I was shocked by the sound of my own voice; it was lower, warmer, and surprised me as much as Tank's did. His eyes widened at the husky sound. He took a step back and motioned with his hand for me to move past him. I quickly left the washroom and waited in the workshop, taking in the wrecks and wondering how badly the rider would have been hurt if the bike had looked like this. Hoping no one lost their lives. I thought about that for a while. I loved my bike, but I would never ditch it because I was scared. That the thought of falling off had never entered my mind, if I died while riding my bike, then I would have been doing what I love doing. I found I was okay with that. Not that I want to die, but I have thought about how I would like to go when my heart has been broken. “Hey, what are you doing still in here?” Rocket asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Hiding?” I joked back, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and came to stand beside me, looking at the bike I had been staring at. “Can it be fixed? It’s been sitting here for a long time, with no one having the skill to start repairing it. Well, they could give it a go, but this bike is so old that parts are almost impossible to get.” “Yeah, I can give it a try. I have some contacts who can obtain parts, but I can also manufacture some parts. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can come over on weekends and dedicate some time to it.” I suggested it would be a shame to let this panhead go to waste. There are enough pieces of the wrecked bike left to serve as a starting point. “Sweet, it will be good to see this bike out on the road again.” Rocket looked genuinely pleased that the bike could be restored. I restore old cars, trucks, and bikes with Grandpa. I have the equipment stored in a shed for when I have a place of my own to use the machines. I wonder if they have a shed where I can put them. I will need one of the machines. “Ready?” Tank asked; he had shed the work shirt and pulled on a gang shirt. His muscles are on display. Yummy. He makes me feel tiny when I am beside him. “Tank, Max said she can restore the baby.” Tank’s head turned to look at the wreck, and then at me. “For real? Max, can you do that?” Tank looked surprised. After spending a few hours with me, working on bikes, he had to ask that? “Yeah, I can, need to talk to the Prez about some space, but I can do it.” Both guys frowned and looked around the workshop. But they didn’t say anything. Or question me further. Tank put his hand on my lower back and gave a slight push, making me start to walk out of the workshop. It was dark out. Tank guided me to the back door, Rocket leading the way. He opened the door for me and waved me in, as if I were someone important. Causing me to giggle. Yeah, you heard me; I giggled like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous, and not something I had ever expected to come out of my mouth. The guys didn’t even blink at the giggle. The place was warm inside, vibrating with the loud thump of the bass. You could hardly hear the person next to you speak over the heavy music. It reeked of cigarettes and booze. The girls who had been at the door waiting to get in were busy with patch members kissing and almost doing the deed right there on the chair. Some were grinding their hips against the man below them, and the small amount of clothing they had on was even less now. I assumed they were well on their way to being drunk. This was a classic visual of why men lose respect for some kinds of women. I am embarrassed to see it in front of me. I looked around the room and saw my friends still with Sticks, and a couple of guys hanging around nearby. My friends look like they are having fun, and they have a few patch members who seem friendly to them. I hope the girls know what they are doing. The gang life was not for everyone. Dad had once spoken badly about gangs, and he hated it when I became an apprentice at the bike shop. Grandpa was the one who encouraged me to have an apprenticeship. He hated that Dad and Mum were backing my sister in everything, and maybe encouraging me to be a mechanic at the bike shop was his way to get back at Dad. Dad had even tried to get me to leave the bike shop when Grandpa had died. But I had made a pact with Grandpa that I wouldn’t give in to Dad. To live the life I want, and never give in, no matter what the consequences are. I wonder what Grandpa would say if he were alive and saw Dad kick me out of the family home, for the sake of my sister. He would be livered, that’s for sure. But I did as Grandpa said, stood firm, and stayed true to myself. “Hey Maxi Max, come join us. Cricket, grab Max an iced water.” Sticks patted the chair next to her, and before I could move to sit beside her, Tank grabbed me around the waist and took a couple of giant steps to the chair, and sat down, holding me on his lap. The girls looked at each other, then, between Tank and me, the confused look changed to a grin and a nod —whatever that was about.
"“My guys found her. She’s at the MagDog clubhouse. Fixing their bikes.” “What?” Her father’s brow furrowed. “Then tell her to come home. Our business is drowning.” “She wouldn’t. Maxine sent back a message: ‘You gave my room to a bast3rd baby. I gave my keys to a biker.’” The room froze. Dan, Maxine’s ex-boyfriend, now her sister’s fiancé, remembered the last Christmas. Zoey’s moans. Maxine’s bed. Her white sheets. Zoey remembered stealing him—the third boyfriend she’d taken from her sister. And Mom and Dad never once said stop. Her parents remembered looking at their bleeding daughter and telling her to leave. For a nursery. For the cheater’s child. None of them had ever chosen her. “At least she’s safe,” her mother whispered, sobbing with regret. “Safe? She’s living above a bike shop. But she’s got the whole club at her back. Especially their giant—Tank. Six-foot-eight. Never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her. And... their president also sent a message.” “Go on,” her father urged, anxiety simmering beneath. “‘You didn’t want her. We do. Touch her fortune? We’ll end you.’” The words landed like a punch. No one moved. No one breathed. Outside, a Harley roared past the window. She didn’t even slow down." --- Maxine POV “Go home, you have worked too much overtime this week. Have an early night and give that boyfriend of yours an early treat.” My boss practically pushed me out the door, a wicked grin on his face. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’m going. I straddled my bike and started her up. This was going to be a great night. Today was my boyfriend's birthday, and I was going to give him my V-card as a special gift. I had brought new lingerie, black lace, see-through, and I had shaved my mound, leaving a trail that looked like an arrow pointing down to my juncture. I was ready to give him my all, my first, my heart, take the big plunge. I felt I was ready. I pulled into the driveway to see my sister's and my boyfriend’s cars. I had no idea my sister was coming home today. She was still at college in her final year, though I heard she wasn't doing so well. The poor golden girl has not met up with expectations, not that I was worried. My ex-boyfriend showed up three hours early; our date was not for a few more hours. What was he doing here already? Walking in the back door, I heard voices and headed towards them; they were in Dad’s office, with the door slightly ajar. I moved silently to the door and waited outside to hear what secrets they were having now. They occasionally do this when they are planning something and don’t want to include me, but I'm puzzled as to why my boyfriend and sister were included. “We never planned for it to happen.” My sister replied softly, as if she were some kind of victim; she was an expert at that. She should have been an actress; she would have won multiple Oscars by now. “When?” Dad asked, and I waited in the hallway to hear what this was all about. “Christmas day, we had too many of your special eggnogs, and things got heated. The party was more or less over; the presents had been given out, and the food had been eaten. We were all mulling around, talking, when Zoey said something, I don’t remember what—but we went upstairs to continue talking, and ended up in Maxine’s room. We did start by just talking, and before I knew it, we were kissing and things got heated, and ended up in her bed, like I said, and I was so lost in that moment that I forgot to use a protection. When we came out, no one seemed to notice we had been gone, so we pretended it never happened.” My boyfriend replied, and my heart just hit the floor, as I took in that my sister and boyfriend did the dirty in my bed at Christmas. MY BED. I slept in that bed, with their mess on the sheets. I feel suddenly sick at that thought. How could they do that to me? She stole another boyfriend from me again. But he was just as much to blame; I guess our relationship was not that strong yet. Not on his side at least. He continued to pretend, kissing me and taking me out on dates, as if that never happened. What a jerk. Now I feel cheated, dirty, ashamed, and angry all at once. What if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, and I ended up married to that cheating scumbag? Would her wedding present be to tell me she had slept with him first? I wouldn’t put it past her to do such a thing. She had done that before with my boyfriends, and I guess this one was just as vulnerable to her advances as the last one. “He gave me the best Christmas present ever.” My sister crowed with delight. I could imagine her tenderly touching her belly. “This is good news. I have wanted grandchildren, and the last grandchild I would have expected would be from you; you have never kept a relationship for long.” Mum said, sounding excited at the news. “What now?” My sister asked, still playing the perfect victim. “We get married?’ My now ex-boyfriend suggested —sounds more like a question. “What about Maxine?” My sister asked, as if I were an inconvenience that needed to be sorted out, and now they think about me, but it didn’t sound like concern. “What about her? This is about my first grandchild, and his or her safety comes first. She will have to live with it.” My mother spat, revealing that famous favoritism, because she had always taken my sister's side in everything, even when proven wrong. They never backed me up. “I am technically her boyfriend.” He started to say something, but was interrupted. “Not anymore, you're not. I will arrange with the local publican to hire the outdoor garden area, and we shall have an engagement party this Saturday. Get that sorted before you start to show, and Maxine will show her support.” Dad’s voice floated out, sounding resolute. I had no say in this, not that I wanted to be his girlfriend any longer; he had proven not to be what I wanted in a guy. “She will have to leave. I need her room for the nursery. I would prefer it if she didn't attend the engagement party. What will those who know she was the real girlfriend show up, and see that it was not Maxine getting engaged?” Mum added. Yep, that was my mother, trying to regain her dignity and save face. I couldn’t take it any longer. I was devastated enough, and listening further to their support for the love for the cheater was eating me up inside. I didn’t want to cry in front of them; the tears were a mix of anger and hurt. I pushed the door open, revealing myself standing there. All faces turned to look at me. “Let me get this straight. You took my boyfriend to MY bed, did the dirty with him, leaving your mess in my bed, as a sort of Christmas present for me. Guess that made your day, thinking I was sleeping in your mess. Now you want my bedroom for the child baby you have created, and I am what, just pushed out the door? Like yesterday’s trash?” I asked to ensure I understood correctly that the whole family was fine with me being tossed aside. “Exactly, I am taking your boyfriend, your bedroom, and you, my dear sister, have to move out.” My sister sounded like she had won the lottery. Her face beamed at her triumph. “Fine with me.” The look of shock would have made me laugh if I were not so numb inside. I moved away to my room and packed what I could into my duffel bag. I will come back for the rest later, when they are not around. My heart was breaking, not because I lost my boyfriend, although that hurt a lot, considering that what I was going to give him for his present today was saved for doing something foolish at least. But also because both parents were supporting this deception, as if it were the best news they had received in a while, that they had been trying to get rid of me for a while, and now succeeded in a spectacular way. I walked downstairs and looked at them. “When I find a place to stay, I will be back for the rest.” I spat at them, a mixture of hurt, anger, and defeat. I never fit into the family, a black sheep, so maybe I should become one. I had always had top grades, won awards, done my best, but even being first, I was still last. My best friend was the only place I could think of going to; it had to be temporary. Jenny will be cool and let me sleep on her couch till I find a new home. I climbed onto my bike and took off to the only sanctuary I had over the years. Jenny welcomed me into her home, like I knew she would, and together we had a pity party consisting of beer and vanilla fudge ice cream. We called the family and my ex some interesting names, some of which I had never heard before, but they sounded good. The drunker I got, the more inventive the names became. The next morning, after waking up on Jenny’s couch and remembering yesterday, it did not go as planned. I pulled myself together, had a quick shower, and left for work. It was eight in the morning, and Jenny was still asleep when I left. That might be okay for some, but my workday today would be ten hours long, and I was running late. “You're late, night must have gone better than planned,” Mike said jovially. They sort of knew what I was planning last night. The others chuckled along with Mike. I grumbled some shiet and got to work. By the end of the day, Mike pulled me to his office. “Okay, out with it. The guys have been tiptoeing around you all day. What happened? He rejected your advances?” He asked, his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, looking at me with concerned eyes, a father figure, better than my dad had ever been. So, I told him what happened when I got home and where I spent the night, and now I'm looking for a place to stay. I was proud of myself; I didn’t cry, or whine, or show any emotion at all —just explained my predicament in cold, emotionless words. Clear and succinct. He said he wouldn’t say anything in the shop, but would talk to the prez. I had no idea why, but I was not in the right frame of mind to question it. Maxine POV Today was my sister's engagement party; engaged to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, you heard me right, my ex. What a joke that was. I had been dating Dan for six months when my sister, who was a year older than I, came home for Christmas and ended up in bed with my boyfriend. She’s a shameless woman, always has been, but I never expected him to sleep with her. I thought we were secure in our relationship. The only good thing I took away from this was that I never went to bed with him; my virginity card was still intact, not that I was trying to keep it - I just never got the chance to lose it. She always managed to have any guy I was interested in dump me for her, and when she got bored with them, she’d move on. So, in a way, I didn’t have a boyfriend till she moved out of her home and headed to college. But when my sister came home and met him, she seduced him and got pregnant. He did the whole ‘get down on one knee and proposed’ scene. Apparently, it was romantic, but I wasn't there when he did it because they didn’t want me around. It hurt a lot at the time, and I was glad to have my girlfriends around me, helping me get over it. They say, I dodged a bullet. I agree with them, stupidly. He might have been a sports jock with good looks, but doing this tells me he was weak and shallow, and I was too good for him, or so my BFF says. I prefer to believe them over the excuses my ex made. I had to move out of my home after I had a massive fight with my parents a few days ago, when the truth was exposed; they supported her, not me, and the next thing I knew, I was out the door and the evil sister. The engagement party was intended to introduce him to her friends and make the relationship official, but I was not invited. My parents want nothing to do with me. I made them all uncomfortable, considering he was my boyfriend first. Anyone working out the timeline for the baby can piece it together, and see they were cheating on me, and it would have been awkward, and too many questions would have been raised. Not that I needed to say all of that, I kind of said it all before, but grrrrr, I am so angry at how my so-called ‘family’ kicked me out of my so-called home, with no care for me or my feelings. It was easier to push me away and disown me than have to explain to them that my sister cheated with my boyfriend, and hey presto, a baby was on the way. Because I was kicked out of the house, and only had a short time to pack anything, I took the opportunity of the party to sneak into the house and take more of my possessions, like opening my father's safe, and grabbing every piece of paper relating to me, and a little money too, no a lot of money, and grandma’s jewelry that she left me. So, with the help of my BFF, we packed my belongings and took them to her place until I found a new one. I ride a motorcycle, so I need help. I have the money to buy a new place, but I'm unsure if I want to stay in this town now. Once my apprenticeship is over, I might move away. I stayed that night at Jenny’s place, as I figured out what to do. Today, I am moving into my new place —a bungalow above the bike shop where I work. I am in my final year of apprenticeship, and I am a motorcycle mechanic, proud of it, I might add. I can also work on cars and trucks. If it had a motor, I could fix it; I always could, thanks to my knack for it, which I developed since I was eight, when I fell in love with engines. My Grandpa taught me, kept me out of everyone's way. I guess you could say I was a tomboy, with no frills and lace. My Grandpa kept me sane and busy, so the BS in our house didn’t hurt me as much. The place has two bedrooms and is fully contained, meaning it has everything I need. I had purchased some new sheets and towels, that sort of thing, but it had a fully stocked kitchen; I only needed to buy the food. It might be small, and above a noisy bike shop, but at night it was a quiet area. No one would break into this shop; the local bikie gang owned it. They were good guys, scary, but so far, no trouble for me. My BFF, Jenny, was helping me take my belongings upstairs when a group of bikers arrived and assisted us. I had five boxes and two suitcases filled with all sorts of items. “Thanks, guys, for the help,” I said sweetly, my BFF batting her eyes at them and swaying her hips suggestively as she walked and thanked them. She makes me laugh with her antics, which are totally opposite to mine. I like jeans and am rarely seen in a dress, whereas she was seldom seen in jeans. “We got a party at the clubhouse, tomorrow Saturday, you should come and relax a bit, bring your girls with ya,” Bruiser suggested as he threw his arm over my shoulder, walked me to the settee, pushed me down, and handed me a beer they had brought with them. This was how they acted around me, ordered me about. Sometimes, I'm okay with it; other times, I get all worked up and growl back at them. Today was acceptance. I know they mean well, and I feel lucky to have them as family; they try to make me feel better. “That sounds like a blast, count me in, and I can bring two other girl friends with us. Max, do you want me to pick you up?” Jenny offered, taking a beer from one of the guys. She was not a beer drinker; however, in this situation, I could see her not refusing anything they offered. I guess I'm going, whether I want to or not. “No, I’ll ride over,” I replied as one of the guys ordered pizza. “That’s the spirit. Nothing like the wind in your hair to blow the cobwebs away.” They stayed because they didn’t want me to be alone, not on my first night here. Pizza arrived not long after, and my little bungalow was soon feeling too small and crowded, with six huge bikers in the room. Some sat on the floor; others pulled up one of the three kitchen chairs. I know, I know, three chairs sound odd, but that's what was here, and beggars can’t be choosers; the rent was dirt cheap, and I think the boys are the ones to make sure I had everything I needed. They found out about my situation the next day, because, I was still quiet at work, which was not like me, often I am singing to the radio, or swearing at something, so one of the guys approached me, to find out what gives, and I softly told them, what went down, and when word got around the bikers heard I needed a place to stay, because I was kicked out of my home and why, they came to me, like protective brothers. Now I have a whole gang of bikers who have my back. I feel privileged to call them friends. They even offered to rough the ex up for me, but I refused the offer, because strangely, I was happy to get rid of the loser if he was a cheating build. Better now than when I am fully invested in our relationship. Plus, I was in deep enough shite with my parents and sister without making it worse. The pizza was gone, my BFF left for home, and the guys did too. It was late, well, for me, midnight. I usually fall asleep quickly because I have to be up for work at five. Tomorrow, being Saturday, I have the morning shift before the party later. They let me leave work early so I can move in here. “Hey, don’t forget to come, we need our prettiest mechanic at the party, some of the boys might need a tune-up,” Bruiser said with a laugh as they climbed on their bikes and left. I know what sort of tune-up he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with a motor. I looked around my new home. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. The guys were great; they took the empty pizza boxes and beer cans with them, and the place was relatively clean. Not at all what you would expect from a group of rowdy men. The clubhouse. I had never been to it, despite having worked there for nearly four years, and they had never extended an invitation to me. I know they had lots of parties; maybe I was too young. I turned twenty recently, but they might think of me as the fifteen-year-old who showed up one day and told the boss I was going to be his apprentice. He laughed at first and said he would give me a go to prove myself. He thought I was joking and that I would be gone by the weekend, but over the holidays, I worked hard and have been here ever since. Maxine POV The beeping sound of my phone alarm made me sit up and look around. It took a moment to remember where I was. The room had a small curtain that barely kept the light out. There was a streetlight just outside my window. I can envisage myself getting better blackout curtains soon. Although it was annoying, it wasn't among my top priorities for making this a home. The shower was decent, with nice pressure. I followed my morning routine, only to realize how foolish I was to wake up so early, living above my place of work; I didn’t need to ride here. After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I still had half an hour before I needed to be at work. I had two ways to get into my place: one was through the back stairs, and the other was through the shop. With the code to turn off the alarm, I decided to head down and start work early. It was better than moving stuff around; I can do that later. I had a bike to finish by this afternoon. The customer would be here at two. Turned off the alarm, turned on the coffee pot, the radio, and headed to my workstation, where the fat boy was waiting for me to finish. I sat on the stool with casters and began my job, singing loudly to the heavy rock song that came on the radio as I installed the new spark plugs and double-checked the oil. It was a simple, easy-peasy service. Once finished, I started the bike up, let it idle while I made coffee, then returned to rev it a few times. It sounds lumpy, like it was just turning over perfectly; it was music to my ears. I love that throaty, deep, lumpy sound. You can feel it vibrate through my chest. “That’s a sound I loved to hear as I enter work.” My boss, Mike, said as I turned the bike off. “It’s ready to go, unless you want to take it out for a test ride. Want a coffee, pots hot.” I offered as I threw the dirty rag in the bin. “Sure, I will take the bike out for a spin, and you can make me a coffee.” He smirked as he grabbed the bike. I opened the garage door, and Mike took off. I smiled as he disappeared down the street, and I turned to make both of us coffee. If you hadn’t guessed already, I would drink a lot of coffee. I am not a fan of soft drinks or tea; for me, it's coffee or water. With a broom in hand, I began cleaning the shop. I am not out here very often, but I try to sweep the floor at least once a week; they have another apprentice who’s a second year, who gets to do most of the cleaning up, but he’s never here on a Saturday. The sound of the bike returning prompted me to pick up the two cups of coffee and head back out to the workshop. Mike had a massive grin on his face as he parked the bike. “Great job, you are our top mechanic. But don’t tell anyone, or I will have to deny it.” He joked, taking his coffee from my hand as he walked by, no doubt letting the customer know the bike was ready ahead of time. I moved to the next bike, which was a total rebuild; it had been in a minor accident, and while the frame was being checked, I would work on the engine and gearbox. It was the only job on my list at the moment. The bike owner was in no hurry; he had a broken leg, giving me a few weeks to work on his bike and any urgent jobs that might come into the shop. The client arrived and happily took possession of his bike, very happy with the job done. “I hear you’ve been invited to the club party tonight,” Mike said as he rang up the sale on the cash register. “Yep.” I said popping the ‘p’. “You can leave now, we have no more customers expected. Good job today.” It was close to one o’clock, near the time I would knock off. “Thanks, boss.” I saluted him and rushed upstairs, before he could change his mind. Giggling all the way up. I heard him chuckling as he locked the door below, behind me. I decided on a quick shower; I didn’t want to smell of oil when going to a party. Put on my skinny black jeans, a black blouse that had red flames on the back and on the pockets, black boots that had some chains around the ankle, and hair in a ponytail. I will get what we call helmet hair, so it's a waste to do much with it now. I use mascara and strawberry lip gloss, which is more to moisturize my lips, which tend to dry out when I ride my bike, and that's it. The last thing I grabbed before leaving was my jacket. My mum used to grumble that I wasn’t like my sister and put more effort into my appearance, but I like who I am, and I didn’t like wearing lots of makeup; it was my choice, and I feel that I am not a frilly, lacey chick. It was a deal breaker with my mum. She had my sister dress up and left me in the care of Grandpa until he died when I was seventeen. It broke me when he left the world. He was the only person who got me. My grandma had been gone since I was young, and I filled the hole in his heart with my love for bikes and fishing. He left me his money and bikes. Dad got his house and business. My mum hated that I gained all that money. When Grandma died, she left me her jewelry, and Grandpa made sure to keep it safe till I was old enough to have it. I ate something and put some more of my stuff in the cupboards before my phone chimed to let me know my girlfriends were on their way to the party. I pulled my bike out of the small garage and started it up. I threw my leg over and took off, heading to the property. The clubhouse was half an hour out of town, set on a large property a little bit back from the road. Ten minutes later, I came up behind the girls and hung out behind them. My friend waved me on to take the lead. I shrugged and overtook her. The turn off arrived, and I rode happily up the long drive, and trees lined the road. An open, large steel gate appeared, and I was glad it was still enough light to see clearly. Men stood by the entrance, watching us arrive. “Hey.” I greeted the biggest man I had ever seen. “Who invited you here?” The man asked gruffly, in a deep husky voice. “Bruiser,” I answered, with a firm, clear voice, hoping that the fact that he frightened me would be noticed in my voice. He pulled out his phone and called, I assumed, Bruiser. “Max?” He asked, as he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. He said something more and hung up the phone. “Come in, the car behind your girls?” He looked at the car behind, which clearly had a woman in it. “Yep,” I replied, not at all liking how he intimidated me with his manner. Perhaps it was the way they greeted strangers. One look makes the weak run. Well, I am not weak, and I won't be running. Maxine POV This rather large biker leaned in to look inside the car, his bulky figure partially blocking the open window, causing the girl nearest it to back away. Satisfied, he looked at me with a knowing smirk, then motioned for us to enter. The clubhouse was nothing like I had imagined. Firstly, it was four levels high. Verandah all the way around, that I could see. It was more like a mansion than a clubhouse. Women were gathered near the door, looking in, as if they were waiting for something; some were sitting on the wooden fence that surrounded the verandah. They were dressed in barely anything, showing all that was available, some love that sort of thing. People like me dress to stay warm or cool and don’t care about showing off the goods. Bikes sat in neat rows in front, and cars were parked to the left of the building; the ratio of bikes to cars was approximately four bikes to one car. I parked the bike with the others, climbed off, and took off my helmet. I placed the lid on the bike and shook out my hair while waiting for the girls to park and come to me. I heard some muffled scoffs, but I couldn’t care less —I wasn't here to please them. Bruiser came out of the clubhouse behind me. “Max, you came by bike. Sweet.” He gave me a gentle squeeze and moved to take a closer look at my bike. The paint job was a wolf, fading in smoke. It took me months to finish, as I kept changing my mind, and the smoke obscured the mistakes. “Who did the paint job?” He asked as he moved around to look at it from all sides. “Me.” I was proud of the results. “Does Mike know you can paint?” He sounded surprised. “He has seen my bike when I used the garage to do a service. He never asked who did the paint work, just that he liked it.” “Sweet, looks like we have someone to do touch-ups, and possibly a full paint job. We have a family reunion in a few weeks, and the ladies are invited to come along. You can join us.” Bruiser offered as my ladies arrived; they were not included in that invitation, I assumed, because I have a bike. “Bruiser, you already met Jenny, Melony, Karen, and Heather, my other BFF, and Alice, Karen's sister, and BFF to my sister.” Adding that comment, hoping that Bruiser knew precisely what that woman was like. Alice battered her eyes and leaned forward to show off what was under that almost shirt. My ladies greeted him with the respect he deserved. “Ladies. Hands out.” Bruiser stamped the girl's backs of their hands; they all had a bear, except Alice, who had a rabbit on her hand. I frowned, trying to figure out what the rabbit was all about. He pushed my hand away. “You are family, no need for a stamp.” I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my face. I felt so special. Then the shoe dropped. Rabbit meant she would open her legs. Bruiser got my meaning loud and clear. It took a while to understand the purpose of the stamps. “Come inside and meet the ole ladies.” I understood what he meant; these were ladies who had been claimed and had a different level of respect that those not claimed would never understand. I have met a few of them over the years and gained more insight into club life. They respect me as much as I respect them. We entered the place, and the girls who had been waiting outside gave us a dirty look, as they were still stopped from entering. “What's so special about them?” One pouted, but Bruiser ignored her. Inside was cleaner than I had expected —my fault for judging a group of men, since they often look messy when I see them at the shop. The place had a large, open space, with tables where you stand, as well as booths dotted along the walls, and stools at the bar, which ran the full length of the room. I loved the spacious room, the pictures on the walls, and some bike parts scattered about as decoration. A few barstools are bike seats; it was different, and it appealed to me. Being a lover of bikes. “Sticks.” I greeted her as we got closer to the ladies Bruiser was taking us to. “Hey, Maxie Max. How's it blowing?” She stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. This chick had no filter or personal space. Sticks was the President's; her real name was Sandra, but she was my height at five-nine, and she had no shape to her body, just a lovely bean pole, almost no chest to speak of, yet she had had two boys. Hence the name Sticks. “Doing better,” I replied. She would know what was going on. She introduced us to the other ladies with her, and it didn’t surprise me that Alice had already moved away from us before we had finished the introductions. “What’s her story?” Sticks asked as she watched Alice start to try her luck with the club men. “Same as my sister. Bruiser put a rabbit stamp on her hand.” Sticks and the other girl roared out laughing. “She will be used, abused, and kicked to the side by the time the night is over, and I doubt they would let her back in. We don’t need her sort in the club.” Maggie spouted as we watched a patch member knock her offer back. “The regulars are not going to like her working their turf. So, to speak.” Tootsie said, with a smirk, that the regulars know the rules and stick with them. Don’t approach a patch member; if interested, they will come to you. Nom’s are fair game. But most girls would prefer a patch member. Don’t touch a taken member; the women will gang up and make your life miserable if you feel one of theirs. Wait to be let into the clubhouse and then stay in the public area. No going upstairs uninvited. The first two floors are designated for guest rooms, while the top floor is reserved for permanent residences. Those who don’t have a home of their own to go to. They are private and not open to wandering girls. Don’t touch or sit on someone’s bike, unless you are given permission. The patched old ladies are the bosses of the girls; they tell you to leave or do something, and you do it. There were more rules for the girls visiting, but I couldn’t remember them all at that moment. None had applied to me until now. Alice had already broken at least three, to my knowledge. I am staying out of it. That rabbit on her hand told the members that she would open her legs for any of them, and no one would support her if she broke the rules. That she was not welcome to return, in other words, have your fun, and then kick her to the curb. The doors were opened to let the other girls in. They looked at us in the no-go zone and pouted. We were sitting in an off-limits area unless we were invited. From what I understood, they were here to spread their legs and give the guys some relief, but not become part of the family. They might be hopeful that something would change; it was rare for a patch member to take one of these ladies, who had most likely been with every unattached member of the gang, at some point. My girls left me with Sticks and wandered about with the other ladies, getting the tour of the place. “Want to look around?” Sticks were offered, and before I knew it, we were walking around the vast ground floor. “Ready to see the workshop, the guys might talk you into helping out, once they know who you are.” Sticks led me down a small pathway, lined with flowering shrubs, and to a set of large, farm-size sheds. Inside were bikes, some in bits, others crumpled from an accident, and others like they had just been detailed and were someone's pride and joy. There was a workshop here, where men were working on their bikes. They looked up at us when we entered and frowned. If Sticks were not with me, they would have most likely growled at me to get out. “Who’s this Sticks?” A monster of a man asked, in the deepest voice I have ever heard, he looked a lot like the man at the gate, but with more toned muscles, that I would love to run my fingers over. Just a tad taller, and although he looked big and scary, he made my lady parts sing in a way they had never sung before. Tank POV A few guys aren't into parties, so I stopped going until later in the night, when the girls who showed up were already taken. I dislike the women who come here hoping to adopt our lifestyle. I prefer to use my hand rather than one of those women. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my share of women; however, I had a girl who pushed me to take her, and when I did, she ended up in the hospital, because I am not exactly a little man, and I ripped her apart. She needed stitches, and I have not been with a woman since. Like my brother, we are both large men; he is six feet six inches tall, and I am six feet eight inches tall. He’s carrying extra weight, where I am all muscle. I pride myself on keeping in shape, but being this large has its downfall, and having a large build has had me worried about hurting another woman. No matter how much I might want to, I can’t; I never want to go through that again. The Prez was the only person who knew why I wouldn’t join the parties; he was with me when we took the girl to the hospital, she forgave me, and tried to pursue me to keep her, but I couldn’t. Each time I started to get intimate, I had flashes of her screams, and my confidence went down like a popped balloon. We were in the workshop, doing some minor tune-ups. As I prepare for our ride, I'm excited. When they bring the ladies, the men are usually in a better mood and on their best behavior. I was looking at rebuild. I started it last week. We have a few wrecks that need to be started; some have been sitting here far too long. We can only go so far before we need Mike's help. None of us was a mechanic. I was scratching my head, as I was almost at the end of my knowledge, when I heard someone enter, and a soft perfume that shouldn’t be in this shed hit my nose. Stick’s voice reached my ears, and I lifted my head up to look in her direction. “Who’s this Sticks?” The most beautiful girl I have ever seen had entered our sanctuary, a place where few girls are allowed, which made Sticks bring this beauty down to this dirt and grease, which was unexpectedly. “That is Max, from the shop, Mike's apprentice, who I think had finished her apprenticeship and is doing something extra on Harleys and getting some specialized license,” Banjo said as he moved forward to greet them. The others stood up and moved forward too, making me feel like a dill for not recognizing Max. Although I have only seen her a few times from a distance, and she was usually deep in bike repair, I barely got to see her face. We have not been introduced because I wouldn’t have forgotten that beauty if I had. Sticks introduced us all, and we greeted her before I decided I could use her help. I put the thoughts of what I wouldn’t mind doing to her behind me, not that I could do it. “Max, come look at this wreck. I am stuck with what to do next.” I called her over on the bike I was working on. “Tank, surely you could have waited for another day? She came for the party, not to work.” Sticks grumbled as Max walked to me. She was clean and smelled nice, and I had a fleeting moment of guilt for calling her over. The few times I had seen her, she was covered in oil and grease, wearing coveralls that hid her shapely figure. “Max, are you sure?” Sticks pulled on her hand to get her attention. “Yeah, I am more at home in here than out there,” Max said with a smile and turned back to me. “What's the problem?” She asked me to move forward and inspect the bike. I went into detail about what happened to the bike, what I had managed to do so far, and what I needed to move forward. Max removed her leather jacket and slung it over a nearby bike seat, then squatted down. For the next two hours, Max worked on the bike with me, guiding me through the tricky bits I couldn’t do. The others came forward and used this time as a sort of training session, and Max didn’t seem to mind at all. We asked questions as she worked on the bike, and she used me to lift the heavy parts. It was teamwork, and we completed more repairs in that time than I would have on my own. “Hey, Max,” Bruiser called out at the door. He stood with his legs apart, arms folded, and I wondered if we had done something wrong. “Back here.” She returned to the call of her name. He arrived and burst out laughing at us. “Max, I invited you to a party, you know, dancing and drinking, and socializing. This was not what I meant as a party.” He was still chuckling when the Prez walked in, with Sticks on his arm. “You still got her working out here?” Stick all but growled at us, when the Prez’s lady growls, we all listen. She’s the last person we want to make angry. “What?” I was confused, Max didn’t seem to mind, and we all were having a good time out here. “Hey, Prez. The party over?” Max calmly asked, but it sounded more like she had hoped it was. “Not even close, babes.” The Prez answered with a smile. He had gotten closer to Max over the years she had been at the bike shop. He had often talked about the female mechanic and her sassy ways. I had thought he was exaggerating, but after spending a little time with her, I was hooked. “We have nearly completed the repair job on Spider's bike. If we can have Max here for a few days, I bet we could hit the road by the end of the week.” I said it as it was my way of asking her to stay for a while and fix the bike. Spider was almost healed and ready to get back on his own bike. “Would have to ask Mike about that, she’s his employee, even if we own the shop, he runs it, and I don’t get involved with his employees,” Prez replied contemplatively. “He here?” I asked, as Mike often doesn’t show up at the weekend parties. “Yep, came half an hour ago.” Sticks answered as she handed Max a bottle of water. “Max, if Mike’s okay with it, would you work with us for a week, get some of these ready for the weekend ride?” Sparks asked, and I kicked myself for not considering that she might not want to spend a week here. “Sure, if Mike doesn’t need me, we have several bikes in for service before the ladies run.” Her sweet voice carried across the warehouse, and the guys nodded in understanding. “Thanks, babes,” Spike called out. Each one of us here enjoyed that she worked on our bikes; it might sound odd that we're letting a chick touch our bikes, but Max was not like most chicks. Who wants to sit on the bikes or lie on them? Max knows what she’s doing and has proven herself on numerous occasions. I wish I had known how attractive she was. Man, I had a semi since she walked in the door. The Prez will even let her ride her own bike, a privilege few ladies get. She was more part of the crew; no other girl I know works on bikes like she does, and her reputation over the time she's been an apprentice has been exemplary. Not a guy chaser. When word got out that our girl had been cheated on in the worst possible way, we all wanted to go and kill the man, even though half of us had never really met her, yeah, seen her in a distance, or legs poking out from under a truck, but never sat and talked with her before today. She was fun, had me chuckling a few times, but most of the time in here, she had been all about the bikes, and not flirting, like most chicks do when around us. They see the glamour of the lifestyle, but it's not for everyone. Maxine POV I was guided to a washroom on the side of the workshop, which had a deep steel sink and a shower, but no mirrors. There was a cupboard under the sink containing soaps and cleaning products, as well as a shelf with dark-colored towels. A door that led to a toilet, which was cleaner than I had expected. So far, this whole gang house had been cleaner than I thought a load of men would leave it. I had underestimated the guys and made assumptions about how guys I knew from school or parties would act; none of them were like that. Maybe it was because they are mostly men, whereas my experience had been with boys my age and lower. I cleaned the grease off my hands and arms and dried them. As I went through the routine of cleaning myself up, I thought about the party they had been pushing me to attend and how it had churned up my stomach. The last few times I went to a party, I was with my ex-boyfriend, and he ended up with my sister, so parties were not my thing. I always seem to lose something at parties. Mostly friends, who don’t like the fact that I don’t drink, I have never been a drinker, I might drink a beer to be sociable, and it would take me ages to finish it. Still, I never take shots and am never blind drunk. I had only once been drunk, and I didn’t like the feeling or the way it took me all day to recover, nor the hangover that seemed to be more than a headache. My friends get drunk, and I spend a lot of time cleaning up the messes they make, so I seem to be the one doing the cleanup most of the time, as they know I have their backs, even when I prefer not to do that part of it. I had just finished cleaning up when Tank came in, took one look at me, and started to chuckle. “What?” I asked, looking confused as he laughed. What did I do that was so funny? He didn’t say a word. He leaned over, picked up a cloth, and soaped it up, then gripped my chin in his huge hand, and gently wiped the side of my face, his eyes concentrating on the task, as if it was the most important job he had to do with care. He was so gentle, touching my face with soft, quick movements. His eyes then met mine, and I was lost in the deepest blue orbs I have ever seen. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat and blinked a few times to break the trance he had put me in, and took a step back, my body hitting the sink behind me. “You had some grease on your cheek.” He whispered in a husky voice so deep that it had my lady parts jumping for joy and need, something I am not familiar with. “Thank you,” I whispered back, my voice croaking, and I was shocked by the sound of my own voice; it was lower, warmer, and surprised me as much as Tank's did. His eyes widened at the husky sound. He took a step back and motioned with his hand for me to move past him. I quickly left the washroom and waited in the workshop, taking in the wrecks and wondering how badly the rider would have been hurt if the bike had looked like this. Hoping no one lost their lives. I thought about that for a while. I loved my bike, but I would never ditch it because I was scared. That the thought of falling off had never entered my mind, if I died while riding my bike, then I would have been doing what I love doing. I found I was okay with that. Not that I want to die, but I have thought about how I would like to go when my heart has been broken. “Hey, what are you doing still in here?” Rocket asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Hiding?” I joked back, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and came to stand beside me, looking at the bike I had been staring at. “Can it be fixed? It’s been sitting here for a long time, with no one having the skill to start repairing it. Well, they could give it a go, but this bike is so old that parts are almost impossible to get.” “Yeah, I can give it a try. I have some contacts who can obtain parts, but I can also manufacture some parts. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can come over on weekends and dedicate some time to it.” I suggested it would be a shame to let this panhead go to waste. There are enough pieces of the wrecked bike left to serve as a starting point. “Sweet, it will be good to see this bike out on the road again.” Rocket looked genuinely pleased that the bike could be restored. I restore old cars, trucks, and bikes with Grandpa. I have the equipment stored in a shed for when I have a place of my own to use the machines. I wonder if they have a shed where I can put them. I will need one of the machines. “Ready?” Tank asked; he had shed the work shirt and pulled on a gang shirt. His muscles are on display. Yummy. He makes me feel tiny when I am beside him. “Tank, Max said she can restore the baby.” Tank’s head turned to look at the wreck, and then at me. “For real? Max, can you do that?” Tank looked surprised. After spending a few hours with me, working on bikes, he had to ask that? “Yeah, I can, need to talk to the Prez about some space, but I can do it.” Both guys frowned and looked around the workshop. But they didn’t say anything. Or question me further. Tank put his hand on my lower back and gave a slight push, making me start to walk out of the workshop. It was dark out. Tank guided me to the back door, Rocket leading the way. He opened the door for me and waved me in, as if I were someone important. Causing me to giggle. Yeah, you heard me; I giggled like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous, and not something I had ever expected to come out of my mouth. The guys didn’t even blink at the giggle. The place was warm inside, vibrating with the loud thump of the bass. You could hardly hear the person next to you speak over the heavy music. It reeked of cigarettes and booze. The girls who had been at the door waiting to get in were busy with patch members kissing and almost doing the deed right there on the chair. Some were grinding their hips against the man below them, and the small amount of clothing they had on was even less now. I assumed they were well on their way to being drunk. This was a classic visual of why men lose respect for some kinds of women. I am embarrassed to see it in front of me. I looked around the room and saw my friends still with Sticks, and a couple of guys hanging around nearby. My friends look like they are having fun, and they have a few patch members who seem friendly to them. I hope the girls know what they are doing. The gang life was not for everyone. Dad had once spoken badly about gangs, and he hated it when I became an apprentice at the bike shop. Grandpa was the one who encouraged me to have an apprenticeship. He hated that Dad and Mum were backing my sister in everything, and maybe encouraging me to be a mechanic at the bike shop was his way to get back at Dad. Dad had even tried to get me to leave the bike shop when Grandpa had died. But I had made a pact with Grandpa that I wouldn’t give in to Dad. To live the life I want, and never give in, no matter what the consequences are. I wonder what Grandpa would say if he were alive and saw Dad kick me out of the family home, for the sake of my sister. He would be livered, that’s for sure. But I did as Grandpa said, stood firm, and stayed true to myself. “Hey Maxi Max, come join us. Cricket, grab Max an iced water.” Sticks patted the chair next to her, and before I could move to sit beside her, Tank grabbed me around the waist and took a couple of giant steps to the chair, and sat down, holding me on his lap. The girls looked at each other, then, between Tank and me, the confused look changed to a grin and a nod —whatever that was about.
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"“My guys found her. She’s at the MagDog clubhouse. Fixing their bikes.” “What?” Her father’s brow furrowed. “Then tell her to come home. Our business is drowning.” “She wouldn’t. Maxine sent back a message: ‘You gave my room to a bast3rd baby. I gave my keys to a biker.’” The room froze. Dan, Maxine’s ex-boyfriend, now her sister’s fiancé, remembered the last Christmas. Zoey’s moans. Maxine’s bed. Her white sheets. Zoey remembered stealing him—the third boyfriend she’d taken from her sister. And Mom and Dad never once said stop. Her parents remembered looking at their bleeding daughter and telling her to leave. For a nursery. For the cheater’s child. None of them had ever chosen her. “At least she’s safe,” her mother whispered, sobbing with regret. “Safe? She’s living above a bike shop. But she’s got the whole club at her back. Especially their giant—Tank. Six-foot-eight. Never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her. And... their president also sent a message.” “Go on,” her father urged, anxiety simmering beneath. “‘You didn’t want her. We do. Touch her fortune? We’ll end you.’” The words landed like a punch. No one moved. No one breathed. Outside, a Harley roared past the window. She didn’t even slow down." --- Maxine POV “Go home, you have worked too much overtime this week. Have an early night and give that boyfriend of yours an early treat.” My boss practically pushed me out the door, a wicked grin on his face. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’m going. I straddled my bike and started her up. This was going to be a great night. Today was my boyfriend's birthday, and I was going to give him my V-card as a special gift. I had brought new lingerie, black lace, see-through, and I had shaved my mound, leaving a trail that looked like an arrow pointing down to my juncture. I was ready to give him my all, my first, my heart, take the big plunge. I felt I was ready. I pulled into the driveway to see my sister's and my boyfriend’s cars. I had no idea my sister was coming home today. She was still at college in her final year, though I heard she wasn't doing so well. The poor golden girl has not met up with expectations, not that I was worried. My ex-boyfriend showed up three hours early; our date was not for a few more hours. What was he doing here already? Walking in the back door, I heard voices and headed towards them; they were in Dad’s office, with the door slightly ajar. I moved silently to the door and waited outside to hear what secrets they were having now. They occasionally do this when they are planning something and don’t want to include me, but I'm puzzled as to why my boyfriend and sister were included. “We never planned for it to happen.” My sister replied softly, as if she were some kind of victim; she was an expert at that. She should have been an actress; she would have won multiple Oscars by now. “When?” Dad asked, and I waited in the hallway to hear what this was all about. “Christmas day, we had too many of your special eggnogs, and things got heated. The party was more or less over; the presents had been given out, and the food had been eaten. We were all mulling around, talking, when Zoey said something, I don’t remember what—but we went upstairs to continue talking, and ended up in Maxine’s room. We did start by just talking, and before I knew it, we were kissing and things got heated, and ended up in her bed, like I said, and I was so lost in that moment that I forgot to use a protection. When we came out, no one seemed to notice we had been gone, so we pretended it never happened.” My boyfriend replied, and my heart just hit the floor, as I took in that my sister and boyfriend did the dirty in my bed at Christmas. MY BED. I slept in that bed, with their mess on the sheets. I feel suddenly sick at that thought. How could they do that to me? She stole another boyfriend from me again. But he was just as much to blame; I guess our relationship was not that strong yet. Not on his side at least. He continued to pretend, kissing me and taking me out on dates, as if that never happened. What a jerk. Now I feel cheated, dirty, ashamed, and angry all at once. What if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, and I ended up married to that cheating scumbag? Would her wedding present be to tell me she had slept with him first? I wouldn’t put it past her to do such a thing. She had done that before with my boyfriends, and I guess this one was just as vulnerable to her advances as the last one. “He gave me the best Christmas present ever.” My sister crowed with delight. I could imagine her tenderly touching her belly. “This is good news. I have wanted grandchildren, and the last grandchild I would have expected would be from you; you have never kept a relationship for long.” Mum said, sounding excited at the news. “What now?” My sister asked, still playing the perfect victim. “We get married?’ My now ex-boyfriend suggested —sounds more like a question. “What about Maxine?” My sister asked, as if I were an inconvenience that needed to be sorted out, and now they think about me, but it didn’t sound like concern. “What about her? This is about my first grandchild, and his or her safety comes first. She will have to live with it.” My mother spat, revealing that famous favoritism, because she had always taken my sister's side in everything, even when proven wrong. They never backed me up. “I am technically her boyfriend.” He started to say something, but was interrupted. “Not anymore, you're not. I will arrange with the local publican to hire the outdoor garden area, and we shall have an engagement party this Saturday. Get that sorted before you start to show, and Maxine will show her support.” Dad’s voice floated out, sounding resolute. I had no say in this, not that I wanted to be his girlfriend any longer; he had proven not to be what I wanted in a guy. “She will have to leave. I need her room for the nursery. I would prefer it if she didn't attend the engagement party. What will those who know she was the real girlfriend show up, and see that it was not Maxine getting engaged?” Mum added. Yep, that was my mother, trying to regain her dignity and save face. I couldn’t take it any longer. I was devastated enough, and listening further to their support for the love for the cheater was eating me up inside. I didn’t want to cry in front of them; the tears were a mix of anger and hurt. I pushed the door open, revealing myself standing there. All faces turned to look at me. “Let me get this straight. You took my boyfriend to MY bed, did the dirty with him, leaving your mess in my bed, as a sort of Christmas present for me. Guess that made your day, thinking I was sleeping in your mess. Now you want my bedroom for the child baby you have created, and I am what, just pushed out the door? Like yesterday’s trash?” I asked to ensure I understood correctly that the whole family was fine with me being tossed aside. “Exactly, I am taking your boyfriend, your bedroom, and you, my dear sister, have to move out.” My sister sounded like she had won the lottery. Her face beamed at her triumph. “Fine with me.” The look of shock would have made me laugh if I were not so numb inside. I moved away to my room and packed what I could into my duffel bag. I will come back for the rest later, when they are not around. My heart was breaking, not because I lost my boyfriend, although that hurt a lot, considering that what I was going to give him for his present today was saved for doing something foolish at least. But also because both parents were supporting this deception, as if it were the best news they had received in a while, that they had been trying to get rid of me for a while, and now succeeded in a spectacular way. I walked downstairs and looked at them. “When I find a place to stay, I will be back for the rest.” I spat at them, a mixture of hurt, anger, and defeat. I never fit into the family, a black sheep, so maybe I should become one. I had always had top grades, won awards, done my best, but even being first, I was still last. My best friend was the only place I could think of going to; it had to be temporary. Jenny will be cool and let me sleep on her couch till I find a new home. I climbed onto my bike and took off to the only sanctuary I had over the years. Jenny welcomed me into her home, like I knew she would, and together we had a pity party consisting of beer and vanilla fudge ice cream. We called the family and my ex some interesting names, some of which I had never heard before, but they sounded good. The drunker I got, the more inventive the names became. The next morning, after waking up on Jenny’s couch and remembering yesterday, it did not go as planned. I pulled myself together, had a quick shower, and left for work. It was eight in the morning, and Jenny was still asleep when I left. That might be okay for some, but my workday today would be ten hours long, and I was running late. “You're late, night must have gone better than planned,” Mike said jovially. They sort of knew what I was planning last night. The others chuckled along with Mike. I grumbled some shiet and got to work. By the end of the day, Mike pulled me to his office. “Okay, out with it. The guys have been tiptoeing around you all day. What happened? He rejected your advances?” He asked, his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, looking at me with concerned eyes, a father figure, better than my dad had ever been. So, I told him what happened when I got home and where I spent the night, and now I'm looking for a place to stay. I was proud of myself; I didn’t cry, or whine, or show any emotion at all —just explained my predicament in cold, emotionless words. Clear and succinct. He said he wouldn’t say anything in the shop, but would talk to the prez. I had no idea why, but I was not in the right frame of mind to question it. Maxine POV Today was my sister's engagement party; engaged to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, you heard me right, my ex. What a joke that was. I had been dating Dan for six months when my sister, who was a year older than I, came home for Christmas and ended up in bed with my boyfriend. She’s a shameless woman, always has been, but I never expected him to sleep with her. I thought we were secure in our relationship. The only good thing I took away from this was that I never went to bed with him; my virginity card was still intact, not that I was trying to keep it - I just never got the chance to lose it. She always managed to have any guy I was interested in dump me for her, and when she got bored with them, she’d move on. So, in a way, I didn’t have a boyfriend till she moved out of her home and headed to college. But when my sister came home and met him, she seduced him and got pregnant. He did the whole ‘get down on one knee and proposed’ scene. Apparently, it was romantic, but I wasn't there when he did it because they didn’t want me around. It hurt a lot at the time, and I was glad to have my girlfriends around me, helping me get over it. They say, I dodged a bullet. I agree with them, stupidly. He might have been a sports jock with good looks, but doing this tells me he was weak and shallow, and I was too good for him, or so my BFF says. I prefer to believe them over the excuses my ex made. I had to move out of my home after I had a massive fight with my parents a few days ago, when the truth was exposed; they supported her, not me, and the next thing I knew, I was out the door and the evil sister. The engagement party was intended to introduce him to her friends and make the relationship official, but I was not invited. My parents want nothing to do with me. I made them all uncomfortable, considering he was my boyfriend first. Anyone working out the timeline for the baby can piece it together, and see they were cheating on me, and it would have been awkward, and too many questions would have been raised. Not that I needed to say all of that, I kind of said it all before, but grrrrr, I am so angry at how my so-called ‘family’ kicked me out of my so-called home, with no care for me or my feelings. It was easier to push me away and disown me than have to explain to them that my sister cheated with my boyfriend, and hey presto, a baby was on the way. Because I was kicked out of the house, and only had a short time to pack anything, I took the opportunity of the party to sneak into the house and take more of my possessions, like opening my father's safe, and grabbing every piece of paper relating to me, and a little money too, no a lot of money, and grandma’s jewelry that she left me. So, with the help of my BFF, we packed my belongings and took them to her place until I found a new one. I ride a motorcycle, so I need help. I have the money to buy a new place, but I'm unsure if I want to stay in this town now. Once my apprenticeship is over, I might move away. I stayed that night at Jenny’s place, as I figured out what to do. Today, I am moving into my new place —a bungalow above the bike shop where I work. I am in my final year of apprenticeship, and I am a motorcycle mechanic, proud of it, I might add. I can also work on cars and trucks. If it had a motor, I could fix it; I always could, thanks to my knack for it, which I developed since I was eight, when I fell in love with engines. My Grandpa taught me, kept me out of everyone's way. I guess you could say I was a tomboy, with no frills and lace. My Grandpa kept me sane and busy, so the BS in our house didn’t hurt me as much. The place has two bedrooms and is fully contained, meaning it has everything I need. I had purchased some new sheets and towels, that sort of thing, but it had a fully stocked kitchen; I only needed to buy the food. It might be small, and above a noisy bike shop, but at night it was a quiet area. No one would break into this shop; the local bikie gang owned it. They were good guys, scary, but so far, no trouble for me. My BFF, Jenny, was helping me take my belongings upstairs when a group of bikers arrived and assisted us. I had five boxes and two suitcases filled with all sorts of items. “Thanks, guys, for the help,” I said sweetly, my BFF batting her eyes at them and swaying her hips suggestively as she walked and thanked them. She makes me laugh with her antics, which are totally opposite to mine. I like jeans and am rarely seen in a dress, whereas she was seldom seen in jeans. “We got a party at the clubhouse, tomorrow Saturday, you should come and relax a bit, bring your girls with ya,” Bruiser suggested as he threw his arm over my shoulder, walked me to the settee, pushed me down, and handed me a beer they had brought with them. This was how they acted around me, ordered me about. Sometimes, I'm okay with it; other times, I get all worked up and growl back at them. Today was acceptance. I know they mean well, and I feel lucky to have them as family; they try to make me feel better. “That sounds like a blast, count me in, and I can bring two other girl friends with us. Max, do you want me to pick you up?” Jenny offered, taking a beer from one of the guys. She was not a beer drinker; however, in this situation, I could see her not refusing anything they offered. I guess I'm going, whether I want to or not. “No, I’ll ride over,” I replied as one of the guys ordered pizza. “That’s the spirit. Nothing like the wind in your hair to blow the cobwebs away.” They stayed because they didn’t want me to be alone, not on my first night here. Pizza arrived not long after, and my little bungalow was soon feeling too small and crowded, with six huge bikers in the room. Some sat on the floor; others pulled up one of the three kitchen chairs. I know, I know, three chairs sound odd, but that's what was here, and beggars can’t be choosers; the rent was dirt cheap, and I think the boys are the ones to make sure I had everything I needed. They found out about my situation the next day, because, I was still quiet at work, which was not like me, often I am singing to the radio, or swearing at something, so one of the guys approached me, to find out what gives, and I softly told them, what went down, and when word got around the bikers heard I needed a place to stay, because I was kicked out of my home and why, they came to me, like protective brothers. Now I have a whole gang of bikers who have my back. I feel privileged to call them friends. They even offered to rough the ex up for me, but I refused the offer, because strangely, I was happy to get rid of the loser if he was a cheating build. Better now than when I am fully invested in our relationship. Plus, I was in deep enough shite with my parents and sister without making it worse. The pizza was gone, my BFF left for home, and the guys did too. It was late, well, for me, midnight. I usually fall asleep quickly because I have to be up for work at five. Tomorrow, being Saturday, I have the morning shift before the party later. They let me leave work early so I can move in here. “Hey, don’t forget to come, we need our prettiest mechanic at the party, some of the boys might need a tune-up,” Bruiser said with a laugh as they climbed on their bikes and left. I know what sort of tune-up he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with a motor. I looked around my new home. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. The guys were great; they took the empty pizza boxes and beer cans with them, and the place was relatively clean. Not at all what you would expect from a group of rowdy men. The clubhouse. I had never been to it, despite having worked there for nearly four years, and they had never extended an invitation to me. I know they had lots of parties; maybe I was too young. I turned twenty recently, but they might think of me as the fifteen-year-old who showed up one day and told the boss I was going to be his apprentice. He laughed at first and said he would give me a go to prove myself. He thought I was joking and that I would be gone by the weekend, but over the holidays, I worked hard and have been here ever since. Maxine POV The beeping sound of my phone alarm made me sit up and look around. It took a moment to remember where I was. The room had a small curtain that barely kept the light out. There was a streetlight just outside my window. I can envisage myself getting better blackout curtains soon. Although it was annoying, it wasn't among my top priorities for making this a home. The shower was decent, with nice pressure. I followed my morning routine, only to realize how foolish I was to wake up so early, living above my place of work; I didn’t need to ride here. After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I still had half an hour before I needed to be at work. I had two ways to get into my place: one was through the back stairs, and the other was through the shop. With the code to turn off the alarm, I decided to head down and start work early. It was better than moving stuff around; I can do that later. I had a bike to finish by this afternoon. The customer would be here at two. Turned off the alarm, turned on the coffee pot, the radio, and headed to my workstation, where the fat boy was waiting for me to finish. I sat on the stool with casters and began my job, singing loudly to the heavy rock song that came on the radio as I installed the new spark plugs and double-checked the oil. It was a simple, easy-peasy service. Once finished, I started the bike up, let it idle while I made coffee, then returned to rev it a few times. It sounds lumpy, like it was just turning over perfectly; it was music to my ears. I love that throaty, deep, lumpy sound. You can feel it vibrate through my chest. “That’s a sound I loved to hear as I enter work.” My boss, Mike, said as I turned the bike off. “It’s ready to go, unless you want to take it out for a test ride. Want a coffee, pots hot.” I offered as I threw the dirty rag in the bin. “Sure, I will take the bike out for a spin, and you can make me a coffee.” He smirked as he grabbed the bike. I opened the garage door, and Mike took off. I smiled as he disappeared down the street, and I turned to make both of us coffee. If you hadn’t guessed already, I would drink a lot of coffee. I am not a fan of soft drinks or tea; for me, it's coffee or water. With a broom in hand, I began cleaning the shop. I am not out here very often, but I try to sweep the floor at least once a week; they have another apprentice who’s a second year, who gets to do most of the cleaning up, but he’s never here on a Saturday. The sound of the bike returning prompted me to pick up the two cups of coffee and head back out to the workshop. Mike had a massive grin on his face as he parked the bike. “Great job, you are our top mechanic. But don’t tell anyone, or I will have to deny it.” He joked, taking his coffee from my hand as he walked by, no doubt letting the customer know the bike was ready ahead of time. I moved to the next bike, which was a total rebuild; it had been in a minor accident, and while the frame was being checked, I would work on the engine and gearbox. It was the only job on my list at the moment. The bike owner was in no hurry; he had a broken leg, giving me a few weeks to work on his bike and any urgent jobs that might come into the shop. The client arrived and happily took possession of his bike, very happy with the job done. “I hear you’ve been invited to the club party tonight,” Mike said as he rang up the sale on the cash register. “Yep.” I said popping the ‘p’. “You can leave now, we have no more customers expected. Good job today.” It was close to one o’clock, near the time I would knock off. “Thanks, boss.” I saluted him and rushed upstairs, before he could change his mind. Giggling all the way up. I heard him chuckling as he locked the door below, behind me. I decided on a quick shower; I didn’t want to smell of oil when going to a party. Put on my skinny black jeans, a black blouse that had red flames on the back and on the pockets, black boots that had some chains around the ankle, and hair in a ponytail. I will get what we call helmet hair, so it's a waste to do much with it now. I use mascara and strawberry lip gloss, which is more to moisturize my lips, which tend to dry out when I ride my bike, and that's it. The last thing I grabbed before leaving was my jacket. My mum used to grumble that I wasn’t like my sister and put more effort into my appearance, but I like who I am, and I didn’t like wearing lots of makeup; it was my choice, and I feel that I am not a frilly, lacey chick. It was a deal breaker with my mum. She had my sister dress up and left me in the care of Grandpa until he died when I was seventeen. It broke me when he left the world. He was the only person who got me. My grandma had been gone since I was young, and I filled the hole in his heart with my love for bikes and fishing. He left me his money and bikes. Dad got his house and business. My mum hated that I gained all that money. When Grandma died, she left me her jewelry, and Grandpa made sure to keep it safe till I was old enough to have it. I ate something and put some more of my stuff in the cupboards before my phone chimed to let me know my girlfriends were on their way to the party. I pulled my bike out of the small garage and started it up. I threw my leg over and took off, heading to the property. The clubhouse was half an hour out of town, set on a large property a little bit back from the road. Ten minutes later, I came up behind the girls and hung out behind them. My friend waved me on to take the lead. I shrugged and overtook her. The turn off arrived, and I rode happily up the long drive, and trees lined the road. An open, large steel gate appeared, and I was glad it was still enough light to see clearly. Men stood by the entrance, watching us arrive. “Hey.” I greeted the biggest man I had ever seen. “Who invited you here?” The man asked gruffly, in a deep husky voice. “Bruiser,” I answered, with a firm, clear voice, hoping that the fact that he frightened me would be noticed in my voice. He pulled out his phone and called, I assumed, Bruiser. “Max?” He asked, as he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. He said something more and hung up the phone. “Come in, the car behind your girls?” He looked at the car behind, which clearly had a woman in it. “Yep,” I replied, not at all liking how he intimidated me with his manner. Perhaps it was the way they greeted strangers. One look makes the weak run. Well, I am not weak, and I won't be running. Maxine POV This rather large biker leaned in to look inside the car, his bulky figure partially blocking the open window, causing the girl nearest it to back away. Satisfied, he looked at me with a knowing smirk, then motioned for us to enter. The clubhouse was nothing like I had imagined. Firstly, it was four levels high. Verandah all the way around, that I could see. It was more like a mansion than a clubhouse. Women were gathered near the door, looking in, as if they were waiting for something; some were sitting on the wooden fence that surrounded the verandah. They were dressed in barely anything, showing all that was available, some love that sort of thing. People like me dress to stay warm or cool and don’t care about showing off the goods. Bikes sat in neat rows in front, and cars were parked to the left of the building; the ratio of bikes to cars was approximately four bikes to one car. I parked the bike with the others, climbed off, and took off my helmet. I placed the lid on the bike and shook out my hair while waiting for the girls to park and come to me. I heard some muffled scoffs, but I couldn’t care less —I wasn't here to please them. Bruiser came out of the clubhouse behind me. “Max, you came by bike. Sweet.” He gave me a gentle squeeze and moved to take a closer look at my bike. The paint job was a wolf, fading in smoke. It took me months to finish, as I kept changing my mind, and the smoke obscured the mistakes. “Who did the paint job?” He asked as he moved around to look at it from all sides. “Me.” I was proud of the results. “Does Mike know you can paint?” He sounded surprised. “He has seen my bike when I used the garage to do a service. He never asked who did the paint work, just that he liked it.” “Sweet, looks like we have someone to do touch-ups, and possibly a full paint job. We have a family reunion in a few weeks, and the ladies are invited to come along. You can join us.” Bruiser offered as my ladies arrived; they were not included in that invitation, I assumed, because I have a bike. “Bruiser, you already met Jenny, Melony, Karen, and Heather, my other BFF, and Alice, Karen's sister, and BFF to my sister.” Adding that comment, hoping that Bruiser knew precisely what that woman was like. Alice battered her eyes and leaned forward to show off what was under that almost shirt. My ladies greeted him with the respect he deserved. “Ladies. Hands out.” Bruiser stamped the girl's backs of their hands; they all had a bear, except Alice, who had a rabbit on her hand. I frowned, trying to figure out what the rabbit was all about. He pushed my hand away. “You are family, no need for a stamp.” I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my face. I felt so special. Then the shoe dropped. Rabbit meant she would open her legs. Bruiser got my meaning loud and clear. It took a while to understand the purpose of the stamps. “Come inside and meet the ole ladies.” I understood what he meant; these were ladies who had been claimed and had a different level of respect that those not claimed would never understand. I have met a few of them over the years and gained more insight into club life. They respect me as much as I respect them. We entered the place, and the girls who had been waiting outside gave us a dirty look, as they were still stopped from entering. “What's so special about them?” One pouted, but Bruiser ignored her. Inside was cleaner than I had expected —my fault for judging a group of men, since they often look messy when I see them at the shop. The place had a large, open space, with tables where you stand, as well as booths dotted along the walls, and stools at the bar, which ran the full length of the room. I loved the spacious room, the pictures on the walls, and some bike parts scattered about as decoration. A few barstools are bike seats; it was different, and it appealed to me. Being a lover of bikes. “Sticks.” I greeted her as we got closer to the ladies Bruiser was taking us to. “Hey, Maxie Max. How's it blowing?” She stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. This chick had no filter or personal space. Sticks was the President's; her real name was Sandra, but she was my height at five-nine, and she had no shape to her body, just a lovely bean pole, almost no chest to speak of, yet she had had two boys. Hence the name Sticks. “Doing better,” I replied. She would know what was going on. She introduced us to the other ladies with her, and it didn’t surprise me that Alice had already moved away from us before we had finished the introductions. “What’s her story?” Sticks asked as she watched Alice start to try her luck with the club men. “Same as my sister. Bruiser put a rabbit stamp on her hand.” Sticks and the other girl roared out laughing. “She will be used, abused, and kicked to the side by the time the night is over, and I doubt they would let her back in. We don’t need her sort in the club.” Maggie spouted as we watched a patch member knock her offer back. “The regulars are not going to like her working their turf. So, to speak.” Tootsie said, with a smirk, that the regulars know the rules and stick with them. Don’t approach a patch member; if interested, they will come to you. Nom’s are fair game. But most girls would prefer a patch member. Don’t touch a taken member; the women will gang up and make your life miserable if you feel one of theirs. Wait to be let into the clubhouse and then stay in the public area. No going upstairs uninvited. The first two floors are designated for guest rooms, while the top floor is reserved for permanent residences. Those who don’t have a home of their own to go to. They are private and not open to wandering girls. Don’t touch or sit on someone’s bike, unless you are given permission. The patched old ladies are the bosses of the girls; they tell you to leave or do something, and you do it. There were more rules for the girls visiting, but I couldn’t remember them all at that moment. None had applied to me until now. Alice had already broken at least three, to my knowledge. I am staying out of it. That rabbit on her hand told the members that she would open her legs for any of them, and no one would support her if she broke the rules. That she was not welcome to return, in other words, have your fun, and then kick her to the curb. The doors were opened to let the other girls in. They looked at us in the no-go zone and pouted. We were sitting in an off-limits area unless we were invited. From what I understood, they were here to spread their legs and give the guys some relief, but not become part of the family. They might be hopeful that something would change; it was rare for a patch member to take one of these ladies, who had most likely been with every unattached member of the gang, at some point. My girls left me with Sticks and wandered about with the other ladies, getting the tour of the place. “Want to look around?” Sticks were offered, and before I knew it, we were walking around the vast ground floor. “Ready to see the workshop, the guys might talk you into helping out, once they know who you are.” Sticks led me down a small pathway, lined with flowering shrubs, and to a set of large, farm-size sheds. Inside were bikes, some in bits, others crumpled from an accident, and others like they had just been detailed and were someone's pride and joy. There was a workshop here, where men were working on their bikes. They looked up at us when we entered and frowned. If Sticks were not with me, they would have most likely growled at me to get out. “Who’s this Sticks?” A monster of a man asked, in the deepest voice I have ever heard, he looked a lot like the man at the gate, but with more toned muscles, that I would love to run my fingers over. Just a tad taller, and although he looked big and scary, he made my lady parts sing in a way they had never sung before. Tank POV A few guys aren't into parties, so I stopped going until later in the night, when the girls who showed up were already taken. I dislike the women who come here hoping to adopt our lifestyle. I prefer to use my hand rather than one of those women. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my share of women; however, I had a girl who pushed me to take her, and when I did, she ended up in the hospital, because I am not exactly a little man, and I ripped her apart. She needed stitches, and I have not been with a woman since. Like my brother, we are both large men; he is six feet six inches tall, and I am six feet eight inches tall. He’s carrying extra weight, where I am all muscle. I pride myself on keeping in shape, but being this large has its downfall, and having a large build has had me worried about hurting another woman. No matter how much I might want to, I can’t; I never want to go through that again. The Prez was the only person who knew why I wouldn’t join the parties; he was with me when we took the girl to the hospital, she forgave me, and tried to pursue me to keep her, but I couldn’t. Each time I started to get intimate, I had flashes of her screams, and my confidence went down like a popped balloon. We were in the workshop, doing some minor tune-ups. As I prepare for our ride, I'm excited. When they bring the ladies, the men are usually in a better mood and on their best behavior. I was looking at rebuild. I started it last week. We have a few wrecks that need to be started; some have been sitting here far too long. We can only go so far before we need Mike's help. None of us was a mechanic. I was scratching my head, as I was almost at the end of my knowledge, when I heard someone enter, and a soft perfume that shouldn’t be in this shed hit my nose. Stick’s voice reached my ears, and I lifted my head up to look in her direction. “Who’s this Sticks?” The most beautiful girl I have ever seen had entered our sanctuary, a place where few girls are allowed, which made Sticks bring this beauty down to this dirt and grease, which was unexpectedly. “That is Max, from the shop, Mike's apprentice, who I think had finished her apprenticeship and is doing something extra on Harleys and getting some specialized license,” Banjo said as he moved forward to greet them. The others stood up and moved forward too, making me feel like a dill for not recognizing Max. Although I have only seen her a few times from a distance, and she was usually deep in bike repair, I barely got to see her face. We have not been introduced because I wouldn’t have forgotten that beauty if I had. Sticks introduced us all, and we greeted her before I decided I could use her help. I put the thoughts of what I wouldn’t mind doing to her behind me, not that I could do it. “Max, come look at this wreck. I am stuck with what to do next.” I called her over on the bike I was working on. “Tank, surely you could have waited for another day? She came for the party, not to work.” Sticks grumbled as Max walked to me. She was clean and smelled nice, and I had a fleeting moment of guilt for calling her over. The few times I had seen her, she was covered in oil and grease, wearing coveralls that hid her shapely figure. “Max, are you sure?” Sticks pulled on her hand to get her attention. “Yeah, I am more at home in here than out there,” Max said with a smile and turned back to me. “What's the problem?” She asked me to move forward and inspect the bike. I went into detail about what happened to the bike, what I had managed to do so far, and what I needed to move forward. Max removed her leather jacket and slung it over a nearby bike seat, then squatted down. For the next two hours, Max worked on the bike with me, guiding me through the tricky bits I couldn’t do. The others came forward and used this time as a sort of training session, and Max didn’t seem to mind at all. We asked questions as she worked on the bike, and she used me to lift the heavy parts. It was teamwork, and we completed more repairs in that time than I would have on my own. “Hey, Max,” Bruiser called out at the door. He stood with his legs apart, arms folded, and I wondered if we had done something wrong. “Back here.” She returned to the call of her name. He arrived and burst out laughing at us. “Max, I invited you to a party, you know, dancing and drinking, and socializing. This was not what I meant as a party.” He was still chuckling when the Prez walked in, with Sticks on his arm. “You still got her working out here?” Stick all but growled at us, when the Prez’s lady growls, we all listen. She’s the last person we want to make angry. “What?” I was confused, Max didn’t seem to mind, and we all were having a good time out here. “Hey, Prez. The party over?” Max calmly asked, but it sounded more like she had hoped it was. “Not even close, babes.” The Prez answered with a smile. He had gotten closer to Max over the years she had been at the bike shop. He had often talked about the female mechanic and her sassy ways. I had thought he was exaggerating, but after spending a little time with her, I was hooked. “We have nearly completed the repair job on Spider's bike. If we can have Max here for a few days, I bet we could hit the road by the end of the week.” I said it as it was my way of asking her to stay for a while and fix the bike. Spider was almost healed and ready to get back on his own bike. “Would have to ask Mike about that, she’s his employee, even if we own the shop, he runs it, and I don’t get involved with his employees,” Prez replied contemplatively. “He here?” I asked, as Mike often doesn’t show up at the weekend parties. “Yep, came half an hour ago.” Sticks answered as she handed Max a bottle of water. “Max, if Mike’s okay with it, would you work with us for a week, get some of these ready for the weekend ride?” Sparks asked, and I kicked myself for not considering that she might not want to spend a week here. “Sure, if Mike doesn’t need me, we have several bikes in for service before the ladies run.” Her sweet voice carried across the warehouse, and the guys nodded in understanding. “Thanks, babes,” Spike called out. Each one of us here enjoyed that she worked on our bikes; it might sound odd that we're letting a chick touch our bikes, but Max was not like most chicks. Who wants to sit on the bikes or lie on them? Max knows what she’s doing and has proven herself on numerous occasions. I wish I had known how attractive she was. Man, I had a semi since she walked in the door. The Prez will even let her ride her own bike, a privilege few ladies get. She was more part of the crew; no other girl I know works on bikes like she does, and her reputation over the time she's been an apprentice has been exemplary. Not a guy chaser. When word got out that our girl had been cheated on in the worst possible way, we all wanted to go and kill the man, even though half of us had never really met her, yeah, seen her in a distance, or legs poking out from under a truck, but never sat and talked with her before today. She was fun, had me chuckling a few times, but most of the time in here, she had been all about the bikes, and not flirting, like most chicks do when around us. They see the glamour of the lifestyle, but it's not for everyone. Maxine POV I was guided to a washroom on the side of the workshop, which had a deep steel sink and a shower, but no mirrors. There was a cupboard under the sink containing soaps and cleaning products, as well as a shelf with dark-colored towels. A door that led to a toilet, which was cleaner than I had expected. So far, this whole gang house had been cleaner than I thought a load of men would leave it. I had underestimated the guys and made assumptions about how guys I knew from school or parties would act; none of them were like that. Maybe it was because they are mostly men, whereas my experience had been with boys my age and lower. I cleaned the grease off my hands and arms and dried them. As I went through the routine of cleaning myself up, I thought about the party they had been pushing me to attend and how it had churned up my stomach. The last few times I went to a party, I was with my ex-boyfriend, and he ended up with my sister, so parties were not my thing. I always seem to lose something at parties. Mostly friends, who don’t like the fact that I don’t drink, I have never been a drinker, I might drink a beer to be sociable, and it would take me ages to finish it. Still, I never take shots and am never blind drunk. I had only once been drunk, and I didn’t like the feeling or the way it took me all day to recover, nor the hangover that seemed to be more than a headache. My friends get drunk, and I spend a lot of time cleaning up the messes they make, so I seem to be the one doing the cleanup most of the time, as they know I have their backs, even when I prefer not to do that part of it. I had just finished cleaning up when Tank came in, took one look at me, and started to chuckle. “What?” I asked, looking confused as he laughed. What did I do that was so funny? He didn’t say a word. He leaned over, picked up a cloth, and soaped it up, then gripped my chin in his huge hand, and gently wiped the side of my face, his eyes concentrating on the task, as if it was the most important job he had to do with care. He was so gentle, touching my face with soft, quick movements. His eyes then met mine, and I was lost in the deepest blue orbs I have ever seen. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat and blinked a few times to break the trance he had put me in, and took a step back, my body hitting the sink behind me. “You had some grease on your cheek.” He whispered in a husky voice so deep that it had my lady parts jumping for joy and need, something I am not familiar with. “Thank you,” I whispered back, my voice croaking, and I was shocked by the sound of my own voice; it was lower, warmer, and surprised me as much as Tank's did. His eyes widened at the husky sound. He took a step back and motioned with his hand for me to move past him. I quickly left the washroom and waited in the workshop, taking in the wrecks and wondering how badly the rider would have been hurt if the bike had looked like this. Hoping no one lost their lives. I thought about that for a while. I loved my bike, but I would never ditch it because I was scared. That the thought of falling off had never entered my mind, if I died while riding my bike, then I would have been doing what I love doing. I found I was okay with that. Not that I want to die, but I have thought about how I would like to go when my heart has been broken. “Hey, what are you doing still in here?” Rocket asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Hiding?” I joked back, giving him a sheepish smile. He chuckled and came to stand beside me, looking at the bike I had been staring at. “Can it be fixed? It’s been sitting here for a long time, with no one having the skill to start repairing it. Well, they could give it a go, but this bike is so old that parts are almost impossible to get.” “Yeah, I can give it a try. I have some contacts who can obtain parts, but I can also manufacture some parts. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I can come over on weekends and dedicate some time to it.” I suggested it would be a shame to let this panhead go to waste. There are enough pieces of the wrecked bike left to serve as a starting point. “Sweet, it will be good to see this bike out on the road again.” Rocket looked genuinely pleased that the bike could be restored. I restore old cars, trucks, and bikes with Grandpa. I have the equipment stored in a shed for when I have a place of my own to use the machines. I wonder if they have a shed where I can put them. I will need one of the machines. “Ready?” Tank asked; he had shed the work shirt and pulled on a gang shirt. His muscles are on display. Yummy. He makes me feel tiny when I am beside him. “Tank, Max said she can restore the baby.” Tank’s head turned to look at the wreck, and then at me. “For real? Max, can you do that?” Tank looked surprised. After spending a few hours with me, working on bikes, he had to ask that? “Yeah, I can, need to talk to the Prez about some space, but I can do it.” Both guys frowned and looked around the workshop. But they didn’t say anything. Or question me further. Tank put his hand on my lower back and gave a slight push, making me start to walk out of the workshop. It was dark out. Tank guided me to the back door, Rocket leading the way. He opened the door for me and waved me in, as if I were someone important. Causing me to giggle. Yeah, you heard me; I giggled like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous, and not something I had ever expected to come out of my mouth. The guys didn’t even blink at the giggle. The place was warm inside, vibrating with the loud thump of the bass. You could hardly hear the person next to you speak over the heavy music. It reeked of cigarettes and booze. The girls who had been at the door waiting to get in were busy with patch members kissing and almost doing the deed right there on the chair. Some were grinding their hips against the man below them, and the small amount of clothing they had on was even less now. I assumed they were well on their way to being drunk. This was a classic visual of why men lose respect for some kinds of women. I am embarrassed to see it in front of me. I looked around the room and saw my friends still with Sticks, and a couple of guys hanging around nearby. My friends look like they are having fun, and they have a few patch members who seem friendly to them. I hope the girls know what they are doing. The gang life was not for everyone. Dad had once spoken badly about gangs, and he hated it when I became an apprentice at the bike shop. Grandpa was the one who encouraged me to have an apprenticeship. He hated that Dad and Mum were backing my sister in everything, and maybe encouraging me to be a mechanic at the bike shop was his way to get back at Dad. Dad had even tried to get me to leave the bike shop when Grandpa had died. But I had made a pact with Grandpa that I wouldn’t give in to Dad. To live the life I want, and never give in, no matter what the consequences are. I wonder what Grandpa would say if he were alive and saw Dad kick me out of the family home, for the sake of my sister. He would be livered, that’s for sure. But I did as Grandpa said, stood firm, and stayed true to myself. “Hey Maxi Max, come join us. Cricket, grab Max an iced water.” Sticks patted the chair next to her, and before I could move to sit beside her, Tank grabbed me around the waist and took a couple of giant steps to the chair, and sat down, holding me on his lap. The girls looked at each other, then, between Tank and me, the confused look changed to a grin and a nod —whatever that was about.
🔥Gęsty, dławiący bas wibrował w deskach podłogi, pnąc się wzdłuż mojego kręgosłupa, aż zaczęły mi dzwonić zęby. Powietrze w rozległym domu gościnnym Luke'a było duszącą mieszanką taniego piwa, potu i obezwładniających wilkołaczych feromonów. Neonowe stroboskopy przecinały ciemność, oświetlając ocierające się o siebie ciała i uniesione w górę czerwone plastikowe kubki. — No dalej, Ava! Masz już osiemnaście lat, zacznij żyć! — przekrzyczała ogłuszający ryk elektronicznej muzyki Abigail, zaciskając palce na moim nadgarstku niczym imadło. Potknęłam się, wciągana głębiej do salonu, a moja wolna ręka natychmiast powędrowała do góry, by poprawić zbyt duże okulary w grubych oprawkach. Próbowałam jeszcze bardziej skulić się w ogromnym, bezkształtnym czarnym płaszczu. Był o trzy rozmiary za duży, a ciężki materiał wybrałam celowo, by pochłonął moje kształty i ukrył moją obecność. — Abigail, proszę, nie mogę tu oddychać — błagałam, a mój głos był ledwie pisknięciem na tle dudniącej muzyki. — Tylko jeden drink! Obiecałaś! — Abigail puściła do mnie oko. Jej dopasowana fioletowa sukienka mieniła się w światłach, gdy ciągnęła mnie w stronę prowizorycznego baru przy basenie. nienawidziłam imprez. Nienawidziłam bycia w centrum uwagi, hałasu i nieustannego, pierwotnego oceniania sił, które działo się zawsze, gdy wilki gromadziły się w watahach. Przez lata dopracowałam sztukę stania się niewidzialną do perfekcji. Workowate ubrania, idiotyczne okulary, przygarbiona postawa — to była moja zbroja. Chroniła mnie przed prześladowcami, a co ważniejsze, sprawiała, że aroganckie, dominujące Alfy nie spoglądały na mnie dwa razy. Gdy zbliżyłyśmy się do basenu, wybuchła salwa śmiechu. Wzdrygnęłam się, a mój wzrok instynktownie powędrował w stronę źródła dźwięku. Tam był on. Ian Dawson. Siedział na krawędzi skórzanej sofy, niedbale odchylony do tyłu z czerwonym kubkiem w dłoni. Miał na sobie czarną koszulkę bez rękawów, która w pełni eksponowała misterne, ciemne tatuaże pnące się po jego przedramionach. Kolczyk w brwi odbijał przyćmione światło, nadając jego drapieżnie przystojnej twarzy jeszcze ostrzejszy wyraz. Emanował surowym, nieokiełznanym niebezpieczeństwem, które dominowało w pomieszczeniu, choć chłopak nie musiał wypowiadać ani jednego słowa. Był przyszłym Głównym Alfą Watahy Mistycznego Cienia. Ostatecznym „złym chłopcem”. Łamaczem serc, który zużywał dziewczyny jak tanie chusteczki, zostawiając za sobą zrujnowane reputacje. Nagle z basenu wynurzyła się dziewczyna w szokująco skąpym białym bikini, ociekająca wodą. Podeszła prosto do Iana, usiadła mu na kolanach z uwodzicielskim śmiechem i szepnęła coś do ucha. Poczułam irracjonalne, ostre ukłucie w piersi. Odwróciłam wzrok, a mój żołądek zawiązał się w nieprzyjemne supły. *Dlaczego w ogóle mnie to obchodzi?* — skarciłam się w duchu. — *To potwór. On nawet nie wie, że istnieję*. — Muszę skorzystać z łazienki — wypaliłam nagle, wyrywając rękę z uścisku Abigail. — Jest na górze, pierwsze drzwi po prawej! — odkrzyknęła Abigail, już rozproszona przez grupę zbliżających się chłopaków. Nie czekałam. Odwróciłam się i praktycznie pobiegłam przed siebie, z dala od pulsującego tłumu, spragniona ciszy. Gorąco panujące w środku sprawiało, że kręciło mi się w głowie. Przecisnęłam się obok pary całującej się przy schodach i na oślep ruszyłam wąskim korytarzem na parterze, mając nadzieję, że znajdę gościnną łazienkę z dala od tego chaosu. Na końcu korytarza dostrzegłam ciężkie dębowe drzwi. Pchnęłam je i wślizgnęłam się do środka. Natychmiast otoczyła mnie cisza. To nie była łazienka. To był długi, nieoświetlony korytarz magazynowy, całkowicie odcięty od głównej imprezy. Panowała tu absolutna czerń, przełamana jedynie smugą światła księżyca wpadającą przez wysoko osadzone, okratowane okno na samym końcu. Oparłam się plecami o chłodne, solidne drewno drzwi i wypuściłam drżący oddech. Serce waliło mi o żebra. Ciężki czarny płaszcz wydawał się na skórze niczym piec. Drżącymi palcami zdjęłam zaparowane okulary i wrzuciłam je do głębokiej kieszeni. Rozpięłam płaszcz pod szyją, pozwalając mu lekko zsunąć się z ramion, by chłodne powietrze musnęło mój wilgotny od potu kark. Gdy zamknęłam oczy, by uspokoić oddech, mój naturalny zapach — delikatna, odurzająca mieszanka jaśminu skąpanego w deszczu i dzikiego miodu — swobodnie ulotnił się w stęchłe powietrze korytarza. Nagle ciszę rozdarł dźwięk. *Chrupnięcie.* Gwałtownie otworzyłam oczy. Powietrze wokół mnie zmieniło się, a temperatura w ułamku sekundy spadła o dziesięć stopni. Ciężki, duszący ciężar przytłaczającej aury Alfy zalał wąską przestrzeń, uciskając moje płuca. W ciemności rozległ się niski, gardłowy warkot. To nie był ludzki dźwięk. To był pierwotny, terytorialny pomruk wilka doprowadzonego do samej granicy samokontroli. Zapowietrzyłam się. Mój wewnętrzny wilk, uśpiony i przerażony od lat, nagle ocknął się i zaczął gwałtownie drapać od środka moją klatkę piersiową. Ciężkie, miarowe kroki niosły się echem po betonowej podłodze, zbliżając się do mnie. Silna woń ciemnego drewna cedrowego, mięty i czystego niebezpieczeństwa uderzyła mnie w nozdrza. To było uzależnienie przebrane za ostrzeżenie. — K-kto tam jest? — szepnęłam łamiącym się głosem. Z cieni wyłoniła się potężna sylwetka, zasłaniając słabe światło księżyca. Oddychał ciężko, a jego pierś falowała, jakby biegł. — Kurwa... — głęboki, niesamowicie zachrypnięty głos przeklął w ciemności. — Co to za zapach? Krew ścięła mi się w żyłach. Natychmiast rozpoznałam ten głos. *Ian.* Zanim mój mózg zdążył wysłać sygnał do nóg, by uciekały, on rzucił się do przodu. Wielka, szorstka dłoń uderzyła w drzwi tuż obok mojej głowy, więżąc mnie. Ciepło emanujące z jego potężnego ciała było parzące. Nachylił się, a jego twarz znalazła się tak blisko, że czułam jego nos na moim odsłoniętym karku. Wydałam z siebie przerażony jęk, przywierając plecami do drzwi. — Nie ruszaj się — rozkazał Ian, a jego głos był mroczny i hipnotyzujący. Wciągnął głęboko powietrze, chowając twarz w zgięciu mojej szyi. Dreszcz wstrząsnął jego potężną posturą. — Pachniesz... odurzająco. Grasz ze mną w jakąś grę? Zostałam sparaliżowana. Mój umysł wrzeszczał, bym go odepchnęła, bym wołała o pomoc, ale ciało całkowicie mnie zdradziło. Moje kolana zamieniły się w galaretę, gdy elektryczne tarcie jego skóry o moją wysłało niewyobrażalne wstrząsy przez krwiobieg. — Ja... Puść mnie — zdołałam wyjęczeć, unosząc dłonie, by odepchnąć jego twardą jak skała pierś. Ian bez wysiłku złapał oba moje nadgarstki jedną ręką, przygważdżając je za moimi plecami. — Udajesz niedostępną. Podoba mi się to. Bez dalszego ostrzeżenia zawłaszczył moje usta. To nie był delikatny pocałunek. To było karzące, rozpaczliwe zderzenie dominacji i surowego głodu. W ciemności moje oczy rozszerzyły się w czystej panice. To był mój pierwszy pocałunek, skradziony przez najgroźniejszego drapieżnika w wataisze. Ssał moją dolną wargę, drugą ręką wplatając się w moje włosy i odchylając mi głowę, by pogłębić pocałunek. Gdy sapnęłam z szoku, jego język wsunął się do moich ust, smakując mnie z bezlitosnym, trawiącym żarem. Dziwna, bolesna przyjemność eksplodowała w moim brzuchu. Mój wilk wył, poddając się jego dominacji. Przez jedną przerażającą sekundę przestałam walczyć. Moje palce, uwięzione za plecami, zacisnęły się w pięści, gdy rozpłynęłam się przy jego ciele, tonąc w smaku mięty i alkoholu. Ian jęknął w moje usta, był to dziki dźwięk ostatecznej satysfakcji. Przerwał pocałunek tylko na tyle, by przesunąć parzącymi wargami wzdłuż linii mojej szczęki, muskając zębami tętno na szyi. — IAN? Stary, gdzie jesteś?! Głos Ronalda nagle przebił się przez cienkie ściany głównego korytarza. Klamka za moimi plecami drgnęła. Nagłe wtargnięcie przerwało urok. Rzeczywistość uderzyła we mnie jak kubeł lodowatej wody. *Co ja robię? On myśli, że jestem jedną z tych łatwych dziewczyn!* Adrenalina zalała moje żyły. Wykorzystując resztki sił, pchnęłam kolano w górę, trafiając go w udo. Ian stęknął z zaskoczenia, a jego uścisk rozluźnił się na ułamek sekundy. Nie wahałam się. Wyrwałam się z jego objęć, zostawiając ciężki, za duży czarny płaszcz w jego rękach. Ubrana tylko w prosty t-shirt i dżinsy, rzuciłam się w stronę tylnego wyjścia z korytarza, napierając całym ciałem na drzwi przeciwpożarowe i wypadając w mroźne nocne powietrze. Biegłam przez trawnik, walcząc o oddech, z opuchniętymi i mrowiącymi ustami, podczas gdy łzy upokorzenia i dezorientacji piekły mnie w oczy. W pogrążonym w mroku korytarzu Ian stał nieruchomo, a jego pierś gwałtownie falowała. Nie ruszył za mną w pogoń. Powoli uniósł ciężki czarny płaszcz do twarzy. Zatopił nos w kołnierzu, wdychając resztki zapachu jaśminu, który już doprowadzał jego wilka do stanu absolutnego szaleństwa. W ciemności jego oczy rozbłysły przerażającą, płonącą czerwienią. — Znajdę cię — szepnął do pustych cieni, a jego kły wydłużyły się, gdy na ustach wykwitł złowieszczy uśmiech. — A kiedy to zrobię, będziesz moja. Rozdział 2: Zapach ukrycia POV Avy Wpatrywałam się w swoje odbicie w łazienkowym lustrze, a moje palce drżały, gdy gładziły opuchniętą krzywiznę dolnej wargi. Mijały godziny, odkąd uciekłam z imprezy Luke'a, a krew wciąż huczała mi w uszach. Za każdym razem, gdy zamykałam oczy, wracałam do tego mrocznego korytarza. Czułam parzący żar jego piersi przy mojej, czułam odurzającą mieszankę ciemnego drewna cedrowego i mięty, i ten bezlitosny, dominujący nacisk jego ust. Ian Dawson. Przyszły Główny Alfa. Najbardziej niebezpieczny, arogancki i bezlitosny chłopak w Watasze Mistycznego Cienia. *Pocałował mnie.* Dreszcz przeszedł przez moje ciało, ale nie wynikał on tylko ze strachu. Mój wewnętrzny wilk, zazwyczaj cichy i uległy, krążył niespokojnie w mojej głowie, skomląc cicho, jakby tęsknił za przerażającym drapieżnikiem, który przygwoździł nas do drzwi. — Przestań — szepnęłam ze złością do własnego odbicia, chwytając krawędzie umywalki. — Nie wiedział, że to ty. Było ciemno. Pewnie myślał, że jesteś jedną z jego zdesperowanych fanklubowiczek. Zdołałam uciec, ale zostawiłam swój za duży czarny płaszcz. Na samą myśl o tym żołądek mi podjechał do gardła. Na tym płaszczu był mój zapach. Węch wilka to jego ostateczna broń, a Ian był Alfą. Jeśli wyczuje choćby nikły ślad mojego naturalnego aromatu — jaśminu i dzikiego miodu — zginęłam. Wytropi mnie, a ciche, niewidzialne życie, które ja i moja matka zbudowałyśmy w tej wataisze, zostanie doszczętnie zniszczone. Musiałam się ukryć. Lepiej niż kiedykolwiek wcześniej. Gorączkowo przetrząsnęłam szafę. Ominęłam wszystko, co choć trochę przylegało do ciała, i chwyciłam najszerszy, najbardziej bezkształtny szary sweter oraz parę spłowiałych, luźnych dżinsów. Ciemne włosy związałam w ciasny, surowy kok na karku, upewniając się, że ani jedno pasmo nie okala mojej twarzy. Potem przyszła kolej na grube, zbyt duże okulary. Podciągnęłam je wysoko na nos, pozwalając ciężkim oprawkom całkowicie przysłonić oczy. Ale to nie wystarczyło. Zapach. Musiałam zamaskować swój zapach. Wpadłam do sypialni matki i grzebałam w jej toaletce, aż znalazłam to — tanią, niesamowicie duszącą buteleczkę syntetycznych perfum różanych, które dostała w prezencie dla żartu lata temu. Zacisnęłam oczy i rozpyliłam je prosto na szyję i nadgarstki. Zapach był natychmiast mdły — ostry, sztuczny, kwiatowy odór, od którego załzawiły mi oczy, a w gardle poczułam pieczenie. *Idealnie* — pomyślałam ponuro, kaszląc. — *Żaden Alfa nie zbliży się do tego na dziesięć stóp*. Zanim dotarłam na Uniwersytet Mistycznego Cienia, powietrze niemal wibrowało od nerwowej energii. Gdy tylko wysiadłam z autobusu, podbiegła do mnie Abigail, chwytając mnie za ramię. — Ava! Gdzieś ty wczoraj zniknęła? — zapytała z szeroko otwartymi oczami. — W jednej chwili szłaś do łazienki, a w następnej już cię nie było! — Ja... źle się poczułam — wydukałam, unikając jej wzroku. — Rozbolała mnie głowa i po prostu poszłam do domu. Przecież wysłałam ci SMS-a, prawda? Abigail machnęła ręką lekceważąco. — Nieważne. Słyszałaś nowiny? Cały kampus od rana odchodzi od zmysłów. Moje serce wykonało bolesny fikołek. — Jakie nowiny? — Ian Dawson — szepnęła, przysuwając się blisko, a jej nos zmarszczył się lekko, gdy uderzyły w nią tanie różane perfumy. — Przewraca szkołę do góry nogami. Jego kumple mówią, że szuka jakiejś tajemniczej dziewczyny z wczorajszej imprezy. Podobno jest wściekły. Niektórzy mówią, że mu coś ukradła, inni, że po prostu postradał zmysły. Węszy wszędzie jak dzika bestia. Ziemia zdawała się usuwać spod moich stóp. Nie mogłam złapać tchu. *On mnie szuka.* — Ja... muszę wziąć książki — wymamrotałam, wyrywając się Abigail i ruszając szybkim krokiem w stronę głównego budynku, zanim zdążyła zadać więcej pytań. Szłam z opuszczoną głową, wpatrując się w zdarte czubki moich tenisówek. *Tylko dojdź do szafki, weź podręcznik do statystyki i zniknij w bibliotece* — powtarzałam w myślach jak modlitwę. Dotarłam do swojej szafki w zatłoczonym korytarzu skrzydła B. Szybko przekręciłam zamek szyfrowy; ręce trzęsły mi się tak bardzo, że dwa razy się pomyliłam. W końcu metalowe drzwiczki odskoczyły. Nagle ogłuszający gwar na korytarzu zamarł. To nie było zwykłe uciszenie się; to była nagła, dusząca cisza, jakby z pomieszczenia gwałtownie wypompowano cały tlen. Włosy na karku stanęły mi dęba. Temperatura gwałtownie spadła. Ta sama przytłaczająca, miażdżąca aura Alfy z poprzedniej nocy uderzyła we mnie niczym fizyczny cios. Zamarłam z ręką zawieszoną w powietrzu wewnątrz szafki. Nie śmiałam się odwrócić. Słyszałam ciężki, drapieżny stukot jego butów niosący się po linoleum. *Tup. Tup. Tup.* Szedł samym środkiem korytarza. Studenci rozstępowali się przed nim jak Morze Czerwone, przywierając do ścian i odwracając wzrok w geście całkowitej uległości. Zacisnęłam oczy za grubymi szkłami okularów, błagając Boginię Księżyca, by uczyniła mnie niewidzialną. *Przejdź obok mnie. Proszę, po prostu przejdź obok*. Ale kroki zwolniły. A potem ustały. Tuż za mną. Oddech uwiązł mi w gardle. Czułam intensywny żar bijący od jego potężnej sylwetki. Był tak blisko, że gdybym odchyliła się choć o centymetr, moje ramiona uderzyłyby w jego pierś. Usłyszałam, jak bierze powolny, głęboki wdech, wciągając powietrze nosem. Szukał zapachu z płaszcza. Minęła sekunda męczącej ciszy. A potem usłyszałam szorstkie, pełne obrzydzenia prychnięcie. — Kurwa — wymamrotał Ian, a w jego głosie pobrzmiewała czysta odraza. Otworzyłam oczy, trzymając głowę nieruchomo, i spojrzałam na jego odbicie w małym lusterku przyklejonym do wewnętrznej strony drzwiczek szafki. Piorunował wzrokiem tył mojej głowy, a jego ciemne, tajemnicze oczy zwęziły się w irytacji. Ścisnął nasadę nosa, cofając się, jakby sama moja obecność go obrażała. — Co to za odrażający smród? — warknął, a jego głos, głośny i okrutny, poniósł się echem po grobowo cichym korytarzu. — Chcesz otruć cały korytarz tym tanim śmieciem? Przygryzłam dolną wargę tak mocno, że poczułam smak miedzi. Trzymałam głowę nisko, z kulonymi ramionami, odgrywając rolę idealnej, żałosnej kujonki. Nie wypowiedziałam ani słowa. Nie broniłam się. Chciałam tylko, żeby sobie poszedł. Widząc moją cichą, drżącą uległość, wykrzywił usta w drwiącym uśmiechu. Pogarda na jego twarzy była całkowita. — Patrz, gdzie stoisz, kujonko. Wyglądasz koszmarnie i od tego smrodu pęka mi głowa. Celowo trącił mnie swoim szerokim ramieniem, gdy mnie mijał, sprawiając, że zachwiałam się i uderzyłam lekko o metalowe szafki. Usłyszałam stłumione chichoty dziewczyn stojących obok, okrutne szepty członków watahy, którzy zawsze czerpali radość z patrzenia, jak słabi są deptani. Ale nie dbało o ich drwiny. Ulga zalała mnie niczym fala przypływu. *Nie poznał mnie. Perfumy zadziałały. Jestem bezpieczna*. Wypuściłam długi, drżący oddech, pozwalając spiętym mięśniom się rozluźnić. Gdy wydychałam powietrze, ciężkie metalowe drzwi na końcu korytarza zostały pchnięte przez grupę osiłków. Nagły, ostry podmuch porannego wiatru przemknął przez korytarz. Smagnął mnie, wyrywając jedno niesforne pasmo ciemnych włosów z ciasnego koka i poniósł powietrze prosto w głąb holu. Dziesięć stóp dalej ciężkie kroki Iana gwałtownie zamarły. Drwiący uśmiech zniknął z jego twarzy. Jego szerokie ramiona stężały, a całe ciało stało się przerażająco sztywne. W odbiciu w lusterku szafki zobaczyłam, jak gwałtownie odwraca głowę w moją stronę. Jego ciemne oczy całkowicie zniknęły, a w ich miejscu pojawiła się oślepiająca, jarząca się, krwista czerwień. A potem, wibrując w drzwiczkach szafek, dzwoniąc w szybach okien i wstrząsając mną do głębi duszy, z jego gardła wyrwał się niski, potworny, kruszący ziemię warkot. To był jego wilk. Rozdział 3: Zazdrość alfy POV Avy Nie czekałam, by zobaczyć, co Ian zrobi dalej. W momencie, gdy ten przerażający, mrożący krew w żyłach warkot rozdarł ciszę na korytarzu, instynkt przetrwania przejął kontrolę nad moim mózgiem. Zatrzasnęłam szafkę, przycisnęłam ciężki podręcznik do statystyki do piersi niczym tarczę i rzuciłam się do biegu. Nie zatrzymałam się, dopóki nie wypadłam przez ciężkie podwójne drzwi na tyłach skrzydła naukowego. Moje płuca płonęły, gdy poczułam rześkie powietrze w pobliżu zewnętrznych boisk do koszykówki. Nogi odmówiły mi posłuszeństwa. Opadłam na najbliższą chłodną, aluminiową trybunę, upuszczając książkę i chowając twarz w drżących dłoniach. *On wie. Poczuł mnie.* Moja wewnętrzna wilczyca krążyła w bolesnych kółkach, skomląc i drapiąc ściany mojego umysłu. Była zdezorientowana, przyciągana przez czystą potęgę Alfy, który właśnie rościł sobie prawo do powietrza wokół nas, ale bezlitośnie ją stłumiłam. *Nie* — powiedziałam jej. — *On nas nienawidzi. Widziałaś jego twarz*. — Hej. Ava, prawda? Wzdrygnęłam się tak mocno, że prawie spadłam z trybuny. Moje za duże okulary zsunęły się z nosa, gdy gwałtownie podniosłam głowę. Kilka kroków dalej stał Luke Katrz z torbą sportową przewieszoną przez ramię. Był wysoki, miał rozczochrane blond włosy i ciepły, swobodny uśmiech, który sięgał oczu. Luke był studentem trzeciego roku, świetnym uczniem, a co ważniejsze, kapitanem drużyny koszykarskiej *Red Flamor*. — Ja... tak. Cześć, Luke — zdołałam wykrztusić, szybko poprawiając okulary i splatając ramiona ciasno wokół talii. Smucił się lekko, spoglądając na ciężki podręcznik, który niemal rzuciłam na beton. Podszedł, podniósł go, otrzepał okładkę z kurzu i podał mi z powrotem. — Wyglądasz, jakbyś zobaczyła ducha — powiedział Luke głosem zaskakująco łagodnym jak na chłopaka zbudowanego niczym czołg. — Albo dzikiego wilka. Wszystko w porządku? — W porządku — skłamałam, odbierając książkę. Nasze palce musnęły się przelotnie, a on się uśmiechnął. To był miły uśmiech. Bezpieczny. — Po prostu... spieszę się na zajęcia własne. — Cóż, jeśli idziesz do biblioteki, mogę cię odprowadzić. Właściwie i tak miałem pytanie dotyczące wczorajszego arkusza z prawdopodobieństwa. Zanim zdążyłam odpowiedzieć, duszące, ciężkie ciśnienie uderzyło w atmosferę wokół nas. Czuło się to tak, jakby ciśnienie powietrza spadło tuż przed potężną burzą. Włosy na moich rękach stanęły dęba. Moja wilczyca całkowicie zamarła. Odwróciłam głowę w stronę siatki ogrodzenia otaczającej główne boiska. Grupa chłopaków z *Black Diamonds* — drużyny Iana — wchodziła właśnie na asfalt. A na ich czele kroczył Ian. Zatrzymał się gwałtownie. Jego ciemne, wściekłe oczy utkwione były prosto w Luke'u. A potem, powoli, ten morderczy wzrok przesunął się na mnie. Drwina, którą widziałam wcześniej na korytarzu, zniknęła. Jego szczęka była zaciśnięta tak mocno, że mięśnie pod skórą wyraźnie drgały. Wpatrywał się w niewielką przestrzeń między Lukiem a mną, jakby chciał samym spojrzeniem podpalić beton. *Dlaczego on tak na nas patrzy?* — pomyślałam, a tętno mi skoczyło. Wcześniej wyraźnie dał mi do zrozumienia, że sama moja egzystencja go brzydzi. Ale to, jak gapił się teraz, nie wyglądało na odrazę. To wyglądało na czystą, terytorialną furię. — Ignoruj go — mruknął Luke pod nosem, przesuwając się lekko tak, by stanąć częściowo przede mną i zasłonić mnie przed wzrokiem Iana. — Po prostu szuka powodu, żeby się dzisiaj wkurzyć. Opiekuńczy gest Luke'a był drobny, ale dla Alfy pokroju Iana stanowił jawne wypowiedzenie wojny. Niski, groźny pomruk zawibrował w piersi Iana, niosąc się w powietrzu. Jego kumple stojący za nim natychmiast ucichli, wyczuwając nagłą zmianę nastroju swojego lidera. Bez słowa Ian wyrwał piłkę do koszykówki z rąk chłopaka stojącego obok. Nie kozłował. Nawet nie spojrzał na kosz. Odchylił ramię do tyłu i cisnął ciężką skórzaną piłką prosto w nas z siłą kuli armatniej. — Uważaj! — krzyknął Luke. Piłka uderzyła w metalową trybunę dokładnie centymetr od miejsca, w którym spoczywała moja dłoń. Aluminiowe siedzisko wydało ogłuszający brzdęk, po czym piłka odbiła się gwałtownie i wpadła w ziemię. Siła uderzenia posłała bolesną falę wstrząsu wzdłuż mojego ramienia. Sapnęłam z zaskoczenia, ponownie upuszczając podręcznik. Zgraja Iana wybuchnęła okrutnym śmiechem. — Ups — rzucił przeciągle Ian, a jego głęboki głos poniósł się nad asfaltem. Wcale nie brzmiał, jakby było mu przykro. Poruszył ramionami, a mroczny, złośliwy uśmiech wykrzywił kącik jego ust. — Wyślizgnęła się. Odrzuć ją, kujonko. Moje ręce drżały. Tym razem nie ze strachu, ale z czegoś zupełnie innego. Coś gorącego i nieznanego zapłonęło w moim żołądku. To uczucie wypaliło panikę. Wypaliło lata chodzenia z opuszczoną głową, ukrywania się za workowatymi ubraniami i pozwalania aroganckim gnębicielom, by mnie deptali tylko po to, bym mogła przetrwać. Ukradł mój pierwszy pocałunek. Przeraził mnie w ciemności. Upokorzył na korytarzu. A teraz traktował mnie jak żywy cel tylko po to, by połechtać swoje wielkie, kruche ego. — Ava, nie rób tego — ostrzegł Luke, wyciągając rękę, by złapać mnie za ramię. — Ja ją wezmę. — Nie — powiedziałam. Mój głos nie drżał. Wstałam. Podeszłam do miejsca, gdzie w pyle leżała piłka i podniosłam ją. Szorstka skóra dała mi poczucie stabilności. Odwróciłam się w stronę ogrodzenia. Ian stał tam z ramionami skrzyżowanymi na piersi, oczekując, że się skulę. Oczekując, że posłusznie odturla mu piłkę jak grzeczna, żałosna mała Omega, by on i jego koledzy mogli pośmiać się z mojego niezdarnego rzutu. Nie odturlałam jej. Rozstawiłam stopy, wbiłam wzrok w jego arogancką twarz i odrzuciłam piłkę z całą wilkołaczą siłą, jaką posiadałam. Piłka przeleciała w prostej, wściekłej linii i uderzyła prosto w środek klatki piersiowej Iana z głośnym, satysfakcjonującym mlaśnięciem. Siła uderzenia zmusiła go do zrobienia pół kroku w tył. Śmiech jego kolegów natychmiast uciichł. Nad całym boiskiem zapadła grobowa, upiorna cisza. Nawet wiatr zdawał się wstrzymać oddech. Nikt nie oddychał. Nikt się nie ruszał. Ian powoli opuścił ramiona. Piłka upadła na asfalt i potoczyła się gdzieś w bok, zapomniana. — Myślałam, że masz być kapitanem drużyny — krzyknęłam, a mój głos brzmiał krystalicznie czysto w tej ciszy, pozbawiony jąkania, za którym zazwyczaj się chowałam. — Ale chyba zapomniałeś, że to jest boisko do koszykówki, Ian Dawson. A nie plac zabaw, na którym możesz wpadać w histerię jak rozkapryszony bachor. Luke głośno wciągnął powietrze za moimi plecami. Kilku chłopaków z *Black Diamonds* odsunęło się fizycznie od Iana. Przez jedną przerażającą sekundę Ian się nie poruszył. Miał opuszczoną głowę, a ciemne włosy rzucały cień na jego oczy. Potem, bardzo powoli, uniósł podbródek. Drwiący uśmiech całkowicie zniknął. Szyderstwo wyparowało. Spojrzenie jego oczu było tak dzikie, tak drapieżne, że moje serce zapomniało, jak się bije. Nie krzyczał. Nie przeklinał. Po prostu zaczął iść w moją stronę. Rozdział 4: Demaskowanie partnera POV Avy Nie biegł. Kroczył jak drapieżca. Każdy krok Iana Dawsona pożerał dystans między nami, a jego ciemne oczy zdzierały każdą warstwę obrony, którą pieczołowicie budowałam przez lata. Luke natychmiast zareagował, stając bezpośrednio na drodze Iana. — Ian, odpuść. Ona nie chciała— — Zamknij się, Katrz. — Głos Iana nie był krzykiem; był to zabójczy, cichy charkot niosący w sobie absolutny, miażdżący ciężar rozkazu Alfy. Szczęka Luke'a się zacisnęła, a jego ciało zesztywniało, gdy jego wilk został na moment zmuszony do uległości przez samą różnicę w hierarchii. Zanim zdążyłam pomyśleć o ucieczce, dłoń Iana wystrzeliła do przodu. Jego palce zacisnęły się na moim nadgarstku niczym stalowa pułapka. Gwałtowny, parzący impuls elektryczności wystrzelił w górę mojego ramienia dokładnie w tej samej sekundzie, w której jego skóra dotknęła mojej. Sapnęłam, potykając się, gdy bez wysiłku szarpnął mnie w swoją stronę. — Puść mnie! — zażądałam, wbijając tenisówki w asfalt i próbując się zaprzeć. Całkowicie mnie zignorował. Nawet nie obejrzał się na swoich kolegów ani na szepczący tłum, który obserwował nas z szeroko otwartymi, przerażonymi oczami. Po prostu odwrócił się na pięcie i zaczął ciągnąć mnie w stronę bocznego wejścia do sali gimnastycznej. — Ian, przestań! Ranisz mnie! — skłamałam, próbując odgiąć jego palce. Nie miażdżył mi kości, ale parzący żar bijący od jego uścisku drażnił moje nerwy, sprawiając, że moja wilczyca skomlała z dezorientacji. Kopnięciem otworzył ciężkie metalowe drzwi, wciągając mnie do opustoszałego, słabo oświetlonego korytarza sportowego. Daleki gwar z boiska natychmiast zniknął, zastąpiony echem jego ciężkich butów i mojego gorączkowego szamotania się. — Oszalałeś? — wrzasnęłam, kopiąc go na oślep w piszczel. Nawet nie drgnął. Po prostu pchnął mnie przed siebie. Wpadłam do małego, pozbawionego okien kantorka na sprzęt, w którym śmierdziało starymi gumowymi matami i pastą do podłóg. Zanim zdążyłam odzyskać równowagę i rzucić się z powrotem na korytarz, ciężkie metalowe drzwi zatrzasnęły się, pogrążając nas w niemal całkowitej ciemności. Zamek kliknął. Panika, zimna i ostra, zalała moją pierś. Cofnęłam się gwałtownie, aż mój kręgosłup uderzył w zimną ceglaną ścianę. Oddychałam ciężko. — Otwórz te drzwi — rozkazałam, próbując rozpaczliwie ukryć drżenie głosu. — Masz tupet — jego głos dobiegł z mroku, niepokojąco blisko. Nie był po drugiej stronie pokoju. Stał tuż przede mną. — Rzucać piłką w swojego przyszłego Alfę na oczach połowy szkoły. — Ty rzuciłeś pierwszy! — Wyślizgnęła mi się. — Jesteś kłamcą i gnębicielem. Usłyszałam szelest materiału. Nagle dwie potężne dłonie uderzyły w ceglaną ścianę po obu stronach mojej głowy, więżąc mnie. Przytłaczający żar jego ciała otoczył mnie w ciemności. — Myślisz, że skoro zadajesz się z Lukiem Katrzem, nagle stałaś się nietykalna? — syknął Ian, a jego oddech omiótł mój policzek. — Jesteś nikim. Po prostu żałosną, brzydką małą kujonką, która próbuje grać w grę, której nie rozumie. Gardło mi się ścisnęło, ukłute okrucieństwem w jego głosie. — W nic nie gram. Po prostu mnie wypuść. Pchnęłam go obiema rękami w piersi, napierając z całych sił. To było jak próba przesunięcia góry. Fizyczny wysiłek w połączeniu z duszny upałem w nieantylowanym schowku sprawił, że kropla potu spłynęła mi po szyi. W tej zamkniętej, dusznej przestrzeni tanie, syntetyczne perfumy różane, którymi rano się oblałam, zaczęły parować, mieszając się z żarem naszej szamotaniny i ulatniając się w stęchłe powietrze. — Nie dotykaj mnie — warknął, łapiąc mnie za nadgarstki. Jednym płynnym, brutalnym ruchem przygwoździł moje ręce do ściany nad moją głową. Szarpnęłam się, mój oddech stał się płytki i nierówny. — Puść! — Przestań się ruszać — rozkazał. Ale ja nie przestałam. Wykręcałam nadgarstki, kopiąc na oślep w ciemności. Tarcie naszych walczących ciał wytworzyło dławiące gorąco. Serce biło mi tak szybko, że miałam wrażenie, iż zaraz przebije mi żebra. Gdy temperatura mojego ciała gwałtownie wzrosła, mój prawdziwy zapach — ten, który tak desperacko starałam się ukryć pod warstwami taniej chemii — zaczął przenikać do powietrza. Jaśmin skąpany w deszczu. Dziki miód. Ciało Iana całkowicie znieruchomiało. Nagłe ustanie jego ruchu było bardziej przerażające niż jego gniew. Ręce zaciskające się na moich nadgarstkach rozluźniły się o ułamek. W nieprzeniknionej ciemności usłyszałam, jak bierze gwałtowny, urywany wdech. — Co... — jego głos się załamał, był to zduszony, pełen niedowierzania szept. Pochylił się, wtulając nos bezpośrednio w zagłębienie mojej szyi. Zamarłam, zbyt oszołomiona, by w ogóle oddychać. Wciągnął powietrze głęboko, długim, przeciągłym oddechem, który wstrząsnął jego potężną klatką piersiową. — Nie — wymamrotał, brzmiąc na całkowicie zdezorientowanego. Puścił moje nadgarstki. Zanim zdążyłam uciec, jego dłonie powędrowały w górę, ujmując moją twarz. Jego kciuki otarły się o grube, brzydkie oprawki moich okularów. Jednym szybkim ruchem zdjął je i rzucił gdzieś w mrok. — Hej! — zaprotestowałam po omacku. Jego dłonie wsunęły się w moje włosy, długie palce odnalazły ciasny, surowy kok na karku. Jednym mocnym szarpnięciem ściągnął gumkę, pozwalając moim długim, ciemnym włosom rozsypać się na ramiona. Przylgnął do mnie całym ciałem, pochylając głowę tak, że jego nos musnął linię mojej szczęki, podążając za zapachem aż do ucha. Jego oddech był teraz całkowicie nierówny, omiatając moją skórę gorącą i desperacką falą. — Korytarz — wydyszał, a uświadomienie sobie prawdy uderzyło w niego niczym fizyczny cios. — Wczoraj wieczorem. To byłaś ty. Krew ścięła mi się w żyłach. — Nie wiem, o czym mówisz. Jego ręka przesunęła się z moich włosów, by objąć kark. Uścisk był władczy, nieustępliwy. Czysta dominacja, która z niego biła, była odurzająca, sprawiając, że moja uśpiona wilczyca skomlała w całkowitej uległości. — Nie kłam — warknął Ian. Jego głos obniżył się o oktawę, wibrując mrocznym, pierwotnym głodem, którego nie było tam minutę wcześniej. — Myślisz, że zapomniałbym o własnej Mate? Rozdział 5: Okrutna rzeczywistość POV Avy To słowo zawisło w dusznej, ciężkiej atmosferze między nami, gęstsze niż drobiny kurzu tańczące w ciemności. *Mate. Moja przeznaczona.* Moja wewnętrzna wilczyca wydała z siebie krótki, radosny skowyt, rzucając się na ściany mentalnej klatki, w której więziłam ją od lat. Chciała się podporządkować. Chciała odsłonić szyję przed potężnym, dominującym drapieżnikiem stojącym zaledwie centymetry dalej. Magnetyczne przyciąganie więzi przeznaczonych — ta pierwotna, niezaprzeczalna nić tkana przez samą Boginię Księżyca — wskoczyła na swoje miejsce, kotwicząc moją duszę bezpośrednio w jego. Ale nie mogłam się poruszyć. Moje płuca całkowicie zapomniały, jak przetwarzać tlen. Pierś Iana falowała przy mojej. Pierwotny głód emanujący z niego był niemal namacalnym ciężarem. Słyszałam bicie jego serca, głośne i nierówne, będące idealnym echem mojego własnego. Przez jedną zawieszoną w czasie, przerażającą sekundę pochylił się bliżej, a jego usta rozchyliły się, jakby zamierzał mnie znów pocałować. Jakby ciemność miała mu pozwolić ulec temu odurzającemu instynktowi krzyczącemu w naszych żyłach. Wtedy jego ręka wystrzeliła w górę. Jego palce szukały czegoś po omacku w powietrzu nad naszymi głowami, aż natrafiły na cienki sznurek. Szarpnął go. *Klik.* Pojedyncza, goła świetlówka na niskim suficie zamrugała i ożyła, zalewając mały schowek ostrym, bezlitosnym, chorobliwie żółtym światłem. Mrużąc oczy, uniosłam rękę, by osłonić twarz przed nagłym blaskiem. Bez moich grubych szkieł krawędzie pomieszczenia były lekko rozmazane, ale twarz Iana widziałam porażająco wyraźnie. Wpatrywał się we mnie. Jego klatka piersiowa unosiła się i opadała w gwałtownych, rwanych oddechach. Krwisty blask w jego oczach wciąż migotał, walcząc o dominację, ale gdy ostre światło oświetliło każdy detal mojej twarzy, moje rozczochrane włosy i bezkształtny szary sweter, który niemal mnie pochłaniał, wilk w jego oczach zaczął się cofać. Widziałam, jak to się dzieje w czasie rzeczywistym. Widziałam, jak surowy, rozpaczliwy głód zmienia się w dezorientację, potem w szok, by w końcu osiąść w zimnym, paraliżującym przerażeniu. — Ty — wydyszał, a to słowo wypadło z jego ust niczym przekleństwo. Zabrał ręce z mojej talii, jakby moja skóra nagle zmieniła się w płynną lawę. Cofnął się potykając, a jego szerokie ramiona uderzyły w metalowy stojak ze starymi piłkami do siatkówki z głośnym brzękiem. Nagła utrata ciepła jego ciała sprawiła, że zadrżałam, ale to wyraz jego twarzy sprawił, że krew naprawdę mi zamarzła. To była czysta, niczym niezmącona odraza. — Ian... — szepnęłam, a to imię smakowało na moim języku jak popiół. — Zamknij się — warknął, przeczesując drżącą dłonią ciemne włosy. Rozglądał się dziko po małym pomieszczeniu, niczym uwięzione zwierzę szukające drogi ucieczki. Jego wzrok spoczął z powrotem na mnie, a ciemne oczy były całkowicie pozbawione ciepła czy pożądania, które czułam jeszcze przed chwilą. — To jakiś żart — wymamrotał Ian, a jego głos przybrał niebezpieczny, lodowaty ton. — Jakiś chory, popierdolony żart. Znów postąpił krok w moją stronę, ale tym razem nie było żadnego magnetycznego przyciągania. Była tylko dusząca presja wściekłego Alfy, którego duma właśnie została roztrzaskana w drobny mak. — Zaplanowałaś to, prawda? — oskarżył mnie, wykrzywiając górną wargę w okrutnym uśmiechu. Gestem wskazał na moją szyję. — Oblałaś się rano tymi ohydnymi, tanimi perfumami tylko po to, by ukryć swój zapach? Udawałaś żałosne, niewidzialne zero, tylko po to, by zapędzić mnie w kozi róg w ciemnym korytarzu? Szczęka mi opadła z niedowierzania. Bezczelność jego oskarżenia wznieciła pożar w mojej piersi, wypalając resztki mgły wywołanej więzią przeznaczonych. — Zaplanowałam to? — odparowałam, a mój głos był zadziwiająco stabilny mimo chaotycznego drżenia rąk. — To *ty* mnie tu wciągnąłeś, ty arogancki dupku! Od lat robię wszystko, by schodzić ci z drogi! Myślisz, że *chciałam*, by Bogini Księżyca związała mnie z gnębicielem, który rzuca w ludzi piłkami dla zabawy? Ian drgnął, bo prawda moich słów do niego dotarła, ale jego potężne ego natychmiast zadziałało jak tarcza. Przyszły Główny Alfa Watahy Mistycznego Cienia nie popełniał błędów, a już na pewno nie przepraszał Omeg. — Nie schlebiaj sobie, kujonko — syknął, skracając dystans, aż nade mną górował, wykorzystując każdy centymetr swojego wzrostu, by mnie zastraszyć. — Bogini Księżyca nie popełnia błędów, co oznacza, że to jakaś twoja sztuczka. Iluzja czarnej magii. Nie ma takiego wszechświata, w którym słaba, tchórzliwa mała Omega jak ty miałaby zostać moją Luną. Te słowa uderzyły mnie niczym fizyczne ciosy, tnąc prosto przez żebra i przebijając serce. Moja wewnętrzna wilczyca wydała z siebie zdruzgotany skowyt i wycofała się w najdalszy, najciemniejszy kąt mojego umysłu. *Słaba. Tchórzliwa. Omega.* Tym dla niego byłam. Rangą. Symbolem statusu, którego się wstydził. Całe życie spędził w otoczeniu przepięknych, wysokich rangą samic Beta i Delta, szkolony do tego, by oczekiwać u swojego boku królowej wojowniczek. A nie Avy Adler. Nie dziewczyny, która służyła wszystkim za worek treningowy. Poczułam znajome, piekące łzy pod powiekami. Obraz jeszcze bardziej mi się rozmazał, ale wbiłam paznokcie w dłonie tak mocno, że skóra pękła. Przygryzłam wnętrze policzka, aż poczułam smak żelaza. *Nie będę płakać* — rozkazałam sobie, prostując drżące kolana. — *Nie dam mu satysfakcji z patrzenia, jak mnie łamie*. Uniosłam podbródek, zmuszając się do spojrzenia w jego zimne, pełne pogardy oczy. Nie szukałam okularów. Nie próbowałam schować się za włosami. — Masz rację — powiedziałam, a mój głos opadł do martwego, głuchego szeptu, który poniósł się echem w ciasnym schowku. — Jestem Omegą. Nie mam wysokiej rangi ani władzy. Ale mam w sobie dość szacunku do samej siebie, by wiedzieć, że zasługuję na kogoś lepszego niż złośliwy, powierzchowny chłopak, który ocenia ludzi tylko przez pryzmat statusu. Szczęka Iana zacisnęła się tak mocno, że mięsień przy jego skroni drgnął. Przez ułamek sekundy w jego oczach błysnął autentyczny konflikt. Jego wilk wrzeszczał na niego, by rościł sobie do mnie prawo, by przeprosił, by przyciągnął mnie z powrotem do piersi. Czułam tę bolesną wojnę, która rozdzierała go od środka. Ale Ian Dawson był niewolnikiem własnej dumy. — Zasługujesz dokładnie na to, czym jesteś — powiedział Ian cichym, okrutnym i zabójczym szeptem. — Na nic. Nie czekał na odpowiedź. Odwrócił się na pięcie i z furią kopnął ciężkie metalowe drzwi. Zamek pękł z ogłuszającym trzaskiem. Drzwi wyleciały na zewnątrz, uderzając o ceglaną ścianę korytarza i odbijając się z zgrzytem torturowanego metalu. Ostre, oślepiające światło korytarza zalało mroczny schowek. Ian wypadł na zewnątrz, nie oglądając się za siebie. Wzięłam drżący oddech, wychodząc z cienia w próg drzwi. W momencie, gdy moje oczy przyzwyczaiły się do jasności, serce podjechało mi do gardła. Nie byliśmy sami. Hałas, który towarzyszył Ianowi wciągającemu mnie do środka, a potem odgłos roztrzaskanych drzwi, przyciągnął tłum. Połowa uczniów z młodszych i starszych roczników stała w szerokim półkolu na korytarzu, z wyciągniętymi telefonami i oczami pełnymi chorobliwej ciekawości. Patrzyli to na morderczą twarz Iana, to na moje rozczochrane włosy, wypieki na policzkach i brak okularów. Natychmiast zaczęły się szepty, wściekłe bzyczenie plotek. Ale mój wzrok nie skupił się na tłumie. Utkwił w dziewczynie, która gwałtownie przepychała się na przód. Nova. Córka Bety. Najpiękniejsza, najpopularniejsza dziewczyna na kampusie i ta, o której wszyscy myśleli, że nieuchronnie zostanie Luną Iana. Miała na sobie nieskazitelną, markową czerwoną sukienkę, ale jej twarz wykrzywiała się w masce czystej, niczym niezmąconej nienawiści. Jej oczy przeskakiwały z klatki piersiowej Iana, gdzie bez wątpienia wciąż unosił się mój zapach, na moje niechlujne włosy. — Ty nędzna, mała suko! — wrzasnęła Nova, a jej głos odbił się piskliwym echem od szafek. Zanim zdążyłam zareagować, rzuciła się na mnie. Uniosła rękę, a jej idealnie wypielęgnowane paznokcie błysnęły w świetle świetlówek, gdy brała szeroki zamach, celując prosto w moją twarz. Rozdział 6: Publiczne upokorzenie POV Avy Nawet nie zdążyłam mrugnąć okiem. Ostre, trzaskające uderzenie poniosło się echem po martwym, cichym korytarzu, gdy dłoń Novy zderzyła się z moim policzkiem. Czysta siła ciosu odrzuciła moją głowę w bok, sprawiając, że zachwiałam się do tyłu, aż moje ramię uderzyło mocno w metalową futrynę schowka. Moje usta wypełnił ostry, metaliczny posmak. Policzek piekł mnie, jakby został wypalony gorącym żelazem, a skóra pod ostrym światłem jarzeniówek natychmiast zaczęła puchnąć. Przez ułamek sekundy cały korytarz wstrzymał oddech. Moja wewnętrzna wilczyca wydała z siebie mrożący krew w żyłach, instynktowny skowyt agonii. Nie wyła tylko z powodu fizycznego bólu; wołała *jego*. Naszego Alfę. Naszego przeznaczonego partnera. Zgodnie ze wszystkimi prawami natury i Księżycowej Bogini, instynkt ochrony partnerki był absolutny. Każdy, kto odważyłby się uderzyć partnerkę Alfy, powinien mieć rozerwane gardło, zanim jego ręka w ogóle zdąży opaść. Drżąc, powoli odwróciłam głowę, a mój zamglony wzrok spoczął na Ianie. Czekałam na ryk. Czekałam, aż jego oczy zajdą szkarłatem, aż jego potężna sylwetka stanie między mną a Novą, chroniąc mnie przed wściekłymi, kłapiącymi szczękami watahy. Ale on się nie poruszył. Ian Dawson stał w bezruchu. Dłonie miał wepchnięte głęboko do kieszeni ciemnych dżinsów, a kłykcie mu pobielały. Widziałam gwałtowną, chaotyczną wojnę szalejącą w jego ciemnych oczach — dziką bestię krzyczącą, by wyrżnąć wszystkich na korytarzu, toczącą brutalną, przegraną walkę z aroganckim, nietykalnym królem-chłopcem, który odmawiał bycia upokorzonym. Zacisnął szczękę tak mocno, że myślałam, iż jego zęby się pokruszą. Ale potem, tuż przed moimi zalanymi łzami oczami, wojna się skończyła. Bestia została wepchnięta z powrotem do klatki. Maska absolutnej, lodowatej obojętności prześlizgnęła się po zabójczo przystojnej twarzy Iana. Nic go to nie obchodziło. Zamierzał pozwolić im rozszarpać mnie na strzępy. — Ian, o mój Boże! — Nova jęknęła, natychmiast porzucając swoją agresywną postawę i zmieniając się w obraz zrozpaczonej niewinności. Rzuciła się do przodu, kładąc swoje idealnie wypielęgnowane dłonie na jego piersi. — Czy ona cię tam uwięziła? Czy ten brudny, mały dziwoląg próbował ci się narzucić? Nie mogłam oddychać. Wpatrywałam się w Iana, jedynym, cichym błaganiem prosząc go, by powiedział prawdę. *Powiedz im, że to ty mnie tu wciągnąłeś. Powiedz im.* Ian spojrzał w dół na Novą. Potem jego zimne, martwe oczy spoczęły na mnie. Przyjrzał się moim rozczochranym, rozpuszczonym włosom, mojemu za dużemu, wygniecionemu swetrowi i jasnoczerwonemu śladowi dłoni wykwitającemu na moim bladym policzku. Okrutny, ostry jak brzytwa uśmieszek powoli wykwitł na jego wargach. — Ona ma urojenia — wycedził Ian, a jego niski głos bez trudu poniósł się wzdłuż zatłoczonego korytarza. — To tylko żałosna, zdesperowana Omega błagająca o okruchy uwagi. Te słowa nie tylko złamały mi serce; one całkowicie je sproszkowały. Poczułam się tak, jakby sięgnął prosto do mojej piersi i zmiażdżył moją duszę gołymi rękami. By zadać ostateczny, śmiertelny cios, Ian od niechcenia wyciągnął jedną rękę z kieszeni i owinął swoje mocno wytatuowane ramię wokół drobnej talii Novy, przyciągając ją blisko do swojego boku. — Mam już dziewczynę — ogłosił Ian, całując czubek głowy Novy. — Dlaczego, u diabła, miałbym choć raz spojrzeć na taki chodzący śmietnik jak ona? Na korytarzu zawrzało. To nie był tylko śmiech; to była fala czystej, niefiltrowanej drwiny. Telefony komórkowe wystrzeliły w górę, błyski fleszy oślepiały mnie, gdy dziesiątki uczniów nagrywały moje całkowite upokorzenie. — Słyszeliście go? Naprawdę próbowała go uwieść w schowku na szczotki! — Spójrzcie na nią! Nawet nie ma ubrań, które by na nią pasowały! — Co za bezwstydna, brzydka mała suka. Myślała, że kiedykolwiek mogłaby dotknąć naszego przyszłego Alfę. — Naprawdę myślała, że Ian Dawson chciałby *to*? Toksyczny, duszny jad ich słów mnie topił. Śmiali się, wytykali palcami, szydzili. A w samym centrum tego wszystkiego, pławiąc się w ich uwielbieniu i czci, stał mój partner. Nova uśmiechnęła się do mnie drwiąco znad ramienia Iana, a w jej oczach malował się czysty, jadowity triumf. Wygrała. Zdobyła najwyższego rangą samca w watasze i przy okazji całkowicie mnie zniszczyła. Nie mogłam tu zostać. Jeśli zostanę na tym korytarzu choć sekundę dłużej, rozpadnę się na milion kawałków i rozwieje mnie wiatr jak kurz. Nie spojrzałam już na Iana. Spuściłam głowę, używając moich luźnych włosów jak zasłony, by ukryć gorące, upokarzające łzy płynące spod rzęs. Przeciskałam się na oślep przez ścianę szydzących uczniów. Ktoś celowo wystawił nogę, a ja potknęłam się, szorując kolanami o płytki podłogowe. Śmiech tylko przybrał na sile. Podniosłam się szybko, ignorując piekący ból w nogach, i pobiegłam. Nie pobiegłam w stronę głównych drzwi. Nie mogłam znieść światła słonecznego ani otwartego kampusu. Pobiegłam w stronę najciemniejszego, najbardziej odizolowanego miejsca, jakie znałam. Klatka schodowa. Pchnęłam ciężkie drzwi przeciwpożarowe i pokonywałam betonowe stopnie po dwa naraz, a moje płuca błagały o tlen, wzrok zaś pływał we łzach. Im wyżej się wspinałam, tym bardziej drwiący śmiech cichł, zastępowany przez urywany, rozpaczliwy dźwięk mojego własnego szlochu. *Odrzuć go*, krzyczał mój umysł. *Odrzuć go, zanim całkowicie cię zniszczy!* Ale wiedziałam, że nie mogę. Byłam nisko postawioną Omegą bez żadnej mocy, bez wsparcia watahy i z wilczycą, która od lat pozostawała uśpiona. Gdybym zainicjowała odrzucenie partnera przeciwko czystej krwi, przyszłemu Głównemu Alfie, fizyczne konsekwencje prawdopodobnie by mnie zabiły. Byłam uwięziona w koszmarze zaprojektowanym przez samą Księżycową Boginię. Dotarłam do najwyższego półpiętra i całym ciężarem ciała naparłam na ciężkie metalowe drzwi prowadzące na dach. Otworzyły się gwałtownie, a we mnie uderzył poryw lodowatego, niespokojnego wiatru. Niebo nad uniwersytetem przybrało siniakowy, złowieszczy szary odcień. Ciemne, ciężkie chmury burzowe kłębiły się gwałtownie, odzwierciedlając katastrofalne zniszczenie wewnątrz mojej piersi. Wypadłam na rozległy, pusty betonowy dach, a wiatr natychmiast zaczął smagać moimi ciemnymi włosami moją zalaną łzami twarz. Zataczając się, podeszłam do wysokiej metalowej barierki na krawędzi dachu, chwytając zimną stal tak mocno, że kłykcie mi pobielały. Oparłam czoło o metal, walcząc o oddech, gdy w końcu wezbrała we mnie ulewa łez. Szlochałam, aż rozbolało mnie gardło, opłakując pięknego, opiekuńczego partnera, o którym zawsze marzyłam, i złośliwego, płytkiego potwora, którego w rzeczywistości otrzymałam. *HUK.* Ogłuszający trzask ciężkich drzwi na dach, zamykających się z impetem, odbił się echem jak wystrzał pistoletu ponad wyciem wiatru. Wzdrygnęłam się, obracając gwałtownie. Ian stał w przejściu. Wyglądał na całkowicie wytrąconego z równowagi. Chłodna, arogancka maska, którą nosił na dole na korytarzu, całkowicie zniknęła. Jego klatka piersiowa falowała, a dłonie były zaciśnięte w pięści o białych kłykciach. Jego oczy były przerażającym, wirującym wirem smolistej czerni i żarzącej się, nienaturalnej czerwieni. Więź partnerstwa rozbłysła gwałtownie między nami — magnetyczne, bolesne uwięzi, które szarpały moją pierś. Jego wilk walczył z nim o kontrolę, wściekły z powodu bólu, w jakim się znajdowałam, podczas gdy ludzka strona Iana walczyła równie mocno, by całkowicie zerwać to połączenie. — Przyszedłeś za mną tutaj, żeby mnie jeszcze bardziej upokorzyć? — krzyknęłam ponad wiatrem, a mój głos się łamał. — Czy widownia złożona z dwustu osób nie wystarczyła twojemu ego? Ian nie wypowiedział ani słowa. Kopnięciem zamknął za sobą ciężkie drzwi, więżąc nas na dachu. Ruszył w moją stronę. Surowa, duszna presja jego aury Alfy spowiła dach, tak ciężka, że fizycznie zmusiła mnie do zrobienia kroku w tył, aż mój kręgosłup zderzył się z zimną metalową barierką. Nie było już dokąd uciec. Tuż za mną ziała przepaść czterech pięter. — Myślisz, że możesz po prostu ode mnie odejść? — warknął Ian, a jego głos był mrocznym, demonicznym chrypem, który ledwie brzmiał ludzko. Zatrzymał się kilka centymetrów ode mnie. Ciepło promieniujące z jego ciała stanowiło ostry, rażący kontrast dla lodowatego wiatru smagającego nas dookoła. — Pozwoliłeś im mnie rozszarpać — zapłakałam, wpatrując się w chłopaka, który powinien pielęgnować moją duszę. — Trzymałeś ją. Pozwoliłeś jej mnie uderzyć. Dlaczego? Bo nie noszę markowych ubrań? Bo jestem Omegą? Ian wyciągnął ręce, chwytając metalową barierkę po obu stronach mojej talii, skutecznie więżąc mnie przy krawędzi dachu. Pochylił się, a jego twarz była tak blisko, że czułam nieregularne, wściekłe gorąco jego oddechu. — Ponieważ jesteś pomyłką — syknął Ian, a jego ciemne oczy wpiły się w moje z okrucieństwem, które zmroziło krew w moich żyłach. — Los prowadzi chorą grę, wiążąc czystej krwi Alfę ze słabym, żałosnym nikim, kto nawet nie potrafi stoczyć własnych bitew. Zaparło mi dech. Czysta nienawiść w jego głosie była niczym fizyczne ostrze wsuwające się między moje żebra. — Jesteś tchórzem, Ian — szepnęłam, a ostatnie strzępy mojego złamanego serca rozpuściły się w czystym, lodowatym gniewie. — Bardziej boisz się tego, co pomyślą twoi płytcy przyjaciele, niż Księżycowej Bogini. Zacisnął szczękę. Jego oczy rozbłysły oślepiającym, zabójczym szkarłatem. — Niczego się nie boję — zadrwił Ian, pochylając głowę, aż jego usta musnęły moje ucho. — I zamierzam naprawić błąd losu właśnie teraz.
🎬 La Minute de la CIC Med Channel Race - Episode 12 Clap de fin pour la 2ème édition de la CIC Med Channel Race! Une aventure intense, des paysages à couper le souffle… Cette édition aura tenu toutes ses promesses. Entre engagement total des skippers, stratégie millimétrée et émotions fortes, la course nous a offert un spectacle exceptionnel... Merci à tous ceux qui ont fait vivre cette aventure, sur l’eau comme à terre ! Rendez-vous pour la prochaine édition… 🤩 CIC, construire avec le monde du sport Aix-Marseille-Provence Métropole
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