“Uh, okay,” I say, shocked at the mother of the year suddenly sitting in front of me.
“They are outlaws, Dani. They will try to drag you into their perverse way of life”, she says with a loud sigh “They’re ruthless and pigs. Do not let them mislead you.” She starts biting her bottom lip reaching up to turn off our overhead lights; as usual she’s done talking about this and no amount of arguing will change her mind.
But why will my father help us if he doesn’t care about us? Did she tell my father about me on the phone? If this biker club is so morally wrong why are we running to them for help?
I awake as the plane lands and am surprised to realize that I could sleep after all the shit my mother has doled out in the past few hours. I shuffle behind her to the luggage carousel and wait what seems like forever, but is only a few minutes, before we see them on the conveyor belt. I grab mine as it rolls up and head for the nearest exit.
As I walk out of the airport, the sunlight pummels my sensitive eyes. I stop and reach into my purse for my sunglasses. As my eyes are adjusting, I realize my mother is no longer beside me. I’m not sure who we’re looking for, but I notice a large SUV with two black, slick-looking motorcycles parked behind it in the ‘NO PARKING ZONE’. There are two men with the bikes and I take a moment to check them out. I’m hoping my sunglasses keep me from looking like I’m staring. One of the guys is leaning against his bike. He is older, maybe in his forties. A black bandanna is wrapped around his head. Long, dirty-blond hair flows from beneath it and rests on his well-built shoulders. A long beard and matching, thick mustache are the same dirty-blond but with white speckles. His mustache is so thick, it covers his mouth to the point I can barely tell he has lips. He’s wearing a black leather vest over a white t-shirt and black jeans which reminds me a bit of Trigger from the airport in New York. His legs are crossed out in front of him as he leans on one of the bikes, while his fingers twirl a toothpick in his mouth. His attempt at looking casual isn’t fooling me, his whole image screams outlaw.
The other guy is facing away from me. He has black choppy hair on top of his head and it is shorter on the sides. The back of his leather sleeveless jacket has a skeleton hand crushing a skull on it. It reads ‘DEVIL'S DUST’ above the crushed skull and ‘California’ under it. He’s wearing a white shirt with blue jeans and black motorcycle boots. He turns and I stop in my tracks. He’s stunning; gorgeous even, and he just oozes bad boy. His skin is tan and I can see his tattoo peeking out from under the short sleeve on his left bicep. I can’t make out what it is, though. He looks younger than the other man, maybe in his early thirties. I see his lips turn into a cocky smirk and I realize he’s caught me looking at him.
Shit. I smile back. Looking into his eyes, I find that they’re a bright blue. Of course, they’re blue; the contrast with his dark hair is striking. And these blue eyes have an animalistic presence to them. He stretches his arms out and then crosses them in front of his chest. The fabric of his white t-shirt stretches tight around his arm muscles in the process. My lips suddenly part; I can’t breathe at the danger standing in front of me, yet I’m completely intrigued at the same time. Surprisingly, I feel safe for the first time since my mother woke me up in the middle of the night. I have no idea why! He seems anything but safe.
My mother grabs my arm as she catches up and to my dismay, starts in their direction. My mind is still slowly processing the information she shelled out on the plane. I remember we’re seeking protection from a motorcycle club and let her pull me along.
The older guy rises from his bike as we approach and the younger one turns toward my mother. “Lady, I presume?” the delicious biker says to her. As we get closer I can see the patch on the front of his vest reads ‘SHADOW’. He is even more seductive up close. But behind all that beauty I sense a beast. He has the look of someone who’s been damaged, but has a natural allure to hide it. I feel my thighs squeezing to dull the ache between my legs. Fuck! What’s wrong with me? He isn’t possibly turning me on, is he?
“Hell yeah, that’s Lady,” the older biker exclaims, his voice raspy with age and cigarettes. “How the hell have ya been?” Up close I notice he has wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, age has not been kind to him.