Hull opened his mouth as if to say something else, but he never did. His eyes darkened, his last breath came out in a ragged sigh, and then he was gone, his blood pooling around him and the woman he loved.
Rebecca cried, that night, the next, and for a hundred after it. The men did end up beating Jason to death, and then the Hammers disposed of both bodies themselves, to keep the police from being involved. Jason and Hull just became two men missing, never to be found. Weasel became the president of the club, and he visited with Rebecca, making sure she would stay on as club mechanic. She told him she would. She had nothing in her life other than the Hammers now. The club had taken everything from her, until it was the only thing left standing. She rode her bike, she fixed the club’s bikes, and motorcycles became her life once more. It was the only thing she could do to keep her mind off everything. As long as she lived, she would never be able to mend herself. But a motorcycle was loud enough to drown everything out, even a broken heart.
*****
THE END
MOTORCYCLE CLUB Romance - Bad Boy Biker’s Bride
Five years was a long time to be away. It would have been longer if my mother hadn’t up and gotten sick. She was an old bat, crazy as they came, and to me, she always seemed invincible when I was younger. I guessed I had been wrong.
I’d hated her while I was growing up. We never saw eye to eye. She was devout and resolute in her beliefs. I was always the carefree spirit, ready to hit the road when the whim took me. She probably hated that about me, kept wanting me to settle down and start a family. She should have known that just wasn’t who I was.
When the taxi dropped me off in front of the old house, I wanted nothing more than to set the place on fire and leave, as I almost had when I was younger. Too many memories had been made in this house, and most of them I wished I could forget.
The house looked as it always had, rundown but taken care of. The paint was faded and cracking, and the windows were so grimy they couldn’t be seen through. The small white picket fence was still there, almost entirely knocked over now.
I wondered what my dad would have thought of it after all these years. I always thought of his grizzled face staring down at me from whatever cloud he was sitting on, judging as he always had. I had received messages from him the entire time I was away, but they stopped after he caught a bullet. I guessed if you lived as loud as he did, you’d end up in a grave sooner rather than later.
“Hey, Momma,” I shouted from the front door.
“Tara, is that you?” she replied from the den.
I clomped around the house in my old motorcycle boots till I found her.
“Yeah, it’s me, Momma. How you feelin’?” I asked.
“How the hell do you think I’m feeling? I can barely get up to take a piss. Get over here and give your momma a hug,” she said.
I had learned at an early age that you didn’t say no when your mother asked you to do something. I leaned over her and gave her a solid embrace.
“Can I get you anything?” I asked.
“You can get me the last twenty years of my life back; that would do it.” She laughed, only to start hacking and coughing.
I patted her back in a vain attempt to help her. I looked through her prescriptions, one of which was empty—looked like painkillers.
“How about you just get me a refill on that before my aches start acting up again? I was just going to watch TV anyway.”
“All right, Momma. I’ll be back.”
“I think your old bike is still in the garage, if you want to use that to get around. I haven’t had a car for a couple of years now.”
“I’m glad you never got rid of it,” I said.
“Some things you can’t get rid of,” she replied.
I gave her a kiss on the forehead and took the pill bottle, tucking it into my pocket.
I went back outside and circled around to the old garage. My dad’s old car was still sat there, waiting for someone to care. I eyed my old motorcycle, peeking out from behind the canvas sheet I’d thrown over it years ago.
My hand moved automatically, tugging the sheet away. She was a killer ride, and I wondered how I’d gone so long without her in my life. The day to day just didn’t have the same feel as it had when I was younger and more irresponsible.
I ran my hand along the gas tank, wiping away the layers of dirt she was covered in. She wasn’t the biggest bike, nor was she the fastest, but she was mine, and that was all that mattered.
I threw my leg over, and a cloud of dust met me as I settled into the seat. I jerked down on the starter, and just as she always had, she turned over on the first crank.
I hadn’t ridden in so many years; I started to get antsy. She wanted to be taken out to flex those old muscles. I walked my way out of the garage, carefully avoiding the old car.