“Sounds good,” I responded.
“Hell, maybe you’ll meet someone out there,” he said over his shoulder as he walked toward the door.
The thought of any woman in my life other than Kat was unthinkable. Not only was I in pain from not having her in my life, I felt terrible for all of the women I had wasted my time with, wondering if I wasn’t busy with them if it would have been possible to meet Kat sooner, before she got pregnant, changing the outcome of my life, her life, and the life of the child.
“Don’t wanna meet someone. Don’t care to ever meet another woman as long as I live, Boss,” I seethed.
“We’ll see how long that feeling lasts,” he said sarcastically.
I followed him through the door and into the shop without speaking. There was no need for me to respond. Hell, if I did, he wouldn’t believe me.
I was done.
I needed to change the plate on the back of my bike to ROF.
Ride or Fight.
Those were the only two options left.
And I was ready to do both.
KAT
Trying to accept Kyle as my partner in life wasn’t something that was easy to do. To agree to have him as my husband or even significant other was almost impossible for me. Although in the last week we had taken the time to discuss marriage, the thought of it was repulsive to me and it would be nothing more than a shotgun marriage and I knew it.
On a nightly basis I prayed for the ability to forgive him for his past actions, and accept him as not only the father of our child, but my lover. As much as I wanted everything to work between us, I had accepted that I would be living my life feeling alone and in love with someone I would more than likely never see again. So far, I had not made love to him, and spent my time thinking of Dalton, and making excuses for not being able to make love to Kyle. My heart belonged to Dalton.
And it hurt.
Realizing I was doing this not for myself, but for my child, allowed me to understand the bond a mother has with her child, even if unborn. Some of the decisions I’d seen young mother’s make in the past - wondering all the while why they made them - began to make perfect sense.
We sacrifice ourselves for the sake of our children.
And my sacrifice was huge.
Gazing out into the living room as Kyle drank a beer I proceeded with cooking our dinner. Staying at Kyle’s house made me feel uneasy and exposed. I had always felt more comfortable in my home when we were together - primarily because I always believed I could kick him out if need be. Living in his place left me feeling vulnerable and full of fear.
As I poured the noodles into the colander I wondered just how long the uncomfortable feelings would last. As with anything, I decided, in enough time I would probably forget his past behavior as long as what he expressed in the future exhibited growth and change.
After draining the noodles, I placed them in the pot on the stove, turned down the heat, and added the vegetable and meat mixture I had sautéed. Almost more than I feared Kyle and his potential for violent behavior, I feared getting fat throughout my pregnancy. Unlike some women who were able to eat as they pleased and remain thin, I was different. I had to constantly exercise, eat healthy foods, and count my daily caloric intake to remain in the physical condition I was in.
The whole wheat pasta, chicken, and fresh vegetables sautéed in olive oil would be a healthy dinner for us both, but satisfying nonetheless. After stirring the pasta, I opened the oven and removed the bread I had prepared.
A whole wheat loaf drizzled with olive oil, basil, and garlic.
As I placed the bread on the counter, I turned toward the living room. “Dinner’s ready.”
“Be there in a minute,” he responded. “We’re about to make a touchdown.”
There was no doubt Monday nights were going to be one of my least favorite nights of the week. Kyle spent the majority of the time glued to the television watching football and shouting if the game didn’t go the way he wanted it to. As his choices for football teams could easily be compared to his choices in life, rarely did his team of choice win.
Some women may simply accept the life of having a man in front of the television, and take him his food on a platter. I’m not that woman, nor would I ever become her. Kyle and I would learn to eat dinner as a couple; regardless of what was going on in our home, a thirty minute break from it to come together as a family wasn’t too much to ask of anyone. As I carefully placed the pasta on the plates, he began to scream and cuss at the television.
“Call it both ways, ref. Motherfucking offsides!” he bellowed.
“God fucking damn. Cocksuckers went offsides and sacked the fucking quarterback,” he screamed.
“Son-of-a-bitch ref doesn’t call it both ways,” he grunted as he kicked the end table, knocking his can of beer onto the floor.
“Fuckers,” he said as he walked toward the kitchen.
I did my best to act interested by shaking my head.
“We’re getting our asses kicked, I’m just going to take mine in there and watch this,” he said as he reached for his plate.
“Let’s sit down and eat. It’s not even half time, it’ll just take a few minutes,” I responded as I sat down on the stool.
“I’m eating mine in there,” he said as he gazed down and studied the plate.
I glanced upward and fixed my eyes on the top of his head.
“Sit down,” I said through my teeth.
He tilted his head back, met my gaze, and wrinkled his nose. “What the fuck is this shit?”
“Dinner,” I responded as I dropped my fork onto my plate, “It’s what I fixed for dinner. It’s pasta.”
“Where’s the fucking meat?” he asked as he stirred his finger through the pasta.
“There’s chicken in it, sit down please,” I said as I reached for my fork.
“Ain’t eating it. Looks like shit,” he said as he turned toward the refrigerator.
Seriously? You insensitive prick.
I glanced over my shoulder as he pulled another can of beer from the refrigerator. After opening it and taking a drink, he began to walk the length of the kitchen and toward the living room.
“Sit down,” I demanded as I turned in his direction.
He reached up with his free hand as he passed me, and slapped me on the top of the head, “You eat it. I’m watching the game.”
Don’t you dare touch me.
As I ran my hand over my head to smooth my hair, he walked to the couch and sat down.
I took a bite of my pasta, chewed it, and dropped my fork onto the plate. Only a week into our new relationship and he was already being a dick. I really had no idea why I’d expect him to be otherwise, but accepting it wasn’t something I was willing to do. I was going to make this work regardless of his willingness to participate. I stood from my stool, walked to the couch, and crossed my arms in front of my chest.
I sighed heavily. He turned to face me. I lifted my elbows and allowed them to drop onto my stomach heavily, sighing again as they did so. As he glanced in my direction, I opened my mouth and spoke my mind.
“Get in there, sit down, and eat. It’s time for dinner,” I said flatly.
He gazed at me, shook his head, and laughed. As he turned toward the television, I continued.
“I’m serious,” I huffed.
“Fuck off. I’m watching this,” he said as he waved his hand toward me.
“Is this how it’s going to be?” I asked. “After our baby is born? Are you just going to tell me to fuck off when I want something?”
“Depends on what you want,” he said.
“You’re a selfish prick,” I said as I turned away.
“What did you say?” he growled.
“You heard me, you selfish prick,” I responded over my shoulder.
I heard him get off the couch and begin following me into the kitchen. To think I would have to beg him to take time out for dinner was unnerving. As I sat down on the stool, I not
iced he wasn’t walking toward his stool, he was walking toward me.
And he was beet red.
“Don’t ever talk me like that again, you mouthy bitch,” he bellowed.
The blur of his hand caused me to lean back in the stool, but I didn’t lean far enough. As his hand impacted my jaw, everything went black. I realized as I tried to stand that he hit me so hard he had knocked me off the stool. Before I had a chance to shed a tear, and long before I was able to stand, he leaned over me.
For an instant, I thought he was going to help me up.
I was sadly mistaken.
The sound of his fists hitting my face was sickening. I raised my arms to try and block his hands from hitting me, but it did little good. Within a few seconds my arms were at my sides and his hands were pounding against my head.
I attempted to stand and the force of his fist against my shoulder knocked me flat onto the floor. My eyes already swollen so severely that I was almost blind, I attempted to gaze around the room and find a way to get away from him. I hoped the few second lull in the beating meant that he was done.
As I pressed my hands into the floor and tried to stand, something hit my head.
And everything went dark.
BISCUIT
Looking back on my life, I couldn’t say I had ever lived a day that I was depressed. Somehow or another, whatever life tossed my way seemed to roll off of me like water from a duck’s back. Never one to dwell on the bad, I always considered myself fortunate in that I was able to accept life as being nothing more than the system which haphazardly supported my existence.
Living in a carefree manner allowed me to accept life as being no more than my continued existence on this earth. The clock proceeded to tick regardless of the state of mind I was in, so why not live every day wearing a smile? Incapable of changing my surroundings, and only able to slightly modify what was at my fingertips, I realized early in life I was in charge of my own fate.
If I exposed myself to very few outsiders, and lived a life of solitude, life was as easy as breathing.
My exposure to Kat, as much as I regretted nothing I had done, caused me to realize letting people into my life was a risk. With each and every one, I exposed myself to potential harm, pain, and feelings I wasn’t necessarily eager to accept as necessary.
Surrounded by my brothers, I had always felt safe from harm. We supported each other wholeheartedly, and offered a hand of assistance and a shoulder to lean on whenever it was necessary. If the world were filled only with my brothers and people like them, it would truly be a better place to live.
“Not a one? You telling me you don’t have a single solitary story to tell?” Toad asked as he leaned back in his chair.
I glanced at Jack, shifted my eyes toward Axton, and shrugged my shoulders. “Nope.”
“You need to see a doctor. Something’s wrong, Brother,” he said as he leaned forward.
I glanced at my untouched bottle of beer. “ATF deal has me all shook up.”
“I’m telling you, that guy isn’t going to say shit. We’ve got devices in his kid’s backpacks, in their laptops, on his cars, shit…”
He took a drink from his bottle of beer.
“He isn’t going to go anywhere or do anything to risk harming his wife and kids. I’m thinking he regrets ever taking that fucking job. What are your thoughts, Slice,” Toad asked as he tilted his bottle toward Axton.
“Agreed,” Axton said.
Toad tilted his head toward Jack. Jack nodded his head.
“I’ll agree,” Jack said.
“See?” Toad said. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Don’t mean I got a story to tell. I’ll be fine in a couple days,” I said as I reached for my beer.
The bottle felt warm in my hand. I glanced around the table, realized everyone was almost done with their beers, and that I hadn’t so much as took a sip.
“You want this?” I asked as I slid my bottle toward Toad.
“Fuck I’ll drink it,” Jack said.
“Drink it,” Toad said as he slid the beer toward Jack.
“My gut hurts,” I said as I pushed myself away from the table.
We had ridden to Stearman Airfield in Benton, Kansas. An old airfield originally designed to support the few Stearman bi-wing airplanes that collectors in the immediate area had, it increased in size over the years, and added a very nice bar alongside the runway. With large glass garage doors lining the entire wall, patrons could sit and watch the airfield regardless of the weather. Today was warm, sunny, and had very little wind, so the doors were open, and the planes were flying touch-and-go’s roughly every five minutes. The bar was also one of what had become fewer and fewer places that were biker friendly, always welcoming bikers in the establishment.
As I sat and stared out onto the runway, a bi-wing plane came rolled toward the fueling station. With my mind fading off into somewhere else, a buzzing in my pocket reminded me I was losing grip with reality.
I leaned back in the chair, knowing the only person not in the group was Otis.
“Any of you fellas heard from the big O?” I asked as I reached into my pocket.
“Out fucking Sam is all I know. It’s all he does anymore,” Toad said.
“Ain’t that the truth?” I blurted as I pulled the phone from my pocket.
I found the similarities between us almost laughable.
As I stared down at my phone, I realized it wasn’t ringing, but that I’d received a text message. After unlocking my phone and opening the text screen, a message from Kat was highlighted. Nervous, excited, and full of wonder, I pressed the message with my thumb.
Can I call? I need to talk.
Without thinking, I pressed my thumb onto the keypad and typed my response.
Yes.
I pressed send.
“Otis?” Toad asked.
I glanced at him and shook my head. “Nope. Someone wanting to know if they can call.”
Almost immediately, the phone rang. I stood from my seat and began pacing along the length of the garage door as she spoke, anxious to see what she needed to talk about. Her request when we last spoke was clear.
No contact whatsoever.
“Can you talk?” she asked.
“Sure, what’s going on?” I asked.
She started crying uncontrollably. After roughly fifteen seconds of worry, she regained her composure and cleared her throat.
“I’m sorry. Uhhm. Can you come get me? Maybe let me stay with you for a few days or something? I don’t know what else to do,” she stammered.
Not necessarily wanting to open myself up to even more pain, but feeling I needed to do what I could to provide her whatever it was she needed, I pressed her for a little more information.
“I thought we weren’t going to have any contact, out of respect to you and your relationship?” I asked.
After I spoke, I felt like maybe I should have just kept my big mouth shut and said yes. The phone went silent for several seconds, but it seemed like an eternity.
“He beat me. Bad,” she said.
My eyes widened and I held the phone at arm’s length and gazed at it for a long minute.
“Excuse me?” I said as I raised the phone to my ear.
“He beat me, Dalton. He beat me bad, I’m in pretty bad shape,” she cried.
“Where are you? I’m on the bike, can you ride?” I asked, trying to remain calm.
I felt my body temperature increase twenty degrees. As the warmth of my anger washed over my face, I regretted not killing that prick when I had a chance.
“I’m home. He’s at his place. I’m done Dalton. I promise, I’m done with him. Yeah, I can ride. I look like hell, but I can ride,” she responded.
I bit my bottom lip so hard as she spoke it should have burst.
“Be there in twenty,” I said as I released my lip.
“Kat?” I asked.
“Yeah?” she responded.
“You have a gun?” I asked.
/>
“No. Just a knife,” she said through the obvious tears.
“I might bring one of the fellas, just in case. Kat, everything’ll be fine, I’ll be there in twenty.”
“Okay, Dalton. I’ll be here. I love you.”
“See ya in a few.”
I pressed the end button and stared at the phone for a few seconds. After inhaling a deep breath and attempting to clear my mind, I turned to face the fellas.
“Fellas,” I said. “We got a situation.”
I tossed a fifty-dollar bill on the table and pushed my wallet into my rear pocket.
“That kid beat Kat. The Marine I beat the shit out of a few weeks back. Sounds like she’s busted up pretty good. I need to go get her, and I don’t know when he’s gonna be back. Who’s rollin’ with me?” I asked.
“Where’s he stay,” Big Jack asked. “I’ll take care of him, you go get the girl.”
I shook my head. “Just want some back up, who’s in?”
“Following you,” Toad said as he stepped over the short fence that separated the restaurant from the runway.
“Lead the way,” Big Jack said as he hurdled the fence.
Axton simply gazed in my direction and winked. “Everything happens for a reason, Brother. Lead the way.”
And lead the way I did.
KAT
Kyle had beaten me the night before. Whether I had a concussion, was knocked unconscious, or he had merely beaten me into a state of mental incompetence, I didn’t wake up until the next morning.
When I woke up he was asleep. While I gathered my things and attempted to get cleaned up, he got up and apologized - blaming his drunkenness for the beating. When I explained I was leaving, he laughed - saying I was sure to return. The look on his face as I walked out the door was one of worry and possibly shame. As I drove from his house in the country to my apartment in Winfield, I decided I never wanted to see him again no matter what the circumstances.
Having lived in Winfield for just shy of four years, I had seen the Sinners on many occasions. More frequently, I had heard them. Living almost a mile from their clubhouse, I could still hear them when large groups rode in and out of their parking lot. Several times over the years, when I was eating pizza or having a beer at the little bar by the college, the hair on the back of my neck would raise as the sound of them riding by would fill the air. Hearing them several seconds before they appeared did very little to prepare me for the sound of their passing by, nothing on this earth sounds like a dozen Harley-Davidson’s with loud pipes.