And yet I wasn’t afraid.
He was wild, but gentle with me.
I was going to keep my mouth shut a little longer before I asked. I needed to figure out who he really was, where he came from. It would help me with how to approach the subject. I could be reading too much into it, but my gut was telling me otherwise. He could very well be from another country, and these were the words his family used, if he even had a family.
My shoulders slumped as we walked down the sidewalk. I really knew nothing about him, and I let him rub one out of me.
What the heck was wrong with me? Because I really liked it… I liked it too much.
I rubbed my chest, feeling an ache inside when the thought entered my mind about leaving him. He would eventually push me away, they all did. I shouldn’t get attached. No one ever did. I was a quick fuck, and that was all I was.
But with him, it was different. He took care of me. No one had taken care of me my entire life. Not a parent, not a friend. And that was before I was truly broken, used.
My eye twitched, and I scratched my temple. Grim squeezed my hand as if he knew I was thinking too hard.
He stopped us in the middle of the sidewalk, and his thumb grazed over my eye. The twitching stopped, and I stared up at him gratefully.
“Don’t think, feel.” He rubbed his chest then grabbed my hand again.
Grim was a thinker, that was for sure. He paid attention to the little details, watching my every move, studying it. He took his thumb and put it between our laced fingers and rubbed my palm. I smiled as it tickled.
A smile, a genuine smile. Nothing faked or forced.
Grim pulled me along beside him and led me up to his bike. It was painted metallic black with white claw marks painted on the side.
Grim and the rest of the members shared a large garage at the back of the bar, dubbed the “Iron Fang Garage,” just like their club’s name. It wasn’t just a shed, however. On the outside, it looked run down, planks missing and the roof in need of repair, but on the inside, it was the difference between night and day.
Bikes lined up in perfectly straight rows on a perfectly laid concrete floor. Tall shelves filled with oil, tools, and tires stood against the walls. A cash register was at the front. There was a car in the very back, lifted high as a man pulled parts from below.
Two men were working on a bike, clanging the different tools against the metal, and another man with a vest just like Grim’s sprayed on a fresh coat of paint.
“Grim!” one of them waved with a wrench in his hand. “You goin’ out?” Grim gave a curt nod, and the club member chuckled. His eyes lingered on both of us, looking at our hands, and the biggest grin split his face.
“Alright man, your hog is ready to go. Original plates are on,” he spouted off before going back to his work.
“Original plates?” I asked while Grim grabbed a brand-new helmet off the back. It was jet black, except for the large picture on the back of the Iron Fang logo I saw on everyone’s vests. Under it, it said, “Grim” in wild organic letters.
“Before every mission, we put on fakes,” he said. “Can’t risk anything coming back here. It’s our safe place.” He tapped the helmet with his finger before setting it on my head. He buckled the belt under my chin, tugging on it to make sure it was secure.
Grim guided me to his bike, helping me swing my leg over. It was really tall compared to my short legs. He hopped on without a care in the world.
He guided my arms around his waist.
“Don’t you need a helmet? I took yours.”
“Don’t wear one,” he grunted.
“But this has your name on it?” I pointed to the back of it.
He chuckled, turning on the bike and revving it. “I know,” he smirked, putting on some shades, then set the tires squealing on the way out of the shed.
I squeezed my arms around his torso, feeling his body contract as he took a turn. I didn’t know if I should lean into it or lean out as he moved the bike. The little bit of weight I had was nothing to his enormous frame and the ability to tilt the bike over.
Grim’s bike gripped the road. We were going slowly for my sake. The air was clean, the road a deep black asphalt. The smell of fresh rain cleared my senses.
The thick forest that surrounded us, the wet moss, and the dampness in the air soothed my soul. I couldn’t remember how long it had been since I had been outside this long. To feel the wind in my hair and the nature surrounding us was rejuvenating.
I grew up on the plains—a prairie house just outside of a small town. The church was the center of it, but the constant noise of tractors, the schoolhouse bells chiming, and the yelling of parents chasing children made it all too noisy.
