Page 17 of Watcher

On I-40, I follow Diablo West with everything and nothing on my mind. She said Watcher did what any biker would have done. I find no comfort in that at all. He’s still an asshole. However, I knew Megan and how she operated. She could trick a Southern Baptist Preacher into sticking his dick in her ass—he may have been Presbeteryn. But fuck, the man was twice my age.

Age wasn’t the biggest problem. I was still a virgin, and I never saw myself losing my virginity to a man his age. Part of me was afraid of his size—muscles and cock, though I could only imagine how big his dick was. He’d probably rip me in half if it was anything like his biceps.

Diablo keeps a reasonable distance between us. She called me Hellcat. I love the name. She said it was a good biker name, a good rink name. I smile and press the gas a bit harder, catching up with Diablo. She’s wearing chaps, black boots, and a leather vest. Watcher had been dressed the same way, and the more I think about him, the more I like his look. Maybe he wasn’t my type of person because I didn’t give his type a chance. Honestly, I knew nothing about them.

I think about the other girls, my skating girls, playing with their names: Kat “Scratch” Williams, Emily “Reaper” Venetti, Sandra “Diablo” Collins, Joanne “Punisher” DeVore, and Rosemary “Destroyer” Arnett. It all makes sense. The Memphis Macabre roller derby team was about to undergo a transformation.

We roll into Pine Bluff a little after six and stop at a small café to eat and talk. Diablo gives me the lowdown on bikes and biker clubs, how they were formed, and how memberships and officers are selected. By the time we finish eating, I have everything I need except a bike and someone to teach me how to ride. Luckily, I was in the right town to find both.

I follow Diablo to the Brothers of Chaos club, and we pull into an almost empty parking lot. Big Kentucky sits on a picnic table, drinking a beer. Diablo parks, gets off her bike, and runs for the biker. It’s a scene out of Hollywood.

I stay in the car and watch the two kiss and grope. Diablo is six-three, and Big Kentucky towers over her. He grabs a handful of ass and squeezes. Diablo returns the favor by grabbing a handful of dick.

“Watcher’s inside,” Kentucky says. “I’ll have him come out. Just don’t hurt him.” He smiles and goes inside, leaving Diablo behind.

“We good?” Diablo asks, and I nod. I certainly didn’t want to be a cockblocker. “He’ll be good to you, especially here at the club. Plus, Kentucky told me he would kick Watcher’s ass if he hurt you.”

“Be careful of your knees,” I say and sit on the picnic table when Diablo goes inside.

I can’t believe where I’m at. A shit ton of money, and I’m sitting in a shit hole. Bikers? Really? Maybe this is where I belong, after all. I wasn’t prepared for this any more than I was prepared to lose my cherry to someone with no job, riding a bike and acting like a child. I could have had that at Stanford before the fights.

A garage door opens behind me, and Watcher steps out. The chrome shining on the bikes inside the garage behind him gives him a god-like aura.

He sees me admiring the bikes and waves me over. “You’re about the only one in this town who can afford a mod. Come over and look at them.”

I take a deep breath, unprepared for anything the rest of the night holds. “They are beautiful.” I stand next to Watcher and get my first real sense of the man’s size. Although he doesn’t smell like expensive cologne, the smell of leather cuffs my senses, and I find myself leaning closer to him. He moves deeper into the garage, and I follow. Eventually, he ends up between me and the exit.

“We take the ordinary and make it extraordinary.” He runs his hands across a set of handlebars as if he were caressing a woman’s arms. “Our bikes sell anywhere from fifty to a hundred K.”

I see a smaller bike sitting in the corner. There’s nothing special about it. It sits low and doesn’t seem as big as Diaiblo’s. “I like this one.”

“It needs work,” he says. “Harley-Davidson Sport 883 SuperLow. It’s Harley’s entry-level bike for women.”

“You can make it look like those?” I point at the monster next to me with shining chrome. “I’d prefer purple.”

“We can start on it tomorrow.”

“I wanna help.” His left eyebrow rises. “You don’t let girls work on bikes?”

“I can make it happen.”

He turns off the garage light, and we return to the picnic table. “Not very busy around here.”

“Most of the members are out with their old ladies tonight. After church this afternoon, Beast gave everyone the day off. Things have been quiet lately.” He smiles at my confusion. “I don’t mean church like you do on Sunday mornings or Easter. It’s what we call meetings when all the club members come together to make club decisions.”

I nod as he goes on to explain old ladies and member nicknames. He tells me about the bike he rides and then tells me I owe him for two new tires. He never mentions Megan, and I appreciate that.

“I want your help setting up a club,” I say. “All female riders. I’ll finance the bikes and training and whatever else is needed.” I point at his vest. “I want to start a chapter and be the founder.”

“Going to need a club name.”

“The Memphis Macabre,” I say, but I can tell he hates the name. “You got a better idea, bub?”

Watcher stands and turns his back to me. “The Brothers of Chaos MC.”

To his surprise, I stand and put my hand on his back. “What’re you saying?”

He turns and removes his vest and helps me put it on. “The Sisters of Choas MC. Memphis Chapter. You’ll need an association, and I think I can get the club to do that.”

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