Page 146 of Ink's Devil

“My riding lesson?” She turns and looks behind her, her eyes narrowing in on Mace. “So that’s what you’re here for so early on a Saturday.” Her gaze goes over every man and old lady in the club who have followed us outside. “You all expect me to fall off, don’t you?”

“Nah,” Mace contradicts, having looked around and taken on the role of spokesman. “We’re just here to cheer you on.”

“Yeah, show us how it’s done!” shouts Liz. Then I hear him mumble, “This I had to see. A bitch learning to ride.” He gets treated to one of my glares too. So much so, that he takes a step behind Pyro.

“Ignore them,” I tell her, and lead her over to the bike.

As I’d expected when the idea of her riding first came up, her height gives her a clear advantage and she has no trouble at all standing astride that Harley, and with both feet firmly balanced on the ground, pulls it upright, easily handling the weight.

“Hey, Ink. Hold up.” Mace, comes over, frowning at me. “Think you ought to talk her through the basics.”

My eyes crease.Like what?I can’t actually remember not being able to ride, to me it’s just like breathing. If I had to give instruction how to draw air into my lungs, it would be as hard to describe it. As Mace starts to tell her shit like where the high and low beam is, and where the indicators are, I start to welcome his assistance.

Taking his cue, and not to be left out, I explain the front brake on the handlebars, and the rear operated by her right foot. Truth is, without his reminder, I’d have overlooked all that.

“Okay,” she says, her teeth biting her lip, then giving me a cocky grin. “I know how to stop. How do I start?” I notice her eyes gleaming with excitement. Unable to resist, I lean over and take her lips with mine.

“Get on with it. We haven’t got all day,” I hear Beef call out.

“Thought she was going to ride the fuckin’ bike, not that we were going to watch you ride her,” Pyro shouts.

“I wouldn’t object to a show,” shouts Liz. His comment is followed by an ouch, and I make a note to find out who punched him later and thank them.

“You ever driven a stick shift, darlin’?” Mace asks, while I’m still glaring at my brothers. I turn back in time to see her nod, and Mace continues, “You’ve got your clutch there,” he points the lever out, “and your left foot works the gears. Where you are now is neutral. When you start the engine, pull in the clutch and nudge down to select first. You’ve got five gears. To select second, pull in the clutch, come back to neutral, and kick up to second, then clutch, then up to third.”

“Just up, up and up?”

“Yes,” I re-enter the training session. “You just keep kicking up through those gears as necessary. Back down the same way.”

“Just be gentle when you come back from first to neutral, kick too hard and you’ll go into second. You’ll get the hang of it after a while,” Mace reassures her.

She’s concentrating so hard she’s forgotten she’s got an audience. But she is getting impatient. “Can I just get going?”

Mace laughs, his eyes meeting mine. “Okay. You’re going to start the engine, put it into first, then very gently start letting out the clutch. The bike will begin to move. You’re tall enough, you can slowly walk it forward. Just have a go, use the clutch, take it a few feet, pull the clutch in and stop.”

She does. A huge smile spreading over her face when the bike starts to move.

“Hey.” Beef’s wandered over now. “Next time, sweetheart, you twist the throttle a little. Only a little, you hear me? Too much and you’ll scare yourself and crash.”

She nods at him. Selects first, lets the clutch find the sweet spot, then once the bike starts pulling forward, very, very, gently, twists the throttle. I run alongside her, proud as punch.

“Hand off the throttle, clutch in, and pull the front brake,” I yell, loudly to be heard over the rumble of the engine.

“Can I do it again?” she asks, her eyes shining.

“Give it a go.”

For the next half-hour she starts, stops, keeping to first and second gear while learning the confidence to raise her feet off the ground. When the skies darken and rain starts falling, I call it a day.

There’s a round of applause as she walks into the clubhouse, and fuck me, I’m proud when she takes a bow. Beaver, now looking relieved, offers her a celebratory shot.

“What do I have to do to be able to ride on the road?” she asks, as she takes it.

I may have checked out the current rules. “You need to get M added to your driver’s permit. You take a written test, pass a road skills test and that’s it. You work at the government offices, ask the DMV department to arrange it.”

“I will. Hey, Beaver. Your bike really up for sale? Can I buy it?”

Fuck, she’s wasting no time. “For a good price,” I growl, my eyes signalling Beaver a message. I’ll give him what he wants, but she’ll only be paying what she can afford.

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