Page 12 of Savage Lust

On my way out the door, I collected Cam’s flannel and ran my fingers over the worn leather I’d hung on the back of the chair. Cam had loved Archer, and from everything I’d seen Archer had loved him too.

I thought of the pain on Cam’s face; of the quiet way he’d stood from the crowd. I was intruding on his grief by being here. If I could give him the peace of my leaving, I would. But if I did—

The room spun a little as I remembered the hole life had dug for me. That it was caving in, similar to the dirt they’d piled on top of Archer’s casket. I couldn’t leave, had to wait it out just like the letter said. This was my only shot. If I left there was no home to go to, no future, nothing.

***

The clubhouse was a metal and brick building stuck out in the middle of the desert, sheltered by reddish rock formations on one side and mountains in the back. One half of it was two stories, industrial with faded metal siding, and the other side was topped with a giant neon sign humming: Desert Kings Motorcycle Club.

Bikes, chrome shimmering in the fading sunlight, stretched as far as I could see and people spilled out into the barren desert lot beside the building. A stage had been erected there, and a band played. This was unlike any wake or memorial I’d ever attended.

When I opened the limo door, I was assaulted with the mixed rumbling sounds of motorcycles and bluesy rock. The scent of smoked meats made my stomach rumble.

I clutched my stomach with Cam’s shirt and Dylan grinned. “Come on inside. I’ll get you some food before I get changed.”

The clubhouse was laid out how I’d imagined a biker bar would be. There was another stage here, where a young woman strummed a guitar and sang like her best friend had died. There was a gleaming copper topped bar, glass shelves covered in liquor bottles, and a mirrored bar back.

Tables had been pushed away from the center of the large space to make room for my dad’s bike. The warm engine still made tinkling, popping sounds as it cooled. Behind the Harley was a table filled with pictures and mementos of Archer Bowman.

“Riley? This is Kenna.” Dylan gestured to the petite young woman, no older than me, perched on a barstool. Her dark hair was threaded with neon pink and twisted on top of her head in a messy bun. She wore khaki shorts with black Doc Martins and an off the shoulder band shirt tied up in the back.

“Hi!” She hopped off the stool and stood barely as tall as my chest, with more energy than I could ever muster. “I’ll grab you a plate. Whatcha drinking?”

“Whatever she wants… give her the damn bottle!” Preacher appeared behind me, eyes red from weed or liquor, I couldn’t be sure. I’d hoped to see Cam before having to deal with the older man again. No such luck.

Something about him made me feel dirty. His lips were wet, greasy as he rubbed them together beneath the handlebar mustache, as if he were contemplating me in a way that instantly made me want distance between us.

I made some, climbing onto a stool several feet away as Dylan headed toward a set of stairs on the other side of the bar.

Though he made like he wanted to talk, he didn’t get a chance to, as another big biker threw his arm around his neck andpulled him away. My body relaxed in relief, and I turned to Kenna, who waited patiently.

“What’ll it be?” When she smiled, freckles danced across the bridge of her nose. The effect was cute and made me want to like her. Many of the women I’d seen so far were devoid of any such personality. The life hadn’t been sucked out of her yet.

Once, when I was about fifteen, I’d sneaked a mango margarita one of Mom’s friends had left on the table at a pool party. But this didn’t seem like the place to ask for a blended drink. I’d never been a huge partier, but what the hell. “Tequila.”

She turned, the dark mess of hair wiggling atop her head. “This one.” The bottle looked expensive, adorned with a green ribbon and cork stopper. She slid it to me and disappeared into a kitchen and smacked a small shot glass onto the copper bar top.

My eyes were drawn to the mirror, allowing me to see behind me. A small crowd had formed around Archer’s bike. A motley crew of bikers with bottles and glasses in their hands. Past them, a familiar form had stopped Dylan at the foot of the stairs.

Cam was leaned into her, his brow furrowed as he talked and the muscles on his tattooed arm tensed as he gripped the stair-rail with both hands. The two stood close enough to be intimate, and a small fire of jealousy flared to life in my gut.

Dylan frowned, and her lips tightened in apparent annoyance. She pulled away and mouthed something that made the lines on his forehead deepen, right before she held up a parting middle finger.

I looked away, half ashamed of my tingle of relief, as he made his way toward the bar.

“She keeps clothes upstairs. Several of us do.” Kenna laid a plate filled to overflowing in front of me. “When we work the bar, makes it easier to get cleaned up. There are a few bedrooms up there and if I’m being honest…I’d only use those bathrooms.None of the guys ever do.” She winked, like sharing some amusing secret.

Having never lived with any men, I took her word for it.

I ate with as much dignity as a starving woman could. I hadn’t eaten real food in weeks. The brisket and ribs were the best thing I’d put in my mouth in years. After several bites, I popped the cork out of the tequila and took a swallow. It scalded all the way down, but I didn’t sputter or flinch.

In truth, the burn felt good. Being here did.

“This your first time in Dry Valley?” she asked.

I nodded, swallowed another pork filled bite, and wiped my mouth. “My first time in Nevada.”

“As you’ve noticed, not really a lot to see.” She giggled and grinned, dimples accenting her cheeks. “Unless you’ve got a thing for hot bikers.”

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