3
Silvia
“Hop on, sweetheart. I’ll get you to safety.” The biker reached his hand out to me. Something flashed in his eyes as he stared at me. He seemed to be attracted to me, but I couldn’t be sure. I was so inexperienced, I didn’t know how to tell one way or the other.
Going with my gut, like the sisters used to tell me, I took his large hand. Yup, I was throwing caution to the wind and trusting God to protect me.
“Prez, are you sure about this?” The guy who seemed to be the president’s right-hand man asked. “She can ride with me.”
“Hell, no,” the Prez snapped, then looked at me. “I’m El Jefe. And you are?”
“Silvia. Why do they call you El Jefe?”
“It’s my road name. Do you know what it means?” He got on the back of his bike, took a helmet out of a bag on the side of his motorcycle and placed it on my head.
“The boss.” I had taken Spanish in high school. It was a weird road name, but I didn’t honestly care. I climbed on to the seat behind him. My T-shirt crept up and I had to hold the hem down between my crotch, so my panties didn’t show.
“That’s right. Good girl.” He winked and gave me a disarming grin.
My heart raced at his smooth, husky voice. The way he praised me made me tingle. What was that feeling? Something I’d never experienced before. I sort of liked it.
His Harley rumbled beneath my thighs and a thrill I’d never felt before jolted inside me.
The next thing I knew, we were zooming down the road and headed towards the mountains.
I should have asked him where we were going.
I should have done a multitude of things differently.
But alas, I didn’t. This was me throwing caution to the wind.
And trusting God to protect me from this man and his crew.
“Are you okay back there?” he shouted over his shoulder.
“Yes, I’m fine. I think.”
“Just hold on tight and we’ll be at my club in less than an hour.”
The next thing I knew, he was taking my hand and wrapping it around his waist. He didn’t let go, holding me right where he wanted me. I had to admit; I liked the control he took without asking.
I also liked being on his bike, feeling the air rushing through my long locks, and having no idea where I was going or if I would survive the day. If this was what freedom felt like, I wanted more of it.
Eventually, the rain stopped, and the clouds vanished. And the sun was finally making its appearance. I welcomed this little bit of peace. To be out in the world, away from the monastery, and away from my brother’s control was liberating.
El Jefe stayed off the interstate, taking the back roads.
I liked being surrounded by rural land. Horses and cattle grazed in the open fields, tractors were plowing, people were working hard in the fields.
I imagined this was what an honest day’s work looked like.
I appreciated their labor and dedication.
Farmers and the pickers were the ones who fed us. Sister Lupita always prayed for them when she said the blessing at dinner. She had told me to never take migrant workers for granted. That the jobs they performed in the hot sun were backbreaking and they didn’t even receive minimum wage.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the people in the fields.
Men and women alike. Many were wearing straw hats and long sleeve shirts.
It was summertime so it made sense for them to cover up as much as they could to avoid getting sunburned.
I’d never want to do what they were doing and that thought made me feel awful.
Wait! Was that a child? I twisted my neck, trying to look back and confirm what I thought I saw. I couldn’t see well enough, but I was confident it was a child. A lump formed in my throat and my heart broke for them.
What a way for that boy or girl to spend summer break.
I didn’t know what it was like to work such long days for little money.
My whole life, I had everything I needed without asking.
Stuff just showed up. There was always food on the table and pleasant temperatures inside no matter what time of year it was.
I had never been too warm or cold, just always the right temperature.
My heart ached for the children who worked in the fields. Yet, they probably had no idea what they were missing. Picking vegetables and fruit was just how they lived. They did it to survive.
Guilt stole the oxygen from my lungs. I had a privileged life, despite all my complaining and not liking how I’d been hidden away at the monastery.
Going forward, I’d mind my mouth better and not talk like a spoiled brat.
I’d been fortunate to have kind, loving nuns to care for me. They’d sacrificed their lives for me…
Tears streamed down my face. It had been several hours since I got away. Surely, Miguel knew I was gone. I tightened my arms around El Jefe’s waist and smashed my face against his back. If I kept thinking about the nuns, I would fall apart.
“Mija, are you okay?” he asked. “Need me to pull over? Are you sick?”
I shook my head. “I’m good. Just tired.” Lord, forgive my lying.
“It won’t be too much longer now.” He squeezed my knee.
El Jefe hadn’t been wrong. We seemed to arrive at our destination within minutes.
“We’re here?” I asked. Honestly, I felt a little foolish. Of course, we were here. His crew had bypassed us as the automatic gate opened, and they parked in front of a building that had a big sign above it: Kings of Anarchy MC: N. California Chapter.
“Yes. But I need to warn you.” He turned off his motorcycle and twisted around to look at me.
“Warn me about what?”
“You might see things you’re not used to. I mean, it's the weekend, you know?”
“So?” I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m not a child.”
“Aren’t you, though? You come across as very innocent.”
I glared at him. “You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.”
He snorted. “I don’t read, Mija.”
“Silvia. My name is Silvia, not honey or dear.” Not sure why I was getting so worked up over him calling me Mija in Spanish, but I was. It felt a little too comfortable.
He snorted again. “Right, I forgot you understand Spanish.”
“Un poco.” I gestured with my fingers showing a little . “Un poco Espanol.”
“My apologies, Silvia.” He smiled wide, making his eyes crinkle at the edges. “The point I was trying to make is every weekend my club parties. There’s a lot of booze, smoking, and sex. Think you can handle it, Silvia?”
I pondered his statement and his serious tone, asking myself the same thing.
Could I handle what I was about to be exposed to?
I recalled how Miguel used to warn me about riffraff and gangsters, and overall, bad people.
My brother had urged me to stay away from anyone that gave me a bad vibe.
He’d said I’d feel a yucky sensation in the pit of my stomach.
Funny thing, I didn’t have any scary or yucky vibes regarding El Jefe and his crew. Maybe that was my naivete. My inexperience and sheltered upbringing. The nuns surely never taught me about promiscuous activities. The mere mention of sex was blasphemy.
As I stared at the plain building before me, it seemed harmless. Like a school. Or a medical building. There were solar panels on the roof and black bars on the windows. So maybe the bars gave me a bit of hesitation.
What if there was a fire inside? How would anyone get out if they couldn’t get to the front door? Hmm, those thoughts were concerning.
Scanning my surroundings, nothing told me to run for my life.
Not even the chain-link fences along the border of what I guessed was the property line.
For all I knew, this could have been a prison before they turned it into their clubhouse.
So that thought was a little creepy, but still, I was here.
I had come on my own with no pressure from anyone else.
If I found myself in more trouble than I had anticipated, it was of my own doing.
El Jefe watched me, concern on his face. “You good?”
“I don’t know, if I’m honest. I know nothing about you, other than you’re the president of the KOAMC. You know nothing about me, other than, I’m a runaway bride. There’s a lot of unknowns floating around out there, wouldn’t you say?”
“Hold up!” He jolted back. “You’re a runaway bride?” His gaze roamed over me like he didn’t see it.
“I’m not wearing my wedding dress, estúpido.” I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “The nuns kept the dress.”
“Nuns?” He laughed, a deep, husky laugh. It was nice. Again, he made me feel things I’d never felt before. I should probably chalk it up to not being exposed to very many men. Certainly not a muscular man with tattoos on his arms, scruff on his face, and a glimmer of intrigue in his brown eyes.
But then, my brothers were attractive men as well. They were strong. Sometimes, funny. Perhaps, I was being gullible regarding the man who stopped to help me on the side of the road.
“Well, Chiquita… We clearly need to talk about a lot of shit so we can get to know each other better.” He grinned, taking my hand and helping me off the back of his bike. The confidence and strength radiating through him was like wrapping me in a tight, warm blanket.
I really shouldn’t like his touch as much as I did.
What would the nuns say?
What would God say?
He’d say, Silvia, you’re a sinner. Everybody is a sinner.
With that thought, I shook the silly musings out of my head. I was here with El Jefe, and there was no turning back. The alternative was Miguel catching me and there was no telling what kind of brutality he would unleash on me. And I didn’t want to find out.
“Just remember, I’m not forcing you to be here.”
“I know.” I exhaled a nervous breath as we made our way to the door. All the other bikers had already gone inside.
“And tonight, we’ll talk more.”
I nodded, trying to peak through the partially opened door. I couldn’t see anything.