Zephyr Chapter 1 #3
“Hey, Ice, when you get a chance, I’m thinking of a new tat. I’ve got some ideas, but I’d rather see what you come up with. You know me and my style. Do you think you can draw me something?” I asked.
His eyes brightened. He loved to sling ink, as he called it.
“Hell yeah, I can. Leave it to me. Do you need it soon? I’m booked for the next few weeks, but we can do it after hours.”
“Whenever you have time. No rush,” I replied.
Since they’d pretty much finished deciding on the new route, talk of it was abandoned, and the conversation turned to tattoos, with Icelander telling us about some of the people he’d inked over the years, and our route for today’s ride. As time passed, more and more of the guys came in.
Next were Raider, Harbinger, our sergeant-at-arms, and Berserker. Our two prospects, Thor and Sea Rover, were in and out, checking if we needed anything in between their duties.
Then, Slayer and Spoiler came in. They were another difference from other MCs.
Most MCs were open only to men. Ours permitted women to join.
Anyone who had ever seen Spoiler and Slayer fight as shieldmaidens would understand they were as tough, if not tougher, than men.
They had battled alongside us since the beginning.
Today, many people think shieldmaidens were merely figures of folklore.
They were wrong. Shieldmaidens had existed, and these two were living proof.
We’d heard shit from other clubs about allowing women in ours. We chose to ignore them. Sometimes those clubs pushed, and Slayer and Spoiler showed them the error of their thinking. We’d defend them any day, but they could do it themselves. It was a helluva fine thing to watch.
Eventually, the last two members came wandering in—Barbarian, our secretary, and Plunderer, our treasurer.
They tended to be close, like Fenrir and me.
All of us liked to tease each other about what the hell we had been thinking to vote in a guy with the road name Plunderer as our treasurer.
He took no exception. Instead, he’d give us an evil smirk and tell us we were all dumbasses for doing it, and he would rob us blind.
The truth was, he was the best guy for the job. He understood not only how to handle money but also how to invest and make even more money. He had a knack for it. He’d had centuries to learn and perfect his techniques.
There was more coffee drunk and casual chatter about a variety of things before Raider blew on an ox horn, otherwise known as a signal horn. Everyone grew quiet and turned their attention to him. He stood at the hearth.
“We’ll meet out front in thirty minutes for the ride. Let’s pray that Nj?rd will bless us with enough wind therapy to blow away all our troubles and stress. See you outside.”
Raider walked away. I hoped the Norse god of wind, Nj?rd, would help to blow the lingering nightmare from my mind. Wanting a few minutes alone, I excused myself from the brothers I was seated with and headed to my house. Others were doing the same.
At my house, I made sure my saddlebags were packed, the tire pressure was good, and I did a few other pre-ride checks.
I was lucky that the house had an attached three-car garage.
Before we moved out of the longhouse, we’d kept them and other vehicles in a garage located not far from the coffin shop.
Now, we use it for overflow and as a place to work on our bikes and other vehicles.
One of the last things I did was check that the second gun in a concealed compartment on my bike was in working order. I had one tucked in the middle of my back in my jeans. I carried a knife in my boot. I felt naked without a weapon, though I could fight and kill without one.
When I was sure I was good to go, I fired up my baby.
The roar of the engine made me smile. By the gods, I loved that throaty sound.
She was a Harley-Davidson CVO Street Glide painted in what HD called Raven Fade.
That meant she was dark, metallic, or sparkling black on the top part of the bike, then faded to a lighter gray on the lower parts of the fender and fairing.
I’d gotten her last year. She’d cost me a pretty penny, but she was worth it.
I pulled her out of my garage and headed to the front of the crypt.
I heard other bikes rumbling. I joined those gathered and fell into my spot.
There was an order we rode based on ranking.
Officers were before regular members. As the club medic, I fell in the middle. Raider was up front as he should be.
By the time everyone had assembled, my heart beat a little faster.
When Raider signaled us all to follow him, the thunder of our bikes made the ground tremble.
As one, we glided between the shop and the crematorium, then through the cemetery, and finally out past the funeral home/mortuary onto the main road, which was, coincidentally, called Grave Road.
We turned left, and the ride began. My insides settled, and I began to let the stress in my gut leak away, letting the past stay in the past, at least for the moment.