Rod Read online

  “What’s your story? Are you a prospect, too?” He asks.

  I crack open the beer and take a swig. Staring at it sweating before me, I tell him, “No, my father won’t let me in.”

  He presses his warm hand on my arm and pats it gently. I look up to find a gorgeous man occupying the stool next to me. I freeze. He comforts me with a sweet smile. His lips are juicy and pink with his eyes of steel blue staring in my direction, burning a hole through me.

  His hair is dark brown and closely shaven. I watch his lips move; I realize that I don’t care what he’s saying. He’s magnificent in every way possible. He has a certain warmth about him and I sense that his charm is one of his many outstanding qualities. A tattoo of the grim reaper graces his bicep and is covered by a portion of his white t-shirt. His jacket is on the stool underneath him, but I can still smell the leather. Everything about him says that he’s all man.

  I snap back to reality. He reaches his muscular, tattooed arm over to extend a firm handshake. I grip his hand in mine tightly to show that I’m not some wimpy bitch and he smiles.

  “Rodney,” he tells me. “And you are?”

  “Trish. Trish Fitzgerald.”

  “So, the big guy is your dad?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He won’t let you in?”

  “You overheard those assholes talking?”

  “Yeah.”

  He looks to me for a response to his first question, but after he stares at his beer, I gather that he already knows the answer.

  Nervously, I say, “He says that the club is no place for a lady.”

  I mock my dad’s voice in his same authoritative manner and Rodney is clearly amused.

  “How does that explain Elvira over there?” He asks, gesturing toward Jasmine.

  “I don’t understand my dad’s reasoning for anything, really. Oh and that’s Jasmine, she’s been with the club forever.”

  “I mean, I get that he can’t just make you a member, but he could let you go through initiation like the rest of us.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” I say with a smile on my face. Rodney’s cute and he’s got this confident aura about him.

  Knowing that someone is on my side is a good feeling. Jasmine is always a positive force, but she’s just one vote.

  “You know what you should do?” Rodney asks.

  His baby blues light up.

  “What’s that?”

  “You should just confront your father. I mean, make a list of things that you’ve got going for you and he’ll just have to see it for what it is.”

  “You think that’s a good idea?”

  “It can’t hurt, besides, he might just respect you more if you’d assert yourself.”

  “I don’t know. When I asked him about this shit earlier, he said that I should come back when I can think of something I bring to the club.”

  “You’ve got this.”

  He presses his hand on my arm and I can feel its warmth. He squeezes it reassuringly. His scent is remarkable and I just want to wrap myself up in him.

  “You have a bike, right?” He asks.

  “It’s the pink Harley out front.”

  “Oh, yeah, I saw it when I got here. It’s cute and girlie,” he teases.

  My sarcasm kicks into high gear and with a smirk I say, “Well fuck you too. My bike probably cost more than your house.”

  He backs away with his hands up and eyebrows raised and says, “No offense, sweetheart.”

  He laughs when I react with a smile. “It’s not like it’s ‘Barbie’s First Bike’ or anything.”

  Dad enters the pit of the back room and begins surveying the room. I squirm in my seat waiting for him to notice my presence. I inch toward Rodney and breathe him in.

  “I gotta run; wanna meet up Friday night for drinks?” I ask.

  “Yeah sure,” he says. “Give me your number and we’ll set something up.”

  I grab a white napkin from the bar and scribble my number down. Sliding it over to him, I say, “Drinks,” as I tap the napkin. It’s as if I need to reaffirm our plans. He nods with a cool smile. His teeth are perfectly straight and white.

  I arise from the red stool and walk to the door quietly. I hope my father doesn’t notice, but he normally gets a fix on me within seconds. He looks daunting and angry, as if something is bothering him. Instead of sitting at the head table, he stands in the center of the room. His blue denim jacket is on his back with his colors flying. He means business. I have no clue what has him so upset, so I quietly leave the room.

  “Alright, everyone, shut the fuck up,” Mickey announces to get everyone’s attention.

  “Sorry to get everyone out here, but I’ve got to cancel the meeting for tonight. Let’s do this on Thursday night,” my father tells the room.

  The room clamors as everyone mingles and drinks. He exits the room and breezes right past me. Out of the door he goes and fires up Baby. I can hear Jasmine telling everyone, “Alright, prospects and ‘hang-arounds’, one drink and you’re out.”

  Her voice is forceful, but sweet. They don’t mind getting kicked out by a woman who is likened to a cross between Kat Von D, Dita Von Teese, and Elvira.

  People begin to trickle out of the back room, the ‘hang-arounds’ and the prospects first. Rodney walks out and I stand there frozen.

  “I dunno what that’s about,” he says curiously. He and I share a close proximity and I wonder if he’s going to kiss me with those plump lips. He smiles as he eyes me up and down, reminding me of my first order of business.

  “Remember,” he instructs. “Confront him, but be assertive. Any other club would be happy to have you as a member. Be respectful, but arm yourself with the words he wants to hear. Let him know that you’ll be a productive member. I don’t see how he could say no.”

  I decide in that moment that this ‘any other club’ thing would be a compelling argument in my favor. I’ll definitely use that to my advantage. Dad hates the Deathdealers; maybe I should threaten to go over there?

  He rubs my shoulder as he passes me and his fingers radiate heat. I’m nervous. He’s hot and talking to me. We have a date for drinks Friday and I’m already fretting about what to wear.

  “See you Friday night at the Corkscrew,” I tell him.

  “Is that where we’re going?” He asks. I nod to say yes. I’m familiar with the place and know everyone there. It’s my bar of choice.

  He waves to indicate that he knows the place and I watch his jeans move as he leaves the bar. His wallet is in his back pocket and I watch the outline as he goes. He’s got a cute ass and I think about squeezing it. A devilish smile creeps across my face.

  I turn to Jasmine as I notice some stragglers.

  “I’ll lock it up,” she assures me. She appears crestfallen that she put on her ‘face’ and the meeting was shut down so quickly.

  “Thanks,” I tell her as I walk toward my Harley.

  “Have fun kiddo.”

  It chaps my ass that dad didn’t survey the place to find it fully clean and ready. I still hold out hope that something will spark him to see things my way.

  Peeling out of the dirt road surrounding the Dragon’s Lair, I guess that my father is probably at home. I head in that direction as I plan out what I’m going to say to him in my head.

  I thunder my way down our street and park my bike in our garage next to dad’s baby. My mother’s bike occupies the spot next to dad’s, and is more like an updated version of mine, color and all. If mine was ‘Barbie’s First Bike’, then hers would certainly be ‘Barbie’s Bike After Getting Rich’. It’s pristine and gorgeous and it suits her well.

  Hitting the garage door button on the wall to close it tight, I walk inside and can already hear my parents getting into it, though their voices are a tad muffled.

  “Ronnie,” my father yells. “You know I gotta go and help Mickey out, he’s in jail.”

  “Fucking cops,” my mother yells back. “And just once I would love it if you�
�d put this family over the needs of that club. Just once.”

  Her voice has a warning in it, but he brushes her off. He knows she’s not going anywhere.

  “Veronica, dear,” I hear him say as I get closer. “I love you and this family means the world to me, but my Vice President is in the fucking jail and I have to spring him.”

  “Fine,” she caves, lowering the intensity in her voice.

  He moves past me and heads to his bike. He doesn’t acknowledge me at all. I hear the garage door opening. He revs up his bike and without much hesitation, he peels out with urgency.

  I look at my mother standing there in her black blouse and matching skirt. She kicks off her stilettos and discards them by the ottoman. She sees right through me and any question I have on my mind about what Mickey’s in jail for is erased. She pours herself a glass of red wine and nearly leaves the bottle on the table. After taking a second thought, she grabs it and sits down on our brown leather couch.

  She turns the television on and tunes out everything with a glass of wine in her hand. She clearly has had a bad day and doesn’t need me adding to it.

  I walk up to my room, grab a notebook and begin listing out all of my qualities. I need to have some ammo for when he gets back from springing Mickey.

  Writing down what assets I bring to the club began feeling like a chore after fifteen minutes of sitting there with a blank page. I could hear Rodney’s voice in my head telling me to assert myself to gain my father’s respect.

  I begin writing. I can bail members out of jail. I can type fast. Being a former bill collector at a bank means that I can help with the finances should the treasurer be absent for any reason. I can also collect money from past due members. I can do fundraising. I can search county records, investigate people and I can run anywhere the club needs me to. Hell, that’s more than a lot of the full patch members already do.

  I fire myself up for the confrontation. I need to be strong and resilient. My dad is a tough nut to crack, but crack he will.

  Two hours pass and dad walks in the door, buzzed from sharing a beer with his old Irish friend. I hear him padding down to his office and I gather that there’s no time like the present.

  Walking into his office felt foreign to me for some reason. I could pay no attention to feelings on the matter or him trying to rile me up. This is a serious meeting. With notebook in hand, I poke my head in his office to see him smiling. Perfect.

  I say, “Got a minute?”

  “Yeah, come on in,” he spouts off.

  I take a seat with my notebook in hand. I’m nervous and I bite my lip. He is preoccupied with something and tells me, “Alright, make it quick.”

  “You said to come back when I’ve got some kind of idea what I can bring to the club,” I say apprehensively.

  “Yeah and you feel that you’ve found the answer in the span of five hours?” he teases sarcastically.

  “I made a list,” I say in response.

  He extends his giant hand to take the notebook from me and he makes a dot next to each of the things I’ve listed on the paper.

  “Collections, investigations, fundraising, and running your sister to her mother’s?”

  “It’s more than what a lot of the other members are doing,” I tell him confidently.

  “But favoritism,” he mutters. I stop him dead in his tracks.

  “Don’t hand me that favoritism bullshit, dad. I’ve earned the right to be at least considered a prospect. You’ve let less qualified people in. Take Alexandra, for instance. She’s basically in the club because she’s sleeping with Max.”

  “You know that’s not true,” he tells me.

  “Actually, I don’t,” I say candidly. “I took a look at an application that she used to get her old bartending job at the Corkscrew when I worked there. Prior to this, she worked at a gas station. Before that, she was a stripper. Do I need to go on?”

  “You’re missing the point,” he decides.

  “I am? Alright, then let me make a point,” I demand.

  “Oh yeah, smartass, what point is that?” he asks with a smarmy attitude.

  “I guarantee that the Deathdealers would be happy to have me if the Dragons won’t. In fact, any other club in the county would. It’s not a threat, I’m just stating facts. I don’t want to join them, but someone will find me qualified to help. I’m not going to let up until you accept me, dad.”

  “Don’t ever say the Deathdealers’ name in this house ever fucking again,” he says. “But you do make good points. Listen, I’m going to make you a prospect, and before you jump for joy, you should know what that involves. First, I’m going to treat you like everyone else.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything different,” I say with a low voice trying not to interrupt him.

  “Secondly, I’m not happy with this at all. I wish you were like other girls your age. They’re busy in the suburbs draining their parents’ bank accounts for college money.”

  “I think that ship has sailed,” I joke. He’s not having it. I sneer.

  “Initiation for you is going to be hell. It could range from any one of the officers demanding you do a task for them. That includes running collections for protection money, breaking someone’s nose on command, or getting beer for the club – or all of the above.”

  “I get that, pops,” I say in agreement.

  I’m finally a prospect. It’s about time.

  “Are you sure you can handle all of this?” he presses.

  “Yes,” I reply. I hold myself in the chair to prevent from spouting off with happiness.

  “If you think you’ve proven yourself already, then that’s nothing. Trish, I want you to really think long and hard about this decision. The club is a dangerous place. Just last week, Josh Lucas got his nose broken for keeping the peace in the Lair. It’s not easy, and it’s not always fun.”

  “I know what I’m getting myself into, pops,” I reassure him.

  He takes a bottle out of the bottom drawer of his oak desk and deposits two shot glasses on the top. He pours the whiskey in each glass and raises one.

  “If you’re sure, Trish,” he says, shot glass held high.

  “I’m sure,” I say, clinking my shot glass with his.

  “Then it’s official. I’ll make the announcement when the club reconvenes on Thursday.”

  “Awesome,” I say and he can tell that there is another question on my mind.

  “Anything else?”

  “I overheard your conversation with mom about Mickey being in jail, what was that all about?” I ask.

  He looks at me like I’m that nosey, bratty child of his all over again.

  “None of your fucking business,” he rants. I’ll take his good moods when I can get them.

  He hands me back my notebook and I stand to leave.

  “So I get a patch then?”

  “No, you don’t get a fucking patch as a prospect. You have to wait until you prove yourself.”

  “Oh,” I manage before leaving his office.

  “Trish,” he stops me. “Don’t let your mother know just yet.”

  “Alright,” I say as I close his door behind myself.

  I text Jasmine to let her know that I’ve been granted rights to the back room. She texts me back a smiley face with the words: “About time.”

  I feel happy. I pass my mother to the garage where my bike stands. I hit the garage button door, raising it up and I set the timer to close the door in thirty seconds. Climbing on my pink ride, I rev it up and take off. This calls for a joy ride.

  I need to feel the cool air in my face as I jet out onto the street and hit thirty-five miles per hour. I feel a rush of energy overcome me as I weave my way to the interstate. Twenty minutes pass and I’m on the highway. The road is littered with slow moving cars and people seemingly just getting off from work. I hit the fast lane and become a blur of pink and black within seconds.

  Invincible. Two hours pass and I’m back home, having spent all of the ner
vous energy I have inside of me. I hit the numbers on the keypad to raise the garage door and park my bike inside.

  Days pass until my first meeting is upon me. I’m nervous for the potential ‘favoritism’ comments, but I put my jacket on and hop on my pink machine. I am fully geared up. Winding down the dirt roads to the pavement, I find myself at the Dragon’s Lair. There are thirty or so motorcycles all outside in a line circling the establishment.

  I walk in the doors proudly, and with a nod from Jasmine, I seat myself at the bar. Dad isn’t here yet. My eyes wander the room until I find Rodney engrossed in a conversation with Pence.

  We all sit in anticipation of my father’s arrival. I have no knowledge of his agenda for the evening, but I hope I’m received well.

  Suddenly, the roar of his bike announces his arrival. Two seconds later, a thrash through the door signifies his presence. There is fire in his eyes. He’s full of panic as he moves quickly to the head of the club. Running his hands through his hair, he appears distraught. He scans the room until our eyes meet. He takes a deep breath as if he feels relief.

  He yells, “Alright, shut the fuck up and listen. Serious fucking business here. My twelve-year-old daughter Sasha is missing!”

  His voice is full of rage and panic. He doesn’t know what to do. A hush falls over everyone in attendance as we decipher his words. It registers deeply with the officers. They look to my father with devotion in their eyes. They look on to see me sitting there, in shock. I have no words.

  Questions are on everyone’s minds as we all try to piece together our thoughts. I swallow hard. My poor baby sister is missing.

  I put my head down. I am overwhelmed at the idea that my sister has been taken.

  “Fuck,” I say quietly to avoid disrupting my father. He tells everyone that he barely has any details. A tear wells up in my eyes as I think back to the last time I saw Sasha. She looked like an angel standing there on her mother’s porch. I feel desperate to go back in time and live in that moment, just to know that she’s okay.

  I wretch; my stomach immediately feels hollow and I feel my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest.

  The club member to my right consoles me with a pat of my shoulder and some words I don’t hear. Panic strikes and I feel the urge to comb the streets of Hinton Township on my bike to find my sister. Poor Sasha; scared and alone.