Bikers, Chains and Bad Boys

Chapter 15

(unedited)

Bikers, Chains and Bad Boys: Chapter 15

Turns out, I didn't have to open the shop the next morning because Andy wouldn't let me come back to work until I was "all rested up." Whatever that meant. I'd spent the last few days cooped up in my house lazing away. I was just thankful that the air conditioning had been fixed. No way I'd be stuck in here if it was still hotter than the depths of Satan's ass crack.

Dad wouldn't let me do anything either and I thought he was going to choke me half to death when I asked him if I could go running. I was just going to sneak out once he left for work, but not half an hour after he left, a bike pulled into my driveway. The boy that had been manning the gate the night of Mickey's birthday party walked up the porch steps and perched himself on the porch swing and didn't leave his post until Dad got home the next morning.

I couldn't sneak out the back, because even if I got out the back door without getting caught, the fence around the yard was so tall I couldn't get over it in my condition and the gate would lead me right around the porch and he'd catch me before I could get five feet. I wasn't particularly in the mood for a deafening lecture from my father, and the more I thought about it, the more I really didn't think being out by myself without a vehicle was a good idea. Not anymore, anyway.

By the third night, I'd sighed in utter boredom, grabbed a beer from the fridge and slumped onto the porch swing, offering it to him. He'd tried to deny it, saying he shouldn't drink while doing his duties, but I'd told him he might as well enjoy himself while doing the most boring job on the planet. I wouldn't tell if he didn't.

We'd kept this routine for a few more nights. I'd learned his name was Jared and he was prospecting for the Reapers, which meant he was trying to become a fully patched member of the club. He had to do the menial tasks and anything that was asked of him by the members. He'd been a prospect for a little over a two years now and he was hoping his chance of getting patched in was close. He'd already spent a year as a hang around and he was doing everything he possibly could to get patched in.

He'd wanted to be a member since he was six, after he saw a few members of the Reapers ride through town on their motorcycles while on a trip to the grocery store with his mom. His mother almost had a heart attack when he told her he was going to be prospecting for the club as soon as he turned eighteen, but she'd since come around to the idea. She didn't approve, he'd said, but she accepted that this was what he wanted to do with his life.

He was a pretty outgoing kid. He always had a joke for everything. I couldn't understand how he was so positive about everything. It kept things interesting while we sat there all night, though. There was never a dull moment around this kid. I keep calling him a kid, but he told me he was twenty-one as well. He just gave off a fun-loving boyish vibe that made him seem much younger than he was.

By the end of the week, I was beyond restless and I felt like a caged animal. I wasn't used to doing so little. My ribs weren't hurting as bad as they did at first. They were still sore of course, and it hurt to take too deep of a breath sometimes, but if I kept my breathing normal and didn't move too quickly or stretch too far, I seemed to be alright. The road rash was scabbing over and the cut on my head was healing decently.

The weekend came up and I managed to convince Dad to let me hang out at the shop, even if I couldn't do anything. It was better than hanging around the house all day talking to myself until Jared got there at night. The guys dropped by sometimes, but they had lives too and couldn't just sit there with poor little me to keep me company. I felt like a caged animal and it was starting to drive me nuts. Which is why I was having my current conversation with my father.