Three
Gear
The first thing I notice when we arrive is that Sturgis has become a much busier spot since I’d last been here. The crowd is enough to overwhelm me. Everywhere I look there are tents and motorcycles and parties going on. It’s loud and busy and everything I normally try to stay away from. Why had I agreed to come here?
The Kings had reserved their camping area long ago, which means we end up getting a pretty prime spot. It’s set at the edge of the campground with trees wrapping around behind us, meaning at least we aren’t completely surrounded by drunk bikers and their bitches.
Not wanting to be in the middle of it all, but wanting to stay close to my brothers, I find myself a little clearing amongst the trees, just off of the Kings site and away from the worst of the action. My own private little sanctuary.
I’m just finishing setting up my tent when the roar of motorcycles, followed by several tour buses pull in. About fifty feet and a fairly dense tree line is all that separates me from the site they’re approaching. It’s the most private site they can get, not to mention huge. Those buses need it though. They’re massive. Like mini-mansions on wheels, and all three of them take over the space as they pull into the site, parking in a semi-circle around the fire pit.
I watch as they come to a stop and wait for the doors to open. Before they even get a chance, rustling leaves and feminine squeals peal out from behind me. I turn and watch as the old ladies to most of the Kings come barreling towards me, glee spread on each of their faces, their eyes shining with excitement.
“It’s them!” Charlotte cries, ignoring me completely and tugging along on poor Laynie’s hand. Charlotte is Ryker’s old lady, and usually pretty mellow compared to most other MC president’s old ladies. Apparently not today though. Laynie stumbles along behind her, one hand in Charlotte’s, one gripping the harness handle attached to her service dog, Dexter.
“Slow down,” she giggles. “You trying to kill me?”
“Sorry,” Charlotte says, the distraction evident in her voice as she stops beside me and peers through the trees. “Holy shit,” she whispers. “We’re camping right next to The fucking Grinders!” She looks up at me and her entire face lights up with a grin, her cheeks flushed with anticipation. “We’re all huge fans,” she tells me, as if it wasn’t obvious.
The “we” she refers to must be the other ladies that surround me, trampling all over my tarp as they try to get a peek at their favorite rock stars. The VP’s old lady, Ellen, and the Sergeant At Arms old lady, Anna, are also gaping through the gaps in the trees.
Their closeness sets me on edge, but their excitement is infectious. Anticipation is heavy in the air as we all turn our silent focus to the bus doors. One of them is opening. “Oh my God,” Charlotte breathes, reaching out to grip my arm, as if I’m just one of the ladies. “We’re about to see Kat in person!”
The bikers are just getting off their rides and I watch as one of them heads right for the third bus. He’s a big, tall, tattooed, behemoth of a man wearing a Savage Angels MC patch on his cut. It’s no secret that Kat from The Grinders is the old lady to the president of the Savage Angels. Their relationship became front page news a while back when Kat found herself the target of a dangerous stalker.
“Should we go say hello?” Anna asks.
I don’t know what their answer would have been, but I know what it should be and I don’t hold back in sharing. “Fuck no. You think a bunch of MC protected rock stars are gonna be open to a bunch of strange women rushin’ them the second they get off that fuckin’ bus?”
All four women stand silent, looking back at me like I’d just taken away their favorite toy. They don’t argue though. Properly chastised, they stand watching as one person after another files off of the buses, Charlotte describing every detail to Laynie, being her eyes. Finally, from the third bus, she appears. The women gasp around me and Charlotte goes back to gripping my arm, but this time I don’t even notice.
I don’t notice because my attention is on the woman that stepped off the bus behind Kat. I’d never seen her before, and she was definitely no rock star. Rock stars don’t usually wear dark business suits with skinny little skirts. Rock stars don’t usually have glasses perched at the end of their noses. And rock stars usually have a ton of hair, but this woman has her blonde locks pulled back in a bun so tight, it almost looks severe. No, she doesn’t look like a rock star at all. What she looks like is the CEO of some powerful company. The kind that takes no prisoners. She’s fucking magnificent.
“Who is that?” I ask the ladies, not giving a shit who answers, as long as I get one.
A round of “I don’t know” leaves me clueless, but I still stand there and watch her. I can’t tear my eyes off her. She marches around the site, barking orders and pointing out where things need to be moved to. She’s bossy, that much I can tell. She looks fearless. She looks like a snob.
She looks like she’s walking straight towards us.