Determination.

One thing was perfectly clear to Keoni by the end of the weekend: she was not meant to be on the back of a bike. Although Handles, Chickadee, and the other biker bitches enjoyed their roles as Old Ladies for their Old Men, it wasn’t her cup of tea. Carefully and methodically, she watched and emulated what the ladies did. She made a plate for Throttle and brought him meals, beer, and anything else she thought he needed. He accepted with a nod, not a word of thank you, but that was the culture.

In her eyes, it wasn’t very different from the role Carlton wanted her to play in his life. She didn’t want any part of that shit either and definitely didn’t have the stomach for this. Hearing the moaning in the middle of the night coming from other tents wasn’t her way either. She wasn’t sticking her face in any musty balls to blow a cat hair off his nuts, let alone put it in her mouth, which seemed to be the going activity of the evening. The shadows casted on the side of tents from the low light inside the little teepees confirmed her suspicions. She didn’t judge, begrudge or budge during the night play of the creatures. To each his own, she said softly.

“I usually come up by myself,” Throttle said softly. “Next time we do, it’ll just be us.”

“The next time we do, I will be on my own bike and not in the bitch seat,” she said. “I’m okay with being your woman, just not your Old Lady.”

“Didn’t think you would be, but you needed to see and experience it for yourself to understand,” he told her.

“Thanks for the lesson,” she said softly, “I want to learn to ride for myself, get my own bike, and ride side by side with you to an event.”

“That I can do. Poppa J is a great teacher. I’m going to let him teach you to ride,” he told her.

“He said he taught you,” Keoni offered.

“Me, my brother, and my sister, even my Mom. She even has a Harley that she rides on the weekends,” he said.

“Ah, a weekender,” Keoni said with pride at the use of the biker lingo.

“Yep,” he said, sipping on the beer. In the morning, they would leave. She would head back to her life and he to his, uncertain if they would continue as a couple, but she liked the man a great deal. He was certainly more interesting than Carlton. Wait. His name is Gear as well. I wonder if they are distant cousins or related from slavery days of master giving the slaves their last names? I will ask him tomorrow.

Her phone rang and it was the devil himself she refused to speak of. Taking the call in a space where she had no privacy wouldn’t be good. Keoni opted to send him a text instead. Message delivered, as indicated on her phone, she picked at the food on her plate and watched the group, thinking how cool it would be to do this again with all women.

“Try to eat a bit more,” Throttle said, looking at the plate of food she’d barely touched.

She only nodded as she stared out at the water, imagining herself on a bike, her body tucked against the wind as she rode into the night on her badass hog. Tomorrow, she would call Onyx, her friend who was a Lady Guardian. Another friend, Alaye, who lived in Virginia was also a Lady Guardian. The idea of her first long ride to Virginia sounded pleasing. Maybe October? It was cool then as well as Alaye’s birthday. Two birds, one hog.

Keoni was smiling again at the thought of being on the open road, sitting astride a powerful bike. Throttle watched her, drawn in by the subtle expressions on her face as she reasoned out whatever problem was brewing in that pretty little brain of hers. He had a few brewing in his as well.

The woman was definitely a ride or die kind of chick. She handled herself well in each circumstance and the men were noticing. Judging her character as if she were an Associate or a Prospect. He knew without a doubt that Grinder would put in a call and vouch for her. Yet, fear eased into his bones that if she got her own bike and joined the Lady Guardians that she wouldn’t have time for him.

It was the first selfish thought he’d had about her or any woman. He scratched the stubble on his chin. Keoni Wiles had gotten under his skin.

“Shit,” he said as he polished off the beer. He knew he was a goner.

Keoni called Carlton once she’d gotten back to Atlanta and in her car. She’d set a schedule with Poppa J to learn to ride and her first lesson would be this week. The excitement in her voice was killed with a large, sharp, serrated knife when she talked to Carlton. The man could carve the joy out of an orgasm.

“You left the other night without even saying goodbye and then you didn’t pick up all weekend. Are you cheating on me, Keoni?” he asked.

“I can’t cheat on you because we are not together,” she said.

“We are,” he insisted. “I came over for dinner on Thursday to ask your father for your hand in marriage. You left. You left with me sitting there like a dumbass with my dick in my hands with your parents.”

“First, you weren’t invited to come to dinner. Carlton, you took that upon yourself,” she said. “Second, I told you I am not planning to marry you or anyone at this point. I have a few things which need my attention that I’m working on.”

“Are you still on that lady biker thing?” he asked in disbelief. “I told you, those women are all whores, miscreants, and lost children trying to belong to a bigger picture. The picture is small because the frame is small, Keoni.”

“No Carlton, you are small to even think that these accomplished women in their own rights are whores because they like to ride motorcycles,” she said. “This is why you and I don’t work. Your judgmental I know what’s best for everybody doesn’t work for me. For us. I’m trying to remain as your friend, but you make it hard to even like you as a person.”

“It must be some good dick,” he said spitefully.

“Excuse me?” She replied, taken aback by the change is his tone.

“Whoever you’re laying down with must be giving it to you good for you to treat me this way, Keoni. I love you and want a life with you,” Carlton said. “I can forgive you stepping out on me if you let go of this biker thing and come to your senses.”

“The only thing I’m letting go of is you,” she said, hanging up the phone. He called back several times, finally giving up after the fourth try. She wanted to block his number but for the oddest reason she couldn’t bring herself to do it. His words didn’t hurt because they were true.

Throttle was giving her the good D and a few other things she didn’t know she was missing. Time, like the dust bunnies on the shelves, rolled on to multiply to become larger bunnies and evidence of inattention. Throttle was in her life because of Carlton’s lack of attention to the things she wanted and needed. Therefore, he needed to move on and let go of the foolish notions.

Keoni Wiles would as well.

She moved on by learning to ride. Her first lesson on the 250cc bike went about as well as she expected. The ground, which she was thankful was soft, had become a good friend to her. Twice she had to lay the bike down because she was shifting gears and clutching too fast.

“Listen to what I’m telling you, gal,” Poppa J said. “You will get the feel of it soon enough.”

Keoni squeezed the clutch and pressed the start button. She closed the throttle and pulled the clutch in all the way while simultaneously pushing downwards on the shifter. Listening to Poppa J, she slowly applied the throttle and released the clutch, and the motorcycle started to roll. Increasing the throttle, she released the clutch all the way.

“Yay!” she yelled into the dome as she rode around the large backyard.

“Biker bitches don’t yell yay, woman!” Poppa J corrected. He taught her to ride like he knew how to ride. She didn’t need to work the clutch to shift up. He showed her how to smoothly shift gears with her foot, down-blipping the throttle until the next gear engaged. It took a great deal of practice, but in less than two hours, she was riding smoothly.

“You are going to need a lot more lessons before you can hit the road,” Poppa J said. “We have to teach you hand signals and things, too.”

“Sounds good,” she said, putting the bike into the large garage that housed his collection. Her stomach growled loudly. “Have you had dinner?”

“I got some vittles in the fridge the boy made for me,” he said, referring to Throttle.

“He takes good care of you,” she responded with a smile.

“Yeah, but it ain’t fair. He came all the way back from California to move in with me after my heart attack. His momma and my other daughter wanted to put me in a home. The boy stepped in, took over the bar, and moved in with me,” Poppa J said. “I just hate that so many years of his life is going down the drain taking care of an old man.”

“I can’t imagine he feels that way. He loves you,” she said.

“You are good for him,” Poppa J said. “For a while there I was worried, but then you came along. I guess you kind of remind him of the good in this world.”

“And what do I remind you of?” she asked out of curiosity.

“Grace,” he said.

Keoni didn’t know if that was a person or the reference to a heavenly host. Her head cocked to the side as she listened to him explain. His old jaws worked as the loose skin shook back and forth under the scruffy beard.

“Grace was a young lady that came into my bar,” he said. “We were younger back then, unchained like wild dogs, doing what we pleased, when we pleased, and to whom we pleased. If you wandered into the Easy Rider Bar & Grille, you were going to be ridden.”

“What happened with Grace if you don’t mind me asking?” she said.

“I do mind, but I will tell you this. At the end of the night, she helped me find redemption in my set wicked ways. That night she made me into a man,” Poppa J said. “I could either let the dogs have their bone or help a woman whose car had broken down on the road.”

“You helped her?”

“Wasn’t gonna, but I looked up and her kids were also standing in the door as the men pawed at her, ready to put her on the table for sport,” he said. “I saw those kids and I made the men stop. Never in my life would I want a horrible thing like that to happen to my girls or my sisters.”

“Grace’s redemption is a nice way to look at it,” she said. “Grace kind of redeemed you as a man.”

“She made me want to be a better man just like you make Dave want to be better. He’s already pretty sharp and smart, but that biker life really ain’t for him,” he said. “The boy is a chameleon, can fit in anywhere, but to me, he looks better in his expensive suits sitting behind a desk.”

“Poppa J, from what I have seen of Dave, that man isn’t going to be anywhere he doesn’t want to be,” she said with a wink. It was difficult to imagine him in expensive suits since she’d only seen him in biker gear.

“You’ve got that right,” he said. “I think he made enough food for two. Come on in and eat with me. Eating alone just ain’t no fun.”

She joined him at the kitchen table, listening to his stories about ride outs and events all over the country. He talked about Sturgis and the outlaws that came to town and took the young local girls for their property while in town. The last ride up, had been his last time in Sturgis. He whispered times had changed and so had the men. Poppa J laughed at his antics at other bike rallies and sadly reminisced on how he would no longer be able to ride, but relegated to the sidecar of the old Rocketeer. At least the boy still let him roll out, even if it was in a side car.

It was good enough for him.

Tomorrow night, Keoni was planning to attend a Lady Guardian event, she hoped and prayed that talking to the right people would open the door for her to be a hang around. If they just allowed her to be with the group to learn, it would be good enough her too. Everybody has to start somewhere.

She would start tomorrow.

The sight of all the lady bikers in their cuts and leathers, sitting on the backs of bikes made her heart jump into her mouth. She walked around, marveling at the different styles and types of bikes and which ones fit the lady’s personalities. The event was a fundraiser which featured the President of the National Chapter of the Lady Guardians. Her friend Onyx said this would be a good meeting to attend to get a feel for the group.

“Hey, Onyx,” she said, waving to her friend.

“Come on in, girl, grab a drink, and take a look about,” she said to Keoni.

“I don’t want a look. I want in,” Keoni said softly.

“How? Girl you don’t even own a bike or know how to ride one, do you?” Onyx asked.

“Not yet, but I am taking lessons,” she said proudly.

“Where? Up at the Center in Alpharetta?” Onyx inquired.

“No, I am getting private lessons from this old biker named Poppa J,” she said just as the music dropped out. Her voice was the only sound in the room minus the clinking of ice in half empty glasses. The room grew quiet at the sound of his name as if the man were E.F. Hutton. The National President must have heard as well because she made her way through the small group of women who’d come inside of the club house.

“Hello, I’m Justice, the National President of the Lady Guardians. Onyx, who is your ‘Hang Around’?” She asked.

“This is Keoni Wiles. She is interested in being a member of the Lady Guardians,” she said.

“Ah, so you are Keoni. I got a call about you,” Justice said with a half-smile.

“Oh yeah,” Keoni replied, not wanting to not sound or be cool around her hope-to-be biker family.

“Grinder said he owed you one for doing him a solid,” Justice said.

“Yeah, that,” Keoni offered, still trying to remain cool and emulated the badass vibe given off by Justice. She wanted these women to be her new tribe. Keoni wanted to fit in. She wanted to be a Lady Guardian.

“You got a bike yet?”

“Soon, learning to ride,” she said, nodding her head as she clutched her drink for dear life

“When you get one, give me a call,” Justice said, handing her a card.

The woman walked away, her leather pants clinging to an ass Keoni knew took hours in the gym doing squats to tone. She held tightly to the card before sticking it in her purse. Onyx only watched.

“What in the hell, Keoni?” Onyx said in shock.

“Huh?” she said, confused.

“Don’t huh me, heffa. If you can say ‘huh’ you can hear,” Onyx said softly. “You walk in this clubhouse, dropping names like some socialite trying to get more likes. What is up with you?”

“I didn’t drop any names,” she said, shocked by her friend’s behavior.

“You act like you don’t know who Poppa J is and to have Grinder call Justice personally to get you an in with the Lady Guardians. You have been busy,” she said.

“Poppa J is my, uhmm, Old Man’s grandad. I helped him with some movies at the library,” Keoni said. “As far as Grinder goes, well, I kind of saved his life.”

“Keoni, you really are clueless about those two men,” she told her. “Poppa J started the Gypsy Jokers back in 1969. His group, the Hell’s Angels, and others like them are the reason for the one percent moniker. Hell, they were the one percent.”

“Okay. And Grinder?” Keoni asked wide eyes and innocent.

“He’s related to Justice’s Old Man, Alaric,” she told Keoni. “Now that man, is a bad sumbitch and fine as cat hair on a kitten’s ass. Whatever you did, just opened a whole lot of doors for you in this club. You are going to have to really and show and prove since you dropped those two names.”

“Oh,” Keoni said, suddenly needing to sit down. She didn’t know what it all meant, but whatever it meant was big. Girl, what have you gotten yourself into?