Chapter 6

Harley

Stepping out of my room I tiptoe down the stairs, look at the church door one last time, before running out the back of the club.

Bud stands just outside, making me skid to a stop.

“Bud,” I say in surprise. Hat lowered, Bud looks up, eyes meeting mine before falling to my leather bag. Bud looks down before going inside and slamming the door. Bud knows I’m running and is letting me go.

I strengthen my hold on my bag. “We can do this,” I encourage myself. Pumping myself up for the journey ahead. I’m not going to lie, I’m scared as shit. I’ve never been outside these walls by myself.

The bus station is only a mile from here, I can make it on foot. Tossing my bag over my shoulder, I run. The night air is crisp and fills my lungs as I sprint away from the only thing I’ve ever known.

I’ll prove them all wrong. I’ll prove that I belong here. There is no other choice.

Running across the beach and the main highway I head to the bus station, looking over my shoulder the whole time. I’m so scared I’ll get caught it’s taking everything I have to hold down my dinner.

It’s raining, thunder cracking in the sky as my clothes stick to my skin making it harder for me to run. Huffing out of breath, and freezing despite the heat, I finally make it. Trying to catch my breath I sit under the small awning and look the governor up on my phone, getting all the details I need to make him my target. A family picture of him, his wife, and who looks like maybe his daughter and her husband grab my attention.

The young man’s hand is interlocked in the daughter’s, as she smiles and waves as if she’s fucking running for Miss America. The husband looks scared, miserable even.

I run my finger over my screen. Their clothes are so nice, their faces smooth and unknown of hardship.

They’re privileged and that alone sparks a burning jealousy in my chest. The hardships of my life are badges of honor I wear proudly. It’s proof I’m stronger than those who stick their nose up as they walk by.

The husband’s shirt catches my attention as my finger slides over him. He’s wearing a typical Arizona college shirt. You see young kids wearing them all the time, but this man looks to be in his thirties and doesn’t look to be a college student in the least bit. I click a new browser open and Google the college and the professors. Finding his profile picture at the very top. I open it.

Professor Michael Prescott teaches American literature. Volunteering in the horticulture department as a passion on the weekends. He’s married to June Prescott, the governor’s daughter—

I stop there, tapping my foot in thought. Dad said we needed to be smart, but bold in our strike against the governor. Maybe instead of going at the governor directly, I should take what matters most to him. His family.

A family walks past me, and I fake a smile. A mother and father pass carrying a little girl. She has bouncy blonde pigtails and an old teddy bear hanging from one of her hands. The little girl looks over her dad’s shoulder at me when they pass. Her eyes locked on mine.

“Hi!” The little girl waves at me, her bravery to talk to me taking me aback. The father looks over his shoulder and frowns when he sees me. “Don’t talk to her, Lizzy,” the father scolds, but that doesn’t stop the girl from smiling at me. The mother and father quickly pick up their pace, as the father hugs his daughter tighter in pursuit of escaping the lone biker chick.

I cross my boot-clad feet, the shoelaces sticking to the wet concrete and look the other way. I’m used to it, but the way the father tried to protect his daughter makes me think twice about going after the governor’s daughter. She’ll be too protected by guards or something I’m sure. But what about the son in law? He’s a man of no stature, and possibly too proud to lug around men to protect him.

I know shit about literature though unless you include the Harley manual in the garage that our mechanic Hairy had me read as a book report.

Turning my phone off, I go up to the window, with trembling hands I hand over a fifty. I’m scared, excited, and out of my mind being out here by myself, and doing what I’m about to do.

“I need a bus to the local college,” I inform the old lady behind a scratched -up plexiglass window, a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. She doesn’t even look up from her Hollywood gossip magazine as she punches something into a machine before sliding me a ticket from under the window and taking my money. Grabbing the ticket, I turn where I stand, and look up at the big blue and white bus pulling up next to the station. I feel high with adrenaline, my teeth chattering with fear.

I should turn around. No, I’m going.

I can do this. I am doing this.

***

Harley

A couple hours later my clothes are still damp from the rainwater. Stepping off the main bus, I clutch my bag and look the campus over. I swallow hard, I’ve never been to school. Dad had Peachy and Big Hairy homeschool me, two older members of the club. When Big Hairy got to talking about politics, it got interesting to say the least. He’s southern to the bone, and if you don’t believe what he says, you better act like you do. However, my dad used what he had to educate me. Putting me in school was a risk he didn’t want to play with. Having a split personality disorder, and though I have had it under control with medication for years… my father still thinks I’m a risk in public. Hence why I’m here to prove myself. I may not be able to walk down the sidewalk with society, grab a latte at the local Starbucks, or sit amongst a crowd of strangers in a theater, but that just means I’m meant to be on the back of a bike with a gun in my hand, slamming bullets into our enemies. Wearing the club colors proudly on my leather jacket is where my place is.

Chewing on my Double Bubble, I sink my teeth into the gum that presses through my lips.

The image of me riding my own motorcycle, and running from the police with the rest of the crew makes my brows curve with inspiration. A smile slips across my face as I become giddy. I’ve come thus far so I’m already in deep shit with my dad. I better pull this off to save my ass. Pulling the hood of my jacket over my head, I keep my head down and head inside the main office of the college.

Other kids my age pass me, some staring at me, and one even runs into me, our shoulders bumping. Unease causes my spine to stiffen, and that sudden giddy feeling I had flees into tense defense.

“Watch it,” flies out of my mouth before I can think twice, reminding me how far out of my element I truly am. I look at the ground, breathing deeply, trying to get a handle on my anger before I chase after the asshole who just bumped into me. If I was with the club, people wouldn’t come within feet of us, the club colors on the brothers’ cuts warning them off. Citizens not knowing who I am, or who I’m affiliated with makes me feel vulnerable. I have no protection, no one to keep me safe but myself.