First Ride by Tara Oakes

Leather. Some people call them colors. Those are our patches. The Reaper. Anyone with one on his back is family. Other charters too. The bitch on the back of his bike? She’s family too, as long as she’s got leather. Some you’ll like, some you won’t. Kind of like sisters. You just gotta learn to live with each of them and when rough shit happens, those are the first people who’ll step up and watch your back. Try not to start any shit with any of them ‘cause some of these bitches can get real catty.”
    “You said as long as she’s got leather . What happens if she doesn’t?” I’m trying to piece together the missing holes in her advice.
    Baby rolls her eyes and sits back, trying to adjust her seat. She hasn’t exactly told me but I’d guess by the looks of her, that she’s somewhere around seven months along. No wonder she can’t get comfortable.
    “Those are called Sweetbutts. But, us Ol’ ladies? We’ve got another name for ‘em. Slayersluts. Watch your man, Angel. They crawl around the club, go for your man. They’re second-class citizens. An empty fuck.” Her lip snarls, her words laced with venom.
    “Whoa. I don’t have leather. And I’m not about to be treated like a second class citizen. Not by Dawson. Not by anyone else.” I’m not liking the way this is going. Flashbacks of last night, of Dawson’s cock in my hand, him swearing not to fuck around. Baby’s making it sound as if it happens all the time, as if the Slayersluts are inevitable.
    “You’ll get your leather, Angel. You got the title, so right now, that’s as good as gold.”
    “And what title is that? Bartender?”
    Baby smiles tightly, clearly enjoying playing teacher. “ Ol’ lady , sweetheart. You got yourself an Ol’ man now. Not just any Ol’ man, either. The one every single one of those little Slayersluts have been dying to get all to herself. I hope you got some balls, babe. You’re gonna need ‘em.”
     
    ~*~
     
    “Holy. Shit.” I gasp.
    “Maw!” Sasha reprimands me from the back seat. I clasp my hands over my mouth, not realizing I’d used curse words in front of her. We have a swear jar in the kitchen that I’m supposed to drop some change into whenever I make the mistake.
    Judging by the swarm of men bussing around on the huge front lawn of the place and the pile of boxes, I’m guessing I’m gonna have a hard time finding the swear jar in there.
    Most of the eyes in the crowd turn and give some sort of a wave or nod as Baby honks the horn lightly to part the sea of leather-vested men so we can pull into the beautiful brick driveway.
    “There are so many of them!” I try to count but quickly lose my place as they become moving targets through the window.
    The gear is shifted and the new model Yukon lurches to come to a full stop. “It’s a quiet weekend. No pick-ups or deliveries that I know of, so most guys are around.”
    “Deliveries? Pick-ups?” I ask, still staring at the window. I settle on a small group of guys on the large wraparound porch, drinking beer, some smoking, most laughing. Dawson’s at the center of the handful of men. They seem to be directing the rest that are down on the lawn.
    Baby makes a clicking sound with her tongue as if I’ve just been naughty. Sasha thinks it’s hysterical and laughs at me being the one reprimanded.
    “Remember. We don’t talk about club business. Look, your man’s the Prez. You’re a direct reflection of him. People will be looking for you to fuck up. Especially since you’re not one of us. The last thing you wanna do is make your Ol’ man look weak, like he can’t control his woman.”
    What the fuck? Is she reading this out of some antique biker Bible from 1950?
    “Dawson doesn’t control me. No one controls me.”
    She breathes deep, sighs. “Of course not, honey. It’s not something I can really explain to you. It’s something you just gotta learn on your own. There’s control, and then there’s control . Kinda like