slightly to the side, feet shoulder-width apart, his face carefully blank. But his eyes bore into mine. I search his face for a sign of—well, anything. But nothing comes to me. I can’t figure out what he’s doing. Then I realize that he’s sizing me up. This whole thing is for me. Aunt Ruby promised Aunt Gloria that she’d keep me safe, and this is her keeping me safe. I can feel my eyes grow wide as I consider the twenty or so men before me. Leather-clad, dirty, and tired...
They’ve been riding for days, I think. California is an awfully long way from New York. They didn’t fly, which would take but a few hours. No. They rode on their bikes and some even in the van. For days, I’d venture to guess. I suddenly feel compelled to express my appreciation. No matter how awful this is for me, that’s the thing— this is for me . Ryan doesn’t need to be here, saving my big mouth. Jim doesn’t need to be here. Maybe Ruby does by way of some familial obligation, but the rest of them don’t. But they’re here.
Before I can think better of it, I mouth , “Thank you,” to Ryan. He blinks, but keeps the mask on his face. No polite “you’re welcome” and no acknowledgement, blinking aside, that I’ve extended this olive branch. Why I want to extend it to him of all people, I’m not entirely sure. I just know that I’m going to try to make this work. And he just keeps watching me.
Hearing shuffling behind me, I turn as Ruby’s elbow lands softly on my shoulder, letting me feel her weight. “He’s handsome, isn’t he?”
I feel the heat on my cheeks , and I break eye contact with Ryan. I can feel his eyes for only a moment more before he turns his attention elsewhere. The ground beneath my feet is nothing but dirt interspersed with bits of mud here and there. I try to imagine drowning in the small pool of mud.
“I know you were watching him, Alexandra,” she says. I spin and look her, going for my best innocent look. It’s the one even my father falls for. She rights herself, hands on her hips.
“Who?” I say. She chuckles lightly and shakes her head, then her face grows serious.
“These men are off limits to you. You’re a pretty, young woman—don’t think they haven’t noticed. And I love those men. They’re family. But you’re far too young. You got that?” I nod, unable to do anything else. The crowd breaks up, and only two of the men don’t move. Ryan’s eyes are once again on me, but behind him, Ian’s eyes are on Ryan and he looks none too pleased.
The men climb back onto their bikes with the exception of the ones who are riding in the van with us. They stand around kicking the dirt beneath their feet. As Ruby takes off toward the van, I dutifully follow her. Climbing into the van, my nose is assault ed with the smell of gas. I try to cover my cough with the sleeve of my hoodie, but it’s no use. Even Ruby puts her hand over her mouth as she climbs into her seat. The Devil of Death climbs into his seat opposite me and gags on the odor that’s permeating our surroundings. In the front seats, the men roll their windows down, and crank up the A/C. The forceful winds that slap at my face as we take off back toward the highway is too much and I turn toward the back of the van, where I see the culprit of the smell. Peeking out beneath a cover of old, torn carpet is a collection of gas cans. It appears the entire back of the van is full.
Very quietly I ask, “What’s with the gas cans?”
The man in front of me smiles predatorily and says, “How far do you think a Harley can go without gas?” Ruby chuckles lightly, but shoots him a warning glance despite her amusement. All I can offer in response is a faint, “Oh.” My question just goes to show exactly how much knowledge I have of motorcycles.
Chapter 7
We fear violence less than our own feelings.
Personal, private, solitary pain is more terrifying than what anyone else can inflict.
- Jim Morrison
ONCE WE START
They’ve been riding for days, I think. California is an awfully long way from New York. They didn’t fly, which would take but a few hours. No. They rode on their bikes and some even in the van. For days, I’d venture to guess. I suddenly feel compelled to express my appreciation. No matter how awful this is for me, that’s the thing— this is for me . Ryan doesn’t need to be here, saving my big mouth. Jim doesn’t need to be here. Maybe Ruby does by way of some familial obligation, but the rest of them don’t. But they’re here.
Before I can think better of it, I mouth , “Thank you,” to Ryan. He blinks, but keeps the mask on his face. No polite “you’re welcome” and no acknowledgement, blinking aside, that I’ve extended this olive branch. Why I want to extend it to him of all people, I’m not entirely sure. I just know that I’m going to try to make this work. And he just keeps watching me.
Hearing shuffling behind me, I turn as Ruby’s elbow lands softly on my shoulder, letting me feel her weight. “He’s handsome, isn’t he?”
I feel the heat on my cheeks , and I break eye contact with Ryan. I can feel his eyes for only a moment more before he turns his attention elsewhere. The ground beneath my feet is nothing but dirt interspersed with bits of mud here and there. I try to imagine drowning in the small pool of mud.
“I know you were watching him, Alexandra,” she says. I spin and look her, going for my best innocent look. It’s the one even my father falls for. She rights herself, hands on her hips.
“Who?” I say. She chuckles lightly and shakes her head, then her face grows serious.
“These men are off limits to you. You’re a pretty, young woman—don’t think they haven’t noticed. And I love those men. They’re family. But you’re far too young. You got that?” I nod, unable to do anything else. The crowd breaks up, and only two of the men don’t move. Ryan’s eyes are once again on me, but behind him, Ian’s eyes are on Ryan and he looks none too pleased.
The men climb back onto their bikes with the exception of the ones who are riding in the van with us. They stand around kicking the dirt beneath their feet. As Ruby takes off toward the van, I dutifully follow her. Climbing into the van, my nose is assault ed with the smell of gas. I try to cover my cough with the sleeve of my hoodie, but it’s no use. Even Ruby puts her hand over her mouth as she climbs into her seat. The Devil of Death climbs into his seat opposite me and gags on the odor that’s permeating our surroundings. In the front seats, the men roll their windows down, and crank up the A/C. The forceful winds that slap at my face as we take off back toward the highway is too much and I turn toward the back of the van, where I see the culprit of the smell. Peeking out beneath a cover of old, torn carpet is a collection of gas cans. It appears the entire back of the van is full.
Very quietly I ask, “What’s with the gas cans?”
The man in front of me smiles predatorily and says, “How far do you think a Harley can go without gas?” Ruby chuckles lightly, but shoots him a warning glance despite her amusement. All I can offer in response is a faint, “Oh.” My question just goes to show exactly how much knowledge I have of motorcycles.
Chapter 7
We fear violence less than our own feelings.
Personal, private, solitary pain is more terrifying than what anyone else can inflict.
- Jim Morrison
ONCE WE START
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