#motorcycle club Tumblr posts

  • I have my dad’s old prospect cut from when he was young and I love it so much ❥

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    I don’t wear it too much ‘cause I don’t want to wear it out

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  • 𝐅𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐌𝐄𝐍

    𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐨𝐨𝐧


    The skins initial contact with a needle is always painfully exhilarating. The tear of flesh is a white hot feeling of blistering pain, the red ache of skin a tell tale sign of what’s been endured from the consensual affliction. A thrilling rush permeates the body, an existential surge tugging at the soul as the mind comes to grips with its everlasting decision. The beginning is blinding pain, a mouthful of cries and cursed profanities as the skin opens to receive the ink. The end however, is pure philosophical ecstasy. Fulfillment and freedom to the highest degree, the feeling so great that the soul feels nothing but invincibility for a few blinking moments.

    The rumbling buzz of vibration sings a triumphant tune through the otherwise deafening silence, the last pieces of dark umber skin left uncovered now dancing in the light as they are inked into warm reds and soft metallic blues. The wide white wings of Isis, the Egyptian goddess spread across the hot skin, her white crown; a throne in reverence of Osiris, gleams only furthering the artistic manifestation of her godly essence.

    Ria sighed with some relief, the finality of the piece bringing comfort to the knots in her shoulders and the anxiety rolling in her belly. Religious pieces were a difficulty in and of themselves due to their nature. Essentially the tattoo was a work of reverence, a physical sacrifice of pain to show devotion. Ria’s perfectionism didn’t play to well with this nature, if anything it loathed the process. One false stroke of the needle could cause a slew of further imperfections, it was a jarring experience to say the least, but her perfectionism also hated the refusal to finish. The act of quitting.

    Ria was no quitter.

    “It’s beautiful Ria”.

    A somatic manifestation of glee and satisfaction shown itself through the whiteness of the woman’s smile, the skin of her cheeks crinkling at the turn of her lips.

    Once the woman’s moment of enthrallment ended, Ria wrapped her arm in a protective gauze before she led her to the hallway leading to the front of the shop.

    The stretched walls of the hallway amplified boisterous noise. Light laughter and tense tones leading Ria to believe one thing. Her coworkers were debating. Again. The topics of these raving and not so settled discussions varied from tattoo artistry to films and even personal ideologies. All these opinions coming from a place of subjectivity despite their difference. In and through all of the noise lied this one endearing constant, which was their ability to raise passionate hell just as the sun reached its highest peak.

    “Men are definitely more emotional than women!”

    The proclamation came from none other than Victoria, or Vic as she liked to be called. An incredulous look on her face as she spoke. Ria was convinced that the incredulous expression was stained and forever existing from others always seeming to question or oppose the woman’s views. Vic was far too passionate to back down from a debate, and nine times out of ten she was too right in her claim to accept any other opinion that rivaled her own.

    “Jin what do you think? Are men more emotional than women?”

    “Pleading the fifth Vic”, Jin said as his hands held themselves in a surrendering manner.

    “No!”, she rushed over to him, taking place behind the chair he’d seated himself in whilst pointing across the room.  

    “Your silence does nothing but help his argument. An argument that is complete shit might I add”.

    With the slightest turn of his chair, Vic captured Jin’s eyes. The pointed nail of her index feathering and caressing the nape of his neck.

    “You wouldn’t want to go against me would you Jin?”, she asked. Tone soft.

    “I would never Vic”.

    From where she sat, in the rather vast lobby of the tattoo shop, Ria could practically see Jin’s soul leave his body. His eyes filled with such a reverence and adoration reserved only for Vic. His invitingly kind nature and silent charm had crumbled to dust at the mere flick of a simple nail and now he was fully enraptured by batting lashes and a somewhat alluring widening of the eyes. Vic hadn’t even done much and in seconds she had turned Jin’s attraction towards her against him. In reality the matter had seemed so trivial, but that only revealed how enamored Jin was.

    “Don’t let her seduce you Jin”.

    In a matter of seconds, a tall muscular figure swiveled Jin’s chair away from Vic.

    “Us men have to stick together. Don’t let her sway you”.

    “Oh please Noa. Seduction or no seduction, doesn’t take away from how bad your argument is”.

    Noa sighed, revealing some defeat as he turned to address Ria. “Please Ria, make some sense of my argument. Tell Queen Victoria”, he adds with a horrible posh accent, “that women are more emotional than men”.

    Ria chuckled at Noa’s lack of awareness concerning his own audacity, but she didn’t expect less from him. He was a six foot five inch mass of pure inked muscle, and every inch and fiber of his being craved the need to be right even when he was undoubtedly wrong. His ego bruised easily and worst than fresh tattooed skin. Ria hoped one day he’d grow from it, or else he’d suffer from it greatly.

    With her client long gone, Ria felt she could immerse herself into the Friday noon debate. “Men have a history of violence towards women solely based on the fact that we are women. There really is no comparison Noa”.

    Feigning total defeat, Noa plopped onto the reclining tattoo chair, eyes in slits as Vic approached him with a teasing grin.

    “Vic 5, Noa 0”.

    Noa responded with a twisted facial expression that mocked Vic’s claim of victory, the tattoo shop settling in comfortable silence.

    Ria took a second to cast a glance over the quiet lobby, the discussion at hand just minutes ago reeling her mind back to a striking incident. An extremely relevant and rather bothersome incident.

    “And not to mention”, she sounded, “I got verbally accosted for not responding to a cat call yesterday. Went from beautiful to a fucking bitch in the span of five seconds. So yeah, men are trash”.

    “Who called you a bitch?”

    The voice was deep and laced with feelings of offense. It was a reaction Ria hadn’t expected from anyone, especially Angelo. Like Noa, Angelo was tall and muscular, his ivory skin covered in bold tatted pieces that complimented his placid brooding nature.

    She met him with some hesitance as she spoke. “One of the construction guys working on that building on uh, on Lenox. The guy with the weird tat on his cheek”.

    “Eddie. That fucking prick”, Noa confirmed with disdain.

    The two men shared a glance at one another, an understanding emerging between them despite their silence. Windows to the soul their eyes were for one another, saying everything and nothing at all.

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  • Reason To Not Join I 1%ers And Motorcycle Clubs I

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  • Road Captain I 1%ers And Motorcycle Clubs I

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  • Fully Patch For Numbers I 1%ers And Motorcycle Clubs I

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  • Vice President I 1%ers And Motorcycle Clubs I

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  • All of them devour the pizzas like that haven’t eaten in a week, and there’s very little talking except in between slices, and shots of Jack Daniels between Abby and Jon; whereas Jon sips from a beer from a twelve pack he had in his fridge. He never really required much at home, because whenever he was there, he didn’t drink much. As they eat, Jon and Abby tease one another, as Ryan watches with a smile on his face. All of this happens, while Jon asks more questions. He asks for some details on how she’d ended back up at the motorcycle club despite trying to get away, and she explains that the behemoth at had insisted she come.

    “And you just went?” Jon seems a little miffed.

    “Well he’s like six foot eight, man, I’m five foot one. He nearly strangled me with my own hooded sweater last time I saw him. You gotta choose your battles, y’know?” She says, shrugging her shoulders. Jon nods as though this answers his question. Ryan watches the two of them interact quietly, getting just as much information as Jon is, but not wanting to react to it.

    “I was literally jogging back to The Jakals, where I’d parked my bike-“

    Jon interrupts at this point,

    “Bicycle, or motorcycle?”

    “Motorcycle,” Abby smiles widely. “It’s a 1998 Harley Davidson Sportster. She’s black and sunset orange. I love her. She’s literally one of the most expensive things I’ve ever bought, and she’s my baby.”

    Jon looks impressed, stealing a pepperoni off the slice in her hand, and she gives him a glare, before continuing to eat her slice.

    “So, why’d you go back with The Big Unfriendly Giant?” he asks.

    “Well fuck, I was jogging back to my bike, and he grabbed me by the hood. Swear to fuck, he strangled me so hard with my own hood that I saw stars,” she says simply, chewing silently for a minute. The bruises had turned into a dark yellow, and both Jon and Ryan can see them. They both look down at the floor for a moment before making eye contact with another. “And he broke my iPod Nano.” She adds, scowling angrily. It seemed like a weird thing to be angry about over strangulation.

    Jon laughs at this,

    “You sound more pissed about the Nano than those stars you saw.”

    “Well fuck, I either re-buy the music because I can’t remember my Apple password or e-mail, or find a computer to steal the tunes from. And I don’t have a computer. It’s a fucking disaster, man. And I had all my tunes chosen and set up in a specific order. Favourites and shit…” Her whole face looks angry, and both Jon and Ryan end up chuckling. Ryan shakes his head, seemingly in disbelief.

    Abby reaches over, and takes a deep drink from the bottle of Jack Daniels for a moment. She leans forward, and for a moment, and both men pause, think she’s going to upchuck. But she just leans back, and belches in the most unladylike way any of them expected. “Excuse me,” she says, looking more shocked than either of them at the noise she’d made. “Sorry, guys, been a long time since I ate this much. I’ve been constantly moving for weeks. Was not expecting that. Sorry,” she apologizes again, her face turning a bright red in embarrassment.

    Jon looks at Ryan and laughs out loud for a moment before laughing uncontrollably. Ryan laughs with him, and Abby blushes a full scarlet. She covers her face, and hiccups a squeaky hiccup, which only starts up the laughter even harder.  She reaches over and punches Ryan in the shoulder, before leaning over to punch Jon in the shoulder – but being a witness to the first punch, he dodges, and she falls half across his lap instead. Jon falls backwards, and laughs hard enough until he’s just wheezing silently.

    “You’re both absolute fuckwads!” She yells at them both. Jon wheezes even harder,

    “Fuck… wads… What is a…” Jon gasps for breath still laying on the floor. “What is a fuckwad?”

    Abby looks indignant, looking to Ryan for support but he’s still chuckling.

    “It means… you’re a wad of fuck!” She yells at Jon, and punches him in the thigh. Jon wheezes harder, and grabs his leg.

    “Charlie horse, you bitch!” He massages the muscle, and keeps laughing. “A wad of fuck. Oh my god, I can’t breathe. Ryan,” he whispers on the end of a breath. In a squeaky voice, Jon begs, “Help!”

    This makes Ryan laugh all the harder.

    “You brought it on yourself, man!”

    —–

    After much too much pizza, and way too many drinks, Jon removes his shirt, chilling in an undershirt, and ends up flopping on the couch. They continue to talk for another hour or so before Jon falls asleep mid-conversation, his snores filling the room. Abby giggles, and stands, gingerly, watching her ankle, moreso now that it’s fallen asleep than anything else. Ryan laughs quietly at her gimpy step towards the bedroom, before simply whispering her name.

    She turns to face Ryan, and he leans down, and picks her up, throwing her over his shoulder and pinning her legs against his chest. She squeals before trying to quiet herself so as not to wake Jon, but he is dead to the world and snoring like a chainsaw at this point. As Ryan enters his bedroom, he flicks on the light with one hand, and she slaps his back in defiance, He spanks her ass, the sharp pain reverberates between her legs, and she revels in the echo it makes in the room as the feelings echo through her body.

    Ryan chuckles, low in his chest, and after cradling her back, tosses her on to the bed. She bounces, and laughs delighted. He closes the door with his foot, and pulls his shirt up and over his head. As he unbuttons his jeans, she licks her lips, and his eyes follow the motion of her mouth. Her eyes following his hands as strips down a little more at a time. His eyes blazing, looking at her with that honey-hazel intensity. She shimmies her hips up, pulling his shirt off, and baring herself in the neon pink bra, and his boxers. She slides the boxers off slowly and hears his breath catch as the scrap of pink lace barely covering her swollen mound is revealed. Trade for trade, she hums, watching him closely. She’s wearing nothing but the neon pink lingerie that Jon had insisted was perfect for her, and Ryan’s hungry gaze seems to agree.

    He slips his jeans free from his hips, and lets them fall. And she can see immediately he is rock hard and aroused. She smiles wickedly, and reaches her arms out for him. But instead of stripping down, he flicks off the light, briefly leaving her blinded. She can feel him crawling across the bed, and suddenly there is a low light by his night stand. She looks at him confused. He lays beside her, and pulls her into him. She can feel how much he wants her as he curls up behind her, but he makes no move to act on it. She can feel his arousal pressing against her ass cheek. She grinds back into him, and he groans into shoulder.

    “Don’t you think we’ve had enough excitement for one night?” He murmurs quietly, repeating her words from earlier. She stays quiet for a moment before turning in his arms, throwing a leg over his hips, and grinding herself against him. He groans, and she buries her face in his neck, nipping hard at his jugular. He gives a soft groan, and she grinds against him harder. The scruff of his beard burning across her the sensitive skin of her throat and jawline, as he sighs into her hair.

    She reaches and pulls his hair ever so securely but gently, and guides his mouth to her mouth. They crash together in a frenzy, as one of her hands smooth his chest, pulling gently on the whorls of his chest hair. He sighs into her mouth, and she gains access that way, dueling with his tongue for a moment, before her hand reaches down, and strokes against the hardness pressing against his boxers. He growls, leaning his forehead against hers. “You’re pushing me, Abby,” he murmurs against her mouth. “I won’t want to stop if we keep this up.”

    “Who says I want you to stop?” Abby whispers, nipping his lower lip, and grinding her hips once more for good measure. Pushing him flat onto his back, she straddles his waist and nips at his lip again, catching his groan with her kiss as she presses down hard, grinding her lace covered wetness up and down along the underside of his shaft. Ryan brings his hands up, cupping the cheeks of her tight ass and squeezes, holding her still as he leans up to deepen the kiss.

    He slowly smooths his hands up, his fingertips grazing dangerously close to her molten core as his hands slide up her cheeks. Kissing along her jaw to nuzzle at her neck, his hands reach the strap of her bra and he deftly unsnaps it, drawing it down her arms as she sits up, the neon pink fabric falling free to expose her perky breasts with light pink nipples.

    Tossing her bra aside, Ryan brings his hands back up to cup the mounds of her chest, sweeping his thumbs across her nipples as she groans and leans back, pressing her weight down harder onto his rigid cock. Leaning back down, she traps his hands between them, pressing her breasts into his palms as she kisses him again and behind shimmying down his legs until she is straddling his calves.

    Laying her palm at the juncture of his thighs she curls her small fingers around the base of his thick shaft, slowly sliding her hand up to swipe her thumb across the damp patch on his boxers. Suddenly impatient to see him, she hooks her fingers into the waistband of his boxers, drawing them down to expose him completely to her gaze. Her eyes lock on his groin, savouring the sight of his rigid cock jutting up proudly to lay on his belly, his heavy balls hanging at the base and laying between his thighs.

    Wrapping her hand around his bare flesh, her fingers can’t fully reach around his girth as she slowly strokes him up and down while he tries his best to muffle his groans of pleasure. A bead of fluid appears at the swollen tip of his shaft and she leans down swiping at it with her tongue before planting a kiss onto the shining purple head.

    Ryan groans loudly and curses under his breath as she presses down, her tight lips enveloping the head and slowly working down the shaft as her tongue teases his rigid flesh. Ryan curses louder and she looks up at him, a humming chuckle vibrating along his cock. Meeting her eyes, the sight is almost enough to break his control. He starts reciting video game trivia in his head to distract himself as her lips bob up and down, teasing him into a fevered state. Before he embarrasses himself, he sits up and pulls her lips from his manhood, a cute little pout crossing her mouth.

    He pulls her up and kisses her hard, flipping her around so she’s on her back and he’s astride her thighs. Leaning down to kiss her again, his cock probes against her damp panties and it’s her turn to groan as he begins kissing his way down her neck, working his lips and tongue back and forth across her chest to suck and tease her turgid nipples, scraping them with his teeth and teasing the buds with his tongue.

    As he teased her chest with his mouth, Ryan reached down and slowly slid his hand up her thigh, pressing her legs open as the heat radiating from her core washed across his fingers. Cupping her over her panties, Ryan presses a finger along her slit as Abby arches her back, pressing her breast deeper into his mouth.

    Ryan slowly kisses his way down her torso, dragging her panties down her legs as he does so until her bare flesh is before his gaze. The scent of her arousal slides into his nostrils and curls through the primal part of his brain, making his mouth water and his cock harden even more. He kisses and nibbles along her inner thighs as she squirms.

    He hooks his arms under her thighs to grab her legs, pulling her to him, and to hold her still. Abby’s moans grow louder with a mix of arousal and frustration as again and again Ryan teases her but skips the one place she wants his tongue. Finally, having had enough, she leans forward far enough to grab his hair and look down at him. “Stop fucking teasing me,” she begs.

    Ryan grins up at her and seals his mouth over her dripping pussy, his tongue driving deep into her before sliding up to flick over her clit as his lips wrap tight around it. Abby arches her back and squeals, before she covers her mouth to muffle her cries. He takes that moment, and slides two thick fingers into her, stretching her out and teasing her G-spot she comes undone. Her orgasm crashing over her like a thunderous wave as she thrashes uncontrollably.

    She hears a muffled cry, and it takes her brain a moment to realize that it’s coming from her as the orgasm detonates through her entire body. Both hands cover her mouth, still struggling to keep herself quiet. Collapsing back down onto the bed, Abby’s chest works like a bellows, greedily sucking air back into her body.

    She looks down to find Ryan grinning up at her, his face liberally coated in her juices. “Jesus… that was…. oh my God,” she sputters as she lays back. She reaches down and pulls him back up, kissing him deeply and tasting herself on his lips and tongue.

    Laying between Abby’s legs, the head of Ryan’s cock nestles against her entrance and they groan into each other. “I need you in me. Like now, do you have a condom?” She says to him. Quickly reaching over to the nightstand he yanks the drawer open and pulls out a foil packet, quickly tearing it open and unrolling the condom over his rampant length.

    Laying back between her legs, he once again nestles the tip against her hole and kisses her deeply, staring into her eyes as he slowly eases the head in and he feels her tightness open up around him. Abby senses his intention and as much as his willingness to be a gentleman and take things slow touches her heart, that’s not what she wants.

    Wrapping her arms and legs around him, Abby thrusts her hips forward, taking his entire length into her until she feels him hit bottom, and she groans into his shoulder at the delicious feeling of being full of the man she loved. Abby’s eyes widen in surprise at the sudden realization and she holds him tighter.

    Holding him close, she brings her lips next to his ear. “Ryan, sweetie, you can make love to me next time. Right now, I want…. I need you to fuck me.” Releasing his arms, she lays back, and keeps her heels locked behind his butt, pulling him in deep. Ryan braces himself with a hand on either side of her head and stares down into her eyes as he slowly slides out, feeling her lips grip his shaft every inch of the way.

    Once just the tip is left embedded in her, he thrusts back in deep, making her cry out. Repeating it again and again, faster and faster, he fucks her hard, their eyes never leaving each other as he pounds into her with every ounce of feeling and passion, he’d felt for her since the moment he saw that flash of blue hair at Sagos.

    Ryan feels her tighten around him and feels the energy building up in her again so he leans on one arm and slides the other between their bodies to tease between her legs, stroking her slippery clit with his thumb, as he pounds her hard and deep. Abby’s eyes go wide as she feels the power building in her again, and she bites down hard on his shoulder, struggling to keep her cries quiet. “Ryan!” She can’t help herself, calling his name as her second orgasm hits, her tightness rippling up and down his shaft as she orgasms around him.

    Feeling her squeeze around him and hearing her call his name is enough to break the last thread of control Ryan has and he calls out her name as he thrusts into her one last time, jet after jet of cum filling the condom. Catching himself with his other hand, he slowly leans down and kisses her deeply, their tongues teasing one another until his softening cock slips free from her body.

    Quickly disposing of the rubber, Ryan lays on his side and faces Abby, taking in the sight of her stunning and beautiful well-fucked body. He aimlessly trails his fingers up and down her torso as they bask in the afterglow. Abby pulls his arm out so she can rest her head on his bicep and holds him close, peppering his face with kisses as the aftershocks of her orgasms still make her twitch.

    She gazes up into his eyes, feeling the emotions well up inside of her. A few weeks ago, she hadn’t even known he existed and now she couldn’t imagine her life without him. Burrowing in close, she kisses his chest and tangles her legs in his.

    “We should do that again sometime,” she suggests, her voice husky as she chuckles. He chuckles deep in his chest at this, and nipping at her earlobe, he growls into her ear,

    “No problem, give me twenty minutes.”

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  • Chosen Few Motorcycle Club– Photography by Gold Mustache Photography, Elliot M. Gold

    Black motorcycle clubs emerged throughout Cali in the 50s & 60s, and fought against racism and stereotypes of the day for their right to live the outlaw biker lifestyle. As they tell it — “The 60s was a hell of a time. With the Civil Rights Movement, The Vietnam War, Flower Power & Free Love. Sex, Drugs, and  Rock & Roll. Also the Crazy World of the Outlaw Bikers.”

    #Chosen few motorcycle club #elliot m gold #gold mustache photography #black bikers #black biker gang #black motorcycle club #motorcycle club#vintage#california#outlaws#black men#melanin#black history #african american history #hoodoo#ancestors#civil rights #civil rights movement
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  • Ryan had kept himself locked away, and at home for the rest of the night and straight through until the following morning without sleeping. There was something about the blue haired girl’s paranoia that had kept him out of sight, but listening for odd footsteps or anything out of the ordinary. He ordered food from a local Chinese restaurant he favored, but when someone came knocking, he was expecting something much more sinister than a delivery person at his door.

    He’d settled into trying to read, or playing some of his video games, but even the big screen in the living room with the comfy dual La-Z-Boy set up, hadn’t been able to distract him. He surfed his social media, chatting briefly with friends, but found nothing of interest there either. Everything had very little taste after her. It was like trying to eat ashes after eating a real meal.

    Sighing to himself, he looked in the mirror in his bathroom while he was brushing his teeth. Even if it was only to visit Sagos to see if she’d been there again, he had to leave. He was going stir-crazy. He starts hunting through his drawers for a shirt. It had started to rain mid-morning, so he threw on some jeans, and a simple black t-shirt, shoving his wallet into his back pocket, as he finally decided to head out. She’d been so…

    Attentive? Aware? Beautiful? Strange? There was something out there. Looking for people like them, and he worried leaving his den would bring down the wrath of that something. He frowns, and with an angry vicious crank, unlocks the door, and yanks his door open. Sine Timore, he thinks, exiting into the Nevada heat. It hits him like a wall, and even though the rain was chilly, the Nevada heat fought it. He closes his door behind him, and locks it tightly. He tests it, to make sure it’s locked, and sure enough, it refuses to open. You’re being paranoid, he frowns at himself. Always better to be safe than sorry.

    He hit the streets, and kept his eyes about him. Putting his headphones in, he shoved the end of the cord into his jeans pocket without plugging them in. Keeping himself aware and focused, watching and listening for anything out of the ordinary he makes it down Hauck street and onto Spring Mountain Road and nothing seems different. As he makes it around the corner to Sagos, he almost feels his shoulders relax, but as someone guns it by him in a souped-up Mustang, his shoulders tighten again. He’s waiting for something to reach out of the day, and strike him down, but nothing does.

    Rounding the corner, Ryan makes the next half-block without anything trying to kill him, and he lets out a slow, drawn out sigh of relief. Gripping the handle of the Sagos door with one hand, he pulls his dampened t-shirt away from his body with the other as he pulls it open, the cool air washing over him as he enters. The smoky darkness envelops him, and whereas he usually feels relaxation when he reaches there, the tightness in his shoulders stays. Nothing looks any different. There are some of the same patrons there, cursing their Keno machines, or staring at the televisions above the bar. Sin City never slept, that was for sure.
     
    Feeling himself relax a little he glances around. Nothing looks out of the ordinary, and sure enough, there’s Sonya. She must’ve taken a double shift if she was still here. He goes into the back where he usually sits, thankful for the dark of the windowless place enshrouding him. She approaches him, and doesn’t seem near as friendly as she had been with Abby there. 



    “What can I getcha, Ryan?” she asks, pushing the menu of food, and drinks in his general direction.

    “Actually, I’m looking for someone,” he says, and she juts out a hip, awaiting more information. She seemed bored, so this was as good a chance as any. He offers her a ten dollar bill, and she looks at it suspiciously without reaching for it. She wanted to know what he wanted first. “The blue haired girl that was in here with me last time,” he starts, and she immediately beams.

    “Abby?”

    “Yeah, Abby, I was just curious if you’d seen her around here after you saw her here with me?” He asks, trying to keep the hopeful tone out of his voice.

    “Sorry, sugar,” she says, with her signature Southern drawl, shaking her head. “Haven’t seen her, which is a shame. I like her. Don’t gotta tip me for that kinda thing. I was hoping I’d see her again myself.”

    “Yeah, me too. Thanks anyway, Sonya,” he gets up, a little more than a small bit perturbed. She’d come and gone like a ghost. As he stands to leave, the door swings open wide, and sure enough a flash of blue hair catches his eye. You have got to be kidding me, he thinks. She’d just shown up right when he arrived, just as he was looking for her? Her timing was… impeccable, and strange.

    As she nears him, her head tucked down, her chin to her chest, he wonders what’s different about her. Her shoulders are slumped, and she’s drenched from the rain, head to toe. Her whole posture is wrong. She’s crowded into herself, and instead of weaving through the small crowd, she bumps into several people knocking into them with her backpack, on her way to his table.

    Her graceful exit from last time, non-existent now. A white wife beater sticks to her abdomen, and this cropped hoodie sticks to her like a second skin, and he can’t help but stare at her. Even her jeans look like they were plastered to her skin. He can practically see every curve and details of her body. He blinks hard, and almost physically shakes his head.

    She reaches the table, and as she looks up, he cringes openly as he sees her face. What the fuck? She wastes no time, and touches Sonya’s arm, and emanates a need for privacy that he can feel, and says in a stern but quiet voice,

    “We need to be alone, Sonya, I’m very sorry, I promise we’ll catch up another time. Bring us three doubles of Jack, neat, two beers, and maybe a glass of ice. And don’t ask any questions or make any small talk when you come back. Here’s the money,” she lisps as she hands her a fifty. Sonya moves away without a single word about her marred face, smiling as though just happy to see her, and Abby sits down tiredly in the chair across from him.

    Her clothes are plastered to her, and droplets of rain are still running down her face and body. Her cropped hoodie is sticking to her, and he follows the droplets down the bare part of her neck to some angry bruises around her throat. He looks up to the ceiling for a moment, trying to control himself from looking anywhere else. Her clothes were clinging to her in every which way, and he prided himself on being a gentleman.  

    “What the fuck?” He takes a moment to voice his previous thought, taking her face in again. There are stitches, and butterfly bandages across her brow, and her one eye is swollen shut, and a dark, angry purple. Just above her lip on the opposing side is stitched, and swollen. She looks like she just went a round with Mike Tyson, and she seems to have no qualms about it. Or if she did, she remains looking undaunted.

    “Sorry, Ry, my face will heal, unfortunately, my personality will stay the same,” she says, teasing him. He watches her attempt to smile at her own humour, but she stops herself when the stitches impede her. He’s still staring at her, and the shock must show on his face, because she scowls. “Stop staring, please, you’re making me self-conscious,” she mumbles in a low voice. Still with that lisp. She’s looking around now, anywhere but at his face, avoiding his eyes. A small glance in the mirror behind his seat as she had before, but she seems less high-strung than the last time they met.

    “What the fuck happened to you?” He asks, blunt and straight to the point, but he looks at her with genuine concern. She smiles, gingerly, and reaches for his hand, but he moves out of reach. She sighs. She looks exhausted. He hadn’t meant to pull back, but he was still worried about who this blue-haired hurricane of a girl was.

    “Look, my face hurts. Can you just… It hurts to talk. I can’t do that to you, remember? But this way I won’t mess up my stitches, okay? Just… give a gal a break,” she pleads, and reaches out again. Only this time, she offers her hand to him instead, palm up. Giving him the option instead. She would speak if she had to, and he seemed to feel that, but if she didn’t, he’d be saving her pain.

    He sits stoic for a moment, before reaching out, and placing his hand in hers. There is no tingle this time, he just feels her gratefulness. Her empathy, and understanding at why this is such a scary thing to do. And how sorry she is… To put him in this position?

    He looks at her sternly, and her eyes are sad, and she hasn’t moved an inch. Almost afraid she’ll scare him away if she moves. And he feels that. That she knows he’s scared, and she doesn’t want to scare him away. She seems to frown ever so gently. He shakes his head, as though to negate that feeling.

    “I’m not afraid,” he says quietly.

    Yes, you are, and that’s okay, Ryan, she says without speaking. He frowns, but holds her hand tighter, unwilling to let go now that she was finally there. And that makes her smile again ever so softly. She liked that he liked her. She liked him, too. And she knew he’d come in here looking for her.

    What happened to you? He thinks this at her, wondering if it would land, and she drops her eyes. There’s a flash of pain, and he clenches his teeth, and when the second time it happens, he hisses through his clenched jaw, but refuses to let go of her hand. He tightens his grip, and feels her breathing hard as he does so. As his vision clears, he sees dark eyes, and dark hair. Shaved along the sides, longer in the middle, and a mostly empty bottle of tequila. The smell of leather and cigarette smoke. He feels her fear, and for a moment, pure panic grips him, and he almost coughs on his inhale. He growls low in his chest, and tightens his grip on her hand, until she suddenly squeaks at his grip, and his vision clears abruptly. He lets go of her hand, and frowns.

    “Sorry,” he mutters, pulling his hand under the table and gripping the edge of his seat. Anything to stop himself from reaching out again. At that moment, Sonya returns and places the drinks in the center of their table, along with a glass of ice. Without a word, she turns on her heel, and walks away. Abby sighs, sounding thankful for the abrupt interruption.  “Who is he?” He asks plainly, without any fanfare.

    Abby grabs at one of the doubles, and downs it swiftly, hissing violently as it hits the cut of her swollen upper lip, stinging aggressively. She coughs to clear her voice this time, sounding like any average person who would take a double in a single swig, and hunches over the table for a moment. She grabs a piece of ice from the glass, and puts her against her mouth.

    “Sorry,” she says quietly. “Stings like a mother,” she mumbles. His brow furrows as he watches her collect herself, and despite himself, he leans in closer and takes her in. One blue eye looks at him partially fearful, and worried.

    “Abby,” he says quietly, but firmly. “What, and I cannot express this enough, the fuck, happened to you? Who did this? And why?” He stares her down, and she seems to flinch inwardly before looking away. She seems to cringe at the memory, and quietly murmurs through her lisp,

    “Look, I need a shower. Maybe a few more stiff drinks. A place to crash for a couple of hours. I won’t steal anything, I promise. You can hold the money that I have on me until I leave. It’s almost a grand. Y’can stay awake, but I gotta clean myself up, and change clothes. My bike is already parked across the street from your place, and well hidden. Would you just… let me shower, get some sleep, and go?”

    “My place?” he questions, looking at her hard.

    “I can smell you, remember?” She says quietly, before reaching for the second double. He goes to stop her, reaching for her hand – catching nothing but air. She may be injured, but she’s fast, and she downs it quickly. Hissing afterwards, her eyes watering as the sting hits her split lip, and trickles down from the corner of her mouth. She gently dries her mouth with the back of her sleeve, before putting the slowly melting ice back on her upper lip.

    “Right,” he nods, and cringes on her behalf. “And if I let you in my place, what’s to stop the bad from coming and beating down my door?”

    “Nothing,” she answers, honestly. And she suddenly looks so sad, he suddenly realizes she’s being truthful. Honest, and true. The light blue of her one good eye hiding nothing in that very moment. It was the big bad, and it was dangerous. And she was bringing that danger into his life if he let her.

    “Nothing,” he repeats after her. He pauses, reaching for the last double of Jack.

    “Nothing,” she echoes, and the truth in her voice makes him quiver a little. He downs the double, without ever breaking eye contact with her. She nods, realizing that this was the moment. He could walk away, and she would let him. He could leave, and she wouldn’t stop him. Ryan laughs abruptly, startling her. He realizes now, that he’d been looking for her, he’d wanted to find her, and here she was. Within reach, and she needed help. His help. And he’d be damned if he turned her away. He’d wanted to know more, and now he knew at least a little more. He’d get his answers if she came back with him. He knew that much.

    “Fuck it,” he says. “Let’s go.”

    He moves quickly, standing and walking towards the exit. She grabs the beer from the table, along with her backpack, and chugs half of it by the time they reached the door. None of it was graceful, none of it was beautiful. She was desperate, and he felt it.

    Before he pushes the door to exit Sagos, he turns to her, and offers her his hand. She puts the beer in her hand on a nearby table, and with a look like absolute gratefulness places her small hand in his. He pulls her out the door, and leads her home without another word.

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