Blue Fire

Chapter Twelve - The Big Three

SARA

I had kissed Catcher, the VP of this club, three times now. Three hot times that were branded on my brain forever.

The second time came when I was in the shop with Green. He went into Catcher's bay and asked if he wanted some lunch, and then the second Green left, Catcher came in and went right at me. He pushed me up on the hood of the Honda CRV we'd been working on, attacked me and then left me panting five minutes later when he, apparently, decided that it was over and disappeared.

The last time was just about two weeks ago.

**

Being a thirty-year-old high school drop-out was a pain in the ass. I knew this from experience since I wasn't as smart as most people considering I had no fucking clue where Yemen was. I'd done okay, I'd managed just fine without a GED. But, I had dreams, hopes and aspirations.

I'd been at the Wilder compound for five months now. It was right around thanksgiving and I needed a purpose that was other than cleaning shit just because I had idle hands and at least three of my brothers were dirty bastards and all of them were dirty when it came to their bikes. I'd washed bikes now for nearly five months. It had started with Green, as most things did.

I'd been casted up, leg and arm plastered and useless, and sat in a plastic chair in front of some boosted up BMW that he was installing a new gearbox in. He was a meticulous kind of guy whereas I just wanted to try and see if it worked. Thus, I was bored of him and his endless checks and calculations.

I'd spotted his bike out on the parking lot of the shop and it was all muddy. I'd frowned, grabbed my crutches and hobbled my way out there to inspect it. His bike was magnificent, a Harley Davidson Dyna Lowrider – as I'd been lovingly told when I was bored and asked, none of those words meant much to me yet but she sure was pretty – with a tip-top engine that purred like a well-fed cat. But it was covered in dust and a significant amount of mud.

"What you doing, Baby Girl?" He'd asked and I'd frowned up at him.

"Your bike is dirty."

"Not tellin' me something I don't know."

I'd bitten my lip, adopted a face I'd used many-a-time before and looked up at him. "Can I clean it? I'll use my good hand," I lifted it and waved my fingers in his face. "I'll be real gentle, promise."

He'd looked at me like I was asking to polish his taint for a moment before he sighed and walked back into the bay to grab my chair and all the washes, polishes and rags a girl could wish for.

That had led to me cleaning other bikes. Most of which I got permission for, one of which I cleaned without consent but which was never mentioned so I figured it was okay.

But I needed a plan, a purpose, a goal.

So, I needed a GED to get to my goal.

My dad had been a shit dad but a good mechanic, his friends had been better ones and they'd been around and not afraid to show me shit that no ten-year-old would normally be accustomed to, included but not limited to how to change a fan-belt, a transmission and their cocks. I learnt the first two, the last I ignored to their humor.

I had learned, both from my shitty dad and his flashing friends and after years of experience and a sense of 'you can fucking do it!', which meant I had some technical skill when it came to engines.

But, to be a licensed mechanic in the state of Colorado, I needed a GED.

I had busted my ass for two months, sitting in the common room, often late at night or early mornings, reading all the things I had been required to know about fourteen years ago but was just now trying to learn. I sucked ass at history and social studies, but I was absolutely abysmal at math. Truly, it was staggering how bad I was.