Patience: Biker Romance (The Davis Chapter Book 1) (3 page)

I knew he was a biker, but something about seeing that big Harley in a parking space stirred something in me. As far as my memory was concerned, I’ve never ridden a motorcycle before. It wasn’t scary, exactly, but the thought of going sixty miles an hour without a seatbelt was a little unnerving. That, plus the fact that I’d have to wrap my arms around Thunder’s body. It was all enough to get my heart racing. I might have ridden a motorcycle one thousand times, but that day would be the first ride of my new life.

It was pure exhilaration. It was like standing at the edge of a cliff with your eyes closed. The motor was a constant and deep rumble between my legs. I couldn’t tell if Thunder was pushing extra hard because of me, or if he just lived life that hard all the time. If he did, I could understand why he looks so young and so old at the same time. Adrenaline kept you feeling young, but it took its toll.

On the back of Thunder’s Harley-Davidson, I watched the scenery come and go. He told me that my apartment was in Winters, a small town outside of Davis. The Watering Hole was on the east side of town, but Thunder headed west to the promise of a great breakfast.

The diner was a hole in the wall hidden treasure. My mind had been racing since the moment I woke up, and until I sat down, I didn’t realize that I was starving. The fight the night before must have really taken it out of me. The second that I looked at the menu, my stomach let itself be known.

Thunder ordered French toast, and I had three plate-sized flapjacks coming my way. The food couldn’t come soon enough. Between the exhaustion of my memory loss and the exhilaration of the motorcycle ride, I felt like I could down way more than my share of food. Thunder didn’t say much, but he watched me. I thought it would be unnerving, but there was a certain calmness to it. There was a certain calmness to
him.
I couldn’t begin to explain it.

“What do you think I do?” I asked after I took a big swig of coffee. My apartment made it seem like I wasn’t an executive somewhere, that was for sure. I didn’t want to admit to Thunder what my guess was. Based on the lifestyle that “Patience” lived, my mind jumped straight to stripper. My body was fit and toned, so it made the most sense, even though sense was in short supply.

Thunder turned and looked out the window. There was nothing out there to see, so I knew he was stalling. Maybe he had the same thought that I did. After all, a woman named Patience with a mission to fuck every biker in a motorcycle club sounds exactly like the type of woman that would oil herself up and stripped down for money.

I shook my head, “Don’t you say it. Please don’t you say what I’m thinking.”

He turned back to me, my smile sparking one of his own, “Were you thinking spy, too?”

“Spy?” I couldn’t help but chuckle, “Not at
all
what I was thinking, but I’ll take it.”

Thunder was a genuine man. I knew he had told me everything he knew about me, and even when he didn’t know the answer to something, it helped me feel a little more at ease. My life was a swirling black mass of confusion, and the biker that I woke up naked next to was my only real connection to the world. How can I repay him? How can I thank him for even bothering with me? He could have snuck home the second he found out that my memory was gone. Instead, he had gone out of his way to help me back to reality.

Maybe it was some ghost of Patience floating deep within my mind, but one thought occurred to me; one way to pay my debt; one thing a hot young, woman could give a hot, strong biker: sex.

That thought was with me, even as we rode to the Watering Hole. I was eager to regain my memory and get back to my life, but Thunder was taking up more and more of my thoughts. Squeezing him tight as we leaned into each turn on the road didn’t help matters. How many bikers had I wrapped my arms around? I didn’t like the potential answers that came into my head, so I decided the answer was only one: Thunder.

The place didn’t look anything like a bar. It would have looked more like a body shop if the front had been littered with busted cars. It was a one story cement block building. Gravel surrounded on all sides, I’m guessing it served as the parking lot. At just after 2 PM, the place was deserted save for one car. I was hoping and guessing that it was mine. I was hoping and praying that my wallet would be inside.

My fought was that the car would spark something inside of me, but it did not. I assumed it was mine because it was the only one parked at the bar. Thunder pulled up next to it and killed the engine to his beastly machine. After riding a Harley for more than an hour, my car looked like a prison cell. Straddling the roaring motorcycle was the only memory I had.

The car was a Chevy painted some nail polish-gone-wrong shade of green. There was some flashy bright pink writing on the side, but too much of it had peeled away to read. Patches of rust dotted the lower half, and the dark interior looked as dirty as the gravel below the car.
Of course,
I thought.
Why shouldn’t my car match my apartment?
If I really was a stripper, I must not have been a very good one. Either that, or I was terrible with money. Seeing that shitty car outside the Watering Hole cut me deep.

“Come on. Maybe I should take this chance to start the fuck over.” The weightlessness of the motorcycle ride vanished. The heavy mystery was back on my shoulders. Who was I? What did I do? What had I done to deserve such a shit life?

Thunder tapped the hood. “Hey, now. Don’t be so quick to discount this fine automobile.” I thought he was making fun of me, so I extended a finger to show them how I felt about it. “I’m serious. This car— not this
actual
car, of course—was the pace car for the 1990 Indianapolis 500. It’s no Mustang or Corvette, but it’s something.”

Thunder was always trying to make me feel better. He was damn good at it, too. A smile came to my face and I rolled my eyes, “Most of those words meant absolutely nothing to me, just so you know.”

“Ah, let me translate. If it starts and runs, you’re doin’ better than a lot of people. Hop inside, sweetheart.” If Thunder had charmed me like this the night before, it’s no wonder I went home with him. He had an easy way about him that was very hard to resist. Apparently I had to type: muscles, tattoos, and heart.

I nodded to him and reached for the handle. The inside was scattered with papers and random trash, but nothing that looked like an envelope or anything official.
Fingers crossed for the glovebox,
I told myself. I’m sure no one ever had more stress riding on opening a car door. I reached up to the handle, wondering how many times I’d opened it and how many miles I’d driven the car.

My heart was racing. It was such a silly thing, but it could hold the key to getting my memory back. I pulled, and the handle gave. The door opened, and I looked over to give Thunder a look. “Small victories, huh?”

My sexy biker chauffeur was leaning up against the wall of the bar. He had one foot planted against it, too. He looked undeniably good. He didn’t reply, just give me a nod and ushered me on. After the breath, I slid down into the driver seat. Looking around the dirty car, I began to wonder if my memory would ever come back. Not a single thing had jumped back into my head. Not a name, not a memory, nothing. When I tilted the visor down, a key ring dropped into my lap. There were two house keys and one car key. A beaten and worn Mickey Mouse keychain held all three. I would have killed for a tiny little license plate with my name on it. The glove box with my last hope.

I leaned across the center console and flipped the latch. The plastic door dropped down, and my eyes went wide. Two large, black handguns were the only things inside my glove box.

Why in the hell did I have two guns in there? Why in the hell
didn’t
I have any identification? There wasn’t a wallet, a purse, even one bill or letter with my name and address on it. I was more lost than I was before. Why would some biker cock chaser need two guns, let alone one? Did I know how to use them, was I holding them for someone, had I
shot
someone?

Before we arrived at the bar, I was a mystery woman with a nickname. After sitting in front of the bar, I was still a mystery woman, but now I had a car and two guns. Thunder raised his hands to either side of him outside of my car, “Well? Are we gonna be formally introduced?”

I looked up, startled. I don’t know why, but my heart raced. My eyes darted all around as I tried to think through things. With no idea what to say to Thunder, I looked down to see that I was picking at my fingernails hard.
Oh good, I have a nervous tic.
I was learning so much about myself. I didn’t want to tell Thunder about the guns. I don’t know why, but it was like my mind was screaming at me, and I was barely picking up the sound. Was there some reason buried deep in the dark recesses of my mind?
 

I didn’t know the answer. What else was new? I looked at Thunder through the windshield of my car and tried to read him. Did he know the guns were in there? Had
he
put them there? Were they there as protection
from
him? Until I could answer at least one of those questions, I decided to lie. Was it a lie, though, if you had no memory? I didn’t have time for philosophical questions, even though they rained down on me like a summer storm.

Closing the glovebox with care, I shook my head. “I don’t think there’s anything in here that will help.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, so I didn’t feel too badly. He nodded, and I was watching him more closely than ever. Thunder stayed leaning back against the wall of the bar. I was at a dead end.

There was nothing comforting about the car, but I did feel better with a bit of distance between me and Thunder. Fear and doubt are taking over my mind. I felt more afraid knowing I had two guns in my car than when I woke up next to a stranger. Maybe it was something more than memory. Maybe it was instinct. Whatever it was, I needed some time to myself. I needed some time away from Thunder. It wouldn’t be for long, though.
Somebody
at the Watering Hole has to know something. As soon as the place opened up that night, I’d be back.

In the meantime, though, I thought it best to leave Thunder be. My feelings about him swung back and forth like a pendulum out of control. Get rid of him, but
be cool about it.

I stepped from the car with my keys in hand. Thunder pushed off of the wall, and I thought I saw suspicion in his eyes. He seemed more menacing, but I tried to tell myself that was fear.

“Still a stranger?”

“It seems that way. Look, Thunder. I really can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done.” It was the beginning of my speech to wrap things up.

A half smile appeared, “It’s nothing, really.”

“It’s not nothing.” I was
trying
to wrap it up, anyway. “Not everyone would’ve done that. Shit, I bet one in ten thousand would have done what you did. You’re a good man, Thunder.”

I stayed standing next to the driver’s side, the car door between us. He took a step forward and leaned his hands on the top of the door, “This feels like goodbye to me.” I was almost certain something was up. I tried to keep eye contact with him, even though his stare was rougher than sandpaper.