The Last Ride

She said the last bitterly, spitting the words like poison.

I didn't know what to say. We just lay there for a long time, wide awake and silent. Hell isn't some fiery place underground, full of brimstone and demons. Hell lives in words. Words like 'breast cancer' and 'metastasized.'

Words like 'terminal.'

No amount of 'it's gonna be okay' or 'I'll be here for you' would change a damn thing. Gypsy didn't have long and she didn't want pity. She just wanted to be Gypsy again.

I could do that, maybe. "Hey, how about we go by Danny Delp's tomorrow. It's still standing and it's not too far out of the way. I heard they have great steak and good beer."

She answered in a listless sigh. "I guess that'd be okay."

"It's kind of crowded sometimes, but there are no 'citizens' and its mostly neutral ground now."

"Really?" There was a spark of something.

"Guy got stabbed there a couple months ago. Timberwolves, I think. Everybody's on edge, but we'll be fine. Not our fight."

"Not our fight." I could hear her interest, the unspoken 'we'll see about that' in her voice. She settled in and fell away into sleep while I wondered if I was actually insane.

*****

It took nearly nine hours to reach Danny Delp's BBQ Pit, a lonely clapboard building up against the cliff face in Devil's Bend. A giant outdoor bonfire sat outside with the charred remains of rice burners sticking up out of the huge rock-lined pit. The Harleys lined up outside the place should have been warning enough for anyone on a Japanese bike not to stop, but there are always more fools than you think.

I parked near a row of bikes with the winged skull "Stingers" of the Hell's Angels on their tanks.

Gypsy stumbled for a second then caught herself and stood upright. She flipped the tail of her joint away, took another slug of whiskey and dropped the empty next to the bike.

I looked at her. "Ready for some steak?"

She gave her Devil's smile, the one I knew so well. "Steak."

The place was about half-full, but the mix of colors made it a fucking powder keg. Two big Hell's Angels were studying my bike out the window, trying to make sense of the icy blue demon on the tank. Mongols, Pagans, and a couple Rock Machine from way the fuck up in Canada sat around the place watching each other warily along with a half dozen clubs I didn't even recognize.

It just felt right.

I found a table in the middle and looked at Jane. "Get me a fucking beer." I said it loud enough to carry. "Make it two." Her eyes danced with unholy light as she shot me that evil smile and turned towards the bar.

It must have been an enormous effort for her, but she walked with the same slinky strut she'd always had. The hip swaying arrogant movements of a true queen of the damned.

She timed it perfectly, smoothly snatching a tray from the barmaid just as she went to put it down in front of a couple Timberwolves prospects sitting with a table of full patch members.

She rolled her eyes at the barmaid who was already backing away in wide eyed panic. "Waste good beer on fucking prospects? Jesus. I can't believe you even let them in here. The stink is nasty."

She was already halfway back before the prospects decided what to do.

They were fucked either way, and they knew it. Start a fight on neutral ground over a bitch or let the insult go unanswered in front of full patches. I could see Gypsy's face light up when she heard the chairs behind her fall backwards.

I caught the first with a straight right just as he caught up to her; she'd been so smooth she'd reached our table and simply stepped out of the way. He staggered back, and I caught the second prospect in the knee with a steel toed boot.

Stars lit my vision as the first one managed to catch me on the side of the face, but it was hardly the first time I'd taken a hit and I sunk my fist into his solar plexus, then hammered him with an uppercut as he leaned forward.

The second prospect had backed off a step. He was young, and certainly more endurance than a tired old man.

That just meant I had to end it faster.

He'd backed off, but not far enough. I grabbed his left wrist with my left and he looked at me in shock as a hand that tossed bags of concrete every day ground his bones together. He couldn't get his guard up to stop the right cross that slammed into his face with every ounce of strength I had.

I stared down at them, then looked at Gypsy. "Beer."

She handed me a mug with trembling hands and a breathless sigh that had nothing to do with fear or weakness and slid behind me.

I downed it as the table full of Timberwolves stood up as one.

I turned to face them. So be it.

A chair slid across the floor, stopping and tipping over dead between us. I looked back. An older Hell's Angel stood slowly and looked at them. "You ready to start a war over fucking prospects and bitches?" He nodded towards me. "You go after him, we're obliged to participate. Wandering Sons have an agreement with us. It's old as hell, but I don't remember anyone telling me it's over. Angels honor their obligations. Prospects do prospect shit. That's why they're fucking prospects."

The oldest of the Timberwolves considered it, then nodded once. This wasn't worth a war, sure as hell not with HAMC, and he'd gotten a chance to see whether his prospects had steel.

He gestured and the prospects dragged themselves outside. The Angel pulled a chair to our table and studied me. "Been hearing about the Iceman my whole fucking life. Until I saw the paint and the colors, I was starting to think you were a myth."

"Not yet." I glanced up as the leader of the Timberwolves walked up. I gestured to an empty chair and he sat down just as the barmaid came up with a tray with three beers. I glanced up at Gypsy, standing behind me, and she sent me a tiny wink, pressing herself slightly, almost imperceptibly, against my back. I could feel the hard edges and weight of the automatic she had in her vest, right where it always, was, right where I'd always been able to reach it when I'd needed it.

But that wasn't why she pressed against me.

The Angel looked up at her. "She's fuckin' dangerous." He stared at the ceiling, straining to remember. "The Gypsy. Shit." He shook his head. "I was warned before I was a full patch. See her, walk the other fuckin' way."

I nodded. "She hates the idea of the weak or stupid wearing colors. Doesn't matter what club. It just makes her sick. She can always find them."

He chuckled. "Old School shit there."

The Timberwolf eyed Gypsy for a second then looked over at me. "What would you have done if the Angels weren't here?"

"Same damn thing. Hell, I didn't know if anyone remembered the pact."

He leaned back, sizing me up. "You'd have been a bit outnumbered."

Gypsy leaned forward a bit. Her eyes were glistening and that smile gleamed like bared fangs. "Iceman's never really outnumbered, but if there are enough, he starts playing for keeps."

He glanced over the waterfall of crimson skulls on my vest and chose to ignore Gypsy. "You doing any business?" The question was loaded, he was still wondering if an old enforcer had been brought out to start a fight on purpose.

I shook my head. "We're just riding. Stopped for some steak."

*****

The steak was perfect, Gypsy even ate a little, never really looking away from me, bright-eyed and wicked as ever. I knew she felt the wary stares of the rest of the patrons, now all-too aware of what had come through the door. I knew what those stares were doing to her, what they'd always done to her.

I knew that the stories of what happened would spread later, like they always had. Somewhere a prospect would be warned that the Iceman and Gypsy were still out there somewhere, still riding.

It was another hour to the motel, a little shithole, but they took cash and the doors locked.

Gypsy almost crumpled on her first step, but I caught her; her eyes started to flash rage. I ignored it and laughed. "Jesus, Gypsy, drink enough whiskey today? Too damn drunk to walk again?"

Her anger evaporated instantly when there was no pity or concern. No sick old ladies. Just Iceman trying to get drunk-ass Gypsy into a motel, like a thousand times before.

She shook her head and played along, leaning on me heavily. "I must have had more than I thought."

"You always did overdo it." I turned and hefted her up to put her over my shoulder, as softly as I could. She was feather-light, a wisp.

She actually giggled. "I can walk, Ice. Really, put me down."

I smacked her butt gently. "Bullshit, drunks always say that."

She pretended to struggle and I gave her another little smack, just a bit harder. "Settle down, Gypsy."

"What if I don't?"

"You know what happens if you misbehave. You always were a rowdy drunk." I managed to get the door open and carried her in, kicking the door shut behind me.

I put her down and she suddenly stepped away, a shadow crossing her face. "I... I just..." She slipped into the bathroom.

It was ten minutes before she came out, in that same oversize t-shirt, refusing to look me in the eye.

I got cleaned up and went back out and sat on the bed, where she huddled on her side facing the wall. She almost jumped out of her skin when I slid in close behind her and pulled her up against me.

We lay there for second; I thought about what Jenny had said. She was right, this couldn't hurt Terry and Jenny. "You have fun today Gypsy?"

She sighed. "I guess."

"Bullshit. You were fucking grinding against my back at Delp's." I slid a hand down to her thigh. "I bet you're wet as hell right now."

"Don't!" Her hand came down trapping my hand against her thigh.

"You are, aren't you?"

"I'm... it doesn't matter." It was almost convincing. Almost, But she was still holding my hand pinned to her thigh.

"Just admit it. That little pussy is soaked." I squeezed her thigh softly.

She acted like she was trying to push my hand away, but didn't let go and our hands somehow ended up on her bare hip, under her t-shirt. "...stop it, Ice..."

"Why?" I slid my hand onto her stomach under the shirt and she just kept her hand on top of mine.

"Because...because I'm not...pretty anymore."

"Bullshit Gypsy. All I'll ever see when I look at you is that hot-as-hell bitch from Sturgis. You haven't changed a damn bit."

She started to protest, but cut off at "Oh!" as my fingers traced their way through the downy hair. She arched her back, letting me kiss her neck. Then she spread her legs and let my fingers trace downward.

They found her as hot and wet as she'd ever been. She groaned softly as I toyed with her.

I whispered in her ear. "You're a bad girl Gypsy. Something's got you all steamed up. Was it the fight or getting your ass smacked?"

"Every... everything. Feeling your hand on my ass. But watching you fight for me... It always did...does something to me. I get so fucking horny." She trailed off, trying to catch her breath.

"You loved standing there, rubbing that hot little pussy against me at Delp's didn't you?"

"I... I..." She shuddered wordlessly and thrust against my hand.

I gave her a second and just felt the pulses of her orgasm against my fingertips. "You like that?"

"Love... that. Those big fucking hard hands on my pussy."

I pulled my hand back and she gave a disappointed sigh, then jumped, trying to pull away, as I began pulling her shirt up.

"No, Ice..."

"Gypsy Jane never wore a goddamn thing to bed except a scarf."

"I'm not the same..."

"You're Gypsy-Fucking-Jane and that hot little pussy is about to get pounded. This fucking t-shirt is coming off. Are you going to make me tear it to pieces?"

She hesitated, then turned her head and looked me dead in the eyes. "You wouldn't."

I know a dare when I hear one. It took less than a minute to send the t-shirt in pieces onto the floor. She struggled gleefully the whole time. I tossed her onto her back and slid between her already-spread thighs. She tried to cover her chest with her hands until I trapped her wrists in my hands and pinned them above her head.

I knew about the surgeries and the scars, Jenny had warned me. It didn't matter at all. I just stared into those sin-dark eyes. "Remember you earned this, you know what happens when you misbehave."

Her eyes widened as I began to push into her. "Oh, Jesus. Easy... it's been thirty fucking years since a guy has..." She trailed off into a gasp as I thrust all the way in. She was boiling hot and soaking wet.

She ground up against me, trying to adjust, trying to catch her breath. "Fu... fu... fuck."

I let her have a second. Just a second. "Still want it easy, Gypsy?"

"No. Goddamn it. Wait." She pushed me up off her just a bit and brought her legs up higher and higher, getting one over my shoulder, then the other, lacing her ankles behind my neck. "Over thirty fucking years of yoga."

I had to laugh. "Jesus, Gypsy, you've just gotten better."

She shivered and gave a small moan. "God. That thing's gonna fucking split me in half." I felt her fingernails bite into my shoulders. "Do it Ice; just fuck the hell out of me."

As light as she was, it was easy to just grab her and slam into her over and over. It was what she needed, what she craved. Every orgasm made her wetter and wetter, and she fired a stream of obscene encouragement at me, begging, demanding, every thrust. When I was afraid I'd hurt her with her legs up like that, I just flipped her over and took her from behind; she screamed into a pillow when she felt me coming in her.

She finally accepted that her scars didn't bother me; she pulled off, pushed me onto my back and impaled herself, lazily riding me cowgirl for an eternity, until we both finally ran out of steam.

The whole fucking bed was a wet spot, so I just dragged the blankets over us, her head resting on my chest, our legs tangled together.

*****

The next morning, she wore a serene smile, but she was pale and weaker than ever. "Ice, we... I think... we may need to hurry."

I knew what that meant. We rode for another six hours. I was afraid I'd have to tie her to me, or that she wouldn't make it all the way, but with her bag braced between her back and the bitch bar, she managed to hold on until we reached the side road I'd been told about. I followed it up to the tiny abandoned cabin. Lush weeds covered the fields where marijuana plants had grown before; I could see a few of them sticking up out of the greenery.

She was barely conscious as I carried her into the cabin. It was clean and neat, the windows opened to the fresh air, and the bed Cindy and Jane had shared had fresh sheets and blankets.

I set her down as carefully as I could, but her eyes flickered open. "Ice... thank you."

"Thank you, Gypsy." I sat next to her and kissed her gently.

I sensed movement from outside and the front door opened. Jenny walked in and sat on the other side of the bed, leaned over and kissed her sister softly. "Love you, Sis."

Jane looked at her and sighed contentedly. "You made it."

"I flew in yesterday morning. Your friends picked me up and dropped me off here."

"You'll need... a way home." Jane made a soft laughing sound and feebly pushed her embroidered bag into Jenny's hands. "Ice can give you a ride... but it's ass, cash, or grass. You got half a kilo of Indigo Crush in there, and you're the second hottest piece of ass on the planet."

Jenny laughed along with her, trailing her fingers over Jane's face. "Did it work?"

Jane smiled, a fading soft smile. "Every dream I ever had."

The sisters whispered and talked until Jane finally couldn't anymore. Until Jenny and I just lay on either side of her, holding her hands.

As a final gift to me, Gypsy let go and slipped away in the night, releasing me from that final unspoken promise of mercy.

At sunrise, we carried her out back and laid her to rest where her friends had prepared a place for her next to Cindy. Jenny made sure her scarf was perfect and we placed a full bottle of whiskey by her side. Her lips were curved in the same wicked smile as the day I first saw her.

We stayed for five days until everything was settled and the pain had faded, mostly just sitting outside and listening to the sound of the forest around us. We knew we'd be back, maybe permanently, someday.

We still had things to do in the real world, so on the fifth day we carefully closed everything up to make sure it would be ready for our return.

When I finished locking up and walked out, Jenny was sitting on the bike, tying a blue and green scarf over her hair. She finished and took my hand, pulled the ring off her thumb, and slid it onto my finger with a gentle smile.

"I told you it couldn't hurt us, Terry. You've belonged to both of us since the day she asked me to take care of you, forty years ago."

I caught an odd gleam on the ring and turned it to look closely at a brand new inscription.

"Love Forever, Jenny & Gypsy"

Post Production Notes:

I am a 'civilian' in the vocabulary of the MCs; I don't belong to any MC, though I am familiar with a few. I asked people who live that life for advice on this. Some of the details are deliberately fuzzy; partly for brevity, partly because some things are none of anybody else's business and certainly not mine to put out. If Gypsy's status doesn't seem to quite fit the role of 'ol lady' and yet doesn't quite seem right for 'sheep,' that's deliberate. She's intended to be unique.

Wandering Sons and Timberwolves are both entirely fictional MCs, at least as far as I can tell; there are no major MCs with those names that any of the people I talked with were aware of.

Delp's is patterned off a neutral ground bar I've been to a number of times, though it is sadly no longer as neutral as it once was. Great onion rings though.

Again, I have to recognize The Missus for her unwavering support and for graphically pointing out the advantages of "thirty fucking years of yoga."

I still can't believe how supportive everyone here is, reader and authors alike; that's not an empty statement, I mean it. Thanks for everything.