ROAD RAGE -sample 18+

“Clean up in aisle six.”

I was busy stocking up the shelf when the call rang out. A box of canned fruit sat at my feet. I turned and headed for the stock room to get the mop and bucket.

The ghastly green ‘One Stop’ smock hid the tight jeans and low-cut blouse I was wearing. Even though I had to cover up for work, I still wanted to look my best. Confidence was the key, so I thought.

The only time I struck up a conversation with customers was when I worked on the tills. And even then, it was just to comment on the weather or to ask after someone’s health. So, when I turned into aisle six, I didn’t pay much notice to the shoppers. My attention was fixed on the sticky, sweet-smelling goo lying across the length of the aisle.

“Shit,” I said and tutted.

“Sorry about that,” a husky male voice spoke.

There was laughter in his tone. I was about to apologize for my remark, but the words got stuck in my throat.

He stood staring at me with a wide grin that showed his perfect teeth. He was wearing racing colours; trousers: red with a white stripe. He held a helmet in the crook of his arm. Inside were bright coloured leather gloves.

“Not to worry,” I said, finding the words to speak.

Beaming a smile, he swept his hand through short, layered blond hair.

I couldn’t tell what sort of build he had, as the padding in the protective clothing he was wearing would have built him up. However, from where I was standing, he was fit. Fit enough to get my interest.

My name was called over the speakers.

“Damn,” I cursed. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

I placed the warning sign around the mess.

“It was nice to meet you, Gemma.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” I said. Then, with regret, I walked away.

Before I turned from the aisle, I looked back and noticed the patch on the back of his jacket. Now the biker held more interest to me.

I rushed up to the customers who were standing by the till waiting. Shoving the groceries into bags, I took no notice of what or how I was packing. I wanted to get the queue down, get off the till, and go and take another look at the guy.

After the last customer left, I signed off, and then rushed to the toilets to check myself over. Reaching for my back pocket, I reapplied my coffee metallic lipstick, pulled the elastic band from my long brown hair. Combing my fingers through, I made sure I looked presentable. If my reflection looked this good in a cracked and rusty mirror, then I was sure to look okay on the shop floor under the artificial light. There was no way I was meeting the biker again while wearing the smock. I didn’t care what my supervisor thought. It wasn’t very often that a male customer would catch my eye, but this guy was special.

I searched the aisles but couldn’t see him. My misery started to peak as I thought I’d lost my chance when my eye caught a glimpse of red from his trousers as he turned the corner. I found him beside the frozen food section. There were no other staff about, so I walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

He turned around, startled, and then smiled when he saw me. I held my hand out.

“Hi, I’m Gem,” I said and gave him my sexiest smile.

He shook my hand.

“Shep,” he answered.

“Shep,” I questioned. “Isn’t that a name of a sheepdog?”

I was thankful he didn’t take offence. He laughed and shook his head. “Long story short, my family lives on a farm; I got the nickname from the club.”

“Yeah, I saw your jacket. So, you’re a member of Rage?”

“I’m surprised you’ve heard of us. You don’t look like the sort...” He stopped.

“It’s okay. My leathers are out the back.”

He laughed. “You in a club?”

“Nah, I just race sometimes. Down at the circuit.”

“I’ve never seen you, pity,” he said.

I stood staring at him, with a big grin on my face. I didn’t care that I was embarrassing myself. I just couldn’t turn away. After seconds of silence, awkwardness kicked in.

“I’d better let you get on with your shopping,” I said. “Your food’s gonna defrost before you get home. It was nice meeting you, Shep.”

“You too, Gem.”

“Maybe I’ll see you around the circuit sometime.”

“Hope so,” he answered.

I expected him to give me his number, but it looked as though my infatuation wasn’t going to be returned. I turned and walked away, cursing myself, for being either too upfront or too reserved. He’s probably married, I told myself as I tried to come up with an excuse as to why he wasn’t interested in me. I knew it was the scar that ran down the side of my face that put him off. I felt I’d lost my facial attraction a long time ago. The war scar reminded me of a past I’d hoped to forget but got reminded of every time I looked in the mirror.

Dinner time came and I sat alone in the staff room on an old rickety chair. I was eating my pathetic, boring cheese and cucumber sandwiches and trying to block out the awful chart-topping number that was crackling away on a radio. Tracy, a fellow worker, came in swinging her hip, waving her hands, and trying her hardest to hit the notes as loud as she could. I was about to cover my ears when she stopped and announced there was a guy outside asking for me.

My day turned sunny again when I saw Shep waiting outside the stairway door. But it was too sunny, and as I wasn’t wearing my sunglasses, I had to cover my eyes from the glare.

“Hi,” he grinned.

“Hey,” I said and smiled.

“Umm. Listen, what time do you finish?”

“About five.”

“Do you fancy going for a drink after work?”

“Sounds good,” I grinned. Inside I was jumping up and down and my stomach was doing somersaults.

“You’ll have to pick me up though. My ride is at home.”

“Oh, what you got?” he asked.

“A Suzuki GSX R600.”

His eyebrows rose. “Nice machine.”

“And yours?” I asked.

“I’ve got a couple. I use the Honda VTR 1000 for the circuit. But I get around on my Yamaha R6, mostly.”

“Cool. Bring a lid with you, okay?” I said, referring to a helmet.

“So, I’ll see you at five?”

“Yeah, looking forward to it.” I watched him walk away until a thought occurred.

“Hey, Shep,” I called.

He turned.

“You married?”

“Hell no.”

“See you later then,” I smiled and pushed open the stairway door. I walked inside and leant against the door and gave a lustful sigh.

I’d heard of Rage and seen them around, but I’d never associated with them before. Although the club had a good public image, there were whispers around the circuit. Other bike enthusiasts gave the Rage motorcycle club a wide berth.

It was amazing how three hours could drag. I was as nervous as a teenager who was about to pop her cherry. My anticipation made me feel young again. How should I behave? What was he expecting? What should I say to him? What can I ask? Why was I so bloody nervous? I felt Shep was special, and I wanted to make a good impression. I’d been alone for too long. Now it was time to get back out there and start dating again. One thing bothered me; I was planning on going out with a guy who lived the lifestyle I’d escaped from. Was I about to make yet another mistake?

Five o’clock came around, and I knew he’d be waiting outside for me. I was as excited to see his superbike as I was to see him again.

Shep was sitting on his machine waiting. And boy was it a beautiful piece of machinery, black with a bright orange stripe. The kind of bike you’d be able to see from down the bottom of a long road. It was obvious he looked after his bike. Most serious bike enthusiasts wouldn’t leave their garages unless their machines were sparkling. I felt ashamed that my ride was looking as though it just got back from a mud safari.

Wearing blue jeans and his Rage leather jacket, he gave me a sexy smile and then handed me a shiny black helmet with a tinted visor. I zipped up my jacket, climbed onto the back of his bike, and leaned onto his back as we started down the road.

It’s almost impossible to talk while speeding on a bike, so I decided to leave the conversation until later.

We weren’t having a hot summer, but it was warm enough to enjoy whizzing down the motorway on the back of a bike. However, the trees, houses and towns continued to whiz by, and I wondered where the hell he was going.

He pulled into a retail park. The shops were closing but there were still plenty of things open. I wondered if we were going to the cinema or for a pizza or perhaps, he was taking me for a drink in The Layby, a classy bar I’d heard a lot about. But I was surprised when he parked the bike outside the skating rink.

I took off the helmet, looked at Shep then back at the rink.

“Umm – where are we having this drink?” I asked.

“I thought we could have some fun while I get to know all about you. You up for it?”

“This will be interesting.”

Fun.Yeah, probably be a lot of fun for him when he sees me falling flat on my arse and making a right fool of myself. I sighed and then followed him into the building. With the smouldering looks he’d been giving me, I needed to cool down.

It had been years since I skated, and as we queued up for the hired skates, my stomach churned from excitement.

“So, you done this before?” he asked as we laced up the boots.

I smirked. Well, yeah, I’ve been on lots of first dates before. “Not for a while I haven’t.”

“We’ll take it slow,” he promised with a smile.

I took his hand and he led me onto the rink. Then he started skating backwards while pulling me along.

“Fucking typical. Trust you to be good at skating,” I gasped. That wasn’t supposed to come out of my mouth.

“Been a while, but I used to come here a lot,” he replied.

My confidence was shot. I assumed he wanted to speed skate around the rink, and here he was, stuck holding my hand. Yet, I was surprised at how well I was doing. I’d yet to fall on my arse. It was coming back to me, and it wasn’t long until we both picked up the pace.

“See?” he said. “It’s like riding a bike.”

“What kind?” I asked with a grin.

We talked about movies, music, and motorbikes. Neither of us felt obligated to reveal everything.

It felt natural to chat and laugh with him, and when he twirled me around and held me tight, it felt right.

I’d never been one for exercise, so after an hour or so, I started to tire and suggested we stop skating and have a hot chocolate in the cafeteria.

Time passed as we sat and talked. After the creamy chocolate, we shared a plate of chips covered with tomato sauce and sipped Cokes. I couldn’t decide whether it was Shep’s shocking blue eyes or his cheeky, dimply smile that attracted me to him. Nevertheless, I was transfixed. His mouth opened and closed as he talked, but my mind blurred as I stared at his soft pink lips and watched his tongue dart out of his mouth every minute, a habit of his that I found endearing.

He chuckled at something he said, and so I gave a nervous laugh and then cursed myself for not paying attention.

“So, what was the last movie you saw?” I asked and then wanted to hide under the table for either going off-topic or sounding immature.

Again, he swept his hand through his hair as he smiled and said. “What kind of stuff are you into? There’s a thriller on at St John’s Park if you fancy going with me.”

My stomach jumped, and my heart picked up speed. Yes, I silently yelled, a second date. I had pulled. I still had IT! I hoped I’d made a good impression on him. Okay, I didn’t sit there and bat my eyelids, but I had been attentive and laughed at his jokes even though they weren’t funny. I admit I played with a strand of my hair. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do on dates? I’d been out of the game for too long and I’d never learnt the art of flirting. I was happy to be out on a date and have someone paying me a little attention after being invisible.

“Umm… yeah, sure that sounds good,” I replied with a casual shrug, then added, “How about Friday?” It was a weird feeling; having something to look forward to. But I liked it.

For first dates, this one was exceptional, I thought, as I hugged onto his back on the ride home. I tried to visualize how the date would end. Would he peck me on the cheek before saying goodbye? Or should I invite him in for coffee and something more? No. I wasn’t ready to go there just yet. I wasn’t after casual sex.

I didn’t trust him. Yes, I felt comfortable with him, but I knew he was a player. I knew from experience what dating a member of a motorcycle club was like. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go there again. But I felt sure Shep wasn’t like that. It could all have been a ruse, but he acted sincere, so I was torn.

The date ended with more than a peck on the cheek, but we didn’t go inside. We said our goodbyes beside his bike. I’d almost forgotten what a kiss and touch could do to your insides. Even though I ached for more, I stopped the embrace. After exchanging numbers, he promised to call. And although it was a line, I knew he would.

I never sat by the phone waiting for him to ring, However, I couldn’t concentrate at work. I think I cleaned more jars off the floor than I put on the shelf.

Shep phoned two days later – keep a girl hanging, why don’t you? He asked me out that evening and our dates continued every two days, but we never met up on weekends. I assumed he was with Rage, and although it was still early in our relationship, I was worried that he didn’t think I was good enough to introduce me to his friends. The sane half of me wanted to stay away from the club scene. The irrational half was itching to meet Rage and see what they were all about.

At the ripe age of twenty-six, I was glad not to be single, but that didn’t mean I thought of Shep as lifetime partner material. Sometimes you meet someone, and you have an immediate connection, and you just know. I knew that Shep and I weren’t going to last. Yes, there was magic, sparks and such, and the sex was good. I just didn’t see him as long term.

The Jester was Rage’s local, as I discovered when he took me there one Friday night. When I saw the row of superbikes lined up outside the bar that was situated in the centre of town, my stomach flipped with anticipation. I was excited about meeting Rage, Shep’s fellow racers and friends, but I was also worried. Was I dressed sexy enough to get attention? Did I have enough makeup on? Yes, I was being vain; I just wanted to make a good first impression.

Shep took my hand and led me inside. I kept my head down and followed him to the bar. I felt eyes following me. I knew I was being scrutinized. Handing me a bottle of Bud, he then gestured to a table surrounded by seated bikers.

“Come on, there are some people I want you to meet.”

“So, you’re the mysterious woman,” a dark-haired, well-muscled guy said.

“Nothing mysterious about me,” I replied. “What you see is what you get.”

“Gem, this is Gbh, Doc, Turbo, and Blade,” Shep said.

“Good names,” I replied.

“Mine’s legit,” Doc said. “Not sure about this guy,” he said, gesturing to the one called Gbh.

I laughed.

“So, you’re a doctor?” I asked as I sat down on a chair beside Turbo and Doc.

“Yeah. I work down at the hospital.”

“Good to know,” I said.

“What do you do, Gem?” Doc asked.

I noticed the others listening, waiting for my answer.

“I’m working at ‘One Stop’ at the mo., just biding my time till something better comes along.”

“Like what?” Doc asked.

“I’m an accountant,” I answered.

“Good to know,” the one called Blade said.

However, I wasn’t about to tell them that I’d never worked as an accountant. As soon as I got my qualification, I left home with no money and no idea where I was going. At the time, I just had to get away.

Blade was well stocked. He wore his hair short, almost shaven, which gave him a hardened look. He demanded respect. I found out later that evening that he was the president of Rage.

Gbh had the muscles – I assumed that’s how he got his nickname, I mused. Turbo was a lean black man. I assumed he got his name because of the speed when he raced. Blade - well that was one nickname that asked a lot of questions.

I met Pat and Bre later that evening. Pat was from Ireland and had a gorgeous accent. I could have listened to him talking all night. Bre was the only female member of Rage and, from the vibe she was giving off, she had no intention of welcoming another female to the club. She didn’t even acknowledge me when Shep introduced us. She had glossy, blonde medium-length hair, a great figure, and her face was very pleasing to the eye.

The rest of the customers in the bar looked like regulars. Low rock music played in the background while chatter and the sound of cue sticks smashing onto the balls filled the room. If it wasn’t for the cold shoulder I was getting, it would have been a warm atmosphere. The Jester was a small but comfortable bar.

Club business wasn’t discussed in front of me. In fact, what was said felt stilted. That was until bikes were mentioned; then the guys’ eyes lit up, and you could see and feel the passion these guys had for their sport and lifestyle. Gbh’s eyebrows rose when he learnt I was a biker and owned a Suzuki GSX. No one else talked to me. No one started a conversation with me. Doc was the only one who made any sort of effort. Even Shep ignored me most of the night.

I was thankful to leave the place.

“Not a friendly bunch, are they?” I said to Shep as we climbed onto the bike.

“You’re an outsider. They’re like that with everyone.”

“What makes Rage so damn special?”

“We’re the elite.”

An arrogant answer, but it was the truth.

Rage was a closed group that didn’t like strangers. They had money and didn’t have a problem displaying that fact.

That night, I had a nightmare, and I didn’t need a dreamer’s dictionary to decipher what it meant.

It was dark, and only moonlight lit up the straight, empty road ahead. It was silent, complete silence. I felt I was walking on the edge of something. My feet were bare, and a chilled breeze bit through my pyjamas, and I had nothing but the urge to walk to keep me warm. I came to a crossroads. A large raven stood on a signpost and squawked loudly. The place names had been blackened out. The roads were lit just at the beginning; beyond was cloaked in utter blackness, as though those entered it would be swallowed up and never be seen again. Each path looked ominous, but I had to choose one. One led to freedom and happiness, the other - who knew, trouble, death or worse. There was a loud rumbling behind me, and I turned to see the road behind me crumble then disappear into nothingness. I started to run.

That’s when I woke up. I knew what the dream meant. It wasn’t the first time I dreamt of the crossroads. I was going down the same road I’d travelled before, and at the end of the road, trouble was waiting. If I had any sense, I would end this relationship and my association with Rage. But, as my mother had told me time and time again, I had no sense. What I was doing was wrong and that was what the dream was telling me. But I was also being pulled to a place and situation where I felt free. A place I could be me again. My subconscious was warning me to walk away. I wore leathers. I rode a motorcycle, but it wasn’t enough. I needed the social connection, the brotherhood. I wanted to belong, and I believed Rage was a far cry from the Hawks; a different league, a club where I would be safe.