Themis barely took two steps outside before she felt Carmen’s body press against her. The older woman threw her arm around her shoulders and brought them together, close enough for Themis to smell exactly what kind and how much alcohol the Road Captain had consumed in the last twenty four hours and to understand that she probably had not bothered taking a shower before coming to the hof. She smelled of sweat, cigar smoke and sex.
Carmen did not make it easy for the people around her to love her. Themis respected her, more than anything. She came from one of the many military families of San Raul, and had done a tour in Afghanistan where she took an AK bullet straight to the gut and lived to tell the tale. Not much was left from that straight laced soldier though, for better or worse. In her place was a hedonist with the body of a dancer who’s two favourite things in life were a good fight and a good fuck, in that order and preferably one after the other. Themis had done a year for her, and she’d do it again in a heartbeat. Still, claiming that she loved her would have been a lie.
She set a difficult pace as she practically dragged Themis along, threatening to topple them both over at every other step. Themis tried to break away, but Carmen’s grip was practically the jaws of a pitbull. Once she got hold of you, she was not letting go. She dragged them along the narrow parking lot, past the bikes and to her van.
“Your van?” Themis cocked an eyebrow.
It was a cool van. The type of van one would see in cartoons, parodying the type of person Carmen was in real life. The sides were decaled with a wizard–pointy hat, beard and all–shredding a Stratocaster as he rode a tiger down a waterfall. Gnarly as fuck, Themis had seen it before though.
“Not the van, stupid,” Carmen said, finally pushing her away. She rummaged through her pockets for her keys, unlocked the backdoors of the van and threw them open. The sight inside almost made Themis swoon. Propped up on some old palettes was one of the most beautiful Low Riders Themis had ever laid eyes on, painted in a fiery red color, with anaglyph flame decals dancing at its sides.
“You got a new bike?” she managed to ask, as the initial shock wore off.
“Me? Nah,” Carmen said, as a grin spread across her face. “You did.”
Themis turned her head so fast she almost bit her tongue off. “No,” she said, afraid to even entertain the thought that felt too good to be true. “No, there is no way.”
Carmen simply shrugged and spread her arms. “Welcome home, sister,” she said. “You saved my bacon. I can’t pay you back enough. But this is a start.”
“A start? You got me a fucking bike!” Themis said, barely able to contain her excitement.
“Made it for you, actually,” Carmen shook her head. “In my color. So you think about me every time you ride her.”
“That’s kind of disgusting but I’ll allow it.”
Themis jumped in the van and pulled one of the palettes holding the bike up. Using it as a makeshift ramp, and with some help from Carmen, she got the bike down. Her hands shook as the tires touched the asphalt, nervous as if she was deflowering the preacher’s daughter all over again. She rolled it for a few feet, feeling its weight. Then she set it on the side stand and took a step back to admire the way it glimmered under the sun. Slick as sin, curvy in all the right places, packing an engine that would make anyone stare at her ass as she made them eat her dust. A dream come true, and then some.
She looked at Carmen expectedly, the older woman acting like she was too busy double checking if her beer bottle was empty to join Themis’ silent celebration. With a sigh she walked up to the bike again, throwing a leg over her and finally getting her between her legs. Carmen’s custom job was a lot more apparent now, as Themis realised that the bike was tailored to her exact measurements. The chassis was slightly longer than the factory model, and the pedals were lower, eliminating the insignificant discomfort she had felt her first time sitting on a Low Ride’s saddle due to her height. Carmen had gone all out for her and it showed.
All Themis wanted was to grab Carmen by the ankles and shake her down until the keys to the bike fell off her. She was giddy to take her new bike for a spin, find some empty lot and really make the kitty purr. The newer models peaked at one and twenty miles per hour, and even with an older one Themis was sure she could get damn close. The plans for the joyride faded quickly though, as she raised her head and saw a police cruiser parked across the street. Garcia was inside, and by the looks of it she was not alone. They were openly watching the clubhouse’s front, the mysterious person sitting next to Garcia even had binoculars fixed on them. Fuck that.
Themis dismounted and rolled the bike back, parking it next to Carmen’s. It really was her color, Themis noted as the glossy red of their decal made them look like twins side by side. The Captain had seen the undesirables too, gesturing at Themis to go back inside.
“Get Katrine,” she said as Themis passed by her. “Odin wants to speak to you. Don’t bring them up until we know what’s up.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?” Themis asked.
“They are just busting our balls,” Carmen said. “Probably.”
Themis shrugged and headed back inside the clubhouse. It didn’t matter to her two ways, it wouldn’t be her head on the cutting board anyway. She tapped Katrine on the shoulder, drawing her attention from Rita’s cleavage, and brought her up to speed. The VP got up and joined Carmen outside.