Chapter 9
Somewhere down the road a rooster crowed at the morning sun, announcing the dawning of a new day, and Ruth languidly stretched out long and sleek in the warm bed-like a lizard on a sun-warmed rock, hating to open its eyes but knowing it must. Her slender fingers groped for the sheet that had mysteriously slipped to the other side of the bed and her hand touched something warm and soft. Two amber eyes slitted open to stare sleepily at the black mass of curly hair sharing her pillow, and a small gasp emitted from her naked, startled body.
Pete yawned, rolled over and pulled back the sheet to slide out of bed and into his clothes. "Come on, chick. We gotta put some miles on," he said shortly, then clomped down the steps in his heavy boots.
Her body felt as if it had been mauled by a tiger ... from the red teeth marks around her nipples to the sore bruises between her thighs. But she pulled herself out of bed, her mind too fogged with sleep to function clearly. The chill morning air bit at her nakedness and she pulled an old T-shirt over her head, forgetting about the two half moons of her buttocks peeking out beneath, and headed for the bathroom, passing her sister's bedroom enroute. A glimpse of something hairy caught her eye and Ruth saw Lash climbing out of Donna's bed, grunting out a series of four-letter words to describe his hangover. Then it struck Ruth that the redhead standing topless beside him was not her sister Donna ... it was Lila!
The two girls' eyes met. Hatred flashed from Lila's green eyes and her upper lip rippled in a snarl; a gesture of unmitigated jealousy that brought a snicker from Lash.
"Now you girls be nice to each other," he chided, hoping there might be a fight.
Lila looked ready for one. Her hands propped defensively on her hips made her naked breasts stick out even higher, and her eyes squinted at Ruth. "I heard you thumpin' around in there last night ... and I know who was ridin' that ass of yours ... and don't deny it you little slut!"
Ruth winced, but she could hardly deny that truth when the creamy evidence of Pete's lovemaking was trickling down her thighs right now! Still, it didn't make sense to her that Lila call her a slut when Lila had just spent the night with Lash ... and just where did that leave Gladys and Donna? The Hells Angels' philosophy didn't make sense this time of morning and Ruth decided to shuck it off and take care of her business in the bathroom. Lila wasn't through yet. Her naked breasts jiggled like water-filled balloons as she ran out into the hallway, blocking Ruth's path to the bathroom, standing so close to her rival that their breasts nearly touched.
"You fuck my old man one more time and I'll carve my initials in those big fat boobs!"
"He-he raped me!" blurted Ruth, horribly embarrassed by this ugly scene. "I-I didn't want to!" sniffled Ruth, now thoroughly miserable. From the bedroom Lash's eyes locked on them, listening to the conversation with obvious amusement and waiting, wishing for a fight. Better to have the women fight it out than for he and Pete to lock horns before the ride, and just because Pete had stolen Ruth out from under his nose, didn't mean the issue was settled. By rights Ruth belonged to the leader, not the second-in-command.
"Listen to her!" snapped Lila, glancing in Lash's direction for support. She turned around, poking a finger in Ruth's tender breast bone. "Watch out! I'm riding with Lash this trip and if I so much as see you put a little finger on Pete's cock, I'll give you a masectomy!"
Visions of cold steel knife blades flashed through Ruth's imagination, sluiced by a piercing voice bellowed from the bottom of the steps. Both girls glanced down the dusty steps to see Pete brandishing a wrench in his greasy hand. "Get your ass in the bedroom, Lila ... and keep your fat mouth shut!"
"Yes, Pete," answered Lila, her cheeks blushing.
A few tears joined the cold water washing Ruth's ashen face while her mind reran last night's X-rated performance she'd staged under the biker's nakedly pounding body. What's happened to me? she wondered. It was bad enough being raped by that man-that could happen to anyone-but to lose control and fuck back at him like a nymphomaniac was totally incredible! No matter what happened on this trip, she resolved that never again would she allow her sexual instincts to take over her psyche.
Now she was being spirited off to some godforsaken mountain to meet up with a bunch of hoodlums, cut-throats, no doubt, like the Hells Angels. Already it was clear that Pete regarded her as his private sexual property. How many rapes did that mean? First she was prisoner to her father's hell and brimstone preaching, and now she was prisoner to the devil himself!
Helpless inadequately described her feelings and the situation. Pete was after her, his old-lady was burning to cut off her breasts ... There's no way out! she sobbed. With firm resolve she decided to keep her eyes open and be alert, dealing with the situation as it arose. To anticipate the future was stupid.
Stuffing some old clothes and a few changes of panties and brassieres into a knapsack, Ruth slid into a pair of levis and an old shirt before going downstairs to join Pete who was tinkering with his bike, the morning sunshine glittered on the big yellow Harley Davidson with flames painted on the sides in red streaks, making it look ready for take-off before it was even kicked in.
Ruth stood silently, obediently by, squinting against the radiant sun, her back to the restaurant where Lash and Lila emerged now ... with Donna trailing laxly behind. The tension between Lila and Ruth seemed to have spread to dampen Donna's disposition, too, and Ruth guessed it had something to do with Lila taking her place beside Lash in bed the night before. Lord, everything was so complicated!
Ruth sucked in her breath, anticipating something awfully violent to erupt between Pete and Lila .. . after all, she had slept with another man without his consent. But he kept tinkering with the clutch, showing a neglect that seemed to make Lila seethe even more. It was all too confusing for the miserable Ruth to sort out in her mind, so she bid her sister farewell and obeyed Pete's command to jump on the bike. There was something in Pete's personality that inspired people to obey him without question, and Ruth felt the force of his will power then just as she had the night before.
Lash ground his cigarette stub out with the heel of his boot and swung one lanky leg over his machine. The air filled with noise and smoke as the Angels revved up their bikes and charged down the dirt road, their front tires wheeling high off the ground for the first twenty feet.
Ruth nearly bounced off the back of Pete's bike as it shot forward with breathtaking speed and power, and she quickly wrapped her arms around the biker's waist to keep from losing balance, expecting to feel Lila's knife blade in her back. They hit the junction of La Honda road and Highway One, kicking up gravel. Across the road at the entrance to the beach, the sun caught the metallic glimmer of what resembled a flowerbed of motorcycles and the gravel spit again as the leaders of the bikers snarled across the highway at meeting point.
After a brief meeting, Lila and Lash took off down the road first, the Harley Davidson a mere streak of movement as it snaked around the curves of Highway One with the mountains bordering one side and the Pacific Ocean on the other.
"Where are they going?" asked Ruth, not particularly caring, but wanting to establish some kind of contact with Pete.
"Lash always goes ahead to make sure it's cool... no road blocks."
"Oh ..." They fell silent again.
The atmosphere was taut with reckless impatience. Bikers adjusted their packs and made last second adjustments. Ruth watched Pete's jaws working back and forth intensely and it sent a ripple of undeniable excitement down her spine. Were she not a captive, a distrusted stranger who had to be watched until the last of the contraband was sold ... this trip could have been pleasant.
Ruth could tell from the way Pete's hands worked at the gears that he knew bikes as well as she knew pianos. With a heartfelt sigh, she wondered if she would ever see a piano again.
Suddenly the machine lurched and the dust and exhaust choked her. They were off! A few miles down the road Ruth noticed a strange sensation from the vibration ... gently but powerfully ... traveling up through the seat into her crotch and thighs. At first it made her nervous and itchy and she shifted restlessly in her seat, trying to escape from this powerfully stimulating sensation, but she couldn't cross her legs and she needed to balance, so she gave up and tried to distract herself by admiring the waterfront scenery.
This was Ruth's second glance at an ocean and staring at all that water made her feel morose and moody. Somerville had never seemed so far away! Somehow she had to get away ... even if it killed her ... and if Pete didn't, his darned bike would!
Now it vibrated like mad over the washed out potholes and Ruth could not make up her mind to accept this lewd unnatural enjoyment-yet it was unavoidable. By the time they stopped three hours down the road at a paint-chipped seafood diner- one of the few places open to the Angels-the crotch of Ruth's levis were sopping wet. She sat nibbling at her clam chowder when she heard Chris to the right of her tell Wanda, "Man, you only, came once?
Listen, you gotta slide your ass as far back as it will go without falling off and then lean way forward so the seat rubs against your cunt..."
Blushing crimson, Ruth pushed aside her bowl of clam chowder, and stepped towards the ladies room, determined to shut her ears to such vile dinner table conversation. Last night's debauchery was bad enough without bragging about how many cums she'd had.
As she stood in the ladies room wiping her hands on a paper towel, she noticed that the bathroom window opened onto a small pier lined with fishing boats. Certainly with all those tarps and nets and trappings she could manage to camouflage herself . . . either that or spend the rest of her life masturbating on the back of a machine! Her lithe body slipped through the window.
Pete caught her on the run. If his language wasn't abusive enough, his grip on her arm was. Snarling like a mother lion retrieving her cub, Pete picked her up, slung her over his shoulder and gave her backside four healthy whaps. Then he plunked her down on the back of his bike, slid on himself and, pulling her arms around his waist, clamped a pair of handcuffs around her wrists.
"Why don't you put a dog collar around my neck, too?" she snarled.
"I said you wasn't to take a leak without my permission and I meant it! You try that shit again and I'll break both your legs!"
Ruth had no reason to disbelieve him and she trembled from her pouty lower lip down to her curled under toes. A flash of something red caught her eye and she looked up to see Lila emerging from the diner, a satisfied smirk on her face as her green eyes leveled on Ruth's watery ones. She sashayed her way to Lash's bike, making a point of swaggering her hips in front of Pete who didn't seem to respond.
"What's the matter, sugar?" taunted Lila swinging a leg over Lash's bike. "Been a bad girl?"
Somewhere between Seaside and Big Sur, the caravan of hell raising marauders headed inland to avoid Big Sur where the Angels had beaten in the heads of a few campers on one of the Angels initiations.
Ruth couldn't have been more miserable. The further from the ocean they rode, the hotter became the air whipping across her grimy, sweaty face, and the bumpier the roads, the deeper slashed the cuts of her handcuffs as her body jolted and lurched on the back of Pete's bike, her head pressed into his damp, foul-smelling armpit.
The roads snaked up the mountain sides in no logical design, sometimes narrowing so suddenly that Ruth glanced to the side to stare at a ravine plunging hundreds of feet below ... and once when the bike hit a wet spot, they swerved into a spin and Pete had to accelerate fast to bring the back wheel back onto the shoulder. Ruth stared down at the ravine hundreds of feet below and said a silent prayer.
These barren foothills reminded her of the Holy Land deserts and She agonizingly fantasized some anthropologist years hence digging up the fossilized remains of Ruth Monson, metal handcuffs entrapped her skeleton wrists... with a rusted out motorcycle tank buried feet away. Will anybody ever see me alive again? she wondered miserably.
Miraculously, the answer was yes.
The Angels had friends. In the foothills of this godforsaken country, the entourage of bikers thundered to a halt outside of a dilapidated motel with a fire-gutted filling station wearing an "Out of Business" sign on a charred gas pump. To the right was a stucco-front restaurant that resembled something from a movie set... a place where one might expect a sheriff to jump off his horse and start blasting at bandits hiding out inside.
A paunchy little bald-headed man wearing a white shirt soiled from the stretched out elastic suspenders that let his pants hang well below his belly, came barreling out, nearly tripping over his pant legs. He wiped a dribble of tobacco spittle from the corner of his mouth and threw up his arms as if he were chasing chickens, and ran toward Lash.
Ruth held her breath, fearful there would be a fight, but she was equally shocked when she heard the words: "Son! You've come home. Oh, your Mamma will be so pleased!"