The roar of engines thunders through my bones as I step into the rally with my camera in hand. Leather-clad figures blur past, their bikes gleaming under the harsh sun. I raise my Nikon, eye to the viewfinder, capturing the raw pulse of the Royal Bastards MC.
Click. Two riders laugh, shoulders knocking. Brotherhood.
Click. A fist flies, connecting with a jaw. Conflict.
Click. An older member, face lined with stories, nods at a younger one. Mentorship.
“Nice shots?” The voice rumbles deep, close behind me.
I lower my camera and turn. Justice. He’s a little too pretty and confident, and I can’t help but think the nickname ‘Peacock’ would suit him better. The one I want, Highway, hasn’t so much as tried to talk to me, so I entertain Justice. He’s offered to take me to Okefenokee Swamp, and I’ve said yes.
“Could be,” I reply with a smile.
He leans closer and looks at my camera. Holding it out but not letting go of it, I show him a few of my photographs.
“They look good.” He touches my elbow. “Are we still good for the swamp?”
Nodding, I smile up at him. “Sure are.”
“Cool. I’ll pick you up at seven so we can get back for an early dinner?”
Moving out of his grasp, I say, “How about we see how the day goes?”
Nodding, Justice gives me another of his smiles and saunters away. He heads for Highway and says something to him. Highway frowns at him, and Justice laughs as he walks away.
Curious, I move to stand next to Highway, whose gaze is fixed on Justice’s back. “You really don’t like him, do you?”
Highway jumps and blurts out, “Justice is a peacock.”
Laughing, I nod. “Because he struts around? You know that nickname suits him better than Justice. How’d he get Justice, anyway?” I put my camera to my face and snap a photograph of Highway.
“He has a pretty black-and-white way of looking at things with a level head in situations. Are you familiar with the term ‘His own brand of justice?’ Well, that’s sort of how he got it.”
“And you? How’d you get yours?”
He leans against his bike and pats the seat. “Hop on, and I’ll show you.”
Shaking my head, I glance at the men and women around me. “There’s so much to capture here.” I nod at Creed talking to Reaper. “Comradery.” I put my camera to my face and snap a picture of a group of MC members huddled around a bike that’s being repaired. “Intellectual conversations.”
Highway barks out a laugh. “Intellectual?”
“Look how serious they all are.”
“You have a different way of looking at things,” states Highway.
“Not me, the camera.” I cradle it in my hands. “It gives you a different perspective.”
“Lucy says you work for National Geographic?”
“Sounds very impressive, doesn’t it?” I laugh. “Sort of… I sell them photographs of things I find on my journeys.”
“You travel a lot?”
“Yeah. Well, I used to.” Holding up my camera a little higher, I say, “I’d better get back to it.”
“Who are the photographs for?” he asks.
“For the Royal Bastards. Thought it might be nice to have some shots of all of you in the clubhouse or in your own environment.”
“Ahh… the wild men in their natural habitat,” Highway says with a bad English accent.
I laugh loudly. “Something like that.”
“How’s Lucy doing?”
“Good. She’s healing nicely. Dad did an awesome job.” My sister was hurt recently, but lucky for her, our dad is a plastic surgeon.
Highway gestures toward Reaper with a quick lift of his chin. “I’m surprised he’s here and not with her.”
“Oh, God, please don’t say anything to him. He’s driving Cel-Lucy crazy. She told him I need him here to protect me, or she wouldn’t be able to rest.” My sister’s club name is Lucy. She was born Celeste and has made it very clear she’s Lucy now, but sometimes I slip up.
“Is it hard to call her Lucy?”
“No. It suits her better but old habits.”
The sound of a gunshot pierces the air. I jump and press myself against Highway. His arms immediately wrap around me.
“Jesus! Who did that?”
“They’re blowing off steam, is all,” he replies, chuckling.
Staring up at him, I ask, “So, not at someone, just having fun?”
“Yeah. Creed will put a stop to it. He won’t want the cops showing up.”
“We’re in the middle of nowhere. Do you really think they’d come out?”
“Gunshot noise travels. Someone might report it. We don’t need the heat.” I put my hand on his chest and try to step out of his embrace. “Are you going on a date with Justice?”
Surprised, I lean back to stare into his eyes. “Sort of.”
“Define ‘sort of.’ ”
“He’s taking me to the Okefenokee Swamp to get shots of the gators and some of the other wildlife.”
“Ahh… wild animals in their natural habitat. For National Geographic?” Highway has a crease between his brows.
“For them or whoever else wants to pay me for them. Why do you ask?”
Highway pauses for a beat, then says, “I don’t like you being alone with him.”
Tilting my head to the side, I say, “Well, maybe you should have asked me first?”
“Yo, Highway!” Reaper is walking toward us. “Are you bothering my future sister-in-law?”
Highway’s arms drop away, and he shakes his head. “Nah. The gunshot startled her, is all.”
“Is that a fact?” Reaper asks with a smirk. “Really? I’m sure Lucy told me you told her you did a stint in Afghanistan. You’d think you’d be used to loud noises.”
Blushing, I hold up my camera. “Better get back to it. And you, Reaper, should mind your own business.” I smile at Highway and walk away.
There are women, men, and motorcycles everywhere. I pick my way through the crowd and take photographs of all of it.
Another gunshot sounds, then another. No one seems bothered, so I keep snapping away. The weight of my camera is a solid reminder of my purpose here, shifted against my chest as I lift it to my eye. Through the lens, life among the Royal Bastards MC sharpens into focus, a tableau of raw energy and unspoken bonds.
My shutter clicks cut through the rumble of conversations and laughter, each snapshot capturing a fragment of their essence. Brotherhood isn’t just worn on patches, it is etched in every interaction, shared joke, and backslap.
“Hey, girl…” one member calls out, flexing his tattooed biceps for the camera, “… make sure you get my good side.”
“Do you have a good side, Tank!” another mocks, and a round of chuckles ripples through the group.
