Beth pulled her little car into the vacant slot in front of the Buy/Low Market. Grabbing her list, and oversized purse, she glanced at her watch, calculating that she had an hour to finish shopping for Mrs. Langley. The frail old woman had hired Beth to do what tasks she was not able to do for herself any longer. She was one of many clients that Beth had accumulated over the last five years. She had even hired a college student part-time to do the chores she was not physically capable of completing. Cleaning out garages, heavy lifting, and lawn work were often requests that she once would have had to turn down. Since she had been able to hire Blake, those jobs were contracted out to him and she was able make a small profit for herself.
It didn’t take long for Beth to complete the list. Frowning at the sparse list of groceries, she worried at Mrs. Langley’s decreasing appetite; she knew it wasn’t her finances that were responsible for the small list. Beth handled most of her finances, having earned an accounting degree in college; the extra task of balancing Mrs. Langley’s checkbook took little of her time. It had actually made her feel better about using the neglected skills that her monthly student loan payment reminded her she had worked hard to earn. When she had graduated, she had stumbled into her business literally when her next-door neighbor had become ill. Beth had volunteered to run errands for her until she recovered. From there it had been word of mouth until she had a clientele that had provided a steady income, but left little free time. Her clients had started calling and asking for minor tasks to be completed that they were more than able to perform for themselves, often to fill the loneliness of their lives. Beth thought it was sad they called her instead of their children, who often lived near, but were unwilling to stop what they were doing to see to the parents who had raised them. Mailing her a check when she billed them provided a salve to their conscious.
Beth was putting the groceries into the trunk of her car when the sound of loud motors filled the late afternoon air. Tensing, she looked over her shoulder and saw the large group of motorcycles pulling into the parking lot. Slamming her trunk lid down, Beth quickly opened her car door and got in, closing and locking the door. As she put her keys in the ignition, Beth watched as the bikers parked closely together. The tiny town of Treepoint had a motorcycle club that had taken over the peaceful town three years ago.
The Last Riders were a motorcycle club whom actual location was unknown to the majority of the townspeople. Many believed it to be nestled in the mountains on the border between Kentucky and Virginia. When they got in trouble and they did often, the two bordering police departments often foisted the crimes onto the others precinct; therefore none of the crimes they were believed to have committed were ever prosecuted. They were growing larger and stronger in force, with both bordering communities becoming frightened of the intimidating strangers that lived and played hard. Fortunately, they stayed to themselves and what trouble they got into stayed within their own cloistered group and the unlucky bars they picked for the night. The aftereffects would often leave the bar closed days for repairs. Usually, one of the members would show up the next day with a wad of cash for the owner, plus extra to silence them. It had become a regular source of income for the small business owners.
Beth watched from her car as the large group walked into the store. The men were all dressed in jeans and leather jackets with their emblem on the back. Everyone in the small lot gave them a wide berth, not wanting trouble. Several women were interspersed throughout the men. One of the young women laughed, drawing Beth’s attention. Mrs. Langley's granddaughter, Samantha, was walking with her hand through one of the larger men’s belt. His arm casually draped around her shoulders as he walked beside Samantha and was talking to another biker, totally ignoring the scattering patrons. Seeing others panic as she had made Beth feel guilty, they had not acted any different then any other shopper going into the small store. Sam was dressed as Beth had never seen her clothed before, and she had already developed a reputation before the bikers had made their presence known in town. Tight jeans that left her hips and stomach bare with a glinting belly ring that drew attention to her flat stomach. A skimpy top left the globes of her breasts bare. Motorcycle boots completed the picture of a biker babe that Beth was sure would give her grandmother heart palpations.
Sam was several years younger than her and at nineteen; her body was lithe and firm, unlike her own short chunky frame. Beth was not overweight, but because of her small five-foot stature, the weight seemed to pack on whatever she ate. Thankfully, her job and exercise kept her from being a pudgy mess. When they entered the store, Beth carefully pulled out. Worried for the young girl, but being well acquainted with Sam, she knew she would not appreciate any concern. Beth knew Mrs. Langley would be worried sick if she knew whom she was hanging out with, and Sam’s father would be furious. Vincent Bedford was president of the local bank. He was aloof and arrogant, keeping his charming demeanor for the upper class of Treepoint society. Beth had talked to him when his mother-in-law had hired her. Surprisingly, Mrs. Langley had asked Beth to keep up with her finances and her son-in-law had agreed. She had soon learned why when she had delved into the accounts. Vincent Bedford was not interested in what little his mother-in-law had and instead kept busy kissing the ass of every rich and widowed woman in Treepoint. Beth turned onto the small lane that led to Mrs. Langley’s house to drop off the small amount of groceries she had requested. Beth was already planning ahead to the next assignment awaiting her attention; hopefully she would make it home before dark.