Merciless Ride (12 page)

“Claim her, fucker. Claim her!”
 

I let up just enough for him to make the statement. He doesn’t. Instead, he kicks out at me. The shift causes me to let up more, giving him a chance to get room to swing. His fist connects with my jaw. My balance thrown off, I release him. Then, getting myself together, I hit him with an uppercut to the gut. He hunches over, trying to catch his breath, and I take the opportunity, reaching up and pinning him back to the wall, my forearm not closing his windpipe because he is still recovering.
 

“Enough,” Tripp commands.
 

Spitting the blood out of my mouth at his feet, I give him the biggest disrespect I can in this situation before backing away, watching him for his next move as I return to my seat. Not one of my brothers has moved.
 

“You gonna claim her, Rex?” Tripp questions his cousin and VP.
 

He meets my stare as he shakes his head back and forth. “No, I’m not gonna claim her. She’s not my property. She’s not Hellions’ property.”
 

“Not property. You’ve been tappin’ that pussy for years, Rex. Motherfuckin’ years! And she’s not once been with anyone else that you know of. She’s been loyal to you. Where were you last night? Every time she has needed you, where the fuck have you been? Man up, protect her. For once in your damn life, step up for someone else!” I shout at Rex.
 

“Fuck you. What the hell do you know about my history with Tessie?”
 

“Shut the fuck up, both of you. Is someone gonna claim Tessie today?” Tripp looks to me before he can finish his next sentence, the sentence where I know he will tell us all we can’t do anything for her.
 

Before I can think about what the hell I am doing, I speak up, “I claim her. She’s my ol’ lady.”
 

“You sure? I haven’t called Roundman yet to see if there is something else we can do for her,” Tripp asks.
 

“I know the rules to this world, the spoken and the unspoken. Ruthless isn’t club owned. Tessie isn’t claimed. We can’t seek retribution when she’s not ours on a fuckin’ technicality. Don’t call Roundman, just let Thorn know she’s mine and it’s on him to give us Shep.”
 

“I know you got a lot on your plate, Shooter, but that doesn’t dismiss your actions in here today. Disrespect of an officer won’t be tolerated. Once we get Shep handled, we will revisit this. You got me?”
 

“I got you. Wouldn’t change a damn thing, so dish out your punishment accordingly.”
 

Well, I would change shit. I would beat the ever loving shit out of Rex if I could. My brothers would never allow it, though. No, I am lucky they let me get him into the wall.
 

Tripp was there at my house last night with Doll. He saw first-hand what Tessie looked like before Doll and Doc Kelly got her cleaned up. If he hadn’t been there, I am certain I wouldn’t have been allowed any leniency to get my hands on Rex.
 

There is an almost unnoticeable chin lift by Tripp to me, his eyes showing respect and understanding for what this is doing to me. Tripp is Catawba club prez; he knows my history. He knows it claws at my insides to watch a strong, beautiful woman be destroyed while I sit helplessly on the sidelines.
 

 

Not Defeated
 

 

Waking to the discomfort of my aching body once again is a bold reminder of what I have endured. Today, however, is a new day.
 

It has been three days since my attack. Shooter has been great in opening his home to me. Doc Kelly has been in and out to redress my wounds and check me over. She left me with meds to help me sleep and for the pain. I am also on a course of antibiotics to fight infections given the wide range of my wounds. My face is still swollen, but I can at least open my eyes now.
 

I am getting by. My mom, being my mom, came by yesterday to see me. Doll stayed with me and held my hand as I shared the truth with my mom about my assault, the three of us crying together. She agrees we should tell Axel I was in an accident. Adult problems are just that—adult problems. I can’t burden my little boy with what really happened.
 

Doll, being the boss lady she is, got all my shifts covered this week at both Brinkley’s and Ruthless. Now I need to make some serious life decisions.
 

With the loss of my income this week, there is no way I will make my rent for next month, so step one is to pack my shit. Step two, settle back in at Mom’s house. I knew this day was coming, but my situation warrants my making the transition a little sooner than I originally anticipated. Score another point for that bitch that happens to be life. I may get knocked down, but I will not be defeated.
 

Moving around slowly, I get up and dressed. Doll brought over a few of my things, so I begin to pack up what I have laying around Shooter’s bedroom and bath. Until today, I haven’t taken in much of my surroundings.
 

His room is large, although minimally filled. A king size bed on a frame with no headboard, no footboard and only one nightstand. Along the wall is one tall dresser covering the expansive space. His closet is one made for a couple, having individual sides. His side is full with jeans and T-shirts in different colors. A garment bag hangs full in the very back. His boots line up the floor in a straight row alongside two pairs of running shoes. The other side of the closet is completely empty, minus a large gun safe that is combination locked.
 

The bathroom is one designed with a woman in mind. The oversized tub has four jets that have been just what my aching body needed to relax while the sleeping pills kicked in. The double sinks allowed me to stay out of Shooter’s way with my deodorant, toothbrush, and hair brush. His shower is enormous with two shower heads. If I combine his bathroom and closet, they are the size of my entire trailer.
 

The rest of Shooter’s house is much of the same; very little furniture, nothing personal on display, and modern upgrades. His kitchen has maple colored cabinetry and fancy, stone countertops like you would see in one of those magazines at the end of the grocery store cash
register. His living room has two built-in bookshelves on either side of a fireplace with a space for a television above it. The area is completely bare except for a TV and DVD player. The house has two smaller bedrooms that are empty.
 

Doc Kelly said fresh air would help me; as a result, I did venture out to the porch yesterday. Shooter has acreage. I’m not sure how much exactly, but he doesn’t seem to have neighbors close by. A two car garage is separate from the house, the only other building visible. He has a nice yard, but no fence. The trees lining the property and driveway are the only view from all angles of the house. It is quiet here, which can be nice… or it can be haunting, depending on the moment.
 

Am I ready to face the outside world? Not really. I miss my son, though; therefore, I need to get going. Aware that the back and forth isn’t good for him, I won’t take him back to our old trailer. I will pack our stuff and get us settled in my old room at home where he sleeps when he stays with Mom.
 

“Goin’ somewhere?” Shooter questions as he stands in the doorframe to his bedroom and sees my bag.
 

“Home,” I answer honestly.
 

“So soon? You don’t have to leave, Tessie.” He stays where he is, watching me with concern in his features.
 

“I miss Axel. Thanks for all you’ve done.”
 

I move to the bathroom to grab the few toiletries I have here. What should I say? Thanks for saving my life. I don’t know for sure if the guy would have killed me, but I also don’t know that he would have spared me, either. The last few moments of the altercation are little fuzzy. I don’t remember Shooter coming in or how I got out of there exactly. I just remember hearing Shooter’s voice.
 

As a thought hits me, I lean against the bathroom wall and slide down it to the floor.
 

Shooter is immediately standing at my side without touching me. “What’s wrong, Tessie?”
 

“The guy… the guy… is he alive? Is he going to come after me again?” My body trembles as the fear once again consumes me.
 

“Baby, I don’t know if he’s alive. I shot him twice in the legs. I didn’t want to risk you, so I only injured him enough to get you outta there.”
 

Unable to stop the sobs, I sit there as tears fall down my face. Slowly, I watch Shooter squat down beside me. Then shaking thumbs reach out and wipe away my tears.
 

“He’s not gonna come after you again. Not if he wants to live. Tessie, I wanted to wait to talk to you, but I guess now is as good a time as any.”
 

I look at him in confusion. Talk to me about what?
 

He sits down on his bathroom floor beside me. I have noticed he goes out of his way to make sure I am not spooked or don’t have to move. It is more than consideration, too. Shooter moves around me cautiously, like he would move heaven and earth to keep from scaring me.
 

“Tessie, I claimed you,” he states, as if this is something that happens every single day.
 

“What do you mean
claimed me
?” I ask on a hiccup as my sobbing subsides.
 

“I made you my ol’ lady.”
 

His words don’t register with me right away. “Why?” I ask since that’s all I can seem to think.
 

“I know who attacked you, but being as it was another club, the only way to truly protect you was for someone to step up and claim you.”
 

“And that someone was you?”
 

“Yeah, baby, it was me. You gotta know, it’s just in name. After we handle the Ghosts, I’ll let ya go. You obviously don’t hafta stay here and be my real ol’ lady. In public, you’re mine so you gotta remember that. It’s to protect you.”
 

My mind runs a mile a minute. “Why do I have to be claimed? I don’t understand.”
 

“It’s the way of my world. In order for the club to protect you and act on your behalf of what has happened, you have to be property of the club. You’re a female and can’t be a brother, so your way in is as an ol’ lady.”
 

“So anyone could’ve stepped up to protect me by claiming me?”
 

“Well, it usually doesn’t work this way. Usually, you’re in a relationship with the woman, but we needed our name to cover you. This was the only way.”
 

“No, no, I get that, Shooter. I’m sayin,’ out of every single brother, any one of them could’ve stepped up, but you did?”
 

He stares at me in confusion. “I told you already. I did.”
 

“Rex?” I whisper then watch his eyebrows rise in understanding.
 

He drops his head before answering me. “He wasn’t at the sermon, but a decision had to be made quickly, so I stepped in. He couldn’t do anything after it was done.”
 

While relief washes over me because I have no business being Rex’s ol’ lady—in reality, I don’t want to be an old lady at all—I can’t help wondering why Shooter dropped his head and didn’t face me and tell me. Is he afraid I would be disappointed Rex wasn’t there?
 

With the history I share with Rex, it would crush me to know that, when I needed him most, he didn’t step up for me. I find comfort in the fact that he wasn’t there. At least that way I can hold on to some sort of hope that, even if we won’t ever be together, he would do whatever was necessary to keep me safe. However, after all of this, there is no way in hell Rex and I will ever be anything more than friends. I want to pick up the pieces of my life and raise my son. Nothing more, nothing less.