Merciless Ride (13 page)

 

It has been one month since my world was turned on its axis yet again. One month ago, Tessie was harmed. She is healing now, but my house feels empty without her. The day after I claimed her, she moved home with her mom. Her aunt and I helped her pack.
 

Yeah, I lied to her about Rex. One day, I will clear it up; however, with everything she has already been through, I didn’t want to add to her disappointments. It is clear things with her and Rex are over.
 

The guys have all gotten the word out about Tessie being my ol’ lady. Even though it isn’t real, I feel connected to her. I want her protected. While my instincts scream to go get her and drag her home with me, I know inside I am no good for her. Inside, I know she can’t really be mine. I am worried about her, but I don’t want to push.
 

With her mom keeping me updated, I know Tessie hasn’t checked her bank account and things are rough. She doesn’t know the club and I deposited more than enough money to cover her bills and living expenses. Still, I feel better having her at home with her mom instead of the trailer.
 

Bob said has called her and keeps up with her, but she hasn’t returned to Ruthless for work. She knows she has a job there whenever she feels ready to return, though. Bob is pretty torn up about what happened and agreed to sell ten percent of the bar to the Hellions, so it is off limits to outsiders now. He also promised never to leave anyone to close up alone again. It’s too little, too late as far as I’m concerned.
 

A patched brother will now be there at closing every night. Even if Tessie doesn’t come back, at least we know Corinne and now, Pamela will be safe. Bob took Pamela on to replace Tessie until she decides if she will return or not.
 

Tessie hasn’t returned to Brinkley’s yet, either, but Corinne says she plans to work there next week. I am glad to see her trying to get back to normal, whatever that may be.
 

Her mom says she hasn’t been eating much or sleeping well. Maybe, if she gets back to work, things will settle in her mind and she will take better care of herself.
 

Stepping into the cave for sermon, I’m on edge. Tripp has called today’s meeting to update us on the Ghosts. The bastards have been smart, staying out of the Carolinas.
 

After the call to order, Tripp wastes no time in delivering the news.
 

“Thorn says Shep has gone underground. He doesn’t have contact with him at the moment.”
 

“Underground? Fuck that. He’s goin’
in
the ground. What kind of operation is Thorn runnin’ that he can’t keep track of his boys?” I ask.
 

“Thorn obviously has his plate full—” Tripp starts, but I wade in before he can continue.
 

“It’s about to get a lot fuller. My ol’ lady was attacked by one of his crew. If he can’t deliver Shep to us, then his whole club can suffer the consequences for one man’s actions for all I care.” It surprises even me how easily the words ol’ lady roll off my tongue.
 

“You’re talkin’ war,” Rex says, watching me, “for a piece of pussy you’ve never even had.” The cocky bastard smiles sardonically at me. “You really think the club should risk all of us for her?”
 

When Head Case puts a firm hand on my shoulder to hold me in place it does nothing to stop me from running my mouth.
 

“What a true piece of shit you are. How’s she not worth it? If it were Doll, hands down we’d all be voting it to take them all out.” Looking at the man who is trying to remind me to stay put as his hand is still on my shoulder, I make my point to Head Case. “If this were Doc Kelly, would there be a question of how the vote would go? Rex has fucked her over enough through the years, and none of us touched her because of him. This whole thing would’ve never happened to her if he’d stepped up for her a long time ago, or if he had been man enough to let her go. Now, I sit here with her, knowing she’s my ol’ lady, and I have to wonder if my brothers are gonna go to bat for my woman. That’s some real brotherhood we’re showin’ here.”
 

“Enough,” Tripp states, eyes on Rex. “I’ve given Thorn seventy-two hours to deliver Shep to us. If he doesn’t, we need to vote on it. Are we goin’ to war with the Ghosts for the attack on Tessie? They came to our bar—owned or not, people know—and they hurt one of our own.”
 

Rex says nothing and his face gives away nothing.
 

Tripp continues, “We vote. If Shep isn’t handed over in the next three days, we go to war with the Desert Ghosts. Those in agreement, aye; those not, disagree.”
 

One by one, the brothers are asked. Their votes count, don’t get me wrong, but it is the officer’s table I want to see. More importantly, my VP; where does he stand? As the votes come in, so far, all but three agree to the stipulation of war if Shep isn’t turned over. The room is all in agreement by majority, the last two votes aren’t necessary; however, as Prez and VP, they still announce their decisions.
 

While Tripp looks to Rex as it is his turn to cast a vote, the bastard glances at me and winks. If he disagrees, I am going to kill him with my bare hands. After all the years Tessie has remained on the backburner for him, he wouldn’t choose not go to bat for her, would he?
 

“Aye. That bastard touched the wrong one. They hand him over, or I’ll go after every single one of them, one by mother fuckin’ one.”
 

Rex’s response shocks me, making me release the breath I was holding. He was fucking with me this whole time. He may not claim her, but he will go to war for her. I still hate the bastard because he could have and should have stayed to make sure she wasn’t alone. All of this could have been prevented.
 

“Aye,” Tripp states. “If Thorn doesn’t comply, war it will be.” The gavel slams down and the sermon is dismissed.
 

 

Adjusting… or Not
 

 

The visible wounds have healed for the most part. I will forever carry a scar across my forehead and the bump on my nose. I am managing to work at Brinkley’s a few days a week now. Moreover, thanks to the additional funds in my bank account, I have stayed afloat without working like I was before. Granted, I think, when the club, Shooter, or whomever made the deposit in my account, they were expecting me to pay rent with it. However, since I moved out of my trailer, I don’t have the expense; as a result, I have been able to carry the money further. The landlord was nice about my departure. She said she would leave the place empty for me for a few months to get back on my feet. I wish she wouldn’t hold it. It is more than the money, though; I just didn’t bother telling her that. Pride gets the best of us all. I don’t want to swallow mine and tell her that I won’t be moving out of my mom’s again.
 

Shooter stops in to check on me at work, but has otherwise kept his distance over the last few weeks. Strangely enough, I find that I miss him. In this entire ordeal, he has not once pushed me.
 

Doll has tried to get me back to Ruthless. According to her, Bob, and Corinne, Ruthless is Hellion owned now, so I am safe to return.
 

Safe.
 

Do they not understand? I thought I was safe before.
 

Shep, the name I have since learned, had been in Ruthless multiple times over the last few months, and not once did I think he would attack me. Sure, he was always filthy. He always looked disheveled with greasy hair and in need of a shave, smelling like the road and cigarettes. He liked his Jack straight and chain smoked with no regard to your own health when he blew his secondhand smoke in your face. He was an asshole, but ninety percent of the guys I deal with are, including the Hellions.
 

It’s the nature of the beast, as some would say. I work in a testosterone filled environment where they all swing their dicks around to show who is in charge at least once a night. These aren’t pretty boys in suits. No, I have always been surrounded by the chaos and reckless abandon of bikers. Up until my attack, I never gave it a second thought. I have a kid to feed, clothes to put on his back, and a roof to keep over his head. I didn’t have time to think about what could happen. My mistake. I allowed myself to become comfortable.
 

Mercy, she is a bitch and fails to shine down on me. With everything I have dealt with in my life, you would think by now I would know better. I should find the bad in every situation and know it will happen to me at some point. I had my own place, a little money in the bank (certainly not a lot, but I knew my rent would be paid), and Axel and I were doing well. Therefore, I should have expected something to come along and knock me on my ass.
 

A knock at the door brings me back to this moment. My mom is resting in her room and Axel is at school. I make my way to the door, hoping my mom stays asleep. I have been keeping her up lately and she could use the rest.
 

Looking through the peephole, my breath catches in my chest. Shooter stands on the other side, waiting. Realistically, seeing him shouldn’t bother me. It does, however. He has truly seen me at my worst. How do I handle him? How does he handle me?
 

Taking a deep breath, I open the door to him. Plastering on the best smile I can, I drink in the man in front of me. He’s not overly built, but he is fit, there is no denying it. Shooter has no visible tattoos, which makes me curious since every single one of the Hellions have multiple tattoos.
 

My mind wanders, thinking back to all the times he has come to the bar. He is always alone. Unlike Rex, Tripp, before Doll, or any of the other guys, Shooter is not one to hook up with the barflies, at least not publically.
 

“You gonna let me in?” he questions, taking me away from my thoughts.
 

“Ummm… Why are you here?”
 

“I came to check on you.”
 

Stepping back, I gesture with my hand for him to come inside. Somehow, having him near sends my body into overdrive. My heart races, but not in fear. No, Shooter is the one person who calms me when the negative overruns my brain. Regardless, I can’t allow myself to become used to him. I can’t depend on him or anyone, for that matter; therefore, I need to keep him at a distance.
 

He follows me into the living room. It is a small space where Mom’s old, brown couches have seen better days. Axel has left his artistic marks all over them. We don’t have a coffee table anymore. My childhood dog, Fescue, knocked into it, breaking it, and Mom never replaced it. The two accent tables are covered in doilies and soft lamps. The television is not very big in screen size, but it is old so the box is huge to move around. It sits on the same stand it has been on for the last fifteen years. Mom’s place is bigger than my trailer; yet not by much. It certainly isn’t adorned with life’s finer things.