Merciless Ride (7 page)

Rex is sex walking, period, end of story. He has shoulder length, dirty blond hair. Eyes that are piercing blue, a body that’s got defined muscles, and ink that makes you want to lick every inch of his skin. The thing about Rex, he knows he is the whole package. He knows he looks good. He’s confident in his bedroom abilities, as he should be. There is also this edge to him. The same edge that all the Hellions carry. The thing that draws the barflies to them like a man lost in the desert to water.
 

Headlights coming my way draw my attention. Then a wrecker pulls up in front of my little car. I hold my breath as the driver side door opens, my mouth dropping open when it’s not Rex who climbs out.
 

At six feet tall, with broad shoulders and all muscle, the man coming to me is another example of the edge all the Hellions carry. His long-sleeved, black T-shirt pulls tightly against his well-defined chest, abs, and arms. His normally spiked blonde hair is hidden under an old, worn out, baseball hat. The jeans he is wearing are well washed and fit him like a pair of broken in shoes, comfortable perfection. Black motorcycle boots stop in front of me, drawing my attention back to my situation.
 

“Hey, Tessie, let’s get you loaded up and home to your boy.”
 

“Shooter,” is all I manage.
 

“Yeah, baby, you get me. Rex called. He couldn’t make it, but didn’t want you on the side of the road.”
 

This is the moment my heart should sink a little that Rex isn’t coming to help me. What surprises me, though, is I don’t feel short changed in the least bit. I don’t feel let down. For once, I feel absolutely nothing for Drexel ‘Rex’ Crews.
 

 

Damn him! Brother or not, right now, I want to kick his ass. I swear I heard him speaking to someone else as I answered the phone,
“Suck it harder, bitch.”
Instead of dropping the barfly, he calls me to pick up his woman off the side of the road. Only Tessie isn’t his ol’ lady; she’s just his back up pussy; the pussy he doesn’t want to hold onto yet won’t let go of, either.
 

Tessie is beautiful. She deserves so much better than Rex or any man the likes of us. She’s petite, maybe five-feet-four, with dark brown hair and brown eyes that dance when she smiles. Her perky breasts are what most may consider small, but they fit her body perfectly. She has a round ass, but not overly large, just enough to really grip as she rides you. With Tessie, though, it’s more than that. She is genuine, caring, and sweet. Loyal to a fault sometimes, she puts up with a lot of shit, not only from our club, but all the guys going into the bar.  
 

I won’t lie to myself; I have watched her for years with Rex, envious as hell. Tessie accepts him as he is, whatever he gives her. I have never met a woman who can easily understand and take a man truly at face value the way Tessie does, not only with Rex, but all of us.
 

I have been a patched member of the Catawba Hellions MC for five years now. My boss, Ryder, introduced me to the club after he patched in with the Haywood’s charter. His wife Dina’s father was an original before he passed away tragically in a car accident years ago.
 

I make the almost hour commute daily to work at Ryder’s Restorations in Charlotte. Most days, I paint cars for him. Occasionally, I step in on some fabrication, but it’s rare. The pay is good, business is good, and the guys at the shop are good. I could relocate to a place closer to work, but I don’t want to be in the city. I like being close to my club and not having neighbors close by. This life is simple and calm compared to what I have seen in my past.
 

I am going through the routine of hooking up Tessie’s car to the wrecker. My buddy here in Catawba has a towing and recovery business. He said he would come get her, but I couldn’t do that to Tessie. She’s a single mom, by herself on an old road in the middle of nowhere, and it is beyond late. A familiar face might make things a little better, especially since I don’t know how disappointed she is over Rex not coming personally.
 

Glancing over my shoulder, I see she’s watching me.
 

“Need help?” she asks, sticking her hands in her jean pockets.
 

“Nah, baby, I got it. Go ahead and get in. I’ll be a few minutes, and then we’ll get you home.”
 

She nods at me before proceeding to get in the truck. The 1993 silver Honda Civic she has been driving certainly has seen better days. Once we get this to the shop, I’m going to give it a complete over-haul. She has a kid to get home to.
 

Jobs here are few and far between. The bar is really the only place she could go right now without leaving her mom behind to work in the city. It’s a small town, people talk, and Tessie hasn’t had an easy life.
 

With the car secure, I climb in behind the wheel to tow it back to my place. Looking over to the passenger seat, I see she has fallen asleep against the door already. Reaching over, I buckle her in, and she startles and wakes.
 

“Shooter, thank you.”
 

“Anytime, baby. You need me to take you to your mom’s or your place?” I ask, wondering if she needs to pick up her son.
 

“My house, please. Mom didn’t want me to wake Axel.”
 

The exhaustion is written on her face, but more than that there is loneliness in her eyes. I don’t know why, yet I feel the need to apologize that it’s me that came to get her.
 

“I’m sorry Rex couldn’t make it.”
 

“I’m not,” she says, gazing out the window into the dark night.
 

How do I respond to that? Rather than involve myself in another man’s business, I stay quiet. Her phone rings from her purse saving me from continuing our conversation.
 

“What, Rex?” she answers with a dull tone. There is a pause for him to speak. “Yes, Shooter came. I’m on my way home.” Her brows draw together in frustration, but her voice remains impassive. “No, you can’t come over tonight.” She sighs deeply. “Rex, I told you, no more.” Another pause. “You couldn’t come get me because you were doing who knows what to some barfly. I’m not stupid. Rex, I told you, I’m done. The fact that you want to come over tonight shows the complete lack of respect you have for me. We’re over and have been for years. Hell, we weren’t actually ever officially together, so there is nothing to be over.”
 

Her voice never raises, never sharpens. She is calm, cool, and detached as she continues after allowing Rex to reply. “We’re nothing more than friends. Move on, Rex. I’m going to. Goodnight.” And with that, she swipes her thumb across the screen to end the call.
 

She lightly bangs her head against the window as we pull up to her house where she starts to unbuckle. Quickly, I reach in my back pocket and get my business card out of my wallet.
 

“Look, Tessie, if you need anything, I don’t care the time, call.”
 

When she looks at the card then up to me, a slight smile crosses her face. “Andy ‘Shooter’ Jenkins. You look like an Andy.”
 

“What?”
 

“In all the years you’ve been coming to the bar, I’ve only know you as ‘Shooter’ and ‘Jenkins,’ never Andy. You look like an Andy.”
 

 

No Friend of Mine
 

 

One day I will catch a break. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. Mercy has never been a friend to me. Life just keeps on kicking me while I am down. This is merely another bump in the road, one I will work my way through, somehow, someway.
 

Looking around my tiny, two bedroom, one bath, single wide trailer that was built back in the sixties, I take in my momentary solitude. To most people, my tiny home would be considered pitiful or pathetic. For me, it’s freedom. It’s independence. More than that, it is my success. It is mine. This is the place I have worked so hard and saved so much to have for myself and my son, Axel. After giving up everything and starting over, this was supposed to be my reward for all my hard work.
 

I laugh out loud. Much like my fantasies of Rex one day committing to me, having a place of my own is a mere pipe dream, as well. My mom’s health is rapidly declining. At some point in the very near future, I am going to have to face the fact that I should move home.
 

My mom has Multiple Sclerosis. After battling it for years now, the flares are coming more often and her recovery is becoming longer. My aunt lived with her until recently when she had to move in with my aging grandparents. My mom, seeking to feel strong and independent, asked me to stay at my own place for now. The more time passes, the more I watch the fatigue and muscle deterioration after each flare up.
 

After my dad bailed, when I was a toddler, my mom put all her energy into raising and supporting me; therefore, she never took the time for herself to find someone else. Then, when she ended up sick, she gave up hope that anyone would want to deal with all her new ailments. That’s when my aunt moved in with her after her husband passed away from a heart attack to make sure someone was around for Mom during the flares. This was also their way of making sure I went off to college.
 

I chose Appalachian State University because they do have a good nursing program and it was still relatively close to home, so I could get back to her if she needed me. I was young and carefree. I wouldn’t say I felt invincible, although I definitely didn’t think of the consequences of all my actions. They are the very same actions that have me now living in an old trailer with a son I’m raising on my own.
 

Tears fill my eyes as I think back on the dreams I once had. Dreams I once chased with fervor and passion are now a fading memory in what’s become of my life.
 

A knock at my door startles me out of my musings. There is no peep hole to check to see who is here. No, my tiny, white aluminum sided trailer has a set of three concrete steps leading up to the door that, if I yank hard enough, even locked, will pop open.
 

The inside of my house is no prettier than the outside. My kitchen has two windows, but one is filled with the window unit air conditioner to cool the small space. The avocado green gas stove and refrigerator are doing nothing to add to the ambiance. I have no dishwasher other than my own two hands, and my counter top has only enough space for the drying rack, a microwave, and a toaster.
 

The front door opens into my living room that only has enough room for a single couch; no loveseat, no chair, and no table even. Nope, I have a thrift store bought couch that faces two windows and a small television that sits on an old, short book shelf with three shelves.