Irons 3

by Mj Fields

  At the beginning of our relationship, we worked at 75 together. During that brief time, there were some close calls and we even lost one of our own. Tim Yaris was everyone’s friend. When he died, it wasn’t more than a few days after the funeral that I broke down. But I handled my business, got into therapy and conquered my own demons and fears.

  I grew out of that shy, timid stage. Yaris’s death made me put into focus everything I wanted to accomplish and pushed me. I didn’t want to forego my career to be that normal wife, not that there’s anything wrong with it, but it wasn’t for me and deep down I knew it.

  Nick didn’t recover. I’m not sure, even now, if he’s the man he was when I married him. Some shuffling of departments happened, he was transferred to 22 and I stayed behind.

  And that was the beginning of the end. He put up a wall. We stopped being intimate. Hell, we stopped talking all together. I tried to fight for him, for us, but he didn’t. I was the only one on the battlefield and it was fucking lonely. One day, I woke up and packed. I couldn’t be in a one-sided marriage anymore.

  It killed me. I knew how he felt and what he was going through. I’d gone through it, too. But he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, let me or anyone else in.

  Nick was on his own.

  “What are you telling them?” I whisper, looking around for spectators. Noting we’re alone, I jab him once in the chest with my index finger. “Our business is just that, Nicholas. I don’t want everyone in this damn house giving me shit because of our history.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Christina? You think I want them knowing I was married to a crazy paramedic? Get over yourself.” I’d like to say his words don’t hurt, but they do. Through everything, I never stopped caring for him, and it would appear I’m the last concern on his mind.

  “I just wanted to make sure. I had a hell of a time at 75 after and I’m not trying to go through that again.”

  “Listen. I’m not telling anyone anything. If you want to, I don’t care, but I’m here to do a job, nothing more, nothing less.” And it’s confirmed. Nick’s the same guy I walked out on two years ago. I wish he would have been able to get close to these guys without the memory of Yaris plaguing him every time he turned around, but it’s not looking that way.

  “As long as we’re clear.” Pulling the hair tie from my wrist, I pull my hair back and secure it in a messy bun. “Do you know where I can find my partner?” The chief gave me his name, but I’ve yet to see him, not that I’ve been here long.

  “Try the bunks. Mason’s usually napping if we’re not on a run.” If I get paired with a lazy EMT, I might freak out.

  “Thanks,” I mutter, turning on my heel and walking back inside. Going upstairs to the bunks, I immediately find Gary Mason, my new partner, by the snoring coming from the back cot. Rolling my eyes, I head back downstairs. Now’s as good a time as any to introduce myself to the firefighters in the house.

  The moment I enter the kitchen it feels like all eyes are on me, and not in a good way. I recognize a lot of the guys, having seen them at benefits and department functions, but for the life of me I can’t remember any of their names. Thinking back to when I joined 75, I search for memories of how I finally broke the ice, and then it comes to me.

  “I’m going to Shenanigans tomorrow if anyone wants to come. First round’s on me,” I shout, then casually take a seat at the end of the table, refusing to make eye contact just in case they reject my invitation.

  A tall, dark-skinned man appears in my line of sight, sits in the chair across from me and takes a bite of his sandwich. “Tony Jones,” he grunts between bites in true caveman style.

  “Christina Mitchell,” I respond, already feeling better that I’m not a social pariah in the house.

  “You been on ambo long?”

  “A few years. I love it.” I really do enjoy my job. It’s rewarding in every aspect of the word. Glancing up at Tony, he’s watching me with inquisitive eyes. “What?” I ask, praying to God I don’t have food on my face or in my teeth.

  “It’s been a while since we had a woman in the house. Wondering if you’re going to start bitching about how dirty it is here, or how it smells.”

  “Nope. It’s a firehouse. It’s supposed to smell like this.” Tony must have no idea how disgusting 75 was, because if he did, he’d realize that 22 is pristine compared to that house.

  “Huh. I think I like you, Mitchell,” he says, grinning as he pops the last bite of sandwich in his mouth.

  “I like you, too, Jones.” I return his smile, but it’s cut short when Nick traipses back into the room, eyeing me like he just caught me in bed with his brother.

  It’s going to be a long shift …

  Chapter One

  One Encounter

  Doll

  Shit! This one is going to be a mess to clean up, I think to myself.

  Pulling up to the clubhouse, I realize today’s barbeque is not just for the local Haywood’s Landing Hellions, but also for our affiliate charter and chapter clubs. Rather than the usual fifty or so bikers with their families, it’s more like two hundred of them here today. It’s a sight that most would be intimidated by. For me, it’s comfort. It’s the safety found in my family. Most of all, it’s my home.

  Once a year, sometimes twice, my dad invites all of the partnering motorcycle clubs out for a huge barbeque. The Hellion’s control all of Coastal North and South Carolina, as well as a few areas in the Piedmont and Appalachian areas of North Carolina. They provide protection, shelter, food, and fun for all affiliate clubs traveling through. The Hellions are respected and run Carolina Country. Some of the clubs we protect passing through our territories are into the more illegal side of motorcycle club life, while others are more of a band of brothers traveling together. Our club walks a fine line in what they do and do not participate in. As a female, I’m sure there is much more that goes on in the club than I will ever be made aware of. Having such a large area to cover, Dad makes sure to show his appreciation for the smaller charters and chapters whenever possible. Times like this are about family and relaxing; business is off the table.

  Our thirty acre compound area is now littered with bikes, trikes, and cars. Burly bikers abound. Ol’ ladies and kids are squealing and smiling at every turn. The kids are enjoying the food, games, bounce houses, and pony rides. It’s like a mini-freaking-carnival. With all the ol’ ladies present, the bar flies and hang around whores are at a minimum. Some aren’t so bad, but most annoy the shit out of me. They all respect the ol’ ladies and wives, though. It’s a good thing they know their place, too. My dad doesn’t tolerate any disrespect of a claimed woman in his club by anyone, but especially not from a bar-bitch just looking for a night with a Hellion.

  Getting out of my car, I smile. My girls are here today, standing on the other side of the lot, waving to me. Savannah Mae and Caroline are my two very best friends, my survival sisters in this crazy lifestyle. Savannah ‘Sass’ Perchton and I have been best friends from childhood.

  Her dad, ‘Danza’, is a Hellion original, along with my dad, Roundman, their friend, ‘Frisco’, and the late ‘Rocky’ Fowler. The four men created the MC as a way to ride together and stay safe thirty-two years ago when they were in their twenties. Rocky and his wife passed away in a car accident a few years back. Their only daughter, Dina, was in college at the time, with no other family. The Lawson family and the Hellions MC have made sure to be a support system for her as much as she will possibly allow. She’s the reason Sass and I went to college in Charlotte. Our dads felt it was a good way to keep an eye on us, Dina and Maggie Lawson, another Hellion princess all at the same time. Dina is a couple of years older than us. She’s settled in life. She has a great husband and two beautiful daughters. Maggie and Dina both took care of Sass and I while we were in college. Especially the first two years, we were young and had been sheltered so much by growing up in our small town run by the Hellions that college was a wild experience. Dina and Maggie are like olde
r sisters for both of us.

  Freshman year, we decided to attempt dorm life. That’s where we met Caroline Milton. We lasted one semester in the dorm, before my dad put us in an apartment and we brought Caroline with us. She’s the complete opposite of Sass and me. Caroline majored in business, specifically accounting, where Sass and I took an easier path, one not involving so much math, choosing arts and communications.

  I stifle a giggle as I realize this is Caroline’s first time at a large club event. Of course, she knows that Sass and I have biker Dads, but her schedule has never allowed her to be with us for a party. She’s clearly overdressed in her cocktail length, spaghetti strapped dress, and wedge-heeled sandals. The dress isn’t overly formal, but its fitted and not the casual feel that these barbeques are meant for. Sass and I are both in jean shorts and tank tops. Denim and leather are safe bets for anything at the clubhouse. A sundress would’ve been a bit more suitable for her to wear. Although, I don’t think Caroline is one to ever dress casually except when cleaning her house or something, and that’s a serious maybe. I doubt she even owns a pair of yoga pants.

  After college graduation, Caroline stayed in Charlotte. She works with Kenna, one of Dina and Maggie’s friends. Sass and I, on the other hand, came back to the coast to work for the Hellions storage business and motorcycle garage. I run the storage office, while Sass is like a “girl Friday”, answering phones, doing parts runs and stuff for the bike shop. We share a condo on the beach because at twenty-five, neither of us wanted to live back at home, even though we both know we are never out of the reach of our parents or any of the Hellions. This has been our world for two and half years, living at the beach, while working beside our dads.

  Weaving my way through the hordes of bikes towards my friends, I feel at peace, even amongst the chaos. Gazing around me, I admire the many motorcycles in our courtyard, each decked out in chrome and leather. I hug my girls for our typical greeting, as I reach them.

  Together, we make our way inside the clubhouse where I nod and wave greetings at my extended family. Taking in the many unfamiliar faces, I smile knowing I’m safe even with these “strangers” around. It’s an unspoken code women are protected and cherished in the Hellions. I’m no one’s target for trouble here, and it’s not because this is our territory; it’s because I’m a lady of the Hellions for life, ride until I die.

  The affiliates seem to understand who I am, even without introduction. I’m not an ol’ lady. There is no cut on my back. I’m not claimed with a property patch. That doesn’t mean I’m available either. No, I’m not one to be found riding bitch on anyone’s bike. There is only one motorcycle I’m permitted to place my derriere on and those opportunities are few and far between. My dad refuses to let me ride with anyone but him.

  I’m not available to guys outside the club either, which suits me just fine. I was born into this life. My heart beats to the same steady tick of a Harley Davidson V-twin engine. I’m Delilah ‘Doll’ Reklinger. Princess to the Haywood’s Hellions MC. Daughter of ‘Roundman’, Hellion original and Prez for the last thirty two years. I’m the kid sister that each of these badass bikers looks out for. They will gladly kick your ass all because you simply looked at me. I’m a daughter to each and every ol’ lady to nurture, love, and treat like one of their own. This is my world, my home, and my happiness.

  TRIPP

  Haywood’s Hellions’ annual barbeque is one of the best parties of the year. Due to business needs, last year we were unable to attend, though. Roundman scheduled the run so our absence was no sign of disrespect for our parent chapter.

  This year, we’re expected and happy to oblige. When Roundman or any patched Hellion calls, we answer. Each charter may have their own Prez, but we all answer to the Haywood’s Hellions and Roundman.

  All the charters are represented today, complete with families in tow. The turnout is outstanding for the small town of Haywood’s Landing, North Carolina. The compound is located in the boondocks, making functions like these a non-issue for the neighbors.

  Taking it all in around us, my crew and I are relaxing, leaning up against the bar when Rex smacks my chest as he tips his beer bottle in the direction of three females. One of them clearly didn’t get the message, this is an MC event. She is dressed more for a day of shopping, or a night out at a club, than a barbeque at the clubhouse.

  “Those are definitely not hang around hoes,” Rex states.

  “That’s for damn sure. They’re walking with class and a whole lot of confidence. None of them are hangin’ on a man and no property patches in sight. Aw shit, Rex, fresh pussy for you.” I reply, laughing.

  Drexel ‘Rex’ Crews, is my cousin, Vice Prez of my Catawba Hellions chapter, and my lifelong best friend. We are the Piedmont chapter to the Haywood’s Hellions, located in Catawba, North Carolina, about an hour outside of Charlotte.

  Our moms are sisters who both had us out of wedlock and at a young age. We were taken in by our grandparents and raised more like brothers, and we proudly carry our Grandpa’s last name. Only eighteen months apart in age, we are still, and have always been, inseparable. Rex’s mom tries, whereas my mom bailed early on. Our grandmother passed when we were eight or nine and our grandfather followed in our teens. Having no one to really care for us, we roamed the streets.

  Aunt Jolene, Rex’s mom, tried; but she worked so much to provide a house and food for us that there wasn’t enough time in the days for her to keep up. Drugs, alcohol, petty theft, and girls were our day to day until a chance meeting with Roundman and his boys at a gas station one day. He set us straight and set us up. We owe everything we have to him.

  Rex is a ladies man with little to no standards. His only real boundary is that of an ol’ lady. If you don’t want Rex to hit on your woman, then you damn sure better claim her. Hang around hoes, sisters, friends, exes, and complete strangers are all fair game in his mind; married or not. As long as it’s new pussy, he’s happy. There are no encore performances.

  ‘Hit it, get it, and go. No repeats’ is the motto Rex lives by.

  “That dress is screaming to be plucked off. She needs to be devoured by D-Rex, my brother. She just doesn’t know it yet,” he says with a snicker as he steps away in the direction of his new conquest.

  The brunette in the dress may be what has caught Rex’s attention, but my eyes are glued to the long, blonde and straight-haired beauty next to the dress. Her face is round and flawless, her skin smooth like that of a glass doll. She’s in a black Harley Davidson tank top and short as sin jean shorts. Damn, this broad is stacked; nice rack, skinny with a plump ass that’s screaming to be smacked. I watch as she laughs, carefree, with her friends as Rex joins them.

  I begin to approach when I see Roundman walk to her. She hugs him innocently and it dawns on me exactly who she is. That’s Roundman’s Doll she’s off limits. All lust filled thoughts I have are momentarily gone. She isn’t just any Hellions princess, she’s the Hellion princess. We had to keep an eye on her from afar when she lived in Charlotte.

  Rex waves me over after he finishes greeting Roundman with a hand shake, pull into a half-hug, back slap that we men do. I follow suit after my approach.

  “Glad to see you and Rex could make it, Tripp.” Roundman greets.

  “There’s no place we’d rather be.” I reply, while thinking, ‘Well other than balls deep in your daughter.’ That’s one place I certainly would rather be. Damn, I can’t be thinking like this. Roundman would cut my dick off if he knew.

  “Tripp, Rex, this is my daughter, Doll, and her friends, Sass and Caroline,” Roundman introduces.

  That is a quick way to squash my lust filled thoughts, actually hearing the words my daughter. Blondie is a doll alright, Roundman’s Doll. She’s one of a kind, that’s for sure. You shelter and protect a beauty like her. She’s the kind of doll you treat like fragile china; wrap it up and store it on a shelf for safe keeping. I don’t know why we haven’t officially met before. Although these events are crowded,
one would think we would have met. I’ve always come here focused on business, so maybe that’s why.

  These broads are far from fresh pussy, and far beyond off limits. I hope Rex realizes this isn’t territory he wants to dip his dick in.

  Doll extends her hand to me, bringing me back into the moment. “Doll is what the boys call me. My name is Delilah. This is Savannah, otherwise known as ‘Sass’, and Caroline, our friend. It’s nice to meet you,” She greets. As I shake her hand, she stands up on her tiptoes, while tugging on my shoulder to pull me down then she kisses my cheek.

  The touch of her soft lips to my skin ignites a fire burning inside of me just under the surface. Her touch sends adrenaline coursing through my body. Before I can respond, there is a harsh voice, snapping me out of it.

  “Doll, Sass, Caroline! Asses in the kitchen!”

  Looking in the direction of the noise, I see Danza in the kitchen doorway, bellowing for the girls. They giggle as they sashay away. My eyes roam up and down her back side as she goes. Damn, what an ass she’s got. It’s one of those moments, I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave. Fuck me, what a strut! That girl is a heartbreaker with one swish of those luscious hips. Tame it, Tripp.

  “Sass is Danza’s daughter. Every time someone gets near our girls, he calls them to the kitchen. Won’t see ‘em again.” Roundman laughs, “Our Hellion princesses are tucked safely away for the rest of the evenin’.”

  After the girls leave, Rex and I shoot the shit with Roundman for a bit. Outside of sermon times, no business is ever discussed between clubs. Those are Roundman’s rules and we are chartered clubs to him. We are Hellions always. Brothers without hesitation. Allies and friends, yes. Business partners, of course. And although, my territory is mine to run Roundman respects his chapter leaders and doesn’t impose, but ultimately, I answer to him.