The Possibility of Trey (A Hellion MC Novel)

by J. A. Hornbuckle

  "Okay. Rope's off. I need for you to stand up, Dallas. No, honey. Keep your arms in the same position they're in. Just use your legs. That's it. That's my girl." He pulled the chair away as soon as her legs straightened and handed it to Sam while he kept a steadying hand on her hip.

  "Can you move your shoulders, honey? That's it. Little movements. Good." Trey's mind raced trying to think of a way to prevent the worst of the pins and needles she was going to experience as soon as the blood made it to her fingers. He glanced at her poor hands again and revised that to if the fucking blood made it to her extremities.

  "Sugar, do you have a large scarf or something we can wrap her in?" The dancer quickly moved by the couple now standing chest to chest and went into the other door. which Trey could see was filled with lockers, tables and large mirrors. The whole of it covered in the different costumes, props and makeup of the dancers.

  "Stabilize her arms, yeah, that would be good," Sam agreed.

  "Thank you for coming for me," Dallas whispered, her eyes on his shirt.

  "I'll always come for you. You're my girl."

  "And you're still an asshole," she said, closing her eyes and turning her face away.

  "But I'm your asshole, Tex. Only yours."

  She snorted and glanced up at him. "You honestly expect me to believe tha…ow! Oh god! Shit! Ooowww! Oh, God. Trey! My hands!"

  Sugar handed him the scarf and he made quick work of crossing Dallas's arms and tucking her hands into her shorts before winding the scarf to keep her still from the elbows down.

  "What the hell! Fuck, this hurts! Help me, Trey!"

  "I only brought my Harley, honey. I need to make sure you don't move your arms on the way to the hospital."

  "No hospital!" she said on an inhale before she began to scream. Trey quickly pulled her face into his chest, trying to muffle the sounds she was making with his own body.

  "Is there a back way out of here?" Trey asked, looking at Sam.

  "Just follow the hall and it'll dump you into the back parking lot."

  Trey's eyes followed the other man's finger and saw the exit sign. "Great. Sam give Sugar the money I gave you. I'll have my boy replenish your wallet once we're outside."

  "Do you need me to carry her, sir?"

  "No. No one fucking touches her but me." Trey picked her up as carefully as he could, much in the way he'd pick up a toddler. Capturing her arms between them, he kept a forearm under her ass and an arm on her back. He watched as she bit her lips on a scream and then lifted to wrap her legs around his waist. "That's my girl. We're just going to go outside and get you seen to, okay?"

  He felt her nod against his shoulder as she tucked her face against his neck. She was still making terrible noises but Trey knew the pain was a good thing. It showed her hands and fingers were receiving the blood they had been denied. Stepping as softly as he could manage, he started towards the far door.

  "Thank you f-for your help, S-Sugar," he heard his girl say with a hitch, her chin on his shoulder. "I'll come b-back to see you d-dance."

  "You take care, Dallas. I'm glad I could help." Sugar's voice was tearful too but Trey had already seen the dancer had been crying when he pulled Dallas out of the closet. Seems like his girl had bonded with a stripper. But Trey knew that good people came from all walks of life and held all sorts of jobs.

  "Sam? Where do Jack and Daisy spend their time when they're here?" Trey asked as he walked. He needed intel to complete his retaliatory preparations.

  "The executive offices are on the second floor, sir. But they usually do not come in until after five or six p.m."

  Perfect. The brother/sister team would be around for the little party the Hellions had planned for later.

  *.*.*.*.*

  I had been in the emergency room many times with my mom and was aware of the 'hurry up and wait' process of being there. But after the nurse unwrapped me and Trey helped me pull my hands out of my shorts, she ran for a doctor. I wasn't sure if it was because of what she saw or the screams that I'd let out during my unveiling.

  At the doc's, "what the hell happened here?", Trey gave a short explanation because I could do nothing but writhe which caused more screams.

  Within seconds of him finishing his exam, the nurse brought in a tray of four injections, that the doctor used to numb my hands. I was surprised that I couldn't feel the shots but the other pain, the excruciation of the pins and needles overrode everything else. It only took seconds and relief hit. A respite that loosened the tense grip my body had taken on up to and including my mouth.

  "Thank you for rescuing me and getting me here. But you can go now," I announced to Trey firmly after both the doctor and nurse had left.

  "I'm not going anywhere, Dallas." The bastard quickly zinged back. I glanced at him underneath my lashes and saw he had his thick arms crossed and muscled legs planted. Shit. It was a stance that backed up his words.

  How do you make someone go away when they won't? Especially a bad-ass biker. I pondered that for a few moments before I tried a different tact.

  "I don't want you here." Did I say that in a childish whine?

  "Too bad."

  I felt my face scowl at his rejoinder. Man, was he stubborn.

  "Go back to your plaything. Or should I say playthings since you seem like a thirty-one flavors kind of guy."

  Trey leaned over me and placed his hands on either side of my hips in the bed, his face only inches from mine. "I know we need to talk this out, Dallas. But this is neither the time nor the place."

  "Who are you to decide? Just 'cause you run HC and the Hellions, doesn't give you the right to…"

  "Maybe not. But you're fucking mine, pretty girl, until we both goddamn decide you're not." His tone let me know in no uncertain terms that he wasn't going to take any of the shit I was shoveling. "I fucked up, cutting you deep and for that I'm sorry. But we'll get to all that another time."

  All I could do was blink as his words echoed inside me.

  "I don't want to know about it," I heard myself whisper, caught in his red-browns, the most perfect shade of brown as he stared at me. "I hate even thinking about it."

  He dropped his head until we were pressed forehead to forehead and I saw him close his eyes. Which is the position the doctor found us in when he came back through the curtain of my bay in ER.

  "Because of the severity of your injury, Ms. Sheridan, I'm recommending a series of tests which can be done tomorrow on an out-patient basis. In the meantime, here's a prescription for pain pills although your hands will be numb for hours yet. Also you need to have your hands massaged every three hours to ensure increased blood flow to the affected areas. I'll have a nurse clean and bandage your ankles which, compared to your hands, are the least of your injuries. She'll also loosely wrap your hands to pad them since with the numbing agent may cause you to bump them or do further damage without realizing it. Any questions?"

  "N-no," I stammered. Would my mom be able to massage my hands every three hours?

  As the doctor left saying he'd get the paperwork done for my release, I looked back at Trey. "I need to get to my folks. They're going to be out of their minds with me being gone so long."

  "No worries. I have your brother and one of his new friends with them. They think you're with me for the afternoon. What the hell did you tell them anyway?" He moved to help when he saw I was struggling to sit up on the edge of the bed.

  "Did you see them?"

  "Stopped by their room before going to the park to search for you," he advised.

  "Just that you were out of town," I mumbled while looking at my blood-splattered shoes.

  "So, you didn't tell them about…" He must have seen what I was looking at because he propped my foot on his thick thigh and began to untie the laces before pulling my shoes and footie socks off.

  "No, Trey. I didn't."

  "Thank you. I don't want them to hate me too." Trey was staring at my feet (or was it my toenails tipped in their green polish?) with a
small grin.

  "I don't hate you," I rushed to explain. "I just never want to see you or have anything to do with you for the rest of my life."

  His eyes came to mine and his grin spread into a smile that exposed both dimples. "Bullshit. Want me to prove it?"

  "Prove what?"

  I saw his eyes drop to my mouth. He moved closer and leaned down towards me again.

  The metallic sound of the curtain being moved jerked him back into full standing position.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  "Here's how it's going down tonight," Trey announced. The main room of the clubhouse was filled to capacity but was so silent, he didn't even have to raise his voice to be heard. "We have three targets: the Ghosts' shack, Tomatoes and the chop-shop. And our objective is to fuck up every single biker sporting Ghost cuts. I don't care if they're fucking on the street, at the goddamn shack or working at their new piece of shit business. I want them fucking down and out. As for Tomatoes, we'll be disabling the bouncers as we make our way to the principle players of Fat Jack and Daisy."

  "Define 'fuck up'," one of the brothers in the back yelled.

  "I want the assholes laid out, hurt and unconscious."

  "Weapons?" Jay called out.

  "Only if they fucking draw 'em first. I would prefer no blood but shit happens. Absolutely nothing goddamn dead, though. Fucking cap 'em in the leg or wing 'em in order to get them to ground but don't take it too fucking far!"

  "What do we do with them afterwards?" a member to the right asked.

  Bishop answered that one. "Zip-ties. Ankles and wrists. Duct tape has become too damn popular and after our last stunt, our new MPD friends may start putting two-and-two together."

  "Speaking of the MPD, after the crew working the chop-shop have everything under control and are off property, I want a call made to John Law. The information MPD receives will give the location of the goddamn shop as well as to point out the trail to Fat Jack's Used Cars and Parrish's Car Deals." Trey wanted the new venture of the other club's money-making scheme dead and gone with its participants doing time, if possible.

  Silo stood and gave out the assignments and which council members were to lead. "Trey and Bish are taking the shack, me and Brand the chop-shop with Dare and Huff handling Tomatoes, the lucky assholes. You all know where you're supposed to be and who you're riding behind? Good."

  "We've done this before and I know you'll make the club proud so I'll dispense with meeting afterward unless it's called for. Now getcha fucking asses on your rides and let's go administer Hellion justice!" Trey's roar was echoed by each and every member as they scrambled for the exit.

  He, Bishop and their crew of ten were the last to leave.

  "Rodriguez is mine, brother," Trey advised as he mounted his bike. Bishop gave a chin lift as he started his engine. He'd been the one who'd uncovered exactly where the Ghosts' headquarters were although Trey had known of the general location. The only uncertainty was how many members would be in attendance when the Hellions arrived.

  As they rode in two columns, Trey pushed all other thoughts aside as he allowed the fury that had been bubbling for hours to rise to the surface. It built, escalating both his heartbeat and breathing. Strength shot throughout his body as his vision narrowed until the road was all he saw and a pain hit his jaw with the tight clench he had on his teeth.

  He saw Bishop signal when they were a half-mile away. Time to hoof it in order to ensure their visit was surprise. As Trey's long stride ate up the remaining yards, he felt the electricity of his adrenaline rush kick in.

  The group stopped at where the tree-line ended and the cleared space in front of a large one story cabin began. Christ! Shack had been the perfect word to describe the Ghosts' clubhouse with its unpainted shingled exterior and peeling roof. Trey saw a couple of men casually leaning on either side of a paneled door on the unlit front porch. He pointed to two of his crew who peeled away in different directions. Within seconds, the pair of Ghost guards were immobilized and trussed with ties.

  "Our turn!" Bishop whispered with an anticipatory smile.

  The full team entered through the unlocked front door and were uncaring of their noise as they proceeded to taken down the seven other bikers milling around the main interior space. Some kind of rap-shit blared through the speakers and had helped cover the noise of their encroachment into the lair of their new enemy.

  As soon as he felt the men had everything under control, he did a chin lift to Bishop and cocked his head at one of the doors at the back. Grabbing two brothers, he joined Trey before following him to the rear of the shoddy room.

  Trey could hear two or three voices coming through the door as he stealthily turned the knob then threw the door open hearing it bang against the far wall. His boys were all over the two fuckers sitting in front of a large desk but Trey only had eyes for the man on the other side of it.

  "Since you didn't seem to understand me in our earlier phone convo," he started. "Thought I'd make a personal visit."

  Almost as tall as Trey and reed thin, Rodriguez had partially stood when the Hellions barreled through his office door. But at Trey's words, he sat back down and seemed to relax. "Mr. Jackson, I presume?"

  Trey didn't bother to respond as he lowered himself into one of the recently vacated chairs.

  "As stated, I know nothing of Hellion's problems and, quite frankly, couldn't care less. So you have wasted a trip."

  "Oh, I'm not here about the recovery of my property. That was already accomplished this afternoon." Trey saw a small flare in the black eyes of the other president as well a tiny tic in one of the man's swarthy, acne-scarred cheeks. "No, this social call is for vengeance, pure and simple."

  "How can you avenge something the Ghost's have had no involvement in?"

  "Please, Rodriguez. Playing dumb doesn't become you. Your boys snatched my property in full daylight and within full view of a gaggle of soccer moms. And they were stupid enough to be wearing their cuts. Now, you want to try that again?" Trey kept his eyes trained on the other man, watching each shift in posture, every twitch of his shoulders. Bishop had said that Ghost's president had a way with a blade and those fuckers could be tricky.

  "I will repeat it again since you do not seem to understand. The Ghosts…" Trey saw the other man's sharp jerk and Trey yanked his chair to the side until it toppled. The whiz and reverberation of the knife as it embedded itself into the wall behind him sounded loud in the quiet room. Which was quickly followed by the snick of Hellion guns being cocked as Trey righted himself.

  "Oh, goody," he breathed, his glare dead on the other man's eyes. "You like to play rough!" Trey planted his hands on the desktop going up and over feet first to plow his boots into Rodriguez's face. There was the satisfying crunch under his right boot and the man's fancy office chair rolled backward, crashing into the back wall.

  As the chair rebounded to where Trey stood, he bunched his fists and almost trance-like began to systemically use them. Right hook, left jab, right uppercut with a left roundhouse, Trey mentally named his punches as he worked Rodriguez over.

  "Yo', Prez! Think you can stop now. No dead, remember?" Bishop's voice sounded very far away but still caught Trey's attention.

  He stepped away from the bloody mangled mess he'd created and dragged a forearm across his mouth. Damn, but that had felt fucking good!

  "Tie him up and let's get out of here," Trey mumbled, his blood still zinging in triumph.

  "Fuck, here I was all ready for a good old school beat down and we cleared it in what? Fifteen minutes?" one of the newer members asked the room at large. Trey thought his name was Petey. Both the members in the room and the ones hanging by the door all laughed.

  "Either we're that good or the Ghosts have no skills," Mile replied.

  "Think it was both, amigo," Trey said as his body began to settle. "Good work. Now let's make tracks."

  As the group made their way back to their bikes, Trey placed a call to Silo. "How'd you do?"
r />   "Twenty-three minutes from start to finish. Five bleeders although nothing serious. Had to send Stay to ER when one fucker got brave and knifed him through the thigh. Cops arrived about five minutes ago and from my vantage point, they've called in almost the full force." The laughter in Silo's voice was hard to miss. "They've started rounding up the employees but the rest of the cops are fucking standing around, scratching their heads or whatever else they've got that itches. What's doing with Dare and Huff?"

  "They're next on my list. Go ahead and send your crew home. Unless you hear differently, we'll meet tomorrow to swap stories." Trey heard Silo yell, "later" into phone before disconnecting.

  He immediately called Dare. "What's doing?"

  "Already done. Fatty and sis are down for the count and trussed to within an inch of their lives. Thought I'd have trouble messing up a female but you outta see this bitch, Trey. Except for the flabby fucking tits on her, you'd swear she was a he! The fucking shit outta her mouth alone made me want to take her out." Dare couldn't contain his chuckles at what had gone down.

  "Let your troops go. We'll meet tomorrow with the others to fill each other in."

  "Yeah, okay. But think I'm gonna, uhm, stick around here for a bit. January's supposed to come on in about fifteen," Dare hedged.

  "Go get 'em, brother," Trey laughed into the phone.

  He swung a leg over his hog and inserted the key.

  Now to see to his girl.

  *.*.*.*.*

  TM: Am outside. Can u get door?

  Yeah, I could. By using my hands as if they were in mittens I was able to do certain movements. I still couldn't feel them even though the shots had been hours ago.

  Dasher: Ok

  I briefly had considered ignoring his text but thought maybe I'd maxed out my childish behavior account with him that day. I pushed off the bed and used the side edge of my hand to open the door's deadbolt before using my forearms to twist the knob.

  He stepped through, one shoulder at a time and dropped an unexpected peck on my mouth as he entered before reengaging the locks.