Forever Ride

by Chelsea Camaron

  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.”

  The Desert Ghosts MC was used with permission from Author Theresa Marguerite Hewitt. They are from her upcoming novel Ricochet, releasing late 2014. Keep reading for Chapter One of Ricochet.

  About the Author

  Chelsea Camaron was born and raised in Coastal North Carolina. She currently resides in Southern Louisiana with her husband and two children but her heart is always Carolina day dreaming.

  Chelsea always wanted to be a writer, but like most of us, let fear of the unknown grab a hold of her dream; she realized that if she was going to tell her daughter to go for her dreams, that it was time to follow her own advice.

  Chelsea grew up turning wrenches alongside her father, and from that grew her love for old muscle cars and Harley Davidson motorcycles, which just so happened to inspired her ‘Love and Repair’ and ‘The Hellions Ride’ series. Her love for reading has sparked a new love for writing and she currently has a few more projects in the works.

  When she is not spending her days writing you can find her playing with her kids, attending car shows, going on motorcycle rides on the back of her husband’s Harley, snuggling down with her new favorite book or watching any movie that Vin Diesel might happen to be in. She hates being serious and is still a big kid at heart. She is a small town country girl enjoying life and, Chelsea hopes that her readers remember not to take life too seriously and to embrace your inner five year old, because five year olds know how to enjoy the simple things in life and how to always have fun.

  For more information on Chelsea and her books check out the following links!

  http://authorchelseacamaron.com/

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  Or you can send Chelsea Camaron an email at:

  chelseacamaron@gmail.com

  You May Also Like:

  Ricochet

  By

  Theresa Marguerite Hewitt

  Desert Ghosts MC Series (Book 1)

  Coming Soon!

  Copyright ©2014 Theresa Marguerite Hewitt

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

  in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.

  Excerpt:

  Chapter 1

  Aleesia

  I let out a loud, frustrated scream, hurting my own ears as my car putters and shakes, the dashboard flicking on and off before something sounds like it explodes and everything goes dark. “No, no, no…stupid fuckin’ car!” I scream, guiding the machine off to the side of this deserted highway. “Why couldn’t you have done this a hundred miles ago where there was civilization?”

  The dead 2013 Toyota Camry coasts to a stop, a large cloud of steam and smoke pouring from under the hood. I knew I should’ve bought a Chevy. I close my eyes and lean forward, ramming my forehead into the leather steering wheel. Trying not to freak out, I look to the passenger seat and grasp my cell phone. Swiping the screen I see I have no service.

  Awesome. Just freaking awesome.

  The highway I’m on is unfamiliar and dark; pitch black to be exact. If it wasn’t for my loser of a bookie father, I wouldn’t be here right now. I wouldn’t be headed to Las Vegas to bail his ass out with my life savings tucked into my purse, under my seat. Truth is, if my mom hadn’t called me crying, I wouldn’t give two shits, but the guys looking for my dad came to her house threatening her and her new husband. I have to step in to keep them safe. My stepdad wouldn’t give my father the over ten grand he needs. And, believe me, I had a hard time writing that withdrawal slip at the bank myself.

  I don’t know the circumstances or to whom my dad owes the money to. I don’t care, I just want the ‘big, burly, steroid taking men’ as my mom called them, to stay away from her. She went through enough of that shit when I was little and she was still married to the scumbag.

  Even after twenty years I still remember the day when the mob goons came into our house in an affluent part of Las Vegas and trashed everything, as my mom and I huddled in the bathroom. I was eight and oblivious to what my father was involved in; I only knew that it kept my mom and me in designer clothes and ushered around by a chauffeur.

  Everyone who knew us knew who we really were. We were the Ginelli’s, part of the Salvatore crime family that still runs most of the underground gaming in Vegas. They are well known because they have three five-star restaurants and hotels in Vegas, New York and in Paris. I know a lot of people say that the mob doesn’t exist anymore, but they are just plain blind and dumb. They are the ones who get mixed up and end up blown up in the front seat of their car.

  Snapping back to reality, I’m still staring at my cell’s screen, hoping that a bar of service will pop up. “If you hadn’t gotten mom mixed up in this…” I grit my teeth and toss my phone onto the seat beside me. “I’d let those goons kill you, you bastard.” I rip the keys from the ignition and open my door, the dry heat of the desert highway smacking me in the face. Pulling the hood release with the toe of my Nike, I shove the keys in my back pocket as I stand.

  Leaning back against the door I look up at the star filled sky. I know I’m lost and broken down, but damn do the stars make me want to just sit out and forget about everything. Forget about my scumbag dad and how he always ends up screwing our family over, forget about how mad my now ex-boyfriend was when I told him I had to leave and go to Vegas for family reasons. Forget about the bruise on my upper right arm from when he grabbed me, trying to make me stay, but he gave up on that when I kneed him in the groin. I laugh out loud, slapping my hand over my mouth to try and stop my giggles as I remember how red his face got as he fell to the floor. Guess I’ll have to find a new apartment when I get back to Sonora when all this shit is squared away.

  Yeah, I grew up in Vegas, but as soon as I graduated high school I left for San Francisco and college. Six years later I landed an amazing job in Sonora, California at an advertising firm and in the four years since that, I have traveled the world working with famous photographers and models, making print and commercial ads for some major worldwide brands like BMW. The money is amazing…the hours suck. As a result, my longest relationship has lasted a whole six months, ending about two and a half hours ago.

  “Oh, what the fuck!” I grind out, my frustration at the situation boiling over and I slam my fist down onto the window, ignoring the second of pain and heading for the hood of my car; the steam still pouring out from underneath. Pulling off my favorite worn out college tee, I wrap my right hand to protect it from whatever might still be hot and lift up the hood, coughing and gagging at the mix of smoke and steam. The distinctive smell of burning oil hits me and I step back letting it clear and swearing up a storm, knowing I’ll have to try and walk to find a town, or at least a house so that I can call a tow truck.

  Looking around me I see a little dot of light in the distance, but it could just be one of the stray street lamps that I passed. Waving my hand through the thinning smoke, I look down at my poor car. The radiator is still spraying and I know I’m doomed for sure. It’s a good thing I wore sneakers and comfortable shorts because it looks like I’ll be walking. I let the hood slam back down and tuck a corner of my now oil stained tee in my back pocket with my keys.

  Coming around to the passenger door, I look up and notice that the light in the distance has gotten closer and now there are two of them, signaling headlights. “Yes!” I celebrate a little bit, grabbing my phone and tossing it in my purse, throwing the strap of the cross body over my head and heading for the trunk. I’m busy searchin
g through the emergency kit I have stowed in there, trying to figure out how I’m going to flag the car down when the sound of motorcycles meets my ears.

  “Fuckin’ great,” I grumble, knowing that my saving grace might now mean trouble. Sure enough, the sound of the bikes is coming from the north as the lights come closer, but as I turn back around searching for something that I might be able to defend myself with, just in case, I see another set of lights coming from the south. “Jesus. Anyone else wanna come to my rescue?”

  The loud rumble of the motorcycles, along with rock music creeps in, second by second, and I finally find the flares stored in the emergency kit along with a flashlight. Sliding the flares into my purse, I slam the truck shut just as the headlights start to dance on the road and metal of my broken down car.

  Turning, I shield my eyes from the growing light and pick out at least ten bikes in the group, most of them being Harleys. Hey, I might have been raised a rich girl, but I had a wild side in college and might have dated a bad boy or two, liking their motorcycles and tattoos. Before I can make it to the back quarter panel of my car, two of the bikes roar past me and screech to a stop just in front of my car, kicking up dust in their wake. I flick my flashlight on as the others stop a few yards from the trunk and I take note of the symbol and name on their leather cuts.

  “Desert Demons,” I say to myself, my voice drowned out by the still rumbling engines and loud voices of the men now surrounding me. I keep my attention focused on the two getting off their bikes to my right, both being tall and broad, striking a little bit of fear within me as they both hang their helmets on the handlebars. I move my flashlight up to their faces as they turn and I have to steel my emotions and keep my disgust hidden as to not egg them on. They are both older, maybe late thirties or early forties. One is bald with a full skull tattoo of flames, the patch on his vest displaying that he is the Vice President of these Desert Demons. He’s got the 1% patch, telling me he’s not one to mess with and that he’s murdered for his club, along with numerous other patches. The other guy is the ‘Prez’, stated by his patch and his head is wrapped in a dark bandana, his eyes locked on me. He waves his hands and all of the other bikes cut off in succession, a handful of the men getting off of their bikes to my left and coming closer.

  “Prez, we got lights comin’ our way,” one of the guys says, pointing south to the other group of lights coming closer and their president just laughs, turning back to me with a smile that makes my skin crawl.

  “What you doin’ out here, sweet thang?” He winks at me, licking his lips as he comes to within only a foot or two away and I see the massive scar running from the middle of his forehead down over his left eye and cheek and coming across his throat. I can see that his brown eyes are roaming over my tank, lingering on the tops of my average boobs and I cross my arms over my chest, garnering laughter from the group. “You all by yourself? Ain’t got no man with ya?”

  “Someone is comin’ to get me right now,” I bluff, hoping he’ll take it and leave with his buddies in tow, but as the smile grows on his lips, I know I’ve failed.

  “Looks like it’ll take them awhile since you got Cali plates,” he whispers, taking a step towards me and backing me into the back door of my car. I instinctively reach around and grasp one of the flares, wishing that it would turn into a knife or something more threatening. He watches my movement for only a second before throwing his hand against the glass and making me flinch. “You one ‘a Eli’s girls?” he asks, looking me over again and I can’t hold in my disgust anymore, gagging at the smell of dirt, sweat and grease that is wafting my way from him.

  “I don’t know who the fuck Eli is,” I say, trying to scoot out from his entrapment, but he just steps to my right, pinning me in again. “Now if you’d please, I need to have someone fix my car.” The lights from the south are matched with the same rumble of motorcycle engines and I kick myself. “Great! Are those more of your buddies?” I say and immediately regret it, as the look in this man’s eyes turns cold.

  “Got trouble headed our way, Prez.” The warning pulls his stare from me for a moment and he waves to some of the guys and they spread out around us before he returns his eyes to mine. The headlights of the approaching bikes reflect off the chrome of the Desert Demons’ machines as Prez leans in closer, forcing me to lean back, trying to mold myself onto the car to keep away from him.

  “If you ain’t one ‘a his girls, why the fuck is he comin’ to get ya?” he growls into my face, his nose brushing mine as my stomach turns, threatening to spill from my throat as his rough and dirty hand runs over the outside of my thigh, over my shorts, up the front of my shirt and ending with his fingers lightly gripping my throat. “I always like to taste Eli’s girls. They’re fine pieces of ass, but I usually get them after he’s played with ‘em. This time I get first dibs.”

  I wrench my head to the side, the headlights of the new bikes blinding me from only a hundred yards away. My shriek of surprise is drowned out by the noise of the motorcycles as this jerk drags his tongue up my neck and across my cheek, finally sinking his teeth into my ear as I try and fight him off. My fists pound into his chest as he just laughs, his fingers tightening around my throat making me gasp.

  He loosens his grip on my ear and I see my opportunity. Tightening my grip on the cheap plastic flashlight, I swing it up and crack him in the side of the skull, his cursing filling the air as the new bikes cut off, leaving it dead silent. “You bitch!” he growls at me, wiping at the small cut I can see the plastic caused. “You’ll get yours. Come here!” He starts to stalk towards me as a gunshot rings out.

  “Don’t take another fuckin’ step!” a deep voice rolls over the space between the group that just joined this party and the men around me. I drop the broken flashlight to the pavement and raise my eyes to see a group twenty or more strong coming face to face with these Desert Demons.

  “This ain’t none of your business, Thorn. She says she ain’t yours.” The Prez’s stare won’t leave me, seeming to bore a hole into the side of my face as I won’t look at him again, I’m only looking to the headlights of what could be my saviors.

  “She isn’t mine, but that don’t mean you can treat her like you do your own women.” I try and pinpoint the one talking, but I can’t see their faces very well in the headlights. “Come on.” Arms come up and wave for me to come forward, but I don’t move. I don’t know if these bikers will help me, let alone not rape and kill me like I’m pretty sure the Demons were planning on. “Come on, Jesus! I ain’t got all night.”

  I don’t know what it is, but I take a few steps forward, heading for the figure in the lights waving toward me as a hand wraps around my forearm and presses into the bruise that’s already there. I wince but don’t give this Prez another second to hurt me. I pull one of the flares from my back pocket and uncap it, striking it against the cap and lighting up the space around me in a flame of red, pointing it towards the Prez of the Demons who jumps back to avoid the smoke and fire.

  A round of laughs comes up from the men behind me as the Demons join their leader, leaving me be with this group of new bikers. Throwing the flare down onto the ground, I turn to finally see the face of the man coming to my rescue. It’s a shock to my system as his light eyes meet mine, the flame dancing within them as a slight smile picks up the one corner of his mouth.

  “Smart move girl,” he says, kicking the flare out a little further to light up the space between the two groups. The looks on the Demons’ faces makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck and I finally notice that more than a handful of the ten guys in front of me have the 1% patch. Fuck, what did I get myself into?

  ~~~~

  Eli

  The woman’s hand grips into my forearm and I don’t think she realizes she’s doing it, but she has cause. She should be fucking frightened. And she should be thankful that I got my ass out of bed to the sound of my guys on our radio system, telling me our perimeter had been breached by the piece-of-shit Dem
ons. Dumb mother fuckers, every single one of them. It’s a miracle my uncle kept our MC affiliated with them for so long; almost thirty years to be exact, finally wising up and cutting off all business with them only two weeks before his death.

  Their Prez, Marc, or Diablo as he likes to be called, but I don’t really give a fuck, stares me down through the flame of the flare, just begging me to step up and start something. But I’m not like some of the other MC Presidents around here. I’m not here for the fighting, I’m here to keep my family and my town safe.

  Ever since taking over the role of Prez for the Desert Ghosts chapter here in Goldfield a little over a year ago, I’ve weeded out the bad seeds in the club, taking their patches and threatening them to never set foot in our territory again or end up buzzard food, and cut off all connection with some of the crazier MC’s in the surrounding states. I brought some of my fellow Marines with me and they are ranked within the club, helping me keep tabs on who comes in and out of Goldfield, using our security system that we set up around town.

  I was met with more than a little opposition, but being thirty-three years old and having seen combat all around the world, I’m not up for taking shit from anyone. It’s either fall in line, get the fuck out, or die; your choice.

  “What the hell, Thorn? If she ain’t one of your whores than what’s the problem if I…play…with her for a while?” Marc grins, his rotting, crooked teeth being visible even in the flare lit darkness that surrounds us here in the middle of Route 95.

  His comment makes me laugh wryly, knowing his version of playing is strapping women down to a table and torturing them by burning or cutting or hanging them by their feet and having his men force the girls to blow them one after the other, while they hang helpless. Then he drives them back somewhere on the edge of both of our territories and dumps them, leaving them drugged up and on the edge of death for me to hopefully find. Some I didn’t find in time and it still burns me that he thinks it’s funny.