Shamed (A Ruthless Rebels MC Novella Book One)

by Michele, Ryan

  Every swing of her mood impacts me. Every moment she misses and can’t pull herself out of the darkness inside is a moment I’ve lost and can’t get back, not for me, not for her. Every passing day, she is dragging me slowly down the pit with her. I feel like I’m in the bottom of a well trying to claw my way to the light when I go home. I shake my head pushing off the thoughts of home.

  Around two in the morning, I begin my mopping task before I get the early morning truck drivers rushing in for coffee. I’ve broken down two of the four commercial size Bunn coffee makers and got them running on a clean cycle while the other two keep fresh pots warm. Once I get the mopping done, I’ll switch those to a new brew and work to clean the other two machines.

  One thing about my shift, there’s plenty of time for me to clean, which I don’t mind doing. The last thing I want to do is sit on my rump and wish the time away. Keeping busy forces my mind to stay going on the task in front of me and I can have a reprieve from my life.

  The rumble of motorcycles has me picking my head up to watch as the four bikes pull up to the pumps as if it’s lunch time rather than the middle of the night. My breath hitches and my heartrate picks up like it does every time they roll in. With their backs to me, there is no hiding who these four belong to. From their leather vests, colors, rag, whatever they decide to call it as the truckers have all informed me show exactly who I have outside. Not that I wouldn’t know anyway. Everyone knows them. The moment I heard the bikes, I knew it was them. They’re the only ones who will ride in here. Ruthless Rebels are here again. It’s a regular occurrence. I guess it’s our off the main road location, or our open twenty-four hours that draws them here. I can only hold my breath and wish upon a star in a starless night that DJ isn’t with them even if those chances are slim to none.

  Every time I feel the same thing and tell myself over and over to stop hoping its not them. I need to learn to face it and push it all down.

  I blink as I watch some chick who was on the back of one of the bikes, simply climb off, slide her shorts down to the ground and then straddle the man on the motorcycle in front of his friends. From this distance it’s hard for me to see what she’s doing but it doesn’t take long to watch her work herself up and down over him to figure out she’s having sex.

  Wild, uninhibited, raw sex with a dude on a motorcycle sitting beside a gas pump.

  Her tits bounce and his buddies casually fill their tanks without even seeming to notice that their friend is getting it on just feet away.

  The one closest to me turns to press the buttons on the pump. I’ve never been so thankful for the pay at the pump options since working here. Not because I wouldn’t mind the company to sell stuff, but because where the Rebels ride in, there more than likely is DJ. The less I see him the better off I am. Hell, after he stopped for gas last week, I couldn’t stop the dreams of him invading my sleep. I wish I could wash everything Dixon James Cartwright from my memories.

  More than that, I wish I could wash away everything Ruthless Rebels and what they did to the boy I once loved from my mind. But life doesn’t work that way. He’s a Rebel through and through now. He made his choice and I made mine.

  As I glance back outside to the group of men occupying my pumps, I can’t help but gawk at the scene in front of me.

  One of them is having sex at my gas pump. If I wasn’t so transfixed I would shut the pumps off for their lewd behavior. If I could unglue my eyes from the way he’s gripping her ass I would at least move to the back. It’s like watching a train wreck and knowing you need to turn away but you can’t. I don’t want to watch as the woman rides him recklessly, her climax building as I can hear her moans inside the store growing louder and louder. I need to turn away. Yet, stuck I find myself almost in awe that she can be so free. I want to cuss the woman out, tell her to have more respect for her body and the people around her. I mean, really lady, come on.

  Then again, is my issue with her volume or my own jealousy that I haven’t felt a man’s touch in eight years? Is my problem with the Rebels themselves or my own losses? If I close my eyes I can remember what it’s like when the Rebel who had my heart used to grab my ass while I worked us both up riding him hard, fast, and raw.

  Piercing through the building, screams of pleasure snap me out of my thoughts as the woman rides out her release. She’s a really loud screamer. Her orgasm hits and I can hear her howling accolades inside the building. It hits my ears and takes me out of my own memory.

  I wonder if she realizes she’s not a keeper. Well, they aren’t, the women they fuck. None of them are going to make it for the long haul. They aren’t going to be the ones these men come home to at night. Those women aren’t going to be the ones they actually give a shit about. No, the Rebels aren’t those kind of men.

  Sloppily, she climbs off him and bends over to pick up her clothing from the dirty ground beside the bike. She’s wobbling as she tries to right herself after what was clearly a well earned orgasm.

  The saying goes, what the eyes have seen, they cannot unsee … it fits here and everywhere that involves this club. Everyone knows whenever the Ruthless Rebels Motorcycle Club rolls in you best believe whatever you think you saw, you always say you didn’t see.

  Cut throat. Badass. Brutal. Brotherhood.

  The door opens and I turn my head. Ocean blue eyes meet mine and I drop the mop with a loud bang to the floor. I scurry to get behind the counter, leaving the mop at the edge of the aisle I just finished. Yes, to my register. With the countertop between us I can hurry this along so we can both move on with our nights and our lives.

  Of all the nights, of all the people, the one person I could spend another eight years never speaking to again steps in front of me.

  He can’t be right in front of my face.

  Yet, those eyes that can only belong to him get closer and closer with each step of his boot covered feet. The sound of the soles sticking to the freshly mopped floor gives me shivers with each sound.

  Damn he looks good. If anything the years were better to him than to me. Having this time and close proximity I can really drink him in. He grew out his dark beard and mustache. They cradle the most delectable lips that I’ve tried for years to forget. To banish from my memory, but seeing them so damn close my heart thumps.

  He’s broader than before or maybe it’s the way the leather jacket hugs his body. DJ still has inches on me as I stand behind the counter on a bit of a lift from the store floor. He exudes confidence and knowledge. The small space of the store seems to shrink with him inside.

  “Kenie.” That single word, the name he called me when I thought I was his and he was mine cracks my heart. No one has called me that since him and it feels like so long ago, yet not.

  Steeling my spine because there is no way in hell I’ll let him see that he affects me, I reply, “DJ.” It’s simple and I feel a bit stupid because that small hint of emotion I wanted to hide cracked just a bit with his name.

  His eyes bore into mine and strangely I feel a shroud of safety in his gaze. One that I’ve longed to feel for too many years. It’s as if he could wash away all the shit in my life. Listen to me, now I’m thinking ridiculous. Like DJ would ever be that man for me. He made that perfectly clear all those years ago. My heart needs to shut the hell up.

  “What happened to the bank?” he asks as if he doesn’t already know. The chatter from this town never stops and the Rebels, I’m sure, know it all. He’s glanced in the window a time or two when pumping gas, he knows I’ve been working here for more years than the bank. Frustration builds inside me that he’s trying to make casual conversation. There’s nothing casual left between us.

  “This worked out better.” I give him nothing else and I’m pretty proud of myself that I didn’t give any inflection.

  “Because you’re still takin’ care of your momma?” The question is a punch to the gut that I didn’t see coming. It comes out more of an accusation really and it’s none of his damn business. Nothing in
my life is. He gave up that right.

  “Is there something you need?” I question instead of replying and wave my arm out across the store showing him everything he could buy. He doesn’t budge.

  “I need something alright.” DJ leans over the counter, grabs my neck from behind and, instinctively, I pull back, but he doesn’t allow me to move. Instead, he forces me closer to him, sucks in a deep breath and then he kisses me.

  My lips don’t respond because I’m sure there is a miscommunication from them to my brain. Stunned seconds pass and he doesn’t give up. He takes from me and I give in, kissing him back with everything I have inside me. I haven’t felt a man’s lips since the last time he kissed me and it’s better than I remember. If the counter wasn’t between us I might try to climb him like a tree. I suddenly can’t get enough

  A fog fills my head as my hands go to the front of his shirt and grip on for dear life. The counter painfully presses into my stomach as I pull him to me. His lips are fierce and the taste of tobacco lingers on them. DJ sucks the breath out of me and I lose all sense of reason.

  DJ rips his lips from mine and I suck in much needed oxygen as my eyes fly open. He pulls away enough that I have to let go of his shirt. His eyes glitter with something sinister and I don’t know if it’s good that he pulled away or bad that he felt anything at all. Too much time has passed and I can’t read the man in front of me. The only thing I do know is my body is craving more.

  DJ shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it. “Bye Kenie,” he says, catching me off guard, before he turns and leaves the store, the damn bell going off with his absence. I stand here stunned, unable to move, unable to kick my brain into gear.

  Holy hell, what just happened?

  Chapter 4

  From bad to worse!

  Days tick by and not another visit from DJ. Not that I’m counting on it or anything. I mean, looking out the window a thousand times a day is my job. I have no expectations. Right? Damn. One kiss. One. And I’m reverted back eight years.

  I can still feel his lips on mine and if I close my eyes, I can still smell the tobacco and leather and the burn of his beard to my skin. But it’s all a fantasy. A pipe dream. He left me and I was nothing but ass for him. He tapped it, repeatedly, but that’s all it was. That thought alone is enough to make me want to scrub him from my brain. Allowing myself to go back simply hollows out my heart more. Once again, I’m filled with the same ache I’ve been desperately attempting to bleach from my system for years. Too bad bleach isn’t a real option. That shit kills everything. I’m desperate enough to try anything though at this point.

  Tonight’s a slow one and I hate it. Stacy did most of everything before she left. Is it bad that I wish she were lazy like Nichole? No go for me. I’ve made due with cleaning the windows to the pop and beer displays, but that only lasts so long.

  The bell over the door chimes and I turn with a smile to greet the person. Only I stop dead. Cora Leigh Cartwright, DJs mother, stands there with her eyes frantically looking around. Her cheeks are sunk in and dark circles line her eyes. It’s no secret in this town that Cora gets around, but I know from experience that gossip is just that—gossip.

  “Hi Ms. Cartwright. What can I help you with?” I ask wiping my hands on the rag I held to wipe down the windows. Her gaze shoots to me like she wasn’t expecting anyone to be here even though the lights are on and the door open.

  She stares at me for a moment and then something clicks with her. “Kenderly?” she questions.

  “Yes, ma’am. What can I do for you?”

  “I was just coming in to use the facilities.” She struggles with her words like she’s choosing them carefully.

  “Ms. Cartwright, are you okay?” I ask taking in her disheveled appearance. She’s never been overly put together. Even when she’s spent her time out back on truckers row she’s never had the nicest of clothes. This, though, she looks dirty. Not in a rode hard and put up way like normal, but dirty like hasn’t showered. She’s thin, but she’s always been on the small side. Then again, when DJ and I were dating I remember him saying he started working before he was a teen, mowing lawns and odd jobs just to feed himself.

  My heart hurts remembering the few things he did share about his childhood. The few times he really let me in.

  Cora never sent him away or set him out, but she never really checked in on him either. Part of me hates her for that. No child should have to live like that, but the other side of me feels sad for the woman.

  “I’ve been better, girl, I’ve been better,” she says as she makes her way to the back bathroom.

  Not knowing what else to say or do, I go about my tasks trying not to think of the woman in the restroom. Only time keeps passing and she doesn’t come out. Checking the clock, I start to count her time away. When a full blown hour passes, I make my way back to the bathroom. At the door, I’m stunned to find it locked. Rushing back to the register to get the key, nerves fill me. What the hell will I find on the other side of that door?

  Living with my mother who has had three suicide attempts to which I even had her committed for a seventy-two-hour watch that did no good, my mind goes to the worst ideas that could be. Unlocking the door, I pause trying to push back my fears.

  The sight in front of me brings tears to my eyes. There are paper towels and soap covering the counter and falling to the floor as water sloshes around and onto the concrete below. The woman is as naked as the day she was born. She has climbed up on the countertop and put her feet in one sink, her ass in the middle sink, and is trying to wash her hair in the third sink all with the cheap hand soap from the dispensers.

  Her clothes are sopping wet and hanging over the doors to the bathroom stalls. She has turned this public facility into her own unique wash and dry center.

  She looks over to me, her eyes wide. “I’ll clean up the mess, I promise,” she says barely above a whisper.

  “It’s okay, Ms. Cartwright. I’m gonna shut the door and lock it back till you finish. Just let me know and I’ll come in here and mop when you’re done, alright.”

  She nods and I scurry out knowing this is a bad, bad situation.

  It takes some time, but she finds her way out from the bathroom wearing her soaking wet clothes. Having already made a decision while she was finishing up, I hand her the bag I got out of my car. The thing about my shift and this gas station in general, most shifts are worked alone. If my replacement calls in sick then I get stuck sometimes working a full twenty-four hours. Since I do a lot of the dirty jobs during this shift, I learned early to keep a change of clothes in my car. We aren’t the same size, but we’re close enough that the t-shirt and jeans will work for her enough to have dry clothes.

  She opens the cinch sack and looks up at me. Rather than humiliate her further, I simply nod and go back to the register as if I have work to do. When she comes back out the second time, she takes a seat at one of the booths in the front of the building that we have for the truck drivers to take a break at.

  “Once my clothes dry a little more, I’ll be out of your hair.”

  “Okay,” I say, trying to keep things comfortable between us.

  She stays and I keep her coffee cup full while paying for each cup myself. Two hours pass before she checks her drying clothes again. Satisfied with their state of dryness, she comes out with my bag and a smile on her face. There’s a little more color in her cheeks after I fed her a small breakfast sandwich and gave her the four cups of coffee.

  “Thank you, Kenderly. I’ll get your clothes back to you.”

  I can only nod. When she reaches the door, I don’t know why but I call out to her. “Ms. Cartwright, next time tell me and I’ll unlock the showers we have for the truckers off the road. No need to struggle so much in the sinks, okay?”

  She covers her mouth trying to hide the surprise. “Thank you, Kenderly,” she says softly before taking off into the darkness of the wee hours of the morning.

  I spend the last few hours
of my shift worrying and wondering about Cora and what she’s gotten herself into. Why is she trying to bathe in the middle of the night in a gas station bathroom? Why was she so eager to gobble up anything I could feed her? Why did she treat a simple cup of a coffee like a luxury tea for royalty? I shouldn’t care. I sure have enough problems of my own, but I do care.

  And that’s a problem.

  Just like her son coming in and kissing me senseless, I shouldn’t care, but I do. At what point do I finally learn to turn off my emotions.

  At what point do I put myself first and stop letting my heart lead the way? Maybe one day I’ll figure it out, but it definitely isn’t today.

  * * *

  “Your mother is up and moving this morning.” A wide smile crosses my face as happiness settles in my heart with Aunt Ruth’s words over the phone. It’s been way too long since my mother has gotten out of bed on her own. This is huge.

  “That’s wonderful.”

  “Yes, it is. She says that she wants to have pancakes and only likes them with milk. Well, you’re out so can you bring some home?”

  “Yeah, Aunt Ruth. I’ll bring home some milk. I’ll be there in a bit.” I look out the large window and see Stacy pulling up. “My relief just got here, I’m on my way.”

  “Be safe.” She disconnects. I greet Stacy, grab my purse, the milk and head out to my car. The morning is cool, but the excitement of my mother up and moving doesn’t let it penetrate.

  Walking around to the employee parking, I stop dead in my tracks. Mrs. Cartwright sits on the ground, her back against my car and her knees up to her head. She’s as dirty as when she came in three days ago and her shoulders are shaking as if she’s crying.