Bold from It: Hellions Motorcycle Club (Hellions Ride On Book 5)

by Chelsea Camaron

“What?” I ask, overwhelmed by the sight in front of me.

  Why did someone key my car? Why touch Emmalee’s? Why? Why? Why?

  And to paint the word whore on it, who does that? While I’m not a nun, I’m not a whore either.

  “Your dad is sending us to the Hellions garage.”

  I am truly speechless.

  My dad is a serial entrepreneur. I can’t even pinpoint his exact businesses, but I know he has investments in everything and runs multiple businesses from his office in Morehead City. Emmalee’s father is my father’s attorney. I don’t know specifics, only that her dad works exclusively for my dad.

  “Well, I don’t care where we have to go, we just have to get this done.”

  That’s the thing about Thomas Reigns. When he tells you to get something done, it’s expected. I’m certainly not about to disobey him. My dad and I aren’t super close, but we get along, and I, for one, don’t want to rock the boat.

  Running upstairs, I slide on some jeans and a sweater before throwing my hair in a messy bun. In moments, Emmalee is following me to the garage in my currently messed up BMW.

  We pull up to the building with five bays directly beside a completely gated compound. The only thing that is visibly from outside the gates are the three flags that fly in front of the big building. One is the Hellions flag, one is the American flag, and the last one is a POW/MIA flag. Unless you are part of the club, you don’t get to see behind the gate.

  Everyone knows the Hellions in Haywood’s Landing. This garage is a staple, and so is their entire complex behind the chain-link fence lined on top with barbed wire. The mini storage facility lines up to the right of the garage. There aren’t many things the Hellions Motorcycle Club don’t have their hands in business wise.

  More than that, it’s the way they carry themselves. Always together, rarely do you see any of them out alone. They are all confident.

  The story around town is they were started by Blaine “Roundman” Reklinger and Rhett “Danza” Perchton as a way to protect their business and our town. Over time, the club has grown and cover all of the Carolina’s. I don’t really know what any of that means, but I can say in Haywood’s Landing no one locks their doors because crime for the most part is non-existent here … and that fact is one-hundred percent because of the Hellions Motorcycle Club.

  I climb out of the car thinking I’ll just head inside and leave my keys.

  Except, Emmalee and I don’t make it to the door before two men emerge, meeting us.

  My eyes catch the first man wearing jeans and a normal garage shirt with the sleeves cut off. His arms are huge and covered in tattoos. As I take him in, I realize I know this man.

  Someone put me out of my misery. This day is bad enough without seeing him, no matter how hot he is.

  I want to crawl in a hole.

  This cannot be happening.

  Of all the things to be keyed on my car … the man who probably thinks I am a whore stands in front of me looking even better in daylight than he did in the club.

  Frozen in place, I’m grateful when Emmalee steps in front of me and extends her hand to greet the men.

  “I’m Emmalee, this is Diem. We need to drop off our cars for a repair.”

  Neither man returns the gesture. Emmalee ungracefully pulls her hand back and shoves it in her pocket.

  “Kick,” the other guy says, pointing in reference to the man I know far too intimately. “I’m Karma. You need mechanic work or body work?” he asks studying my car.

  “Someone damaged my car and hers. We need them painted,” I finally manage to mutter.

  Kick moves to my car, running his fingers over each of the scratches. “Body work, to blend properly we’re gonna need to strip it down, putty it, and bumper to bumper give it a coat.”

  I nod my head, not sure what I should be saying.

  “Budget?” he asks on a clip.

  Emmalee hands him the credit card from my dad since she still had it from my house.

  “Whatever it costs, that card should cover it. If not, call Mr. Reigns, and he will pay the bill. Also, my car was defaced as well,” Emmalee explains, “so if you have the time, we will be dropping it off as well.”

  “Reigns is just getting this fixed, no retaliation? Hmm,” Kick says, still studying my car. “Shit’s deep. You know who marked it?”

  I shake my head as the man who called himself Karma begins to take pictures of my car. “Not a clue. We woke up this morning and found the damage.”

  “You a whore?” Kick says, lifting his head and looking right at me.

  My cheeks flush. The anger hits me, and I react.

  My hand hits the flesh of his cheek before I can stop myself. Instantly, I regret the move, but he doesn’t get angry. In fact, he smirks like he’s proud.

  He steps closer to me. Inside, I want to turn and run, but I’m my father’s daughter, so I remain in place.

  “Never let anyone question a damn thing you do, spitfire. Hot as fuck watching you get angry. You give ‘em hell.” He nods proudly, “ I’ll get your car done.”

  Then, before I can form a reply, he leans down and whispers in my ear, “Best pussy I’ve had all year. You were tight, spitfire. Far too tight to be a whore. I can still feel you around my cock.”

  My entire body heats. My nipples harden, and I feel butterflies inside. At first, I’m flattered by his statement, but then it hits me—today is only the ninth day of the new year. Then the questions run through my mind. Are all bikers this crass? Will he actually fix my car? Does he know what he’s doing?

  I stand in the parking lot dumbfounded.

  Kick turns and walks away without another word to either of us. Karma begins to walk back to the garage behind Kick as Emmalee calls out, “What do we do next?”

  Karma shouts without turning around, “Bring us the other car. Pami’s in the office, she’ll set ya up to get a call when we finish. Be ‘bout a month.”

  My head spins.

  The man who gave me the best orgasm of my life is part of the Hellions MC. Was I so drunk on New Year’s I didn’t pay attention? I remember the leather vest, but I never bothered to actually look at it. I was intoxicated by him, and frankly, the details didn’t matter at the time.

  Now it’s all back in my face.

  What a way to start a new year. Fuck my life.

  4

  Colton

  Boomerism: “Be a man of few words, many actions, and unshakable belief in the very power only you possess.”

  “You have got to be shittin’ me,” I state looking over the screen in front of me. This shit can’t be real. How the fuck did this happen right here in our backyard?

  “Nope. Brother, I bullshit about a lot of things, but money and pussy are never a joke. Seein’ as you’re asking me to look into a grown ass man’s finances, I gotta know. Reigns owe you some cash or this about pussy?”

  Wesson knows me well. Even though we are fourteen months apart in age, we were raised like twins. While neither of us remember much about life before Boomer, our mother has told us we have always been inseparable. Wes and I share a special bond. We aren’t twins, but I imagine it would be similar.

  Mom says we even shared a crib. I don’t remember any of that. What I do remember is for years I couldn’t sleep unless I had my hand on my brother. No, I didn’t want to hold his hand. It’s wasn’t some need to cuddle or a need for affection. It simply was this instinctual need to feel him. In my subconscious, if I could touch him, he was okay. Most of the time, I kept my hand on his back. The steady rise and fall of his breathing let me know he was with me. Wes has always slept on his stomach. I’ve always tossed and turned. Even to this day, he face-plants on the bed and crashes, while I’m constantly fighting a battle with my sheets.

  And it’s a battle I always lose.

  The thing about deployments, they can be lonely. Rather than waste time, I studied. Mostly, I researched the human mind, emotions, and psychological bullshit. No, I never intended t
o use the knowledge, but still, I studied. On the off chance the enemy captured me, I wanted to be the one in charge of any mind games to be played.

  In trying to learn the best tricks to manipulate a terrorist, I mostly learned about myself.

  Like, the way I have always needed to feel Wes to know he was okay. Turns out that shit came from suppressed memories. I was four-years-old when shit hit the fan between my parentsmeaning, my biological dad and mom. While I didn’t know it at the time, in a way, my child mind could understand my mom was going to have a baby. If I focus hard enough, I can sort of make myself remember her telling me I would be a big brother again, only this time I would have a sister to protect.

  Then again, is it really a memory or something I dreamed up after learning the reality of what my father did to my mother? I don’t know, and unless I plan to go to therapy, I won’t ever know.

  I’m good with that.

  In the end, reversing my way through life won’t change the path, the destination, or any of the bumps along the road. Therefore, I keep my mind on what’s ahead.

  Currently, what lies ahead is a fuck of a lot bigger than I initially thought. So, here’s the thing … am I a dick who is quick to hit it and quit it with women? Yes.

  But to tag a broad’s car with the word whore, it doesn’t sit well with me.

  Plus, I’ve been in that very pussy and she was far too tight to be a whore. I’ve fucked women who are genuine whores, the barflies are common to the club. Diem Reigns is not a whore.

  So why is her car in my shop waiting to get stripped and painted because someone tagged it with that kind of label?

  The question won’t stop playing in my mind so I got Wesson to start digging. I didn’t know if Diem had an ex or some crazy jealous chick doing this.

  What we have uncovered blows my mind.

  Thomas Reigns is drowning in some deep fucking shit.

  And the shit he’s sinking in? It’s the kind of shit the Hellions won’t tolerate in Haywood’s Landing. The way of my world, I have information that involves our territory. This means I don’t sit on it, I don’t go rogue and face it on my own. No, this shit, I call my family. Grabbing my phone, I make the call. Boomer answers on the second ring like always.

  “Son,” he greets, and just like every single time he says it, I feel my chest expand with pride and happiness.

  “Need to call a sermon,” I tell him as Wes taps away on the laptop in front of him.

  “You safe?” Boomer asks. “I’m your dad before anything, Kick.” Giving me the reminder I don’t need. I know he’s my dad and I’m forever grateful for Nathan “Boomer” Vaughn and all he has brought to my life.

  His single sentence takes me back.

  “I wanna ride my bike,” Wesson demands while I try to read for school. Wesson is lucky. School comes easy for him. He just looks at a book and boom, he knows it. Me, I have to read it over and over. Even then I don’t always understand it and I try to ramble my way through the answers to the questions. Guessing isn’t so bad … as long as you guess right.

  I shake my head. “You know the rules. Momma’s at work, and Booma is on a run. Can’t ride until one of ‘em gets home, or Memaw wakes up from her nap.” Our mom has a job at the garage with Ms. Amy. Sometimes she gets to go to the storage office and help Vida who lives next door, but most days she’s at the garage.

  Boomer comes and goes. I don’t understand what he does, but he travels and calls it a run. I hope he gets new shoes before going running because it really hurts to run when your shoes don’t fit. Memaw lives with us and she likes to have an afternoon nap mostly because she stays up for the eleven o’clock news. I don’t know why she stays up, I mean the news is on like all the time, how can it change?

  “This is boring,” he whines.

  I don’t disagree. I don’t want to keep reading this book about the Wright brothers and building airplanes. My brain rolls over the options, and I decide what will it hurt?

  No one even has to know … right?

  Wes and I head outside and promptly climb on our bikes. The time passes, and we’re both going up and down the driveway faster and faster.

  Wes takes his feet from the pedals and his hands from the bars. “Look, Colt, no hands or,” He doesn’t get another word out as the bike hits loose rock and begins to shift under my brother.

  Helplessly, I’m stuck in place watching as my brother’s bike falls, and he goes with it. His face hits the ground first with the momentum pushing him down the driveway. He screams, and I rush over, dropping my bike along the way.

  “Wes,” I cry out as I get to him and reach out for his hand. He lifts his head. His cheek is red and bleeding from the scratches.

  The tears stream down his face, and I immediately regret giving in.

  Before I can pick my brother up off the rocks, the sound of motorcycles is heard not far from us.

  “Please be Mr. Ruby,” I whisper to no one in particular.

  We live in the trailer next door to Ruby and Jenna. They have three kids, two girls, and RJ is the one boy. Since their mom, Mrs. Jenna, works at the mini storage office next to our mom’s job at the garage, they aren’t allowed to play outside until an adult gets home from work. Even if Memaw is awake and we’re outside, they can’t join us. It’s the rules.

  The bike comes closer, and I see his beard before I take in anything else. No, the motorcycle is not Mr. Ruby. Instead, it’s Boomer, and I’m sure to be in trouble.

  I’m the oldest.

  The weight of doing wrong hangs over my head as my brother fights to dry his tears. Boomer twists the throttle and pulls up to us in a hurry once he realizes we’re in the driveway, instead of inside where we should have been.

  Boomer kneels down checking Wes over. “Nothin’ hurts but your face?” Boomer asks, and Wes nods. “Can you stand?”

  Wes nods and then proceeds to get to his feet.

  I watch the tension fall from Boomer’s face. “You could have been seriously hurt, boys. I know you want to have fun, but no one was watching. What if you broke your arm, Wesson?”

  That’s when it hits me just how wrong this could have gone. Why didn’t I think this through? I’m nine-years-old, I’m supposed to protect my brother.

  “He fell down trying to stop me,” I ramble as Wesson’s eyes widen because I’m lying to Boomer. I don’t want my brother in trouble, so I’ll tell them anything to get this over. “I got tired of doing homework and came outside. Wesson was calling my name trying to get me to stop riding. When I didn’t, he, uhhh, climbed on his bike and chased me. That’s how he fell.” I stumble a few times but I hope my story is convincing enough.

  I want to beat myself up.

  How stupid can you be, Colton Williams? I mentally chastise myself.

  If something would have happened to Wesson …

  I can’t even face the thought.

  Seeming to sense the war inside of me, Boomer reaches out and cups my chin, lifting my face to look at him.

  “You’re not in trouble, Colt. But I gotta get it through to you, the rules aren’t to hurt you. They are to protect you.”

  “Yes, Booma. I’m sorry,” I sincerely tell him.

  He doesn’t take his eyes from mine, and I find the intensity in his stare to be too much.

  “Colton, the whys don’t matter. The hows don’t matter. Before you run this in your head over and over, you need to know what’s important. You are safe, your brother is safe. You don’t have to lie to me about anything.”

  There it is. He read me. Boomer has lived with us for years now, and I don’t want him upset with me. Before him, it was me and Wesson. I had to watch out for my brother, and today, I didn’t. No matter what the story I told, or even the truth, I didn’t keep my brother out of harm’s way.

  “If you gotta punish me, Booma, it’s okay.” Tears well up, but I fight the urge to cry. “If you need to use the belt,” I say the words, not even sure where they come from.

  Wesson, heari
ng me, moves to stand in front of me. “No! I kept asking to go outside. This was my idea. Not Colt’s. I get the belt.”

  I shove my brother aside and whisper yell for him to shut up. Boomer has never punished us before, but he’s an adult, so it’s going to be his call. There is a nagging in my mind about life before. Only the fear of reliving it is too much, so I give my attention to the present situation.

  “Colt and Wes,” Boomer begins, taking both our hands. “There will be no belt. I know you two didn’t have the easiest start in life, but you got me now. I’ll never bring any physical pain to either of your bodies. If you do wrong, you gotta own that shit, but know that your Momma, your Memaw, and I will love you just the same. There’s nothing you can do that changes how much we love you. No matter what, I’m your dad before anything else.”

  That single sentence took away every bit of anxiety my nine-year-old self had. Boomer is simply the man who takes his family’s back no matter what. Even when we are wrong, I know I’m never going to face anything alone because Boomer will always support me through it.

  This, though … it isn’t about our family.

  This is about our entire community. This is club business. Which is why Wesson and I were taking everything we had straight to the cave. With our brothers in the Hellions MC, we would sort out the trouble Thomas Reigns was in and exactly what impact it has for our town as a whole.

  Thomas may have made his own deal with the devil, but Satan himself is no match for our brotherhood.

  5

  Diem

  Life lessons with Diem: Never make promises you can’t keep!

  I lay in my bed unable to get comfortable. Anxiety is winning this war inside me.

  Sleep has never been easy for me.

  Even as a child, I lay in bed staring at my ceiling wishing the sleep to come. Some nights I would count the popcorn bubbles above me and still not find a dreamland.

  Being older I understand myself better.

  The lump in my throat. The tension in my belly. The overwhelming dread that nothing is wrong but nothing is right consumes me.