Breathe for It: Hellions Motorcycle Club (Hellions Ride On Book 4)

by Chelsea Camaron

  His words leave me breathless. The tears fall even though I want to keep it together. I’m not a pussy. But I am fucking broken and not by this club.

  “Gramps,” I speak up, my voice trembling. “I’m already broken. I have shamed my club. I have shamed my brothers. I have shamed my name. What’s honorable to the brotherhood you fuckin’ built is for me to be man enough to walk away. I chose this path. I did this, and I walk this walk alone. ‘Preciate your love, your support. You’re always the one I look up to, but this poison in my veins, it takes over and I shame your legacy. Gotta let me go, Gramps. Gotta let me fall.”

  On those words, I slide the leather from my body and hand it to Tripp who hands it to my dad. The only thing that has kept me from putting a bullet to my head is this piece of leather I’m giving back.

  Red steps up and I can see the pain in his eyes. “Kills me, Rhett. Fuckin’ kills me inside. You’re better than this shit. You’re better than the shit you pump in your veins. Fuckin’ smartest motherfucker I know about money and you’re pissin’ the shit away. I won’t strip your patches. You go to rehab, you get shit straight, and this cut waits for you.”

  I go still with shock at his words. Red is the Haywood’s Landing Hellions Treasurer. As an officer he knows the laws better than most. Yet, he’s trying to give me another shot.

  “Know we aren’t close, but Rhett, you made me a brother before anyone else ever did.” Fuck, he’s getting deep and I don’t know what to think. “Before this cut, you were the first reason I ever got that title. Know you can’t see through the cloud of darkness, but ain’t none of us, ‘specially me, wanna see you keep fallin’. Can’t take your patches. You earned that shit. We’re family, and I wanna stand behind you, brother. I wanna watch you soar again like an eagle fuckin’ free.”

  His words are a kick straight to the stomach. Could I do this? Could I turn it all around and be the brother he’s never had in me?

  Red is the person I’ve fucked over the most in my addiction. He’s kept my secrets, cloaked my shame, and remained quiet when he could have torn me apart more than once. I have betrayed him, lied to him, cheated him from a life he thought he would have. Yet, he’s standing here at the lowest point in my life to date, telling me to pick myself up again.

  My dad steps forward. He’s shorter than me, so I look down out of respect, not to avoid his eyes.

  “Know you’re hurtin’. Know you’ve been lost a long fuckin’ time. As a dad, I didn’t stop and lift you up. I turned a blind eye when I saw you strugglin’. I failed you. I don’t want to see you lose this.” He says holding my cut up to my face. “I wanna see you wear it with pride again.”

  “I don’t know how,” I tell the room honestly.

  Gramps steps forward. “In prison, Mary Alice told me I had to hold on. I was ready to become like every other criminal in that prison. She told me though I couldn’t give up on the man inside me. We fall seven, and we rise eight. Rhett, you always get up again.”

  Tripp takes my cut from my dad and holds it up. “You get clean, Rhett. You get your head on straight. You learn to breathe for this shit right here, this family, not the drugs, and this cut is yours again. Like Danza said, fall seven, you rise fuckin’ eight. You are family, son. This shit changes none of that. No shame. No guilt. It’s a new motherfuckin’ day, so you fix your shit.”

  Fall seven … rise eight.

  The words resonate inside me.

  I nod as I find myself weak in the knees, and I move to sit on the couch in the open space of the office. Gramps walks outside giving me a gentle nod. I sit in silence wondering if things are going to change now that he left the room.

  Rhett “Danza” Perchton, a Haywood’s Landing Hellions Original, may not be active as an officer, but his word holds as much weight as an officer’s. The vote to strip me was unanimous, how will I keep my patches? How will I not be blackballed?

  I earned that cut. I earned every patch. I also destroyed everything it stood for, so there is no undoing what’s been done.

  Gramps comes back in with a folder and hands it to me.

  “You go here. You put in the time it takes, no matter how long it takes. You come back strong, and we support you every step of the way,” he explains as I look at the paperwork in front of me for a rehabilitation center in Florida.

  “Can you do that, son? Give this a chance, and we’ll give you another chance?” Dad asks as Tripp watches me.

  “Club had a sermon. Yes, we took the vote to strip your patch. Yes, it was unanimous based on the by-laws. Bottom line, Red spoke up. Took the shit to the table. No one wants you out. We want our brother back. Get your shit sorted,” Tripp states like he didn’t just breathe life back into me.

  Red moves to stand in front of me. “I’ll make sure your business stays afloat. Got my word. I’ll make sure all the bills get paid. I’ll visit you and answer every time you call. I want you to know what it is to breathe easy, brother, it’s been far too long.”

  Fuck. Red’s word is solid. Again, he should want to see me in the pits of Hell, but he’s standing here supporting me and giving me another chance.

  If Red can believe in me then maybe just maybe there is hope for me after all.

  “You gonna fall seven and rise eight?” Gramps asks, and I am too overwhelmed with emotion to speak, so I nod.

  Fall seven, rise eight.

  I can do this.

  I can learn to breathe easy again.

  I will breathe for this brotherhood.

  I will breathe for this family.

  I will breathe for the Hellions with every breath I take.

  6

  Jennissey

  Sometimes all you are left to hold onto is hope.

  “Thank you for meeting with us,” I tell the court appointed defense attorney.

  I’m thankful he fit us in so fast. Truly, this is a confusing process and a whirlwind. After going to the bail bonds office, I signed for my sister by putting up my car. It’s far from fancy, but the Chevy Impala is paid for. I didn’t have anything else to use for collateral.

  The whole thing has been surprising. I couldn’t figure out the process clearly, but according to the search I did on my phone, we would be expected to request an attorney at the arraignment hearing. Only, when my sister was given her personal effects, the officer handed me this card and said I needed to call this attorney, Murray Calhoun, and he would take care of everything. Luckily, he answered my call and agreed to see us today, only a day after she was arrested.

  I am grateful because my anxiety over all of it has been scaring me. It’s hard to breathe. Everything feels like it’s falling down around me and I’m not even the one who got arrested. This is what it is to love an addict I guess. Sometimes I think I feel her pain more than she does because she’s too high to let it register.

  My sister sits in the chair beside us wrapped in layers of clothes and still trembling as the detox has begun. At least the vomiting has stopped at least for now. Maybe if she can stay off the stuff I can get some weight back on her. I can’t afford to take her to the doctor. I’m living on a prayer her organs are okay. I don’t know the last time she had bloodwork done. Ignorance is bliss sometimes and I don’t search the lasting impact of drug use on the internet because I’m afraid of what I might find.

  “Let’s get right to it,” Mr. Calhoun states looking to the computer screen on his desk. “Jamison Violet Rivera, is that your legal name?”

  My sister nods.

  “Do you understand your charges?”

  Again, she nods but doesn’t speak. She pulls her legs up into the chair, curling herself in a ball. “So,” her lips chatter, “cold.”

  Shuffling, she digs in her purse to find cigarettes. “Need a break,” she mutters through the chattering of her teeth. “Jenni can tell me what I need to know.”

  The lawyer doesn’t speak as my sister gets up on shaking legs and steps outside to smoke.

  “How long?” he asks me.

&
nbsp; “How long, what?”

  He looks back to the screen. “How long has she been a prostitute?”

  I shake my head as my stomach sinks. Jami can’t be selling her body. That’s just not something she would do. And the danger. I can’t even think about someone hurting her. “She’s not. This is a misunderstanding. She’s not good at communicating. She just needed a ride and I was at work.” I know it sounds ridiculous since one of her charges is solicitation of an undercover officer, but my sister would never sell her body. She isn’t that far gone.

  He sits back in his chair and studies me. “What’s she on?”

  I shrug my shoulders. I don’t know how to answer this question. What isn’t she on would be a better question. I’m embarrassed, and I feel ridiculous because I really don’t know the extent of her addiction. She’s never going to tell me the truth, that is the only fact I have. Sure, I can ask her, but it will only lead to an argument so I quit asking. If I don’t ask, she doesn’t have to lie to me. Each and every lie she tells only hurts me more than the drug use.

  “Ms. Rivera, I’m going to be honest with you. Even with a plea deal, the only way she’s going to avoid doing jail time is by going to rehab. It will look better to the courts if she goes into a facility now. It will show she’s trying to reset her life.”

  Rehab? I can’t afford rehab. I want to cry. I know she needs it. Does this man understand what he’s suggesting? How am I supposed to make it happen? She doesn’t have insurance. I don’t know if insurance pays for this kind of stuff.

  “I see the look in your eyes.” He leans back in his chair like this is all so simple. “The panic tells me you care very much about your sister. I have an option for her. There is a facility in Mississippi that has some options for people in your situation. They recently started a new program. I think Jami is a perfect candidate.”

  Everything feels like it’s crashing around me. Even if Jami is perfect for this place he’s suggesting, I can’t afford it.

  Bookshelves line the walls of the typical office we’re in while the man sits in his suit behind a large oak desk with two chairs in front for visitors and a fake tree by the door. There is nothing inviting or comfortable about being here, not that there should be. I know logically the walls aren’t moving, but the longer I sit here, the smaller the space feels.

  There is an elephant sitting on my chest. The kind known as drowning in debt. What am I going to do?

  The minutes pass by with my concerns rising about what to do next. I need to talk to Jami. If she will go, then I’ll figure out some way to pay for it. As time goes on in awkward silence between Mr. Calhoun and I, my worry for Jami grows from rehab to where exactly is she now. Why isn’t she back yet? I don’t smoke, but I know it doesn’t take this long. Sending her a quick text, I wait. The silence is maddening, but the attorney keeps clicking at stuff on his computer and then I hear the printer printing.

  With nothing to do, I think.

  Okay, plea deal. At least there are options. I hold onto the bright side of things as best I can. The case against her must be strong because he’s already looking at a plea bargain. Is this common for a court appointed attorney? Would she be better off if I found a way to pay someone? The questions swirl.

  He gets up without speaking, and I wonder if I’m being dismissed since my sister seems to have disappeared. He takes an empty folder from the file cabinet and then fills it with papers before holding it out to me.

  Yes, he’s sending us away.

  Shit.

  What am I supposed to do?

  Breathing becomes a challenge as my chest tightens. I feel the weight of the world crushing me. My heart feels like it will pound right out of my chest. My ears have this rushing noise and my vision blurs as the panic attack heightens.

  “Here is the facility and the application for assistance. If you can convince her to go, I can get everything submitted.”

  “I,” I stutter as shame washes over me. “I, I can’t afford this.”

  “It’s paid for by a grant of sorts. If you can get her to go, I can handle the details of payments for you.” He stands in front of me with his hand extended and the folder teases me. “This is her best option. I know you don’t have the means to cover her expenses, but I assure you if you can get her to agree, I can without a doubt get everything paid. I’m a good attorney, Ms. Rivera. I normally don’t take cases from the court.”

  I shake my head. “Then why take my sister’s?”

  “You need not worry, Jennissey.” He says avoiding the actual answer to my question. “Just know I will do my best for your sister, if you’ll do your best to help me help her. We’re a team.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  There is something going on here. I can’t figure it out.

  Before I can ask anymore questions, the door to his office opens and my sister comes in. She’s different. The edge is gone. The tension she had just moments ago seems to have vanished. The woman who couldn’t stand up straight and wished to do nothing but sit curled in a ball is suddenly normal. The woman who all morning has rubbed her arms swearing they itch from creepy crawling things, stands in front of me with her arms crossed over her chest. I can’t put my finger on it, but something isn’t the same. Her eyes are not bulging from her face, and they are glazed over. The tremors are gone. In fact, she looks like she somehow put herself together while smoking a cigarette.

  “Ah, Jamison, I was just talking with your sister Jennissey about an option. If we are proactive in showing the courts your situation and desire to get better, you stand a good chance of a plea deal with no time served.”

  “Get better?” She jerks her head back as she speaks. Her words are slightly slurred, but gone is the chattering. “What, prey-tell, did my sister say was wrong with me?”

  Oh no, no, no. This can’t be happening.

  “One of your charges, Ms. Rivera, is possession of a controlled substance. I asked if you were aware of all of your charges. You nodded as if you were. The one that carries the longest sentence is this one. The courts will expect you to undergo some level of treatment, whether that be inpatient or outpatient. A judge can order you to do this, however, if you set it up now while we are awaiting trial, the judge may show you leniency. One way or another, Ms. Rivera, the courts will require treatment.”

  Her gaze shifts to mine. “You want to send me away? Just throw me out like trash. Jenni, I’m sick. I’m also a person. How can you just turn your back on me?”

  The manipulation guts me, but I know I’ve done right by my sister. I won’t fall prey to her words. That’s when I see it. All of it is clear as day.

  She is completely out of control.

  Her eyes are bloodshot, but her pupils are narrow. Pinpoints. She is high. Somehow, she went outside and got her fix.

  We’re in this attorney’s office because of her drug use. She did this and wants to turn it around on me. I don’t want to send her away. I want to keep her out of jail!

  “You’re turning me away, Jenni,” she says firmly like she hasn’t already given me this song and dance before.

  “No, I’m not,” I counter.

  Her eyes don’t fill with tears, even as I feel my own building. “But you want me to do this? You want me to go where this man says I should? How is that not tossing me aside?”

  “Yes,” I state, barely above a whisper. “It’s time, Jami. You need help. The level of help I can’t give you.”

  “You can help me, Jenni! Don’t send me away,” she whines, but somehow it lacks the emotion I expected. “Don’t give up on me.”

  Her words hit me hard. “Jami, this isn’t me giving up.” I take a deep breath. I need her to understand. “This is about getting my sister back. This is about believing in you to turn this around.”

  She’s silent. I open the folder Mr. Calhoun handed me and lean forward to his desk. “Sit down, Jamison, and we’re filling these papers out.”

  “No!”

  I sta
nd and get in her face. I’ve had enough of her manipulation. I let the words fly out of my mouth. “I have given up everything for you, Jamison. Everything. You will do this for me. You will do this for you. I want my sister back, not this sick shell of a person you’ve become. I want the lies to stop. I want the worry to stop. I want you to be healthy and happy.”

  Her face softens. “You don’t love me anymore.”

  Those words cut me to the core. Part of me wants to hold her and take her home. Except, I know I can’t help her. I love her enough to know I can’t fix this. I love her more than my own life, but I also know she’s dying inside.

  “I’m doing this because I do love you. You might not see that right now because you’re high.” She gasps realizing I’m indeed on to her. “I love you, Jamison Violet Rivera, and I will do what is best for you. This is what’s best.”

  “And if I don’t go?” she challenges.

  That’s when the first tear falls down my face. “Then I have to let you go. I can’t keep supporting you. Jami, you’re dragging me down with you.”

  She shakes her head back and forth crazed. It’s like something clicks inside her head even in the haze of her high. “No! Jenni, you’re the strong one. I don’t want you to be sad. I never want to hurt you, Jenni.”

  “Then get better, Jami. Go to this place.”

  She takes a deep breath and rolls her shoulders back. She still can’t focus on her eyes on one thing but she seems to be trying to pull herself together. “How long will I be gone?” she asks, looking at the attorney.

  “That depends on you. I have contacts in the facility. They are willing to cover your expenses for the duration of your time in their care. As long as it takes to get you ready to be back in the general world, they will support you.”

  “Can I see my sister?”

  He looks to me then back to her. “Let me make some arrangements. I have some people who may be able to arrange for your sister to stay in the area. This will help for family therapy sessions too. First, I need your paperwork to get the admissions process started.”