Hell on Wheels (Kings of Mayhem MC Book 4)

by Penny Dee

  “Ok then, Cassidy, its nothing like what you’re suggesting.”

  She still looked suspicious. “What, then?”

  “The offer still stands. I want you to play at the clubhouse. It’s a genuine offer. Six songs. Two hundred dollars.”

  Her eyes widened, only for a split second, but long enough to let me know the offer was too good to refuse.

  “Just six songs.” She looked at me dubiously. “For two hundred dollars?”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  Her suspicions weren’t easily appeased. “And nothing else?”

  Jesus, this girl really had the wrong impression of me.

  “Nothing. Else.”

  Finally, she held out her hand. “Six songs. Two hundred dollars, and you have yourself a deal.”

  I shook her hand, and the moment my skin touched hers I felt a jolt run through me. I shook it off, just like I did when I kidded myself that I was helping her out because she looked like she needed a break. That was a lie. I didn’t know why I was doing this. Only that I wanted to.

  I wrote down the address of the clubhouse on an old receipt she had in her bag. “I’ll make sure the guards on the gate know to expect you.”

  “Guards? You don’t look like the type of guys who need guards,” she said, folding her arms across her chest.

  “Who says they’re for us?” I climbed on my bike and put on my sunglasses. “See you at seven.”

  She smiled. “Only because you asked so nicely.”

  I couldn’t help but smile back. “And California—try not to get yourself arrested between now and then.”

  CASSIDY

  Six songs. For two hundred dollars. It was a life-changing offer. Maybe not for some, but for me it meant Missy and I could get out of this shithole and catch a bus out of town.

  Hope was as warm as the sunshine on my shoulders while I made my way through the sleepy streets. When the rundown dump I called home came into view, my stomach dipped and twisted, but not even the sight of the little house I hated so much could dampen my spirits. Things were looking up, thanks to a rather gorgeous biker named Chance.

  I told him my name was Cassidy. It was almost the truth. I didn’t become Cassidy until I met my best friend, Missy, on a bus trip from Sacramento to Las Vegas two years earlier. She’d asked me my name over a shared bag of potato chips, and I’d been Cassidy ever since.

  I wouldn’t tell her my real name.

  I wouldn’t tell anyone.

  Because that girl was dead.

  She was dead the moment she ran away.

  The little wooden gate creaked and whined as I pushed it open and made my way up the overgrown path to the front porch. For the first time in months I felt a ray of hope. I couldn’t wait to tell Missy what had happened. We could make plans and be somewhere else this time tomorrow.

  Six songs. Two hundred dollars.

  Inside, I dumped my guitar at the front door and headed for the bedroom I shared with Missy but stopped cold when I saw the door was slightly ajar. I had closed it. I always closed it. And I knew Missy was at work.

  Cautiously, I pushed it open and stepped back in horror when my brain processed what the hell I was seeing.

  Missy’s sleazy brother, Craig, was sitting on my bed, jerking off with a pair of my lace panties in his hand. Despite being startled, when he saw me, he gasped and his eyes went wide. In that god-awful moment he came all over his hand and my lace panties in pulsating white waves.

  “What the hell are you doing!” I screamed, mortified and furious, fighting back the sudden rise of bile in my throat. Blood buzzed in my ears as rage and disgust collided inside of me. “Get out! Get out!”

  Craig didn’t even bother pulling up his pants in his haste to get away. He leaped off my bed, his semi-flaccid cock dangling between his legs and my cum-soaked panties still in his hand as he fled the room.

  I slammed the door behind him and leaned against it, my body suddenly racked with tears of rage and shock. I shouldn’t be surprised. He’d been acting weird around me ever since Missy and I moved in two months ago, always staring at me and making suggestive comments. After he’d walked in on me in the shower, I always kept the doors to the bathroom and my bedroom locked. Always.

  I slid to the floor as the tears streamed down my cheeks. I felt sick. Disgusted.

  Hope gone.

  It was time to hit the road.

  Again.

  I cried until my inner strong girl rose to her feet and told me to pull myself together. This was nothing compared to what I’d already endured.

  The sudden pounding on the door made me jump.

  “Cassidy?”

  It was Craig.

  “Go away!” I yelled.

  Knowing he was so close made the hair stand up on the back of my neck.

  Fucking pervert.

  “I’m sorry, Cassi. Really, I am. I don’t know what came over me. I promise I won’t do it again.”

  Just the sound of his voice made me want to puke. And how the hell was I ever going to get the image of him jerking off with my panties out of my head?

  It was hard not to gag.

  “Cassi?”

  I hated anyone calling me Cassi.

  “What, Craig?”

  There was a pause before he asked, “Are you going to tell Missy?”

  I suddenly felt exhausted. Traveling from town to town was finally catching up with me. I was ready to leave Destiny, but a tiny part of me longed to put down some roots somewhere and just relax for once in my life.

  “Well, are you, Cassi?” Craig pressed.

  I exhaled heavily. Telling Missy could work against me. She was protective of her brother. If I mentioned this to her, there was a good chance she would turn it all around and make it my fault. As much as I loved her, sometimes she could be moody and unpredictable. Since coming to Destiny, a gap had started to form in our friendship, and I didn’t know why. She’d been acting strange lately, even becoming secretive. And in the last few weeks she’d spent less and less time at home.

  While things were a little strained, I wasn’t going to mention this.

  “Do you promise to never do that or anything like that again?” I asked.

  His voice sounded meek through the door. “I promise.”

  “Then I won’t tell her. But if it happens again—”

  “It won’t. You have my word.”

  At least he sounded apologetic.

  I closed my eyes at the thought of living in the house with Craig, knowing what a fucking creep he was. But after tonight I wouldn’t have to worry about it. I would play at the clubhouse, get the two hundred dollars, and then Missy and I would be on a bus out of town.

  “Ok, then. We’ll keep it between us.”

  “Thanks.” There was a pause. “Cassi?”

  “Yeah, Craig?”

  “Do you want your panties back?”

  Another urge to gag hit me.

  I didn’t want to see those panties ever again.

  But I didn’t want him keeping them either. He’d fuck them until they were threadbare.

  “Just leave them by the door.”

  I would burn them. I would douse them in gasoline and burn them in the fire pit out in the backyard until they were nothing but ash.

  “Ok, I will,” he said.

  I heard him crouch down and then straighten again.

  “And, Craig …”

  “Yeah?”

  “If you ever touch anything of mine again, I’ll cut your fucking balls off. Do you understand?”

  His voice was barely audible through the door. “Ok.”

  I heard the floorboards creak as he walked away, and I let out a deep breath despite the knot of pain tightening in my chest. I bit back the tears.

  Then for some strange reason, I thought of Chance and a peaceful warmth spread through me, instantly filling me with endorphins and calming my wildly thumping heart.

  I was able to catch a breath, and I relaxed.
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  Drawing in a deep breath, I climbed off the floor.

  Everything was going to be okay.

  It had to be.

  CASSIDY

  I called a cab to take me to the gig. When I told the cab driver the address, he looked me up and down and raised his brows but said nothing. I didn’t know what that meant, but whatever it was it didn’t feel positive. So, I reminded myself why I was doing this for the billionth time that afternoon. Two hundred dollars for six songs.

  And nothing to do with an overly confident biker called Chance.

  Twenty minutes later, we pulled up out the front of the Kings of Mayhem clubhouse. It was a large single-story building on a massive compound protected by six-foot gates. Paying for my fare, I climbed out and cautiously approached a man in a Kings of Mayhem cut who was on guard duty.

  Through the gate, he called for a guy named Vader, who appeared a few minutes later and escorted me to the clubhouse.

  So far so good.

  I was still alive.

  Nervously, I glanced around me. At the rear of the property, shops backed onto a shared parking lot, and to the left of the clubhouse was a small playground. By day I imagined it looked like an innocent industrial area but by night it was party central. String lights and fully-lit gallon drums threw off enough light to see across the compound to the far end of the property.

  I followed Vader inside the clubhouse, where the smell of beer and tobacco smoke collided with the scent of sweat and perfume. Immediately to my left, a young woman was making out with a skinny biker, and further along, two girls in bikinis were sitting on the lap of an older biker, kissing.

  Gnawing the inside of my cheek, I started to realize I had made a mistake accepting the gig. My music wasn’t going to cut it here. Especially considering Stone Temple Pilots’ “Unglued” was blasting through the speakers.

  Six songs and I was out of there.

  Six songs that they would probably ignore.

  As we walked deeper into the club, I looked around. To my right was a bar with a wall of gleaming liquor bottles behind it. To my left was a row of shiny booths where men in biker vests smoked and drank and flirted with their female companions.

  Between the two were three large pool tables, but only one of them was occupied.

  Across the room, a huge blond man was arm wrestling another giant who had long, sun-bleached hair, their massive biceps bulging and their faces turning red as they battled it out. They were growling and grunting with the strain, and around them girls in very tight clothing and a lot of exposed flesh cheered them on.

  Vader led me over to a small stage set up at the back of the clubhouse. It was the perfect size for a five or six-person band, but tonight there was just a lone stool in the center of it with a mic stand and amp. My guitar was a regular acoustic guitar, so he set me up with one I could plug into an amp.

  “Believe me, you’ll need it with this lot,” he said, nodding toward the crowd who were paying no attention whatsoever to me.

  “Thanks,” I replied, suddenly overcome with nerves.

  It was a risk accepting a job like this. Paid gigs usually meant cameras. And cameras meant danger. I couldn’t afford for someone to post my picture on social media. But I would be leaving here soon, so if he found out I was in Destiny, I would already be long gone before he got here.

  Besides, these guys didn’t look like they spent a lot of time on Facebook.

  “Hey, relax. From what Chance told me, you’re going to knock them dead,” Vader said, giving me a wink. I couldn’t help but smile at his friendliness.

  Signaling across the room for someone behind the bar to turn off the music, he turned to the mic, switched it on and said, “Alright, you motherfuckers. Give it up for Cassidy.”

  There were a few blank stares and curious glances but no one really paid any attention. Then I opened my mouth and everything changed. That was when everyone, including the hot looking biker with a deep scar running through his eyebrow, turned to watch me sing.

  If there was one thing I was confident about, it was my voice. One day, when I was about twelve years old, I opened my mouth and this powerful, perfectly pitched voice with a broad range came powering out of it, and I hadn’t stopped singing since.

  During the dark days, it was the only thing that got me through the torment.

  Which was ironic. Because I found my singing voice when my other voice was silenced.

  Singing had been my savior in other ways too. I had moved from town to town with the money I earned from singing on the streets, and the occasional gig I got at some dive bar somewhere. I was once offered a really good gig at an exclusive yacht club in Seabrook, Texas, but I had to turn it down because I couldn’t perform where the rich and fortunate congregated. I couldn’t risk him finding me. But if I stayed in the shadows and played in the seedy bars and places like this, I was safe.

  And I could afford to eat.

  I focused on the words I was singing. Chance had mentioned he liked the Ava Max song he heard me sing, so I made sure I included it in my set—along with the Bahari song “California” that had inspired his nickname for me.

  I also did an acoustic version of Jewel’s “Only One Too.”

  I was a little nervous about my song choices. Considering the crowd I was singing to, I thought I would lose them. After all, these guys were all about rock ’n’ roll and I was more acoustic pop.

  But I was wrong.

  Just like I was wrong about those damn vests.

  I couldn’t have had a better audience if I tried.

  Especially when I threw in Dolly Parton’s “Jolene.” That got me some serious audience love.

  But nothing could compare to my version of Heart’s “Barracuda.” That seemed to set them off like a nuclear bomb.

  Six songs turned into eight.

  Then ten.

  People were dancing and having a good time. Big bikers and their women. They were encouraging with their clapping and their singing and their friendly interaction with me.

  By the end of it, I was accepting requests. And at one point, a guy who looked like he’d stepped straight out of a Metallica concert, with his long strawberry blond hair and handlebar mustache, joined me on stage to sing Dolly Parton’s “Nine To Five.”

  The crowd ate it up.

  This was from people I thought would eat me alive.

  In the end, I had to stop singing because my voice was growing hoarse, and I needed a drink. My cheeks were also hurting from laughing and smiling so much.

  I glanced over at Chance, who stood watching from the bar, his big arms crossed over his broad chest, and a wave of appreciation washed over me. Tonight had been fun, not to mention life- changing because tomorrow I was on a bus out of here.

  Perhaps I had been too quick to judge him because of the vest he wore.

  Maybe there was reason to everyone’s madness when they dropped their panties for these guys.

  Maybe they weren’t the power-hungry bullies I thought they were.

  I glanced over at Chance, who was still watching me, and felt a thrill travel up my spine.

  I started to lower my guard.

  I mean, where was the harm in one night?

  Especially if I was leaving town tomorrow.

  CHANCE

  I was late to Ruger’s patchover party because I had to visit the sexual health clinic over in Humphrey. Fucking anyone without protection wasn’t what I was about, and this morning’s event in the shower was further proof I wasn’t myself. I knew Tammi-Lynn was one of the actresses who worked for the Kings of Mayhem adult film production company, Head Quarters. I knew they had strict health checks so they could fuck on film without condoms. I knew she would be clean and knew I would be okay.

  But I visited the clinic anyway.

  As a result, I got to the clubhouse just in time to see Cassidy get up on stage and start singing.

  And goddamnit, my insides lit up like fucking fireworks when I saw her up on the st
age, her bright blonde hair gleaming under the lights and those beautiful glossy lips singing into the microphone. But it was that voice, that rich, smoky voice that reached across the clubhouse to where I was standing at the bar and punched me square in the chest.

  She was fascinating, and as the minutes turned into an hour, I grew more and more drawn to her. Even though I knew it was pointless, it was hard not to when she was up there singing like a goddess and making a room full of bikers and their old ladies eat out of her hand.

  When she finished her set, the room erupted with raucous appreciation. I watched, intrigued, as she thanked the crowd then stepped off the stage and made her way to where I stood at the bar.

  “Not bad, California,” I said, trying not to notice how her skin glowed with a golden sheen of sweat. Or how long her lashes were.

  Or the fullness of her juicy, pink lips.

  “Here,” I handed her an iced tea. “I ordered you a drink.”

  I watched those luscious lips slide over the rim of the glass and felt the flare of attraction burst in my gut.

  “Oh God, it tastes so good.” She beamed up at me. “Thank you.”

  “You looked like you were having fun up there,” I said, resisting the urge to wipe the small beads of sweat from above her mouth.

  “Maybe.” She grinned. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

  “Not the seventh realm of Hell?”

  She laughed. “No. I had fun. I’m sorry I reacted so badly about you being a biker when we first met. I’m just cautious, you know?”

  “Don’t mention it. You helped us out. They really loved you.”

  “It was fun.” She fanned herself. “But I think I need some air. It’s hot under those lights.”

  “Come on. Let’s go sit outside.” I took her by the hand and led her out to the barbecue tables in the playground, where we stared up at a starry sky, talking. She told me about traveling with her friend, Missy, and how they had spent the last two years roaming across the country, picking each new town by putting names in a hat and pulling them out. She liked to be free, she said. To explore. She was spirited. Inquisitive.