One Ride (The Hellions Ride)

by Camaron, Chelsea

  My hair still wet from my shower, I leave it down to dry. I dress in the usual jeans and black t-shirt, finished with my black boots. Hearing the sounds coming from Rex’s room, I know he’s busy, but at least awake. Grabbing my cut to throw on, I step out of the duplex into the compound lot.

  “Tripp, hey brother, how’s it going?” Tank greets as he approaches me.

  Tank is exactly that, a tank. He’s not as tall as me, around five foot ten or so, I would say. Broad shoulders and arms that show the man is familiar with a gym. I’m built, but he’s stacked. His arms covered in full sleeves that go from his neck all the way down, a skull even covering his left hand on one side and his sleeve stopping at his right wrist. The intricate designs are eye catching. The metal in his face adds to his persona. His ears are gaged with a lip ring in place, probably for the ladies. His presence is intimidating to most people. Underneath it all, he’s hilarious and a big kid, once you get to know him. He’s come to Charlotte a handful of times, and stayed at our compound. He’s fun to drink with and the women flock to him. He loves to mess with the pretty boys in collared shirts when we go out and has been known to fuck their bitches right in front of them. He’s fierce, he’s loyal, and he’s everything that represents a Hellion.

  “Tank, brother.” I reply while we greet in the man half hug, back slap.

  Hearing a noise behind us, we both turn around to catch the sight of Doll and Sass bending over to pick up trash. Tank whistles. I laugh. Doll and Sass abruptly stand and glare over at us.

  “Fuck you, Tank.” Sass yells over to us.

  “Oh, baby, you know you want to.”

  The girls are making their way over in an aggressive march. Shit, they’re not happy with the flirtatious behavior of my brother.

  “Let me tell you something, Frank Thomas Oleander. I’ve fucked you once. I won’t fuck you twice. Take all those thoughts from your pea size brain and tell it to your pea size penis.”

  I watch as Doll flinches at Sass’s words. Damn. Now I see why they call her Sass. Doll reaches out to grab Sass and pull her back. Instead, Sass steps closer, toe to toe, with Tank, she stands strong against him. He grabs her ass and pulls her closer, rubbing up against her. I can’t tell if he’s going to fuck her right here on the spot, or cuss her out.

  “Oh baby, that sassy mouth.” He croons. “I know just how to shut you the fuck up. And last night, my dick sure as shit wasn’t pea sized as you were begging for more. Talk your shit. You know you want more. You know there’s gonna be more. That sassy ass is mine, Savannah. I know it, you know it, but you don’t wanna admit it. It’s all good, baby. No one else will ever match up to what I gave you.”

  “Keep dreaming, Tank. Badass biker. Fucking shithead. Controlling ass pricks. You, my dad, and every other fucking Hellion here can kiss my ass. Done with this shit. Never. Again.”

  With that she backs away, then turns and storms off. Doll is standing there, stunned.

  “Tank, how could you? You fucked her- fine- you’re both grown ass adults. You didn’t have to treat her like a bar bitch. You know better. Even I fucking expected more from you.” Doll chastises.

  He starts shaking his head, as her words start to sink in. “I’m sorry, Doll. It’s not like that. She isn’t a bar bitch. I’m not looking to settle down though. The white picket fence and shit, isn’t for me.”

  “She doesn’t want a white picket fence, dumbass. Neither Sass, or I, feel ready for the complications of a serious relationship. Sometimes chicks are out to have a good time and see where it goes, not get married right off the bat. Why do men make such quick assumptions?” Doll’s frustrations are rolling off her with each word.

  “I fucked up, Doll. My bad. You know I can’t give her what she needs or wants, not long term. It’s a good time, that’s all. I didn’t mean to be harsh this morning. Habit, that’s all.” He says running his hand through his hair.

  “’My bad’. That’s all you’re gonna say?” Doll lowers her voice, mocking Tank to his face. “‘My bad. It’s a habit.’ Man, fuck you Tank!”

  And before either of us can respond, Doll is off at a slow jog to catch up with her friend. Tank is still shaking his head, running his hand through his short, dark hair, sighing.

  I sigh. “Do I even want to know, brother?”

  “Nah, man. I fucked up, it’s what I do. Danza is gonna fucking kill me when he finds out.” Tank says as the relaxed tone of his voice is replaced with tension and something else that might even be sadness.

  “She’s an adult. Danza won’t be happy, but I’m sure he’ll understand. She’s pissed. She’s the one who seems ready to cut your balls off.” I say, thinking damn, he really messed this one up.

  “It is what it is. Fuck her, man. Come on, let’s get to sermon.”

  One Ordinary Day

  It’s another day at the office. Looking at my board, there are thirteen available units. Ugh, that number. Superstitions don’t usually get to me, but Friday the thirteenth, and anything with that number, always seem to be a bad omen for me.

  Running a mini storage facility is a tedious task. Keeping up the accounts, billing the late ones, tracking the people moving in and out, looking for the available units, the repossessions, the auctions, it’s a lot. We have one hundred and thirty five regular units broken into seven buildings inside this lot. There are two additional storage unit buildings available outside of the regular space. They’re adjoined to the Hellions compound area. Those additional forty units are for special business deals. The units range in size from the closet space size of a five by ten, to the one car garage size of the ten by twenty units. The first buildings are completely legitimate business units. The additional two buildings are reserved for Hellion connections.

  For the special buildings, the shipments come in on a schedule, and they’re stored appropriately in a unit or two or however many are needed, until the product is ready to be moved again. I don’t know for sure what is stored. I have my suspicions. We all do. The Hellions don’t sell drugs. They don’t actively sell guns; the occasional trade or sale, maybe, but not consistent, that I can figure out. The Hellions provide transportation, storage, and protection. We’re responsible for the crates while in our territory. The contents of the crates don’t matter. We transport, store, and protect, after our clients have already filled and sealed the containers.

  My dad tries not to involve me in this side of the business often. We have a few upstanding, law abiding members of the Hellions. People that don’t want to get their hands dirty. The Lawsons are like that. Harold ‘Roscoe’ Lawson and his ol’ lady, Marguerite, are members that we don’t involve in club business. Maggie is their daughter, her husband, and her older brother, Harrison, are also patched members that don’t get involved in business. Ryder, who is Dina’s husband, and Dina are the same way. They all live in Charlotte, except Roscoe and Marguerite. That doesn’t make them less of a member; it just means they don’t get a cut out of that portion of the Hellion funds. We’re all still a family.

  Looking over my paperwork, I update the available board. Calling the people who are late drives me insane. There’s always some excuse. The auctions are a nightmare. These people get certified letters, yet, they always call after the auction asking for their stuff. It’s gone, sweetheart. Gone. Next time, pay your bill. Business is business, nothing personal.

  My dad gave me this job to keep me close and to avoid doing the paperwork himself. My mother died when I was eleven. She had breast cancer. It was hard to watch her deteriorate and pass away. My dad has kept me close ever since. My four years away at the University of North Carolina, Charlotte was the most out of sight he’s let me be. And even if I was technically out of sight, I was never out of mind. I had to check in with Dina or one of the Lawson family members. Somebody always knew where I was or what was going on with me. I’m a grown ass woman, but at the heart of it all, I’ll always be my daddy’s little girl.

  A little over two years now, Sass and I have be
en out of college and playing secretary for the Hellion’s owned businesses. Sass works in the garage next door to my office. She handles customers, phones, ordering parts, and billing. The boys have a three bay motorcycle garage for comprehensive work and two additional lifts in the back to provide maintenance services to the bikes. My dad believes in higher education. The boys that work there all went to school and are ASE, Automotive Service Excellence certified mechanics, for the boys that work on the few cars that come in. Ruben, called ‘Ruby’ by everyone, is also certified by MMI, Motorcycle Mechanics Institute. He oversees everything for the garage.

  My dad regrets giving me this job. I’m around too much and therefore, I figure out more than he would like for me to know. He didn’t want me off the property, though, so he has to deal. Can’t have it both ways, Roundman.

  Thirteen transports this week. Damn, it’s going to be busy. Shaking my head, I laugh off the weird feeling I get at the number thirteen. I know, it’s stupid as fuck, but something about that particular number is always unsettling. It’s almost as bad as six, six, six. Oh hell, just thinking of it gives me a moment of dread; which seems twisted, since I’m not a man that unnerves easily. I’ve got the Hellions insignia tattooed on my back. A V-twin motorcycle engine, with wrenches crossing over it, as a skull is centered between the motor, and flames swirling around. Needles, skulls, spiders, and snakes, don’t shake me, but stupid number superstitions cause me that moment of pause. Every man has a quirk or two. The phone ringing on my desk shakes me out of my stupid thoughts.

  “Crews Transports.”

  “Yo, got a nine-one-oh. Take it from the South Carolina border stop. Pick up is on the Georgia side. Keep it close, Tripp, and it comes to the storage lot. Off load not necessary. Three Mack trucks for this one, you’ll be locking and rolling in Georgia.”

  “Three trucks? And we aren’t providing the trailers? Roundman, this is different.” I reply. This is not our usual protocol.

  “Delatorre scheduled this run. I know we usually do smaller, but we’ve got over ten years transporting with him. He’ll have the trailers done right.”

  “We’ll have no choice but to pass through at least two weigh stations crossing the state lines. Pass the message, the trailers need to make weight precisely, leave no room for error. I’ll start to map the routes and send those stopping points to you. With that mileage, we’ll need to double up drivers because of the hours behind the wheel. I’m gonna need Tank up here to fill one of the spots driving a Mack. I’ll assign five ride along cars: one for each truck, one to scout ahead for road checks and one to follow behind for any tails or trouble.” I answer, as I start planning out my job.

  This is what I do, I maintain a trucking company. Rex and I own Crews Transports together. We do the usual scout for jobs online, bid on the runs, and travel with anything from transport, passenger vans, all the way up to full on eighteen wheeler tractor trailer loads. The company is completely legit, other than the nine-one-oh runs we take for the Hellions. The numbers nine-one-oh being the area code for the Haywood’s Hellions is the way we mark our transports for the club versus our regular business.

  Typically, when old man Delatorre needs a transport its one trailer or two box trucks. He packs the trailers or box trucks. We either pick up the box truck as it is, or we pull up our Mack truck to his trailer, lock it in, and roll. What’s in the trailers is not my concern, the weight of the contents is. Delatorre is good business, he’s honorable, and wouldn’t do anything to put any of us at risk. Knowing this is his run, I’m confident that everything will go smoothly. Delatorre isn’t a man you say no to anyways, so we are taking the job regardless. It’s just nice to not have to look over your shoulder like a new client.

  “Alright, Tripp. Get the shit ready. Tank will be there in three days and the shipment is to be picked up in five.”

  “Got it, Roundman, over and out.”

  Looks like the transport number moved to sixteen now, instead of thirteen. Business is good. Life is good.

  One Regret

  Strolling over to the garage to pick up Sass from our work day, I can hear her shouting outside the building.

  “What is it Tank? Afraid of commitment? Or afraid of rejection? You may be one badass biker, but the way I see it, when it comes to relationships, you’re full of fear. What are you sooo afraid of?”

  Entering her office, I see her standing there, poking her finger at Tanks chest. She’s red in the face, full of fury, anger, and blatant defiance. Tank’s face is distorted with his own anger and, perhaps, regret.

  “Shut the fuck up, Sass. Why are you making this into something it’s not? We fucked. You wanted it. Fucking begged for it. If I knew you were going to turn into a stage five clinger, then drunk or not, I would’ve sent your ass packing.” Tank roars back at her.

  “Whoa, you two! Calm the hell down. I can hear you outside. Y’all were friends before, cut this shit out. Enough with the hateful remarks.” I say, trying to defuse the situation.

  “That’s what I fucking came here for, to fix shit. Fucking Sass, turns into psycho bitch. I never promised happily ever after. A fucking orgasm, Savannah Mae, that’s what I promised. And that’s what the fuck I delivered. All this other shit, you’re spewing fuck off.”

  With that, Tank storms out, leaving Sass standing in front of me utterly speechless. Walking up to Sass, I wrap my arms around her. She drops her head on my shoulder and begins to cry.

  “I fucked up, Doll. I keep pushing and I need to shut up. He’s been up front. I knew damn well what I was doing. I thought one night, just one night, would be enough. He’s like a drug and one hit is never gonna be enough.” She sobs into me, her body trembling with emotions.

  “Shhh, Sass. It’ll work out. Y’all need space and you can’t push him.” I console, holding her close.

  “You’re right. He’s more than another guy I’ve fucked, Doll. He’s Tank. He’s my Frank. We talk, we hang out, and I’ve fucked it all up. I never should’ve let this happen.” She states, drying her eyes.

  “Are you saying you regret sleeping with Tank?” I ask, stunned at her last remark. Sass has wanted to hook up with Tank since we were teenagers. He is older than us and has always been wild. They’ve become really close in the last two years, hanging out, talking, and becoming genuine friends.

  “Hell no, I have no regrets there. Being with him for even one night was so much more than I ever could’ve imagined it to be. My one regret is my reaction to sleeping with him. This life isn’t for me, Doll. I thought it was, but it’s not. Tank is the first and last Hellion I’m sleeping with. I want something more. It’s time for me to get serious about my life. To find someone who will commit to me, not to a club. Get married, have two point five kids and a white picket fence. Not go to rallies and chase tailpipes in the wind.”

  “Come on, Sass, you love this club. It’s family. And a white fucking fence, you have never wanted that.” I say shocked, stepping back from my friend.

  “The club will always be family, but this isn’t my future. Doll, come on, be understanding. Let things be like they were in Charlotte, where we freely picked up regular guys and dated. Neither of us have had a relationship since coming back to Haywood’s Landing. How do we know that we aren’t meant to be with someone that isn’t a Hellion? Maybe I’m ready for a relationship now.” Her eyes are pleading with me to agree.

  I’ve never been able to resist Sass. Whether I agree with what she’s saying, or attempting to do, doesn’t matter. She wants to go out and try something new, as her best friend I’m along for the ride, that’s a given.

  “Alright, we’ll go out. I love you, Savannah. I want you to be happy whether it’s with a suit, a biker, or hell, even a rock star. Promise me though, no white picket fence…at least paint that shit black.” We both break out into giggles and head home.

  Everything is set up for the transport. Tank is in town. He and I will be riding in a rig together. Rex will be riding with Frisco, and the thi
rd Mack truck will have Coach and Alfie paired for driving. Johnboy, Conductor, Perry, Slice, and Dukes will be driving the cargo vans. All elements are arranged.

  “We heading out on the town tonight, man?” Tank asks.

  “You know it, brother.” I smile and fist pound him.

  “Good. I need this time away to get my mind off shit.” He says, shaking his head.

  “You need to fuck that feisty one out of your system.” Rex states, as he looks over at Tank with laughter in his eyes.

  “Damn straight I do. No regrets, that’s the way I’ve lived my life. I go and fuck everything up by giving into something I knew I shouldn’t have. Time and time again, I wanted to fuck her, but knew it would mess everything up. Damn it, I did it anyway. Need to get her outta my system that’s all.”

  “A change in scenery, some new pussy, and a lot of alcohol will help man.” I say as I lead the way outside.

  The whole crew comes out with us to a local bar. The place is one we frequent regularly. The beer is cold, the locals support us, and the bar flies love us. Within a few minutes, Rex is off in the back stock room with some random hookup. This is definitely what Tank and I both need. He can’t shake Sass, and I can’t get Doll outta my head. Damn, at least Tank got laid before the broad took up residence in his every thought.

  After entering the bar, we pass by the booths that line the right side wall. Sauntering through the open middle space, we make our way to the long bar on the left. Tessie, our usual bartender, already has our first beers out and waiting. She’s a cute, petite, dark haired girl. She’s nice enough. Rex tapped her once a few years back; she took it in stride. She’s a single mom trying to get by, and gave into one night of lust. She’s never asked him for anything more than the one night in the very stock room he’s off banging someone else in right now. I’m pretty sure she may be the one repeat Rex has had, but neither of them shows it. Once, twice, whatever, they don’t act like it’s a regular hook up. Towards the back of the bar, there are two open rooms with two pool tables each. There is an area to throw darts in the back of each of these corner rooms. They usually fill up, but as a Hellion, once we enter, our room empties.