Plan. I need to plan.
Escape. Find my escape and start my life. There is no way I will continue living under the same rules, the same restrictions, the same dynamics between men and women. Club life isn’t for me. I have known it since I was a little girl. There has been one constant in my fucked-up childhood: My need to get out of this lifestyle.
No time like the present to get my stuff sorted, I suppose.
Clearing my throat, I fight back emotions as I speak to the woman who lives with my biological dad. “If you don’t mind, it would be appreciated.”
She smiles a sad smile at me.
Sympathy. I don’t want it. My mother raised me to be stronger than her. She raised me to be better than any motorcycle club. This is not the life she wanted for me.
Seeing Amy in front of me—this broken, weak version of a female—I know this is a confirmation that I am not the kind of woman to back down. I am not the girl to hang my head in shame. I am not the daughter of Fury MC who will be trampled all over. I may not desire to be an ol’ lady or a club whore, but I won’t be beneath any man, even if it’s his blood running through my veins.
Never have I focused on the strength needed to leave. I have lived my life in survival mode for my mother. She’s gone, but I’m not. I need to be strong. Fury MC wasn’t loyal to me, and my loyalty isn’t to them. The Hellions MC have no ties to me, and I want none to them. I’m going to do this for me. I will get out. It’s my vow to myself.
Find my strength. Find my escape.
Right in Front
Frisco has a daughter. Meeting her, seeing her, she is most definitely his; there is no doubt about that. Those eyes, the same eyes that have brought me so much comfort since leaving Delatorre, are set in a face that has the same sharp jawline. Those eyes that soothed every nightmare, bad memory, and chased the skeletons in my closet firmly away are the same eyes in that young woman. Only, in her dark depths lies a confliction I know all too well.
When Felix Delatorre blackmailed me into leaving with him then helping him, I was in my own personal hell. I didn’t know which way was left, right, up, or down.
The girl in my room, the girl in my bed, the girl who is a man I have grown to love’s own flesh and blood is a girl to be worried over.
Will she accept me? Will she let me help her? Will she take the olive branch I am extending?
Quietly holding my fresh clothing and brush tightly, I make my way around the room as if nothing is different from any other day, even as I feel her eyes bore into me. One thing I learned a long time ago: Sometimes all you can do is the next thing.
I don’t know what is in Shannon’s mind. I can’t begin to imagine. After going through my own hell from Delatorre, I can only empathize with the girl.
Having not been in touch with Frisco, I can only wonder how many days since her mother’s death. Has she had time to grieve? Does she even know the reasons behind the deaths of the people she once called family? Has she been given an opportunity to lay her mother to rest?
It’s not my place to tell her, and I will certainly not cross those lines. Still, my heart breaks for the innocence lost. Then again, I can’t help wondering what the young girl in my bed has already faced down and experienced in her short life.
My gut twists nervously. I know the lengths I was willing to go in the name of family. Will Shannon be the same? Will she hurt Frisco and the Hellions as she funnels through her emotions?
“I’ll be ready in about an hour, but there is no rush on your part,” I inform her, trying to ease the awkward silence between us as I reach the doorway.
“Thank you.” Her tone is somber.
I shower quickly, lost in my own thoughts. Stepping out, I dry off while ignoring the mist-covered mirror. I have learned to dress and ready myself in minimal time without looking at my reflection. As much as I don’t see the beauty in me physically, Frisco does. How did everything so bad in my life land me in the arms of a man so good?
I feel delightfully sore in all the right places. Applying my lotion, I have this peace with my body I didn’t have before. Things may not be off to the best start with Frisco, but he wants me. He’s told me I’m in his bed. I had enough bad in my life to know how to hold on to the good, even if it’s fleeting. Frisco and I may not have forever, we may not have more than what we have already shared, but in this time, it’s more than I ever had before.
My hands are slippery from the condensation and my lingering lotion when I twist the doorknob, so it takes an extra bit of effort to pop it open. Then I step out into what is Frisco’s bedroom, looking down, only to be stopped by the firm grip of a man’s hands on my arms.
Fear tunnels in until I breathe deeply and inhale his scent.
“Frisco,” I say on a whisper, my body relaxing.
“Don’t want shit between us. Ain’t had to hesitate to say what I need to say or do what I need to do with you for a long damn time. Thought we were good. Thought this was right.”
Tears prickle the back of my eyes. Are we going to be over before we even begin?
“We are right,” I say softly. “Focus on what’s right in front of your face.”
He tips my chin up to look at him. “Right in front of my face, huh?”
“Frisco, I’m here. I’m gonna be here when the dust settles.” I pause. “Your daughter, that young woman in the other room, she needs to know you are solid. Don’t lose sight of what you’ve just got a grip on.”
“Good woman, Amy. You’re a damn good woman.” He kisses my forehead. “Don’t know shit about being a dad. Don’t know shit about taking care of a teenager. I do know what I got right here.”
I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face. “Yeah, what’s that?”
“A beautiful woman who will back me up while I find my footing in this fatherhood stuff. A strong woman who pushes me beyond my past and into the present. Yeah, darlin’, I don’t wanna lose sight of what’s right in front of my face.”
When his lips meet mine, I melt. I’m not weak to him, but my body is. I know with Frisco I could say no and he would stop right now. I know I am safe with him. My body is safe with him. My heart is safe with him.
Right in front of my face is a man who gives his all to those he loves. Right in front of my face is a man who hasn’t had it easy, but he has endured. Right in front of my face is a man who loves deeply, fights fiercely, and doesn’t back down from any challenge life gives him.
Right in front of me is my future. Right in front of him is my unconditional love, loyalty, and a commitment to ride for life.
Right in front of my face is a woman of beauty, loyalty, strength, and courage. For years, I’ve gone through life holding back. If tomorrow never comes, at least I have given love a second chance. In the years Amy and I have had together, she’s worked her way into my heart, my life, and I don’t want to let go of what is just getting started.
Inhaling the vanilla scent of her lotion, I run my hands up and down her spine as I devour her mouth, needing to feel connected to her. When she moans, my cock hardens against my jeans, rubbing uncomfortably. I haven’t had this much trouble controlling my dick in years, and it feels good.
Everything with Amy feels good.
Cupping her ass, I pull her against me as I turn us and practically glide us toward the bed. Amy squeals in delight as I lay her back on it and immediately take her nipple into my mouth, twirling my tongue around it before blowing against her exposed skin.
I pull back and laugh. “Your lotion tingles on my lips.” I kiss my way down her belly, sensing her insecurities. “Relax, Amy. Every inch of you tells a story, baby. Don’t ever doubt where you came from.” I tease her belly button with my tongue, and she trembles under me.
“Frisco,” she whispers.
“Your body was made for mine. You were made for me.”
She traces the tattoo on my rib with her fingertips.
“Amy,” I say on a laugh, sliding my goatee over her sensitive skin. �
��I got that ink after our first kiss. You get under my skin, baby. Have for a long damn time.”
“Frisco,” she moans out as I tease her pussy lips with my goatee then flick my tongue over her flesh.
“Do I get to you, Amy?” I ask as I part her pussy lips with my tongue and suck on her clit as she arches up wildly into my face.
“Yes!”
“Do I get under your skin, Amy?” I use my fingertip to trace the circle of her entrance as she tries to slide over me. I keep my finger just on the edge as I lap her clit with my tongue.
“Yes!”
“Do you want me inside you, Amy?” I lick then suck her clit, sliding one finger in torturously slow. “Deep inside you, do you want me to slide my rock-hard cock in your wet pussy and let you ride me until you can’t catch your breath, until your body coats in a fine sheen of sweat?” I pull my finger out, only to ever so slowly slide back inside her with two, in and out as I let my voice vibrate against her sensitive skin. My goatee scrapes with each word. “Do you want me to fuck you, Amy?” I hum against her as she shakes, her release continuing to build. She’s on the edge, but it’s not time yet. “Do you want me to fuck you so long, so hard, and so fast that your eyes feel like they will roll back in your head?”
“Yes!” she cries out, getting louder and louder as her need builds.
“Do you want me to give it to you good, Amy? Do you want me get under your skin? You’re under mine.”
“Yes!” She thrashes wildly. “Please, Frisco, I need you in me.”
“Well, if you need it, who am I to deny you?” I smile against her as I kiss my way up her body, lining my cock up and sliding into her wet core, and sending her over the edge in two thrusts before working myself to climax as she reaches her second orgasm.
Hell yes, I definitely love what is right in front of my face. This works. This is us.
Cyclone of Confusion
A girls’ day of shopping, something I did with my mother countless times when she was on a “high on life” mania. The downfall was when the overspending left us struggling until Vic gave us more money, which meant Mom would be serving him somehow just to make ends meet. The other thing was Mom crashing when she came off a manic episode. She would fall into a severe depression that typically left me cleaning up her blood from a self-inflicted wound.
It wasn’t pretty, but it was my life.
The red-headed woman named Sass has an hourglass figure, accentuated by her skin-tight jeans and boots. She’s done up, but not overly done. It’s more of a way that screams confidence.
In the car ride to the mall, I learned her name is Savannah, and she’s Tank’s ol’ lady. They have a son everyone calls Red. She goes by Sass because she’s full of attitude. She also has a tight bond with Amy, it seems. From what I gather, the two work together at some automotive shop, and Amy doesn’t like crowds, so when she wants to go shopping, Sass usually comes along and does the driving.
I can’t help being uncomfortable around her to some degree. Her dad is Danza, the other man who was at our house the day my mother died. He gave off a vibe that led me to believe he didn’t think much of my mother or Fury MC. I remind myself I am not defined by who my parents are or were, so I can’t hold Sass to the same.
I wonder if Amy is like my mother. Does Frisco have a thing for the manic to mania and back again lifestyle of someone with a mental illness?
When I was twelve, I couldn’t wait to get out of my mother’s house, even if it landed me on my back at the clubhouse. That’s what Vic always said, that women served the club on their backs. I didn’t know what he meant until I was in high school and one of the girls in my class was given to the club to pay off her parents’ drug debt. Even knowing the hell a young girl could find at the club, there were moments when it seemed better than dealing with Mom’s extreme highs and lows. I never told her this. It’s all there in my journals, though.
How many times did I scribble the words: I hate her like this. The blood, I’m so tired of cleaning the cuts. She’s selfish?
Kids aren’t nearly as clueless as parents wish they were. In fact, every single day I was subject to her moods, to whatever high or low, I was impacted.
When I was younger, I wanted to be just like my mom, until the first time I found her passed out in a bathtub full of water tinted a shade of pink. Panic, fear, insecurity—it all hit my tiny mind with the force of a wrecking ball on a crane, slamming into a skyscraper. Demolition. The demolition of my soul.
I was six.
From that day on, I watched, observing her every movement, every expression, and every noise she made. Every breath taken, I wondered if it would be her last.
Self-inflicted wounds cut deeper than the epidermis she was slicing away at. The more she hacked her body up, the more she cut deep into the core of who I am. And every time, every single incident, I promised myself I wouldn’t become like her.
There were so many times I wanted to run away. I wanted to get away from her and her brand of crazy. Only, where would I go? Sure, Vic would take me, but I feared the life he led.
Yet, where have I landed myself, except right in the thick of MC life.
I wish I could say life with my mom was great. I wish I could simply mourn her like any other daughter who lost their mother. But I can’t. I can’t find it in me to feel like anything was ever normal. Sure, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but I didn’t have some picture-perfect childhood.
Every time I think of her, I think of her being shot and her sending me with Frisco. I also think of the relief I felt for a moment. It was fleeting, but it was there. No more blood for me to clean up, no more nights of listening to her cry, even wailing sometimes over her love lost with Frisco. It was agony to know she was so heartbroken over a man who wasn’t my father … or so I thought at the time.
My world feels like a cyclone of confusion. I am twisting, turning, and spinning around and around. My emotions are from one extreme to another. I can’t make heads or tails of what comes next.
“Florida, do you miss it?” Sass asks as we make our way across the parking lot to what they call the mall.
“Haven’t been here long enough to know if there is a difference. I do miss home,” I tell her.
The two women share a look, a look that pisses me off. It’s a look of pity.
Don’t fucking pity me. I am stronger than they think and determined to make this only a small setback in the story of my life.
“I don’t know what your college plans are, but Coastal Carolina Community College is down the street from the mall,” Amy informs me.
I want to roll my eyes.
Don’t show all your cards, Shannon, I remind myself. I don’t have a plan yet. I have an idea, but I don’t have money and an escape sorted. I need to play nice until I find my opportunity.
“Well, my college plans were in Florida, but now, I’m not sure there are any,” I tell them as we enter the mall’s front door.
I guess this is a mall without being a large upscale place like I’m used to. There is no big-name department stores with escalators. In fact, the entire building is one floor from what I see so far.
“Since you weren’t raised in the clubhouse, I figure you would want options rather than hitting up the local Harley shop for T-shirts and jeans.” Sass gives me a wink while Amy shrugs.
“I like to be comfortable,” Amy defends herself.
I may have misread Amy in the beginning. Yes, she can be timid at times, but she doesn’t back down or let anyone run over her.
“Bullshit. I call bullshit,” Sass jokes with her friend, showing a definite comfort between the two women. “You want to blend in”—she covers her eyes dramatically—“never to been seen or heard. A fly on the wall.”
Amy shakes her head at the woman, and then smiles sweetly at me. “Don’t listen to her. While the wild one here wants to challenge everyone, I prefer the subtler life of not being known.”
“You’re shy?” I ask, already know
ing the answer.
“I’m a mess,” Amy huffs out, looking toward the ceiling.
“Why?” I press as we enter the beauty supply store. I would much rather keep the conversation on anyone but me and my plans.
“I have a history that is far from the sparkling Christmas lights and happy sounds of jingling bells.”
I can’t stop the laugh that escapes me at Amy’s sense of humor. Slowly, I find the more time I spend with her, the more I like her. Maybe I have misunderstood Amy. I’m still on the fence with the Hellions, but I find I like her.
“The fluff is overrated, anyway,” I reply, aiming for comradery.
“Good thing you feel that way. We don’t overdo it at Christmas at the house,” she says with the pleasant smile she has that leaves me wondering if it’s genuine.
“Oh, girl, we will make sure the elves vomit tinsel all over this year,” Sass playfully teases.
“Bitch,” Amy gives back.
I almost gasp in shock that the woman stood up for herself. I saw a glimpse of it, but to actually come right back with it outright, I almost want to give her a high-five.
Once again, I am filled with confusion. Just when I think I have Amy pegged as being just like my mother, she does or says something that is unlike the woman who gave birth to me. I hate the confusion, but I respect a woman who sticks up for herself.
We spend the next few hours going from shop to shop and stopping at a New York style pizzeria for lunch. The foldable slices are as nice as the men working behind the counter.
Vic never allowed me to have a job. He wanted my mother and I to be completely dependent on him. I wonder if Frisco would have an issue with me getting a job.
“I see the wheels turning in that adorable head of yours,” Sass says before sipping her soda. “What’s on your mind?”
Amy immediately comes to attention to hear my response.
Well, a teacher once told me, “The best way to get answers is to ask questions.” What’s the harm in asking? The worst they can tell me is no, right?
Final Ride: Hellions Motorcycle Club (Hellions Ride Book 9) Page 6
