Below The Line

by Chelsea Camaron

  It took me years to get away. Scaling money off my clients by charging ten dollars more than Lo’ren required of me. Hiding the money in the worst of places since I wasn’t allowed to get dressed after a client left, all to get away. Sneaking out in the middle of the day when I should have been sleeping, catching a bus north, I lived on a prayer.

  Tennessee was my first stop. It’s where my money started to get too low. I hoped to take a job stripping long enough to build a stash. Only, I didn’t have time to find a job there before I had to get back on the run.

  Taking another bus east and then one south, I found my way to Alabama. Lo’ren will think I went north, never staying in the south I thought I could start my life here. I saved my money.

  Things were going good … too good.

  I went to Rebel Ink to get my first small piece. A star on my shoulder with an x in the middle for Maximus, to remind me of the star who once had my back. My plan was to feel it out, make sure there was no connection to Lo’ren and his associates. After all this time living in his underground world, I don’t know how far and wide his reach is. Once I can find a place where I can confidently say Lo’ren isn’t tied to it, I can get my cover up. I was at the shop to see if Sonnie would be the one I could trust. The plan was the small star and then I could return to cover the brand, Lo’ren’s brand. I was so close. Sonnie, my artist seemed like a solid lady doing business. I was comfortable I could explain my situation and she could fix me up.

  After going to the shop to get ink and finding him there, no way I can stay here. If Owen can find me, Lo’ren will too. And with my brand still easily visible, he could have any associate of his find me and there is proof positive of who I belong to. It’s why I’ve tried so hard not to make money as a hooker. Even if I can suck a cock like a champion swimmer racing for a gold medal, I have marks on my body that show I’m property.

  Owned or not, I’d rather die than be back under Lo’ren’s thumb.

  Making sure none of them followed me, I finally make my way into the house. With the practice I’ve had, I pack in a matter of seconds. Leaving a note explaining my rapid departure to Clyde, I take the duffle bag with my few belongings and head back down the road.

  Owen can’t find me. I don’t know what would be worse, him or Lo’ren. My heart can’t take the pain it will cause him once he learns the truth. I won’t have a part in that. No way, no how will I be the one to tell Owen the lifetime of secrets that everyone kept from him.

  He’s good through and through. I won’t let the ugly touch him. No matter what I have to do.

  Once I get to open highway I can hitchhike and hopefully make my way back to Memphis. At least there, I can work the street to get some quick cash and stock up. Maybe this time I’ll take a bus and head west. California has more opportunities for a girl like me than anywhere else.

  Okay, Hadley, breathe. I tell myself and calm my nerves. Owen has gotten taller if I ever thought that was possible. He’s filled out into a masculine masterpiece of badassness. Leaving the streets of New Orleans has done him well.

  My forced profession has landed me underneath many men. None have ever made my blood pulse the way Owen’s does. I don’t know of a time I’ve ever been turned on by a man except seeing Owen had me wishing I could be his whore for a single night.

  Only if he knew everything, he would hate me and everyone he ever came in contact with in New Orleans.

  Seeing the scar down his face takes me immediately back to the day that changed the course of both our futures.

  I sit up in our tent watching the sweat pour down his face as he sleeps heavily for the first time ever. The hustle and bustle around our tent is nothing new so I’m not surprised to hear footsteps. What does immediately have me on alert is the zipper moving on the dome shaped home Owen and I have made for ourselves.

  Moving to the front of the tent, I’m taken off guard when something hard slams into the top of my head from the edge of the tent door. When I come to, I’m laying on my side. My head pounds, reaching up I feel the warm liquid hit my fingers from the open gash on the top of my noggin. I look over to Owen who stirs but only to roll over before my vision becomes blurry and I black out again.

  Coming too, I’m in the back of a van. I blink. How did I get here? Then I remember the tent, someone coming, and my head. The more the van moves the more I want to puke and fight back the rising lump in my throat.

  Did that scar happen that day? Did they hurt Owen after they took me?

  Does he even know they’ve been watching him his entire life?

  Has he figured it all out yet?

  Based on his reaction to seeing me, I don’t think he does. Which means this will all knock him on his ass even more when he finally learns the truth.

  Looking to the highway in front of me there isn’t a soul to be seen. Is this why people from Alabama are so in love with their state? The quiet, the comfortable silence? My time here has probably been the most peace I’ve had in my adult life. Like everything else for me, it too is short lived. I need to find a way to blend in. It’s the only way to survive.

  Chapter Three

  ~Owen~

  “Anything?” I ask Collector feeling like I fucked up once again.

  I should have chased Hadley when she rushed from the shop. Only, I stood just out the front door and watched her run in fear.

  She was right in front of me. I looked in those deep dark eyes I would willingly die a thousand deaths to look into again. What I saw rocked me.

  Fear.

  Hadley Combs, the beautiful young girl who faced everything life ever threw at her head on is afraid. What has her scared?

  I can’t help but wonder if it’s me. The thought of her being fearful when with me makes me want to vomit.

  It’s been a week and I’m still reeling.

  “I got nothing.” Collector says as we sit at a diner in Natchez, Mississippi trying to figure out where she went. He has an arm slung casually over the back of Sonnie’s chair like they have spent a lifetime together just like this.

  “I know this isn’t an ideal plan, but I think we go back to where it all began for you and her.” Judge being the voice of reason.

  Deacon takes a drink of his water and studies me. “Know it ain’t what you wanna hear, brother, but you ever think it’s tied to your Momma’s murder?”

  “No shit, Sherlock!” Trapper pipes in with cheeseburger about to fall out of his mouth. “Obviously the chickadee isn’t dead. No other reason for her to be running from Owen unless she knows what happened to his momma bear. And damn what a woman she’s grown into! Hadley ain’t a little girl on the streets no more. Nope, she’s a full grown woman with tits, ass, and a pussy.”

  I slam my fist down on the table. “Shut the fuck up, Trapper.”

  “What? Just saying what no one wants to come right out and say. Your girl is a full gown, red-blooded American woman, X. She’s very much alive. There is only one reason she would be alive and you think she’s dead, you’re being played.”

  I sincerely wait a beat thinking he will follow this up with a duh. He doesn’t. Instead he dips a French fry in ketchup and goes back to his meal.

  “Shithead, we’re all capable of saying what the fuck we mean.” Rowdy swipes Trapper in the back of the head. “Bottom line, it seems we need to look into your history, X.”

  I nod.

  “Anything we don’t already know?” Judge asks while Collector pays careful attention like a cop in an interrogation room.

  “Kinda hard to have secrets when my life has been the streets more than anywhere else.”

  Judge sits back in his chair thinking.

  “Family,” Trapper says swallowing the last bite of his burger. “We need to get like your family tree, what’s that shit they show on TV? We can order you a kit. Find out all about your European ancestry. Being a Cajun boy I bet they trace you back to some French royalty or some shit.”

  “As stupid as you sound sometimes you’re also rig
ht on the money, Trapper.” I smile for the first time thinking we might get somewhere. “I know shit about family. Mom was on her own. Never told me shit about my sperm donor.” I sigh facing my past. “Fact of the matter was, she had what she called gentlemen callers.”

  “Your mom was a whore!” Trapper states the obvious, excitedly. “Do you know how many your momma jokes could come from that?”

  “I’m gonna kick your ass for X if you don’t shut the fuck up.” Collector orders.

  “It’s the truth,” I say calmly. Looking to Trapper, I add, “Go easy Collector, but make sure to get a nut check in.” I try to make light of what I already know.

  “You ready to go back?” Judge asks reading me like an open fucking book.

  “Don’t know how to answer that one, brother. Hadley being alive is more than I ever can comprehend. The look of fear in her face, she’s running. She’s running hard and fast. Only one way to find out from what.”

  “Let’s ride,” Collector says and we all toss out a few dollar bills for a tip before heading out.

  With an arm raised, he points to me to lead. Twisting the throttle, we ride out.

  I haven’t been back to Louisiana since I left a confused teen.

  The ride only amps me up more. By the time we roll in, I’m ready to park on Canal Street, check into our hotel and hit up Bourbon Street to wash my life away.

  Immediately, the sounds of our pipes are drowned out by the noise of people. This is life in New Orleans. The city never sleeps. The lifestyle here is like no where else.

  The great melting pot. New Orleans is the city of rebuilding, second chances. People land themselves here from everywhere. The culture is about being yourself and living life your way. The locals live off the land, the tourists take in the life only wishing this was more their normal. From the drive-thru daiquiri establishments to the open acceptance of all races, religions, and sexual orientations, the city is one where anyone could easily find home.

  We check in and I drop my duffle bag on the bed and immediately take my ass back outside. The hustle and bustle never stops. It’s like I never left. The lights from the casino flash bright into the night with the trolley rolling through and street performers all manning their corners trying to get some spare change to make due just like Hadley had done.

  Collector and Sonnie are at my back first followed closely and loudly by Trapper.

  “Holy whores suck my balls, this place is crazy and I mean that is the best possible way. Who’s getting laid tonight?” He uses his thumbs on both hands to point at his chest. “This guy, that’s who.”

  “We can’t take you anywhere man.” Rowdy says catching up to us. “Deacon and Judge are being grandma’s tonight.” He laughs. “Okay not really, they have some shit to work on for tomorrow.”

  We hit the first bar where Sonnie immediately orders a hurricane. Oh that woman can hold her liquor, but even the best trained liver will have some shock in this city. A few drinks later and I’m feeling pretty buzzed. Collector drags Sonnie back to their room to take advantage of her buzz I’m sure before she passes out.

  Rowdy and I take our to-go cups for our Jack and Cokes and step outside for a breather. Leaning against a wall, I look up into the many full balconies. Everything in New Orleans is packed tightly together and more than one story. People often fill the balconies to the max. Even when it’s not Mardi Gras people are tossing beads and living life as if it’s one giant party.

  Maybe that’s the appeal.

  Only for me, nothing about this place says party.

  Rowdy and I are people watching and minding our own business when a woman dressed in booty shorts, what I think is a bikini top, and giant hoop earrings approaches.

  She’s cut. Tight body with rounded hips, a tiny waist, and plump tits.

  “Hello boys,” she purrs.

  Rowdy looks left, looks right, then smirks. “Baby, ain’t no boys here. We’re men.”

  “Even better. I’m looking to have a little fun, sweet man.”

  Rowdy pushes off the wall, “Ain’t shit sweet here. You want fun, we’re not it. You want to have two men fuck you, fill you, and leave you then we’re your men. Otherwise keep walking.”

  “Name’s Cameron Linn.” She reaches out and traces the edge of Rowdy’s cut. “It’s my night off and I wanna have some fun.”

  “Don’t honestly give a fuck about your name,” I add knowing neither of us will care what her name is.

  “We’re a package deal,” Rowdy says to which the bottle blonde nods. Without giving her another word, he reaches up gripping her hair and pulling her head back. She moans and opens her mouth inviting him to dive in.

  He doesn’t.

  Instead he traces his tongue over her collarbone while holding her head firmly tilted up. Moving to stand behind her, I grip her hips and press her ass to my crotch. Up close I can see the layers of color in her hair. It’s blonde on top but in the dark, under the lights from the streets, I can see the purple underneath. She smells of strawberries and I’m not sure if it’s her lotion or one two many daiquiris. I don’t give a shit.

  “Cameron Linn, you gonna let me take this fine ass?” I growl before I use my teeth to graze the outer part of her ear.

  She presses her ass out more to reach me. “You can have whatever you want just make me feel good.”

  Immediately, I back up raising my hands in surrender, and Rowdy releases her hair jumping back like he’d been stung. I don’t do good. I’m tainted, poisoned, the blackness covers my soul and runs through my veins. She wants good, it’s time to walk the fuck away.

  “We’re not the good guys, baby. Have a good night.” Rowdy nods knowing me, knowing himself, and knowing this is not for us. We turn our backs to her to head back to the hotel.

  “Wait,” she cries out. “I didn’t mean it.”

  Rowdy tosses his hand in the air to wave her off while we make our way down the crowded streets.

  “We need to find Trapper.” I look around for the man.

  “I’m sure Trapper has found himself his own kind of trouble tonight.”

  We’re all grown men, I’m not here to judge or babysit him. He knows his way back to the rooms. Rowdy and I press on neither of us missing the chick. There was a time my cock would be angry with me and my balls would protest painfully about not turning my ass around and sinking inside her. Maybe it’s age, maturity, or simply I just don’t give a fuck but my hard on is gone just as easily as it came.

  The rest of the night passes with me tossing and turning more than actually sleeping. Finally, at five am, I toss back the covers and get up. After a quick shower and change into new jeans and a t-shirt, I leave Rowdy sleeping and head downstairs to smoke.

  The minute I light the cigarette, I inhale deep. The burn, the taste, the way it fills my lungs and stings all remind me of the acid taste I had in my mouth for months after Hadley. I remember being lost. I left and didn’t look back.

  I still can’t wrap my mind around it.

  Deacon comes down with earbuds in his ears and ready to pound the pavement for his morning workout. A few steps behind him, I’m surprised to see Trapper pulling a t-shirt on over his head with a woman trying to grab his arm and missing.

  “Trapper, come on, we haven’t even slept yet.” Her voice, her hair. I was drunk last night, but I remember that chick.

  Hell!

  “It was good, now it’s time to go.”

  “Don’t you at least want my number?” She asks with her hair wild around her face and her top hanging dangerously low in a way that shows not only the hickies left by Trapper on her tits but the first quarter of her areola.

  “Give it to X here, he’ll make sure I get it.” Trapper says with a cocky smile as he takes off in a jog passing me and Deacon while leaving the chick from last night with me.

  “Cameron Linn B,” she immediately begins and I raise a hand to stop her.

  “Look Cameron, I think you’re probably a nice lady.” I try to
be as polite as I can. “We’re not the kind of men who do the whole call you back thing. Your name, your number, it’s irrelevant.”

  She pouts and I take a drag on my cigarette to keep from telling her she’s not five and that shit doesn’t work anymore. Her phone rings and she pulls it from her purse not leaving my side. I start to walk off, except she answers and I stop dead in my tracks.

  “Hadley, don’t come anywhere near NOLA. Lo’ren has more than Marcus on your ass now girl. You done fucked up bad. You come back, they’re gonna chain your ass in the attic.”

  Lo’ren Cortez.

  My mother’s pimp.

  Fuck me, this ties to my past. I just have to piece the puzzle together.

  Grabbing the phone from Cameron’s hand, I don’t hesitate. “Hadley Combs you bring your ass to the spot or tell me where the fuck to find you right now!”

  Chapter Four

  ~Hadley~

  “Owen?” I say barely above a whisper.

  “You fucking know it. I thought you were dead.” His voice, oh his voice is both heaven and hell. I never thought I would hear his voice again. There is a deep rasp, almost a scratch to him now, whether that’s from age or too many cigarettes and booze I don’t know.

  It cuts deep to have so many questions about the boy who once gave me the only safety I’ve ever had.

  “I am dead, Owen,” I whisper and click off the phone.

  Shit is bad.

  Owen Maximus Gallow, the boy is now a man. A sexy as sin, delicious in the rough and rugged way that makes my girlie bits come alive with a need I’ve never cared to have. He’s cursed. Everyone who knows who he really is believes it.

  Been covered in black magic since the day he was conceived. Not real magic but the hatred, the negativity, and all things vengeance surrounded his soul before he ever left his mother’s womb.

  My phone rings with an unknown number. I contemplate answering, but decide not to. A text pings from a different number.

  I’m coming for you. Stay put. X

  The voicemail chime rings and I press listen.