A Ride or Die Kind of Love

by Chelsea Camaron

  I can’t be here. I have to get out. I’ll call the police, let them know it was a drug overdose. Then I’ll be out of here for good. I won’t look back. I stare down at the woman that brought me into this world, and I feel nothing. I don’t even feel angry that I never got to tell her what I thought about the life she gave me. I don’t feel sad that she’s no longer around. I don’t even feel happy that I don’t ever have to live under her shadow again. No, the only thing I feel is a deep emptiness that goes right into my very core and lodges itself there, blocking out any other feelings that may try to rise.

  I turn, my fingers tremble as I lift her cell phone and hit the three numbers that will connect me to an ambulance - 911. When they answer, I simply tell them what I know as I stare down at my mother’s lifeless form. She’s going blue now, an ugly shade of blue that is making my stomach turn. I hang up the phone when the operator tells me to ‘hold on, sit tight, we’ll be there soon’. I’m sure they will be here soon, to take my mother to a cold place where I know she belongs. They’ll be here to free her of her life, but me…I won’t be. I won’t be here, because now I’m going to free myself of my life, in the only way I know how.

  By running.

  ~*PRESENT*~

  I tuck my dark brown hair behind my ears, and lift my sunglasses to stare at the large three-story house, surrounded by barbed wire, that’s situated right on the side of the highway. This is the address I was given. Apparently, this is where my father spends most of his time. I see a lineup of shiny Harley Davidson’s out the front, all sitting together like they’ve been perfectly placed. I can hear music booming from the large, red-brick home that looks like it’s seen better days. Is that a smashed window? This should be fun. I walk to the gate and rattle it – padlocked – of course it is. I look to my left and see a bundle of old stacked pallets. Grinning, I sling my backpack over my shoulder and saunter over.

  When I reach the pallets, I climb on top of them and grip the fence with one hand, using the pole beside it to hoist myself over. I end up in the dust, on my ass, but completely proud of my breaking and entering efforts. After I pull myself to my feet, and dust off the light brown specks of dirt covering my jeans, I walk towards the large house. When I get to the oversized front door, I knock loudly, but nobody answers. Giving up on the house, I walk around the side until I find an old shed that voices are trailing out of. When I get close enough, I see a small door to the left. Taking a deep breath, I walk over and grip the metal handle, opening it.

  When I step inside, it takes my eyes a moment to adjust to my surroundings. When I am able to focus more clearly, I turn my gaze to four men sitting around a wooden table. Two are smoking, all are drinking beer. One of the men stands as soon as he lays eyes on me, and I realize as he begins walking towards me, that he’s my father. I know because I see myself in his face, and I quickly realize where I got my dark brown hair and sky blue eyes. He’s tall and muscular. I’m tiny and petite – that seems to be the only difference between us. His arms are covered in tattoos and his dark hair is tied in a long braid that hangs over his shoulder. He also has a well-groomed goatee covering his top lip and his mouth.

  I’m not sure what I expected when I saw my dad again. I don’t remember him, so I had no idea what it was I actually thought would come from this moment. I guess knowing he is a biker, I expected a fat, ugly, smelly man with a beer belly. Not the handsome, well-groomed man sauntering towards me. My mother, God bless her trashy heart, had such poor taste in men that I have to wonder how she snagged him. I am sure my mother was once beautiful, but all I remember was the scraggly haired woman with rotting teeth and a foul temper.

  “Addison?”

  My father’s voice is husky, deep and…well…fatherly. I’m pissed at him though, I mean, how can I not be? He never tried to contact me. He never tried to see me. He never made an effort to pull me from the life I was stuck in. I don’t know if I can ever forgive him for that. He left me to live in hell. He doesn’t know what my life was like, with those men she used to bring home. The dealers, the junkies, the trash off the streets. His life…the biker life…would have been a damned walk in the park. When he stops in front of me, I meet his gaze. For a moment, we just stare at each other, taking each other in, figuring out what we can say.

  “Jackson,” I say. It’s the only thing that comes to mind.

  His mouth twitches. Did he really expect I’d call him Dad?

  “You look just like your momma,” he breathes as he takes me in.

  My eyes widen and I feel a pinch deep in my chest. Forcing the feeling away, I cross my arms and snap, “That’s an insult, you do know that right?”

  He tilts his head to the side, and his gaze narrows. “How so?”

  I ignore him, I refuse to spell it out for him. Instead, I turn, looking around the large shed. “This is your life, huh? Very…interesting. Where’s my room?”

  “How’d you get in?” he asks.

  I raise my brows at him. “Jumped the fence. My room?”

  “This your girl, Jacks?”

  I turn to see an older man with a bushy grey beard and steely-colored eyes staring down at me with an almost sexual look on his face, yuck. I give him my best ‘if you look at me like that again, I’ll punch you’ smile, and turn back to my father.

  “You jumped the fence?” he says, completely shocked.

  “Girl’s got guts, jumpin’ the fence into a biker’s lot,” Old grey says.

  I spin back around to give him another glare, and that’s when I notice him. It’s surprising that I missed him, because he’s sitting there, looking utterly perfect in his black jeans, black shirt and black leather vest. He has the face of a dark angel. Dark messy hair, green eyes so emerald they’re piercing, and a set of lips that, well, are downright kissable. He has a piercing in the lower left corner of his bottom lip as well as two in his ear. I let my gaze travel down his body, thick silver chain around his neck, tattooed arms, thick skull rings on his fingers, and some swanky black boots with silver chains on them. He also has a chain hanging from his jeans. The man likes chains.

  “I have to agree with you, Curly,” he drawls in a voice so deep and husky, my panties become soaked in seconds thinking about how sexy that voice would sound while he was fucking a girl senseless. “Girl is brave jumpin’ into a biker’s lot.”

  I tilt my head to the side and give him a curious look. “Why is that?”

  He grins, showing me two perfect dimples in his cheeks. He stands, walking over. I see the patches on his vest now, one that says Vice President and a few other stand out patches that he’s earned over the years. I can now see the other man sitting at the table, with his back to me. He has a large patch of a bike surrounded in flames with big, bold letters saying “Hell’s Knights”. That must be the club name! Very original. When hot stuff stops in front of me, and lets his gaze rake me, I do the same, letting my gaze rake him. What is it about men, that makes them think they can check out a woman openly, but she’s expected not to do the same? Well, news flash, this little black duck does not follow rules, in fact, she likes to break all those rules.

  “I told you to call me,” Jackson says, stepping in front of me and forcing hot stuff to step back.

  “Yes, I’m aware of that, Jackson, but I don’t need your help.”

  “Funny that, ‘coz you’re here and we don’t let many girls in our compound, so you must need some help,” hot stuff says from behind Jackson.

  I step around Jackson and glare at him. “Fine, give me some money, and I’ll leave. I certainly have better things to do then stand here with a bunch of scummy bikers.”

  Hot stuff smirks, crossing his large arms over his chest. “Girls’ got an awful big mouth, Jacks, best you put her in her place…”

  “In my place?” I growl, crossing my arms too. “What am I? Some sort of dog?”

  “If that’s what you want to be, sugar, then so be it.”

  “You mother fucking…”

  “Enou
gh!” Jackson yells. “Addison, Cade, enough.”

  Cade, that’s his name? Well, it’s a sucky name. I turn to Jackson and give him a look.

  “Where can I stay, if I can’t stay here?”

  “You can’t stay here, it’s the rules. I have a house just down the road. It has four bedrooms, two bathrooms, enough for you to have your own space. I’m hardly there, so it should do you for now.”

  For now. Why does that tug something deep down inside me?

  I shift my backpack and nod. “Where can I find it?”

  “Not safe for a girl walkin’ round here alone,” Cade drawls.

  “I can take care of myself,” I retort.

  “What’s a little girl like you gonna do to a big man on a bike if he tries to have a little bump and grind with you?”

  “Shut the fuck up, Cade,” Jackson growls. Ha! My old man has some fire.

  “Can you tell me how to get there, or not?” I say, glaring at Cade.

  “Out the gate, to the left, number ten. It’s about a five-minute walk,” Jackson answers for Cade, thrusting some keys at me and not once moving his eyes from mine.

  “Thanks, I’ll be on my way. I won’t be staying long. I just need to earn some money and then I’ll leave.”

  “You need a job, girly?” Old grey asks.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “We got one goin’ at the bar, here at the compound.”

  “No,” Jackson says. “She ain’t workin’ there.”

  “Why not?” I say, crossing my arms.

  “You’re too young.”

  “I’m twenty-one, and last time I checked that is the legal age.”

  “You don’t need to be put in front of a bunch of drunk, dirty old men lookin’ for a fuckin’ bang.”

  I raise my brow. “I’ve dealt with far worse.”

  “Oh yeah, sugar, like what?” Cade drawls.

  I turn towards him. “Like pimps, drug dealers, junkies, and there were always the men that tried to rape me in my sleep because my mother had brought them home for a good time, but she passed out from whatever high she was on, and of course, they weren’t leaving until they got what they were promised. You learn real quick how to defend yourself when you’re thirteen and a forty-year-old junkie tries to climb into your bed and put his fingers in places his fingers shouldn’t be.”

  “What. The. Fuck?” Jackson snarls.

  I turn towards him. “You didn’t think my mother raised me in a nice neighborhood with rainbows and lollipops, did you?”

  He looks shocked. The big, bad-ass biker looks shocked. “Yeah, I fuckin’ did.”

  “Well, she didn’t.”

  When I glance back at Cade, he’s watching me with a look I don’t quite understand. Is that…pain? He blinks a few times and the smirk returns.

  “I say give her the job, make her put her money where her mouth is.”

  “No,” Jackson snaps.

  “Aww, come on boss,” Old grey says. “We need a girl.”

  “She’s my daughter.”

  “Well, least you can keep an eye on her if she’s in the compound.”

  Jackson sighs, and then turns to me. “Fine, we’ll give you a run.”

  “Good,” I say walking towards the door. “Later.”

  “Oh and Addison?” Jackson calls.

  I glance over my shoulder at him.

  “Ever disrespect me in my club again, I’ll punish you. Your Momma might have let you get away with that behavior because she was clearly a worthless piece of shit, but I ain’t. Don’t fuckin’ speak to me like that again.”

  I tilt my head to the side. “You’re a bit late to play daddy now, Jackson. In fact, I am pretty sure you lost that chance the day I turned thirteen and got raped by a man nearly three times my age.”

  I walk out to the sound of his strangled gasp. I hold my head high though; I have to take care of myself. Feeling means losing, and I can’t lose. My mother might have fucked up my life when I was younger, but it doesn’t mean I have to live like that forever. I’m free now, and I plan on doing everything I can to fight for the life I know I deserve.

  ~*CHAPTER 2*~

  PAST

  “Don’t push me away, snake,” Jasper hisses in my ear, as he presses my body against the wall.

  I can smell his breath; I can taste it in the back of my throat. I want to gag. I want to hurt him, but I am powerless. I have nowhere else to go. I have no one else to turn to. This is my home, and these are the people that are in my life, like it or not. I squirm in Jasper’s grip, needing to get away, just for a moment. I know what he wants; he wants to fuck me against the wall. He wants to put his filth all over me. He gets off on taking girls that fight him, so I learned not to fight. Most of the time, he gets bored, others, he does it anyway.

  “My mother will be here soon, with her friend for the night. If you’re here, what’s that going to say about the kind of service you’re running?”

  He hisses, and I hold my breath, not wanting to smell him a moment longer. His dirty-grey eyes scan my face, and his grey hair wisps around his chin. I don’t know why any man would leave their hair so wispy; it’s disgusting.

  “I might not get hold of you this time, snake, but I will…”

  I know he will. He always does. All I’ve done is buy myself a night, maybe two, if I’m lucky. He’ll come back, and perhaps next time, he won’t listen to my attempts at turning him away.

  “I’m sure you will,” I snarl, in a low, dangerous voice.

  “You make sure your Momma brings in a good amount tonight. Don’t let her pass out on her client again. That no good piece of shit is startin’ to get on my nerves.”

  “Go and find yourself some fresh meat then, and leave us alone,” I growl.

  He lets me go, and the instant pressure release throughout my body is massive.

  “I’ve got fresh meat. It’s you, snake.”

  “You’ll never make me your whore, Jasper.”

  “But I will, because you know as well as I do that this is your life, like it or not.”

  “Not.”

  He smirks, cold, evil, and then turns and walks towards the door. When he gets to it, he digs into his pockets and pulls out a bag of white powder. He tosses it at me, and I catch it in one hand.

  “Make sure your Momma don’t get that ‘till morning. We both know she likes it for breakfast, and from what I hear, so do you. Make sure she keeps her legs open and her eyes wide tonight, got me?”

  “Go fuck yourself,” I hiss.

  “Don’t make me turn around, snake, because if I do, you won’t like how it ends. Get my money for me tonight, or face what’s coming for you. Another week with no food doesn’t sound too appealing, now, does it?”

  At my expression, and the loud grumble my stomach makes, he chuckles.

  “Thought as much, do what I ask, snake.”

  Then he’s gone. Just like that. I stare down at the bag of powder in my hand. Sighing, I open it, line it up on the table, get to my knees, roll up an old five dollar note, and snort it.

  He’s right, I do need it as much as her.

  I need it because it’s my only escape.

  ~*PRESENT*~

  I walk down the road after getting out of the compound. I really don't know what I feel right now. I've gone over so many different scenarios in my head. I think about the situation, and what it will all mean for me now that I’m here. Seeing my father again, seeing the horror in his eyes when I told him my story makes me wonder if I’ve made the right choice. I don't know if he’ll ever get used to having me around or if things will just continue to spiral downwards.

  Things could be much worse for both of us though, of that I’m sure. I’ve been around rotten people in my life, mostly pimps, who consider feelings to be worthless emotions that are simply not needed. Cold, heartless people who think hurting another person is okay. That’s the difference between these bikers and the pimps I used to live with. Bikers will fight for what they love and belie
ve in…Pimps don’t care. They do what they have to do for business and money. I don’t think bikers fall completely into that category; at least, I’d like to hope they don’t.

  Seeing my father’s face when I gave him a glimpse at my life, told me that even though he doesn’t know me, he would fight for me. That’s a nice feeling to have, even if I know it’s temporary and I can’t hold onto it. I don’t belong here. Honestly, right now, I don’t know where I belong. How do you fit into any place when you’ve lived a life protecting yourself and trusting no one? I can’t get comfortable anywhere, in fear it will just end badly for me and I’ll break the wall I’ve built so high around myself. At least, for the moment, I know that I’m safe and I have protection. That’s all I need for the moment. He can’t find me if I’m protected.

  As I continue down the road, rocks crunch under my feet as I contemplate my next move. I have no money, and I really don't have any other place to go. This is it for me, this compound, this world, this job - working in a bar with a bunch of bikers I don't know. I have to survive though, even if surviving is hard. I just have to do what I do best, and that is to fight through the next few months and get enough money to figure out where to go from here. Once I am out of this state, hell, out of this country…then maybe I can start piecing my fucked-up life together, tatter by tatter, until it resembles something worth believing in.

  When I get to my father's old, run down house, I stare at the massive building for a long moment. It’s ugly, like, really ugly, but I've lived in much worse, so to me, it’s like a fine hotel. It's tall, two stories, and it’s surrounded by a rickety looking deck. I think it was once white, but the paint is now peeling and faded to a dirty brown. I step through the front gate and walk up to the front door. As soon as I unlock it and step inside, I sigh. Typical male home, beer bottles everywhere, clothes, pizza boxes, you name it. It's clear to me, after one glance at the old faded blue kitchen, that the dishes haven’t been done for at least three days, and the laundry…don't even get me started on the laundry.