by Avery Abbott
His disgusting, revolting breath lingered over my face, his greedy, evil eyes watched my every play as I strained against him. The feel of his hardened cock through his jeans was making every attempt to drive into my panties as he ground into me. “You scream, I’ll fucking kill you. Do you hear me, Shaw? I’m pulling my hand away.”
I merely nodded, knowing I needed to get the knife I kept under my mattress. I think a part of me knew I would need it one day.“I mean it. You’re always too trusting of me. You have no idea who I am. When I say I’ll kill you, I will, and I won’t look back for even a second. And then after you, I’ll make sure your little pet, Tommy, gets what’s coming to him, too.”Slowly his hand lifted, but only a mere inch to see if I’d comply.
“Leave him alone,” I whispered, my voice croaking with despair.“He’s in love with you, you know? Poor bastard sitting and waiting for what, for like nine, ten years to get inside this pussy. You sure made a first class fool out of him.”
Part of my mind wanted to give up to protect my best friend, but the other part refused to let my mother down. An even bigger part of me wondered if she was looking down from heaven, watching him assault me and I couldn’t have that. I’d lost some of the battle as his slimy hand lowered until his fingers found their target.
“Fuck, Shaw, let me in. Open your legs,” he shot his warning before his foot slid between my ankles, spreading them to allow him better access. Refusing to renege on my promise to my Mom and my own heart, I had one shot, so I took it. I let his greedy fingers in, luring him closer, allowing my foot to run down his jean cladded leg, moaning, pretending to be into it.
“That’s it, Babe. Give in,” he murmured as his lips found mine. I wanted to hurl, bite, maybe even rip off one of his lips, but there was no time for that. He’d done his damage to my heart and soul, but like I said, I was done.
My hand slid under my mattress and gripped the cold handle of the blade. Slowly, I pulled it out and tucked it beside my leg. He slipped a third finger inside of me, stretching me. I watched and waited, grinding into his hand. He moaned, his eyes still shut like I had put him in a stupor as he slid down my body, his teeth taking my blouse down as he nipped his way to my breasts. I took a deep breath in, lifted my knee as hard as I could and slammed the knife into his stomach. He howled in pain and I ran like a bat out of hell, hoping to never look back.
In my haste, I didn’t have time to pull up my shorts, so they slowed me down as I made my way toward the door, screaming for help, doing my best to tug them up.It had given him enough time to recover, though. And that was when he did his real damage. Luckily, right before I felt like I was going to pass out, I heard the loud pounding on my door. It was Cheryl, our neighbor, yelling out my name and then Tommy’s voice booming over hers. I was alert enough to hear Garrett’s last warning, “I’ll be back, Shaw and you’re going to pay for what you did. Don’t fucking tell a soul or you’ll be dead and so will he.”
My barely-opened eyes watched as he climbed out my window to freedom. She and Tommy found me on the floor, beaten and bruised, barely conscious, with no sight of the man who caused the damage.
Tommy stood vigil during my overnight stay at the hospital, refusing to leave my side for a second. “I’m going to kill that motherfucker,” he warned me when I woke. I didn’t have to tell him who it was; he just knew.
“No.” I reached out for his hand, which he took, falling to his knees.
“Shaw, fuck, look what he did to you.” I was painfully aware of what he did to me. No need to remind this girl.
“I’m fine, Tommy. You should see him.” It was my lame attempt to crack a joke to make him feel better.
A tear rolled down his cheek. “You’re moving in with me and my mom. I already talked to her. It’s settled.”
I shook my head, every ounce my face stinging. “I can’t. I need to leave, Tommy.”
He wiped his brow. “Okay, well, then I’m coming with you.” Tommy rested his head on my chest, his arms softly embracing me. My fingers found his soft blond locks.
“You can’t. You have college.”
He looked up point blank. “Fuck college. I can take care of you. We’ll move far away from it all. From him.”
“Tommy, look at me, please?” I begged, my voice fighting the tears brewing, but I needed to be strong. He was the only person who had ever seen me cry besides my mother.
“I’m going to find him. I made up my mind.”His panicked eyes searched mine. “Who? Garrett? Are you out of your mind?”
“No. Sperm donor.” I tried to get him to laugh again, but he was in no mood.
He reached down, kissing my forehead, reminding me of the obvious. “Shaw, he doesn’t even know about you.”
“I know, but I have to try.”
He pulled back, studying me. “No talking you out of this is there?”
I shook my head.
“Can I come with you to make sure you get settled at least?”
“No, you have to take care of your mother and go to school.”
Tommy ran his hand through his hair, sighing. After a minute, he reluctantly nodded. “What are you going to do for money?”
I shrugged, the pain darting down my shoulder all the way to my left foot, causing me to wince. “I’ll find something. I’ll call you every single day. I promise.”
“You don’t, Shaw, and you’ll find me on your doorstep. That’s my promise to you.”
After saying a rather painful goodbye to my best friend in the world, I left to find the man who broke my mother’s heart. Tommy had begged me not to go. His one last attempt to get me to stay was by finally confessing the love he had harbored all those years we’d been best friends. The only problem with that was I had already put him in the big brother box long ago, and I had planned to keep him there, because I needed him to play that role. Not because I didn’t love him—I did, but not the way he wanted me to. Not the way he deserved to be loved.
So, I left. It was what my Mom would’ve done, too. When I closed my eyes, I could see her face and hear her say, “Pack light, Doll Face, we’re not coming back. What we need, we’ll buy.”
I prayed more than I had ever prayed before that he was still where she left him all those years ago. The only person remaining to take care of me. Not that I needed it—well, hell, who was I kidding? I had nothing. I was homeless. Possibly orphaned. Broke and alone.
I thought of my extended family in Ohio, but figured they abandoned Mom a long time ago and they’d probably do the same to me, so I ruled them out of the equation. That just left him.
Only one person knew where I was heading and I trusted him with my life. Tommy Baker had been my best friend since he moved in next door. We were both nine years old and neither had a daddy to teach us how to ride a bike, or one to thrust us up onto their strong shoulders so we could see over the people at the parade on the 4th of July. It was something we bonded over without even realizing it at the time.
He grew protective of me over the years and even more so when Garrett entered my life, warning me time and time again about him, but the whole love-was-blind thing kept me from listening. Not to mention, whenever Garrett did get rough, he always made me feel like it had been my fault, and then rewarded me with nothing but love and affection afterward, making me feel like the only woman in the world.
It was messed up. I know that now.
Love is blind? Yeah, well, my eyes were wide open now. The next man was going to have to earn me, and all that love I had in my heart. Because God knew I wasn’t letting Garrett take everything from me. He could have the memories—I sure as hell didn’t want them.
In fact, he was in my rearview mirror and that was where he was staying.
So, I left to escape Garrett, the million memories of my mother, to let Tommy find true love, and to find the one man I’d always wanted to meet, my dad. Some man I never met and didn’t even know what he looked like except from what I could surmise from a sun-faded Polaroid.
&
nbsp; Over the years, Mom had dropped some clues about him, and some of those scared me, while some made me love him— a man I had never met.I was your average five-foot-six, girl with all the requirements men seemed to like—meaning, I had boobs and an ass to match. I had long, thick, wavy-brown hair, with just the right amount of natural highlights that people fawned over. My hairdresser used to even take pictures to put on her Instagram once she got through styling me on the rare occasion my mother treated me to a little girl luxury.
I always felt guilty when Mom did that, because I knew we didn’t have the money to spare, but she would just sit there with a big old smile, watching me the whole time while Melanie styled my hair. Then she’d treat me to a grand ole’ dinner of Quinoa bowls with extra guacamole at a local health restaurant.
God, I missed her.
So, there I was on I-8, radio cranked, with the top down in my mother’s little red Beamer, which she called her other baby. I knew it was stupid to keep it, but she outright owned it, and I couldn’t bear to part with it since it was her second favorite thing in the world. I had a big old duffel bag stuffed in the back, along with my birth certificate and enough money to last a few weeks in a cheap motel.
I also had the letter Tommy had once found taped into the top of Mom’s dresser, addressed to a Mitch Stone—which I hadn’t read yet—another letter to me about him, and all the hidden memories from the shoebox. I also brought Mom’s favorite Fleetwood Mac album and all of her concert T-shirts she had collected over the years, since I couldn’t part with them; she had loved them too much. I also found a couple of baby trinkets she’d saved, like baby shoes, my first tooth and a lock of my hair stuffed into a gallon-sized Ziploc bag. All that and I had her (well, her urn) riding shotgun, strapped in on the ride with me, like she’d expect.
With only two hours under my belt, I turned the radio up even louder when Stevie Nicks came on. She loved old school rock and roll. Nicks was one of my mom’s favorites, so she was played often in my house on the old stereo. It was so old it even had a turntable for all the beat-up albums Mom had called “vintage classics.”
Though as the song played, I couldn’t concentrate on Stevie Nicks and Tom Petty talking about dragging hearts and never looking someone in the eye, because the only thing I could concentrate on were a few pieces of information ascertained by one picture with an address on the back of a barely readable envelope.
His name was Mitch Stone, and rode bikes with a club called The Rebels. I also knew his club was in San Diego in some area called the Gaslamp District. That was all I could ascertain about him from the faded ink, but enough to work with when I was ready.
Lost in thought, barely minding the music anymore, thinking of that letter and how she must have wanted me to be able to find him someday enough for her to take pen to paper, I pulled into San Diego just shy of four o’clock in the afternoon.
I had three things on my mind: a motel, food and a job. In that order.
I had no stinking clue where his club was located except for the general area of town, which meant me asking around, which frightened me a teeny bit. My mom hadn’t seemed too keen on the club, and from her tone in the letter, this “club” wasn’t like one of those good ole boy clubs. Something went down that was no bueno in her eyes, which that led to her tearing our little family apart. Which had me worried as well. What if he was some badass biker like one of those Hell’s Angels? No way in hell could I live that life. I’d seen exposés on them and those men were downright frightening. My mom even caught me once watching it and she turned pale as a ghost forcefully removing the remote from Tommy as she turned it off and told us to never watch it again.
Whatever!
Rule # 3 Break the rules once in a while. Just don’t get caught.
He was my biological dad and I was going to find him when the time was right, and I really believed she wanted me to find that letter if anything should have happened to her. I had done some basic research prior to coming, so I knew exactly where to nose around for some digs: Mission Beach. It was fifteen minutes from the Gaslamp District and a great place to land a cheap motel close to the sand and water. And close to those two things meant jobs by the ocean waiting tables. Perfect for me. Two things I loved; water and people.
After checking into some dump of a motel and paying two weeks in cash, I made my way outside to grab some food. I needed nourishment in the kind that screamed fried and bad for you. Quinoa was off the menu for a while. I was tempted to ask the guy behind the desk if he had ever heard of The Rebels, but stopped short once he gave my black eye and fat lip a once over with a quick shake of his head.
I also decided to wait until it all healed before reaching out to Mitchell Stone. I had no desire for my dad to meet me for the first time looking like someone’s punching bag.
That would have to wait.
At least for the time being.
Chapter 2
BOYSCOUT
“Yo, dick, hand me that socket wrench?”
“For the last time Slide, it was not my fault she left.”
He was down in a squat, head turned toward me, staring me down. He looked annoyed. “Fuck if it wasn’t.”
I shrugged like it was no big deal. “She was a clinger anyway. Look at it this way, I took a hit for the club.”
“I didn’t get a chance to take ‘a hit’ for the club to begin with.”
“Not my fault she preferred my cock and my charm.” I grinned, standing my ground.
He stood, all six-foot-two of him, wiped his hands down his coveralls, and strode toward me. “She was the best dancer we had, asshole. Then you went and fucked it up by fucking her. And that charm is going to start affecting the club sooner than later.”
I shrugged again. “And, there will be more, Slider. It’s California, where all the beautiful girls come to be famous.”
He poked my chest hard, but I didn’t dare budge. “Better fucking be and, Scout, next one is mine. Hands the fuck off.”
I gave him a military salute and tried to hold back my laughter. “You got it, big guy.” I turned to walk away, instantly feeling something soft hit the back of my head. Spinning, I looked down at his rag on the ground causing me to grin wider. “Should have used the socket wrench if you wanted me out of the way of the ladies.”
He shook his head unable to hold back a matching grin. “Go bring in the Sebring. Oil change, punk.” Truth was, Slide and I were as close as two biological brothers could be; he just liked to ride my ass every chance he got. Which was often.
The reality was, Heidi, who went by Chrystal, was a beautiful girl and a kick-ass dancer who knew how to work a pole, but I let her in for a beat too long and she wanted more. More was something I could not give to her, or possibly anyone, at this point. She’d been barely here three months before she started talking love and babies, and how we could move to L.A. so she could become some famous model or actress. No thanks. So, I politely (okay, maybe not politely) kicked her to the proverbial curb.
Smoke was pissed, since she drew in a crowd at Leather and Lace (Or as we call it, L&L) a club we co-owned and protected from others trying to take claim in this town or steal our girls, which happened on occasion.
I wasn’t dead set against finding the right one—whatever the hell that meant—but I wasn’t looking for it to bite me in the ass anytime soon, either. I was twenty-six and in the prime of my life, fixing cars and bikes, riding alongside my boys every chance I got. There was plenty of time for girlfriends and love, so in the meantime, I planned on having as much fun as possible until that fateful day when I said I do, which was as doubtful as me taking one up the ass.
Within two hours I did one oil change, installed a rake kit on a Harley, replaced the tires on a 2015 Triglide, and had just finished regulating the tire pressure to avoid the persistent vibrations the owner was experiencing once he pushed it to the max when my cell rang.
“Yeah, Smoke.” Smokey was our quintessential leader of our MC club, although he
and Hawk pulled us out of anything we could do hard time for back in 2009. Ever since then we were a legit biker club/mechanic shop/vigilante group, partnering with some local businesses. They never went into detail about why they went straight all those years ago, but I suspected it was the persistent articles I had read when younger about them, and the heap of trouble they always landed in. Half of their club went away for illegal weapons sales across the border permanently residing in San Quentin prison, and the others were dead and buried. Smoke and Hawk happened to be on a ride to another chapter about expansion of the club and lucked out of getting busted. Thank fuck!
I was the main recruiter for any new talent, per se, since they all thought of me as the “pretty boy” who could catch anyone with my looks and my ego. I never thought of myself as such, but for some reason whatever I had or did worked with the ladies more than any of those fuckers (I say that with love, of course) cared to admit. Me? I was doing well when it came to chicks. There was always one to keep me warm at night, who was willing and up for anything.
I didn’t join The Rebels for their bad reputation; I joined them for the brotherhood that I wasn’t getting anywhere else. My dad was a union worker, laid off more than he worked and my mother split town when I was seven, which left dad raising two boys alone. He forced us both in the Boy Scouts and since my brother enjoyed it, I obliged and tagged along, hence my road name.
