Bold from It: Hellions Motorcycle Club (Hellions Ride On Book 5)

by Chelsea Camaron

  It’s irrational for me to have this worry, this stress.

  Yet, here I am at two in the morning unable to get comfortable and sleep.

  I toss the comforter back thinking I’m hot.

  The cool air hits my skin … now I’m cold.

  I lay on my side.

  I fluff my pillow. I flip the pillow.

  Still I’m not comfortable.

  Flipping to my stomach, I turn my head to the right, then the left. Nothing feels right.

  On my back, I force my eyes to stay shut and still the tension in my body won’t leave. Struggling to sleep, I head to the kitchen. If I can’t sleep on my own, it’s time to take something. I have class this morning so I need to get some kind of rest.

  As I enter the space I’m surprised to find my mother awake. My mom sits at the island staring at the wall.

  She’s always put together, even as she sits in her pajamas at the counter. Her hair pulled back in a neat bun, and I can still see the glow of her skin reflecting off the soft light over the oven. Her makeup is on.

  I begin to think back, and I can’t remember a time I have ever seen my mother without makeup. I’ve never thought about it before, but really she’s never not put together. Maybe it’s that deep south persona or simply who she is. I don’t know, but the more I ponder it, the more I realize my mom is always this picture perfect woman. I’ve never seen her frazzled or frustrated. She doesn’t raise her voice. She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t laugh loudly. Adrianne Reigns is pretty much exactly like this all the time, sitting still without a hair out of place.

  Interesting.

  Studying the woman in front of me, I don’t know why but I begin to wonder thoughts I have often wondered through the years.

  My mother’s hair is so blonde it’s almost white. I know she gets it dyed, but I find myself curious as to what she would look like if she had my hair. My father’s hair, when he had it, was brown, but I have deep black hair that is dry, brittle, and curly. My mother’s hair is nothing like mine. Nor is her complexion. Where I am naturally tan, my mother is pale. What would she look like if she had more of my features? I study her and think back to all the pictures. I mean, I guess I have her nose if I really look hard for it, and we both have a round face. Then again, maybe she had a nose job or some sort of other plastic surgery. I’ve never asked her, but sine we don’t really look alike, I assume she has. I guess I’m one of those people where certain traits skipped over me or something.

  Sleep deprivation.

  It must be getting to me.

  This is ridiculous to even pick apart.

  I move in to the kitchen, instead of remaining in place watching my mother like a creeper. She turns to me, and her face softens.

  “Diem, precious, why are you up?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “Came down for a melatonin. Can’t sleep tonight.”

  She smiles. “Do you want me to tuck you in?”

  I laugh. “Mom, I’m not ten, and I didn’t have a bad dream.”

  She gives a soft sigh before sipping the cup of coffee in front of her. “Those were the days,” she trails off pleasantly.

  “Mom, you’re not supposed to miss your daughter having nightmares.”

  “No, not that. The cuddles. The times you would call out because you would hear a noise. I’d come running to your room.”

  It’s my turn to smile. “You would sit on the side of the bed and run your fingers through my hair, telling me to sleep because you’d never let anything happen to me.”

  She doesn’t reply, but I can tell she’s getting emotional. The thing is even though she’s always put together, in her eyes when I watch her closely I can see she does feel. She is somehow a master at keeping herself together.

  My parents aren’t overly sweet kind of people. While I live a good life, a life of privilege, I don’t really remember my parents spending a whole bunch of time together.

  Deciding not to dwell, I move to the cabinet by the fridge and retrieve the sleep aid I originally came for. After all the clock is still ticking by and the day is coming upon me quickly. With a kiss to my mother’s cheek, I wish her a goodnight and head back to bed.

  The older I get, the more I wonder how I ever came to be. Emmalee’s parents are always together in the house. They take vacations just the two of them leaving Emmalee to stay with us. My parents are more like roommates. Not that I have been shortchanged in any way, because I haven’t. My mother takes me shopping, talks to me throughout the day. I know there is nothing I can’t share with her.

  My father may be a businessman by day, but when he comes home and we spend time together, he gives into the normal things like watching television, playing a board game, or whatever else we decide to do together. He doesn’t get much time off, but when he does, he always makes it count.

  I just never see the two of them do things together. I don’t even remember a vacation we’ve taken as a family together.

  As I lay in bed, I can’t shake the sadness I feel, and I can’t explain it. My mother felt off tonight, but maybe she’s lonely. Deciding to take her for a spa day tomorrow, I finally think I can sleep as the medication kicks in.

  In time, my breathing evens out, and I’m taken somewhere else in my dreams.

  At first, I’m in a large bed with red sheets. A thick arm draped around my waist holds me to a rock-hard body. “Damn, spitfire,” he whispers, and my body is alive. It’s him, Kick is with me.

  Before I can turn over to kiss the biker in my bed, there is a sound from another room. My mind goes to a different place.

  A different time altogether comes through in my dream.

  I’m in a small twin-size bed. The room is filled with bright colors and teddy bears. “Momma,” I cry out.

  It’s hard to breathe. The room, the walls, they’re closing in. I hear a noise. Someone’s coming.

  “Momma,” I scream.

  My mother comes in, not the mother I know in my life but this is like my dream mother. She’s a beautiful woman with dark hair and skin. The whites of her eyes are all I can see as she comes to the bed.

  “Momma, I heard something,” I whisper into the night.

  She brushes my hair back from my forehead. “Sleep, my baby girl. I promise I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

  Immediately, I jolt awake crying out for my mom.

  Only, she doesn’t come.

  I sit up in bed and listen for noises. There are none.

  Who was the woman in my dream? She wasn’t my mom, the woman who has tucked me into bed for my whole life. Why am I so wound up?

  “Momma, I heard something,” I whisper into the night.

  There is no reply.

  Eventually, I fall back asleep, but I don’t find real rest. Instead, my mind and my body seem to be on edge. Only, I don’t know why.

  Morning comes, and as the daylight peeks through my window, I want nothing more than to remain in bed.

  Except, I have an obligation to go to class. Eventually, I’m going to have to get a degree in something. Eventually, my dad is going to make me figure out what I want in life.

  Eventually is not today.

  Today is go to class because that’s what is expected of me.

  Getting out of bed, I dress and find it strange my father is home when I get down to the kitchen. He’s always in the office by now. This is highly unusal.

  “Morning, Diem,” he greets.

  “Hi Dad,” I return as I make my way to the espresso machine. Thank goodness my mother had to have this. I’ve learned I like specialty coffee much better than the plain black mud my dad drinks.

  “Take the Benz today, Diem.” He slides a set of keys across the island to me. “Pick Emmalee up.”

  This has me wanting to check his temperature. He must have a fever. He’s delirious. My dad never lets anyone drive his Mercedes. “Is everything okay, Dad?”

  “Yeah, just want you to be alert, Diem. Don’t stick to usual patterns. In fact, you and Emm
alee need to drive different cars every day for a while.”

  “You’re scaring me.”

  He looks around, and then his eyes land on mine. “Diem, I don’t know how to say this.”

  “Dad, I’m an adult, just tell me what the hell is going on. First, mom is acting weird, and now you are being all cryptic. I don’t know who keyed my car or painted on it. I’m not a whore, though!”

  My dad’s face darkens. “Diem, honey, that wasn’t for you. I didn’t want to tell you, but I don’t see any other way.” He pauses like he’s struggling to find the words to tell me whatever is on his mind.

  I feel my pulse quicken as my mind races.

  “Diem, your mother is having an affair. The people who did that to your car did it as a message to our family.”

  I can’t believe the words he’s speaking. This can’t be true. It has to be a lie.

  My mother cheated! I just don’t see it. Even if they aren’t overly affectionate, she wouldn’t cheat. Would she?

  “Dad, are you sure about this? Maybe it’s a misunderstanding.”

  He gives me a sad smile. Before he can reply or share anything more, his phone rings. This is typical. He’s always getting calls and working. Maybe that’s why she had the affair. “I have to take this, but Diem, be alert.”

  An uneasiness washes over me. Why would someone want to hurt me because of something my mother did? I’m more confused now than I was. He moves over to me, gives me a soft kiss on the cheek, and heads off in the direction of his home office while answering the call.

  Unsure of what to think, I pick up my own phone and call my mom. It’s Tuesday so she’s at her sunrise Pilates class.

  She doesn’t answer.

  Sometimes she doesn’t answer when she’s doing her exercises so I’ll just catch up with her later.

  Knowing I have to get to class, I send Emmalee a quick text that I’ll be picking her up in my dad’s car, and I head out. I’ll talk to my mom later. This is all going to get sorted and it’s a misunderstanding. Otherwise, what does this mean for my parent’s future?

  Swallowing it all down, I focus on school. The world doesn’t stop turning just because I’m having a bad day.

  6

  Colton

  Boomerism: “Be a comforter. Be a leader. But never ever forget to sometimes humble yourself and follow.”

  “This truly takes the cake!” Wesson says, wheeling his chair into the van. “Yes, Emmalee Van Etten, I’m here to whisk you away in my chair and van,” he jokes while I seriously ponder how the fuck we are going to do this. “I’ve never been told to get a girl to trust me before. Finally, a job I can do easily!”

  “Dude, stop. We have to get them to come willingly. I’m pretty sure Diem thinks I’m a dick.”

  He shrugs his shoulders, “That’s because you are an absolute dick.”

  “Not funny!”

  To this, Wesson laughs. “Hi Diem, I’m Kick, the man who fucked you against a wall. You don’t know shit about me, but the basic run down is, I’m six-three with a good job, a credit score of eight hundred, STD free, and your dad is going to sell you to the Irish mob because he has no choice unless you come away with me right fucking now!”

  I sigh because that very truth is absurd but it’s what we’re dealing with, “Yup, that’s so going to work.”

  Thomas Reigns has double crossed Paul O’Leary who is in charge of the Irish crime family Kelly. Whether he intends to offer up his daughter to the fifty-five-year-old crime boss or if O’Leary has simply targeted Diem as leverage, I haven’t figured out yet.

  Bottom line, no matter how it’s twisted … Thomas Reigns is in over his head with the Irish. Whatever dealings they have done over the last thirty years, the shit is now hitting home.

  The Hellions won’t tolerate it.

  The drive to the park isn’t far. The good thing in all of this is my brother, who was sober at the club, actually exchanged phone numbers with Emmalee Van Etten. He’s been casually texting her since that night.

  Whereas, I’m the asshole who fucked Diem Reigns in a hallway without so much as giving her my name. We pull up, and I notice the women are in yet another vehicle. Thomas Reigns is one of the most wealthy and influential businessmen on the east coast. In the information we procured on Thomas Reigns, he has a fleet of vehicles, so this isn’t surprising. However, if he wants his daughter to blend in, driving a pearl white Mercedes isn’t the way to do it.

  Wesson gets out of the van, and I follow, letting him take the lead. As we approach the vehicle, I can hear Diem talking.

  “Emmalee, what part of my dad said to be aware did you misunderstand? Meeting two Hellions is like walking into a fire pit of trouble.”

  “We’re not in danger.” Emmalee fires off. “Your dad is just wanting to keep you right under his thumb. Diem, we’re never going to be on our own. You realize your dad rules everything … including us.”

  “Don’t make it sound like that,” Diem argues back.

  I shake my head as Wesson rolls right up to the window and taps with a smile on his face.

  Emmalee rolls down the window.

  “Thank you for meeting me,” he begins, and Diem throws up her hand.

  “I’m sure you’re a nice guy and all, but we have somewhere to be.”

  Damn, she’s fierce. It makes me hard. I love a challenge. I move to the driver’s side and watch as Diem tenses, but she doesn’t panic. Whatever her father has shared with her certainly has her on edge.

  “If we wanted to hurt you, that would have happened New Year’s Eve.” I remind her of the very vulnerable position I’ve already had her in. “We need to talk to you. Preferably in private.”

  Diem looks to Emmalee, who looks to Wesson before nodding.

  “I’m going to text you an address. When you pull up, use this remote to park the car in the garage,” Wesson explains tossing a remote in the window. “This is so no one will see you with us and think anything that could arise suspicions or in your case,” Wesson looks right at Diem, “your father doesn’t lose his mind and lock you in a tower.”

  She rolls her eyes dramatically, but doesn’t argue.

  Without another word, we head back to the van and then off to the rendezvous location. Everything about this feels wrong. I want nothing more than to lock Diem in a house until I sort out exactly what is going on with her car and her father’s business problems.

  We called the sermon to alert Tripp and the rest of the club as to the current situation. Tripp being Tripp, his priority while keeping Haywood’s Landing clean of drug trafficking is the safety of Diem and Emmalee. Tripp doesn’t tolerate women being used in any business dealings as leverage.

  Talon “Tripp” Crews is the overall Hellions President and a damn good leader. One thing is a priority to him—keeping innocent people out of the line of fire in things of our world.

  We don’t deal drugs.

  Ever.

  We don’t stand for them being in the area either.

  We don’t push guns. We provide safe transports of goods. Whatever the product is in the transport we don’t ask questions, but we don’t sell the items we simply provide a service.

  Paul O’Leary is known for his drug trade, arms dealings, and even the trafficking of young women from foreign countries. The uglier the business, the deeper O’Leary’s involvement.

  Thomas Reigns agreed to do something he didn’t have the power to do. At least on the surface that is what we think, but at this very moment, we’re still looking into it all.

  Now, he’s beginning to see the impact of it, and all for what? Some money in his bank account that still isn’t bailing out his bleeding financial crisis.

  We pull into the subdivision three houses down from where we expect Emmalee and Diem to go. Parking the van, Wesson and I get out. Given the slight slant to the driveway, I guide my brother’s wheelchair down to the street where he takes over.

  “Never gonna get used to that shit,” he mutters.

>   “Wes, it’s not a problem,” I repeat the same line I give him frequently.

  He shrugs. “You be a man with a real cock and tell me how you’d feel having someone help your ass to the street.”

  It’s not often Wesson gets bitter about his chair. He has mood swings and the expected ups and downs, but this level of animosity only happens when he’s caught some feelings for a chick and he begins to feel insecure.

  Good to know where he stands with Emmalee.

  She matters to him, therefore, she matters to me.

  We make our way to the house where the women have already pulled in to the garage. Inside, it’s a regular cookie cutter subdivision home. The single-story house has a three bedroom, two bath layout.

  “What is going on, Wes?” Emmalee asks while Diem studies me.

  Her eyes bore into mine as if she is trying to read me.

  Only, she doesn’t know a single thing about me other than the way I make her body come alive.

  “What do you know about the damage to your car?” I ask, rather than answer Emmalee.

  Diem looks to her friend and then back to me. Neither of them immediately answers.

  “Look, I get it, you don’t know shit about us. So, let’s begin with my name is Colt Vaughn. Everyone calls me Kick. This is my brother Wesson, everyone calls him dickhead,” I joke, raising my hands and giving them a smile. “Seriously, though, everyone calls him Buster as in knuckle-buster.”

  Neither woman relaxes.

  “We both served in the Army,” Wesson adds. “I know trust is something earned. You’re safe with us.”

  Diem makes a noise showing her disbelief.

  “Let’s go to the living room,” I offer, leading the way and taking a seat on the loveseat while Emmalee and Diem sit together on the couch and Wesson remains in his chair.

  “There has to be some level of trust, you came here,” I explain. Obviously, I need to change tactics. So, laying out the facts I can will be my new method.

  “Look, Kick, Colt, whatever you want me to call you,” Diem pipes up waving her hands around.