Jinx: Kings of Carnage MC

by Chelsea Camaron

  Rain. I hate rain.

  I used to love it. There was nothing better than a rainy day for an afternoon nap in my canopy bed with the softest pillow beneath my head. Those days were forever ago, almost as if it was all a dream. The life I left behind, where I lived in a bubble only the innocence of childhood gives. The older we grow, the more aware we become, and for me, with that awareness came the realities that everything I thought I knew was beyond fucked up.

  It feels like it’s been ages since I last slept in a real bed.

  I guess four years of life on the streets is equivalent to a lifetime. Hell, I don’t know many people who have lasted this long. Most end up going home, in jail, or dead. I’m lucky to still be breathing. As for jail, while I probably belong behind bars, and three hots and a cot sounds appealing somedays, prison life is not for me either. To an outsider, I have an obvious option: go home. But in reality, the only option I have is surviving. I didn’t come this far to turn back. Forget home because that’s no place for anyone to be.

  Closing my eyes, I picture my sister, Amara, with her long golden hair and vibrant blue eyes. A true angel amongst us. She is the reason I press on. The sacrifices she made for my freedom won’t be in vain. My very best friend, there isn’t a single day where I don’t long for her company again. I know I can’t see her, no matter how much I long to.

  Often times, I wonder … is she okay? Is she healthy? Is she surviving? Did I do the right thing? Does she miss me? Could I get her away from there? Away from them? How is my niece? My nephew? Does she have more children? I bet they have grown so much.

  Nights like this one where I missed a switch and I’m stuck waiting out a storm for another ride to roll in, I think of all the ways things could be if I hadn’t listened to her. Maybe my path would have been different. Sure, the life planned before was a special kind of Hell, but maybe I would have endured it. All the maybes, what ifs, and possibilities roll around in my head. I’ll never know. I made my choice and here I am.

  I can’t sleep because if I miss the next one, I may not get another ride out for days. I screwed up with my last choice. I shouldn’t have gone off on my own. Except, the different gangs in my lifestyle are people I haven’t connected with.

  I long for companionship.

  But I’m not willing to sell my soul for it.

  Most of the individuals I’ve encountered are running from something. I find, more often than not, a lot of them allow pride to keep them from turning back. The people I meet along the way, I wonder what their families are like. Do they have a mother and father who miss them? The only person to miss me is Amara. If I return, I will forever be marked as damaged, consider me draped in a scarlet letter. I’m not even sure if I would be allowed to return at this point. I’m most likely excommunicated from them all. My name added to the list of the tainted, the damned, and the unredeemed.

  Life on the rails hasn’t been easy, but I’ve learned along the way. The biggest thing is to avoid the freight-only stations. Which is exactly what I didn’t do on this last catch and what landed me here in no man’s land. Catching out, as it’s called, is lifting a ride off a train. It takes a special skill of timing and balls of steel. While freight rides are safer than the passenger cars as far as getting caught, the necessities for life are harder to come by.

  I was desperate to get out of St. Louis, so I hopped the first train I could, not paying attention to the cars. Now, I’m in the middle of nowhere at a freight yard waiting for another engine to roll in and take a load to another place of nothing. Eventually, I hope to land some place like New Orleans where I can easily walk from the freight yard to the passenger station and get back into the land of the living.

  On a passenger train, if I’m smart, I can manage to get a full meal in my belly and even a shower. Never, ever sleeping in a guest quarter room because that will most certainly get me caught, I have learned the way to survive. Just borrow the unoccupied room long enough to refresh, reset, and then hide out closer to the caboose.

  The last four years have been trial and error, successes and failures. I take notes from the people I meet along the way too. I try to avoid the gangs. As much as friendship, family, and loyalty all have their appeal, the cost to join isn’t something that appeals in the least bit to me. For a while, I spent some time with a small gang, but when I found out the cost to join, I simply couldn’t do it. Having sex with multiple people doesn’t appeal to me.

  I long for what my life could have been but will never be.

  As the rain pours down around me, my own sorrows consume me. Currently, I’m tucked under a tank car in the backend between the wheels. The rain can’t hit me from the sides like it was with the metal wheels sealing me in on both sides. The gravel and the tracks under me are far from comfortable, but there aren’t any other options here.

  The office to the freight station is locked up, and there are only three tanker cars on the entire lot. This is one of the smaller stations I’ve rode through in my life on the streets, but like always, I’ll make it work. Given the state of things, the station isn’t manned but rather the conductors and engineers have a key for when they pass through.

  My stomach growls as I fight off the hunger pains, readjusting my pack to better support my neck where it lays under my head. If I can manage an hour of dozing, I will be happy. My body has learned to live off adrenaline alone. I don’t want to fall into a deep sleep on the off chance a small train rolls through. Laying here with nothing to do but dwell on how bad my situation is doesn’t help the dark corner of my mind that tells me to give in. Really, what am I living for anyway? No one will miss me. It’s not like I can call Amara regularly. When was the last time I checked in? Three, maybe four months ago? Mentally, I try to sort out what day it is and when was the last time I touched base with my sister. My head begins to pound. In time, my eyes drift closed and the world stops turning for just a brief moment.

  The vibrations wake me first, then I hear the sound of an approaching locomotive. In an instant, my blood begins to flow faster through my veins as my heartrate increases. Adrenaline fuels my every move as I get up from my hiding place and begin to watch the engine car roll in on the tracks beside me before coming to a stop.

  Waiting.

  Watching.

  I assess the situation. One conductor and one engineer come off the train. The conductor walks the length of the locomotive, checking each boxcar while the engineer goes into the office of the station to check in. Over the years I’ve lived this hobo life, freight trains often run with either a single engineer or an engineer and conductor. Before advances in technology, on the older locomotives, a team of brakemen would also accompany the pair of leads for the massive machines. But now, it takes two, at most. On passenger trains, they have additional staff to keep the guests occupied, but as a train hopper, if I stay out of sight, then it doesn’t matter how much staff is on board.

  Once the conductor finishes his cargo evaluation, I make my way to the locomotive. Knowing they are stopping here just to break and then continue on, I find a boxcar with no lock and make my way up and inside. Catching out, the term people like me use for catching a new ride. Inside the car, I see pallets of what looks like huge bags of dog food or rice. As I close the doors and reset them in place, I take a minute to let my eyes adjust to the darkness of the car. Carefully, I begin to move about the space. Climbing up and over, I aim for the back corner where I see a gap I can slide down into for the ride.

  I’m about to slide down the top of the final pallet when I notice a movement in the dark shadows. Right as I begin to descend down the pallet to the floor below, the shadow moves and a set of wide eyes open, locking to mine.

  Shock.

  Fear.

  Adrenaline courses through me as the body shifts in time for me to land and pin us both in the small space between the bags and the wall of the boxcar. The eyes blink in front of me as I try to size up my opponent. I’ve had to fight in the past, and while I’m not prone
to violence, I will defend myself.

  The figure is my height, brown eyes, plump lips against fair skin, and feminine features let me know the person before me is a woman.

  “I—I—I…” she stutters, and I shake my head.

  “Shh, the conductor will walk the train once more,” I whisper. Pushing at the pallets, I get nowhere, but I find some give on the bags to our left. I push on those gaining us a few precious inches more. Somehow, we both manage to sit side-by-side and lean against the bags.

  Only when the train begins to move do I speak again. “I’m Talia,” I introduce.

  “Katie,” she replies softly. Her tone is laced with fatigue and desperation, both of which I recognize in myself.

  “Where are you from?”

  She sighs. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Well, it really doesn’t, she has a point, but who knows how long our ride will be; might as well spend time getting to know one another.

  “Do you live like this?” she prompts, and I nod. “Are you alone?”

  Again, I nod. I don’t really know what to say. I’m not the typical traveler.

  “You don’t travel with others?”

  I shrug. “Sometimes yes, sometimes no.” I try not to, but there are situations where it’s unavoidable.

  She leans her head against the wall looking defeated. Everything in her demeanor screams she’s a rookie at this. Closing her eyes, she mutters to herself, “There’s no place like home.”

  Oh honey, we are far from being in Oz, nowhere near Wonderland, and Prince Charming doesn’t exist, so there is no one coming in on a white horse to save the day.

  “Katie, how long have you been at this?”

  She hesitates, then replies, “Three days.”

  “Have you eaten?” I don’t know why that’s my knee-jerk reaction, but it is. The first few days I had money, so I didn’t know what the hunger pains would be like later on.

  “Not since yesterday. I left with my boyfriend. He said we would be able to be together without the rules of my parents. Only, he put me in this car yesterday, said he would be back, and he didn’t come before the train took off. He has all the money I saved and stole from my mom’s purse. I only have my backpack with a change of clothes and a dead cell phone.” She begins to choke back sobs as the emotions get to her. I give her hand a squeeze.

  I wish I had a protein bar, or even a pack of crackers, to give the girl. Emotions are certainly harder to tame when it’s time to face that first real hunger. “Where are you from?”

  “Arizona,” she replies, “Flagstaff.”

  Relaxing into the small space, I continue to learn about Katie. Idle chitchat is something I don’t do often anymore. Every question I ask, she answers, no longer hesitating but with a longing in her voice.

  A familiar feeling washes over me. She wants to go home.

  “It may take some time to sort out where we end up, Katie, but I’ll get you back to your parents,” I promise, fully intending to get this girl home.

  “What about Caleb? That’s my boyfriend.”

  Frustration fills me at her kindness for a man who left her behind. Whether he’s new to hopping or not, Caleb talked Katie into this life, and he never should have left her in a corner of a boxcar alone. Obviously, he doesn’t realize how dangerous this can be, and not just from a legal standpoint.

  “I don’t know if we’ll run into him or not. He could be anywhere. But I’ll get you back to Flagstaff, Katie.”

  “Do you,” she pauses, “Never mind.”

  “Katie, we got nothin’ but time. This ain’t a bus where they stop in every city. Wherever this load is headed, so are we, and there isn’t any getting off beforehand. Trains run longer than you expect for such large pieces of equipment.”

  “I don’t know if I can go home. My dad always said if we left, we had to be prepared to make it in our own.”

  I sigh, knowing without a doubt I am no longer welcome at home after the way I left a wake of disappointment and angry men behind. Plus, there is no question they all assume I told everything I know to anyone who would listen. Even though I haven’t said a word to a soul about where I come from, no one will listen.

  “That’s a risk we gotta take, Katie. But finding out for sure is better than living this life and not knowing. If you get there and your dad turns you away, then you know you gave it your all. How old are you?”

  “Fifteen,” she whimpers, and my heart shatters knowing I was just fourteen when I took on this lifestyle. I’ve barely made it myself, and I left for reasons other than teenage love.

  “I’m willing to bet your family misses you. They may not be happy with your decision, and that’s understandable, but I don’t think they will turn you away, Katie.”

  “This isn’t at all how I thought it would be,” she admits, and I feel that sentiment down to my very bones.

  This isn’t what I thought it would be either. Granted, I don’t really think I had expectations in the beginning. I was running on adrenaline and fear.

  “Try to rest. I’ll do everything I can to get you home, Katie.”

  While I know my words are just words to the girl beside me, they come from my heart, and I mean it. I’ll do everything to get her home. This isn’t the life for her. She has options.

  Options I wish I had. No, my life is one from city to city, boxcar to boxcar, and it isn’t because of a nomadic soul.

  No, this is my only way to survive.

  Three

  Jinx

  “O be careful little eyes what you see.” Bible verse. The eyes of a child tell an innocent story. Too bad life always has a way to cloud one’s vision, Jinx.

  “What the fuck?” Chaos mutters looking around the clubhouse. We just made it back from a ride to Haywood’s Landing, North Carolina where we negotiated a transport with Tripp from the Hellions Motorcycle Club. They run the Carolinas and have a transport business that is another way to move loads of product.

  The old firehouse is the perfect conversion for us. Over time, Uprising has grown as a town. The old volunteer firehouse was closed when the city switched to making that a paid position and put in a new station by the police department. This building and the accompanying land came up for auction. Chaos, knowing the club needed a fresh house, scooped it up cheap.

  We’ve put in the blood, sweat, and beers (sorry, we didn’t shed tears) to make it the get-up seen today.

  The two-story building is in an open field that no one really passes by anymore. The three-bay garage on the bottom is great when we want to open the doors for a party. The space where the firetrucks used park is now a wide-open area for our parties that can sometimes get a little out of hand. Looking around, apparently none of us were paying attention to just how wild things got.

  “Fuckin’ slobs,” Bash says with a smirk as he looks around the place.

  I haven’t been here much lately, so I’m a little lost as to when we became pigs. I love the open road, and I see the appeal Bouncer has in living life as a Nomad. Since I’ve been so busy lining up different business opportunities, I haven’t spent as much time at the clubhouse as before. Sure, I was here last night, but after a few drinks, I went home knowing I would need to lead the almost eight-hour ride to the coast of North Carolina today.

  “Where’s the prospect?” I ask, wondering how in the hell last night’s party ended up with the clubhouse trashed, yet most of us weren’t even around that long.

  “Life’s a party, live it and die,” Sly jokes, slapping me on the back, “Can’t believe you spoke without a prompt, brotha.”

  Sly is a slick son-of-a-bitch. He has detailed ink running up and down one arm and even some serious shit on his neck that to most makes him unapproachable. The brother is seriously one easy-going guy, as long as you’re on his good side. Piss him off and that fucker will straight ruin your day or your life. He likes to razz me, as we all do each other.

  “Fuck you, Sly,” I tease back. Okay, yeah, I’m not one to speak unl
ess spoken to, but seriously, where are the fucking prospects? It’s an understood thing. We make the mess and they clean it up. So, why the fuck is the clubhouse trashed at seven o’clock at night?

  “Found the prospects,” North says, sliding down the pole from upstairs. He arrived just moments before us, and obviously, saw the state of things and took action. North is the enforcer for the Kings and had a job to look into so he left the meeting with the Hellions ahead of us. His feet hit the concrete, and he laughs. “Never worry, I got ‘em up.” The joy in his voice tells me he had fun waking the sleeping beauties.

  “You didn’t piss on their heads or something fucked up, did you?” I ask because North is crazy and finds it funny to fuck with people any way he can. I wouldn’t put it past him to pee on them

  “Nah, Jinx, only brother I’m whippin’ my shit out around is you.” He winks and grabs his crotch.

  I rub my chest. “Aw, don’t go makin’ me hard, North,” I mock. He knows I like to watch and isn’t shy in putting on a show. While I’d never fuck a dude, cock sliding into pussy is a scene that simply never gets old for a guy like me.

  This is us, easy going, all in it together.

  “Jinx, find someone,” Chaos commands looking to me. “I don’t give a fuck who, but get a female who will clean. As a dude, we just suck at this cleaning shit. This place needs a softer touch. It’s obvious the prospects got other shit on their minds. They can do bitch work, but somethin’s gotta give here. Get with Sly on a salary to offer, but I want someone in here sooner over later, get me?”

  I nod as my attention goes to Bash. He moves around to the bar as the two prospects enter the room. Bash lifts a beer bottle, inspecting it. “Half full,” he mutters, and I wonder what the fuck he’s about to do. He looks at the contents again before going to the prospects.

  “Y’all have a good time last night?”

  They nod but don’t speak. Smart move, fellas.