Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Taking a pull from my beer, I finish it rather than reply. He’s not wrong. Women didn’t bother me, not until her.
Seems Karma has something on his mind with Maritza. She’s Ruby, an old timer in the club’s daughter. He would be wise not to tap that … ever. Good to know he’s never had it, at least yet. It would make things complicated being as his son is attached to Maritza and I don’t see Ruby giving the green light for his daughter to date a Hellion. It’s funny, this club life. We love it, breathe for it. But when it comes to our daughters, not one man wearing this cut takes it lightly when a brother catches the eye of their little princesses. Again, women are a special hell.
I had a taste of good and it walked right the fuck away from me.
Wheeling to the bar, I set my empty on it and nod to the prospect. He brings me another cold one quickly and I down it. Same nod, and another one. Tonight, I need to get lost in the booze.
Shattered.
My emotions are all over the place. Each and every day without her it becomes harder to push it all down. If I could go back, I would do things differently. I would explain more to Emmalee on why I was holding out. I kept things inside and look where that got me.
Alone.
Everyone is having a good time. I’m happy for them, deep down to my very bones. It’s good to know my family, blood and extended, are all doing better than any of us could have hoped for. When is my turn for happy?
What the fuck have I done epically wrong to lose everything good?
Moving to the end of the bar, I tuck myself away at the end up against a wall. In my chair I can’t belly up the bar like everyone else. Luckily, the prospect keeps an eye out on my little corner and continues a steady stack of bottles ready.
I keep drinking.
In the dark of my position none of them notice me. It’s me, my beer, and my thoughts.
Time passes as I put them back, one beer after another, adding in a whiskey sour here and there. The buzz is nice. It’s not long before the buzz is full on blitzed.
The room spins, my eyelids are heavy. I begin to close them.
Hands grip my shoulders, my torso, what is left of my legs. “Come on, buddy,” I hear Boomer’s voice. “I got you.”
My mind takes me where I don’t to go.
“Next stop, the women’s shelter. We play the cards and see who gets the prize.” Tripp explains what we all know as we climb on our bikes to take off.
Poker run. Rocky’s Run to be exact. It’s an annual run in memory of Rocky Fowler, a Hellion original. Each person donates to participate. At each stop, there are specials for the businesses and donations collected as well. Half the money goes to the person who has the best hand at the end of the run and the other half to the women’s shelter.
We have made five stops at different local businesses. At each one we each grab a card, share a drink or meal, and ride out to the next one. Our final stop we play the hands we have built.
I’m home for the holiday weekend on a ninety-six liberty. I have to return to work Tuesday and will deploy again soon. I watch my dad pull out of the parking lot behind Tripp, Tank, and Ruby. With BW, Red, Crunch, and the others behind them. I take up the rear since I’m not patched yet. One day I will be, but it’s going to be a while.
A motorcycle club affiliation can potentially hurt my military career. Until I’m done serving, I’ll stay in the back. Once I get out, though, I’m prospecting, and I’ll be having my own cut. Colt and I both are determined to follow Boomer’s footsteps. When we finish our time in the Army, we will both prospect and patch in as brothers in the Hellions MC.
I make the turn behind the others. We are rolling down highway twenty-four heading to the women’s center. This poker run raises money for the center. Poker runs are fun laid back rides where the club comes together to raise money for a good cause. Even the ones we do in other territories, all club issues and business is put aside for these things.
Gathering speed, we ride. As we make our way, a dump truck is hauling rock up ahead. It’s leaving a dust behind it as some of the particulates fall. We all move to the left lane to avoid the blow back coming off the truck. Some of the guys make it around the truck before our turn, but some of us don’t. The truck makes the right with Boomer, BW, Red, Crunch, and some others behind it. I catch the light red and have to stop. When it’s clear, I make the right. I’m changing gears as the back wheel feels loose. Twisting the throttle I attempt to ride out. The patch of fallen gravel I hit causes my rear tire to fish tail. Before I can correct, I feel the bike shift. My right leg hits the pavement as the bike presses down pulling my entire body with it. I watch my Harley slide across the pavement away from me. I am trying to gather my bearings and assess my injuries when I hear the screech of a car’s tires.