Hell on Heelz (Asphalt Gods' MC)
Read Hell on Heelz (Asphalt Gods' MC) Online
Authors: Morgan Jane Mitchell
Hell on Heelz
An Asphalt Gods’ MC Novel
By Morgan Jane Mitchell
Hell on Heelz by Morgan Jane Mitchell
Copyright
© 2015 Morgan Jane Mitchell
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, Morgan Jane Mitchell.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Any reference to real events, business, organizations or locales is intended only to give the fiction a sense of realism and authenticity. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited.
Cover design © 2015 Morgan Jane Mitchell
Contents
Hell on Heelz by Morgan Jane Mitchell
Sneak Peek at Sunrise, Asphalt Gods’ MC #4 Morgan Jane Mitchell
Coming soon
Note from the author,
Even though we met the Hell on Heelz MC in the book Scar, Asphalt Gods’ MC, Hell on Heelz can be read as stand alone novel or as part of the Asphalt Gods’ MC series, after Scar and Seven Sunsets. The supporting character’s stories will continue to be explored in the other books in this series.
If you enjoy it, please consider leaving a review on the retailer to let me know. It’d mean the world to me.
Thanks for reading,
xx Morgan Jane Mitchell
“Who the fuck said I wanted to be saved you fucking idiot. I slit my wrist—I wanted to die.”
Seven Sunsets, Asphalt Gods’ MC
“Isn’t that what love does, blinds you to the awful truth? Makes you think you’re invincible and that your story will have a happy ending.”
Thanks to Glenna, Linda, Michelle, Alicia, Sheryl, Kymberly, Becky, Nadia and Louise. You girls were so much help! Thanks to all my readers and members of #teammorganjane. And love to my Author BFFs for being there when I need them.
They say time heals all wounds, but my time's done run out. I’m no spring chicken, but it’s more than that. I’ve been mad as hell for far too long. It’s made me a different woman, a bitter woman. No, they don’t call me Rage for nothing—I’m a twisting bitch tornado and that’s before you make me mad. When I’m not fuming, I’m secretly festering in a suffocating smog of self-loathing. A man did this to me, and now that I’ve finally met another man, one who calms my storm, one I might let break through the thick thorny vines I’ve wrapped around my heart—I fear there’s nothing left of me.
What filled me with rage? First, I had to be emptied. My happily ever after failed. When I said my wedding vows, I’d meant them. For twelve long years, I seriously thought my husband had too, but I’d been wrong. More than that, I’d been fooled. I got a call one evening that uprooted me.
As usual, my son Gavin complained about his sister taking too long in the bathroom. “Why can’t I just use yours, mom?”
“My own bathroom is the only thing I ask for around here. You can wait,” I told him.
He was only waiting for his shower. Although of course I wouldn’t mind them using my toilet if theirs was occupied, I’d just had my new tub installed this morning. With claw feet and high sides, it was a dream come true and my butt was going to be the first to slide down the porcelain.
This was the first clue things were about to be shit. Things in my life had gotten too good. After years of struggling, we were finally financially secure enough for us to have some wants rather than needs. I should have known, should have realized from my life experience that the universe didn’t plan to take it easy on me. Things could never be good for me without my life turning to shit.
My daughter Gail finally made her appearance, strutting over in her fluffy white robe, asking me to pick out her hair. Gavin slammed the bathroom door in the next instant. The phone rang. The landline rang, not my cell. For a millisecond, I thought that was pretty strange before I mechanically picked it up with a cheery hello.
“Hello,” I sang again at the silence as I cocked my head to hold the receiver. I gathered Gail’s hair up with one hand and gently picked with the other, starting from the bottom up. Kid had a sensitive scalp because of me, but I couldn’t help but be gentle, my mama never was. “Hello,” I tried again my impatience sounding through.
Her voice, I can still hear the high-pitched, sweet voice of a girl not a woman. A girl’s voice answered me, talking a mile a minute, saying she’d been seeing Neil—my husband, sleeping with him. My blood froze as the ice cold feeling ran through me, the stab you feel when you’ve been betrayed. Slamming down the phone, half in shock, half hoping my daughter hadn’t heard it, I bolted to my bathroom and locked the door behind me. Everything, my hopes, dreams, my grace poured out of me then, in tears and screams—I threw up my dinner in my brand new tub to spare the floor.
I was empty, yearning to be full again and that’s why I didn’t leave at first. Neil kept pouring a sip into my cup. What do you do when the man you love rips your heart out but says he won’t leave you? I’d given all of myself to him so long ago. He’d taken all that love, and he still had it.
The days after the call were a blur of my husband and I fighting—a nightmarish loop I couldn’t escape from. I didn’t get much sleep those days going through the motions of work, pretending to be okay for the kids and then fighting at night. Neil denied everything. I continued to dig and gather evidence against him like it was my calling in life. I’d question him, but he’d never completely admitted to sleeping with the girl. One night he locked himself in our bedroom and admitted it. “It was a mistake, a one-time stupid mistake.”
“Can’t you get over it?” Neil asked me a month later. “Don’t throw away what we have because I’m an idiot. Don’t ruin the kid’s lives over me.”
Staying with him for the next year, I waited, desperately waited for my tears to dry, but they didn’t. Throughout the year, I became truly hollow, a shell of the woman I once thought I was. I grew distant from everyone, my friends, Neil, our twins, little Gavin and Gail.
I lived for the motions, constantly staying busy. That’s when I spotted a shiny Harley for sale. I’d been cleaning Shirley’s garage, and the bike was parked right outside of her office. It had a homemade sign taped on it saying so but no price listed.
Stepping out into the blinding Florida sunshine, I walked around the motorcycle pleased it was so clean, in great shape too. Even better was the gold flake and spider web design. The motorcycle screamed BADASS while I was feeling anything but.
“You interested in my old bike, Edie?” Shirley’s low voice startled me.
She was known around town as a wild one. Her long
auburn hair hung loose against her bare arms that sported sun faded tattoos, a colorful jungle scene with a tiger on one arm and a lotus flower and a Buddha on the other. That and her r
evealing clothes mixed with her age didn’t sit well with some. Folks called her a cougar when they weren’t calling her worse. But since my husband did me wrong, I’d been seeing her in a brand new light. Shirley was a strong, independent woman who wasn’t going to fade into the background like I had. I doubted a man could do her wrong and survive to tell the tale. For the last year, we’d been talking more and more when I cleaned her garage. I’d even go as far to say, we’d become friendly.
Was I interested in the bike? I wasn’t sure and quit dilly-dallying. Shirley followed me back into her office. I was hanging new blinds today, tired of trying to clean her greasy ones that obviously had never been dusted before I took the job. I struggled with the package. She stepped in to help, pulling out her knife. Before she got to it, I produced my own pocketknife and opened them. I always carried the homemade blade my dad gave me. I loved the feel of the smooth wood handle that I’d made smoother by my need to treat it like a lucky stone, but more importantly, I’d made it a point not to need anyone anymore.
Shirley put her much bigger blade away—somewhere on her leather-covered body. She didn’t take the hint and helped me hang the blinds anyway. When we were done, I pulled the cord until the blinds were all the way up. That’s how Shirley liked it when the shop was open. She stood back admiring the bright white strip at the top of the window and nodded her head in approval.
Again I admired the Harley out her window. “How much you want for it?” I finally asked her.
“How about you take on another job for me, and we’ll talk about it,” she answered to my dismay.
I’d been telling Shirley forever I was booked and couldn’t work past dinnertime, but she kept insisting. Cleaning businesses around here in Seville, Florida for eight years, I was the best, better than the dial-a-maid services they advertised on the radio nowadays. People knew me and paid me well enough. Being a mom and a wife, I’d set some limits but since finding out about Neil’s affair, I didn’t want that time at home. So, I answered her differently this time, agreeing to take another job.
Later that week, she knocked on my door at dusk, right after I’d finished up the dinner dishes. I felt rude about not inviting her in for some ice tea or to introduce her to the family. My mama would think me horrible, but Shirley wasn’t a woman who cared about such civility.
“I’ve got a job,” I called through the house, grabbing my heavy cleaning bag.
Neil glanced up from the couch. He didn’t seem too upset to see me go. The twins were upstairs on their computers, having finished their homework. They were only eleven, but it seemed like they didn’t need me anymore. I hopped up into Shirley’s pink and purple Dodge Ram.
“Where to?” I asked, realizing I knew nothing about the job. I hadn’t cared. I just wanted to get away.
“My bar.”
“In town?” I hadn’t even known she owned a bar too.
“No, it’s by the lake.”
“That’s way out yonder,” I remarked, pleased I’d have an excuse to be gone even later, at least once a week.
During the ride, Shirley and I talked a while about the weather and the new gas station going in across from her auto shop in town but somehow ended up on the fact I’d never left my home state.
“That’s why you need the bike. You need room to grow, girl.”
“Girl? I’m almost thirty-two years old.”
Shirley glanced over and looked me up and down, fighting a laugh. I tugged at my polo, embroidered with my business logo,
Pearl Cleaning
, holding my chin high. Damn it, I had my own business, had two bright children and—that’s where I used to add, a wonderful husband who loved me—where I used to say I was happy and mean it. I couldn’t say that anymore. Maybe my whole life had been a lie? Suddenly, I felt what I had all year, like my whole life had been for nothing.
Fighting tears, I crossed my arms and stared out the window. A sappy song came on the radio, talking about finding new love. Shirley quickly changed it and turned up the local rock station, playing Highway to Hell. That was more like it. Blasting the radio, we remained quiet the rest of the drive.
The sky dimmed, making the scenery go out of focus until it filled with silhouettes. I became lost in thoughts of Neil cheating while it became too dark to see a thing. I was getting away but the hurt, the shame still followed me everywhere. I couldn’t think about my life, about me or my family without thinking about how Neil broke our marriage vows. It was judgement on me. I’d not been good enough. What I’d thought true wasn’t true. I thought Neil had felt the same about me as I did him. I felt sorry for myself, then angry. First angry at Neil then angry at the other woman. Picturing the little bitch in my mind, Neil’s whore, I thought about what I’d do if I ever met her. This fantasy brought my dead features back to life, causing a smile—the mask that had become my tear stopper. This evil smile when my mind was full of vengeful thoughts had gotten me through the year.
We pulled up to an old brick storefront that had no sign to make the place look inviting. Actually, it didn’t look like any open business at all. Maybe Shirley’s bar hadn’t opened yet. Even in the dark, the first thing I noticed were the weeds—even though there wasn’t a stitch of grass. I didn’t like yard work. Getting out of the truck, I saw cans, broken beer bottles and used condoms littering the gravel lot at the edges. Maybe if I weren’t a cleaning lady, I’d have never noticed. At least not before I saw Shirley’s old Harley parked with a few other motorcycles. The homemade
For Sale
sign was gone. My fake smile faltered. Maybe the bike wasn’t for sale anymore.
Opening and holding the door for me, Shirley said, “Welcome to the Roost.”
Inside was nearly empty but bigger than I expected being way out here in the middle of nowhere. There was a bar to the left, above it, shelf after shelf of liquor on display and a dining room to the right with a pool table, an old juke box and Ms. Pacman machine. The whole place lined in pine, it reminded me of a hunting lodge, maybe because of the stuffed animals. Right away I spotted a big grizzly bear in the corner. There were no deer heads but I saw a squirrel behind the bar, dressed up, wearing a gun holster and little cowboy hat.
With a quick pivot of my eyes, I noticed something else, there were no men to be found. As my eyes adjusted to the brighter light, I studied the dozen or so women staring at us. Almost every one of them looked me in the eye as a silent greeting—all but one.
Holy shit.
I’d know her face anywhere. The woman who’d slept with my husband sat at the bar. Woman, ha—I used that word loosely. Kelly was just nineteen. I’d looked her up online, found her Facebook account. Seeing her young face made my stomach quake. Dressed like a fucking biker bitch, she rose from her stool pumping her fists, cracking her neck. Her blonde ponytail swayed back and forth as she walked over. I sat down my cleaning bag as the small crowd circled us. The girl’s painted face scrunched up in a mean ass expression. My mouth opened then shut firmly as Kelly exhaled like a bull, flaring her nose. My mind was scrambling but soon figured, this was a fight. I’d been brought here for this girl to beat me up. Shirley brought me here. I looked to my so called new friend. She wouldn’t meet my eyes anymore. I’d been caught with my pants down.
Kelly hauled off and punched me in the chin.
Fuck!
It stung like a root canal. Grabbing my chin, I felt like my jaw might fall clean off if I didn’t hold it. Stumbling back, I caught myself before I landed on my ass. The Kelly bitch came at me. The girl, a barely legal piece of work who’d fucked my husband was going to hit me again. I started to shield my face but stopped.
The rational woman I’d been vanished as my fantasy quickly took over. This little shit wasn’t going to lay a fucking-nother hand on me. I was a goddamned grown ass woman. I grabbed her shiny ponytail, winding it up in my hand like a rope and swung her to the ground. She rolled, and I sat, sat my nearly thirty-two-year-old ass on her. Kelly wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how much she kicked and bucked her hips. I felt like laughing at my triumph, but I slapped her hard on the cheek to get her attention and then squeezed her face in my hand like an unruly child until she was making a duck face.
“What the fuck is this about? You fucked my husband. That not good enough for you?”
She spat at me in response, and although I pulled my hand away, I smiled at the blood running down her jaw.
“Fucked? I’m still fucking him!” She said, showing a bloody smile.
