One Ride (The Hellions Ride) (4 page)

Waking up, I rub the sleep out of my eyes.  The throb radiating throughout my head reminds me of the very good time I had last night.  Looking over at the clock, it’s time to dismiss my guest and get ready for sermon.

Sliding the covers off her, I expose her naked ass.  She’s lying on her stomach, hand up under her pillow.  Her golden brown hair is covering her face and the pillow.  Watching her breathing pattern, it’s evident she’s still asleep.  The round curve of her ass is calling to be slapped.  The sound radiates through the quiet of the room as I do just that.  Lifting her head in surprise, she smiles over at me.  Damn, she’s a hot mess in the morning.  Make up smeared, hair everywhere, and she has the
‘I’ve been worked over look’
in her eyes.

“Good morning, handsome.”  She coos at me.  I really hate that fucking endearment.

“Darlin’, ain’t nothing handsome about me.  It’s time to go.”  I reply, already over the idea of having any form of conversation with her.

There weren’t many single females around last night.  When the ol’ ladies and kids are around, the club whores are kept to a minimum.  This chick is a friend of an ol’ lady.  I think that’s what she said last night.  She’s never been with a biker before.  She’s cute enough.  Reality is, I had a certain blonde in my head and needed a release.  She was willing and available.  Yeah, I took advantage of it.

She reaches her hand under the covers and begins to stroke my dick.  As it comes to life, I lay there as images of one special blonde invade my brain.  My bedmate leans over to kiss my chest.  I gently push her head down to guide her where I want her mouth.  She moves in an attempt to climb on to me. 

“Oh no, darlin’.  You woke it up, you’re gonna finish it.  With.  Your.  Mouth.”

She makes a pouty face for a moment to show her displeasure at my wish.  Fuck that, I’m done with her pussy, but she’s going to finish what she started.  I gesture with my hands,
what are you waiting for?
  When she still doesn’t act accordingly, I sigh.

“Suck. My. Dick. Or get the fuck out, choice is yours.  I got shit to do, so make your decision quick.”

She starts at the task, her gag reflex not allowing her to take me all the way.  For being as wild as she was last night, she’s a timid prude this morning.  This is the worst blowjob I’ve ever been given.  She’s not even playing with my piercing.  I didn’t get that part of my anatomy pierced for my pleasure alone.  I know my dick is large and it’s a lot to take in, but damn, she could use her hand or flick her tongue on my jewelry.  Nope.  Fucking nothing, she’s just sucking with a slight bob of her head.  Fuck this!  I’m over it.  My hand can finish the job better.  I reach down and grab her hair and tug her off me.  Her mouth comes off my dick with a pop, as she looks up at me with her lips still forming an ‘O’.  Confusion is written all over her expression, as my irritation with her lack of oral skills visible in mine.

“It’s been real.  Time to go.”

“I’m not finished yet.” She replies meekly.

“Yes, you are.  I’m never gonna finish with the way you suck dick.  Got shit to do, time for you to go.”

“You’re kicking me out? Do you know who I am?”

“Nope, sure don’t.  Don’t really give a flying fuck either.  Time to go.”

She huffs and puffs as she climbs off the bed and collects her clothing.  She is cute, but nothing remarkable or memorable.  She keeps looking over at me.  I’m not going to stop her if that’s what she’s thinking.  She’s going to get the hell out of this room.  Then, I’m going into the bathroom to shower.  We have an important sermon today and then my crew is heading back to Catawba.

The bitch finally gets the point and leaves.  Sauntering to the bathroom, I start the shower.  Letting the warm water cascade over my body, I wash away the grime of last night.  Automatically my thoughts drift to Doll.  Release, I need release to get this broad outta my head.  Picturing her smile, her skin, her body, takes my dick from hard to rock hard.  Imagining running my rough, calloused hands, over her soft, smooth, perfect skin, I begin to stroke.  Each pull of my shaft is bringing the sensations of being inside her more vividly to life in my imagination.  Her voice is that of an angel, I can imagine her screaming out my name as I get her off.  My large hands cupping her full, luscious breasts, moving down to squeeze her plump, full ass, as she is secure up against me.  The face of a doll, the body of a pin up model, and the personality to fit my lifestyle, Doll is everything any man would want.  Tightening my grip as if her pussy were milking me, I increase my pace.  The muscles throughout my body are becoming rigid under the pressure.  The tension in my balls building, as I finally find my release, thinking of that simple kiss on my cheek and imagining the feel of her lips wrapped around my dick.  My cum is now floating down the drain, and my body and mind are now relaxed.  I finish washing, knowing I’ve got to get Doll outta my head.  Fuck, I can’t be getting off to Roundman’s daughter.  I gotta get this shit under control.

My hair still wet from my shower, I leave it down to dry. I dress in the usual jeans and black t-shirt, finished with my black boots. Hearing the sounds coming from Rex’s room, I know he’s busy, but at least awake.  Grabbing my cut to throw on, I step out of the duplex into the compound lot. 

“Tripp, hey brother, how’s it going?”  Tank greets as he approaches me. 

Tank is exactly that, a tank. He’s not as tall as me, around five foot ten or so, I would say.  Broad shoulders and arms that show the man is familiar with a gym.  I’m built, but he’s stacked.  His arms covered in full sleeves that go from his neck all the way down, a skull even covering his left hand on one side and his sleeve stopping at his right wrist.  The intricate designs are eye catching.  The metal in his face adds to his persona.  His ears are gaged with a lip ring in place, probably for the ladies.  His presence is intimidating to most people.  Underneath it all, he’s hilarious and a big kid, once you get to know him.  He’s come to Charlotte a handful of times, and stayed at our compound.  He’s fun to drink with and the women flock to him.  He loves to mess with the pretty boys in collared shirts when we go out and has been known to fuck their bitches right in front of them.  He’s fierce, he’s loyal, and he’s everything that represents a Hellion.

“Tank, brother.” I reply while we greet in the man half hug, back slap. 

Hearing a noise behind us, we both turn around to catch the sight of Doll and Sass bending over to pick up trash.  Tank whistles.  I laugh.  Doll and Sass abruptly stand and glare over at us.

“Fuck you, Tank.”  Sass yells over to us.

“Oh, baby, you know you want to.”

The girls are making their way over in an aggressive march.  Shit, they’re not happy with the flirtatious behavior of my brother.

“Let me tell you something, Frank Thomas Oleander.  I’ve fucked you once.  I won’t fuck you twice.  Take all those thoughts from your pea size brain and tell it to your pea size penis.” 

I watch as Doll flinches at Sass’s words.  Damn.  Now I see why they call her Sass.  Doll reaches out to grab Sass and pull her back.  Instead, Sass steps closer, toe to toe, with Tank, she stands strong against him.  He grabs her ass and pulls her closer, rubbing up against her.  I can’t tell if he’s going to fuck her right here on the spot, or cuss her out.

“Oh baby, that sassy mouth.”  He croons.  “I know just how to shut you the fuck up.  And last night, my dick sure as shit wasn’t pea sized as you were begging for more.  Talk your shit. You know you want more.  You know there’s gonna be more.  That sassy ass is mine, Savannah.  I know it, you know it, but you don’t wanna admit it.  It’s all good, baby. No one else will ever match up to what I gave you.” 

“Keep dreaming, Tank.  Badass biker.  Fucking shithead.  Controlling ass pricks.  You, my dad, and every other fucking Hellion here can kiss my ass.  Done with this shit.  Never.  Again.”

With that she backs away, then turns and storms off.  Doll is standing there, stunned.

“Tank, how could you?  You fucked her- fine- you’re both grown ass adults.  You didn’t have to treat her like a bar bitch.  You know better.  Even I fucking expected more from you.”  Doll chastises. 

He starts shaking his head, as her words start to sink in.  “I’m sorry, Doll.  It’s not like that.  She isn’t a bar bitch.  I’m not looking to settle down though.  The white picket fence and shit, isn’t for me.”

“She doesn’t want a white picket fence, dumbass.  Neither Sass, or I, feel ready for the complications of a serious relationship.  Sometimes chicks are out to have a good time and see where it goes, not get married right off the bat.  Why do men make such quick assumptions?”  Doll’s frustrations are rolling off her with each word. 

“I fucked up, Doll. My bad.  You know I can’t give her what she needs or wants, not long term.  It’s a good time, that’s all.  I didn’t mean to be harsh this morning.  Habit, that’s all.”  He says running his hand through his hair.

“’My bad’
.  That’s all you’re gonna say?”  Doll lowers her voice, mocking Tank to his face. 
“‘My bad.  It’s a habit.’
Man, fuck you Tank!” 

And before either of us can respond, Doll is off at a slow jog to catch up with her friend.  Tank is still shaking his head, running his hand through his short, dark hair, sighing.

I sigh.  “Do I even want to know, brother?”

“Nah, man.  I fucked up, it’s what I do.  Danza is gonna fucking kill me when he finds out.”  Tank says as the relaxed tone of his voice is replaced with tension and something else that might even be sadness.

“She’s an adult.  Danza won’t be happy, but I’m sure he’ll understand.  She’s pissed.  She’s the one who seems ready to cut your balls off.”  I say, thinking damn, he really messed this one up.

“It is what it is.  Fuck h
er, man.  Come on, let’s get to sermon.”

One Ordinary Day

It’s another day at the office.  Looking at my board, there are thirteen available units.  Ugh, that number.  Superstitions don’t usually get to me, but Friday the thirteenth, and anything
with that number, always seem to be a bad omen for me. 

Running a mini storage facility is a tedious task.  Keeping up the accounts, billing the late ones, tracking the people moving in and out, looking for the available units, the repossessions, the auctions, it’s a lot.  We have one hundred and thirty five regular units broken into seven buildings inside this lot.  There are two additional storage unit buildings available outside of the regular space.  They’re adjoined to the Hellions compound area.  Those additional forty units are for special business deals.  The units range in size from the closet space size of a five by ten, to the one car garage size of the ten by twenty units.  The first buildings are completely legitimate business units.  The additional two buildings are reserved for Hellion connections.  

For the special buildings, the shipments come in on a schedule, and they’re stored appropriately in a unit or two or however many are needed, until the product is ready to be moved again.  I don’t know for sure what is stored.  I have my suspicions.  We all do.  The Hellions don’t sell drugs.  They don’t actively sell guns; the occasional trade or sale, maybe, but not consistent, that I can figure out.  The Hellions provide transportation, storage, and protection.  We’re responsible for the crates while in our territory.  The contents of the crates don’t matter.  We transport, store, and protect, after our clients have already filled and sealed the containers. 

My dad tries not to involve me in this side of the business often.  We have a few upstanding, law abiding members of the Hellions.  People that don’t want to get their hands dirty.  The Lawsons are like that.  Harold ‘Roscoe’ Lawson and his ol’ lady, Marguerite, are members that we don’t involve in club business.  Maggie is their daughter, her husband, and her older brother, Harrison, are also patched members that don’t get involved in business.  Ryder, who is Dina’s husband, and Dina are the same way.  They all live in Charlotte, except Roscoe and Marguerite.  That doesn’t make them less of a member; it just means they don’t get a cut out of that portion of the Hellion funds.  We’re all still a family. 

Looking over my paperwork, I update the available board.  Calling the people who are late drives me insane.  There’s always some excuse.  The auctions are a nightmare.  These people get certified letters, yet, they always call after the auction asking for their stuff.  It’s gone, sweetheart.  Gone.  Next time, pay your bill.  Business is business, nothing personal.

My dad gave me this job to keep me close and to avoid doing the paperwork himself.  My mother died when I was eleven.  She had breast cancer.  It was hard to watch her deteriorate and pass away.  My dad has kept me close ever since.  My four years away at the University of North Carolina, Charlotte was the most out of sight he’s let me be.  And even if I was technically out of sight, I was never out of mind.   I had to check in with Dina or one of the Lawson family members.  Somebody always knew where I was or what was going on with me.  I’m a grown ass woman, but at the heart of it all, I’ll always be my daddy’s little girl. 

A little over two years now, Sass and I have been out of college and playing secretary for the Hellion’s owned businesses.  Sass works in the garage next door to my office.  She handles customers, phones, ordering parts, and billing.  The boys have a three bay motorcycle garage for comprehensive work and two additional lifts in the back to provide maintenance services to the bikes.  My dad believes in higher education.  The boys that work there all went to school and are ASE, Automotive Service Excellence certified mechanics, for the boys that work on the few cars that come in.  Ruben, called ‘Ruby’ by everyone, is also certified by MMI, Motorcycle Mechanics Institute.  He oversees everything for the garage.

My dad regrets giving me this job.  I’m around too much and therefore, I figure out more than he would like for me to know.   He didn’t want me off the property, though, so he has to deal.  Can’t have it both ways, Roundman. 

Thirteen transports this week.  Damn, it’s going to be busy.  Shaking my head, I laugh off the weird feeling I get at the number thirteen.  I know, it’s stupid as fuck, but something about that particular number is always unsettling.  It’s almost as bad as six, six, six.  Oh hell, just thinking of it gives me a moment of dread; which seems twisted, since I’m not a man that unnerves easily.  I’ve got the Hellions insignia tattooed on my back.  A V-twin motorcycle engine, with wrenches crossing over it, as a skull is centered between the motor, and flames swirling around.  Needles, skulls, spiders, and snakes, don’t shake me, but stupid number superstitions cause me that moment of pause.  Every man has a quirk or two.  The phone ringing on my desk shakes me out of my stupid thoughts.

“Crews Transports.” 

“Yo, got a nine-one-oh.  Take it from the South Carolina border stop.  Pick up is on the Georgia side.  Keep it close, Tripp, and it comes to the storage lot.  Off load not necessary.  Three Mack trucks for this one, you’ll be locking and rolling in Georgia.”

“Three trucks?  And we aren’t providing the trailers? Roundman, this is different.”  I reply.  This is not our usual protocol.

“Delatorre scheduled this run.  I know we usually do smaller, but we’ve got over ten years transporting with him.  He’ll have the trailers done right.”

“We’ll have no choice but to pass through at least two weigh stations crossing the state lines.  Pass the message, the trailers need to make weight precisely, leave no room for error.  I’ll start to map the routes and send those stopping points to you.  With that mileage, we’ll need to double up drivers because of the hours behind the wheel.  I’m gonna need Tank up here to fill one of the spots driving a Mack.  I’ll assign five ride along cars: one for each truck, one to scout ahead for road checks and one to follow behind for any tails or trouble.”  I answer, as I start planning out my job. 

This is what I do, I maintain a trucking company.  Rex and I own Crews Transports together.  We do the usual scout for jobs online, bid on the runs, and travel with anything from transport, passenger vans, all the way up to full on eighteen wheeler tractor trailer loads.  The company is completely legit, other than the nine-one-oh runs we take for the Hellions.  The numbers nine-one-oh being the area code for the Haywood’s Hellions is the way we mark our transports for the club versus our regular business. 

Typically, when old man Delatorre needs a transport its one trailer or two box trucks.  He packs the trailers or box trucks.   We either pick up the box truck as it is, or we pull up our Mack truck to his trailer, lock it in, and roll.  What’s in the trailers is not my concern, the weight of the contents is.  Delatorre is good business, he’s honorable, and wouldn’t do anything to put any of us at risk.  Knowing this is his run, I’m confident that everything will go smoothly.  Delatorre isn’t a man you say no to anyways, so we are taking the job regardless.  It’s just nice to not have to look over your shoulder like a new client.

“Alright, Tripp.  Get the shit ready.  Tank will be there in three days and the shipment is to be picked up in five.”

“Got it, Roundman, over and out.”

Looks like the transport number moved to sixteen now, instead of thirteen.  Business is good.  Life is good.