swallow mine and tell her that I won’t be moving out of my mom’s again.
Shooter stops in to check on me at work, but has otherwise kept his distance over the last few weeks. Strangely enough, I find that I miss him. In this entire ordeal, he has not once pushed me.
Doll has tried to get me back to Ruthless. According to her, Bob, and Corinne, Ruthless is Hellion owned now, so I am safe to return.
Safe.
Do they not understand? I thought I was safe before.
Shep, the name I have since learned, had been in Ruthless multiple times over the last few months, and not once did I think he would attack me. Sure, he was always filthy. He always looked disheveled with greasy hair and in need of a shave, smelling like the road and cigarettes. He liked his Jack straight and chain smoked with no regard to your own health when he blew his secondhand smoke in your face. He was an asshole, but ninety percent of the guys I deal with are, including the Hellions.
It’s the nature of the beast, as some would say. I work in a testosterone filled environment where they all swing their dicks around to show who is in charge at least once a night. These aren’t pretty boys in suits. No, I have always been surrounded by the chaos and reckless abandon of bikers. Up until my attack, I never gave it a second thought. I have a kid to feed, clothes to put on his back, and a roof to keep over his head. I didn’t have time to think about what could happen. My mistake. I allowed myself to become comfortable.
Mercy, she is a bitch and fails to shine down on me. With everything I have dealt with in my life, you would think by now I would know better. I should find the bad in every situation and know it will happen to me at some point. I had my own place, a little money in the bank (certainly not a lot, but I knew my rent would be paid), and Axel and I were doing well. Therefore, I should have expected something to come along and knock me on my ass.
A knock at the door brings me back to this moment. My mom is resting in her room and Axel is at school. I make my way to the door, hoping my mom stays asleep. I have been keeping her up lately and she could use the rest.
Looking through the peephole, my breath catches in my chest. Shooter stands on the other side, waiting. Realistically, seeing him shouldn’t bother me. It does, however. He has truly seen me at my worst. How do I handle him? How does he handle me?
Taking a deep breath, I open the door to him. Plastering on the best smile I can, I drink in the man in front of me. He’s not overly built, but he is fit, there is no denying it. Shooter has no visible tattoos, which makes me curious since every single one of the Hellions have multiple tattoos.
My mind wanders, thinking back to all the times he has come to the bar. He is always alone. Unlike Rex, Tripp, before Doll, or any of the other guys, Shooter is not one to hook up with the barflies, at least not publically.
“You gonna let me in?” he questions, taking me away from my thoughts.
“Ummm… Why are you here?”
“I came to check on you.”
Stepping back, I gesture with my hand for him to come inside. Somehow, having him near sends my body into overdrive. My heart races, but not in fear. No, Shooter is the one person who calms me when the negative overruns my brain. Regardless, I can’t allow myself to become used to him. I can’t depend on him or anyone, for that matter; therefore, I need to keep him at a distance.
He follows me into the living room. It is a small space where Mom’s old, brown couches have seen better days. Axel has left his artistic marks all over them. We don’t have a coffee table anymore. My childhood dog, Fescue, knocked into it, breaking it, and Mom never replaced it. The two accent tables are covered in doilies and soft lamps. The television is not very big in screen size, but it is old so the box is huge to move around. It sits on the same stand it has
Shooter stops in to check on me at work, but has otherwise kept his distance over the last few weeks. Strangely enough, I find that I miss him. In this entire ordeal, he has not once pushed me.
Doll has tried to get me back to Ruthless. According to her, Bob, and Corinne, Ruthless is Hellion owned now, so I am safe to return.
Safe.
Do they not understand? I thought I was safe before.
Shep, the name I have since learned, had been in Ruthless multiple times over the last few months, and not once did I think he would attack me. Sure, he was always filthy. He always looked disheveled with greasy hair and in need of a shave, smelling like the road and cigarettes. He liked his Jack straight and chain smoked with no regard to your own health when he blew his secondhand smoke in your face. He was an asshole, but ninety percent of the guys I deal with are, including the Hellions.
It’s the nature of the beast, as some would say. I work in a testosterone filled environment where they all swing their dicks around to show who is in charge at least once a night. These aren’t pretty boys in suits. No, I have always been surrounded by the chaos and reckless abandon of bikers. Up until my attack, I never gave it a second thought. I have a kid to feed, clothes to put on his back, and a roof to keep over his head. I didn’t have time to think about what could happen. My mistake. I allowed myself to become comfortable.
Mercy, she is a bitch and fails to shine down on me. With everything I have dealt with in my life, you would think by now I would know better. I should find the bad in every situation and know it will happen to me at some point. I had my own place, a little money in the bank (certainly not a lot, but I knew my rent would be paid), and Axel and I were doing well. Therefore, I should have expected something to come along and knock me on my ass.
A knock at the door brings me back to this moment. My mom is resting in her room and Axel is at school. I make my way to the door, hoping my mom stays asleep. I have been keeping her up lately and she could use the rest.
Looking through the peephole, my breath catches in my chest. Shooter stands on the other side, waiting. Realistically, seeing him shouldn’t bother me. It does, however. He has truly seen me at my worst. How do I handle him? How does he handle me?
Taking a deep breath, I open the door to him. Plastering on the best smile I can, I drink in the man in front of me. He’s not overly built, but he is fit, there is no denying it. Shooter has no visible tattoos, which makes me curious since every single one of the Hellions have multiple tattoos.
My mind wanders, thinking back to all the times he has come to the bar. He is always alone. Unlike Rex, Tripp, before Doll, or any of the other guys, Shooter is not one to hook up with the barflies, at least not publically.
“You gonna let me in?” he questions, taking me away from my thoughts.
“Ummm… Why are you here?”
“I came to check on you.”
Stepping back, I gesture with my hand for him to come inside. Somehow, having him near sends my body into overdrive. My heart races, but not in fear. No, Shooter is the one person who calms me when the negative overruns my brain. Regardless, I can’t allow myself to become used to him. I can’t depend on him or anyone, for that matter; therefore, I need to keep him at a distance.
He follows me into the living room. It is a small space where Mom’s old, brown couches have seen better days. Axel has left his artistic marks all over them. We don’t have a coffee table anymore. My childhood dog, Fescue, knocked into it, breaking it, and Mom never replaced it. The two accent tables are covered in doilies and soft lamps. The television is not very big in screen size, but it is old so the box is huge to move around. It sits on the same stand it has
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