One Ride (The Hellions Ride) Read Free Page A

clothing.
    Too bad he shows zero interest in me. His blatant disregard of me made it clear that my lust filled thoughts are not reciprocated.  I’m off limits to him even if he did want me.  All the Hellions respect my dad too much to ever date me, fuck me, or do more than protect me.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m close with almost all the boys, they are my older brothers or uncles, but no matter how hard I flirt, they never cross the line.  Never am I given a second glance from any of them.  I’ve dated pretty boys, but it quickly fizzles.  I need the adrenaline, the chaos, the protection, and the lifestyle.
    The way his friend was looking at Caroline, though, his attraction and intentions were clear.  Caroline was not impressed.  It takes a lot to get her attention.  She has aspirations, a career, and goals far beyond that of a motorcycle club.  At least one of us was getting some sort of attention.
    My mystery man was more concerned with my father.  His patches let me know he’s a Catawba Hellion and the Prez at that.  Well, that explains why he carries such a serious demeanor.  The level of his responsibility is a tough burden to carry.  His crew depends on, and trusts, his instincts and instructions.  I wish I knew his name, not his nickname “Tripp” or “Rex” but his real name.  At least then, in my fantasies, I know what to call him.  My B.O.B (my battery operated boyfriend) will have to settle for being Tripp, or Rex, for now.  I like the name Rex better, so Rex it will be. 
    Looking around me, I shake off my thoughts of the encounter with what’s his name.  I’m gathering the trash off the floor and tables of the clubhouse.  It’s a simple warehouse style building with an open floor plan. There is a kitchen in the back with four restrooms.  In the vast space of the common area there is a fully stocked bar.  There are pool tables and darts in one corner, tables off in another, and DJ area with a dance floor in the middle. 
    The stage was taken down a few years back.  Bikers and rockers together, yeah, this building isn’t big enough for the egos.  A lead singer decided to openly flirt with an ol’ lady.  This was a clear sign of disrespect to Frisco, her man.  In a moment of jealousy and rage, Frisco jumped on stage and began punching the singer in the head with his own fucking mic.  When his band mates tried to pull Frisco off, the brothers stepped in and shit got ugly.  My dad finally had to move in and control the situation.  The damage was already done. The singer ended up with a broken jaw and nose.  The other band members were roughed up, but nothing serious.  The next day the stage was taken down and no more outsiders are allowed. 
    Making my way outdoors, I take a moment to enjoy my surroundings.  The clubhouse is the first of many buildings on the compound. 
    My dad owns fifty acres out in the country of Haywood’s Landing, a small coastal North Carolina town.  Thirty of it is compound land.  It is surrounded by a privacy fence that is eight feet tall with barbwire running across the top and security cameras mounted along the way.  The front gates open to the space of the lot for parking.  In the center of the parking lot there are three flag poles.  Our American flag, our POW/KIA memorial flag, and our Hellions flag are all proudly on display.  The clubhouse is the first building where most club events occur. 
    I continue cleaning up.  Once I’ve gathered all the trash from the clubhouse, I head out to the pit to dump my trash bag. 
    The pit is a concrete slab with a few posts holding up an A-frame tin roof.  Under the shelter are pig cookers, gas grills, charcoal grills, and the oyster tables for oyster roasts.  The tables are six feet long.  They are wooden with a stainless steel top.  In the middle, there is a square hole cut out that a bucket goes under.  When the oysters are ready, they are dumped on the open table to be shelled and eaten.