Simple Ride (Hellions Ride Book 6) Read online

  I bring both hands to grip her thighs tightly as I increase my pace. As I hit her walls harder and deeper, she tenses while the buildup comes and my balls tighten.

  “Boomer,” she cries out as her body trembles and shakes beneath me, and I go over the edge, filling her with my very essence and not giving a damn about the possible consequences.

  She grabs the back of her legs and drops her ankles off my shoulders, spreading wide as I still fill her with my softening cock. She tries to slide out from me, but I grab her hips and hold her in place, our bodies still connected.

  “Don’t panic on me now, Pami.”

  “Panic! Boomer, I feel you hot inside me. You didn’t use a condom. Doll is gonna send me packing.”

  I laugh. “Why would Doll need to know I fucked you raw? What was it you said the first night … ‘Boomer, anytime, anywhere, and any way.’ Those were your words.”

  She thrashes her head back and forth as I tighten my grip, keeping her pulled to me. Swiftly, her hand comes up, and then the sting of her slap hits my cheek, the noise filling the room.

  Releasing her hips, I bury myself deeper inside her as our bodily fluids mix together around my cock and drip onto the sheets below her. Grabbing her wrists, I pin her arms above her head. Then, leaning down, I breathe on her neck before biting gently.

  “Pami, if you wanna play, I’ll play. Pain with pleasure works well for me. Doll doesn’t have to know I fucked you commando. I’m clean, and I know she makes the girls get checked, so I know you’re clean. If you get knocked up … Well, I guess there is another Hellion in the world. What’s the problem with that?” I ask, trailing my nose along her collarbone and down to her breasts where I stop to flick each nipple with my tongue.

  “No little Hellions.” The words come out in a pant, and I know she is getting turned on again.

  “Pami, close your eyes,” I whisper against her neck. “Picture it, a little girl with your brown hair flowing down her back, deep eyes of whiskey, and my smile. There wouldn’t be anyone more beautiful in the world.”

  She stills, completely freezes. “Stop, Boomer. Stop!” she screams, wrenching her hands free and pushing me off her as she pounds at my chest. “No girls! No kids! Get off me!” She pushes again, this time throwing me off balance and sending me sliding off my own bed. I can’t fathom what has her so worked up. “No girls! No kids!” she continues yelling.

  “Pami, you know it’s more than just fucking between me and you,” I say with my ass planted on the floor as she rushes around to gather her clothes.

  “No, Boomer! No! No! No!”

  ~Pamela~

  A little girl with long, brown hair. My chest physically hurts, and my body aches to be filled with my baby again. Twenty-four weeks gestation … the hospital bed, the pain—it all sits in the forefront of my mind. The contractions wouldn’t stop, the rapid succession building and building.

  “Push,” the emergency room nurse who moved me to maternity cried out.

  They couldn’t stop her from coming. They couldn’t stop my body from giving up on her. They said my best hope was the Neonatal team. Only, Cannon Marie Williams was born without the cries of a newborn as she was thrust from the womb. Cannon didn’t have the heartbeat of a baby on the path to life.

  The doctors and nurses rushed her away to work on her. I listened while, in the corner of the birthing room, they counted the compressions as they fought to bring life back to the blue body of my baby girl. It was a losing battle. She was gone. At his hands, I had lost my name, my body, myself, and more than anything, I had lost my baby girl. Nothing would ever be the same again.

  Scurrying around, I throw on clothes without looking at Boomer. We have gotten close over the last year—well, as close as two people can get when you both have secrets, big secrets. Obviously, he is in too deeply with me.

  My body trembles as I feel the wetness drip down my leg. Does he have any clue what could have happened if I hadn’t had my tubes tied after losing Cannon?

  Tears well up in my eyes as I think about his soft words of having a baby with me.

  “Pami,” he calls out.

  “You don’t know me,” I call out over my shoulder, giving him an ice cold stare.

  Walking out of his room, I tug on my clothes and don’t look back as I hear him get up. I’m at his front door when I feel him watching me. Turning the knob, I freeze.

  “This is how you want it to be?”

  I sigh and open the door.

  “You makin’ your place on your back?” There is sharpness in his tone, finality, it seems. “Pami, it could be on the back of my bike.”

  I don’t look back. I don’t stop. One foot in front of the other, I move forward.

  “I’ve always known my place,” I whisper as I close the door behind me.

  ***

  One week, six hours, eight minutes, that is how long it has been since I last reached my mother. Anxiety overwhelms me. Wesson and Colt are getting bigger. They are a lot for her to handle, two growing boys. My stomach aches, my heart beats loudly, and my head pounds from thinking of them.

  I miss my boys. I miss being a mom to my kids. Without them, I am not me. This self-imposed exile from their lives is slowly killing me.

  They are better off without me, though.

  They didn’t ask to be born. They didn’t ask to have Dennis for a father. They didn’t ask to be brought into a world of uncontainable fury. They simply didn’t ask for anything I gave them. Life with my mom is far from perfect, but it’s the only good thing I have ever given them, even if it comes at the sacrifice of me.

  Sighing, I clean the bathroom of Crews Transports. Doll makes Tripp and Rex keep it relatively clean, but seriously, a scrub brush and comet are the tools to my day.

  Blaine cries out, and I fight to keep my own tears at bay. Doll is blessed to be able bring her baby to work with her. Blaine is a good boy. Tripp, Doll, and little ‘BW,’ as they call him, are a picture-perfect family. Okay, maybe not your typical picture-perfect, but add leather, ink, and motorcycles, and you can call it the picture-perfect family of badasses.

  “Shhhhh, BW, please, baby, please. Momma is losing it here. Daddy will be home in two days. I don’t know what to do for you, son,” I hear Doll pleading with the toddler.

  I come around the corner to see tears streaming down her face. Her blonde hair is tied in a messy knot on her head, and her sweats clearly show she had a rough night.

  “You okay?”

  When she practically jogs to me and hands BW over, I hold the boy to my hip and rest his head on my shoulder. Then Doll drops her face into her hands.

  “I can’t do this. He isn’t eating right. He has diarrhea. Tripp is gone. He keeps crying. Oh, Pamela, he wails and wails.”

  I sway back and forth as BW settles against me. “Breathe, Momma, he feels every emotion from you. Get calm, and then we can find the source of his irritation. First, though, he can’t feed off you being a mess, making him become a bigger mess.” She looks up at me, her red eyes understanding. “If it’s a competition of who can cry the longest, baby girl, he’s always gonna win, so get your head on straight.”

  She rolls her shoulders back while I gently pat the diapered bottom of her boy. “Hush, little baby, don’t say a word. Pami’s gonna buy you a mocking bird,” I sing the lullaby and little BW stops crying just enough to take in my soft tone. “That’s it, baby boy. If that mocking bird don’t sing, Pami’s gonna buy you lots of bling bling.”

  Doll laughs at my change of words, and her son lifts his head to look at her. Once he sees his mom is okay, he settles back against me and closes his eyes as I continue to make up parts of the old song and sway slowly.

  “Magic,” Doll whispers when she finds that Blaine is soundly sleeping and drooling on my shoulder.

  “Teething. I think he’s cutting molars. Orajel and Motrin are your new best friends.”

  She smiles at me in the Doll way that lights up a room. “Right now, Pamela, you are m
y very best friend.”

  “Real talk, Doll. You gotta breathe. It’s hard when they are little, and it’s easy to get overwhelmed, especially when they don’t feel well. They can’t tell you what’s wrong, and not one of us has the ability to read their little minds. But you can’t join his pity party because someone has to sort out the world’s problems from the view of a two-year-old, and it’s not gonna be him.”

  “You are so wise.”

  “He is the one person who has heard your heartbeat from the inside, Doll. You are connected in a way no one else can understand. Flesh of your flesh and blood of your blood. What you feel, he feels, so you gotta be rock solid, Momma.”

  “How many do you have?” Doll asks, watching me carefully. She knows. She can see the mother inside of me. Can she also see the failure I am to my kids?

  “That’s a problem for another day, Delilah,” I answer her honestly, but with her real name so she doesn’t press me further.

  Chapter Three

  ~Boomer~

  “Pass me the socket wrench set, Axel,” I call to Shooter’s boy, who is really Rex’s son biologically, but somehow in only the way the Hellions can do, Rex and his woman Caroline have found a way to truly co-parent with Shooter and Tessie.

  He is an amazing kid. His mom and he brought my best friend out of his own personal darkness and back into the light of life. Mercy was no friend to their ride, but together, they made it through.

  “If you don’t pull your head outta your ass, I’m gonna sock it to ya,” Shooter says from behind me.

  “Momma doesn’t like those words, Shooter,” Axel chimes in, handing me the tool.

  Shooter and I both smile.

  “What’s wrong, Booma?” Axel asks with the childlike innocence that has me frowning.

  “Nothing.” I turn back to the car in front of me, but a firm hand on my shoulder stops me.

  “Come on, man. What’s said in the garage blows out the tailpipes, never to be heard from again,” Shooter says, making me laugh.

  “You’re going soft, brother. That was the stupidest thing I have ever heard come out of your mouth, and we both know I have heard some crazy shit.”

  “Language,” Axel chastises. “Momma is gonna be mad at all of us boys if y’all don’t clean up your mouths. She even got Lux in on it.”

  Now that has both Shooter and me laughing. ‘Lux’ is Caroline, Rex’s old lady and his deluxe model woman. She is Fancy Nancy and hell on wheels at the drop of a dime. Ride or die, she’s a Hellions ol’ lady with fire. They all have that, though. Doll, Sass, Tessie, Lux, Doc Kelly, each one is a badass broad in her own way.

  Purple Pussy Pamela is, too; only, she is so caught up in her secrets she holds so close she can’t see what’s right in front of her.

  I am stupid. Completely dumb. Sign me up to wear the dunce cap; that’s how badly I fucked up. Men like me don’t spout poetic future shit after planting their seed so deep inside a broad it will take days to slide out. No, men like me are supposed to fuck hard, fast, furious, and without thoughts of the future, just raw release. Any other woman would have never given them a second thought. Any other woman never would have gotten the offer.

  Pamela did.

  I gave her the offer to be on my bike. She knows this world. She knows what that means. Other barflies would have jumped at the opportunity to be claimed in order to have this life and the family it comes with permanently. It isn’t an offer to give lightly or to decide on quickly. Pamela did, though.

  Pamela walked out. She turned me down.

  I have been fucking her for over a year. Then I laid my world at her feet, and she walked away. She didn’t look back. She hasn’t called.

  “It’s nothing, man,” I try to brush him off.

  “Then stop looking at your phone and the door like you’ve gotta take off in an instant.”

  I take pause to focus on my latest behaviors. He is right; I have been watching my phone and door like a fucking lovesick teenager.

  This stops now!

  No broad needs to have this kind of power over a man. Even more so, I don’t really know her other than she sucks my cock like it’s her job. Oh, wait, I guess it is. She keeps the club happy, and the club keeps her in our fold. I guess she showed me my place.

  I run my hand over my beard in frustration. “My mind is all over the place.”

  “Get your head on straight.”

  “Wanna blow stuff up, Booma?” Axel pipes in, going to the toolbox for Shooter.

  I laugh. “Why would you ask that?”

  “My dad always tells Lux he needs to blow a load. Your name is Booma ’cause you make things go boom, I reckon … so you wanna find some stuff to blow up?”

  “Always, little man, always. We better get this car finished first, though.”

  “Sounds good to me. Shooter has the good fireworks hidden in the shed.” He smiles brightly.

  “Hey, that was a secret,” Shooter jokes.

  “Bro code. Booma needs bro time, and what better way than lighting stuff on fire and watching it go up? It’s on a need to know basis”—Axel makes a serious face at Shooter—“and he really needed to know. We’ve got his back, Shooter; you tell me that all the time. Family and shi—stuff. Stuff, right? Booma is family. He gets bro code.”

  Shooter ruffles his hair. “Totally.”

  After fixing the car and making some stuff go boom, I leave Shooter and Axel to head to the bar. I am playing with fire, and one of us is going to get burned for sure.

  The place is slow for the usual Saturday night crowd at Ruthless. Then again, since Tessie’s attack, only Hellions hang around here, keeping it light and tight.

  Kerri comes around the corner, looking every bit the sex kitten she is in a super short mini skirt that lets her ass cheeks hang out.

  “Hey, Boomer,” she purrs as she slides on the bar stool next to me, her breasts filling out her shirt to maximum capacity.

  I lift my beer to her and tip it back without speaking. Throwing my hand up, I get Corinne’s attention for another long neck. She makes a face before popping the top and slamming the glass bottle down in front of me.

  “Watch yourself,” I warn Corinne. “Know your place.” I’m not about to take any disrespect from a damn barfly.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Pamela come around from the back where the bathrooms are. She glares at me and then Kerri, and I smile as I take another pull of the beer. Yeah, misery loves company, and she had her chance.

  Tracking her movements in my peripheral vision, I am surprised when she drops to her knees beside my barstool. When I turn to her, my eyes burn with desire, and my mind races with thoughts of what she could be hiding behind that cold stare. Her hands slide up the inside of my thighs as her gaze remains locked on mine.

  “If it’s a showdown you want, baby, it’s a showdown you’re gonna get.” I smirk, taking a long drink and watching the condensation drop from my bottle into the open cleavage of her chest. Oh, if only to be that small drop of water sliding down the peaks and into the valley of sweetness.

  My cock throbs in my jeans as it pulses against the zipper. Her fingers come up to my button when I reach down with my free hand and stop her.

  “What are you doing, Pami?” I ask honestly, wondering what she really thinks right now.

  “I know my place.” She smirks at me, each word laced in menace.

  “On your knees, on your back, doesn’t really matter to me. You’re not my business anymore.” I push her hands off me, forcing her to lean back so as not lose her balance, giving me enough room to stand.

  “Boomer,” she calls out as I walk to the back room where the pool tables are.

  I don’t look back as I tell her, “That ship has sailed, woman. That ship has fuckin’ sailed.”

  ~Pamela~

  Go to work, come home, and check in with the club every few days. Survive, get by, and keep my bastard husband away from my kids. Sitting in my chair in my shithole trailer, I rub my empty
belly absently.

  Ghost flutters.

  I feel them. I feel her. Even though she is gone, I feel her inside me. The pull is so deep I could drown in the misery.

  My only responsibility and priority is to my children, and I failed her. In my head, I can hear the rapid beating of her tiny heart, the heart I longed to hear at every doctor’s appointment. The swishing and steady thump, thump, thump were heaven to my ears. In one night, in the flash of one mistake, she was gone.

  I didn’t deserve her. I don’t deserve Wesson and Colt. God took her to keep her for his own, for I am weak and undeserving of such a precious life. Wesson and Colt were my gifts. They were my opportunity to see the light and get away.

  I didn’t listen to my gut. I didn’t take the many opportunities I was given to leave. I failed to walk through every door that was opened to me. As a little girl, Momma took me to Sunday school where we sang songs and learned Bible verses. The trainings of a child, the motto, the chant—if he leads you to it, he will get you through it.

  I balked.

  Every time I could leave and should have, I froze. From the moment I knew she existed, I knew in my heart, deep into my very soul, it was going to be the end this time.

  “Fucking kids!” Dennis roars. “Lazy-ass white woman can’t pick up one fucking thing.” He stomps into our tiny living room and throws a mangled tricycle at my boys.

  I rush in front of them, putting myself between them and the monster who helped conceive them. Not my babies. No way, no how. Do whatever the hell you want to me, but not my boys. No one will touch my boys until I’m cold and dead. .

  He marches over to me, standing toe to toe. I will not back down, though. He cannot punish my boys. Not today, not ever, but especially not today. The tricycle was outside because I was trying to get them to wear out and take a good nap. I have had the flu for the last week and my period came this morning, so I was tired. After outside play, the three of us lay down. I didn’t plan to sleep this long, but having two boys under two is hard. I was going to bring them out before dinner and then clean up.