PAIN Read online

  PAIN

  Ashley Wheels

  ©2016 by Ashley Wheels. All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication or series may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of Ashley Wheels or her legal representative.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, brands, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and owners of various products and locations referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication or use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Thank you for purchasing an authorized copy of this book. By doing so, you say NO to Piracy and support authors so they can continue to bring you the books you enjoy. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

  Author's Note: This book contains adult situations and language, violence, and sexual activity. Mature readers only.

  Acknowledgements

  Matt, just … I love you. Always and forever.

  Aden Lowe, Big Brother… without you this wouldn’t have happened, in more ways than one, you know. You’ve taught me so much. Thank you for the endless encouragements to continue writing even when I was bawling my eyes out in frustration. And most of all, thank you for being you. Love you, Big Brother.

  Mom, I accomplished another goal, aren’t you proud? LOL. (Means... Laugh Out Loud) Just put this on a shelf, I’m not sure you can handle reading it.

  The girls in the Lowe-Down fan group, thank you for embracing me in this new adventure of being a solo author. You’ve been there for me, as Aden’s assistant, then his co-author, and now on my own on the side too. It means the world to me. Love you girlies!

  Aden Lowe, Winter Travers, Marie James, L. Wilder, and Jordan Marie have been a few of the authors that have spent some of their precious time, giving me advice and encouragements along the way as I decided to write. I can’t thank you enough.

  Dedication

  This is for YOU. Remember when you’re at the lowest and the pain is too much to endure, that those around you are there for you. You deserve their love, just as much as you love them. Don’t question it, please.

  And when I’m gone… just listen to that soft voice, I’ll always be there. I love you, too.

  Without suffering, there’d be no compassion.

  - Nicholas Sparks

  Synopsis

  Chalk -

  Have you ever cared for someone so much it hurt? Loved them so much you couldn't even describe it? Scared you to your core? What if you were too scared to let them know how important they were to you?

  Afraid of what they might say because you aren't a good person? You’ve killed, kidnapped, sold drugs and so many other things. Things you aren’t proud of, but can’t undo, no matter how much you might wish now that you know a feeling you never thought you would.

  What if you waited too long and now they're gone forever, but you'll never be the same?

  Well that happened to me.

  This is the story of how one innocent girl changed my life forever, and one beautiful woman helped me survive the pain.

  Chapter One

  Chalk:

  10 years ago - 23 years old

  Damn noise dug through the nice sleep I had going on. "Chalk, wake the fuck up. Vince is calling for church in five minutes," Brax yells from just outside the door of my room.

  Groaning, I wake up, but then the weight of something hot and heavy on me starts my heart thudding in my chest. What the fuck? A flashback from last night instantly hits me, the image of a sexy as hell mouth on my cock, sucking me dry. Oh yeah, I’m not alone. Shit, I do not have time for the half hard-on that image causes.

  I push the arm of the chick off me. Fuck, I can’t even remember her name, and I don't care. It doesn't matter, since I won't do her again. The damn bitch grabs at me tighter, just as I'm about to reach for my boxers. She has a hold on me like I'm her fucking teddy bear, or some shit.

  I give her a rough shake and wait until she opens her eyes. “It’s time to go. See yourself out.” Harsh? Maybe. Do I give a fuck? Hell, no.

  She sits up with a pout, letting the sheet drop to flash her tits in my face. Almost made me wish things were different. “I’ll wait here for you, babe. We can have a repeat of last night.”

  “No, I don’t do repeats, ever. Now get out. You’d better be gone before I get back.” As much as I might like to have that sweet mouth on me again, it’s a rule that I don’t intend to break anytime soon. No second nights ever. My one night only rule is to prevent bitches from getting attached. Fucking whores blow a guy twice and they think it's a fucking relationship.

  Damn it, what the hell is up with Vince? Always calling church meetings at the crack of dawn. I just passed out maybe three hours ago. Know damn well it can't be past five a.m. yet. And, sure enough, when I make it to the dresser where my watch waits, I'm right. Five o'clock exactly.

  A glance at the pile of clothes on the floor reminds me I need to do laundry soon. Hate that shit. Wonder if one of the girls will do it for me? I find the least dirty pair of jeans and pull them on. Only takes a second to grab my cut, tuck my gun into my belt, and head to the meeting room.

  ***

  The funny part of a room full of sleepy, hungover bikers is the absolute silence. Nobody even groans.

  Vince comes in and takes his seat at the head of the table. Wide awake as always. Fucker never sleeps. "Everyone here? I know this is an ungodly hour, but it's important and couldn't wait." His glare touches every damn one of us, daring us to bitch about the time. Nobody does.

  He could say that ungodly part again, although it always makes me smirk considering nothing godly is ever talked about here.

  Apparently satisfied we all are listening, he takes a drink of his coffee and sets it down before he starts talking. "We've been hired to do a security detail of sorts. I know it's not our normal rodeo, but it's a big pay and something I couldn't refuse."

  You'd think the big pay would intrigue me, but it's really what could it be that he couldn't refuse that gets my attention most. Vince is not a man you can push into anything. But I'm especially wondering what couldn't fucking wait a few more hours.

  The intense expression on Vince’s face worries me. Whatever this is, it must be serious, and he isn’t sure we’re going to vote in favor of it. Although, he’d just need majority to carry whatever he wants to do, and he never has trouble with votes. What the hell could this entail that we wouldn’t vote in favor?

  “Couldn’t refuse?” Brax yawns around the question. At least it's him asking and not me. I’m already on thin ice, being the newest member, and youngest. It wouldn’t take much to piss some of the veterans off and get my patch pulled. So I keep my mouth shut as much as possible.

  Vince scowled toward Brax. “I’ve already taken the job for us. No voting. Yeah, I know that’s not how we normally do things, but hear me out.” He turns to the big screen and it turns on.

  It flashes a picture of a small girl on the screen. She can’t be more than maybe six or seven years old, thin, auburn hair in pigtails. Reminds me of that old Shirley Temple movie that my grams always had playing in her home during the few summers I remember spending with her. Something is off though, and I can’t seem to place it, so I wait to hear more.

  “Her name is Abigail Rochester, Will's kid." Heads nod around the table, as if that explains it all. I don't have a clue, but I'm not asking now. One of the other guys will tell me later. "We handled that shit for him last year, but now some made men up
in New York have a hit out on him. You don't just turn over evidence that gets a mob boss sent up for life and live happily ever after. He already knows his fate and he refuses to fight it. He’s hired us to protect Abigail, not him. He paid in advance, and left more than enough in a hidden account to ensure she is taken care of without the club needing to do anything more in that respect. Also if we were to need more for whatever reason to keep her safe, it's there. The deal is, the account is in Abigail’s name and her finger prints are linked to gain access, she’s the only one that can get into it. Which makes her a very valuable target to the right people, including the ones after her daddy.”

  Messer's chair scrapes on the floor as he tips it back. “How much are we talkin’ about here?”

  “In the mils, with it growing each month and year as it sits there. This little brat is worth a hell of a lot of money. There’s a catch, and this is the part where I couldn’t refuse came into play, besides her being Will's kid. Apparently, she’s sick. I haven’t gotten all the details on exactly what that means, but it’s not good. Her father wants her to live her life to the fullest and not to have any worries.”

  I can't help it. “Okay. Wait a fuckin’ minute. We’re an outlaw club. He gets that, right? What the fuck do any of us know what to do with a six year old girl, never mind a sick one at that?” The silence is eerie after my outburst. The stares from all around the room are not pleased ones. Slumping back against the wall, I shut the hell up.

  Daggers fly at me from Vince's eyes. “Yes, he’s aware, you dipshit. And I’m going to assume it’s the lack of sleep that caused that disrespect. Do it again Chalk, and we’re going to have problems. Are we clear?”

  “Crystal.” Ain't losing my fucking patch over no kid.

  A thundercloud parks itself on the President's face, but he goes on. “As I was saying, she’s sick. Not something that we can catch or any shit like that, but she’s not likely to make it past early adulthood. With all this bad shit we do, this will help us keep ourselves in check. Maybe we all won’t end up in Hell afterwards."

  And there we have it. Vince is always looking for some way to redeem our souls for some reason. We sell dope, pussy, guns, you name it, and he feels guilty over it. Doesn't make sense to me. Seems fake as fuck.

  He's not finished, though. "She’s arriving in a couple of hours, and she’s smart as fuck. She’s extremely quiet, but do NOT let that fool you. She knows the situation she’s being put in, as well as what’s going on with her father. Tends to watch and listen a lot. I do hope we shield her from our kind of bad shit for as long as possible, which means we all have to be on guard.”

  Yeah, he’s right, most of us will go straight to Hell, no passing Go and collecting two-hundred dollars. But this could very easily be the straw that breaks the camel's back and sends us all there even faster. So many fuckin’ things can go wrong with this scheme of his. I've got more questions than I can even think of at the moment. But as the Pres, he’s the one leading. Just hope it's not straight to jail, or our deaths.

  Messer speaks up again. “So, who’s taking care of her? Little kid like that, gotta have somebody watchin' over it all the time. And where we keeping her? Clubhouse ain't no place for a little kid.” Some of the others nod agreement.

  “We’re going to draw straws, that’s the fairest way. Of course, we’ll all pitch in and help with her, but whoever draws the short one has the main responsibility taking care of her. A stable figure that’s consistent in her everyday life.” He pins us all with another glare. "As for where to keep her, we don't have much choice. She has to stay here, where we have a full force to protect her. That'll mean a few changes around here. Can't very well have a kid running around through a party here, can we? So while the kid's awake, we watch what we're doing." Already prepared, he grabs a few straws off the table, cuts one, and then shuffles them around. Holds his hand out to each member. Then turns to me.

  FUCK. This is going to backfire on me. I just know it. The shitty luck I have, watch me end up with the damn kid. Slowly, I grab one of the three remaining straws, knowing no one else has the short one yet, making the chances greater that I’ll get it.

  “Oh shit, man.” All eyes are on me. I hold up the straw, and it’s fucking short.

  With a slap on the shoulder that nearly knocks me over, Vince gives me a huge grin. “Alright, Chalk, looks like you’re up. Better get ready and don’t fuck this up. Do it right and there's a bonus in it for you.”

  I get the distinct feeling I was set up. The newest member gets the shit details pretty regularly, and even if he made a show of making it a fair draw, I'm pretty sure he intended I would get this particular pile of shit.

  "What are you fuckers waiting for? We got shit to do. The kid has to have a room. Whoever's in the one next to Chalk, clear the fuck out. And leave it clean. The rest of you, get the rest of this shithole cleaned up." He dismisses us with a wave and we all head out. I beeline it back to bed. The others can take care of the other shit. I’m going to need more sleep if I have to deal with a kid for days on end. Fuck, how long is this job even going to last?

  Chapter Two

  Chalk:

  The buzz of my cell wakes me long before I'm ready to get up, and I struggle to reach it. It drops off the nightstand, still buzzing like a billion pissed off bees. Shit, the sound makes my skin crawl. Finally, I manage to roll over and scoop it off the floor. Damn thing shows a text saying she’ll be here within the hour. Fuck. Me.

  A slight panic attack starts to set in. What the fuck do I know about kids? I have no goddam clue what to expect. This is going to be a fucking disaster. And the panic attacks are getting too close together. I need to get a handle on this. Maybe taking out some aggression against a bag in the makeshift gym will cool my nerves. It fucking better. I drag my ass out of the bed and head out the back.

  The heat and humidity of early afternoon hit me like a physical force. Half the time, I fucking hate Tennessee weather, but anywhere else would be just as bad, or worse. Kids are usually awake during the day, aren't they? That likely means I have a lot of hot afternoons ahead of me. Fuck my life.

  A few continuous punches and sidekicks to the heavy bag already has sweat pouring down my body. Drenched, I pull off my shirt and toss it in the corner, and spend a few more minutes with the bag. My muscles burn with each punch and the tremor of fatigue sets in.

  Out of breath and my panic mostly subsided, I hit the shower and get ready to face the kid. What did Vince say her name was? Abigail. Yeah, that's it. Guess I better remember it, since I'll probably be saying it a lot.

  ***

  I make it out to the main room, where couches and chairs off to one side serve as a kind of living room. A bar stretches down the other side and the kitchen sits beyond that. A dozen tables provide plenty of room for eating or drinking, depending what's going on.

  The whole damn club waits, lounging around and watching TV like they got nothing fucking better to do. They want to see the kid, but most likely, they just want to see me humiliated. Well that's okay. They can laugh their asses off while I'm spending my bonus.

  There's an empty chair left, so I park my ass and pretend to pay attention to the UFC fight on TV. Everybody keeps giving me sidelong glances, probably waiting for me to fall the fuck to pieces. Well, they have a long wait ahead. I'll be damned before I show weakness like that.

  A horn blows outside and heavy tires crunch on the gravel lot, easy to hear even over the sound of the TV. The sound makes my heart want to pound with dread, but I manage to force the panic back, for now. Most of us head for the door as a black Hummer pulls right up to the fucking club house door. I pull my .38 out from sheer force of habit, and a few other guys do the same.

  Nothing good comes right up to the door like that. Anybody that has any business here knows to keep a respectful distance. The Death Jokers MC don't tolerate anything less.

  Tensed and prepared for anything, Vince heads out with Brax at his six, while the rest of
us take up the defensive positions that will allow us to keep anybody out who doesn't fucking belong.

  The car rolls to a stop, shuts down, and we struggle to see anything through the heavily tinted windows. After a moment, an older guy steps out the driver’s door, raises his hands, and just stands there waiting.

  “Who the hell are you and what do you want?” Vince calls out from where he's put his own SUV between him and the Hummer. His .45 holds steady, trained right on the stranger's head.

  “I'm Tucker. I have Miss Abigail in the car. It seems there was a misunderstanding, but I was told you’d be expecting her. Could you have your men put their guns away? Things will go easier if she's not scared.”

  “Looks like you’re in luck, Tucker, and might make it out of here alive. We are expecting her, but we won’t be putting away our weapons. Nothing personal, just security.” He says it with an edge you’d be a fool to argue with.

  Tucker stands silent, hands still raised, for a long moment, then nods. "She's in the back seat and her belongings are in the back."

  “Chalk, holster your gun and get to the door. We got you covered. Grab Abigail and her things and get her inside.” At his signal, the others fan out to cover any possible outside threat. We can't take a chance of anyone grabbing this kid before we even get her in the club house.

  I hesitantly lower the gun and stash it in the back of my jeans. That damn car door looks like mountain or something. As I walk toward it, my heart beats fast, warning of a fresh panic attack on the way. I can't shake the feeling of something really fucking bad coming. How can a little kid have me this shaky?

  The rear hatch opens slowly from some control inside. My feet feel like anchors as I force myself forward.

  “Fuck me.” Three bags of various sizes, bright pink with Hello Kitty on them, and a life-size Hello Kitty pillow sit there, waiting for me to pick them up. I’m never going to fucking live any of this down.