Final Ride: Hellions Motorcycle Club (Hellions Ride Book 9) (11 page)

“You said I didn’t know what it is to be a mother. I’m giving it to you. People may disagree, but I am here as a mother of one to say that my baby was not simply an embryo, fetus, or any other clinical, scientific term. There was a heart beating inside of me.” Amy releases my hand to grab my napkin and wipe away her fresh tears. “I heard it. The next appointment, they did an ultrasound. I was ten weeks’ gestation. Again, the doctor kept everything clinical. When I explained how I didn’t want to terminate the pregnancy, he gave me the name and number of a lawyer who specialized in adoption.”

“Amy.” I try to soothe her as I feel the emotions closing in on her.

She shakes her head at me and looks right at Shannon again. “I couldn’t give my baby up. There was a time I thought I should. I mean, how could I look at this baby and not remember how it came to be? The thing was, if I hadn’t been pregnant, I wouldn’t have eaten or slept or pushed past what happened. I did it all for her. I knew the life inside me needed nourishment, rest, and me to build a life for us.”

Blowing out a breath, Amy looks at me and smiles softly. “A few weeks later, we had another ultrasound. Frisco was the only one who knew I was pregnant. He was with me when we found out the baby I was carrying was a little girl.”

I stand up, needing to pace. It all haunts me. Amy lying on the table, a white paper sheet tucked into her pants while a jelly substance was squirted onto her abdomen. Her all too small abdomen. There was no bump, as Amy had been neglected in Delatorre’s care, and her body was still recovering on its own while trying to support another life.

The black and white computer screen came to life with shades of gray and pockets of black with the tiny form of an alien showing. With a click of a single button, the swishing noise filled the air and the rapid noise of the tiny heart beating wildly away assaulted my ears.

Life, breath, heartbeats—it was all on the screen before me. It was all in front of Amy’s face.

She survived almost a year of horrific captivity and came out alive. She was alive and with child.

That was the moment I committed myself to her silently. She never knew. Even to this day, she doesn’t know that was the very moment she owned my soul.

When so many others would have terminated the pregnancy, Amy used it to keep her going. I can only imagine the pain, the heartbreak, the fear, and the many other emotions she carried during that time. Instead of succumbing to the darkness, though, she let her little girl be the light that kept her going.

I lean my forehead on the wall of my kitchen. Did Tilly feel that way about our daughter? Is Shannon what kept her going?

“I went to all my appointments,” Amy continues, and I feel my chest tighten as I go back in time with her. “I ate the best I could.” I feel her eyes watching my back. I want to punch a hole in the wall. “At twenty-one weeks, I awoke to excruciating pain in my abdomen. It was like my insides were being ripped out of me.

“Frisco took me to the hospital where I gave birth to an eleven ounce, ten-inch little girl. Serenity Grace Mitchell came into this world a blue-bodied bundle of my love. Slippery and silently, they placed her against my naked chest. Skin to skin, I held my baby girl. She didn’t move, she didn’t breathe, she didn’t cry. Her little life was gone before it ever started.”

Turning, I lean against the wall, afraid I may fall as I interrupt, “Holding her against you, I climbed in bed beside you as you promised your little girl to never give up on life. With tears flowing down your face, you gave her your word to honor her life, and honor her memory by continuing on in the darkest of days for she was the light in your blackest time.”

Amy nods, unable to speak, as my daughter looks at me.

“In that hospital bed, I vowed to Serenity Grace to stand by her mother until she could stand on her own two feet. I vowed to the innocent life lost to be the strength when her mother was weak. I know you may not understand, Shannon, and you may not give a single shit to what has happened to any of us while you were with your mother, but you should choose your words carefully. The road in life is full of curves, crossroads, and undetermined miles of unpaved patches that challenge our very souls.”

As much as I want to scream, throw things, and tell them both to fuck off, I can’t. My father, this man they call Frisco, may not understand my past, but he’s stood by a woman who has endured hell.

To be held against my will and violated in the worst ways imaginable … I can’t even fathom. She came out of that only to be tied down to a lifelong reminder of her hell and not put it to death. I can’t help commending Amy for her capacity to love.

While I can’t even imagine what she felt, I can say with almost certainty that, if her situation was my own, I would not have had the ability to give life to a child created under those circumstances.

“My apologies,” I tell Amy.

“Shannon,” she says softly, “I do understand your pain. You have a loss, and it cuts deep. Your very first lifeline was the umbilical cord that connected you to your mother. No matter the wrongs between you, there is a level of grief you must allow yourself to feel in order to heal.

“Honey, you and only you know what it is to hear your mother’s heartbeat from the inside. From her body, she sustained your life, until you could sustain yourself. Whether she knew how to show you her love or not, whether she made terrible decisions or wonderful ones, there is no doubt in my mind, my heart, or my soul that your mother loved you.”

“She loved me as much as she was capable.” I pause, thinking of how to phrase my next words. “My mother had issues. Mental instability, the doctor once said. She was fine until the depression would suck her down into an internal hell that I could only pray she would find her way out of.”

“My daughter came too soon. There was no hope. Your mother was in a bad situation, too, Shannon. She had hope, though. Allow yourself to lay to rest the mistakes she made and allow the past to move behind you. Hold on to the hope you have for yourself and she had for you.”

I look at Richard “Frisco” Billings, the man my mother loved with every breath she took. “She hoped I wouldn’t be in this lifestyle,” I jab, though it’s the truth. The club life was the last thing she wanted for me.

He looks at Amy then back at me with a danger in his dark depths that has me on edge. Then he looks back at Amy. You can see there is a love the two share without words.

“Hold on to the hope,” he says barely above a whisper to her. “For Serenity, I vowed a future.” Frisco then looks back at me. “For you, Shannon, I vow freedom from this life.”

Before Amy and I can say another word, he nods to her then takes off out the front door. The next sound made is the rumble of his Harley before the engine revs as he takes off down the highway, into the dark of night.

What does he mean?
For you, Shannon, I vow freedom from this life
? What is going to happen now?

Release the Weight

The miles pass beneath me as the dashed yellow line to my left is a blur of movement, the white line to my right a steady guide to the one place that has been my home for more years than I can count.

Before the club, before this life, I had no home. I didn’t care. I didn’t feel like I was missing anything. How will I feel when I leave tonight?

Pulling up, the American flag rests calmly and proudly in the still night air, in the middle of the black and white POW/MIA flag and the Hellions insignia flag. The Prisoners of War, those who fought in a time when everyone’s life and freedoms were on the line. American history, the home of the free because of the brave.

My woman was a prisoner of a different kind of war, one that wasn’t about our country, but about my lifestyle. She was an innocent victim to a world that wasn’t even hers. Torn from the inside out, she was forever scarred, all because of Delatorre and the lengths he would go in order to destroy something my brothers and I built.

Shannon, my daughter, my flesh and blood, is a prisoner of a lifestyle she never chose. She is an innocent victim to a world she was simply born into. Torn from the outside in by her life being uprooted and left to carry that weight deep inside her soul, she is forever changed, all because of the decisions her mother and I made.

There is only one way to right the wrong of the past, to give her the future her mother dreamed for her.

At the door to the cave, I pause to steady my hand as I put the key in the lock. Once inside, I pause and inhale deeply. The smell of wood, leather, and old cigarettes permeate the air.

Home.

I sit in my seat to the right of Danza’s, whose seat is to the right of Roundman at the head of the table. The wooden table is long, the finish duller from what it was twenty-something years ago, marred with years of keys, beers, and other shit hitting its varnished top.

Picking up my phone, I tap out a text to the two men who have been by me longer than anyone else in my life. At the punch of the send key, I drop the equipment to the tabletop and wait.

Can I do this? It’s the one thing I said I would never do for a woman, any woman.

The time passes all too quickly before Danza and Roundman enter the room.

“Originals only sermon?” Roundman asks, not hiding the fatigue in his voice. “Been a while since we’ve had one of these.” He claps me on my cut-covered back and takes his seat.

“Got me worried, brother,” Danza comments, plopping down beside me.

I look the two men in their eyes before I speak. “The miles shared between us have been long, hard, and one helluva ride. Comes a point where the road ends for every one of us. I thought mine would come the day I was no longer twisting the throttle for myself. That bitch called life had another lesson for me, I suppose.” I sigh. “Maybe it was something I missed before, maybe it’s karma. Fuck if I know.” I stand and slide the well-worn leather from my back.

Holding the cut up in the air, I look over every single patch. Each was earned, never freely given. Every stitch was sewn with honor, respect, loyalty, and a love that is for every man who has ridden with me, for me, behind me, beside me, and will continue beyond me.

Laying it out on the wooden table in front of us, I say, “The time is here. My final ride is done. Nothing comes before brotherhood. Never has.”

“Until now,” Roundman adds.

“Got a daughter.”

“Know that, brother,” Danza says with a nod.

“This is the lifestyle her mother never wanted for her. If I couldn’t honor her in life, I need to try in death. Gettin’ old, guys. We’re not young bucks anymore. I believe in the leadership beneath us. I believe the club will hold strong. My time is just here. It kills me.” I fight back the tears. This isn’t who we are, but that cut is a piece of me.

“Denied.” Roundman’s firm reply echoes through the small space.

“What?” I ask in shock. “You are going to deny me my daughter’s future.”

Danza looks at Roundman, then up at me. “Come on, Blaine. We just talked the other day about times changing and things needing a shift in the club. Maybe it’s time we all reconsider our places. Maybe we need to look at where the weight falls.”

“If I couldn’t walk away for Tilly”—I pace the space, frustration building inside of me by the second—“then I at least gotta take a step back for Shannon and give her my time. She’s my daughter. You really want to deny me and her this opportunity?”

“Not in the least bit.” His tone is solid and unwavering. “You have this club in your heart, your veins. You will do whatever you want. You have no requirements left to this club, but this club will forever have your back, brother. That cut is yours, ride until you motherfucking die. The door is always open to you. This club is always available to you. Ride out, ride in, ride on—you do so always as a Hellion. Go do you, brother.”

Roundman rubs his tired eyes. “You’re right; we are gettin’ old. Shit is tough. Shit is changing. Doesn’t mean you gotta walk away from somethin’ you built. You are and always will be an original. Take your time, have your family. One call, and we will always have your back. Your ol’ lady, she needs to know, one call, we are at her back. Your daughter, Shannon, may not understand us. She may not even like us. But, for you, we got her back. Amy will know this.

“Your retirement plan is paid in full. The money will always come, brother. Pick up your cut, carry it home. It’s yours. We’ll handle any questions from the club. You are relieved, but not released. You get me?”

I nod, unable to form words, as the two men who have ridden with me through good times and bad stand to give me one last half-hug, slap on the back before I exit the cave for what I plan to be my very last time.

“Ride with me?” I ask Shannon after we finish breakfast silently.

I barely slept last night. My mind was back on those moments with my daughter, my Serenity, skin to skin, her lifeless body fitting in my hand. Hope was gone and born altogether. There was no hope for her resuscitation, but she got me through the worst moments after leaving the warehouse. She gave me life again … after I died inside.

“Where are we going? Do you even drive?”

I give a small laugh. “I don’t like to, but thanks to Frisco, it’s part of the independence he forced me to have.”

She looks like she is pondering before she says, “He really helped you after … everything?”

“Yeah, and without expectations of receiving anything in return. Your father is a good man. All the Hellions are. There is a code. Their lifestyle isn’t about pushing the boundaries of the laws to bend to their will. It’s not about a life of control. It’s about being free together. It’s about family. It’s about understanding and protecting what they consider theirs.”

“Where do you want to take me?” she asks.

“I know it’s hard, but I’m gonna tell you like your father once told me. Trust starts somewhere. It can be with me, it can be with a simple ride down the road, or you can wait till life forces it on you. Choice is yours.”

She doesn’t speak, but she does get up with her plate in hand and moves to the sink. Then she gives a slight nod before taking off down the hall to her room to get ready.

Okay, then. Looks like we are taking a short drive.

I breathe deeply. I can do this. I can drive myself there, share this with Shannon, and then drive us safely back.

While she is doing her thing, I count to one hundred backward in my mind to clear my anxiety. It’s a trick Frisco taught me early on to get my mind focused on anything other than my chest getting tighter by the minute. The walls will not close in on me because, like the bottles of beer on the wall jingle, counting backward doesn’t allow my mind to shut down, so the walls stay standing.

The drive is quiet, something I am thankful for. I need to concentrate. The gas pedal, the brake pedal, the turn signals, the area, and the surroundings. No one will get me.

I breathe heavily, reminding myself I am safe.

Taking the turn onto the old dirt road between the trees, I feel the tension from Shannon increase.

A certain level of fear is healthy. Frisco taught me that, too. It helps us to be more aware when we allow ourselves to feel a small amount of anxiety. What we can’t do is allow it to control us.

When the chain link fence comes into sight, I slow the car to a crawl until we stop in front of the gate. Then I climb out without speaking, and Shannon follows as I open the old gate and we pass through into the small cemetery.

Going to the left far corner, I immediately hit my knees in front of the gray stone in front of us. Her name becomes a blur as the tears hit me.

“Why did you … put her here?” Shannon stumbles over her words.

“She’s my daughter. She’s not a nameless, lifeless person. Give your mother the honor of a place to be remembered. Give yourself the respect for surviving your life with her, Shannon.” My voice is shaking but strong. “Release the weight of the world. Let the past go and give in to whatever your future may be. Your mother had a name. Tilly, Jayne—whatever you wish to put on the stone, even if you just want Mom. Just give something to the woman who gave you what she could.”

Shannon nods as tears fill her eyes, and for the first time, I feel like we are bonding and connecting.

“I’m sorry for what I said, Amy.”

“No apologies necessary. I want you to know I’m stronger than I look. Always understand, with me and with Frisco, you can say what you need to say, even if it hurts. We may not agree, and we may correct you, but Shannon, you have a voice. Don’t feel trapped. You are free.”

My words seem to sink in as she drops to her knees beside me and traces the letters on my daughter’s tombstone.

“Free,” she whispers, and I smile softly, releasing the weight I have carried for far too long.

“Yes, Shannon, we’re free.”