Chapter
2
Sweet Moments
~Sass~
The gentle shuffle of my head from the hard chest to the soft pillow wakes me up. Slowly opening my eyes, I smile up as Nick looks down at me. He sweeps my hair out of my face as he leans over and kisses my temple then untangles our legs.
“Go back to sleep, baby. I’ve got to go into the office extra early. I didn’t mean to wake you, love.”
I nod as I snuggle down into our bed. Yes, life is good, I tell myself.
Lying in the king size bed I share with Nick, I allow his scent to engulf me as I try to go back to dreamland. Prince Charming may not exist, but good men are out there, and Nicholas Logan Taggart is one of them.
Nick goes in to work early every morning, sometimes before dawn. Usually, after he leaves, I have a little more time before I need to get up and start my day.
He works for a land development company as a project manager. His dad owns the company and will one day pass the business on to him. I know he has a big meeting today with the city council about a new housing community developing on the sound side. He will charm the council into approving this project easily because Nick is good at what he does. If it was ocean front, it may be a harder sell with hurricane season coming, but I am confident he could handle that, too. My man gets what he wants, period, and I relish in the fact that he wants me.
I doze in and out of sleep for the next few minutes before finally getting up to start my own day. Rolling over, I see the fresh cup of coffee on my night stand. A smile spreads across my face. Nick always thinks of me.
I reach over and take a sip of the warm brew, my heart swelling as I realize he has added my favorite French Vanilla creamer. This is the perfect way to start my morning. A girl could get used to this.
Donning my usual jeans and t-shirt for work, I ready for the day; light make up, hair in a ponytail and tennis shoes. I am out the door in less than half an hour.
I stop by the local bakery and pick up a box of muffins for the nurses to snack on before making my way to Tank’s hospital room. I leave the treat box at the station desk before I go see my friend.
My routine of being here before seven every morning so I can have time with him before going to work is one the nurses have become accustomed to.
Jamie, my favorite night nurse, is in his room as I enter. She smiles sweetly at me and shakes her head in answer to my silent question. No improvement. Every single visit, I ask whichever nurse is present if he’s had any sign of improvement, no matter how small, and the answer is always the same, no change. Most of the nurses know that is the first thing I will ask so they have begun to shake their heads before I can mutter the first word.
Walking over to the chair by Tank’s bed, I gently nudge Chaps in the shoulder to wake him. He’s an older member of the club and one who stops by daily to check on Tank even if it’s not his rotation. He blinks as he realizes who has touched him and smiles up at me. Getting out of the chair, he stretches while Jamie is making notes on the marker board on the wall across the room.
“I’m gonna go get coffee. You want something, Sass?” Chaps asks, still trying to become fully alert.
“No, I’m good. Gotta get to work. Just needed to stop in and see our boy,” I answer as Jamie leaves the room.
The Hellions have a rotation set up so there is someone with Tank at all times in case he wakes up. None of us want him to wake up alone. Even when his mom and sisters’ visit, or when I’m here, the boys will leave the room, but not the hospital. When he has visitors, they wait in the waiting room to give us each privacy, but someone from the club is always here on standby. The doctors don’t even know what, if anything, he may remember, but no one should wake up alone after getting shot for his club.
Six bullets, six holes, six pieces of metal that cut through him, exploding into masses of damage throughout his body. Bullets he took keeping Doll safe and, in a way, me as well. She was Delatorre’s primary target, but he had me on his radar as well. The mere thought of Delatorre gives me chills.
Sighing, I run my hand down Tank’s cheek. When I look over at the monitor, everything is reading steady and normal. There was a time, early on, where his heart beat would jump when I would touch him or speak to him, but there has never been any viable response beyond that. Now, though, there is no change. He looks like anyone else sleeping; only when you try to wake him, he won’t.
He’s gone somewhere in his mind, and I can’t get him back.
Sitting in the chair, I reach through the rail of the hospital bed and squeeze his hand. Outside of Doll, he is my best friend. Yes, I admit I am in love with him; or was in love with him. I don’t know what someone would call it now. Yes, I love him and always will in my own way, I suppose. Yet, we have no future, even before all of this. Foolishly, I thought we did for a while, but now I see the truth.
Before he got shot, I thought this man would be my forever, my happily ever after. He just doesn’t see it yet, I would tell myself. I was wrong. Tank can’t really think of a future with anyone, not if he is being fair to them. None of the Hellions can.
My mom has dealt with the worry and devastation that comes with being an ol’ lady for my entire life. My dad, the selfish bastard, doesn’t understand that, every run he takes, my mom doesn’t eat or sleep because of concern for him. She puts on a hard front that she is okay with it, but I see through the façade.
Will she ever admit that she broke down when my dad was shot the third time and packed up to leave him? No, of course not. Since she didn’t go through with leaving, there is no reason he ever needs to know, either. It’s merely another thing brushed under the rug.
Unlike my mom, Doll has nerves of steel. We are young, and she’s still in the honeymoon phase with Tripp. However, I wonder if she is eventually going to crack under the pressure, the worry, the chaos and the demands of the club’s first lifestyle the Hellions live.
Facing the reality of not having my friend to talk to anymore, I would be happy just to have Tank awake again. For far too long, I’ve taken for granted that Tank would always be there for me; now he is not.
I sigh before continuing with my one-sided conversation. “Tank, it wasn’t you. I know I let you think you pushed me over the edge of backing away from the club. It’s everything else, though. The code—command the chaos, protect what’s ours, club first, brotherhood—I get it. Family—all the things you learned in being part of the club. You didn’t have family that taught you to protect what’s yours. You had responsibility to your family, not security and acceptance. The Hellions, though, Tank—the chaos...” I sigh again and pause as the pain burns deep inside of me. “The Hellions demand chaos by the choices they make. The code is to command it, but it doesn’t always work out to be within their control.
“Look at you, lying in this bed, unmoving, tucked away somewhere in your brain, and no one knows when or if you’ll come back to us. Tank, you took the risk and are paying the price for living by the code. Protect what’s yours—you did it. You and the Hellions protected Doll from the threat of Delatorre. The club is first for you, but at what cost? If you weren’t a Hellion, you could be a mechanic; working, safe and not lost right now.”
Tears freely fall down my face. It wasn’t Tank that pushed me to walk away, not completely anyway. For years, I watched my mom worry. I have watched the women come and go. Some were barflies hoping to become an ol’ lady, eventually giving up. Others loved their men wholeheartedly, but they couldn’t handle being second to the club and the brothers. People can talk until they are blue in the face that it is not the club coming first. All the Hellions say, “It’s family. We take care of our women. They aren’t second to the club; they are sheltered by the club.” Yet, the boys leave on runs without the promise of returning. There is no amount of sheltering to prepare someone for that loss.
When Tank showed me I wasn’t special—I wasn’t cherished—he only confirmed what I already knew in my heart—that this kind of life isn’t for me. I am not strong enough for the worries and the doubts. The runs are bad enough, but the women… Everywhere you go, it doesn’t matter, the women want your man, even for one night. It’s the appeal of taming the badass biker.
Kudos to the women who can do it, the ones who live for that one moment, one connection, one commitment and one ride. They let it carry them through the harder days. For some, though, they only get one opportunity and poof! Shit happens and it’s gone.
I’ve realized I am not strong enough for that. There was a time I had hope for something real with Tank, but when you are with a Hellion, there is no ability to build something real. It’s not him, it’s the life as a whole. And it’s not for me.
~Tank~
The sweet sounds of my angel; my sassy, heaven-sent happiness. Her voice pulls me out of the black hole again. She’s talking about the Hellions’ code. I took an oath the day I earned my top rocker and fully patched to the Hellions; to honor the code, to the death. The memory of that moment washes through my thoughts.
Twenty-one-years-old, a full time job at the garage, living on the compound, and able to take care of my mom and sisters.
Bonnie just graduated high school and is preparing to start the community college in the fall. The Hellions have supported my mom for years and taught me life skills that can go with me anywhere.
On my twentieth birthday, I was called into the clubhouse after a sermon in the cave. Apparently, Danza put it to a vote for me to be the youngest prospect for the club, and with one hundred percent, I was voted through.
This last year, I’ve spent earning my rockers. We have hang-arounds that wear an empty cut older than me because the usual vote doesn’t come for anyone under the age of twenty-one to even prospect. Here I was, sponsored by one of the Hellion Originals, wearing a cut with my prospect patch and bottom rocker of Haywood’s Landing territory. After ten months of official probation, prospecting time, I was taken to ‘a vote’ to ride ‘The Tail’ and earn my Hellions’ rocker.
The Dragon’s Tail is the final initiation. Ride the eleven miles and over three hundred curves with your club, keep your bike upright, and you get your final top rocker and insignia patch. It’s the final reward for, basically, spending a year or longer being bitch-boy to each and every patched member of the club.
We start outside of Fugitive Bridge and ride a staggered two-by-two with only feet separating the bikes until we end over the Tennessee border. The ride is not one for scenery; this is a ride to appreciate the asphalt. The road forces you to become one with the steel horse under you or succumb to the gravel beneath your tires.
Completing my final task is an accomplishment and it is my acceptance to the brotherhood. I make the ride with Bull, Uncle Kenny, riding on my right hand side. As we make the final curve, he gives me a small salute and a smile.
Uncle Kenny is the one who has helped me rebuild the very Harley Davidson Street Glide I am riding with many late nights shared between us. In the last five years of me hanging around the club and repaying my marker, Uncle Kenny and I have become close. He’s kept me in line more times than I care to ever admit.
After the ride, adrenaline and pride take over me. Despite my fucked up dad and his untimely death, I have made something of myself. To the everyday, average person, they may see me and my brothers as trouble, nothing more than trash, but we are not. We are family through thick and thin. Every member of this club has had a hand in molding me into the man I have become. This club has kept me out of prison and not just because of their law enforcement connections, but because they have given me a place to belong and to thrive.
I have had five years of being around these guys. When I moved to the compound, I spent a lot of time working out and eating. No longer the small, scrawny boy; I am all man now. Five-feet, ten-inches, one-hundred eighty pounds of muscle covered by tattoos.
We ride back to the coast, and once we are home, I am invited into the cave where I take my oath to the code and get my patches. I look down at the cut that is now donning my new rockers and see my name patch.
“Tank,” Roundman says with a smirk as he watches me find my club nickname. “Strong and keeps moving forward in the worst of situations. Boy, you came here in a bad place. You’ve worked hard, you’ve played hard. You’ve stood by your mistakes, taken your punishments, and grown into a man. You’ve respected the club, its members, and what we stand for. We’re all proud to call you a brother.”
After congrats from all the members, I celebrate with my brothers. I eagerly enjoy the pussy the barflies drawn to my newfound status as a Hellion toss at me.
The smell of antiseptic brings me out of my memory. I can hear movement near me. The mumbling reminds me I am in a hospital, I think. I don’t know why or what has happened. I can’t seem to wake up fully to ask questions, though. Sass is with me, this much I am sure of. I wish she would come closer so I could inhale the scent of her perfume.
Fighting, I try to open my eyes. Nothing. I sense that she is gathering her things to leave. Where are my brothers now? Is someone looking out for her?
She leans down, kissing my forehead again when something wet touches it. Is she crying?
Her fingers are curled around my hand. Fighting through, I squeeze. Nothing. No, she needs my reassurance. Focusing, pushing past my fatigue, I try to squeeze again. I hear her gasp as she squeezes back. There is a beeping noise as a voice comes on asking if she needs assistance.
I can’t hold on any further, sleep consumes me again as I vaguely hear a nurse say something about reflexes and that I didn’t really react. The hell I didn’t, but I have no strength to pull out. The blackness and void fill me as she once again escapes me.