Hell's Knights

  “No,” Jackson says. “She ain’t workin’ there.”

  “Why not?” I say, crossing my arms.

  “You’re too young.”

  “I’m twenty-one, and last time I checked that is the legal age.”

  “You don’t need to be put in front of a bunch of drunk, dirty old men lookin’ for a fuckin’ bang.”

  I raise my brow. “I’ve dealt with far worse.”

  “Oh yeah, sugar, like what?” Cade drawls.

  I turn towards him. “Like pimps, drug dealers, junkies, and there were always the men that tried to rape me in my sleep because my mother had brought them home for a good time, but she passed out from whatever high she was on, and of course, they weren’t leaving until they got what they were promised. You learn real quick how to defend yourself when you’re thirteen and a forty-year-old junkie tries to climb into your bed and put his fingers in places his fingers shouldn’t be.”

  “What. The. Fuck?” Jackson snarls.

  I turn towards him. “You didn’t think my mother raised me in a nice neighborhood with rainbows and lollipops, did you?”

  He looks shocked. The big, bad-ass biker looks shocked. “Yeah, I fuckin’ did.”

  “Well, she didn’t.”

  When I glance back at Cade, he’s watching me with a look I don’t quite understand. Is that…pain? He blinks a few times and the smirk returns.

  “I say give her the job, make her put her money where her mouth is.”

  “No,” Jackson snaps.

  “Aww, come on boss,” Old grey says. “We need a girl.”

  “She’s my daughter.”

  “Well, least you can keep an eye on her if she’s in the compound.”

  Jackson sighs, and then turns to me. “Fine, we’ll give you a run.”

  “Good,” I say walking towards the door. “Later.”

  “Oh and Addison?” Jackson calls.

  I glance over my shoulder at him.

  “Ever disrespect me in my club again, I’ll punish you. Your Momma might have let you get away with that behavior because she was clearly a worthless piece of shit, but I ain’t. Don’t fuckin’ speak to me like that again.”

  I tilt my head to the side. “You’re a bit late to play daddy now, Jackson. In fact, I am pretty sure you lost that chance the day I turned thirteen and got raped by a man nearly three times my age.”

  I walk out to the sound of his strangled gasp. I hold my head high though; I have to take care of myself. Feeling means losing, and I can’t lose. My mother might have fucked up my life when I was younger, but it doesn’t mean I have to live like that forever. I’m free now, and I plan on doing everything I can to fight for the life I know I deserve.

  ~*CHAPTER 2*~

  PAST

  “Don’t push me away, snake,” Jasper hisses in my ear, as he presses my body against the wall.

  I can smell his breath; I can taste it in the back of my throat. I want to gag. I want to hurt him, but I am powerless. I have nowhere else to go. I have no one else to turn to. This is my home, and these are the people that are in my life, like it or not. I squirm in Jasper’s grip, needing to get away, just for a moment. I know what he wants; he wants to fuck me against the wall. He wants to put his filth all over me. He gets off on taking girls that fight him, so I learned not to fight. Most of the time, he gets bored, others, he does it anyway.

  “My mother will be here soon, with her friend for the night. If you’re here, what’s that going to say about the kind of service you’re running?”

  He hisses, and I hold my breath, not wanting to smell him a moment longer. His dirty-grey eyes scan my face, and his grey hair wisps around his chin. I don’t know why any man would leave their hair so wispy; it’s disgusting.

  “I might not get hold of you this time, snake, but I will…”

  I know he will. He always does. All I’ve done is buy myself a night, maybe two, if I’m lucky. He’ll come back, and perhaps next time, he won’t listen to my attempts at turning him away.

  “I’m sure you will,” I snarl, in a low, dangerous voice.

  “You make sure your Momma brings in a good amount tonight. Don’t let her pass out on her client again. That no good piece of shit is startin’ to get on my nerves.”

  “Go and find yourself some fresh meat then, and leave us alone,” I growl.

  He lets me go, and the instant pressure release throughout my body is massive.

  “I’ve got fresh meat. It’s you, snake.”

  “You’ll never make me your whore, Jasper.”

  “But I will, because you know as well as I do that this is your life, like it or not.”

  “Not.”

  He smirks, cold, evil, and then turns and walks towards the door. When he gets to it, he digs into his pockets and pulls out a bag of white powder. He tosses it at me, and I catch it in one hand.

  “Make sure your Momma don’t get that ‘till morning. We both know she likes it for breakfast, and from what I hear, so do you. Make sure she keeps her legs open and her eyes wide tonight, got me?”

  “Go fuck yourself,” I hiss.

  “Don’t make me turn around, snake, because if I do, you won’t like how it ends. Get my money for me tonight, or face what’s coming for you. Another week with no food doesn’t sound too appealing, now, does it?”

  At my expression, and the loud grumble my stomach makes, he chuckles.

  “Thought as much, do what I ask, snake.”

  Then he’s gone. Just like that. I stare down at the bag of powder in my hand. Sighing, I open it, line it up on the table, get to my knees, roll up an old five dollar note, and snort it.

  He’s right, I do need it as much as her.

  I need it because it’s my only escape.

  ~*PRESENT*~

  I walk down the road after getting out of the compound. I really don't know what I feel right now. I've gone over so many different scenarios in my head. I think about the situation, and what it will all mean for me now that I’m here. Seeing my father again, seeing the horror in his eyes when I told him my story makes me wonder if I’ve made the right choice. I don't know if he’ll ever get used to having me around or if things will just continue to spiral downwards.

  Things could be much worse for both of us though, of that I’m sure. I’ve been around rotten people in my life, mostly pimps, who consider feelings to be worthless emotions that are simply not needed. Cold, heartless people who think hurting another person is okay. That’s the difference between these bikers and the pimps I used to live with. Bikers will fight for what they love and believe in…Pimps don’t care. They do what they have to do for business and money. I don’t think bikers fall completely into that category; at least, I’d like to hope they don’t.

  Seeing my father’s face when I gave him a glimpse at my life, told me that even though he doesn’t know me, he would fight for me. That’s a nice feeling to have, even if I know it’s temporary and I can’t hold onto it. I don’t belong here. Honestly, right now, I don’t know where I belong. How do you fit into any place when you’ve lived a life protecting yourself and trusting no one? I can’t get comfortable anywhere, in fear it will just end badly for me and I’ll break the wall I’ve built so high around myself. At least, for the moment, I know that I’m safe and I have protection. That’s all I need for the moment. He can’t find me if I’m protected.

  As I continue down the road, rocks crunch under my feet as I contemplate my next move. I have no money, and I really don't have any other place to go. This is it for me, this compound, this world, this job - working in a bar with a bunch of bikers I don't know. I have to survive though, even if surviving is hard. I just have to do what I do best, and that is to fight through the next few months and get enough money to figure out where to go from here. Once I am out of this state, hell, out of this country…then maybe I can start piecing my fucked-up life together, tatter by tatter, until it resembles something worth believing in.

  When I get to my fath
er's old, run down house, I stare at the massive building for a long moment. It’s ugly, like, really ugly, but I've lived in much worse, so to me, it’s like a fine hotel. It's tall, two stories, and it’s surrounded by a rickety looking deck. I think it was once white, but the paint is now peeling and faded to a dirty brown. I step through the front gate and walk up to the front door. As soon as I unlock it and step inside, I sigh. Typical male home, beer bottles everywhere, clothes, pizza boxes, you name it. It's clear to me, after one glance at the old faded blue kitchen, that the dishes haven’t been done for at least three days, and the laundry…don't even get me started on the laundry.

  I stare around my new home. It’s not great but it’s safe. I've been to many places in my life, most of which weren’t fit for fleas, let alone people. So I know I can make it work here. I slip my shoes off and walk into the kitchen. I open the fridge, cringe, and close it. My God, what in the hell was that God awful smell? Do I even want to know? Guess I will deal with that one later. I notice along with dishes, laundry and cleaning up, my father also doesn’t shop often. Turning on my heel, I walk out into the living room and up the stairs to my left. At the top, I step into a long hallway, with faded wooden floors. I stare around at all the closed doors; I guess I have to open them and find out which room is the spare one. I begin walking down the hall, opening doors as I go. The first to my left is definitely a man’s room, so I am guessing my father’s considering he’s the only man who lives here. At least, I think he is.

  The second room is an old bathroom, with cream tiles, a cream shower that needs a damn good clean, and an awful rusted mirror. The third door is the spare room. I can tell this by the mass of suitcases, pillows, old blankets and other junk that’s been so nicely dumped on the queen sized bed. With a sigh, I walk in and get to work clearing it all off. When I’ve managed to tidy the room up, I take a good look. Green curtains, nice. Wooden floors in here too, though most of the surface is covered with an old, frayed rug. The bed has a squishy, sink into it, kind of mattress. I dispose of the sheets and pillows right away, I will hit my father up for some new ones later on. If not, they’re getting washed three times. At least.

  When I’ve freshened up, thrown the sheets into the washing machine and put my clothes into the old wooden dresser, I head downstairs. Time to tackle this kitchen. I spend the next hour cleaning, gagging and cursing my father for being so incredibly lazy. Seriously, the man could at least invest in a dishwasher to save us all some pain. This kitchen is a pigsty, the entire house is a pigsty. I hear the front door open just as I am giving myself a pep talk about tackling the fridge and handling whatever has died in there. I turn, and see Jackson walking in. He stops when he sees me dissecting his kitchen with a scowl. He tosses his helmet down and shrugs off his leather jacket.

  “Have you ever heard of doing dishes?” I say, crossing my arms.

  He shrugs, giving me a ‘who cares’ kind of expression. “I do the dishes when I need to do the dishes. I've got better things to do in my life.”

  I throw him a sarcastic expression. “I couldn't imagine what could possibly be more important than dishes.”

  I'm pretty sure I see his lips twitch, which surprises me. I imagine that Jackson was a complete looker in his day. In fact, I have no doubt about it. While older now, I don’t doubt he still attracts plenty of female attention. He must have had no brains in his head, though, the day he decided my mother was worth a shot. I walk around the kitchen counter, and stop in front of him.

  “What’ve you got to eat in this joint?”

  He waves a dismissive hand, and drops his ass onto the couch. “You already know I have nothing. I don’t cook. I don’t shop. That’s what take out’s for. Plus, I’m at the compound more than I’m here. If you want food, get it yourself. I’m sure you can sort it out.”

  “Jackson, if you want me to make food and eat, then you should give me some money. Being my father and all…”

  He grins at me like that's completely amusing to him. “You wanna be my daughter, you get things the way any daughter does - by working for it. You want money, go and earn it. You want me to buy food, then you do something to make me feel as though you deserve it. It ain’t a pretty walk in the park here, princess. Nothin’ comes easy, you ought to learn that.”

  I walk over, feeling my blood boil, feeling my anger getting the better of me. “You think I don't know how to support myself? You think I don’t know how to work for what I want? You know I haven’t had a beautiful life. Nothing came easily to me, not a single, damned thing. I’ll earn every morsel that goes into my mouth, you piece of shit.”

  Jackson stares at me, completely and utterly confused, and a little stunned. It takes him a moment to get a stony expression back on his face. “I get you had a hard life. I get you have your own back, and you do what you gotta to survive. I get that you’re here temporarily, and you don’t want to be, but don’t think you can come into my house speakin’ to me the way you just did. I’ll boot you out on your fuckin’ ass.”

  I storm over, throwing my hands on my hips. He shouldn't be getting a reaction like this; it’s not worth it, and yet here I am about to explode at the one man that is taking me in. The one man who is likely going to be my only protection. “If you want to speak to me like that, I’ll speak to you like that. If you don’t want me here, you shouldn’t have asked me to stay. I'll find somewhere else, and I’ll survive doing it. If you’ve got such a problem with this,” I say indicating myself and the room in general, “then tell me and I’ll pack my shit now and leave. I don’t need you, as much as you don’t fucking need me.”

  I lunge forward, gripping my backpack, but Jackson is faster. He’s up, hand wrapped around my arm before I even get a chance to blink. He pulls me into his face, his eyes are flaring with anger. “Girl,” he says in a rough angry tone, “you might be my daughter, and you might have had a tough life, but you ever speak to me like that again, I’ll put you on your fuckin’ ass.”

  Swallowing, I force the tears back that well in my eyes. I snatch my arm from Jackson’s grip and heave my next words out. “I know you don’t want me here. I know you don’t like me disrupting your life, but do you think I like it either? Do you think I asked for any of this? You want to put me on my ass? Go right ahead. It’s not like it hasn’t been done many times before. If you want me out, Jackson, speak up. I’ll leave. I’ll walk out and find my way, because I always do. Even if it means I find it in the only way I learned how. I’ll do what I have to, to survive and protect myself. I’m so incredibly sorry that I was thrown upon you. Perhaps next time you don’t want children in your life, you should keep your dick wrapped.”

  Then I turn and rush up the stairs, just before the hot tears spill out of my eyelids.

  ~*~*~*~

  I hear Jackson moving around downstairs for a while after my outburst. At least he didn’t come up and kick me out. I curl up on the old, squishy bed, wrapped in my pajamas, and think about which move I should take next. I really do need to keep my mouth shut, or I’ll have no next move. Jackson clearly doesn’t take any shit, and maybe that’s a good thing, but he needs to understand I don’t either. Maybe I inherited it from him. I slip off my bed, curious, wanting to ask the one question that I’ve been wanting an answer to for such a long time. I don’t even know if Jackson will talk to me, but it’s worth a shot.

  I walk out of my room, treading down the hall quietly. I creep down the stairs and peer into the living room. Jackson is on the couch, pizza in hand, beer in his lap, football on the television. I watch him for a long moment, still in a slight amount of shock that this man is actually my father. I always knew he was a biker. I always knew he had a hard life, but I guess seeing him in front of me is still surreal. I grip the railings on the stairs, and decide I won’t move any further down than this, just in case he decides to get snappy at me.

  “Why her?”

  He turns, looking at me standing on the stairs. His eyes scan me for a moment, before he tu
rns back to the television. I guess he doesn’t want to talk to me. I am about to turn, when he says, “Your Momma?”

  I stop, swallowing. “Yeah, why her?”

  He shrugs. “She was beautiful, sweet, funny, and she caught my eye. I didn’t know she had such a fucked up life. She didn’t show that to me.”

  I’m shocked by this. “It wasn’t just one night?”

  He turns, meeting my gaze. “That what she told you?”

  I shake my head. “She told me you were a biker. That was it.”

  He stares at me, his blue gaze locking me in place. Then he holds up a slice of pizza. “Hungry?”

  I nod, daring to step off the last step and walk over. I sit on the couch over from him, and I take a slice of pizza.

  “Your Momma never told you how we met? Nothin’?”

  I shake my head, biting into my pizza. Jackson watches me again, then he stands, walking off down the hall. I stare blankly at him, confused for a moment, until he returns with an old photo album. He places it down next to me, and then takes his seat on the couch again. I stare down at the tattered, maroon album confused.

  “Open it,” he says.

  I slip the album open, and stare for a long while, at the pictures in front of me. The woman with dark hair, brown eyes and olive skin in front of me is so stunning, I don’t recognize her as my mother. She never looked like that, not that I can remember. I run my fingers over the picture. She’s laughing in it, standing beside a motorcycle, her hair blowing in the breeze. I swallow, feeling my throat clenching painfully. Slowly, I move my eyes to the next picture. She’s pregnant in this picture, her swollen belly clearly noticeable. Jackson is beside her, his hand resting on it, a smile on his face. I was right, he was incredibly good looking. When I get to the next picture, my throat does close over.

  It’s my mother, Jackson and…well…I guess me. I’m only about a year old, tiny, smiling, happy. I stare at the picture for such a long time. So there was a time in my life, where things were perfect? There was a time when I was just a happy, normal child? I run my fingers over the picture, and then look up at Jackson. He’s watching me intently, focusing on my expression, no doubt trying to gauge my reaction. I am in shock. It takes me a moment to splutter out the words swarming around in my head.