Country Boy
“Raise Hell, Praise Dale!”
The open road, damn, there is nothing better.
The steady rumble of my steel horse in unison with the brothers behind me is music to my ears.
Growing up in a small town, I didn’t think ahead.
It’s kind of a bubble, small-town life. Everyone knows everyone, shit runs a little slower paced than city life.
When I went to college, I saw life outside of Salemburg, North Carolina.
It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t for me. The older I get the more I have learned to think ahead.
As a man, this brotherhood I’ve found in the Hellions it’s everything to me. This loyalty runs deeper than my past, it’s my present and my future. I live, eat, and breathe for this club. Life can be rough, but the Hellions family is always at my back to pick me up.
Grinder rides to my left slightly ahead of me. As Road Captain, he heads up these things. All of the logistics are sorted by him, and I trust wherever he leads. We ride two by two down highway twenty-four east in the great state of North Carolina.
Born here, raised here, and I’ll fucking die here, I’m Carolina through and through.
Raff rides behind me slightly and to the left in line behind Grinder but enough of a gap that I sit between them to the right.
It’s a zigzag pattern that is safer on these roads.
He’s always directly at my back, as my Vice President it’s where he belongs.
Shit, we go back to being in diapers, no one knows me like Raff. Back to the days of playground fights Raff is always at my side. All the brothers have my back and I have theirs. That’s Hellions life.
Yes, I am the President of the Salemburg Hellions, and we are currently riding out to the Haywood’s Landing annual barbecue.
Established in the early nineties by Stud, who rides hard as a Salemburg original, we have been a solid chapter for the Hellions MC.
We all know and respect what Roundman, Danza, Rocky, and Frisco built in the first charter of the club in Haywood’s Landing.
Every single one of us is tied together to stand behind what they created two decades ago.
Ride until we die, this is a homecoming we look forward to.
All the chapters in North and South Carolina ride in, families in tow.
Tripp is now the Haywood’s Landing Hellions charter president, but not a single tradition from Roundman is ever missed.
Especially this annual barbecue. From early on, Roundman’s place as our overall club president was never challenged.
Knowing Tripp’s history with Roundman, there isn’t another man to be our overall president better than him.
I didn’t get to ride under Roundman like Stud did or Tripp, but Roundman’s legacy lives on.
And Tripp, well, Talon “Tripp” Crews is the kind of man not to be fucked with.
He’s an asshole on a good day and a nightmare on a bad one.
The thing about it, though, there is nothing and I mean nothing he won’t do for any Hellion at any time.
The ride to the coast is calm for us. Roughly two hours of pavement beneath us as a unit with solid weather is nice, especially for the families to come along with us.
I can take a deep breath knowing we aren’t doing much business this weekend.
While my homebase is and always will be Salemburg, North Carolina, Haywood’s Landing is the Hellions home and it’s a ride I always enjoy.
We are celebrating the past, the present, and the future.
Family is the core of the weekend ahead.
Before I can think too deeply about the term family and what it means to me, Grinder signals we are pulling off ahead.
With only around twenty miles to go, I wonder why the sudden stop.
I throw up my hand with two fingers to keep the signal going down the line as each brother behind me follows suit and then we all turn off behind Grinder.
I’m not sure if something is wrong with his bike or what the reason for the exit is.
We’re about twenty minutes from Haywood’s Landing at one of those popular chain coffee shops.
Grinder half jumps off his bike, yelling out, “gotta take a shit, brother.” I laugh as we all roll into different spots to park. Well, that makes sense. Usually, he would have signaled that he needed to pull off alone, but given our destination, the goal is to arrive together as one unit.
Raff parking to my right looks at me as I’m taking off my lid leaving my backwards baseball hat in place, “what the fuck? Why we here?”
That’s Raff, straight to the point and always following his schedule. He doesn’t like unplanned stops. Sometimes, I’ll change course just to fuck with him. It pisses him off to no end, but it keeps him on his toes. Isn’t that part of being brothers?
“Grinder’s gonna get him one of them drinks with eighteen steps so he can flirt with the barista and be hopped up all fucking day,” I mutter as I climb off my Harley to stretch.
I scan the area making sure every brother makes it safely into the parking lot. As president, every member’s safety is always at the top of my priority lists. I won’t relax until each and every part of my club, my family, is securely in the lot.
“Bullshit,” Raff counters knowing Grinder doesn’t drink anything that isn’t beer, liquor, or water.
I laugh because he’s right to call me out on that line.
Raff also is the attention to details man.
He notices every word that is said and every little thing going on around him.
I swear he people watches as a past time just to study up on how to read a situation better.
“Nah, he had to drop a deuce.” I explain stepping up on the concrete deciding I’ll make my way inside for a black coffee just to give this place some business for using their restroom.
Grinder has a reputation for massive shits with a stench.
It’s a favorite pastime to send the prospects in to clean the bathrooms behind him.
These people here don’t need to be left with no sales and no tips after what they are going to deal with behind him. Grinder, he doesn’t get how toxic his ass is. Whoever is left to go in after him will be gagging, there isn’t a doubt in my mind.
Every prospect to ever go in after Grinder has come out looking green and ready to toss their cookies, I don’t want to subject strangers to it. We love to nail the prospects with it after he’s drank too much and given himself the beer shits.
Strangers though, we don’t want any civilian casualties.
Yeah, I definitely need to buy coffee and tip extra today. They are going to earn every dollar this morning trying to survive after he’s done.
Turning to the door, I collide with softness and a wave of long, dark hair. Inhaling she smells of coconut and coffee as I instinctively put my arms around her to stabilize her. Warmth hits my chest as the coffee sloshes from her cup against my t-shirt and cut.
“Fuck,” I mutter as I look down to meet the deepest crystal blue eyes of my life.
I can’t breathe. I’m stuck in place as her eyes lock to mine.
She opens and closes her mouth with no words coming out.
It takes a minute, and she seems to roll her shoulders back trying to get space between us.
She quickly gathers her shit while I’m still stunned at the contact in a way I can’t explain.
“Sorry, sugar, didn’t mean to run into ya.
Haven’t had enough caffeine yet to be around people.
I shouldn’t have taken the little stopper out of the lid either.
I’m not winning yet today.” She lifts her left hand up to me, “here, take this one. I shouldn’t be double fisting anyway.
Plus, I made that awesome leather smell you got going on all sweet with this brown sugar shaken espresso.
Wouldn’t want anyone to wonder why, so you take this one here, and enjoy it. ”
I let out a deep laugh. She isn’t fazed by me, my cut, or the presence of my club.
She’s making jokes when most people tend to walk the other way when they see us coming.
I like the laid-back way she’s handling this.
It’s refreshing in a way I haven’t ever cared about before.
Honestly, I find it funny the way people will sometimes literally cross the street or go down a different aisle at a grocery store to avoid us.
We don’t fuck with people who don’t fuck with us.
Live and let live world is how I like to remain.
“Cute one, sweets.” I release my hold on her to take the drink in my left hand. Mission to spend money inside is forgotten as she steps back and immediately, I want to pull her close again. Damn, she’s beautiful.
To my six-feet-four-inch body, she’s a solid five-feet-ten-maybe-eleven-inches with long dark hair that goes down to a plump ass in a pair of jeans that should be criminal to fit so good.
The Metallica t-shirt fits tight across her tits and loose at her waist leaving me to wonder about all the curves of her body. Damn, I’m getting a chub imagining it.
“Sorry again about the little bump. Hope you have a great day and good ride.” She smiles and fuck, I might just faint.
I’ve been around a lot of women and not one has ever been this chill at a first meeting, especially after literally bumping into me.
I’m a fucking brick wall. This woman is dangerous.
I’ve never been shy about wanting pussy, but something tells me her pussy is the kind a man like me could crave.
My mind goes wild with the ways I could fuck her.
Watching her hair fall onto my chest as she rides me, or better yet, putting her face down, ass up, and yanking her by those luscious locks back to look at me while I take her from behind.
Oh yeah, this one here, she’s got a fire that will burn a man with a single touch. I might want to play with fire this time.