Simple Ride (Hellions Ride Book 6)

Copyright © Chelsea Camaron 2015

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this
publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any
form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system,
without the prior written permission of Chelsea Camaron, except as
permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976.

This is a work of fiction. All
characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are
either products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

1st Edition Published: November
2015

Editing by: C&D Editing

Cover Design by: Cover Me
Darling

Formatting by: M.L. Pahl of
IndieVention Designs

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Thank you for downloading/purchasing
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support.

This book contains mature
content not suitable for those under the age of 18. Involves strong
language and sexual situations. All parties portrayed in sexual
situations are adults over the age of 18.

All characters are
fictional. Any similarities are purely coincidental.

Dedication

Boomer and Pam

You took a chance on my books … it
brought you to a signing and my table – a meeting I will never
forget.

In that short time together, your love
shined through. The amazing couple you are, the amazing individuals
you are inspires me. I know this book is nothing like your life,
but the connection you share made me want to give this couple their
own Hellions Ride.

Thank you for being who you are to the
core. Thank you for the laughs, the memories, the support, and
love. Forever you inspire me.

Love long and love strong that’s the
Boomer and Pam way.

S
imple
R
ide

After surviving the heat, the torture,
and making it out of the sandbox one mission at a time, I have
spent years on the ride, going mile after mile to escape the past.
I thought I had left hell behind. Only, it is hard to run from the
demons inside you.

It all changed when I found the
Hellions brotherhood. My nightmares were chased away with the
daylight of my new purpose in the club.

I’m a whore, born from trash; that’s
what he always told me. Well, sugar, if you can’t beat it back, you
might as well stop fighting and make the best of it. The Hellions
take care of me as long as I take care of their boys, and the
arrangement works…

…
until he finds
me.

Nathan
“
Boomer
”
Vaughn—Hellions MC’s newest
member, former Army Special Forces, and overall badass—is brought
to his knees when he finds
out the
secrets
his favorite barfly has been keeping.

Purple Pussy Pamela should have
brought her problems to the club first, but she didn’t. Now it’s up
to Boomer to keep her and her secrets safe.

What happens when two
people with a simple understanding complicate things? Can they find
their way back to the simple ride
?

Table of
Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

About the Author

Other Works

Excerpt:
Heated Ride

Excerpt: Ravage Me by Ryan
Michele

Chapter One

~Boomer~

Pop. Pop. Crack.

Boom!

I rise up from my bed, drenched in
cold sweat once again. The pillows are tossed to the floor, my
blanket twisted into the sheet and hanging off the side, as I blink
and gather my thoughts. I am home, safe. My brothers are safe. No
one died in my arms tonight. That was my past.

Shaking off the memories, I get up. My
room is like everything else in my life—blank. No pictures hang on
the walls. My mattress and box spring sit on a basic frame with no
headboard, footboard, or adorning features. Blue sheets and a
comforter top it until I change them to another color. I have a
dresser, no television, no nightstand. Basic, just how I like
it.

After quickly fixing my bed, I go to
the bathroom and turn on the shower. Shedding my boxer briefs, I
then step under the hot water and hang my head in defeat as I let
the pressure from the showerhead beat down on my neck.

Will it ever end? Will I ever escape
what I did?

Growing up, I had no father to teach
me to be a man. I had a single mother who worked three jobs to keep
a busted-ass roof over my head and shoes on my always growing feet.
As a result, when the recruiter came to my high school and offered
me a way out of the small town and a guaranteed paycheck, I
couldn’t sign up fast enough.

The United States Army.

I never gave it a second thought. I
made it through boot camp and was trained to wield a weapon. Expert
marksman, sharpshooter, I did it and didn’t think beyond completing
the next command issued. My MOS—military occupational specialty, or
job assignment to civilians—was EOD—Explosive Ordnance Disposal.
Get paid to blow shit up? Sign me up.

I worked hard, never allowing myself
to really think through what any of it meant beyond taking care of
myself and sending a little back to my mom. I had money in the
bank, a job I could be proud of, and more than that, I could take
care of the woman who gave up everything for me.

Selection, be one of the elite, a
green beret? Again, without hesitation or second thought, sign me
up.

It’s funny now, as I look back at the
young man I was and the man I dreamed to be. I wanted to make my
mom proud. I guess I did. She died before I made my first kill. She
only knew of her son, the soldier, not the man the Army turned into
a weapon. A heart attack took her away from this world, and
hopefully, she has found some peace. Maybe in some divine way, it
saved her from the heartache of what I would become.

Serve my country with honor, courage,
and commitment; protect our freedoms, stand tall, fight hard, and
give my all—I did it. Every single thing that was ever asked of me,
I did without hesitation or question. Follow orders, be part of the
team, and protect our homeland. One of the first things drilled
into my head was don’t ask questions, react in order.

I was good at my job. It fit me well.
My team were my brothers in every way that mattered. Shooter, Lock,
Bowie, Ice, Hammer, Coal, Skid, and Roadie all were as close to me
as any family I ever knew, some might even say closer than family.
There is a unique bond shared when you trust your life to the skill
set of another man.

Only, we failed my last
mission. We failed Skid.
I
failed him. The last person he saw was me. The
emerald green of his eyes washed away as his blood ran down his
face and covered them. The very same blood soaked through my
fatigues and still haunts me day and night.

Mission failed, lives lost, and all of
us were forever changed.

I took a few years and hit the open
road—wild and free, my bike and me. Only, I wasn’t free.

Serve my country, I did. Protect our
freedoms, I did. However, it came at the cost of my own. I will
never be free again. I will never have a moment when his face
doesn’t haunt me. I will never know what it is to take a breath and
not wonder how his young wife is holding up with the son she gave
birth to, whom he never had the chance to meet. The little boy has
his father’s eyes and his mother’s smile, and he doesn’t get to
know the man who made him.

No matter how many miles pass under
me, Skid is always with me, reminding me he is gone. It has taken
time, but I finally gave up the idea that I could run from the past
and have settled into my life here in Catawba, North
Carolina.

Shooter and I were always the closest,
and I even patched in with the Hellions Motorcycle Club that he is
with. This brotherhood is family, too, one I hope to never let
down. It took me time to even consider joining, but it has given me
a place to belong for the first time since leaving the
Army.

Finishing up my shower, I inhale
deeply as I dry off. Too much idle time. Unfortunately, I had no
skills that could benefit me outside of my military career unless I
continued on as a government contractor, a government I swore to
protect and uphold, but one that let me down at every turn. No,
thank you. My service is done.

Having no one to care for after Mom
passed away, I banked my money from every deployment, and I
invested it wisely. A medical discharge for a traumatic brain
injury gave me a small disability check each month and benefits, so
I don’t have a regular job. Apparently, getting shot in the head
only qualifies me for a percentage.

I lived. Skid died. I get it. Still, I
carried his body out with me. That hesitation is what landed the
bullet in the back of my skull. I would do it again, all the same.
No man left behind. That’s not why I carried him, though. He was my
brother and had my back, and I promised his wife he would come
home. It wasn’t the way I intended, but I got him out of the danger
before I passed out from my own injuries. Adrenaline is a powerful
thing.

Life is lived one moment at a time. In
the grand scheme of things, I shouldn’t complain. However, it eats
away at me inside that a good man with a family was lost, while I
lived and have no one.

I pass through life not really living,
merely existing. I do what I need to and move on. Occasionally, I
perform a demolition job for a few contractors around the country,
but mostly, I live alone, ride alone, and outside of the few people
I associate with, I like to be alone.

My one bedroom and one bathroom cabin
on five acres suits me fine. My closest neighbor is Shooter, who is
just as quiet with his family as me. There’s less to clean and
maintain when it’s mostly woods around me. My garage is bigger than
my house since I have my truck, my bike, and my mom’s old, beat-up
Ford Escort that I refuse to get rid of. She worked hard, and that
car took me everywhere as a kid.