Underworld Champions (The MC Outlaw Series)
Read Underworld Champions (The MC Outlaw Series) Online
Authors: Ella Stone
| Underworld Champions (The MC Outlaw Series) |
| Stone, Ella |
| (2014) |
Underworld Champions
The MC Outlaw Series Book One
Ella Stone
Copyright 2014 Ella Stone
License Notes
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Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means without the prior written permission of the author of this book.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead is purely coincidental. Any actual places, products or events mentioned are used in a purely fictitious manner.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various places/products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission and is by no way sponsored by the trademark owners.
ts
Dedication
–
To
the bloggers and authors who supported me. I am forever grateful.
Four wheels move the body.
Two wheels move the soul.
~Author Unknow
n
Before you get into reading, know this. I’m an Aussie, I write using Aussie spelling. If you don’t understand a term I use, then ask me, and I’ll
tell you what the hell it means.
Moving on…
This ride has been a wild one. I had an idea. I wrote a book. Then I got on Facebook to promote that book and my life went fucking psycho.
I hooked up with biker loving bitches near and far, and I hope I never have to look back on the shit moments of my life with hate ever again. Because they’re the things that power this world I’ve created here. If I hadn’t grown up, witnessing
the real world, my imagination would be limited, only to the things I see in TV and movies.
But, I saw it. I lived it. And here’s y
our first look inside my mind.
I’m shit at all this mushy stuff, so I’m just going to keep it simple. Thank you to my editor, Maria, and my proof readers, Celsey and Tammie. Yo
u have all been awesome, and I love your enthusiasm for this story.
Thank you to Lili Saint Germain, for becoming my biker bitch/twin (we share t
he same birthday) and for helping me out. You are epic woman, and I love ya guts!
Thank you to Lila Rose, for hooking me up with the beginnings of my Facebook
gang, this last few weeks has been freaking out of this world. I’ve had so much fun and it was great of you to help me out, based on my first chapter.
AND AN ENORMOUS THANK YOU to all of the bloggers who emailed and messaged me to show their support. I love you all so much and my heart just fills to bursting when I read over your words – they got me through!!!
Thank you to my street team bitches. There are over 50 of you, so I can’t name you all. BUT you all fucking rock, and I love your guts and your faces and especially your insatiable desire for all things hot man related! You’ve been amazing!
Lastly, thank you to my family, especially my husband, who has been supporting me and believing in me since the moment we met.
To those who never thought I couldn’t do this, I salute you with both of my middle fingers.
To everyone else who thought I could, this book is for you.
The minister is just standing there, looking at me. Waiting for me to do something.
I’m the only one here. No one else cared enough to attend.
Instead of speaking, I take one last drag on my cigarette, and flick it inside the hol
e in the ground that is my father’s eternal resting place.
I have nothing to say. My life has been filled with nothing but pain and
fear, all because of this man’s addiction. The only thing I ever had was hope. Hope that this would all somehow end. And now it has.
“Fill it in,” I instruct the gravedigger, as I blow out my lungful of smoke and walk away.
I’m leaving this town. My druggie dickhead of a father has left a mountain of debt behind that his dealer is holding me responsible for. He thinks he can take it in the use of my body for his sick and perverse games – just like he always has. And I used to take it. I used to do whatever he wanted. You see, my father was all I had. And I hoped that if I helped him enough, then one day he’d give up the drugs and actually be the father I wanted. The one I dream about sometimes.
In those dreams,
he’s laughing and taking photos as a woman (who I assume must be my mother) spins me around through the air. She has long golden hair, shining in the sunlight as she spins. I don’t know if it’s a memory, or just a wish…
I’m nineteen. I’ve spent most of my life taking care of
a drug fucked father, cleaning up his messes, again, and again, and again. Now that he’s dead, I don’t need to stick around anymore. He’s gone, and I don’t owe him, or his fucking dealer, anything.
Walking briskly, I exit the cemetery, heading for the train station. As I insert my travel pass through the barriers, I hear the squeaking of the train’s brakes as it comes to a stop at the station. Breaking into a jog, I hurry toward the platform and manage to make the train, just as the guard blows his whistle and the doors let out a whoosh of air as they press closed.
Letting out my breath, I lean against the cool metal of the safety pole and hitch my backpack higher on my shoulder. In it, is an empty wallet, a change of clothes, and a tube of lip gloss. That’s all I have in this world.
I’m alone. I’m broke. And I have nowhere
to go. Except of course to my mother’s.
I don’t know much about her
. I only know that she is married to a biker and she didn’t want me. So I’ve been stuck with my druggie father since I was three, cleaning up his mess and just trying to stay alive myself.
I’ve always hated my mother – hated that she was so cold hearted
that she sent me and my dad away. I mean, what kind of a mother doesn’t love her kid? I’ve got no bloody idea.
Somehow though, she was notified that my father had died and turned up at the hospital
when it was time to turn the machines off. One minute, I was sitting in the hospital waiting room, feeling numb after being told that this time, I was too late. This time he couldn’t make it, and some big burly guy with a greying beard wandered up with a blonde woman, much older than myself, with tattoos on her arms and across her chest. I just knew from looking at them who they were, and I couldn’t believe my eyes.
“Are you Madeline?” the man
said, his voice like gravel as he stood before me, hands on his dusty jean clad hips like some sort of authority figure.
“Who’s asking?” I returned, throwing a bit of attitude his way as my eyes drifted over his tattooed arms, and then his leather cut, eventually landing on the word ‘President’. “Well fuc
k me. You must be the man who chased my father away. And you,” I said, shifting my eye’s toward the woman. “Must be my incubator. Because you certainly aren’t my mother. That bitch took off years ago.”
“Watch your mouth,” he
threatened, in a quiet growl.
While at the same time she said, “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
She then placed her hand on the arm of her husband. “Babe, can you give us a minute?”
Narrowing his eyes at me, he leaned toward my mother and kissed her forehead quickly, before retreating down the c
orridor a little, but keeping us both in plain sight.
Sighing, I rolled
my eyes and reached into my bag, pulling out my pack of cigarettes.
“Have some respect. You’re in a hospital for fuck's sake,”
she griped, snatching the packet out of my hands.
“What’s it to you? What is any of this to you? Why are you even here?”
I asked her in quick succession, annoyed that she’s suddenly arrived. Suddenly. Just when it was too late to do anything useful.
“You’re my daughter. I want to make sure you’re ok. Do you have somewhere to go?”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll work something out.” I turned my head away from her, jutting my chin out stubbornly.
“
Listen, there’s a whole lot of shit you don’t even know about. So, if you need somewhere to stay, you’ll find me here,” she said, holding out a crumpled looking piece of paper.
I didn’t even bother looking at it. I just kept my attention focused down the hall, where a nurse and doctor had their heads bowed together in quiet consultation.
Huffing out her breath in a sigh, she leaned forward and stuffed the paper into the front pocket of my denim jacket.
“You’ve got my addresses, and my phone numbers. Use them if you need to.” With that,
she dropped my cigarettes on the chair next to me, along with a few fifty dollar notes and turned away, hooking up with her biker hubby and walking out of my life once again.
If I had two coins to rub together, I would have set the piece of paper on fire. But that money
she gave me, was all the money I had in the world. It hurt to admit it, but I knew I needed her help.
As I watched them walk away, I noticed the emblem for the
motorcycle club – The Outlaw Riders –looking old and weathered on the back of the biker’s cut (a lot like the man wearing it, I suppose), and tucked the money inside my bra, while pulling out a cigarette and positioning it between my lips.
“I’m sorry. You can’t smoke in here,” the nurse from down the hall said to me, the disgust at my appearance obvious on her pretty face. I’m filthy. But then, I’m always filthy. I haven’t had a proper clean set of clothes or a decent hair cut my entire life.
With a drug addict for a father, you don’t have the luxury of things like cleanliness and food. You’re simply lucky if you make it through the day without his dealer cornering you, telling you that he needs to fuck you up your arse to help pay for your father’s habit. Dick.
“It’s fine. I’m leaving.” I grabbed a hold of my bag, and walked out of there. Then did my best
to keep a low profile, so my father's dealer, Liam, didn't find me before I could bury my dad. I felt as though I needed to do that. I needed to see him to the ground. I don’t know why. Perhaps it was just to make sure he was really dead, and that this part of my life is finally over.
Now that’s do
ne. I’m going to stay with my mother. Not forever. I don’t want to become some biker bitch like her, or anything like that. It’ll just be until I can get myself back on my feet.
I don’t need her charity, or her
pity. But with my father’s dealer looking to collect, I could certainly do with the protection of a motorcycle club.
That is, if they
can be bothered giving it to me.