Page 16 of Brave as It

It wasn’t long though, a thought hit me.

I know the loyalty in a motorcycle club runs deep. I’ve experienced the power of that devotion firsthand. There is no way, not then, not now, that I will risk having Wesson or the Hellions tied up in any of this. If I stay out of their territory, I should be clear of any connection to Wesson, orBustedas they know him in motorcycle club world. Another club though, will control the area they own. I can probably find a bar to work at that pays cash. As long as I play my cards smart and don’t slip up by referring to Busted or his brother, Kick, which is Diem’s man Colton, I think I can break ties with my life with the Hellions.

Road-names are unique to each man. Earned much like the patches on their cuts. There is a story behind each one. When I was in the hospital trying to heal, unable to really speak (or stayawake for long periods of time for that matter), Wesson would tell me each brother’s road-name and why they got that one. While most of them didn’t stick with me as far as the stories go, I know who is who, that’s what matters. Or mattered, right now I’m not sure I’ll be able to go back ever again.

The more time passes, the more things change. That is a truth bomb. The longer I stay away the harder it feels to fix this and go back.

The thing is, I know finding a place with a club presence is safe. People watch documentaries, read books, or watch glamorized shows that make bikers seem almost animalistic. The truth is there aren’t a safer group of men to be around. Most clubs, even the full-blown outlaw ones, live by their own code. That doesn’t promise me safety, but they protect their territory. Until I can sort out the depths of the threat, I need to be somewhere that has control by someone other than the people after me. It’s the only way I can stay alive until I can find the answers they seek.

Yes, hearing the words “property of” is hard to digest. If Dia hadn’t explained it to Diem and me, I’m not sure I would understand it. Assumptions are easy to make. It isn’t degrading, at least not in my experience, though. To be tagged is to be cloaked in the protection of the club.

More than that, I have found that being an ol’ lady isn’t the only thing a club protects. Their town, their territory, that is something they will die for. As long as I don’t cross the club, I can find safety in the mundane day to day life until I know what to do next.

Crest, Florida is a non-descript small suburb. I came here wanting to find a slightly cheaper hotel rate and ended up staying. Unlike the bigger cities, there aren’t the fancy name hotels with the elevators and safety measures. Until everything blew up with my dad, I never imagined staying anywhere thatwasn’t a five-star resort. Diem and I lived that level of lifestyle. In an instant it all came to a head. I feel like I’m going to pay for the sins of my father for the rest of my life. Nothing I can do will get me out from the shadow of what was done.

Oasis Inn ended up being exactly what I needed and more. Again, something I never imagined. The motel is the traditional single building with access from the parking lot to the rooms. Eleven rooms, a reception area, and a pool pretty much make up the whole thing.

Normally, this is not a place I would choose to stay. I lived a life spoiled. I wasn’t naïve enough to think everyone lived the way Diem and I did. I wasn’t a bitch about it either.

Life is a balance, and the scales are not tipping in my favor. They haven’t been in a long time.

One floor with doors on the outside so I can come and go without walking through the office area is dangerous as a single female, but the ability to take off on a whim is necessary. More importantly, they didn’t check my license, didn’t ask for a credit card, and don’t care what I’m running from. I pay by the week and wait. Yes, I have a credit card, one not tied to my old life, but I don’t know that I want the people on the other end of the line to track my spending. Hell, I’m not sure how much they follow me as it is, I don’t feel like they need to know when I buy tampons. If they want to track my cycle, let them dig in the fucking trash. The longer this goes on the more jaded I become.

The first week, I did everything with the card and cash provided to me. I guess the shock needed to wear off for me to realize that gave them more power over me being able to see what I spent their money on. Privacy isn’t available to me in many areas while I’m stuck waiting for them to tell me what comes next, but the ability to buy some things for myself matters. Maybe it’s independence or maybe it’s me trying to besmart, I don’t know anything other than I’m trying to limit the use of their card or my own for that matter.

My instructions were to get space and time between me and Haywood’s Landing. Change cars, pick a place to stay.

I thought answers would come quicker. They haven’t.

I can’t go to school so what is the next thing to do? Work.

Except I can’t have the Hellions find me which means no paper trail like a bank account or paycheck. Getting here, it all worked out.

I have a job. Luckily for me, it’s close. Therefore, when I can I walk. I like the sunshine and it isn’t far enough away to get sweaty even in the heat of the mid-day light.

Again, silly, I know, but if they want to track me, they can watch me walk. My car, I don’t know if it is bugged or has some device on it. Does it? Doesn’t it? Does any of it really matter anymore?

Am I in over my head? Absolutely.

There aren’t any amount of crime shows or documentaries to prepare me for how to save myself from myself. Afterall, my bad decision to even agree to this on day one is what landed me here.

I should have said no.

I could have said no … maybe, I don’t know. I play this over and over in my head. Did I make the right choice? Even when it’s over, I’m not sure I will actually have an accurate answer to this question.

I reacted. I didn’t think. I didn’t ask questions. My gut said follow the steps given.

I’ve been running on instinct ever since.

Arriving in Florida, it gave me the first bit of peace since leaving Haywood’s Landing. This place, in my regular life, I would have never agreed to shack up at.

It’s dangerous.

The doors can be broken into. No one will ask questions. No one will step in to help because it’s a mind your own business kind of place. It also is the perfect place for me to lay low until … well, until whatever comes next.

My gut said, calm down, ride it out here, until you can’t. I got a room at Oasis Inn, lucky number seven. Focused on settling in to make this stay last a little longer than my other places, I handled this differently. I paid for the room by the week. Feeling comfortable here, I decided to check out the surroundings.

One block away is a laundromat,Get the Funk Out. That’s where I first saw the sign.

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