Chance's Hell

Page 18

“I love cars and bikes, Staffey used to take me to museums and shows all the time, I grew to love them from that. But I’ve never ridden one or been in a luxury car like Hellfire design but one day I will,” I swore, and Chance gave an approving nod.
“Tomorrow we’re meeting Leslie at the clubhouse. So, you’ll get your wish quicker than you think,” Chance said, and what was now a habit, my jaw dropped open.
“Ride your bike? Behind you?” I gasped. Chance smiled as he fried up tomatoes with bacon and sausage.
“Well, ain’t gonna let you ride yourself!” he teased. Excited, I began bouncing in my chair, and Chance chuckled.
“Wow, oh, wow!” I cried and clapped my hands.
“Clio, you gotta understand what this means,” Chance chided, and I stopped instantly. “No one rides behind a brother in Hellfire unless they’re an old lady, you riding behind me is a statement we’re both making. That this thing between us ain’t a fly by night, nor is it weak, I’m claimin’ you, and you’re claimin’ me back. What’s between us is gonna be built on, and we’re gonna be strong together.”
“I want that, I do, but can you explain bunny’s and skanks?” I asked. Chance’s lips twitched.
“A bunny is a nice girl who hangs around, hoping to score a permanent position as an old lady. A brother might date her but doesn’t make her his old lady, they’re treated with respect. Skanks, baby, well you’ve seen them, they’re nothing more than unpaid whores, get treated as such too. It’s ugly but a fact of life around MC’s.” I nodded to show I understood.
“I won’t be your bunny or skank?” I asked, and Chance threw back his head and roared with laughter again.
“Sweetheart, you don’t have it in you to be a skank, don’t even think you could be a bunny. No, my claimin’ you means precisely that, you belong to me, and I belong to you, no one comes between us.”
“That’s good, that’s good,” I agreed. Chance finished making the sandwiches and placed a plate in front of me.
“Tuck in baby, and then we’re gonna sort through your shit and get it packed away,” Chance said, and I froze mid-bite. Chance frowned and put his own sandwich down, I quickly chewed and swallowed.
“What?” Chance asked the moment I swallowed. My blush began again, and I squirmed in embarrassment. “Spit it out, baby.”
“My stuff, it’s not good you know, it’s all second hand, and from thrift stores, there’s nothing worth much in the whole lot,” I said, shame colouring my voice. Sadly, I swallowed back tears at having to admit how poor I was. “Honestly Chance, I’ve been saving, was saving to get out of that hell hole and get a better place to rent, I daren’t have anything decent in that place. It would have gone walkabout before I had it a day.” I defended myself. Chance continued to stare at me, and then he shoved his plate to one side, and I felt a pang of sickness that he was about to reject me. Instead, Chance swooped and scooped me up and grabbed my plate with the other hand. Chance carried me to an armchair near the cosy seating area and sat down.
“Wanna run that past me again?” he rumbled, not sounding too happy.
“I don’t have nice things, it’s all junk Chance,” I mumbled definitely ashamed now.
“Since when?” he asked.
“Since forever, I was an orphan, don’t know who my parents were, I was dumped at a fire station when I was a few hours old. That’s all I know, I’ve no idea where I came from or who my family are. From birth, I was in and out of foster homes until Staffey, who provided the first father figure ever. After Staffey, the same happened, no one wishes to adopt a teenager, at eighteen I was alone, I have been for the past six years.”
“You’re twenty-four?” Chance sounded surprised.
“Yup, is that bad?”
“Honey I gotta be honest, this might change your mind, I’m forty-six,” Chance said, looking worried.
“Get the fuck out!” I exclaimed and then covered my mouth in horror with my hand. Chance stared at me for a split second, and then his laughter echoed around the room.
“Well, that was an honest reaction!” he said when he finally stopped laughing.
“I don’t believe you, I thought you were in your mid-thirties, not forties. Damn!” I exclaimed still trying to get my head around the fact the sex god I drooled over was nearly twice my age.
“Age is a problem, I get it,” Chance said, and I picked up the thread of sadness in his voice.
“Not at all, are you mental?” I squealed, well there was nothing wrong with my mouth, it was an issue getting it to stop opening.
“Chance, I’ve dreamed of you for months, when you knocked me on my ass the other day, I couldn’t speak to you I was so het up. All I wanted was a shot, and then you pick me up, dust me down and called me baby. Who cares how old you are, I just want to be treated nicely, with respect and honesty, with care and dignity. That’s all I want, I really don’t care how old you are,” I told Chance impassioned.
“You’re mine Clio,” Chance affirmed and dropped another of those sweet kisses on my head before forcing me to eat the sandwich.
After we’d eaten, we went through the pathetically few boxes, and Chance repacked most of it to be donated to a local church. Distastefully, he eyed my pathetically small pile of thrift store clothing and wrinkled his nose. Chance pulled his cell out and tapped out a message to someone. He tapped his fingers while he waited for a reply, and when Chance got one, he grunted and tossed the phone on a table.