Marley

Chapter Six

Marley POV:

I glanced over at Cheyenne and noticed she was playing with her fingers, nervously.

"What am I going to do? Cops all over the country are looking for us and we have no where to go." She told me. "We'll get you out of this. We will figure this out. I promise." I replied.

"Why are you doing this?" Cheyenne asked me. "You don't deserve any of this. You're right. Who knows what the fuck your dad will do if he finds you. We have some friends in the police department we can turn to." I said.

"No. I can't trust cops right now." She told me. "Cheyenne, we've gotten out of so much shit because of them. They do a favor for us and we do one for them. Don't worry. They owe us one anyway." I replied.

When we got back to the club house, I got Dean's old room set up for Cheyenne and Jack for the time being.

I had no fucking clue how we were going to get Cheyenne off the hook here. God only knows how many cops are out there looking for her right now. It's only a matter of time before they catch up to her.

I left Cheyenne to get her things set up in the bedroom while I went to talk to Ryder.

"Okay, now what?" I asked him. "It's late, man. We'll talk about it tomorrow. I have to get home and help Lana with Jonah." He said before standing. "Yeah, alright." I muttered. "Don't worry, Marley. We'll get her out of this." Ryder told me before going home.

I stared at the ceiling of the bedroom all night. I couldn't stop worrying about Cheyenne and Jack. I don't know why I got so attached to the two of them.

I mean, I can relate in a way.

My parents died when I was nine, in a car accident. Dad had been driving in a huge storm and hydroplaned. The car crashed into a tree and destroyed the car. Mom wasn't wearing her seat belt and was thrown out of the car. Dad's rib cage was crushed when the steering wheel was rammed into his chest.

My foster mother, Brie, was a drug addict. She hid it incredibly well for a while. She was a functioning addict for a while so I thought nothing of it, until she brought her new boyfriend home.

Her drug use got worse and so did her temper. She began beating me over the smallest things. She would have a fight with her druggie boyfriend and take it out on me.

Social services were no help. The bitch was a great actress. Social services would show up, she would put on a fake smile and dote on me while they were there.

She would hit me in places that could be easily covered.

Social services stopped taking the calls that were placed seriously, concluding I was only doing it for attention because apparently, 'it happens all the time with foster children.' Fuckin' bitches.

I really didn't give a damn what it took. The two of them weren't goin' back there without a fight.

Weather they liked it or not, they were family now.