Saved by the Dark

by Ann Jensen

  If at first you don’t succeed… Ask a southern woman, she’ll know what to do.

  Phoebe dropped her hold on the shirt and spun to face a woman who looked like she could win a Dolly Parton lookalike contest. That was if Dolly was in her late twenties and had fire engine red hair that gave her close to a foot of extra height.

  A man ran in behind her looking around like he expected an attack. He had shaved blond hair and features that would have sold hundreds if not thousands of Ken dolls. His arms were so big Phoebe wondered if he benched pressed small cars for fun. She tried to back further into the bathroom so he wouldn’t see her half-dressed, but her movement caught his attention and his gaze trapped her like a deer in headlights. Fear shot through her. She vaguely recognized him from the group of men who had been at the bar with Sharp but that didn’t calm her nerves at all.

  “Puck, you stop lookin’ at that girl’s legs like they’re covered in gravy and being served for Sunday dinner! Geet.” The other woman made a shooing motion towards the door.

  “I am not...” His voice choked for a second and he tried to pull himself together. “You were shouting, Val. I thought something was wrong. Sharp has me watching out for her.”

  “I was not shouting!” She was definitely shouting now. “I was being southern and enthusiastic. Now shoo before I call Sharp and he decides to cancel your birth certificate for oglin’ his woman.”

  “I wasn’t...” Val stomped her foot and the smart man turned and walked out of the room.

  Val fluffed up her hair and ample cleavage in her rhinestone-covered shirt with a sigh. Should she hide or burst into giggles?

  “Those prospects are worse than tomcats in July. Remember that and keep them in line.”

  Phoebe couldn’t help it, she laughed. The laughter led to hysterical giggles, then tears as if letting any emotion through had broken the walls she had tried to keep around her. Sobs shook her body as Val led her over to the bed and cradled her. The woman was at least 5’10” without the hair. Compared to her own 5’2” it felt like she was a kid again crying on a mother’s shoulder. One who actually cared.

  “There, there child. You gotta let all that rain out so the sun can come on in.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t even know you and I’m crying all over you.”

  “Honey, tears dry. My old man told me some of your story and your back showed me some more. Let’s save the talking for outside. Sunshine helps push away all those shadows. I brought you some clothes, though my man told me small when he should have said tiny, so hopefully they’ll stay up. I’ll run into town later and get you some things your actual size. Oh, I almost forgot.” Val pulled a plain black phone out of her back pocket. “Sharp gave this to me on his way out. Said he’s going to call you tonight.”

  Phoebe took the phone and bag of clothes from Val. The single item of clothing that looked decent on her was a lemon-yellow sundress that she belted up with a black neckerchief that had skulls printed all over it. The clothes covered less than the shirt had but for the first time in a long time, Phoebe felt comfortable. Val pulled her hair back in a ponytail and declared her prettier than a posy in a field of dandelions and gave her a pair of flip-flops before dragging her outside.

  The wonderfully crazy woman was right: the sun was like a healing touch on her skin. The place really was a compound with the Clubhouse situated as the closest building to the gate. Several concrete buildings flanked the main warehouse-style building with what looked to be a motel further back on the property and several small farmhouses in the distance.

  The fenced-in property extended well beyond what she could see, and a forest of trees seemed to fill the back end with a road that disappeared into its shadows. A large field was behind the Clubhouse and held lots of picnic tables and a playground. She might have believed it was a state park if it wasn’t for all the bikers. Val and Phoebe avoided the few men who were wandering around and the two settled at an out of the way picnic table.

  “I’ve heard you recently came out of a bad time. What was life like before that?”

  Phoebe leaned back, letting the sun soak into every pore. As with Sharp, she had an easy connection with the wild woman. After so many years of silence, when she made the decision to talk the floodgates opened and Phoebe found herself babbling. “Mom OD’d when I was four. I don’t know who my dad was. From there I bounced around Denver’s foster care system and got labeled as a troubled kid by age six, so I never got placed in homes looking to adopt. Ran away at sixteen because of a handsy ‘dad’ and spent a few years on the streets before getting drugged and sold into hell.”

  Val started a bit at the terse recitation. “Child, most girls with that story would have dead eyes and broken spirits but I look in your eyes and still see light. You are so strong.” She reached over and squeezed Phoebe’s hand.

  This woman was so open and honest. She was like the sun washing away all doubt and fear with her crazy southern accent and wild sayings. Phoebe had to share, or things were going to tear her up inside.

  “I don’t feel strong. I feel shattered and jagged. When any man but Sharp comes near me it’s like I want to cower in a corner. Something’s wired wrong in me. I like things I shouldn’t—that’s why the bastard kept me to himself for so long. If I would have broken for him, he would have sold me off like all the others. Why can’t I just be normal?”

  “Now that’s like a rooster asking why it’s a cock. You are you because that is the way it was meant to be. Don’t listen to no Baptist preachers, God don’t make mistakes. We don’t have to understand his plan, we only need to know he has one.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Then explain it plain and thank the Lord we are women who can talk about everything from the size and talent of our man’s cock to the politics of the day.”

  Phoebe burst out laughing and a wonderful warmth began growing inside her. It was a tiny seed, but it was something. She wasn’t ready to really share more. Her enjoyment of pain was too much to burden this wonderful woman with.

  After a few minutes of silence, Val spoke. “All right. I am not one to pry a virgin’s knees apart. Why don’t you ask me questions? I know you have them.”

  Phoebe did have one question that had been digging at the back of her brain. “Sharp called you Dozer’s Old Lady. I was kinda expecting someone old.”

  Val cackled with laughter, her eyes bright. “Oh, my stars. With all the TV shows and romance books out there, I guess he assumed you knew about biker life.”

  Phoebe blushed, wishing she had kept her mouth shut.

  “Now don’t go blooming like a tomato.” She sighed. “Dark Sons is a one-percenter biker Club. They live by their own laws, free of society’s expectations. That can mean different things to different Clubs but there are some common ways between them. ‘Brothers first’ is sometimes the hardest rule for a woman to accept.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Let’s say you plan for months a special anniversary dinner with lingerie for dessert. Five minutes before the meal hits the table your man gets a call for an emergency church meeting. I don’t mean the godly type, that’s what they call their Club meetings. Guess where your man will be?”

  “That happened to you?”

  “Oh dear, yes. And he came home to find the food and lingerie burning on the front lawn and him on the couch for a spell, but it didn’t matter to him.”

  “But you forgave him?”

  “I realized it might be ‘Brothers first’ but for all of them it’s ‘family next’. If my car breaks down or I need something, every one of those boys will treat me like I am a princess. They’ll drop everything to help out family and take or deliver a bullet if necessary. For that, I am willing to put up with the secrets and give up a piece of my man to them.”

  “There are no women in the Club?”

  “Oh, there are women. But they aren’t in the Club and they ain’t family. That’s the third thing that’s hard to accept.”<
br />
  “What’s the second?”

  “Respect. To get it, you have to give it. Lord knows there are times my man barks an order at me, and I want to strip him down to gator bait. But you don’t do that in public and you don’t do it in front of the Brothers. If your man gives you an actual order, don’t matter if it’s to fetch him a beer or strip down and do the cha-cha on the pool table, you do it. They have to show they have control and respect and sometimes that can come at the cost of a bit of your pride.”

  “I’m guessing there’s a trade-off for that too?”

  “It’s much of the same. But mostly your man will treat you like a queen and if he doesn’t then you got the wrong one. Which is where the women come in. Old Ladies are the wives, part of the family. Some are actually married like Dozer and I but it’s more serious to them than simply being married. Some of the guys marry their baby mamas to make them happy but won’t make them an Old Lady.”

  “Sounds backward.”

  “A tree is a tree, no point calling it a bush. The rest of the women are either sweetbutts, whores, or civilians. It’s the last two you have to worry about. They hang around looking for good times; the main difference between the two is a whore is looking to hang around and freeload while a civilian is looking for a cheap thrill.”

  “I can only imagine what a sweetbutt is.”

  “Nah, don’t let the name fool you. On the whole those girls are looking for the safety and protection being associated with the Club gives. They give back the ways they know how. Fucking, cleaning up after the boys, they might cook meals or tend bar when the prospects can’t. They usually hook up with one Brother at a time but most of them have been with many different Brothers at one time or another.”

  The Club needed women to cook and clean for them? That made sense, though from the look of the place the sweetbutts weren’t very good at the cleaning part. She could do that. She loved to clean—it was the one thing she could do that would make almost any foster parent happy. Plus, she got a sense of accomplishment seeing chaos turned into order.

  “What does that make me?”

  Val seemed to think it over a bit before she answered. “Sharp told his Brothers you’re his and Hawk gave you Club protection.” She nodded over at Puck who did his best to stay out of the way but close enough to watch them. “If I had to put a label on it, I would say you’re a sweetbutt who is dating a Brother. So, you’re off limits.”

  Something settled inside her. “So, no other Brother will touch me as long as Sharp says I’m his?”

  “Not in the trailers-rocking sort of way but you best stay away when they’re drinking if he’s not around. A few of them get beer blind and can be a bit grabby.”

  “I can do that.” Her nerves settled with the knowledge of what was expected of her. She would be the best fucking sweetbutt these boys ever saw.

  “Don’t go settling for scraps girl. I like you and we need another hen in this farmhouse.”

  Phoebe didn’t really understand what she meant but knew she would clean, cook, fuck, or kill for almost anyone if it meant she could hold on to this safe feeling.

  Chapter 7

  No matter how tempting, the way to a man’s heart isn’t through his ribcage. It’s through his stomach.

  Phoebe explored the Clubhouse trying to avoid bumping into any Brothers and ignoring her constant tail. The Clubhouse was bigger than she first imagined, more like a small warehouse. The main part, a bar area and pool hall, took up maybe half the building. Off the back was a commercial kitchen that made her shudder a bit for the level of dirt and mysterious substances coating the surfaces. There was a small room that was obviously used for medical and another room filled with rows of chairs: probably held meetings of some sort. The doors to the basement and offices were locked so she ignored them. Upstairs held lots of bedrooms, most of them laid out like the one she was staying in, but some were larger. A few held nothing more than several stained mattresses strewn across the floor. Phoebe didn’t even want to think about what went on in those rooms.

  She turned to head back downstairs and the room seemed to sway a bit. Shaking her head, she focused and knew the dizziness was because she hadn’t eaten since breakfast the previous day. There hadn’t been any food in the kitchen, only beer. Hoping she’d missed something, Phoebe turned back towards the large kitchen to find something to eat. Poking around the large space, she found a closet of cleaning supplies she had missed, but still no food. The clock on the wall said it was ten o’clock—much earlier than she had assumed.

  She rested her hands on the counter trying to pull herself together. She had the things to clean and all the cookware she needed to cook but not the food. Did the sweetbutts cook at home and bring the finished food here? Movement at the door reminded her she didn’t have to figure everything out herself.

  “Puck?” Her voice echoed in the empty kitchen.

  He stepped fully into the room. “Yeah, Pixie?”

  “Pixie?”

  He laughed. “Sorry, my little sister collected those Rainbow Brite dolls when she was growing up. You’re so tiny and with the yellow dress and ponytail, you remind me of one of those dolls. I won’t call you it again if it bothers you.”

  Phoebe considered it for a moment. “I think I like it.” It was so different from who and what she had been. It felt like her own fresh start.

  His eyes twinkled and her fear of the blond man began easing away. “I’m glad. So, what did you need?”

  “Where do you guys keep the food?”

  “I can send someone out to grab you some drive through if you’re hungry.”

  Phoebe bit her lip. It had been years since she had eaten more than protein bars, oatmeal, broth, or ice-cold fast food. She had dreamed of home cooked meals like the ones she’d made for herself since she was ten. Her foster mother at the time had been a crazy old biddy who insisted she learn to cook by memorizing all the recipes. She said cookbooks were for amateurs. Of course, she also thought if you showed your knees or elbows in public you were a hussy. So, while Phoebe was grateful for her ability to cook lots of meals from scratch, she hadn’t been sad to leave that particular foster home.

  “I was kinda hoping I could make something. I could cook for you too, and anyone else who wanted.”

  “You cook?”

  Phoebe nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been dreaming of chicken salad sandwiches and lasagna.” She blushed and dropped her head remembering she should be grateful to be alive, not complaining about the food selection. “It’s silly. Never mind. I’ll take whatever you guys get.”

  “Nah, Pixie, that sounds amazing. You write down what you need, and we’ll get it.”

  She rummaged through the drawers of the dirty kitchen, pushing aside fast-food menus, old receipts and other junk, finally coming up with an old flyer. Grabbing a pen, she wrote down a list on the back. She looked it over for a second before handing it over to Puck. She was worried she may have gone a bit overboard, listing out ingredients for her four favorite dinners plus several breakfast options. She’d also included the basics to make bread and various fixings for sandwiches. But she couldn’t resist. It was stupid, she knew, but after months in captivity and years on and off the street, this sounded like heaven to her.

  She handed the list over. “If it’s too much, just buy the ingredients for the meals you think people would want.”

  His eyes went wide as he glanced down at the list and Phoebe’s stomach dropped. “Chicken parm, lasagna, chicken pot pie, fettuccine alfredo. You can really make all that stuff? How many people can you feed?”

  His tone was so surprised it made her blush. “Yes, and with this kitchen, however many you buy for.” The idea of all his Brothers descending on her in the enclosed kitchen caused her to break out in a cold sweat. Strangers closing in, touching her, have to leave can’t remember…

  “What’s wrong, Pixie? You lost what little color you had.”

  Phoebe gasped and shook her head. “If I cook, can so
meone else take it out to whoever wants it? I can’t.” She swallowed. “I’m not ready for a lot of people.”

  “Pixie, you cook even some of this shit and I will personally guard the door so no one bothers you.”

  Phoebe smiled at his words, relaxing even more.

  By the time the groceries arrived she had scrubbed out the refrigerator, run what dishes she could through the dishwasher, and scoured the floors and counters so clean they truly shined. Puck whistled his admiration. “I barely recognize this place and I was here two hours ago. You got magic in you, Pixie?”

  Phoebe felt like she was on cloud nine. She really had done a lot and the feeling of accomplishment was amazing. She jumped when a tall, lean man walked in behind Puck with grocery bags in his arms. She had never met this Brother before, so she carefully moved well out of his way. He had to be close to 6’1” but, instead of the bulky muscles the majority of the men had, he was whipcord and sinew.

  “Pixie, this is Kickstand. He was finishing up some things this morning in the city, so I asked him to pick up the groceries on his way in. The two of us are going to be keeping you company till Sharp gets back.”

  “Hey.” Kickstand didn’t seem happy about the fact he had to do the grocery shopping. He dropped the bags on the counter.

  She nodded, not yet ready to talk with this man she didn’t know. Instead, she turned her attention to the grocery bags on the counter. She looked disappointedly at the two bags. There was no way everything she had asked for was in there. Oh well, she would make do with whatever they got.

  The back door busted open and men seemed to flood into the room all carrying bags. Her heart sped into overdrive and her mind tilted sideways. Instinctively, she found herself huddling and shaking in the back corner of the pantry. Men were moving around and talking, but their words didn’t register. Eventually the noise died down and with it her heartbeat.

  “Shit, Pixie, I’m sorry. I didn’t think.” Puck leaned in the doorway of the pantry. “It is only me and Kickstand in the kitchen now. So, you can come out if you’re ready.”