“They call me Wreck,” I added after not getting an answer. “I'm the Sgt at Arms of our merry little band.”
She held my gaze with the prettiest brown eyes I'd ever seen, but said nothing.
“Girl's a mute,” Dreamer's whore said, smiling, as she let him kiss all along her neck. “She goes by the name of Jez. It's short for Jezebel.”
2
Jezebel
Bikers.
The thought of being taken by a biker gave me chills. I'd heard so many stories of bikers beating the shit out of some of the other girls and now here they were. Bigger and badder than our usual customers. Most of our Johns were sailors, construction workers, and transportation guys from the local companies that worked in and around the harbor.
The biker before me – Wreck – caught my eyes the second I was shoved downstairs and into the laundromat. Wreck. It was a silly name that made me think of the action figures my little brother had when he was just a toddler. I forced Jeffy's playful smile out of my mind. Life was hard enough without thinking about him.
I was used to dock workers with stubble, bad deodorant – the ones that wore it all- and receding hairlines. This mountain of a man was something else entirely. Wreck had a thick beard and hair down to the middle of his back. His dark mahogany eyes burned with richness and intention. Maybe it was how he looked at me but under all that hair was a handsome, and extremely dangerous man.
“You go by Jezebel, huh?” Wreck asked, leaning closer then taking a step past me. He slowly walked all the way around me. This man ran as hot as this room did cold. Patrick killed the heat in here yesterday now that it was “summer”, despite it not even being the end of April. Maybe it was just how close he got to me as he looked me over but I could feel the heat rolling off him like hot pavement in July.
“Funny.” He continued, standing behind me. His words sent vibrations through my whole body. “You don’t look like a Jezebel. Jez? Jezzy? No that’s not it either. I think you need a new working name. This one doesn’t fit you at all.”
I, of course, said nothing. Even if I could speak I didn’t think I could muster up the words to do so. I didn’t pick that name. It was given to me and it wasn’t like I could voice my complaints. I didn’t like it but it was what it was.
When he completed his circle he stood fully before me. I startled at the crackle in his fingertip’s touch as he brought his finger down the side of my face. After drawing in a ragged breath I quickly settled my nerves enough to pretend not to be terrified.
Wreck had to be at least six feet tall, and was decked out in so much denim, leather and metal that even the violent dockworkers here would keep their distance. He just seemed larger than life, broader and…harder… than any man I’d ever seen. There was no way a guy like him would want anything less than rough. I wondered how long of a vacation I was going to get this time.
Wreck scared the hell out of me.
“Your scarf… Eggplant. No Wine.” He flashed a smirk then it was gone. “The shade of purple was on the tip of my brain. Definitely wine. I’ve never been much of fan, but seeing it on you—”
He cut off as I instinctively pulled away when his hand crested my chin and brushed against my scarf. Wreck’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly at my hesitance. I swallowed hard hoping that Patrick hadn’t noticed.
No such luck.
Patrick stabbed a glare at me that quickened my pulse and started walking over. For as intimidating as Wreck was Patrick scared me much more.
I knew too well what he was capable of.
“Everything all right over here?” Patrick asked Wreck. He laid a hand on the big man’s shoulder, then seeing Wreck’s reaction immediately realized that was a mistake and removed it. “Jez can be a bit…difficult at times. One of the other girls, Mandy or Victoria might be more—”
“Nah, we’re good. Just getting to know each other is all.” Wreck locked eyes with Patrick then cocked his head slightly to the side. The gesture told Patrick that he was done here and should probably leave. Patrick bowed slightly and did so.
I didn’t really know what to make of that display.
The other girls were younger, prettier and friendlier, so why did Wreck want me?
When Patrick forced me to work the floor with the other girls I was usually the last option for most of the clients that came in here. They wanted perky eighteen-year-olds not a dour, broken twenty-three-year-old. Well that wasn’t always true. Some of the meaner ones needed someone to beat on to get off. I was always picked for those guys. It was part of my twisted punishment.
God, I hoped Wreck wouldn’t be one of those guys. But by the look of him there was no way he wasn’t.
Every second I delayed the inevitable the worse it was going to be for me, if not by Wreck then definitely by Patrick. So I did what I’d done countless times before and took my client’s hand and led him upstairs.
When he bought the place Patrick had the second floor of the laundromat renovated into basically one long hallway with small bedrooms on either end. There was a bathroom with a shower at the end and a tiny office next to it. My room was more of a closet with a bed than a proper room. That was fine for the rest of the girls because they all went home after work. No one actually lived here, except me.
We could hear several of the girls already working in their rooms when we got upstairs. Their exaggerated moans and cries echoed down the hall when I opened my door for him.
“Cozy,” Wreck joked taking a step inside and nearly filling the room with his presence alone. His eyes smiled with amusement at the tiny accommodations. “This is the executive suite, isn’t it?”
I blew air out of my nose which was the closest equivalent I had to an actual laugh. It was very modest, but I made the most of the small space over the last few years. We didn’t have closets so I bought a high bed and put all my clothes, shoes, sundries, and what little I had for valuables in the drawers below it. On the lone windowsill I had my sketchpad, a notebook, a few books and a folded picture of my mom and brother.
I tucked the picture away, not liking it to be out while I had a client in the room then grabbed a small notebook and pen and scribbled down a word.
“Music?” I asked.
“Got any Stevie Ray Vaughan?” He replied, shrugging off his leather vest.
I paused for a moment then realized I actually did have a greatest hits album of his. I started us off with Voodoo Child.
“No shit?” He smiled, admiring the fact that I had what he wanted, then kicked off his heavy boots and sat on the bed. “You know I can’t get a read on you. You’re much more…reserved…than the other girls.”
I raised an eyebrow and gently tapped my throat.
“No, that’s not it.” He squinted at me again. The effect seemed to hyper focus his gaze so much that I could almost physically feel it on my skin and in my own eyes. Wreck was an intense guy, not so much with his words but with his physicality. It didn’t matter that he cracked jokes his body language betrayed the hard man he really was.
I tried to shrug it off and get to work.
I didn’t have to work, at least not on the floor, every day. Only when the girls were short handed, there was some special event or Patrick felt like punishing me. Regardless I’d had enough clients to fall into a routine. All the girls did. Unless the client forced himself on you or they had a special request you pretty much fucked them all the same way.
I slipped out of my spaghetti-strap dress and stepped out of my heels to give him a little show. My underwear was lacey, uncomfortable and impractical, but that was what they expected so that was what we gave them. Showing a little skin right away kept even the impatient customers at bay. I had of course covered my bruises with makeup. We were like the produce you’d find at the grocery store. None of the guys ever wanted to see damaged goods.
Then I switched gears and worked on him.
Spreading my thighs I sat on his lap and unbuttoned his shirt. My fingers worked down his hard pe
cs, scratching through a tuft of dark chest hair. I slid my hands over his beefy shoulders and down his big arms to get his shirt fully off.
Wreck wasn’t one of those guys with zero body fat and a twenty-pack of abs, but it was pretty obvious he was in incredible shape. God, his arms alone were the size of my legs!
He had about as many tattoos as you’d expect and about twice as many scars. There were even a few…what looked like burns. Jesus! What kind of trouble did this guy get into
“Does this scare you?” He asked, rapping his knuckles against the wall when he caught me gawking at the alarming amount of hardware on him. A metal necklace, bracelets, wallet chain, and rings on nearly every finger. He was basically wearing brass knuckles. I could only imagine the damage he could do with those rings.
Fists alone put me in the hospital last time, those rings would probably kill me.
I shook my head. Despite being fairly certain that he saw through my lie he didn’t make any motion to take them off.
I swallowed nervously and slid backwards off his lap. Grabbing the waistband of his jeans I pulled him up off the bed to stand before me. More like tower over me. I ran a hand down his chest and turned my back to him. It was time for the next part of the show. I unclasped my bra and let the fabric fall away.
I didn’t know if it was just the room being cold, or the fact that I was terrified of the guy but my nipples became little pebbles. A tiny voice in the back of my head suggested a third option- that I found him dangerous and exciting in all the right ways too.
When he abruptly grabbed my shoulders from behind I trembled. The scratch of his beard between my scarf and my jaw followed by soft lips and sharp teeth sent my insides into back flips. He smelled like diesel fuel, gunpowder and the road. It was the scent of taking what you wanted, of living by your own rules. It was the scent of something I lost ten years ago.
Freedom
I clamped my hand over my scarf to keep from shifting down. I rarely ever got to keep it on when the client got excited, but it was usually at least dark when we worked so the lighting wasn’t this…revealing.
He dipped his huge, calloused hand under my scarf and across my collarbone, then dragged it down over my tits. When his hand stopped over my stomach we both realized I was shaking. Shaking like I was freezing to death. I tried to stop it but I couldn’t.
Wreck pulled away and a heavy blanket of dread crushed down on me.
“You don’t want this, do you?” he asked, leaning further back.
I scrambled for my pad and pen and scribbled emphatically.
“I do!” I wrote.
Wreck gave me a hard gaze as he mulled it over. Skepticism was heavy on his expression.
I dropped to my knees and groped at his belt buckle, opening it. When I went for the top button on his jeans he stopped me.
“Stop,” he said. His face darkened.
No no no no no no. I fucked up! I shouldn’t have startled like that. I should’ve…
I lurched forward for his jeans again. If I could just get his pants down I could satisfy him, I know I could.
“I said stop, goddamit!” Wreck growled. He let out a heavy sigh, ran his hand over his face and walked to the window.
I froze solid at his outburst then scurried along the floor and leaned against the far side of the bed. I didn’t move. I didn’t know what to do. This had never happened to me before. I’d been beaten, raped, abused, but they always got off in the end. My mind immediately went to Patrick. He’d been making plans with the MC to take over this whole city. He was going to be pissed at me if Wreck complained.
Then there was Wreck.
He was still here and now. What was Wreck going to do me now that I’d obviously upset him?
He put both hands on the windowsill and for a long time just gazed outside. I had no idea what was going on in his head. He shifted and knocked a book off the sill. Crouching down to pick it up he realized it was my sketch book and started flipping through the pages.
“You do these?” He turned to me. Whatever anger he felt was still very much there, but now there was something else too. A touch of awe.
I nodded, but he barely noticed.
“They’re all birds,” he said, absorbed by my drawings. For several long minutes he scrutinized every detail of every page. Just by looking at him you’d never expect he’d be the kind of guy with any interest in art.
I’d been wrong about him at every turn so far, what was one more thing?
“The word written at the bottom of these drawings- your signatures… What does it say?” he asked, angling the book closer to the window to get more light on it.
I’d always signed my pictures very small and hidden them in the art itself. The signatures would nearly be hidden if you weren’t looking for them specifically, because they were only meant for me to see. My art was the only thing in this cruel world that was actually mine. Whatever happened to the books after Patrick took them I at least always knew my name was on them. I never saw them again but it gave me comfort to know that they were mine.
“Is that…” Wreck squinted, flipping back and forth between the pages to compare against other signatures to be sure. Then he looked up at me, mostly convinced he’d figured it out. “Is your name really Sarah?”
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and reluctantly nodded.
Not since the confrontation with Patrick had anyone ever cared enough to figure out my real name. It was ordinary, plain and not exotic at all, but it was mine.
“For someone as talented with a pen as you are your penmanship is absolute shit.” Wreck cracked an actual smile at me. His brown eyes soaked in the errant sunbeams in my room and glowed with warmth. “Why the fuck do you go by Jezebel?”
Jezebel. My mouth filled with the taste of ash. I hated that name.
“You don’t like that name do you?” He squinted at me slightly, studying me. The disgust I always felt at hearing it must have finally seeped through my usually very guarded expression. “It’s a shit name. Too on the nose for a whore. How ‘bout I call you Sarah instead?”
It was funny, now that I could no longer talk I’d never be able to say my own name ever again. I’d forgotten how much I missed it. Hearing my real name spoken aloud was a balm for my soul. It was like a reminder to know that I really existed.
But I also knew if the wrong people overheard him saying it to me then I would get beaten or worse. As far as Patrick was concerned Sarah was dead. Jezebel was all that was left.
“How ‘bout I call you Sarah when no one else is around?” Wreck asked, his smile fading into a quiet intensity. He must have seen the conflicted anguish in my eyes and face.
Wreck was so unlike any of the other men I’d been with. There was a capacity for great violence, and anger in him, but also something else… empathy?
Wreck’s expression darkened, but not at me as he closed the book, gently putting it back on the shelf.
“Are you here against your will?” he asked in a hushed tone.
I immediately started to well up. It wasn’t because of what he asked me. It was because he asked me at all and because I couldn’t answer. It was more complicated than he knew. More complicated than I could ever tell him.
Yes and no.
That was the answer I couldn’t give. Patrick had taken so much from me but this… Not being capable of genuine human connection was the most terrible. This was a hurt I carried with me wherever I went.
I shook my head.
The worst part was that I was telling the truth this time. I wasn’t here against my will.
“Listen.” Wreck sat on the floor next to me. “I know you don’t know me. And I’d be the first asshole to tell you not to trust strange bikers that come to whorehouses after making business deals that’ll get a bunch of people killed for money- Ah hell. I’m fucking shit at this.”
I watched him warily as I slowly covered myself back up with my dress. Whatever else happened tonight it wasn’t going to be sex
.
“What I’m trying to say is that this whole thing is really fucked up. I might be able to help you. What the fuck am I saying? Of course it’s fucked up.” Wreck shook his head. “You seem like a nice girl, and you got one hell of an eye. Prettiest damn drawings I think I’ve ever seen.”
I smiled at that. It was small and only caught on one side of my mouth but it was genuinely nice to hear. No one ever complimented me like that before. My tits and ass, sure all the time but never my art.
“How can I help you?” Wreck frowned at my smile or maybe at the sadness behind it. His dark eyes burned as he waited for an answer.
With shaky hands I picked up my pen and paper and started writing.
“Tell Patrick I was the best lay you ever had.” I wrote with a little grin, brushing the water from my eye. I took a moment then I continued to write. “Then please leave and never come back.”
A long silence passed as he read and reread my request.
“Yeah.” Wreck finally let out a low exhale and started rising to his feet. “Alright.”
Before he reached the door, however, I placed a hand on his arm, stopping him. I rushed back to my sketch pad and found a specific drawing. I carefully tore the page out, folded it and handed it to him.
I wanted to thank him. This could’ve gone so many ways and most of them would’ve ended with me in the hospital or worse. Wreck was kind and I wouldn’t forget that. That was also why I needed him to leave.
I didn’t deserve kindness.
3
Wreck
“Up and at em, ladies,” Dunkin called out, kicking bunks as he went down the line. It was two in the morning. Everyone else started stirring, and slowly got to their feet. Everyone except Buck. He grumbled something and rolled back over.
I couldn’t sleep and had been awake for hours when Dunk woke up. At first I was in my bunk looking up birds on my phone trying to figure out which kind Sarah had drawn then I switched over to the couch where there was a small light attached to the wall I could used to see the picture better. I used it to study the drawing Sarah had given me. The sketch was of a swallow in flight over water with its reflection distorted in the ripples of the lake below. I might have been looking at the drawing but it was Sarah I was seeing in my head.
Outlaw's Ride: An MC Romance Page 2
