by KB Winters
The only good thing about two days with no drugs, if there was anything good about this sober fucked up state, was that my mind was actually getting clearer.
Wednesday nights were usually busy early, but by eight-thirty, all the sad fucks had to go home to kids that hated them and wives that refused to blow them, leaving me staring into the abyss until the early hours of Thursday morning. This could be my chance to get out of here.
Freedom.
What the fuck did that even mean anymore? This wasn’t like before when I dreamed of living a life away from Ronan and The Crusaders. This was different, this was real and true freedom. I could go anywhere and be anyone I wanted, live anywhere other than this stank ass motel room that smelled like cigarettes, sex and dope. But the more I thought about freedom from this place and from this life, the more I wanted it.
And this was my chance to have it.
I scrubbed my face with cold water until my hands were steady enough to light a cigarette on the first attempt. I took several deep breaths to scan my surroundings.
“I can do this.” I said it out loud to give me courage, because I wasn’t actually sure if I could. Yet I had enough time to get far enough away that the Black Jacks wouldn’t be able to find me.
I opened the front door as quietly as I could, knowing the other girls wouldn’t hesitate to drop the dime on me if it meant Roadkill or one of the others would give them another hit of their preferred poison or a moment of kindness. I looked left and then right and then left again, before my gaze swept over the parking lot. The same six vehicles that had been parked there all week were still there. No motorcycles in sight.
This is it.
I ran to the bathroom and looked out the window to the dumpster on the right and the highway to the left. It was all clear. This was my moment.
The Black Jacks kept me barefoot except for a pair of backless heels, so I grabbed the athletic socks I stashed under the bed after one of the johns left them behind and slipped them on. Sneakers would have been ideal, but freedom always came at a cost. Sore feet would be the price I’d pay for liberation. In normal times, my curves would never fit through that tiny window, but since most of my hips and breasts had melted away on my drug diet for the past few months, it was easy to slip through the narrow opening with room to spare.
It was only a five foot drop, but it felt like twenty with the way my heart thundered against my chest and my hands grew slick from anxiety and withdrawal. My feet hit the ground and I let out a sigh of relief. Almost there. I turned toward the dumpster and then the freeway, except I didn’t see the freeway, just a black mass of nothingness. Shit.
“Going somewhere?” I’d know that dark and menacing voice anywhere. It rarely spoke in my presence, but the chill that stole over my body was a solid reminder. Blade.
I looked up into brown eyes narrowed to black, angry slits. His brown hair was freshly shorn just shy of a buzz-cut, the scar across his left cheek angry and red under the yellow lights behind the motel.
“Uh, just getting some fresh air. That’s all.”
“Wrong answer.” Blade pulled his hand back into a big meaty fist and let it loose. It landed right on my left eye, sending me to the cold, damp pavement.
I heard him say, “I knew you’d be trouble,” as my head bounced for the second time. His words were low and even, no hint that he was angry enough to strike, but there I was with stars swimming behind my eyes as I tried to stand.
“I should have kept you for myself, chained you up and disciplined like the whore you are,” he hissed.
“Ow!” I said as Blade grabbed a handful of my hair and dragged me across the bumpy black pavement.
“But business is business and I made a deal,” he said, scraping my skin every inch of the way as we traveled around the building and back to my room.
“Now look where we are.”
He untangled his fist from my hair and I fell to the ground, giving me a moment to catch my breath while he opened the door to my room. Then one thick hand wrapped around my throat and lifted me in the air. He tossed me on the bed and for the first time in months, a smile touched his lips. Maybe it was a smile or a grimace, I couldn’t tell, but whatever expression was on his face, he was happy to be where we were at this moment. “Just fucking look at where we are, Savannah.”
I tried to scramble to the other side of the bed, but Blade was faster than he looked. He wrapped a hand around my ankle and yanked me back to him.
“Please,” I shouted, and then he laughed, low and deep. And terrifying.
“Oh beg, please, beg. It gets me so fucking hard.” He tore at my clothes until they were in shreds around me, and I prepared myself for the invasion of his cock.
“Oh no, it won’t be quite that quick.”
Before I could ask what he meant, he picked me up by the throat again and punched me, once. Twice. Three times. Four. Five. Each one landing on the same spot, the right ribs, until I was screaming and begging, shouting in pain. “Stop! Please!”
He dropped me, and I coughed hard. Every attempt to get oxygen into my lungs produced a searing pain where those punches had landed.
“You think you can leave?” Another fist landed dead center in my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. “The only way you leave is in a trash bag.”
“Blade,” I screamed hoarsely when his left hand wrapped around my throat again and squeezed tight enough that black spots formed on the outer edges of my vision.
He dropped me back onto the bed and unleashed his cock, big and angry and thick as he stroked it with an evil look in his eyes. He looked down at me and smiled before he slapped my face.
“You belong to me to, bitch. You leave when I say you can leave. You fuck when I tell you to fuck.” He slapped me again, this time with the back of his hand. “You don’t bust a nut unless I tell you to. Got it bitch?”
I didn’t answer fast enough, and he slapped me again just for the hell of it.
He let go of his angry cock and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Spread your legs. Let me see that cunt.” I spread my legs and he snapped a picture. “Keep those legs spread wide and pinch your tits.”
I reluctantly raised my shaking hands to my breasts and pinched my nipples. Blade slapped me and growled, “Like this. I want those titties hard and screaming.”
He pinched my nipple so hard I cried out. I frantically pinched and rolled my nipples while he took some pictures, or even videos. I wasn’t sure.
I nodded furiously, wincing only slightly when his thick cock invaded me, scraping painfully against my bone dry walls.
“You like it bitch. Tell me you like it,” he commanded, punctuating his words with another slap. Camera pointed to his cock.
“I. Like. It.” My eyes slammed shut against the invading pain of Blade pumping hard and deep, thrusting until there was enough moisture for his enjoyment. This is it. This is how it ends. He’s going to kill me on camera.
He thrust and grunted. Smacking each time his cock slid to the hilt just in case there was one fucking moment of enjoyment in this for me. Which, of course, there wasn’t.
Blade’s cock swelled and hardened inside of me. He was close to orgasm, so I only had to hang on for a few more seconds. His hips began to move erratically, frantically as pleasure took over his body and unconsciousness threatened my own. The phone fell and he gave one last hard thrust, causing me to tear up. He let out a sickening moan right before he pulled out and came all over my body.
“Roadkill was right, that cunt is magic.”
He flashed a dark grin at me and picked up the forgotten phone. A few snaps of the camera later, he said, “You’re old man is gonna love this. Your brother too.” Then he pulled his fist back and punched me one final time.
Everything around me went black.
Chapter Seven
Charlie
“Those fucking Jacks,” I spat the word out through a plume of smoke and turned to Max with a frown. “They’re turning into a bi
gger problem than we expected.” The prevailing wisdom up to this point was that this new MC was a joke, nothing more than a nuisance. No more threatening than a pesky little fly.
Max’s brows rose in surprise. “We talkin’ about the same group of dickheads? Barely a dozen of ’em with no clue how to wipe their own asses?”
My dad’s lips pulled into an amused grin as he mulled that over. Because, of course, everyone thought I, Max’s son, was just the new Prez overreacting to new responsibilities.
“Wiping your own ass isn’t really a necessity when you’ve kidnapped two girls from Bungalow Three, is it? Not to mention the arms shipments we were expecting from the Bulgarians that the Mexicans mysteriously blew up. So, either our well-established allies are suddenly fucking us over, or the Jacks are getting bolder.”
I’d almost rather have our associates backstab us than this shit because those fucking Jacks are crazy and unpredictable. And that shit was hard to fight.
Max’s face broke out in surprise. “They took some of our girls?”
I nodded and took another long pull from my cigarette. The relief I sought from the nicotine never came.
“Shit,” he said and shook his head, letting out a long, low whistle.
This is what I wanted. From the moment I understood the MC hierarchy, I had my eyes on a seat at the head of the table. I saw myself calling the shots, and now that I was here, I felt out of my fucking league.
“They’re pulling this shit trying to make me look weak to undermine my goddamn credibility.”
Max nodded his agreement and let out a sigh. “I haven’t held a position of leadership since my time in the service, which was a fucking lifetime ago, but I know this is different. You have to make an example of someone.”
“I don’t want to just make an example, Dad. I want to find the exact motherfucker responsible and tear him apart. But my first priority is to find our girls.”
Other MC’s thought we treated our whores too kindly, but Cross had taught me a valuable lesson about making money and our girls wanted to work for us, which made all the fucking difference, especially in the ledger. We had the most successful brothels in the area, more than a dozen now, and for every level of kink and price point.
“I need you to take the lead on finding the girls, with Jag’s help.”
His eyebrows jumped into what was left of his hairline. “Jag?”
I nodded. “Haven’t you seen how these fuckers operate? They have a niche business of gangbang rapes, amateur videos they sell online. Newbies and virgins make up most of their victims and doing fucked up shit to pretty women always sells. But our girls are pretty. Not to mention they took ‘em from us. Our girls. Jag can help you find them.”
Max nodded slowly. If he felt anything about taking orders from his son, he gave no indication. Dad was a company man, so to speak. Strong as hell when it mattered, but damn good at taking orders. A real team player.
“I’m on it. What else is on your mind, son?”
I opened up the leather and chrome cigarette case Mom had given me the day I got the President patch and bypassed another cigarette in favor of the joint beside it.
“Do you think it’s strange or problematic, this connection we have with the Ashbys?”
“No more than our connections with any of the other gangs we do business with. We do business our way and yeah, the Ashbys damn sure ain’t no MC, but we are stronger together.”
That was the case now, but I couldn’t help but think that some of the recent incidents might be messages for them and not us. “You think so?”
“Hell yeah, I do. It’s a nice image of the lone biker battling the world on his own, but that shit is old school thinking. Reckless Bastards are not a Mom & Pop shop, Charlie. We are a fucking multi-national corporation with a network of business associates. That’s reality.”
He barked out a laugh and accepted the joint I handed him. “When Gunnar left for Texas and wanted to form a Texas chapter, Cross was furious. Thought it was some backhanded bullshit way for him to take over, but he trusted Gunnar. He had our back all along even though he’s got his own thing. Now we’re trusting you.”
“It’s worked out well for us—and them—over the years.”
He pointed at me with a knowing smile. “Exactly. It’s been handy as fuck to have more brothers who have our backs. Remember that.”
I nodded and stared at the land that expanded behind the clubhouse. It was dry and gold from a hot summer, completely flat so no one could ever get the drop on us.
“But Opey, Texas is no different than Mayhem. We are family. What if some of this Black Jacks shit is aimed at the Ashbys?”
“Then we deal with it. Reckless Bastards will always come first, but Maisie is Gunnar’s sister, that makes her family, real, OG family and that will always mean something. The fact that Sadie has come through for us, that does too.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Anytime, Charlie. You’ll figure it out. You always do.”
I nodded and motioned for him to keep the joint as I headed for my bike. I needed to clear my head and the best way to do that was to eat up the pavement on a long, solitary ride.
“You going for a ride alone?” Jameson’s voice pulled me from my thoughts, and I looked up into concerned gray eyes so similar to my own.
“Yeah. Got some thinkin’ to do. You need something?”
“No, but should the Prez really be going off alone with all this shit going down? I heard about the girls at Bungalow Three.”
I sighed and shook my head. “I’m strapped, little brother, don’t worry. I need to figure this shit out, and I need to do it on my own.”
A look of understanding flashed on his face and Jameson nodded. “All right. I’m just a call away if you need backup.”
“I know.” I could always count on my brother to have my back. “Hey, can you look into any properties owned by those fucking Jacks and their associates?”
“Consider it done.”
I took off on my bike, driving the back roads of Mayhem that led into Vegas and through Glitz, thinking about the kind of leader I wanted to be. Feared by my enemies and respected by my men. Ruthless when I had to be, understanding when it was called for.
Right now, though, I just needed to act like the goddamn president I was and get my girls back. And make the Jacks sorry they ever fucked with the Reckless Bastards.
Chapter Eight
Savannah
God, Jesus, universe, anybody? If you’re real and you’re out there listening to me, I just need one favor. One fucking favor. Please just let me die. Let the next hit or the next man who walks in here kill me. I can’t do this anymore. End my suffering now. Please.
I laid across the filthy motel bed that hadn’t been washed or changed since Blade fucked me up. In nothing but a pair of panties, I stared at the chipped and cracked ceiling, willing for death to take me. That bitch never came, though. Instead of death, I was met with the chills of withdrawal, the nausea that came from too many days without getting a fix, my punishment for not being fit to fuck.
It didn’t matter that Blade was the reason because he ran the Black Jacks MC, and he did it with a ruthless iron fist that no one dared question. Roadkill hadn’t even visited my room since the beating, a punishment for him as much as me, I supposed. But my punishment was worse. Much worse.
With no drugs to take the sting off my split lip and right eye still swollen shut, I had to suffer the pain sober. The sore, possibly broken ribs on my left side meant fuck-all to Blade, who made sure to send the roughest, most brutal clients to my room for the past forty-eight hours, with not even time off to sleep. I don’t know how many men came in and out of that door. I stopped counting at thirty.
Now I just counted the cracks in the ceiling and hoped drugs, withdrawals, or some crazy dude with a fucked up need would kill me quickly. Hell, I’d even settle for one of my ribs puncturing a lung. A long painful death was better than living another day of this m
iserable fucking existence.
The door flew open dramatically, and I didn’t even flinch, didn’t even respond to whoever had entered my room. I just waited for the customer to do whatever he’d come to do, hoping that maybe he’d get a little too rough and kill me.
But I heard, “Holy shit, girl.”
I vaguely recognized the voice as Tits Stepanova. She managed the Lucky Lopez Strip Club & Bar, located in the Green Zone. But that wasn’t how I knew her. She was Dealio’s old lady, and he was one of the Black Jacks I’d gotten acquainted with when they first snatched me. She came by once in a while to fix up the girls when customers got a little too rough with us.
“Look that good, do I?” I said in a voice that was more of a painful croak.
“Worse than Dealio said.” The shock in her voice told me I looked worse than I had twenty-four hours ago when I last took a look at myself in the mirror. “What the fuck were you thinking, trying to run away?”
I guess she’d never been held prisoner for any dick to fuck or beat on 24/7. Otherwise, she’d know the answer to that question. “What would you have me do, Tits? Stick around like a good little whore? I couldn’t. I can’t.” I didn’t want her to know this, because she’d take it back to management, but hell, if I had the energy, I might have made another run for it. Either I’d find the freedom I desired or the next beating would take my life. Which actually sounded better than freedom right now.
“No,” she sighed and pushed the door closed with a soft click. “I’m just surprised you were so bold, Blue Eyes.”
The nickname brought a smile to my face. Tits knew exactly who I was. I’d seen the flare of recognition in her eyes when she fixed me up after that first, brutal gang bang. Instead of calling me out, though, she called me Blue Eyes. “It wasn’t bold, it was survival instinct.”
“I hope that instinct is still in there, because we gotta get you out of here before they kill you.” There was worry in her voice that drew my attention, and I sat up. Quickly.
