by T. L Smith
Our bikes purr loudly as we ride side by side for the ten minutes it takes to arrive at the clubhouse. The sky’s dark, and it reminds me of a night I want to forget.
I close my eyes. Squeeze them tight for a second, making the thoughts disappear. Pulling up, loud noises occupy the yard. The clubhouse is situated behind what looks like a beautiful, well-kept home. But at the back, the back is dangerous and anything but. It’s on acreage—acres and acres of bad, bad property where horrific things occur.
Members all wear their cuts. The bar is situated in the open back shed and has strippers on the tables. They’re all naked and looking high as kites. Jake keeps walking, going straight to the Pres, and I follow. Other chapters are here tonight. Outsiders like me that don’t wear a cut are not supposed to be here. Club members only. But the Pres, well, I do things for the Pres that keeps his hands untarnished. Keeps the club looking clean.
The law is strict around here. If you’re a biker, you get locked up. You associate with a biker, you get locked up. It’s easier for them to be as clean as possible, but still do the dirty on the side. Not all members know who I am, and I’m fine with that. Only this chapter, the ones that rule my town, know who I am and what I’m capable of.
“Boy,” Pres calls out—also known as Gray—calling Jake to him. Pres is in his late forties. He has a naked and fake silicone bitch on each leg. He looks to me and nods, then back to a prospect. Jake walks over, leans down, and the Pres whispers in his ear. I don’t care and just sit on a seat that’s free, a beer placed straight into my hand. The prospect smiles awkwardly and moves away quickly. It would have stung him to be in my vicinity too long. They all know of me, what I am capable of.
I can feel eyes looking at me, evaluating me. I lean back and look around, not moving from my spot. The eyes that are on me are another President’s—his cut proudly patched with the President badge. He assesses me, dropping his head to the side and smiles. I don’t return the favor.
“You new?” he asks, looking around. He’s making a point that no strangers are allowed in the clubroom. I don’t answer and it seems to irk him more.
“You deaf boy?” he yells, standing up, his men come to a standstill. I can feel the movements stop even though I can’t see them all. Gray looks past Jake’s shoulder and watches what’s happening. He shakes his red head and stands. He’s built, and a firecracker. He’d be calm and cool one minute, then the next he’d have a knife at your throat.
“Grover, don’t start,” he says and then looks around. “You boys getting some pussy or what?” he shouts, reaching for one of the silicone Barbies on his chair, pulling her up and squeezing her tit hard. Grover looks at me, his eyes trying to work me out. I want to ask him if he has and to let me know, but he just smiles and gets up and walks away.
Jake comes back over once I’m on my third beer and ready to go. The pussy here is not what I’m after. They’re all high, sucking on any dick that moves. He smacks the back of my head, then points to a brunette sitting out in the bushes. I can just make out her hair from where I’m sitting. She’s half-clothed, more so than any of the other girls that are here.
“Try to hit that,” he says, nodding his head toward the girl. I stand, hoping she isn’t a club whore who’s been passed around. I want something different tonight, a challenge.
My boots are loud with each step I take as they hit the pavement. I’m waiting for her head to turn around and tell me to fuck off. She does neither. I walk until I’m directly in front of her. She looks up at me. She’s beautiful—not stop your breath beautiful, but still beautiful. She squints at me while looking me over. I do the same. She has on shorts so short I swear I can see her pussy popping out.
“You a biker?” she asks. Her lip lifts in disgust, so I shake my head.
“You want me?” she asks, standing up. I look her up and down. She has a nice rack, her tits are plump, and her curves are round. I nod my head, and she looks back to the party. Unsure of what to do.
“Okay,” she says, and that’s all the permission I need. I grab her arm. She yelps at my tight grip, but I don’t loosen it. Her steps are quick and fast, trying to keep up with me as I walk into the garage where they have makeshift rooms. Heading to the one I use when I’m here, I push her in and slam the door behind me. I trap her in, sick thoughts start running through my brain. I shake my head to clear them and look up to watch her undressing. She’s fast. I’m right—she has nothing underneath those pants.
When she’s fully naked, she takes a few steps toward me. I undo my belt, dropping it to the floor when all I want to do is tie her up so she can’t move. I grab my cock, pulling it free from my pants. She looks down and flushes, a smile taking over her face. Removing the condom from my pocket, I slide it on easily like I’ve done hundreds of times before. She closes the distance, reaching for my shirt. I grab her wrist with my free hand, spinning her around, keeping her wrist in my hand and pinning it to her back. I push her forward. Her ass right in front of me. She wiggles, making me harder.
“Please,” she begs. I position, tease, and then slam. The relief of being so deep, and feeling the squeeze, is like ecstasy. I slam into her again and she takes it. Her hands are still tied behind her back.
“More,” she asks. I use my free hand to grab her hip, then continue my destruction, her pussy milking my cock. It feels good, so fucking good.
When I come, I push her forward. She lands on her face but doesn’t say a word. I remove the condom and throw it to the floor. Tuck myself back in and grab my belt. Before I put it back on, I think about tying her up with it and trapping her in place. But then I hear a scream, the scream of a woman.
I’m happy.
Then I’m sad.
I’m flying.
Then I’m falling.
I’m screaming.
Then I’m crying.
Then I see him—an angel, but he looks like the devil. He leans down in front of my face, and I brush his face with my fingers.
Have to touch.
Have to feel.
He flinches as if I burn him. Maybe I have?
He stands.
He looks.
He paces.
Then he screams.
What a beautiful devil he is.
That scream was like black calling black, loneliness calling loneliness. I didn’t understand it, but I needed to find the source of it. Opening two doors, I’m punched in the gut hard by what I see. There she is, the girl I thought I loved ten years ago. She’s on the floor with a band wrapped around her arm. A syringe left in and blood pooling at her feet. She was sitting up, her back against the wall.
Looking up, and looking at me, like she recognizes exactly who I am. Her skin’s covered in marks, her body’s skin and bones, her ribs poking through her skin tight dress which is wrapped around her body. Her eyes are dull. Her once bright, vibrant blonde hair is now lifeless. I look around. Other girls are passed out or are high on drugs. I start pacing, wondering what to do. Should I just leave her where she is? I don’t know this woman, I don’t know who she is now. Then she looks up at me like she knows who I am, and a roar rips from my throat.
I can’t leave her, but I don’t take in strays either. Her eyes are glued to mine like she’s trying to gauge my reaction. But I know the real reason—she’s soaring fucking high. Whatever she’s inserted in her arm is playing with her head.
I stand there, not moving. Standing quite still, unsure of what to do, or how to go about it.
I thought I had loved once, but now I’m unsure. So the feelings I have for her are unusual. She makes me feel things, makes my heart pitter patter when I thought there wasn’t a heart there that could do that. She’s unusual and unique. Strange, but beautiful.
She moans, pulling me from the thoughts I have of her. She doesn’t recognize me, that I know for sure. She would have said something, anything if she did. But no words are spoken. I know she can speak, know she can scream. Because she turns to the girl next to her, wh
o’s currently placing a needle in her arm, and she screams at her to give it back. The girl next to her doesn’t hear, or chooses not to listen, as she empties the syringe into her arm. Rose launches forward, her hands slapping on the floor, picking up any drugs she can get a hold of. I shake my head, having no idea what to do.
“You here to fuck us?” Her voice is dry, unlike what I’ve heard before. There’s a scratchy noise to it. She looks up at me, her body now lying on the dirty floor, covering herself in her own blood. Then she smiles and passes out. I’m not sure how much blood she’s lost, but her eyes hide the fact that her soul is dead.
I turn and walk out, the brunette I’d fucked only minutes earlier leaning against the wall outside the door. She puffs a breath out, pulling smoke from her mouth, and smirks.
“You a junkie?” she asks, looking over my shoulder back to the girls in the room. Rose has passed out on the floor, blood surrounding her, a band wrapped around her arm. I shake my head, not bothering answering her.
“Them girls would do anything for a hit…” more smoke curls from her mouth, “…and they do,” she says, stomping on the butt, putting it out and walking off with a sway in her hips.
She’s a hit it and quit it kind of girl. I like that and I want another taste.
I turn back one last time. Her eyes are open, and she’s looking at me. They blink once, then twice.
Fuck it!
I pick her up, throwing her over my shoulder. She’s light, as light as a child. She doesn’t make a noise when I carry her out. Jake spots me straight away and walks over. He looks to me, then to her.
“I need your car,” I tell him.
“That bitch is bleeding. She’s not getting in my car.” He shakes his head like he can’t believe I’ve just asked that question.
“I’ll pay for it to be cleaned. Now give me your keys.” I shove my hand out, and he reluctantly pulls them from his pocket.
“Who’s the bitch?” he asks, nodding his head to Rose. I snatch the keys and walk to his dual-cab pickup truck. Unlocking the back door, I throw her in. I’m not nice about it, she doesn’t need nice.
No noise came from the backseat, not even a whimper. When I finally make it home, I have to check to make sure she is still alive. Her breathing is hard and staggered. I pick her up, hating the smell that emanated from of her, and walk to the house.
I have a bedroom downstairs, if you can call it that. It don’t have much—a single steel bed, a toilet, shower, and nothing else. The walls are plain and boring.
I drop her again, my white shirt now a darkening red from her blood. She rolls over when I place her down. I walk out, grabbing cuffs and rope. Her head is now hanging off the bed and she vomits on the floor. She doesn’t have much to bring up, so she’s more dry-retching. I push her back forcefully. Holding her in place, I grab the first wrist and snap the cuff to the bed, and repeat it with the second. I rope her legs to the end of the bed, then position a pillow under her head in case she vomits again.
Walking to the door, I turn back to look. The blood that’s coming from her leg has stopped, and it looks like she has a deep laceration. Her dress is short and dirty, and her appearance is that of a hooker living on the streets not making pay.
My head hurts, it’s pounding. Too much to deal with, too much work to get done, and I don’t have the time to be babysitting a drug addict. Especially one who’s a ghost from my past.
I leave her where she is, tied to the bed with no escape, and trudge up the stairs to my room. All the lights are off, but I know there’s someone in my kitchen. They try to be sneaky, trying to see if I can pick them out. And I can, I just choose to let him believe he can sneak up on me, that he can somehow beat me at what I do best.
“Go home,” I mumble to him. He steps from the confines of the darkness and I see his face. It reminded me of me when I was his age—battered and bruised. I choose not to acknowledge it and just shake my head. I don’t need this. Why is everything so fucking hardcore today?
“You can sleep on the couch, but if you so much as go into the room downstairs, you’ll wish death upon yourself.” He nods his head, blond curls bouncing up and down.
“You got a woman tied up or something?” he jokes. Little does he know what he’s just said is true.
“Leave in the morning. Go to school.” I throw twenty bucks at him. He smiles, and as soon as I sit down he lays down and turns the television on.
I found Hayden one day trying to break into my house. The local kids told him if he did they’d pay him one hundred bucks. He did it, not knowing whose house it was, but the kids did. And as soon as he was in, they ran like scattering cats.
He made it to my kitchen before I picked him up by his collar and he screamed. He didn’t think anyone was home, the house was dark. He thought he was earning points, trying to get in with the cool crowd at school. He got neither, except kids that bully him and possibly a father that beats him. Could be worse. I know a lot of people who’ve had worse.
My head hurts, my leg hurts, my shoulders hurt. Everything hurts. I try to sit, but I can’t move. My legs and hands are not cooperating, so I try again—nothing. The sun’s coming in. it’s hot, making me sweat. I look around, and that’s when I notice my hands tied back and my legs tied down. I kick, scream, and try to break free, but I’m not strong enough. I’m too weak. I need something, I need that next hit. More than I need food that my stomach craves.
I hear a noise and close my eyes. Pretending I’m sleeping, I can hear each heavy step on the floor, coming closer. It stops in front of me, and I squeeze my eyes tighter, not knowing who or what this man wants.
“Don’t hurt me,” I whisper, opening my eyes. A man stands in front of me, a very tall and dangerous looking man. He’s scary, and I know scary from the people I’d hung around. This man in front of me stands confident, stoic, and sleek, and gives off a vibe of self-importance with a 'don't fuck with me' attitude displayed in his facial features, causing my intimidation levels to rise.
He’s dressed impeccably and wearing a suit jacket, black slacks, and a white shirt. It seems strange that he doesn’t have a tie on though. I guess that’s not his style. He lifts his hand slightly and I see a very expensive watch wrapped around his wrist. It’s encased in diamonds, and my mind goes to straight to stealing it, seeing how much money I could get for a watch like that.
He moves closer, his mouth tight. His beard is long, roguish, and his hair long, but slightly reminded me of a mohawk, though it’s stylish. His face doesn’t give anything away, and he just looks at me like he can see right through me.
“I will do anything,” I say, pulling on my restraints. He leans forward, lifting whatever is in his hand and putting his hand on the back of my neck. He lifts me up, putting a glass of water to my lips. I look to him one last time before I put my lips to the glass. His eyes looked familiar, I know those eyes. They’re green but mixed with something else. I can’t put my finger on it.
I drink every drop, and he checks the glass before he stands up straight. He doesn’t look back at me when he walks out the door, shutting it firmly behind him, followed by the click of a lock.
Great! I’m his fucking prisoner.
He comes in the next day, but I barely remember. My head hurts and my body aches. He takes me to the bathroom and I try to kick him in the leg. It doesn’t faze him, not in the slightest. It’s like I hadn’t touched him at all.
I was screaming so hard.
“Just one hit!” I’m desperate. I need it, my body needs it.
“I’ll do anything,” I scream again, hoping he’ll hear me and have some compassion. Nothing, he never comes back that day. I stay tied to the bed, covered in sweat, my own filth, and freezing cold.
Each day becomes a routine—water, bread, and toilet. Once a day, that’s all he gives me.
I screamed, screamed so much, but my cries were going unanswered. My screams unnoticed.
A week I stay strapped to the bed, barely remembering
when he came. It feels like a week, but it could have been months. I wouldn’t know.
My brain is playing tricks on me, making all the bad thoughts sneak their way back in, remembering things I tried to forget. Things I couldn’t deal with.
I was counting, counting each and every crack in the walls and the roof. Anything to get my mind off what was consuming it.
Then the door opens and a girl walks in. She’s humming to herself and smiling. Walking over to me, she pulls up a chair. My body’s shaking, I feel as though I’m freezing. I need just one taste, one hit.
Why am I here? Was I being held hostage?
“I came to shower you. I warn you, though… you try anything funny, I will hurt you!” She leans back, putting her foot on the edge of the bed. I nod my head, and she smiles and stands. She unties my feet first while humming to herself again. She has a key between her breasts. She smiles down at me and clicks the lock on the cuffs. She’s so close when she reaches over to do the other hand. That’s when she smelt me and coughed, trying to stop herself from gagging.
“Can you stand?” She towers over me. She looks massive, but it could be just the position I’m at on the bed. But nothing makes sense to me, I don’t even know where I am. I nod and swing my legs to the side. Attempting to stand—nothing comes—my legs feel dead as if they aren’t my own.
She’s watching me, leaning down she hoists me up. I’m thankful because there’s no way I could have gotten far without her help. She walks me to where he takes me to the toilet. Instead there’s a single shower cubical. She reaches over and flicks it on, then pulls away from me, placing my hand on the bench to steady myself.
“I have clothes for you. Shower and get rid of that smell.” Her nose is turned up at me. I can’t smell myself, though I’m sure I smell like sewerage, or possibly worse.
