Velvet Ivy (The Nighthawks MC Book 1)

by Bella Knight

  A New Life

  “Keep going no matter what.”

  They finally got the call during a huge convention of security people. They had to hire Damian’s sister Glass to help drive. They also got seven girls that came in during convention times. The place got ear-splittingly loud, with poker games and a full bar with ladies and men chatting. Then pool matches, and the clean sex and sex in the ladies’ rooms. One security guy came in, a thin reedy man in all black. He said his name was Sam, and that he was a cyber security specialist. He took out three hundred-dollar bills and counted them into Ivy’s hand.

  “What is this for?” asked Ivy.

  “One hour,” said the man, into her ear, “I like to spank. No bruises, I promise. Butt only, hand only.”

  “A whole hour will leave bruises,” said Ivy.

  “Not the way I do it,” he said, “we’ll need a wooden chair. And a little bowl of ice.”

  She slipped the money into her bra. She took him back to her room and made him wait until she ran out the back to find a wooden chair, then to the kitchen for the bowl of ice. She brought both in her room. She took off her peignoir, leaving on her bra and a thong, —all in red. She took out a silk scarf. He wound it around her hands with a knot and bow she could remove with her teeth. He made her practice taking it off, and putting it back on. He set his phone timer for one hour.

  “Let’s get started. Lean over,” he said, pointing to the chair, “hands on the back of the chair.”

  He smacked his hand on her right buttock, hard. She gasped. He slapped the left one, then the right, then stroked her butt. He alternated with hard and light slaps and gentle strokes, from the top of her butt to the bottom.

  “You’re cherry red,” he said, “sit down now.”

  She did, “Feet out,” he said. He put a little hassock she had in the corner under her feet.

  She wriggled, trying to get the weight off her buttocks, “Stings, doesn’t it?” he said, sitting on the bed. She nodded, “The silent type?” he asked. She nodded, “Good!”

  After she stopped wriggling, he said, “Stand up.” she did, “get a dildo, one small enough to put inside you.”

  She got one of the finger ones she liked, “Put it in,” he said.

  Ivy felt aroused by this man’s ways.

  She put one leg up and put it inside as he spoke, “Is it electric?” she nodded, “give me the controller.” She did.

  Ivy liked him being in control. There was something sexy about it.

  “Lean over my legs,” he said. She did, “Hands on the floor,” he said, and she did as she felt aroused by the commands.

  He did the slapping again, going back and forth between light and somewhat harder slaps. She gasped and wriggled. From time to time, he set off the dildo, and she wriggled more.

  “Stand up, put your hands on the chair.”

  She did. He put ice on her buttocks, slowly dragging it back and forth over her entire house. She felt the sting ease. Then, he began slapping her lightly. She gasped, not expecting the increased sting with the water. He sometimes set the dildo off, sometimes not.

  “Sit,” he said, and he had her put her feet on the hassock.

  His phone chirped, signaling the hour was up. He untied her, helped her stand, and helped her put her peignoir back on.

  “Take a break,” he said, putting another hundred on the bed, “your buttocks will be fine in about an hour.”

  Ivy felt the sting emanate more.

  He smiled, “Thank you.” He saluted her, and walked out, gently closing the door behind him.

  She fell on her stomach on the bed and took a nap. She was still lying on her stomach when her phone buzzed. It was Gina. She answered it.

  “The deal is ready to be made. I’m hearing from your partner that you can put down another one-and-a-half-percent.”

  “Make it two percent,” said Ivy.

  “You okay?” asked Gina, “I thought you would be more excited.”

  “Believe me when I tell you, Gina, that you are right in the nick of time.”

  “I’ll make the offer,” she said, “I’ll lower the price more and increase the down. Believe me, these people want out.”

  “Excellent!” said Ivy.

  She snoozed a little, woke up, noshed on loaded fries with another guy in all black, and went back to have clean sex with him and another guy. She dried her hair most of the way, and put it in twists, and went back to her room to put on a new bra and boy shorts. The others had gotten wet.

  Her phone buzzed. She picked it up, “I lowered the price by two percent and increased the down by two-and-a-half percent. Will that work?”

  “Do it,” said Ivy, “tell Ace, and give us a day to sign. He’ll blow off his two jobs to do it.”

  “What about your job?” asked Gina.

  “Make it in the morning. I’ll be there,” she said, “eleven or noon.”

  “You got it,” said Gina. “I’ll call you when I’m preparing the papers.”

  “Awesome!” said Ivy. She hung up the phone, changed, and went out to find some security people to fuck.

  It was nearly eight pm when she got the call, “It’s a done deal. Your partner is putting the money in an escrow account in the morning. I’ve got yours ready to transfer. He says he’ll make up yours, and you’ll pay him back later. The owners say they need time to shut down and clear out.”

  “Did you tell them we want all their equipment, —from glassware to refrigerators?”

  “I did. They were relieved. Auctions are a pain in the butt. They asked for half a percent more for it. I told them it wasn’t worth that much. Your partner agreed to another quarter percent in thirty days.”

  “Good,” said Ivy, “get it typed up.”

  “On it right now. The inspection was yesterday. Looks great. No vermin, no rot, no electrical problems, nothing at all to worry about. You will probably need to have the ducts cleaned, though.”

  “No problem.”

  “Okay. I’ll e-mail you the document in a zipped file. We sign tomorrow, eleven am.”

  “Awesome!” said Ivy, “thanks for sticking with us, Gina,” she said.

  “You are making me a lot of money. You need any other real estate, you call me.”

  “Doubt I’ll need anything else. I’ll refer the crap out of you, though,” she almost hung up the phone but, stopped herself, “you got anything in a condo near the bar? Two bedrooms, —no, make it two plus loft, I’ll need an office.”

  “Rental?”

  “Rent to own, thirty days after the bar opens. Should be getting enough receipts for a salary by then.”

  “Got it,” said Gina, “sixty days. Can find, will do.”

  “Great,” said Ivy, “see you tomorrow.”

  She set her alarm on her phone for twenty minutes. Her phone chirped. Right on time; the next batch from Damian was there.

  “Thank God it’s girls,” she said, hauling herself out of bed.

  Eight fifteen came way too early. Ivy was clean due to a bout of clean sex at three in the morning. She wolfed down a breakfast sandwich and a Coke at a McDonald’s on her way into the city. She arrived right on time at the real estate office.

  Ace was getting off his bike. He looked even worse than she did. He must have driven all night, “Here,” he said, handing her a Coke.

  “Thank God and all the saints,” she said, popping the top. Ace laughed.

  They sat down and signed so much their hands almost fell off, “Everything’s in the escrow account,” Gina said, handing them the keys.

  “Great,” said Ivy.

  “They’re giving everyone their pink slips and severance checks over there now.”

  “Let’s get down there,” said Ivy, “we might want to hire somebody.”

  “Two servers, two dancers, two cooks, one barman,” said Ace. Ivy nodded. They shook Gina’s hand and got out of there.

  Ace stole the previous owner’s pen and a blank piece of paper and wrote their needs
on it, holding it up over his head. They got everyone on their list, because the previous owners had just opened the line for severance checks.

  Ace slipped in with his key to look the place over. They hired everyone to come in and clean and box everything not nailed down, and they brought Juan down to supervise and bring boxes in his truck. He came down, smiling, and received a key for himself and one for Jorge. They told him about cleaning the ductwork.

  “No problem,” he said, “how you want me to pay these guys?”

  Ivy gave him a wad of cash, “Twelve an hour. They got a rude awakening today. And order pizza,” she said, peeling off some more twenties, “and sodas.”

  The people crowding in behind her cheered, and began unpacking flat boxes from the truck and packing tape and rolls of newspaper and Bubble Wrap.

  “Guys,” said Ivy, pitching her voice loud enough to be heard on the next street, “I’m sorry a lot of you got fired today. I wish we could have hired you all. But, Juan here may need you for something. Or Jorge, the other guy I have rehabbing the place. Ask them. If the other place doesn’t give you a reference, Juan here will.”

  “Gee, thanks, boss!” said Juan.

  Ivy smiled tiredly at him, “Come on, Ace,” she said, “let’s hit up Sonic and get back to work.”

  Back at the ranch, Ivy went straight to Di’s office and said what she’d been wanting to say for a long time, “Di, I quit. Two-weeks’ notice.”

  “It’s convention season!” squawked Di, “what am I supposed to do?”

  “Hire some of the extra girls. The skinny one with the big breasts, Tammy, and that fake platinum-blonde Reva, are good. I’ve worked with them a couple of times. And Xena, she likes to wear leather, and she’s got some dominatrix in her. Let her loose on the bikers.”

  “You want me to hire three girls?”

  “I’m worth three,” said Ivy.

  Loss

  The days went by in a haze of sex, going back and forth to Vegas, and almost no sleep. Juan and Jorge got things done at an astonishing rate. Ivy was in charge; Ace was finishing off his two weeks’ notice at both jobs and training his replacements. Ivy had to train replacements of her own.

  Xena, a blue-eyed stunner with dark brown hair like her namesake, loved learning about the biker world and learned to shoot a mean game of pool. Tammy wasn’t hired, but Reva was. She turned out to be smart and friendly, and able to put up with Marybelle’s nonsense. Ivy suspected that Marybelle was leaving after the summer; she complained about having to get a second climate-controlled storage unit. She had a mailbox place where her loot was delivered. Ivy finally caught her not just ordering, but selling, (on eBay), and laughed the entire night as she taught both ladies about clean sex and dirty rock ‘n’ roll with bikers. She started passing on her various outfits, tricks, and tools.

  The two weeks came and went, as there was a huge convention in town, —a vision expo with lots of ophthalmologists, optometrists, and fashion designers. Damian used his money to buy the third limo and had his cousin Roberta drive. They seemed to like vanilla sex, clean sex, and watching Xena and Ivy make out. They developed an act, dressing in velvet and slowly undressing each other. At first, Reva wasn’t interested, but when she saw the money they were raking in, she demanded to learn the routine.

  She was just waking up, barely functional at one in the afternoon, when James called her, frantic, “There’s a lot of bikers approaching.”

  “The guy with the skull face, or the one with the mohawk?”

  “No, the ones that visit here a lot, with the gray-haired guy in the lead. There must be thirty of them. How many girls should I wake up?”

  Ivy’s skin went cold, “None,” she said, “they’re not here for sex. They’re here for me.” She took a deep breath, “Tell Di I’m going, and I won’t be back for a while.”

  She dressed in her leathers and motorcycle boots, put a Coke in her pocket, wolfed down a breakfast bar, got on her bike, and drove down to the gate. Henry parked and got off his bike. The others left their bikes running.

  “It’s Arsenal,” he said, “he was so excited about the bar. He was coming down to see it. He got almost all the way to Vegas, was going to surprise you on Monday. He was attacked, out in the desert, with some sort of curved blade. And shot with a .38.”

  “He’s gone?” she said, flatly.

  She knew exactly who had a curved blade; she’d seen it in his boot. And a .38 in his holster, some sort of antique.

  “Killed with an antique weapon.”

  Henry nodded, “Old service pistol, Vietnam era.”

  “You know damn well who did it,” she said. She stopped and, stared, “you’ve seen the autopsy report. That takes days. Why didn’t someone tell me before?”

  “We all wanted to come up with you, take you to him,” said Henry, “It took time to arrange. And, a fallen brother isn’t something you talk about on the phone.”

  She dashed away the tears, “Where is he?”

  “His funeral is today, in about three hours.”

  She popped her Coke and drank it through her tears, as Henry stood by her side. She finished it, crushed the can, opened her saddlebags, and put it in a plastic bag. She closed the saddlebag, tightened the strap, and mounted the bike.

  “Let’s ride,” she said.

  The day was punishingly hot. They wore shades at his graveside. Henry gave her three roses, —a black one, a red one, and a white one, —to put on his casket. She waited until the minister was finished talking about ashes and dust, and she laid the flowers on his casket, one by one. She threw a clump of dust on the casket. She stood next to Henry, and, one by one, the club members came by, with a touch of the hand, a word; some of them pressing pins into her hand. She opened her hand. They were his, his pins, —the ones he wore for rides, and his military pins. Little bits of his life. She stuffed her pockets with them.

  When they had all ridden off, she hopped in the grave. She took the roses off the casket, putting them aside. Henry helped her open the casket. She put the pins inside, keeping his military pins and two of his ride pins. He had been shot in the chest and the face. There were blade marks on him, too, across his neck and on his face. She cried out a little when she saw, and stroked his cheek.

  “Stupid man, getting yourself killed. We would have had everything. We would have had time.”

  She let the tears fall, then picked up the roses. Henry helped her close the casket. She kissed the roses one by one and laid them on his casket. Henry helped her climb out of the grave, then hopped out himself.

  They stood there, looking down, “Claw did this,” said Ivy.

  “Yep,” said Henry.

  “I’m going to kill that son-of-a-bitch,” said Ivy.

  “Yep,” said Henry.

  They went back to the clubhouse. They played all of Arsenal’s favorite songs. They played pool, and sang, and danced. Kids ran around everywhere; they all fed them and played with them, all except Ivy. Her heart was as cold as stone. She had given her tears at the graveside; she had no more left to give.

  As dusk fell, they all got on their bikes and went out to Lake Mead, his favorite place. They made a toast to him, started a bonfire, and roasted hot dogs, and ate food and told their stories.

  “Once, he took me to a casino,” said Rock, a former navy man, out two years, “he told me to look around, —at all the noise, the dinging, the old ladies putting coin after coin into machines. He said if you want to throw your money and your time away like that, fine. But, you can build something. I bought land for my house this week.”

  Ivy listened.

  “He told me to get my fucking shit together and my ass in gear,” said Tito, “he said fucking laying around and getting high was bullshit. He said to come out here to Lake Mead, take a tent and some food, build me a little campfire, go fishing or swimming or whatever. No dope, no booze. Just me. Figure out what the fuck I wanted for life. So, I did it. I came back a lot less angry. I got a job, and, the first da
mn day of work, I met Maria. We’re getting married in three weeks.” He choked a little and then, found his voice again, “he was going to be my best man.”

  “He set up the Grand Canyon trip,” said Numa, “almost lost it on that glass overlook thing. Ran off it so fast I thought he’d run back to Vegas.” Everybody laughed.

  Henry said, “Damn idiot told me he had PTSD. He was drunk and he’d just hit a woman and didn’t remember a thing. He was devastated the whole ride back. I took him to a coffee shop, fed him coffee and donuts, told him he had to be sober a long time and get his PTSD under control, and maybe we’d take him back. I told him getting in control and drinking were opposite things.” He held up a chip, “Dude was sober the day he died.” He put the chip back in his pocket.

  They were all sober for a long while.

  Finally, Ivy said, “He hit a friend of mine. He came back to apologize. She wanted a damn bag, stupid woman, but she accepted his apology. I helped him buy the bag on eBay. He’d never even seen eBay. Once he found out he could order motorcycle parts from there, he was never the same.”

  Everybody laughed and Ivy took a moment to gain clarity

  “He was the best fucking man to me. He knew what I do—did—for a living, and he didn’t care. He went to school to learn to repair Harleys. He loved you guys, he loved the club, and he loved his Harley,” she turned to Frank, “did they find his Harley?”

  “Yeah,” said Frank, “he left a will. Gave it to the club. I gave it to Rico, our newest member. Rico just got out of the marines, wants a fresh start.”

  “Ride it well, Rico,” said Ivy, “it’s what he would have wanted.”

  They all raised their drinks and stood, “To the fallen,” said Henry.

  “To the fallen,” they all said and drank.

  Henry and Ivy stayed to put out the fire, while the others went to their Harleys.

  Henry followed her to her bike and, hugged her, “Don’t do anything yet. That coward hides in a group. He sleeps at his club. He’s surrounded by pit bulls with mental problems. Getting him alone is the key. We need a plan.”

  Ivy nodded, “We’ll make one, then,” she said.