by Audrey Storm
The smokers stood up as she approached, and she swallowed around the lump in her throat as she forced a smile. “H-hello,” she said as warmly as possible. “I’m here on behalf James. Uh, James Smith.”
Putting out his cigarette, the man with a blue mohawk shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather vest and chuckled. “We get a lot of Smith’s,” he said snidely. “Sorry if an old name like James doesn’t really ring a bell, either.”
“Uh,” she said nervously. She contemplated just turning on her heel and leaving, especially if they hadn’t been expecting her like James had said they were. And who knows? She could’ve come to the wrong place entirely.
“Nah,” the other man, a tall lanky guy with a shaved head and tattooed neck, said. “She’s talking about the Smith kid who took a joyride. The one who owes boss two grand?”
“Oh,” Blue Mohawk snapped his fingers. “Ohhhh, yeah. You must be the sister. Yeah, boss has been expecting you.”
“Great,” Samantha smiled, relieved, though her heart was still going a mile a minute. “If you could just tell me what floor—”
“Oh no, sweetheart,” the tall one shook his head softly, a sympathetic grin on his lips. “No one goes in without an escort. Come on,” he took one last drag of his smoke and flicked it into the road. “I’ll take you.”
“No fair!” Mohawk shouted.
“Hey, you couldn’t even remember that the boss was waiting for her,” he shrugged, wrapping an arm around Samantha’s tense shoulders. “Guard the door, will you?” he laughed, leading her inside.
Samantha had never been so uncomfortable in all of her life. The guy touching her smelled like motor oil, and she had half a mind to pull out of his grip. It didn’t help that she’d decided to wear one of her best dress suits, opting for a professional and intimidating look rather than an unkempt and easily impressionable one.
“Right here, sweetheart,” the man turned them towards an elevator. Another man who was also clad in leather waved from where he was slouched up against the wall, and her escort returned the gesture with a smile. Well, at least the grunts were happy. Maybe the boss wouldn’t be so bad?
“Where to?” the new man, an older biker with a rounded stomach, asked calmly.
“Fifth floor,” the tall guy answered. “We’re up to see the boss.”
“Oh,” he said, looking Samantha up and down. “Is that a new one?”
“New one?” Samantha repeated.
But the tall man just laughed. “Nah, she ain’t a call girl,” he shook his head. Samantha ducked hers, her blush burning her cheeks.
“Ah,” the old man agreed like he understood, the elevator dinging as it opened up beside him.
“See ya, Earl,” the tall man called, directing Samantha into the dimly lit elevator. As the doors closed and the whole thing lurched, she heard the oddest tune of a quick piano. It reminded her of a hurried funeral march.
With a bang and a shudder, the music cut off and the doors groaned open, revealing a carpeted room with a few empty desks shoved up against the walls.
“Ah, Dan.”
Samantha turned towards the voice, and sure enough, another biker was resting against the wall, a toothpick in his mouth as he uncrossed his arms.
“Oh, hey Bill,” her escort said. “Boss in? I’ve got the Smith girl.”
“He had a call earlier,” Bill said, kicking off of the wall to lead them towards the giant set of double oak doors directly ahead. “Probably finished by now, though. Hey, Boss?” he called, knocking.
“Enter,” a sharp voice answered, and Samantha felt her heart skip a beat. She had a very bad feeling about this, and she found that she suddenly wanted to change her mind; to say, “Never mind,” and leave. But she couldn’t, not if she didn’t want to let James down, and so she stayed silent and still as Bill turned the brass handle and pushed open the doors.
A dark figure sitting in shadows was resting behind a large ornate desk, but she could still make out the blue of his eyes piercing through the darkness. As Dan pulled her further inside and Bill stayed behind, closing the doors after them, Samantha couldn’t help the sudden gulp that she forced down her dry throat.
“The Smith girl, sir,” Dan said, finally releasing the hold that he had on Samantha’s shoulders. She shivered at the loss of his touch, and as the man behind the desk stood up, she found that she’d never felt more alone. He was taller than Dan, she saw, and far more broad.
“Thank you, Dan,” he said coolly. “Miss Smith and I have much to discuss, so if you don’t mind,” he said, gesturing to the door.
“Of course,” Dan nodded, and it was only another second before the door clicked open and closed behind him.
“Um,” Samantha cleared her throat, trying to take some control of the situation. “My brother, he said—”
“Your brother,” the man nodded, his tone plummeting as he spoke, “Has caused my organization nothing but trouble. I hope that your presence will not bring about the same result.” When Samantha just stared at him, her brown eyes wide, he sighed, and said, “Please. Sit.”
She took a seat in the plush chair facing his desk, her hands shaking as she gripped the edges of her seat. “He’s caused trouble?” she asked quietly. She knew that he must have, for him to have shown up at her door in hysterics like that. Still, she wanted to hear his crimes from the man he’d apparently wronged.
“Mhm,” the man hummed, retaking his own seat. “Not only did James steal from me, but he pawned a brother’s bike. Both are transgressions that I could have easily punish him for, but,” he paused, folding his hands on top of his desk. “Then he mentioned you.”
“Y-yes,” Samantha nodded, popping open her purse. “I’ve brought the money that he owes—”
“Oh, my dear,” he smiled politely, shaking his head. “This isn’t about the money.”
That made Samantha freeze. “But,” she said, her hand on her wallet. “He said—”
“James says a great many things,” the man sighed. “He swore an oath when we took him in, but he has since proven that those were just words to him, nothing more.” Leaning back, his leather chair creaked, and he said, “Though, I am surprised that you showed up. I’d thought that you were just another false promise.”
Samantha frowned. “I don’t understand,” she said. “He said that you’d excuse his debts if he paid you back, but now you’re saying that it isn’t about the money. Did you lie, because you thought that he was lying?” she asked.
“Nothing quite so complicated,” he smiled. “I told him that he would need to pay me back, yes. But the two thousand that he assured me you would bring only covers the money that he stole from me. The custom bike that he pawned, however – well, that’s another twelve thousand.”
Samantha dropped her wallet back into her purse. She didn’t have that kind of money. “I,” she said, covering her mouth with a shaky hand. “He didn’t—”
“Yes,” the man agreed. “I’m sure he didn’t tell you a thing about it. Or that he’d planned to have you cover that final expense.”
“I can’t,” she shook her head. “I don’t have the money, not l-like that.”
“Oh no,” the man waved her off. “Of course not. An office assistant to a small startup magazine? We would’ve never believed him if he’d said that you did. No, what your brother planned to settle his debt with was you – just you.”
When Samantha just stared at him, eyes furrowed and mouth a small line, the man sighed and elaborated, “Your body, I mean.”
Realization struck Samantha and she breathed, “Human trafficking?”
“Please,” the man scowled, shaking his head, and for a moment relief swelled in Samantha’s chest. “Prostitution,” he offered instead, and she gasped.
“Y-you can’t!” she jumped up, knocking her chair over. The man simply watched her calmly, moving only to rest his chin in his hands. “This isn’t—I’m a person! With rights!” she proclaimed.
“Oh, y
es,” he nodded sympathetically. “I completely understand. Just as long as you understand that it is completely within my right to respond to your brother’s betrayal.”
“But—”
The man stood up, his chair scraping the floor, and Samantha took three steps back. She was clutching her purse to her chest like a shield, trembling as she waited for him to spring his trap.
“But,” he seemed to relent, and his shoulders sagged as he grabbed something off of his desk. In the next moment he’d clicked the flame of a lighter and lit the thing in his mouth – a cigarette, one that smelled richer than the cheap brands that his subordinates had been smoking outside.
“But,” he said again. “You are not the same as your brother. You’re an innocent,” he said by way of a nod. “And not at all what I had been expecting to walk through that door.” Taking a long drag of his cigarette, he blew out a ring and rubbed his chin. “Your brother is young, and fit. I’m sure that we can find a market to sell him into just as easily.” Shrugging to himself, he started walking towards the door. “I’ll tell the men to bring him in.” As he moved into the light, Samantha realized that he was wearing a suit, not leather and jeans like his men. He seemed normal – like he could be reasoned with.
“W-wait!” Samantha reached for him, but immediately brought her hand back to her chest. The last thing she wanted to do was touch the man who’d just announced that he could have her sold off, or worse. Still, her movement seemed to have given him pause. “You can’t. James, I know he isn’t—”
“He’s scum,” the man said, breathing smoke out of the corner of his mouth. His blue eyes were on her, his height allowing him to tower over her. Samantha gulped.
This man was dangerous.
“Please,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry that he’s wronged you, but he’s my little brother.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re loyal to him, even after hearing how he’d planned to sell you out?”
“Please,” she tried again, closing her eyes to block out his harsh stare.
“Well,” he said, and she could hear him shifting his feet. “That’s all well and good, but unless you’re suggesting another way that James could repay his debt…”
Samantha opened her eyes and looked up at the man. He was still staring, and she realized, belatedly, that his black hair was swept up in an elegant bun. She wondered if he ever took it out, when he was with his men. It seemed like he’d fit right in with them if he were grungier; someone who could go for a night ride on one of those motorcycles, or get dirty fixing a hubcap.
Maybe order a ‘call girl’ for a night in.
“I see,” he sighed. “Well, if you can’t offer anything—”
“Me!” she shouted, too scared to notice the way that the man almost tripped over himself at her exclamation.
“I thought that we had already agreed that I wouldn’t be forcing you into a life of misery today?” he said tiredly, straightening his tie.
“I-I mean,” she said, keeping her eyes downcast. “We could, you know. Do something. Together. Tonight.”
He seemed to grin, and cocked his head as he asked, “My dear, are you implying that I buy you for twelve thousand?” When Samantha just kept her eyes on the floor, he chuckled. “And for only a few hours. My, my – even the most experienced whores don’t make that much, and I believe that we’ve already established that you aren’t one of those.”
“I know that I’m not the most attractive,” she said quietly. Unlike her brother, Samantha had never gotten involved in after school sports like soccer or tennis, opting instead to spend her free hours inside with a book and her computer. She’d never been fit, or thin, for that matter, but she was well aware that her rounded stomach and thick thighs could’ve been avoided.
“On the contrary,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. She jumped from the touch, but his hot fingers just curled tighter. “Your body is very appealing. However, it’s clear that you are not at all experienced in what you’re proposing. Am I right?”
“I’m not a virgin—”
“But you’re not a whore.”
Samantha was too embarrassed by the subject matter to admit it out loud, so she simply turned her head away and nodded.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said kindly. “But I’m sure you can see why I won’t simply squander away twelve thousand on one unexperienced girl, for one evening.”
Samantha closed her eyes in a frown. Any minute now, she was sure that the man would walk out the door and order for her brother to be kidnapped or worse, never to be seen again. And there was nothing that she could do about it.
“Of course,” the man said suddenly, and she snapped her head up to look at him. “I could buy you for more than one night.” At the look on her face, he smirked and reached out a hand. Samantha steeled herself for his fierce grip, but he just cupped her cheek, the callouses on his hand rough against her skin. “Or, perhaps not a night at all; maybe a day. Tell me, Miss Smith, how do you feel about marriage?”
Samantha’s eyes had never grown so wide. “Marriage?” she repeated.
“Oh, right, your brother said that your parents were married,” he said, pulling back his hand as he snapped his fingers. “A wedding, then.”
As he started walking back towards the door, Samantha felt that she must’ve missed something. “Sorry,” she called, her legs too weak to walk after him. “Wedding?”
“Yes,” he said, stubbing out his cigarette on the door before he grabbed the handle. “Yours and mine.”
Chapter 2
Samantha was too numb to protest as the man led her back towards the elevator. She stood there beside him, his hand on her lower back, and blinked as the piano played through the speakers. She tried to figure out what’d happened back there, and, more importantly, what was happening now, but her mind was muddled.
She didn’t even know his name.
“Abel Wood,” he chuckled, and she jumped at his voice. Had she asked that out loud? “Your brother called you ‘Sam,’” he continued. “I take it that’s short for something?”
“S-Samantha,” she nodded. Her hair felt weird against her own neck – tangled, and restrained. She wondered if she was sweating again.
“Oh, like the actress,” he said, nodding to himself. Samantha just looked up at him through her eyelashes, unsure if he was joking or not.
The elevator dinged as it reached the main floor, and the old man straightened up as he caught sight of his boss. What was his name again? Earl, Samantha reminded herself.
“Boss!” Earl looked between them.
“Earl,” Abel greeted him warmly. “Meet my new fiancé,” he said casually, wrapping his arm fully around Samantha’s side to pull her up against him. “Spread the word, would you? I don’t want this one hurt.”
“Y-yes, sir!” Earl nodded eagerly, apparently honored to have gotten a job from the boss himself. Samantha glanced up at him again. Abel looked thirty, maybe mid-thirties, thought that was pushing it. She herself was only twenty-seven, and still working as an assistant. What had he done to inspire such loyalty from a man twice his age?
“C’mon,” Abel whispered, turning her down the hall away from Earl and, more importantly, towards the exit. Unfortunately, it seemed that Abel wasn’t going to pull any punches, and he kept a firm grip on her as he walked them outside.
Samantha couldn’t help but glance to her car, an escape that was so close yet so far away.
Except, the bug wasn’t there.
“Where’s my car?” she accused, pushing at Abel’s arm as she looked up and down the street.
“Oh, that little green contraption you pulled up in? One of my men drove it to my house already. But don’t worry, darling,” he said, guiding her towards a black four door parked on the corner. “Our ride is right over here.”
He urged her inside first, and she couldn’t help but feel like a pig being packed up and led off to the slaughter house. Scooting all the way down,
she leaned as close to the other door as she could, her eyes on her lap as Abel’s long legs stepped inside after her. She subtly tried the handle, but it was locked.
Pulling the other door closed behind him, Abel seemed to sag into the leather seat and breathed out a sigh. “All right, Ben. Take us home.”
“You got it,” a scratchy voice sounded from the front. Samantha glanced up, catching a pierced eyebrow in the rearview mirror. Another biker from the gang, she guessed.
“So,” Abel said, turning his head to pin her under his stare. “Do you want to keep your last name?”
Samantha wanted to ask him if he was crazy, but instead she just licked her lips and said, “Do you want me to?”
“I’d prefer it if you took mine,” he admitted with a shrug. Turning away, he sighed, and said, “Either way, the child will be a Wood.”
“Uh,” Samantha said. “Child?”
“Yours and mine,” he repeated with a smile, and she felt a shiver run down her spine.
She got the feeling that she was really going to grow to despise those three words.
Samantha didn’t know what sort of dwelling she had expecting a biker boss to live in, but she certainly hadn’t thought it’d be a penthouse suite, even for a well-dressed one.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Abel said, dropping his jacket over the back of a cream couch. The décor in his apartment was mostly light colors, with the odd pop of electric blue or bubblegum pink framed in graffiti art on the high walls.
“Uh, thanks,” Samantha said, moving to sit on the edge of a white ottoman.
“Come closer,” Abel beckoned, falling onto a couch as he spread out his arms and let his head drop onto the backrest with a huff. “So you can reach the coffee table.”
His ‘coffee table’ was a large plate of glass balanced on what looked like four chrome handlebars that’d been welded together. She moved towards it cautiously, taking a seat on the opposite couch.
“Good,” Abel smiled. “Now, if you would be so kind…” he said, turning to the end table on his right to pick up a giant red book. He set it on the coffee table with a small tap, considering what the thing must’ve weighed, and proceeded to open up the cover and reveal that it wasn’t really a book at all.
