“Jean shorts and a tank top, I didn’t bring anything too crazy, they aren’t really little black dress kind of guys.” I smirk.
“That works.”
“Stay here.”
Standing from the bed, I turn and make my way toward the door. Wrapping my hand around the knob, I flip the lock with my other hand before I twist the handle and look back at her. She is watching me and her gaze looks a little less dead, but she still doesn’t look herself.
“You’re going to be okay,” I whisper.
She nods once. “Yeah.”
Avah doesn’t look like she believes me, but I don’t dwell. I’ll get her back to where she was, and if she isn’t the same person, maybe she’ll like this version of herself better? I don’t know, but I have hope and right now that’s all that she needs too.
Hurrying toward my room, I grab a pair of shorts and an oversized tank top. I also take a pair of sandals, since I know that she’s only half a size smaller shoe size than me. Quickly, I walk back toward the room where I know she’s waiting for me.
The door is slightly ajar and I pause in the hall, pressing my back against the wall as I strain to hear if someone is in there.
“You doin’ okay, babe?” a deep voice asks.
“Yeah,” Avah breathlessly sighs.
“You’ll be okay,” that voice murmurs and I recognize it. That voice belongs to my father.
My eyes widen, and I suck in a breath. “Trista will be back soon,” she warns.
His voice rumbles, and I decide to slip away. Sliding down the wall, I reach for the handle of a door, unsure of whose it is and turn it before slipping inside.
“What the fuck, bitch?” Sable screams.
Turning around slowly, I wish I hadn’t. I see her, ass in the air, face pointed directly at me and one of the newer members with his dick in her ass. He smirks up at me, jerking his chin.
“You stay in here much longer, Taz will kill me because you’re hot as fuck, baby.”
Stumbling backward, my gaze flicks from him to Sable, then back to him as I reach for the handle behind me. Turning the knob, I push the door open and fall backward, but thankfully catch my flailing body before I make an even bigger ass out of myself.
“You’re such a fucking cunt,” Sable screams.
I don’t know what she’s so pissed off about, I mean she literally offered to fuck me with Taz. I’ve also seen her do a lot of shit in the bar area, including anal, but suddenly she’s shy over one on one anal sex? I don’t get it, but I decide not to ask any questions.
Reaching for the door, the guy moans. My gaze lifts to meet his, and he’s watching me as he fucks Sable’s ass. He smirks then stops and lets out a groan as he finds his release. I’m frozen, reaching forward, my hand on the doorknob, his dick buried in her ass, his eyes on mine.
He reaches for her hair and tugs her head back, never breaking eye contact with me. “You earned your money, Sable,” he purrs.
My body jerks. Money? Clubwhores don’t earn money, not by the screw at least. They get a small allowance every month, plus a clothing stipend, free food and a free place to live. What they don’t get is… tips? Is that what he’s talking about? Giving her a fucking tip for letting him fuck her ass?
I open my mouth to tell him that Pinkie does anal for free, but decide it’s not my damn business and instead, I slam the door closed before I run to Avah’s room. Bursting inside, I don’t bother checking to see if my dad is still there. Instead, I slam the door closed and lock it quickly before I lift my eyes to meet hers.
“What the…?”
I let out a giggle, it takes over my entire body until I throw myself down on Avah’s bed and start to roll around. Then I go about telling her what I just witnessed, then explain to her just what a fucking bitch Sable was to me.
TAZ
We deliberate for what seems like hours. Hawk eventually joins us along with Dragon. Bones and a few of his crew show up a couple hours later and our conference room is completely packed with men.
We’re all dumb fuckers, but there has to be one of us that can come up with some kind of solution that doesn’t involve war and trafficking young girls.
“I’m calling him now, he’s expecting it,” Dragon announces as his phone rings.
It’s on speaker so we all shut the fuck up while we wait for Gavino Santoro, the head of the Zanetti famiglia mafia to answer us. If anyone will possibly know how we can navigate this, it’ll be a man who actually does sell skin and traffic women.
“Tell me what the fuck is going on?” Gavino barks on the other end of the line.
Dragon chuckles then tells him everything up to now. Santoro doesn’t say anything right away. We all silently wait for him to speak, and it seems like hours tick by instead of minutes.
“I could give you some Irish women that are untrained and around those ages. All but the virgins, I’m auctioning those off,” he says.
The way he talks, it’s so goddamn casual, as if we aren’t talking about actual people, but product instead. I guess that’s what they are to people like him, people like the Punchers.
Just a bunch of fucking product, a way to make a buck. When they’re out of sight and out of mind they’re forgotten about completely.
“We’re trying to avoid dealing in skin,” Dragon murmurs.
“Yeah, I sense you’re wanting to do that and honestly, I wouldn’t feel comfortable making that kind of trade, one where I know that they’ll be abused and discarded, that’s not what I do. My girls are treated fairly, respected, protected.”
Lifting my gaze to Dragon, I arch a brow. Dragon’s wife was one of Gavino’s whores. She ran the fuck away, but he did her a kindness, he let her stay and she didn’t seem abused.
Plus, like all the other guys, I’ve visited and partook in the offers of Gavino’s women. All were extremely willing, sexy, and sweet as shit.
“We have to have a fucking plan, man,” Dragon practically pleads. “Got our families on the line here and as much as I want to just grab some bitches and pass them off, that doesn’t sit right in my gut,” he finally fucking admits.
Silver grunts. Obviously feeling the same as all of us, now all of a sudden, this shit doesn’t sit right with Dragon. Last night he was all but willing to do just that, collect girls and hand them over.
I seriously don’t even know at this point of this is the man we need as our president, this whole situation makes me feel edgy. Watching, waiting, and listening, we all hold our breaths for whatever Gavino is about to say next.
“I get that. Had my wife at a safe house for months.” Gavino pauses, then he speaks again. “You could safehouse your women here if you want. I have plenty of room, but hiding them won’t save them, not in the long run. It’s only a temporary fix,” he explains.
“So, you’re suggesting war?” Dragon asks.
Bones grunts, along with a few of the other men. I wait. “A war with them doesn’t seem like it would be something you want or can sustain. Though their numbers aren’t huge, I feel as though they’re brutality will prevail over their shortcomings,” he says.
“True,” Mountain mutters.
“Cut them off at the head. That’s the only thing that I can suggest. Get rid of their original leaders and then slowly their group will submit.”
“This ain’t the mafia, that’s not what will happen. Their members will seek retribution. They will kill us, all of us,” Wolfe announces.
Gavino clears his throat. “I can’t give you women, not for what they want. If this were something you wanted to get in to, having a stable, I would be more than willing to do some fair trades, but selling profitable pussy to certain death? Can’t do it. Whatever you choose, let me know how I can help, as long as I can, I will.”
The line goes dead as Gavino ends the call. “Fuck,” Dragon hisses. “Goddammit,” he barks. “We’re back at square one.”
“Not really,” Mountain mutters. “Gavino said he’d help. He gave us some advice.
I agree with his initial thoughts, but only a bit differently,” he offers, lifting his lips in a sly smile.
“What?” Dragon barks.
“Cut the snake off at the head, but we’re thinking too literal. It isn’t the Donkey Punchers who want the women. They aren’t the ones in charge,” he begins.
Standing up, I slam my hands on the table. “Kill the men who have paid for the girls,” I practically shout.
“Exactly.” Mountain grins. “Kill the sick fucks themselves. They’re going to be rich assholes probably, possibly high-powered men, but they are the ones who need to die.”
Dragon’s lips twitch into an evil fucking grin. “Fuck yeah.” He chuckles. “Fuck, yeah.”
Chapter Thirty
TRISTA
I reach over the bar, grabbing a bottle of tequila and not the shit that they give hangers-on. I grab the good shit. Settling down on the seat, I slam the bottle down between us. Smiling, I fill the two shot glasses with the clear liquid.
I take a shot, then watch as Avah takes one as well. We both hiss, then immediately take another. The men are in church. I can hear rumbling and grumbling coming from the closed door, but I ignore it.
They’re always pissed off about something and I’m hoping that they are figuring out how to get out of kidnapping and selling women. That’s my true hope anyway. I just can’t imagine them doing that, and I can’t imagine staying with a man that would.
Avah takes another shot, then another. After her fifth, I decide to ask her about my father. “What’s going on with you and Hawk? I didn’t listen, but I saw he was in your room earlier,” I murmur.
Avah stills, then shifts her gaze to mine. She looks almost horrified, but underneath it, I see that she looks excited. Her eyes are twinkling and they no longer look dead, they did when I first walked in on her earlier today.
“He’s nice,” she whispers with a small shrug of her shoulder.
“He’s literally old enough to be your father,” I point out.
Her lips curve up into a small smile. “I have daddy issues.” She laughs softly.
“I just bet you fucking do,” I snort. “But don’t use my father to work through those.”
Avah’s eyes widen as she pours herself another shot. “Trista, I’ve used plenty of older men to work through my issues. Thing is? I’m attracted to them and your father is one of the most attractive I’ve ever seen. If you don’t want me to go there, I won’t, but just to say, he’s hot as shit.”
I think about her words. I almost tell her absolutely no way in fuck do I want her with my father, then I realize it won’t last. She’s only here for a short time. Who am I to deny her some fun?
My father and I aren’t close, he isn’t my dad, he’s just this guy who fucked my mom. If she wants to be with him, I really don’t care. It doesn’t affect me in any real way.
“Just know, he fucks the whores here. But if you want him, then have fun.” I smile. “He’s not my dad, not really.”
Her eyes soften and she reaches for my hand. Wrapping her fingers around my wrist, she gives me a soft squeeze. “He’s your dad,” she says softly. “He cares about you, enough that he came all the way to Cali to protect you,” she whispers.
I dip my chin. “He does care about me and I care about him, too. Except I care about him like I care about any of my friends. Not in any kind of fatherly way,” I say with a shrug.
“That could change, but what you have with him, it’s a start.” She smiles.
I match her smile with my own and nod. A prospect appears and slips a couple beers in front of us, along with a couple bottles of water. We stay perched on the barstools talking and drinking. We alternate between shots, beers, and water.
“You need food,” the same prospect announces after who knows how long.
Lifting my heavy lids toward him, my lips curl up into a small smile. “You’re probably right,” I slur.
He snorts. “Know I am. Sent Pinkie to the kitchen to rustle something up for you. Made sure she knew to include carbs, lots of fucking carbs.” He chuckles.
Avah leans forward, her eyes wide as she whisper-yells across the bar to him. “I don’t eat carbs.”
His lips curve into a wide smile. “Babe, I have no doubt a carb hasn’t passed those lips in years, but you’re drunk off your ass and if you don’t eat them, you’ll be sick as fuck.”
Avah turns to me. “Does it really look like I haven’t eaten carbs in years?” she cries.
Pressing my lips together, my eyes search hers for a moment. I’m just as fucking tanked as she is, except I’m not going to turn down a carb. I never met one that I didn’t like. Although, I was dieting and exercising like crazy before Taz dragged my ass back here, that’s over now.
I don’t need to compete with all of the models in Los Angeles. I mean, I’m not about to let myself go, but I know for a fact Taz likes tits and ass. I have the tits, but my ass is infinitely smaller than it was before I left here over a year ago.
“It does. I mean you’re all LA from head to toe,” I point out.
She frowns, then looks to the side as Pinkie slides a tray of cheese, crackers, and salami in front of us. Avah opens her mouth and I know she’s going to say some shit about not eating processed meat, especially with nitrates.
“Avah,” I warn. She turns to me. “Look around, girl. These dudes do not give a shit about nitrates. Just eat the crackers if you don’t want the meat.”
“But they’re processed,” she hisses as though she’s completely offended. Letting out a sigh, I swing my head over to the prospect, roll my eyes, then swing my gaze back to Avah’s.
“Girl, you’re going to be puking soon and if you don’t have anything in your stomach to puke it’s going to hurt like a bitch. Eat the fucking crackers,” I snap with a slur.
Avah’s eyes widen, then they lower to the tray before they lift back to meet mine. “I don’t want to throw up,” she whimpers as tears fill her eyes.
“Oh shit, we have a crier,” Pinkie yells.
Avah’s tears start to fall as her bottom lip trembles. “Am I a crier?” she asks.
“You’re crying,” I point out.
She lifts her hands to her face and touches her cheeks, then her lips part and her eyes widen again. “I am a crier. Oh my God. I hate crying. What the hell is wrong with me?”
“You’re drunk, girl,” Pinkie states.
Avah spins around to look at Pinkie. “I am,” she whispers. “Oh my God. I’m drunk and I’m a crier. I don’t want to be this way. I don’t want to throw up. I don’t want to eat processed foods. There’s no plant-based anything here in the desert of Arizona, is there?” she cries.
“Now she’s just being damn fool crazy,” Pinkie mutters.
My lips twitch into a small smile. “LA has plant-based everything, it’s a trend right now,” I say shrugging a shoulder. “I actually like some of it,” I say with a slur.
Pinkie’s eyes widen, then she shakes her head a couple of times. “Sounds like a crazy town. I’m happy with good ol’ red meat and potatoes personally,” she shrugs.
Reaching for the crackers, cheese, and salami, I make myself a couple sandwiches then completely unladylike, I shove a whole one in my mouth and chew. Swallowing, I don’t waste a minute before shoving another one in my face.
Avah’s still crying next to me. I shake my head, put some cheese and cracker sandwiches together and shove one in her open mouth. She gasps, turning to me as she slowly chews.
“I can’t believe you just tainted me with a processed cracker,” she whispers.
Leaning forward, I can’t take the smile off of my face when I say. “You’ve had worse shit in your mouth, Avah. Eat the fucking cracker.”
TAZ
With a decision and the beginnings of a plan in place, we decide to leave the conference room and take a break. We have a fuckton of research to do and without some serious computer knowledge, we won’t be able to get it done.
“Your girl is
trashed,” the prospect who is usually behind the bar announces from my side.
Shifting my gaze over to the bar, I frown at the sight. She’s leaning toward her friend, Avah, and Pinkie is standing on the other side of Avah, but she is heavily leaning.
I don’t care that she’s drunk, but it bothers me that she’s drinking without me. The fact that she’s been alone and vulnerable is upsetting. Which is all bullshit because she’s here in my clubhouse, around her friends and family
“Is Avah, crying?” Hawk asks as he steps up to my side.
My body jerks, and I shift my gaze from Trista to Avah. She does look like she’s crying. Her body is shaking and her head is bowed.
“Maybe she’s laughing?” I ask.
Hawk shakes his head once. “Man, I do not do crying bitches.”
“They’re trashed,” I quietly offer.
His body jerks and he lets out a snort. “I really don’t do crying drunk bitches,” he mutters.
Ignoring him, because I know for a fact he’ll do a bitch if she’s crying, he doesn’t give much of a fuck as long as she’s willing. He’s like the rest of us. I make my way toward the women. When I’m close enough to touch her, I slip my hand around Trista’s hip and touch my mouth to the side of her neck.
She turns slightly, her eyes finding mine. She’s trashed, just as the prospect said. Her eyelids are lowered to small slits, her lips are turned up into a lazy smile as she looks up at me. She shakes her head a couple of times before she lifts her thumb and points back at Avah.
“She’s crying because I made her eat carbs, processed ones,” she whisper-yells.
Flicking my eyes over to a plate that’s between them, I notice some crackers, cheese, and salami. “Crackers? She’s crying because of crackers?” I ask.
Trista nods her head, her tongue peeking out to taste her lips. “She’s been plant-based for a while and doesn’t eat anything that’s processed.”
“I don’t even know what any of that shit means, babe,” I say with a chuckle.
UnTouch Me (Savage Beast MC Book 5) Page 23
