by L. Grubb
Shrinking back, she eyes me under her lashes. “Doesn’t matter if you don’t believe me. I’m still your mum and you have to look after me.” Her desperation clears from her face and a steely resolve takes over. The hardening of her eyes as she stares at me makes me understand and imagine how ruthless she used to be as a First Lady.
“I don’t owe you shit. You’re out of luck this time, Pauline. I’m not giving you money.” I pull my shoulders back and tower over her. I mean business this time, she isn’t getting anything out of me because I’m officially done.
“I don’t want to go back to working the streets. I want to get clean. That’s why I came to ask you for enough money to buy the house I want.” She chews at her lips and fiddles with the leather strap of her handbag.
Taking another deep breath, I curl my lip back and hiss, “Listen to me. You aren’t getting jack shit. Get the fuck out of my club before I forcefully remove you myself.”
She nods a few times, mumbling unintelligible words under her breath. I knew she was fucking delusional but she refused the help and I’m fucking done with her. Turning slowly, she heads for the main doors, still muttering to herself and shaking her head.
When she reaches the doors, she turns and says, “You’ll never hear the end of this, son. The end of your club is coming and I’ll be laughing on your grave.”
I smirk in amusement and raise a brow at her. “I’m not scared of you. You’re a nobody to me and the whole world doesn’t give a shit about a dead beat mother who’s so strung out on crack and heroin that she can hardly remember her name sometimes.” I give her one of the small sarcastic waves and turn, not giving her another second of my time.
“You alright, Prez?” Ranger asks. He’s sat at the bar eyeing me cautiously. He knows how I get once I’ve seen her.
“I feel the best I’ve felt for years. In fact, round the boys up because we’re partying hard tonight.” I slap him on the shoulder and head to my office. I need to come up with a plan to sort those fuckers out that are roaming the street. I’ll never forgive myself if anything happens to a citizen. Those little shits are going down.
Present
“They fucking what!?” I bellow across the church room. I see several of the mens’ eyes widen and swallow at my outburst. Sorry not fucking sorry.
“They took a girl. I have a feeling I know who these bikers are, Prez.” Ranger says, scratching the back of his neck.
Turning to him, I glare at him. “Who? And why the fuck haven’t you spoken up sooner! We’ve been looking for these arseholes for two fucking months.”
“Whoa, hold the fuck up, Prez. I said I think I know, not that I do know for sure. My guess is that it’s the Devil Heads MC.” He crosses his arms and frowns.
“The guys from Essex?” I ask. Why the fuck are they in London? They know they’re not allowed to step foot on our territory… if it’s them, that is.
I sit back in my chair, rubbing the scratchy surface of my chin. We had issues with these guys a few years ago. We made a deal and they’ve stuck to it. So why now? “Any ideas why they’re here?”
“None. They’ve been quiet as far as I can tell,” Rexx says from across the table whilst tapping away at his laptop keyboard. “And I can’t find anything fishy on the systems. So they’re either keeping their name low key or they’re just not recording shit anymore. Maybe gone underground?”
“When was the last time they updated shit on the system?” I just want to know what the fuck is going on.
“Mid-June, last year.” Rexx’s face drops. “They’ve gone underground. I bet their clubhouse is abandoned. The last file on their system is something to do with a fucked up drugs run.”
“Shit.” I pound my fist on the table making my unlit cigar roll to the floor. “Now a fucking girl has gone missing.” Pulling at my hair, I growl in frustration. This shit cannot be happening right now. “Do we know who the girl is?”
“Yeah. Hope Jayne Granger,” Rexx tells me, still tapping away on his damn computer.
“That name rings a bell.” My brows furrow as I try to remember where I’ve heard that name before. Granger… not very common.
“It should do. She’s Granger’s daughter.” Everyone looks at me, waiting for an explanation.
“Fuck.” Fuck indeed, I think to myself. Granger was one of us. He was a dedicated, ruthless, brother until he decided to go nomad. Then news of his death hit us a few months back, just as all this shit started to happen. A coincidence? I don’t believe in them. Never have and never will.
I look around the table at my men, gauging their reactions. These guys were close to Granger, even after he patched out. Even though he was nomad, he always helped us when we called in a favour. This shit is getting out of hand. If any strand of hair is hurt on her head, I’ll never forgive myself. I swore to Granger when we patched him in that if anything should happen to him, we’d protect Hope. I wasn’t president when he was around, my father was, but I respected him.
Where my father was unapproachable, I was the opposite. Probably why he came to me to protect his precious girl. She happened to be around my age, maybe a few years younger. Never met her but Granger used to show her photos off all the time.
“We need to get her out of their clutches, Prez. If all the shit I’ve seen on their system is anything to go by…I can’t imagine what’s next for her.” Rexx gives a worried expression as he bites his bottom lip; a nervous tell of his.
“What have you found?” I sit up straighter in my chair and steeple my fingers together on the table surface with my eyes burning a hole in Rexx’s face.
“Trafficking, and not just drugs either it seems.” Rexx has olive skin from his Spanish decent, but right now he looks as white as the rest of us and I swear I see a hint of green.
“Spit it out, Rexx!” I boom, frustrated with him tiptoeing around it.
“Woman, kids, babies, he traffics fucking everything that has a good profit.” Rexx hangs his head and I can see him taking deep breaths. He’s one of the only patched brothers that wears his heart on his sleeve. He has emotions that the other fuckers deem too weak to show and that’s probably why we don’t let him come on runs with us. He may be a fully-fledged brother but I’d never subject him to death and destruction; he’d never survive. He’s still young at nineteen, never really had a fight that wasn’t outside of a bar, but he’s a fucking genius at computers…that’s why we patched him in. He was the best prospect we had and the only one to be patched in after only being with us five months; usually, you have to be here at least a year to be considered.
“Fucking Jesus,” Ranger grumbles. I see him scrubbing his hand up and down his face from the corner of my eye as I stare blankly at the glass surface of our meeting room table
“We have to find her, Prez,” Crank murmurs from beside Ranger. “If Granger was here…he’d have our fucking heads on a platter. Why was no-one watching her like usual?”
“She was supposed to be at work. The prospect wasn’t due back at the nursing home to tail her ‘til five. She usually has lunch at work. I’m going over to the home to find out why she left. Ranger, I want you with me. Everyone else? Find out where these fuckers are at.” Banging the gavel down, we all scatter from the room and go our separate ways. The only one left in the meeting room is Rexx and that’s because he works better in silence. Women aren’t allowed in there so there’ll be no disturbances. If that’s the way he wants to work than that’s fine by me. We need all hands on deck to find Hope.
Hope
5 days later
I groan, my head pounding in time with the water dripping from the corner. I’m not sure how long I’ve been here. There’s no windows for sunlight so I have no idea when day turned to night and when night turned to day. I went by my body clock which is always in time. But then again, when you have nothing to do all you want to do is sleep. With the lack of nutrition and very little water, the dehydration makes my head feel like it’s beating in time with a bass dru
m. My skin is pasty and my body is lacking the energy it needs to fight and I just lay on this thin, disgusting mattress and sing melodies to keep myself going.
As I lay here, I think back on the life I’ve had and I can’t say it was easy riding but I wouldn’t change it now. Except maybe my dad. He did some shitty things in his time but by the end of his time, I knew he loved me. He became the dad I always wanted. Leaving the club did him wonders, even though he threw them some favours still, he’s changed. I got to see him more and I was happier than I ever had been. When he died, I crumbled and withdrew from everyone I knew. I threw myself into work, did extra hours and now that I’m stuck here, I realise the difference I make to people’s lives and how much I actually love my job. Old people rarely have many people left, we’re the friendly faces that make them comfortable, talk to them when no-one else will listen and are there in their final moments. It’s heart-breaking but I know, from the memories they shared, that they lived a love filled life.
Banging comes from outside the heavy metal door and I scramble to sit up and back myself into the corner of the mattress, pulling my knees up to my chest to make myself smaller.
The key in the lock is loud and I wince through the pain in my head. With the door swinging opening, the light from outside makes my brain bash about that little bit more and I feel ready to throw up.
The silhouette of a large, bulky man fills the doorway and says in a dead-tone voice, “Up, lady. The big man wants to see you.” A retort is on the tip of my tongue but I bite my lip to stop myself from spewing word vomit and getting myself into more trouble. “NOW!”
Shit. Jumping up, I stumble unsteadily to the door where the man grabs my wrist and twists it behind my back. Screaming out, I stumble as I’m shoved hard against the brick wall. The stinging in my cheek has me whimpering, the trickle of blood that lands in my mouth makes me retch. Fuck that hurt. It’s the same damn routine every time I’m summoned and I don’t think it’s something anyone will ever get used to. The pain, the pressure, the humiliation, is now part of my day to day living. Do I have a chance at getting out of here? Probably not. I have no fight left so I can’t help myself. There is no route to escape the dank, dark dungeon room that I’ve been staying in with the drips of water to soothe me to sleep and the only sound that stops me going completely insane.
The guy pulls me by my elbow and shoves me through the door into the corridor and I stumble and right myself before I’m shoved in the back again. This time, I go down hard on my hands and knees and scream out into the silence of the corridor. Fucking shit, that hurt. Being pulled up once again, I’m dragged along the corridor and up the stone steps, which I just about manage to not slide on the slippery surface.
Another shove has my hands smashing on a sharp edge of stone on the stairs and I whimper as the pain reverberates up my arm. “I’m not fightin’ you so stop pushing me.”
“I just like to shove you about, lady. It’s fun to see you struggle.” I can hear the malice undertone in his voice and I shiver. His deep rumble echoes against the stony walls that surround us and I swallow against the lump in my throat. I won’t let this man, or any of the others for that matter, see me cry. I’m not weak. I remember my father, the father I thought I knew in his last days as a man of loyalty, who would fight for his family and I steel back my shoulders as I get back to my feet.
The door at the top of the stairs is opened and the bright light has me squinting, the pain in my head becoming almost unbearable. One last shove in my back and I’m through the door into a sterile white room. Looking around quickly, I’m shocked to see it’s just like any kitchen in a normal house. Gun-metal grey appliances, white tiled walls and a wood, white painted, table with four fold out chairs sit in the middle of the room.
“No time to look around, lady. Keep moving.” His large, calloused hand wraps around the back of neck, pushing me forward through an archway into a large room with a rounded bar in the corner, wood-planked floors and rackety table and chairs dotted around the area. Soft rock music is playing through a hidden surround sound and the sound of laughter coming from outside has my stomach knotting with nerves. Deep breaths, Hope. I chant this in my head as not to piss myself all over their sticky floor. “Sit.” I’m shoved into a worn oak chair that hurts my bony arse and I fold my hands in my lap.
“Hope.” My name echoes around the room and my head shoots up in the direction it came from. The man who had me up against the brick wall of a bank is walking towards me, a swagger in his stride. Overly confident and I can imagine he’s extremely arrogant. “How are you?”
“Bit of a stupid question, don’t you think?” Brain to mouth filter has disappeared out the window and my defiance spews out.
“Now, now, no need to be bitchy.” His chuckle is sardonic, demonised in fact. It creeps me out and shakes every bone in my body. “Are you ready to talk?”
“I don’t know what you want from me, sir.” I may be defiant but I was raised by a mother who prided herself on politeness. I may be in a shit place with these people but I’m not going to try and make my life any more hellish than it already is.
“Let me make this clear. Your dad had a debt to pay and due to is untimely death, we weren’t able to get it. You’re his collateral damage, sweetheart.” The dirty smirk on his face makes my skin crawl and I use every inch of my will power not to visibly cringe at him. “He also held some valuable information and I have a feeling he told you every last detail.”
“Why me? I’m no use to anyone. I’m just a carer. My job, those old people need me.” I can feel the tears stinging my eyes, the lump forming in my throat making it hard to breathe. “Please…” I beg in a whisper. My throat is burning from holding back the tears but I won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
“You’re all he has left and you have everything he left behind. You won’t get hurt if you work for us. Don’t worry, precious, it’s only a bit of bar work and stripping. I’m sure that’s not too bad considering what we can do to you… especially if you decide to decline the offer.” He lights a cigarette and blows the smoke in my face. I don’t cough, I don’t complain. Funnily enough, I smoke too so it really doesn’t bother me.
“What will be the consequences of me declining?” I ask. I’m pretty sure I already know the answer but I ask it anyway. Best to be sure and all that.
“I’ll kill ya. Simple as that.” His beady eyes stare at me as I desperately try to gulp around the lump wedged in my throat.
Well, that really doesn’t give me any option. “Fine. I’ll work for you.”
“Well, don’t sound too enthusiastic. You’ll have your own room, as much sex as you want and three meals a day.” His ever present smirk turns into a wide grin, showing off his yellowed teeth.
“I don’t want sex with any of you. But I appreciate everything else has long as I’m not in the basement.” My shoulders sag in defeat, my head hangs down to my chest and take some deep breaths to calm the flurry of nervous butterflies that have taken flight in my stomach.
“No sex? Fine. You’ll be off limits then. Like I said, stripping and bartending. Not hard really.” He stands with a groan and walks off, bellowing orders to his men as he walks through a door off to the side.
“Hope? I’ll show you to your room.” The sweet, gentle voice of a girl comes from behind me. I turn my head and my eyes widen at how young she looks; fourteen, maybe? And she’s wearing a LBD with her face caked in make-up.
I stand on wobbly legs and follow her to hallway on the other side of the vast room, climbing the creaky steps one at a time. One long corridor with multiple doors looms before me and she shows me into the first one on the left. “Thank you…” I say, giving her a small smile.
“Georgina. My name’s Georgina.” She opens the door and waves me in before saying, “Sleep well. You’ll be starting tomorrow. Me and a couple of other girls will show you the ropes.” She shuts the door before I can say anything else.
I turn and sur
vey the small space. A double bed is pushed up against green painted walls, an oak wardrobe is against the wall at the end of the bed and a door that leads into what I can tell is a bathroom. That’s about all that’s in here, except for the wicker chair in the corner. At least I have my own bathroom, I tell myself. Nothing worse than using the same toilet as men.
Sitting on the bed, I hold my head in my hands and let myself go, crying uncontrollably as reality of my situation settles in. I can’t fucking believe this. What was my dad up to? What were his deep secrets? I thought we told each other everything, but I guess I had him completely wrong. I worshipped the ground he walked on in the final months, now I just wish I could bring him back from the dead just so I can put him straight back in the hole he’s resting in now. Harsh? Maybe, but when you’re practically kidnapped, you think all kinds of irrational thoughts.
Having no family, or friends, who the hell is going to get me out of this mess? I’m trapped, and the claustrophobia is closing in. My heart pounds a staccato in my chest and my hands become clammy. Remembering my therapy, I hang my head between my legs and concentrate on my breathing. In, out. In, out. I must stay like this for a good ten minutes before the fuzziness in my hands wears off and the fog in my head clears.
Sitting for another five minutes just to make sure I’m not going to go dizzy when I stand up, I eye the door and notice a lock. Thank Christ. At least in here, I can have my privacy.
Walking to the door, I turn the lock and the bolt at the top before I strip my manky clothes and heading into the bathroom for a shower.
I sigh contentedly when the hot water hits my skin, the filth and grime of the basement washing down the drain. The bathroom isn’t five stars or even a three star, but it has what it needs; small shower that just about manages to fit me in, a toilet and sink with an oval mirror attached to the wall. It’ll do.
