Lunchtime Chronicles: Fresh Meat

by L. Loren

As Paradyce continued to bombard me with text messages about her plans for our birthdays, I began to get more and more intrigued. I should have some say in what I did and where I went for my own birthday, but she took so much pleasure in planning I usually just went along with it.

  Dyce: Chica, I have secured a sponsor for our birthday celebration. We are headed to the Caribbean. Sun, fun, a yacht and lots of hot deck hands.

  Me: Sponsor? Kill me now!

  Dyce: Have you had your coffee? You need it.

  Me: I barely had any sleep. You know we had inventory at the store last night. I just laid down about two hours ago. GO AWAY!

  When the phone chimed a couple of seconds later, I pulled the duvet over my head and kicked my feet like a two-year-old having a tantrum. Keeping my head under the cover, I read the text with one eye open.

  Dyce: NOT MY PROBLEM! Get your tired ass up! We have shopping to do. Be there in 15.

  This chick here. I groaned because I knew she would not let me sleep. Dragging myself out of bed, I found my way into the bathroom to get ready for an exhaustive day of shopping on Lincoln Road. I hated shopping in those ostentatious designer stores with overpriced clothes that most people couldn’t afford, but somehow managed to wear. It was my worst nightmare come true, but it was a part of my bestie duties. If I didn’t love the girl so much, I would bail.

  Dyce was one of those people who live for the fashions, darling. It was an expensive habit that I had no interest in partaking. Living in a tropical climate meant I could wear as little as possible at all times and I loved it. I would be a beach bum if my father would have allowed it. Board shorts, bra tops, and anything that would show off my canvas of tattoos was my comfort zone. I didn’t need red bottoms pinching my feet when I had the sickest collection of sneakers in Dade County. Nor did I need designer dresses cutting off my circulation, when I could just throw on shorts and a tank and be happy. Relaxation and comfort were my main concerns when buying clothes, not labels and who wore it best competitions on social media.

  The fact that Dyce and I were besties shocked a lot of people. We looked nothing alike. I was tall to her short. She was curvy to my athletic figure. I was a delicious shade of ebony, while her Cuban heritage made for a lightly tanned skin tone. One of the main differences was, she flunked out of college freshman year and I opened my own internet business during my sophomore year, which I later sold for millions, obtained my degree in Marketing and went on to earn my MBA all before the age of 25. My success caused people to think I was some sort of Alexis Ohanian. Nope, far from it. I was nowhere near as driven as the man who captured Serena’s heart. My business projects were always a way for me to have fun. When I was done with that part of my life, I had no problem selling the business and moving on. I believe I was a gypsy in a former life.

  My latest venture was a sneaker shop for rare and unusual kicks. It was thriving due to the location and connections I made through Dyce. She may party her ass off and participate in activities some would consider shady, but the woman was smart when money was concerned. She knew how to grab a coin. Being kicked out of college the second semester of our freshman year taught her some tough life lessons. She knew how to survive.

  Dyce was the life of the party, always going and going like there was no tomorrow. I was right there by her side, but I knew better than to flunk my courses. My father would have killed me. She never could find the balance between partying and studying. With all the trips we took, she burned through her trust that her grandparents left her within three years. At that point, Dyce started living off her rich, so-called sponsors she was always talking about. They were nothing more than glorified sugar daddies that she met on the N2U dating site. That site was not for those purposes and she would more than likely be kicked off if they found out, but she gave zero fucks. Leave it up to Dyce to find an older man willing to pay her way. She could sniff them out like a hound dog.

  Though I liked to party like any woman in her twenties, I knew my limitations. Instead of falling victim to the same lifestyle and allowing it to take over my life in a negative way, I focused on business. Since I still loved the party scene, I came up with a way to make money at the same time. I started a party promotion business called Quench. I asked Dyce to help me run it. If there was one thing she knew and loved, it was how to throw a party. Dyce was an enormous help with all the contacts she had in the industry. Most of them came from her ventures as a sugar baby, but I didn’t judge her. It wasn’t like she slept with all her dates.

  Those men were smart, successful and generous with their time, knowledge and money. Quench soon became one of the most sought-after promotion companies in Miami thanks to their expertise. We called our company that because we sold a high energy atmosphere that attracted the best crowds. People were always so thirsty for status in Miami. Our events were a sure-fire way to gain popularity and status in the 305, thus quenching their thirst.

  The loud knocking on my door dragged me out of my ruminations. I couldn’t believe Dyce was able to pull this Caribbean trip for our birthdays. We were going on a luxury yacht that one of her many sugar daddies charted for the weekend. I loved my friend more than anyone who didn’t share my DNA. This boat trip was going to be lit, and her man was paying the bill. I don’t even want to know what she had to do to get him to agree to this.

  My only caution was her sugar daddy had friends. I just hope she didn’t give the expectation that I would be giving up the goods to any of her man’s friends that were sure to tag along. Older men were nicer to hang out with on a boat, but they tended to have mean streaks when they felt disrespected or rejected.

  I had seen his friends and they were not very pleasing to the eye. His best friend, Fletch had grabby hands and loved to call black women his little chocolate drops. I was a pretty easy-going chick, but that burned my ass every time I heard it. I opened my front door to find Dyce all dolled up and ready for our outing. Was she really wearing four-inch heels and a ton of makeup this early in the morning?

  “Hey, you little succubus, it’s about time you got here. Why did you text me so early? You know I need my beauty rest.”

  I rolled my eyes pretending to be annoyed. In truth, I wasn’t that bothered by her texts. I was always happy to see Dyce, no matter how sleepy I was. I just needed my coffee, which she handed to me and smiled.

  “Listen you little wendigo, don’t fuck with me today. I need to go shopping like you need to get laid.”

  Well that was rude. True, but rude.

  “Touché, hoe and thanks for my bean juice. Now, please tell me that just because your sponsor is paying, he does not expect me to play with any of his friends.”

  Dyce stopped laughing and gave me that sad look she always had whenever one of her men was brought into the conversation. I continued sipping on my sweet concoction, while listening to her pitch.

  “Harley, I know his friends are big flirts and a bit handsy, but they are Tito’s friends. They are good men. Plus, with the money he is shelling out for this trip, he has a right to tag along and bring a friend or two.”

  “You know I am not sleeping with any of them, Dyce. I need you to tell them before we get on that boat. Besides, if you wanted to charter a boat, I could have just asked to borrow my dad’s.”

  “And have him spying on us? No way. Besides, your father’s boat isn’t near as nice as this one and we wouldn’t get to be on TV.”

  “TV? What scheme have you cooked up now?”

  “We are going on the TV show Down Below!”

  I side-eyed this girl as if she was mentally insane.

  “Dyce, I know you’re lying? Are you serious? You know I live for Captain G! He is my fantasy man. A damn dreamboat. Now him, I will fuck six ways to Sunday.”

  “Down Below is one of the most popular shows on KUDOS! Network. We are going to be famous! Yaaaaas! I am going to help you get a piece of your Captain Bae. He is yummy!”

  “I have a good feeling about this trip.”

  She
pulled out her phone and showed me a few pictures of the most luxurious yacht I had ever laid my eyes on. Simply gorgeous. It really was a high-rise apartment floating on the water. It was easy to get caught up in the hype. I could see why Dyce would say yes and worry about the consequences later. It was just her style.

  “As long as this friend keeps his hands and all other body parts away from me, I’ll be good. The only gray hair I want to see on that boat is Captain G’s head between my legs.”

  “Harley, we are going to have so much fun. Trust me, I spoke to the booking agent and requested the hottest crew of deck hands they have. We will have eye candy for days.”

  I am here for the eye candy.

  “Who all’s coming on this thing anyway?”

  “Why do you always do that, as if you would stay home if you didn’t like the group?”

  “Never that. I just like to know who is coming so I know if there will be any mess. You know how some of your friends can be, spreading lies on that Messy Mandy website. Your friends can’t be trusted to keep their mouths shut and you know it. Knowing them, by the end of the trip I will be pregnant and living with that old bald friend of Tito’s.”

  Dyce looked at me sheepishly and then went on to explain how Cinta and Melissa, a couple of her friends would be joining us on the trip because it was her birthday and they wanted to help celebrate. She added that Tito was bringing fellow sugar daddies, Martin and Will along for the ride.

  “Did you even consider I may want to bring a friend or two to hang out with me? I mean it is my birthday celebration also.”

  “Well, no. I mean Tito is paying for the trip, so I just assumed the invites for extras were for me. Besides, you don’t hang out with anyone other than me.”

  “Narcissistic much? Oh, and for the record, I do have other friends. You should have at least offered. Now I am going to be on the party boat where I have to avoid a creepy old man on my birthday.”

  “Whatevs Harley. You are going to be so far up your Captain Bae’s ass you won’t even notice.”

  “Yeah, you’re right! If that man gives me even a hint that he is interested, I’m going down. I mean it’s going down.”

  I stuck out my tongue and did a little shimmy shake. That caused Dyce to start laughing. We cackled and laughed our way to her car. My coffee was now infused in my veins and I was feeling like myself again.

  “Then you should be happy. Once he sees you in the new bikini I am going to pick out for you, he won’t stand a chance.”

  “Girl, yes. I need you to hook me up just this once. However, don’t go overboard. I need him to see the real me and fall in love. You think you can find a suit that will make that happen?”

  Dyce rolled her eyes at me. She was always getting on me for being too conservative. According to her I wasn’t sexy enough. I did not feel the need to flaunt my sexuality. I was a tomboy for the most part and I was comfortable in my skin. I didn’t need to wear a string bikini and 3-inch heels to pull a man. The right one would come running with me in my sporty swim shorts and tank top.

  “Whatevs Harley, you know you are a gorgeous woman. I can’t tell you how many of Tito’s friends ask about you.”

  “Yeah, okay, Dyce. All those old men want with me is to live out some brown sugar fantasy they still have on their bucket list. I am not the check box type. You know, on second thought, I have plenty of swimsuits. I don’t need any more.”

  “Those rags you call swimwear are for surfing and the like. I’m talking about designer suits that look great poolside, but not made to get wet.”

  “What in the actual hell? Who wants a swimsuit you can’t get wet? That’s the whole point. It’s entire reason for existing is to SWIM!”

  “The suits I’m talking about will land you one sexy as fuck sea captain. Have you seen the women that go on his boat? You have to compete with supermodels and the like.”

  “I am my only competition. I don’t need to compete with other women. That is a contest I couldn’t possibly win.”

  Taming of LaRue

  Chapter 1 - Flashbacks and Tattoos

  “I don’t want to survive. I want to live.” – Solomon Northrup

  The unmistakable stench of burning flesh and the gut-wrenching screams woke LaRue from her slumber. LaRue “Church Mouse” Simmons lived in hell ever since that day. She was devastated as she attempted to untie the ropes, chains and zip ties that bound her father to that burning cross. The heat was too much for her to bear. Second degree burns marred her fingers, arms and torso. She could still feel her body burning like it was happening at the moment, but this was just another nightmare. One she couldn’t escape even in her waking hours. No matter where she was, it always haunted her. She tried as hard as she could to release Pops, but nothing she did could save him. She had failed to save his life as he had done for her so many years ago.

  Pops, I am so sorry. I was too weak to save you. I would give my life to have you here.

  She sat on the floor atop an air mattress with tears running down her face. Her situation was the direst that she had ever experience, in her young life, and that was saying something. LaRue had a hard life in the beginning, but the day Pops saved her, things started looking up. That is until the maniac lying beside her snoring, otherwise known as Bear, decided he wanted her and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Pops had warned her against being nice to him, but she didn’t listen. It was her nature to be welcoming to everyone, especially those who society deemed a menace. It was the reason she was drawn to Pops as a child. Society treated bikers like they walked around spewing Bubonic Plague on people. In her mind, she was no different than the outliers. In fact, she was the queen of them.

  After wiping her tear-stained face, LaRue realized this was the opportunity she had been waiting for. Bear was knocked out, almost comatose. He had forgotten to put the chains back on her after he raped her for what seemed like the millionth time. Quietly she moved from the mattress, carefully filling the empty space with pillows. There was a heating pad on the floor that she plugged in and placed on the pillows to imitate body heat. He had always commented that he liked her warmth next to him. She looked to the sky and prayed that this trick would work. There was no way she could stay in this cabin another day. If she got caught, she would gladly slit her own wrists and join her father in the afterlife.

  Anything to get away from him.

  She pulled on his jeans and picked up his only pair of boots. His clothes dwarfed her, but it didn’t matter. She wasn’t there for a fashion shoot. She was escaping captivity. Besides, he took all of her pants and shoes to keep her from escaping. What he didn’t know is that she would run naked into the woods if it meant getting away from him. Creeping to the front door, she gingerly turned the lock with the keys that dangled on a chain attached to his pants pocket. Bikers were notorious for wearing the chain attached to their keys and/or wallets to keep from losing them on the ride. She eased the door open and locked it from the outside. Now she could finally take a breath. He was locked in the prison he had placed her in a little over three months ago.

  Before this opportunity, there was no way for her to escape the cabin. She had tried every trick known to man to no avail. No matter what he did, Bear wouldn’t be able to get to her now. He was trapped. LaRue used the string from the hood of the sweatshirt she was wearing as a belt and secured the baggy pants to her waist. She then placed her feet in the boots, but they were way too big. Finding some leaves in the yard, she stuffed the toes of the boots and secured them to her ankles as best she could before heading down the hill to her freedom.

  She looked at the motorcycle sitting there just waiting for her to climb onboard, but she knew the noise from the engine would wake Bear. She couldn’t chance there being a secret door that she didn’t know about. Instead, she yanked the wire attached to the spark plug and shoved it in her pocket. That should buy her some time. LaRue wanted to be long gone before that monster realized she was not there.

  She must have
walked about seven miles before she saw a glimmer of civilization. She needed to be careful. People in this part of the Appalachian Mountains did not take too kindly to black women, especially those who looked like they had just escaped off of a plantation. She was wearing oversized clothes, her hair was standing on top of her head and she hadn’t bathed in weeks.

  Flashes of Twelve Years a Slave ran through her head. Solomon was a free man and was taken captive by people he mistakenly trusted, just like her. LaRue moved stealthily just as her father had taught her when she was young. She knew how to watch her back, and her hands were deadly weapons when not bound with chains.

  A chill ran down her back as she heard the sound of thundering pipes in the distance. She hid behind a tree and waited to make sure it wasn’t Bear. Yeah, she had his keys and pants, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have spares. A sigh of relief left her mouth as she saw three riders approaching the general store. She remained where she was. Bikers could be dangerous if they were 1%ers. She could find herself in more trouble than she was in with Bear if outlaws got their hands on her.

  Luckily for LaRue, she recognized the center patch on the back of the riders’ cuts. Predators MC with the glorious logo and the purple and black colors. Her late father was the co-founder of the club and she had practically been raised in the Jacksonville clubhouse, joining as a member the summer she turned 18.

  Oh thank God! My brothers!

  Moving swiftly from her hiding place, she approached the muscle bound men who would make any other woman run for the hills. These men were intimidating to say the least, but to LaRue they were a sight for sore eyes, even if she didn’t know them personally. They were Predators, and that made them family.

  “Brothers! I need your help.”

  The men turned to look at her with shocked faces. The man with the piercing green eyes stared at her like she was a ghost. He seemed to recognize her, which was a good thing, except he didn’t say anything. He let the other two men do the talking.