by Nicole Fox
The bathroom was huge, with a deep, jet tub and an attached shower. I turned the water on high and stepped in, wanting to wash the filth and the grime off before filling up the tub. As the hot water poured over me, I felt my worried thoughts being soothed as much as my injuries.
Don’t worry, Farrah, I told myself. You’ll find a way. You were raised by men like Sam Michaels and women like Aunt Venus. You’re born to be strong as hell.
My hair soft with conditioner, I filled the tub, settled down inside of it, and, for the first time in what felt like ages, tried to relax.
It was a strange thought, then, when I wished that Connor was with me.
Chapter Eighteen
Connor
Montengo led me out of the bedroom, still grinning broadly with his arm around me like drunk buddies at a football game. We can at least thank Farrah Michaels for this, I thought. Montengo is in a great fucking mood. Still, that didn’t change the fact that I was nervous as hell until we entered the main club meeting room and Montengo took his arm off of me. I had seen him break a man’s neck with that very arm. Twice.
Montengo gestured me to sit down, then ordered one of the passing, low-ranking club members to get the pair of us some coffee. The guy immediately jumped to it. One did not disobey Montengo’s direct orders, especially when it came to luxuries. Once, Montengo had even broken a tooth of a guy who’d been stupid enough to buy him the wrong brand of vodka. Nobody ever made that mistake again.
“So,” he said, as we waited for the coffee. “Tell me about this skimmers. You know I’ll deal harshly with anyone I catch screwing over the club.”
I catch. That was the problem. Montengo was always quick to punish, of course, but normally his head was too far between a woman’s legs for him to notice.
Of course, I did not say any of that.
“I appreciate that, sir,” I said. “But I think they’ve already been taken care of. Gary’s got a broken arm; Rico probably a broken nose and two amazing black eyes; and Burt … well, let’s just say that Burt’s face is finally as ugly as his pizza.”
“Excellent!” Montengo exclaimed. The coffee arrived, and he sipped it and this news with obvious glee. “Rico, though? I’m surprised. Usually, the younger we get a member the less likely they are to try to skim off the top … Any thoughts as to what might have motivated them?”
I frowned. Immediately, several things popped into my head. The club doesn’t feel like a family anymore, or, You’ve been ignoring the needs of the club for years now. Both sounded good. Hell, even, Why should he respect us? We don’t do enough to deserve it.
I did not, of course, say that. Instead I shrugged and said, “I think these men need different outlets. A biker joins for power. We’ve got to give them that. Otherwise they’re just like thieves.”
“Huh,” Montengo said noncommittally. I could tell he was already bored with what I was saying and was tuning me out. After a second of staring off into space, he turned to me and resumed. “So how did you know it was them? You’ve been looking for leaks for months.”
I opened my mouth, teetering on the edge of telling him the truth. Should I tell him that Princess, who was little more than Venus Michaels’ whore, spotted the whole thing? What would he think? Surely it would inspire him to talk to Farrah about it?
“Actually,” I said, “it wasn’t me. You know Princess? She’s the one who spotted the skimmers.”
“That’s funny,” Montengo said, leaning back and picking at his fingernails. “I bet that my dear Farrah had something to do with it. You know what they say about her, how smart she is?”
“Yes!” I said. “I have heard, and I think that if Princess, who’s just her whore, is so smart, then maybe we’re sitting on a goldmine here …”
“Please, Connor,” Montengo smirked. “Obviously, Farrah must have given her a tip. She’s told me all about that whore. How stupid she is, and how she’s been hanging around Farrah her whole life, picking up the scraps like the vulture she is.”
I stared at him, not knowing how to respond. Stupid? Picking up the scraps? That didn’t sound like Princess at all.
“Are we sure we’re talking about the same person?” I started to say, but then caught myself just in time. The president did not like being told he was wrong. Instead, I crossed my arms and said, “I’m sure that’s what happened. Farrah’s skills are legendary, after all. Actually, I was thinking that there might be a good idea hidden in there. Obviously, Farrah is in need of some help. Perhaps, in exchange for helping her, she can help us with our finances. Perhaps dig us out of the financial rut we’ve found ourselves in.”
I hesitated, waiting for the impact of my words. Though things had been tough for ages now, no one but Smitty and Juan had actually confronted Montengo about our desperate state. It was a gamble, especially after being caught in his bed, and I waited on baited breath for his response. Anger? Or thought?
The two ran very close together in Montengo.
“That’s very interesting,” Montengo started, a reassuring sign. However, just then, there was a knock on the door. Whoever it was didn’t wait for us to answer, for the next second it was opened, and Farrah walked in. A broad grin was painted on her face, and she looked both delighted and savage, as if she was happy about something unpleasant.
“My dear!” Montengo cooed, leaping to his feet. Then, with a single motion, he swept Farrah into the air and then sat down again, with her on his lap. Automatically, she wrapped a hand around his shoulders, and her grin grew, if possible, even wider.
“Hello, boys!” she squealed. “You’re Connor, right? The one who broke old Princess in? My, she could have done a lot worse.”
And she tittered against Montengo’s shoulder. For some reason, I found her words making me angry, but I could not have said why.
“We were just talking about your financial prowess,” Montengo said, nuzzling her. “In fact, Connor here is under the impression that you could really help us out. What do you think, honey cake?”
“Oh, Johnny!” she squeaked, taking a sprig of her rich dark hair and tickling his face with it. “You know how I don’t like talking about such things! I find it so boring!”
“But, Farrah,” I said, surprised. “I thought you’d been going to school for it! That’s what everyone says, anyway.”
“Boring! Boring!” she chanted, sounding more and more like a three year old with every word she spoke. I stared at her in disgust, thinking, Surely, this can’t be Sam Michaels’ daughter? Montengo, meanwhile, looked delighted. He slipped his hand up her body and gave her breast a squeeze.
“Well, you’ve heard the lady,” he said. “Let’s not talk about this crap anymore! Farrah, baby, what would you like to do now?”
“Oh! How about that nice restaurant … what is it? Brick House?”
“Oh, that place is great,” Montengo exclaimed. “Doesn’t she just have great taste?”
I winced, swallowing the pair of them like I’d take a shot of really shitty booze. That didn’t even get you drunk. “Sir!” I insisted. “I really think it’s important we talk about this …”
“Oh, fuck off, Connor,” he said, rising with his lady strung out across his arms. “You know what? You worry too much. Maybe you should go fuck that Princess some more. Calm you down. Come on, Farrah. Let’s go …”
They made for the door.
“President Montengo!” I interrupted, rising to my feet and doing everything I could not to chase them out. “Our finances are in real trouble! Not to mention that Brick House is one of the priciest places in town.”
“Well, then,” Montengo shot back, “the extra money you got from landing those skimmers should pay for it, eh?”
He and Farrah laughed at his wit, and together they strolled away.
I slammed my fist on the table once they were out of sight. “Damn it!” I swore. “This is why we never get anything done around here! His fucking money and his whores …”
I muttered to mys
elf while pulling out a cigarette so angrily that I practically tore it in half. I sat there alone, shaking with frustration, until finally one of his final words registered through my anger: “Maybe you should go fuck that Princess some more.”
Princess! She was at the heart of all this. I knew it! What was with all these strange discrepancies? Was Princess really the stupid, grubbing whore that Farrah described? And was Farrah Michaels, the woman about whom legends were already being built, really the same person as the simpering, greedy, lustful woman who was sitting on Montengo’s lap?
“None of this makes any sense!” I complained aloud, dashing out my first cigarette and lighting another. “I’ve got to go talk to Princess. I’ll make her tell me what is going on!”
Furious, I rose from my chair and went instantly to my office, expecting to see her sprawled out on the floor, looking over my paperwork. I scowled. She wasn’t there. Next, I went to the bunkroom. I knew she didn’t like the place, but where else could she be? I didn’t find her there, either. There was only Leo, spread out on the bed with another one of the Devil’s Wings whores—a fifty-year-old witch who was all we could practically afford at this point. I grimaced and left.
Last, I went back to the president’s bedroom. She won’t be in there! I thought. Not after her embarrassment this morning!
The bed was empty and still rumpled from our adventures last night. By this point, I was losing hope. She couldn’t have escaped! I thought. It’s daylight! There’s Devil’s Wings everywhere!
Besides … I thought about that word. Escaped. I guess part of me had assumed that, after everything, she was sticking around on purpose.
“Fucking bitch!” I swore, ready to go out and hunt her down. “You gonna desert me now!”
I grabbed a gun that Montengo had left carelessly on his nightstand, about to sprint out on my hunt for her, when I heard a voice.
“Connor? Is that you?”
It was coming through the bathroom door.
“Princess!” I exclaimed, seeing her neck-deep in a warm bath of creamy bubbles. She smiled at me and waved me in.
I blinked. A bath? My mind asked stupidly. Aloud, I said, “Okay.”
I shook off my clothes, enjoying the way her eyes watched me the whole time. Before I got in, she asked for a cigarette, and I gladly grabbed two and lit them before lowering myself into the tub. The water was hot and sweet from the scent of soap, and Princess’ hair was piled up in a messy bun on the top of her head. Wow, I thought. She looks classy as hell.
I handed her the cigarette, and her pretty lips closed around it immediately. She smiled, and together we smoked in silence.
This is nice, I realized suddenly. So many women demanded you talk, talk, talk all the time. They never gave you any time alone with your thoughts. But Princess? She seemed content to sit and enjoy the water, and the occasional brush of pleasure as our legs touched. I was glad, for I had a lot to think about.
For the first time, it also occurred to me to wonder what she was thinking.
Chapter Nineteen
Farrah
Soaking in the tub with Connor was nice. We didn’t have sex. I’d like to think it was because he still sensed some hesitancy in me. It also could have been that he looked so supremely distracted. I wondered if his conversation with Montengo was as disconcerting as mine had been with Honi. Judging by the look on his face, it seemed possible.
We smoked and bathed in silence, each absorbed in our own thoughts, but also enjoying each other’s company. Finally, by some unspoken agreement, we both rose at the same time, toweled off, and dressed.
“Wait,” he said, after he noticed me struggling into my torn and filthy outfit—the one, for Christ’s sake, that I had arrived in. “Go look in that closet. Montengo likes his girls looking good, and I’m sure you can find something in your size.”
Suspiciously, I walked over to the closet, which turned out to be a huge, walk-in palace out of any clothes lover’s fantasies. Half of it was dedicated to suits and leather, for Montengo, while the other could have been from Barbie’s Dream Castle. Cocktail dresses, tight-clinging leather, pencil skirts, sun dresses, shoes—you name it, this guy had it to dress up his girls. Hell, there were even a number of costumes: sexy police officers and nurses, things of that nature.
“This Montengo fellow is a weird-ass motherfucker,” I said, plucking a shimmering silver dress suit from the mix. “Half the time, he’s as rough and tumble as any old biker, and then the other half he’s the most pampered prince I’ve ever met.”
Connor shrugged. “Smitty always sayd that’s what happens when a biker is exposed to too much pleasure. He goes soft. A good biker, he says, should retire when he gets to that point, so he’s not a drain on the club.”
I raised my eyebrows to him. “You think Montengo is likely to retire?”
“Not while the whores and the liquor keeps flowing, he won’t.”
I rolled my eyes and searched for a pair of shoes to match my outfit. It was hard to find a pair that didn’t have six inches of heel, but eventually I managed to locate a pair of black stilettos that I could comfortably walk in.
“Classy,” Connor complimented, admiring the look. I am slightly ashamed to say that his words made me smile and feel warm inside.
“Now what?” I asked. I wondered if he’d want to fuck me again. In this outfit.
“Now, we go back to my office and keep trying to sort out the finances.”
“Great!” I exclaimed, genuinely excited. “But can we get some food first?”
He laughed, then told me to wait in his office while he swung by a coffee shop for breakfast. Suddenly feeling forlorn with him gone, I settled back down again on the floor—it was better for spacing out the paperwork—and waited, contemplating the Devil’s Wings’ finances.
After about a half an hour, I heard a hesitant knock on the door, making me jump. Connor wouldn’t have knocked, and even if he had, he wouldn’t have done it so softly.
And I knew from personal experience that Connor did nothing softly.
“Come in,” I said, trying to hide the fear in my voice.
A man stepped in, looking at once strong and awkward. It was Connor’s friend—the one who’d tried to warn us about Montengo. He was good looking in a soft sort of way, despite his leather-clad dress. Imagine a side character, dancing in Grease. That was how he looked. Handsome, yes, but not quite as rugged or attractive as Connor.
“Hi, Princess,” he said gently. “My name is Joey. Do you know where Connor is?”
I stood and went to shake his hand. “He went out for some breakfast,” I explained. All my nervousness had vanished as soon as Joey spoke. I sensed immediately that he wouldn’t do anything Connor wouldn’t want him to. And that included fucking me.
“Great,” Joey muttered, looking to the floor. That was when I noticed something in his hands: a beat-up, dirty looking envelope.
My envelope!
“Jesus Christ, Joey! Where did you get that?” I demanded, ripping it from his hands and holding it to my chest before I could contain myself.
He shrugged. “That’s what I was hoping to talk to Connor about. I found it—”
“Hey, Joey. Princess,” someone interrupted. It was Connor. He came in bearing several bags of food. Still holding the envelope, I used my other hand to take one from him. The delicious scent of bacon and maple syrup was evident, even through the bag.
“What’s up?” Connor asked, opening his own bag and taking a massive bite out of what looked like a sausage and egg bagel. My stomach rumbled, and I too set the envelope down on the desk and opened my own bag. I was careful never to let it out of my sight, however.
“Well, I was just saying to Princess,” Joey continued. “Before you guys woke up, I was chatting with President Montengo and Farrah Michaels.”
For a single, stupid second, I looked up as if he were trying to get my attention, and then quickly returned to my meal. It was a lovely little platter of scram
bled eggs, bacon, and two, golden-brown pieces of French toast, sealed in little plastic containers. It was probably the best meal I had ever had.
“And?” asked Connor.
“Well, Montengo was inspecting this envelope.” He gestured to it on the desk. “He said it had Venus Williams’ name on it, with a note: For the Devil’s Wings. But when he opened it up, all he found was a jump drive, filled to the brim with gibberish.”
