by Keta Kendric
My nerves taunted me so harshly that I babbled, likely telling him shit he didn’t care to know. Just when it appeared I was getting through to him, Shark gripped my forearm and dragged me to a nearby chair at one of the five cheap wooden tables in the small dining area. He shoved me into the torn red leather bottom of a wobbly metal chair. I landed hard enough that I gripped the edge of the table to keep from tumbling to the floor as the chair grunted angrily beneath me.
“How the fuck did you know I was Shark?”
I’d studied as much information as I could gather about his MC before I approached them. They had a social media page that had a large following. People loved dangerous people, so I wasn’t surprised that a known criminal element like the August Knights had captured a large amount of attention.
My shaky finger pointed at Shark’s chest. The black leather vest he wore was filled with his MC’s patches. The word, “President” was on a patch that stuck out on his chest. Anyone who knew of the August Knights Motorcycle Club knew that Shark was the president.
Although Shark looked meaner than a rattle snake about to strike, he stopped looming over my shaking frame and took the seat across the table from me.
“Talk.” He spat that single word in my direction.
The background silence was as alarming as Shark’s presence. The hum of the AC unit and cursing drunks outside were the only sounds that carried over my thundering heart.
Without glancing at them, I sensed the hot gazes of the group inside boring holes into me from every direction. After I relayed my reason for being there to Shark twice more, the tightness around his eyes remained, and his glare of uncertainty increased in its intensity.
Shark cut me off in the middle of one of my shaky sentences about wanting to help my sister.
“So, let me get this shit straight. You drove out here to nigger-lynching territory to broker a deal with me so that my men would leave your drug-addicted sister alone?”
I flinched at the sound of the N-word being voiced so loudly in public. Truth was I was one woman in the middle of redneck alley. Therefore, there wasn’t shit I could do or say about him using the N-word.
I nodded my head, answering yes to his question and the oddest thing I’d seen since I’d arrived happened. As Shark stared me down, he laughed, it was a deep boisterous laugh. As his shoulders shook, he tapped at the table like I’d given the ultimate punchline.
The tension in my shoulders coiled tighter as Shark’s roaring laugher spread throughout the room. Although they had no idea what he was laughing about, others began to laugh along with Shark.
There was no doubt in my mind that Shark thought I was a damn fool, and he was probably right. I knew as well as the next person that this was about as insane a move as I could have made, but I had to convince them that I was determined to do everything in my power to save my sister.
Chapter 2
Megan - Day 1
After a stressful half hour of being interrogated by Shark, I believed he’d finally started to understand my position. He’d yanked my shirt up, exposing my bra, searching for a wire. He’d sent three of his men to search my car. He’d even dumped the contents of my purse all over the table.
It took a lot of me repeating my story before Shark was convinced that I wasn’t law enforcement. The sharp look on his face told me he wasn’t fully convinced, but he seemed less hostile after calling to check out the story I’d told him about my sister.
I informed him that I didn’t have much money to give him, so I offered to work for them as a bartender, dishwasher, or maid. I would do any type of work that wasn’t illegal and would allow me to work off my sister’s debt.
It was likely naïve thinking on my part, but I didn’t fear that this group would have a desire to sleep with me or rape me. I’m sure they would have preferred to die rather than have sex with a black woman. But, it didn’t mean that they wouldn’t hurt me in some other way or worse, kill me.
Shark waved a few of his men over to the table and took a poll on what action he should take concerning my proposal. His men weren’t keen on the idea of me working for their MC. A few requested he kill me on the spot. Some wanted to toss me into the nearest river while I was still breathing. Most of them just want me gone.
One stated, “I’m tired of looking at her black face already. Shark, are you really thinking about entertaining this crazy shit? You’re going let her work for you? For us?”
Shark didn’t answer the man. Instead, he pointed out, “This is the craziest shit I’ve ever encountered, but even you must admit it takes nuts the size of Texas for someone like this to find me and risk her life to make a proposal to square someone else’s debt. Now, I don’t associate with blacks and neither does anyone else in this room, but if you find one that stumbles into your place and pretty much offers to be your slave to square a debt...” He shook his head in disbelief with a wide grin spread across his face. “I don’t see how you turn some shit like that down. And, this bitch isn’t all the way crazy.”
Shark raised the two business cards I’d handed him during his interrogation.
“She was smart enough to let a few detectives know that she was coming to see us. Told them she was a writer and she’d come to interview us for literary integrity or some shit. The pigs advised her against it, but couldn’t stop her from doing what she wanted on her own free stupid will.”
Shark shook his head, seemingly shaking off my crazy plan before he proceeded.
“I say we put this bitch to work. See how it goes for a few days and if she works out, we let her work off her sister’s debt and not on her fucking back either. There’s no fucking way I’m authorizing any of you to have sex with a black woman. There is more than enough cleaning, bartending, and stocking she can do. I’d say a month’s time should square her sister’s three-thousand-dollar debt.”
None of the men voiced an opinion. Some shrugged. A few irritated grunts sounded, and a few heads nodded uncaringly. One stared at my face with wide unblinking eyes like I was a unicorn.
Shark continued, “Long as she stays the fuck out of my way and do what she’s told, I say let the bitch clean up after us. What’s the worst that can happen?”
Shark slammed his fist on the table, making me jump as I didn’t understand his action. When a few of the men stepped away, I concluded that the impromptu meeting was over.
Shark addressed me, “Honey, you have officially sold yourself into slavery for thirty days. I hope that sister of yours is worth it because it’s going to be a bumpy ride.” The slick glance he flashed in my direction unnerved me as snickers sounded around the table. His deliberate use of the N-word and the word, slave, rattled my nerves and sent fear coursing through my veins.
“Think we should get a rope or better yet a whip?” one of the men asked Shark with a low, throaty whisper. They continued to stand while I remained glued to the seat I’d been slung into, unsure of what to do with myself.
Shark stood. He slammed his hand down on the table again making the wood vibrate.
“Didn’t I just fucking say she was clever enough to let the authorities know that she was coming here? Anything fucked up happens to her, this is the first place they are going to look. We don’t need the fucking pigs sniffing around our door over this stupid bitch. We’ll let her work off her sister’s debt, and that’s it. As much as I’d like to have a good old-fashioned modern-day lynching, it isn’t going to happen…at least not with her.”
Shark’s mean scowl intensified as his voice deepened. “Do I need to repeat the part about not fucking her? From what I hear, black pussy makes white men do strange shit.”
Shark paused to ensure that his words had been understood. A round of head nods and grumbles sounded.
Was grunting and grumbling all these men knew how to do? And, why had Shark felt the need to reiterate to them that they were not to fuck me? I thought they found the thought of sleeping with an African-American woman to be repulsive?
�
�Jake, since you or your brother was stupid enough to give her sister drugs on credit, you take her to drop off that rental she drove up in and pick up whatever girl shit she might need for thirty days. We can’t have her coming and going around these parts. There are too many damn rednecks around here. We don’t need them nosing in our business and we definitely don’t want one of them to get hold of her.”
Copper County, Florida, was the area I had foolishly driven myself into. Copper County was an area known for its racial divide. Since the county was eighty percent Caucasian, based on a few reports I’d read, their warped view of race remained unchecked.
Jake sighed heavily, upset about having to babysit me for any amount of time. Shark pointed a long authoritative finger at him. The mean glint in his gaze dared Jake to test him further.
“Straighten out your fucking face, take her to drop off that car, and come right back.”
Shark’s daring gaze raked over the group once more. The music had started again, and a low murmur resumed as it was clear that Shark had made his final decision.
“I’m tired of talking about this shit. It’s giving me a fucking-ass ulcer. Are we done with this, so we can talk about some real business?” Shark asked although I was sure he didn’t want to hear any answer.
A series of low grumbles sounded after Shark’s statement, but no one was bold enough to challenge or question him. My gaze darted around the table. This was it. I’d gotten in. Now, all I had to do was survive the next thirty days amongst a racist MC of dishonest, venomous, and coiled rattlesnakes.
Before I could think my way through what had just happened, Shark’s tall, bulky body was in front of me again. His hand was big enough to wrap damn near around my entire shoulder. He jerked me from the chair and forced me towards the front door.
“Go and get rid of that car, get your girly shit and baggage, and come right back. I’m putting you in the spare bedroom in the back. Once you come back and put your shit away, I want you to start working on the kitchen. It could use a good cleaning.”
Since my voice was stuck, I inclined my head and skirted my eyes away from his. As I shuffled towards the front door, I sneaked a backward glance at the kitchen that was visible from my location through two open double doors. If the boxes stacked from floor to ceiling and the dirty countertops littered with dishes were any indication, it was likely going to take the full thirty days to get the kitchen cleaned.
Jake’s face pinched into a noticeable pout. He picked up where his president had left off and shoved me the rest of the way to the front door.
I stumbled out of the door, thankful I was no longer the main attraction. Shit, maybe I was. The tethered white blinds in the dusty windows that I would probably have to clean started to bend apart in varied spots as I rushed in hurried steps towards my rental.
They peeked at me, stared, pointed, and ogled me like I was an escaped animal. I sensed their hateful gazes boring into me, but I was not equipped to do anything but endure the hatred and complete the task I’d set out to do.
I climbed into my rental, and the good sense I had left urged me to leave this place and never come back. Good sense always seemed to seep from my fractured brain before I got the chance to use it. But, I couldn’t abandon my task, not after I’d gotten myself through what I hoped was the most fearful part.
Chapter 3
Megan - Day 2
A few hours of sleep had been all I could manage through the night stuffed inside the tight smelly space of the broom closet that was going to be my room for the next thirty days.
There was no alarms or wake up calls, just the loud shouts of men and their heavy steps beating against the creaky floor boards. I cleaned and kept my distance from the men by hanging out in the kitchen, but my resolve was being vigorously tested. It was only the second day, and weariness had started to set in, but I was determined not to let it show. It appeared the MC’s mission was to seek me out and see how many times they could push me or call me the N-word before I broke.
Whenever I encountered any of the MC members, they taunted me with demeaning words, shoved me, or demanded I work faster or harder. They enjoyed the fact that they could say the N-word in front of an actual African-American and get away with it without being challenged.
I caught Shark staring at me numerous times, and he made no attempt to hide what I thought was lust gleaming in his eyes. Was it possible to hate someone and be sexually attracted to them at the same time?
I was a curvy five-foot-five, brown-skin woman with lengthy, curly hair. I was not a glamor girl or a magazine beauty, but over the years, I’d paid attention to what men specifically liked about me, and I have not been afraid to use those features to my advantage when necessary.
Although I’d been blessed with full lips and big, brown eyes shaded by thick lashes, I was aware that my ass was known to get me noticed faster than almost any of my other features.
For some reason, men couldn’t keep their eyes off my ass. I didn’t have one of those big insanely large asses, but mine wasn’t small either. It was round and firm enough to pull attention. My chest barely made its way into a C-cup, but my slim waist made my breasts appear larger than they were.
Currently, my ass poked out from me being bent over the sink scrubbing the hell out of a large stainless-steel pot. I hadn’t missed the fact that every time Shark approached me, his eyes damn near bulged from their sockets as they zoomed in on my tits and ass. Never mind the big, baggy T-shirt and sweatpants I had on. He seemed to see right through them.
He’d forbidden his men from touching me, and now I wondered if it was because he wanted to sample me first. It had taken me most of the afternoon to wash the dishes and clean the large stove and refrigerator. Grease and dirt were caked on the stove, and the refrigerator was teeming with mold and food items that had taken on new life forms. Whoever cooked for the club wasn’t the most sanitary person.
Since no one bothered to offer me lunch or any kind of food, I made an executive decision and prepared a meal. I opened a few cans of mixed veggies, made some gravy from scratch, and used the passable beef cubes I’d found in the large freezer to make a beef stew.
Shark didn’t object when he noticed me cooking, and despite how messy and dirty the large refrigerator had been, it had been well stocked.
After dusting off and washing the rice cooker, I steamed some rice to go with the stew. I doubted I’d have any takers, but the food would be there if the group wanted any. If they didn’t, I’d at least have something to eat for the next few days.
When Shark walked into the kitchen and found me sitting at the small splintered table in the corner eating a bowl of stew, he didn’t hesitate to pick up a plate and dig in. My eyes crinkled at the sight of him eating my food. How did he know that he could trust me not to poison him?
It took Shark a few minutes after he exited the kitchen through the swinging double doors to return for a second helping. The next thing I knew, other members of the MC came into the kitchen in groups of twos and threes, following Shark’s lead.
They stood around the pot like hungry vultures. The members of August Knights Motorcycle Club were a group that wasn’t supposed to trust or like me, but they sure as hell didn’t seem to mind eating my cooking.
I found it strange that there weren’t any women that hung out in this club. Did they come at a certain time? Was this club for men only?
From what I could tell, this group needed to rethink their no-women-allowed policy because they didn’t seem to come across many home cooked meals. It only took a few minutes for them to scrape the pot of stew clean. Maybe cooking could be a way for me to get on their good side—as good a side as they had. I needed to find a way to get through these thirty days by any means necessary.
As I washed the last of the dishes I’d dirtied, I stared absently through the window. The worn, puke-green blinds in the wide kitchen window presented a stripped view of nothing but woods. The sun had started to set, diming the daylight,
but it didn’t take the heat with it. The old AC unit sitting below those ugly green blinds may as well have been a fan. All it did was swirl the heat around the kitchen and leave me drenched in sweat. The rusty decorative thermometer tacked to the wall near the window showed an inside temperature of eighty-two degrees.
Although muffled by the closed kitchen doors, the sudden call and shouts jerked me out of my thoughts. It sounded like someone shouted, “Drop the gun, motherfucker!” but I couldn’t be sure.
* * *
I crept towards the swinging double doors that led into the club and listened, placing my ear to the wood. I eased one open very slightly, and my gaze landed on the closed door, located to the right of the double doors. I’d sneaked into the room earlier today and learned that it must have been the MC’s conference room or whatever bikers called their meeting area.
A large hardwood table filled most of the space in the room, which had a biker and motorcycle carved into it in such intricate detail that I’d stood, staring at the table like it was a piece of art in a gallery. Ten heavy black leather rolling chairs surrounded the large table. A wooden gavel that matched the table’s surface sat at the head, likely Shark’s spot.
The walls bore chipped white paint and nails stuck out at various angles—where members hung their vest, I presumed. Sheer and dingy pale blue drapes hung in three large windows that framed the wall that ran the length of the table. No other items or furnishings were in the room.
More shouting called my attention back to the club area. I cracked the double doors open wider, and a violent string of curse words assaulted my ears. Before I could figure out what was going on, all hell broke loose. Instead of running from the drama, I sprung the doors open further and stepped over the threshold for a better look.
If I was going to be stuck with these bikers for thirty days, I figured I may as well get some enjoyment out of it. I stood shocked and amazed at the way they were beating the hell out of each other as bystanders got caught in the crosshairs of swinging fists and tumbling bodies. A few of the guys I recognized from Shark’s group tussled with men that I assumed were from a rival MC, based on their cut.
