Rock Bottom

by Manda Mellett

  I freeze. She’s asked what I want to do. Asked what clothes I’d like. My brain goes into panic mode and shuts down.

  “Becca? Becca? Are you alright? Come here and sit down.” She must have moved fast without me noticing. Her arm comes around me and leads me to the bed. “Here, sit down before you fall down. Are you feeling worse? Do we need to get Doc back?”

  I start shaking, overwhelmed by embarrassment and fear of the unknown. As she’s regarding me so sympathetically, suddenly I want to explain. To tell her what’s ordinary for her is miles away from normality for me. I can’t tell her everything, but…

  “I’m sorry. I’m no worse, Sam. I just lost myself there for a moment.”

  She steps back, putting her hands on her hips. “The way you’ve been treated, it’s not surprising.”

  “It’s not that, Sam. I, you…”

  Sam’s face tightens. “Have I said something to upset you, Becca? You’ve gone as white as a sheet.”

  I grit my teeth, sensing she won’t be judgemental. Then when I find my voice the words all come rushing out. “It’s just, you’re asking me questions, giving me choices. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Becca?” Her brow furrows. I can see I’ve confused her.

  “I was brought up in a highly religious family,” I start to explain, my voice choking as I realise even just a glimpse at how others live today has made me question all my beliefs. “My mother would tell me what to wear. I couldn’t choose anything of my own. She prepared the food which I had to eat, whether I liked it or not. I was home schooled.” I glance at her. “I’ve never had friends.” I pause, then dive into the hard part before I lose my nerve. “On my eighteenth birthday I was married to the pastor of my church. He was much older. He took over from my mother, but if anything, was worse.”

  I break off and wave toward the pile of clothing on the chair. “You ask me to choose what to wear, I should be excited, but I’m not. I’m so scared of doing the wrong thing. I’ve never existed without somebody else controlling my life and my every move.”

  For a second Sam is still, her face showing twin expressions of horror and sympathy. The latter wins out. “Oh, honey.” Coming to sit beside me, she draws me in for a hug. “I think there’s a lot more you’re not saying. I can’t begin to imagine how you’ve been living. It sounds like you were a prisoner even before you were kept chained up. There’s no one who’s going to judge or control you here.” She pauses, then, “How about I help you? First thing you need to know is that you can’t do anything wrong. Wear whatever you like, no one will laugh at you. Hell, from the mishmash of stuff you’ve been given, you’d be hard put to find something that goes together. Wear what you feel comfortable in.” She presses her lips together. “You sound like you were a slave…and that you’ve never known anything else. Like your body now has to heal, so does your head. I’ll help you, hun. All of us will help you.” Raising her hand, she turns my head to face her. “Baby steps, hey?”

  “I’m sorry, Sam. I don’t know which way is up anymore. I don’t know what’s right. All the teachings…”

  She frowns. “I’m not here to question your religious beliefs. But just know I don’t agree that women should be treated the way you obviously were. There’s a different way to live, Becca. Only you can decide whether you want to take it.”

  “But here I’ll need to make decisions for myself.” I get to the root of my problem.

  She chuckles. “You won’t get very far if you just wait for someone to tell you what to do. Let’s start small. Are you feeling well enough to come to the clubhouse? Be honest, now.”

  Honest I can do. “I’ve had a rough day. Escaping…” I shut my mouth fast, I can’t give her any details. “Coming here. On top of the stuff Doc said was wrong with me.” I pause, then say with more determination. “I’d rather stay here.”

  Her hands clap together as if I’ve done some kind of trick, and she smiles in encouragement. “I’ll get some food sent up. I’ll also keep the other women away for now. They can satisfy their curiosity when you’ve had a good night’s rest.”

  After I thank her she pats my shoulder then leaves. I’m alone. A state I’ve been used to for more than three months. It shouldn’t worry me, but strangely, I miss her company. I stay seated on the bed, my head swimming at my change in circumstances. A few minutes pass before I pull myself together enough to examine my new surroundings. There’s a photo on the bedside table. Reaching over, I pick it up, then trace my fingers over the face I’m familiar with. It’s Rock, standing beside another man I’ve not met. Their arms are around one another, both grinning into the camera. Whoever the other man is, he now probably hates Rock.

  I put the photo back where I’ll be able to see it when I’m lying in bed, not understanding why. Because it reminds me Rock was the first man to see me? To treat me as a human? Remembering the cellar, I’m just thinking how much this suite is a far cry from where I was being kept when I notice something. Sliding doors which lead onto a balcony. Outside is a table and two chairs. My hand claps to my mouth as I start to giggle. From where I had been imprisoned to this fantastic suite? Even if I was locked in, it would be incredible.

  My hands finger the sheets. This is Rock’s room. Again, the thought brings me comfort, making me brave enough to look at the clothing the other women were kind enough to lend me. Then do something I wouldn’t have imagined I’d dream of doing. I go to the wardrobe, select one of Rock’s t-shirts, and quickly change. As I slide it over my head I know it’s far too large and all but drowns me. But wrapping my arms around my middle, I imagine him wearing it, convincing myself I can breathe in his scent.

  I hope he didn’t get caught helping me escape.

  Sometime later, still wearing the clothing of the man who saved me, I eat the food that a prospect brings up and delivers with a smile and a greeting, then, having touched my fingers once more to his photograph, sleep in Rock’s bed, trying to analyse why wearing Rock’s t-shirt calms me. Thank you for saving me, Rock. Thank you for bringing me to this amazing place. I hope and pray you’ve not suffered for it.

  After two days on the Satan’s Devils compound I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop. I only left home on the day of my marriage, and since then have been provided for by Hawk. Here I’m still getting used to the fact I’m not constantly being told what to do, what to wear, what to eat, who I could speak to, and who I could not.

  For the first time in my life I have nothing to do, no one to please, and time to simply relax and enjoy myself, and given the space to heal. I’ve accepted both my body and mind still have a long way to go, but there’s small improvements. When Sam brought in armfuls of new clothing, I only asked once which I should wear. She’d raised her eyebrow, then smiled when I made the choice for myself.

  It probably takes me far longer than anyone else, but I feel a sense of triumph when I match pants to a top. Then, having to leave my comfort zone of following instruction, I have to slow down my rapid breathing and force myself to stop worrying someone will criticise and send me back to change.

  At mealtimes I hesitate, and Sam again comes to my rescue, telling me to choose what I want from the selection prepared, making suggestions as to which are most nutritious. When I’m asked my opinion it always takes me a moment to respond. As Sam had warned the other old ladies, they, too, are patient with me.

  I’m embarrassed to find how hard it is to think for myself. Every decision I make I tell myself is a step forward. A move toward a new Becca. Earlier when asked if I want to go back to my suite and rest, or… I chose the option which means I’m currently sunbathing on an unseasonably warm autumn day, while Ella, Slick’s old lady, Jayden, her younger sister, Sam, and Sophie and their kids play in the swimming pool.

  The sight of them having fun and their joyful shrieks and shouts make me think my first impression that this was a vacation resort had been more on the money than I could have expected. I’d soon learned it actually had been a plac
e where people came for their getaways before it burned out, enabling the bikers to buy it up cheap years ago. I pinch myself when I remember I’m actually staying in a suite, complete with a luxurious bathroom of my own.

  Apart from the whores with their curious eyes, who I try to avoid, the women here are amazing. All so friendly, yet undemanding and accepting when Wraith shut down their questions with two words, club business. I’ve become friendly with Darcy, the sergeant-at-arms’ old lady, whose job really opened my eyes as to what a woman could do—she’s a firefighter. Today, despite being pregnant, she’s on shift. I’ve learned Sophie and Sam are expecting as well. It makes me wonder if I’ll ever have a child of my own. If I do, I’ve already vowed he or she would be brought up very differently from the way I had been.

  I hear a sound and open my eyes, smiling as I see one of their younger members, Paladin, pulling out a lounger next to me and flopping himself down, drawing up his legs, shading his eyes with his hand as he waves at Jayden. The two youngsters never seem very far apart.

  “Looking good.” He points to my head.

  I nod a thank you, but inside wince. Three months ago I’d been proud of my long, shining hair which had reached to my backside, but as it had thinned so much, Carmen had chopped most of it off. I’m still getting used to my shorn spikey look. It will grow out. But in the meantime, it’s a constant reminder of all that I’ve been through. Of all Hawk was responsible for putting me through.

  My sores are starting to heal, and I’ve already gained some weight. The women here seem to conjure up incredibly tasty dishes taken out of a worn handwritten recipe book. I don’t know what secret ingredient they put in that lasagne yesterday, but it was the best I’ve ever tasted.

  Paladin’s not one for making small talk, or at least not to me. I lay back down, one man coming into my thoughts. Rock. It plays on my mind that he might have been hurt for helping me, and my constant worry is whether he got away with it or not. When I ran from the Riders’ clubhouse I had no idea what I was heading into. It wasn’t just my escape I need to thank him for, but enabling me to come here. When I’d known bikers were rescuing me, I suspected I’d just be exchanging one prison for another. I couldn’t have been more wrong. If you now asked me, I’d say I’d have to be dragged kicking and screaming if they wanted me to leave.

  Mmm. Rock. I picture his muscular body, his overtight tees, as though he had difficulty finding ones to fit him, stretching over his chest, leaving nothing to the imagination. His handsome face despite his new scar, his strong arms covered in tattoos… If I met him again, if he was able to return to his brothers… What would my reaction be? I wriggle in my lounger to get more comfortable, realising thinking of Rock is causing a strange tingling sensation and a sense of longing to see him again. It has to be that Stockholm syndrome still hanging over me. Being attracted to the only jailer who’d been kind to me.

  Attraction? I first lived with my parents, never allowed to date or even talk to boys alone. Then along came Hawk, and even if I had found him attractive I wouldn’t have from the time he so cruelly took my virginity. What do I know of being attracted to a man? Nothing. The only benefit that came with Hawk being sent down was I didn’t have to submit to him anymore. I believed I never wanted a man to touch me intimately again.

  So why this longing? This overwhelming compulsion to see Rock? Even I know it’s more than just to thank him for enabling my escape which led me to this amazing place. This compound, where for the first time in my life I’m allowed to be me. Sometimes I worry I’m still wearing the shirts he left here to bed. Is that right? What pull does this man have over me?

  “Scat.” A deep voice has me opening my eyes once again.

  Seeing Drummer, the president, taking Paladin’s seat, I sit up and pull my wrap around me, suddenly shy in the presence of the man who must have okayed my rescue. If it wasn’t for him, and his club, I wouldn’t be feeling safe or finally becoming healthy again.

  He looks me over, his eyes tracing my body head to toe. If any of the Chaos Riders had subjected me to such scrutiny it would have made my skin crawl, but Drummer’s steel-grey eyes have softened, and I see only concern in them.

  “How are you doing?”

  “I’m doing good, Drummer.” Wrapping my arms around my knees, I stare at the women and children in the pool. “Thank you for getting me out of there and allowing me to stay.”

  He looks around him. When he sees no one in earshot, confides, “Rock took the risk. We ain’t done nothing.”

  He has. More than he’ll ever know. He’s shown me a lifestyle I didn’t know existed. People living a way I’d never experienced. Men who don’t constantly bark orders. Affection clearly demonstrated between bikers and their old ladies. Apart from Drummer, there’s another man I owe all this too. I lower my voice and whisper, “Rock, is he okay?”

  He continues to gaze at those in the water, and I feel him going tense. “Heard nothing from Rock. But Chaos is setting up a meetin’. If I’m right, Rock will be there.”

  “Why?” Then I want to choke back the question, I probably shouldn’t ask.

  “Because it’s what I’d do,” he says enigmatically, then, sensing I don’t understand, clarifies, “If I had one of his men who’d turned traitor, I’d get all the information I could out of them. Then flaunt that in front of him.”

  “Will Rock have told him your secrets?” I wonder aloud, keeping my voice low. Then realise I’m pushing my luck, flinch. I shouldn’t speak without being given permission.

  Drummer just chuckles. “What do you think?”

  I bite my lip, then smile. His question giving me the go ahead to give my opinion. “I think he’ll have told Chaos exactly what you wanted him to say.”

  He gives a full laugh now, leans over and pats my arm. “You’ll do,” he says as he stands, still chuckling, then looks down at me again. “You’ll fuckin’ do.”

  “Hang on.” I pull myself to my feet, my eyes wide. “What do you mean, I’ll do?”

  He raises his chin and examines me again before leaning in and enlightening me. “You’ll make Rock a great ol’ lady.”

  Then he turns and goes, leaving me with my mouth hanging open. Rock’s old lady? I’ve been here long enough to know that’s akin to being someone’s wife. But I’m still married to Hawk. Adultery is a sin. I tense, wondering whether I could use that for protection. If Rock wanted sex… The thought makes me freeze, and I start to wonder whether I really do want to see the man again. Men take, women must give.

  My eyes alight on Sophie, who’s just got out of the pool. Wraith, the VP and her old man, has appeared to greet her. She quickly approaches him, wrapping her arms around his waist, leaning into him. She doesn’t act afraid. When his hands go to her ass and he pulls her against him, she giggles.

  I bite my lip. She’s not submitting. None of the women seem to here, despite the fact the men call them their property. Could all my teaching have been wrong? Was it just Hawk and not all men? If Wraith took from Sophie what Hawk took from me, she wouldn’t be behaving as she is. She’d be timid and trying to avoid his touch. I shouldn’t be watching a private moment, but I can’t drag my eyes away. When they exchange a very un-PG kiss I’m still staring, until they check with Sam that she’ll watch their daughter, and Sophie happily follows Wraith. It’s obvious what they’ll do next, and she’s certainly not scared or reluctant.

  The afternoon starts to cool, I reach for my wrap and put it around me. Leaving the others sorting out their various children, I take myself back to my suite. Drummer’s comments, my observations and my thoughts, have unsettled me. Trying to be honest with myself, the question isn’t only what Rock might expect from me, but what I’d like from him. To have him hold me like Wraith held Sophie? To be happy in a man’s arms, not scared? Only bad women enjoy sex. You’re a good girl, Becca. Submit to your husband and fulfil his needs. As my mother’s voice comes back to haunt me, I remember again that I’m a married woman. Which would be the
greater sin? Adultery, or actually wanting to sleep with Rock?

  All the sun, food, and good company are doing me good, and over the next few days I make great strides into my recovery. Although the men here are all dressed the same as the Chaos Riders, in jeans and black leather, there are subtle differences. For a start, they’re polite—at least when the old ladies are around. Although I’ve taken my cue and make myself scarce when the sweet butts appear to offer their services late in the evening, when I do see them around the club none of them look forced and all seem happy to be here.

  Two days after my strange chat with Drummer, now having made a determined effort to push his parting comment out of my mind, I go down to the clubhouse hoping to find the old ladies there. Instead I walk in to an almost empty room, with the biker I recognise as the one called Beef sitting by the bar, and Truck, one of the prospects, tidying up. I’d found out Beef’s name as he’s the one next to Rock in that photograph I still stare at each night when I go to bed.

  I make an about turn, ready to go back out.

  “Hey, Becca. No need to run off.”

  I pause, uncertain.

  “Here, come sit with me for a while. Have a drink.” He raises his chin, then tilts his head to the empty stool beside him. “I could do with the company.”

  Unsure whether I should talk to an unknown man with no old ladies around, I nevertheless obey the command and, albeit hesitantly, walk over.

  “’ere, Jill. Get Becca a drink. What you want, Becs?”

  Taken aback by the shortening of my name, as well as the choice he’s left to me, I turn to the woman behind the bar and stammer my request for a soda. The look she gives me makes me think the sooner I’m out of here the better. If I hadn’t already recognised her as a sweet butt, her skimpy clothing would give it away. She couldn’t be accused of providing this particular service with a smile. When I politely ask for the bottle to be opened, it takes Beef’s growl before she complies, then walks off with a huff.