by Vivian Gray
“They do a lot of underground things. They host fights, deal, run gambling rings, everything… Hell, I heard they were auctioning off their groupies’ virginities for cash.”
“What!” I laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”
“No, I’m serious. These girls would do anything to get scooped up and claimed by one of the men. It gives them protection and a place in the club hierarchy. And they get some money from it – a ton of it. A girl I know, Rachel, she auctioned off her virginity and made out like a bank.”
Before I can stop myself, I ask, “How much?”
“$15,000.”
My mind goes blank. All my thoughts rush out of my head, but one image remains: the pile of bills sitting in that cereal box. $15,000 wouldn’t cover it all, but it sure as hell would pay the nurses and get the house current again. It would mean I could stop pulling triple shifts here and actually spend some time with my mom before she passed.
The only problem is the whole losing my virginity thing. At twenty-two, I thought I would have given it away by now like all the rest of my friends. They’re off finishing college, getting married, and starting their lives. And I was there on that path too, but when my mom got sick, it all went on the back burner – including my love life.
The guy I was seeing didn’t want to wait for me to feel better after the diagnosis came, and the rest of the one-off dates found me and my sob story to be too much. No one could see me behind the whole, “my mom’s dying” story. After my third or fourth rejections, I was tempted to give it away for free just so I could be done with it.
My friends pushed me towards a guy or two. One even recommended someone would be, “super gentle and understanding”. But when it comes to having sex for the first time, I want to be in control of my body. I don’t want to do it with a man just because he’s there. I want to do it because I want to do it.
And now, I could have sex and make money without the guilt. I’d be doing it for my mom – not in spite of her.
An hour passes before the bar’s cleared out and I’ve got a second to ask Monica for the details. She doesn’t seem surprised when I ask her, “So the girls who do that virginity auction thing… they don’t have to commit? Like, what did you call it? ‘Claimed?’”
“No. It’s only a one-time deal unless they agree to it. That’s the okay thing about the club. They have rules about claiming a woman. It’s gotta be super serious. It’s basically like getting married, so most men don’t do it – ever. That’s why it would never work out between Marcello and me. I want commitment…”
I let her ramble on for a good five or ten minutes. It gives me time to think about the dangers, the consequences, the cash. I’ve never done anything like this in my entire life. I’ve never been one for risks, but if it means more security for my mom, I will move mountains.
“Monica?” I stop her in between her sentences. “Could you get me in?”
“In where?”
“The Tattooed Angels virginity auction. I want to enter myself.”
Chapter Two
Slash
We call it “The Warehouse”, though I have no idea if it was ever used to house much of anything except bikes and people. But it’s a big, open space with enough room for the thirty or so guys who come in on a regular basis, plus their bikes. I’d been with the Savage Hearts practically since I was old enough to get on a motorcycle. That didn’t please my mom. She was a single mom, doing the best she could, I’m sure – especially since my daddy left before my first birthday.
But she could be a vicious bitch, too. When I stepped out of line as a kid, she’d smack me around, her hands always smelling like parliaments and nail polish remover. When I got too big for her to hit, she just yelled instead, for all the good it did. When I told her I was going to join an MC, though, that was the last straw. She threw me out of the house – told me I could take my ass anywhere but there.
I didn’t put up a fight; there was nothing for me to stay there for anyway. So, I crashed on couches for a little while until I started making enough with the Savage Hearts to get a place of my own. But I was doing grunt work – had been for nearly two years – which meant I was out on the road most of the time, so I didn’t really give a shit where I stashed my crap.
But after two years of being the Savage Hearts’ errand boy, I was ready for something bigger. I wanted our chief, Jerome, to take me more seriously. I was hungry for my turn. I don’t blame Jerome at all. In all honesty, the dude is one tough son of a bitch. He’s been running this MC for years now, and his ZZ Top beard has more than a few streaks of white in it nowadays. He jokes that the hair on his head migrated down south to his chin, and that kind of makes sense – he’s completely bald on top, while his beard seems to keep getting longer. To be sure, he’s got a temper and can sometimes be difficult, but he’s never been anything less than fair to me.
When I was just a kid starting off, he took me under his wing and showed me the ropes, even letting me shadow him on some of his runs. Then, when it was time for me to start flying on my own, he gave me some choice assignments at first. But that’s all faded memories now. Over the last few years, and especially over the last few months, my runs have almost all been shit service like security detail or patrolling.
I get why it’s important, and why he wants a big, bulky guy like me running point on these runs. But I know I can do more. And I’m probably going to be stuck doing these runs until we can catch that little bastard, Marcelo. Marcelo was pretty high up in the Savage Hearts up until a couple of years ago, right before I signed on. That’s when all of a sudden, he stopped coming to meetings.
Nobody knew what had happened until Jerome came in one day with a pissed off look on his face. It was my first day, and he just states with a sneer, “Marcelo’s out,” before walking to his office and slamming the door shut. It took about another month before we learned the truth: Marcelo had defected to another club, the Tattooed Angels, taking over as their second in command.
We didn’t know what kind of sweet deal they had offered him, but poaching members from one club to another was something that just wasn’t done. Still, there wasn’t a lot we could do about it. He’d have protection from the rest of the Tattooed Angels, and Jerome isn’t stupid enough to start a war over some pissant traitorous little shit like Marcelo.
Still, there wasn’t one among us who didn’t want to take that bastard down a peg, maybe find something on him to hasten his fall from grace. At any rate, Marcelo was out now, and Jerome was operating under business as usual, though I knew it was probably eating at him to see that punk walking free.
So, every meeting night, Jerome went through the list of what we had to do, and Marcelo’s name never came up. Tonight is no different. We aren’t a wild MC. Jerome runs a tight ship, and everything is pretty businesslike. He and his lieutenants would break down the duties for the week, and we, the loyal foot soldiers, were meant to carry out the orders.
But I want tonight to be different. Like I keep saying, I’m ready to move up in the world. First thing I do is grab a beer from the fridge inside what’s become our garage. Jerome’s a smart guy; he keeps the place stocked with enough beers to keep the men pliant, but not enough for anyone to get shitfaced. He expects us to be on our toes and ready to jump at a moment’s notice. Which is good – I prefer it that way.
Once I’ve cracked the bottle open, I walk over to Esai, one of Jerome’s top guys who got promoted when Marcelo went M.I.A. I try to be as casual as possible. If I appear too eager, they’ll think I’m some hot shot kid rather than somebody who’s been around and is ready to take on more responsibility. But I have to push my case, too, or else I’m going to be stuck doing grunt work for the rest of my life – and that just ain’t an option.
“Yo, Esai,” I say easily, “how’s it goin’?”
Esai shrugs. “You know, man. Same shit. What can I do for you?”
“Wanted to talk to you about these runs Jerome’s got me goin’ on. I don�
��t mind the work, but—”
“Hold it, Slash. You better not be asking what I think you’re about to be asking.”
“Huh?” I ask, confused. “What are you talking about?”
He shakes his head. “Man, you know the deal,” he says, motioning for me to come in closer. His voice nearly a whisper, he continues, “If you’re about to ask to get off duty for tonight, I got news for ya – it ain’t happening. Jerome will kick your ass from here to the fuckin’ Sahara Desert if you ask for the night off.”
“Night off?” I ask, bewildered. “Man, what do you take me for? I just wanted to talk to you about gettin’ off grunt detail and doing something more… y’know, involved.”
At that, Esai takes a swig of beer, swallows, then smiles – but there’s sarcasm in his smile. “You gettin’ ambitious, are you?” he asks.
“Ambitious?” I retort. “Nah. I just don’t want to be doin’ runs my whole life. I feel like I can contribute more to this club than just bein’ the muscle.”
“But you play the muscle part so well, amigo. Listen, tell you what: why don’t you wait and see what el jefe has for you tonight. If you don’t like it, well…” He pauses a moment to take another swig from his bottle before turning to me, looking me straight in the eyes, and then bellowing in a loud voice, “That’s TOO FUCKIN’ BAD, HOMES! You got steady work. You got respect from your brothers. You do the work that’s in front of you. Now, quit your bitchin’ and go get your sorry ass ready for tonight’s job. You get me?”
“Yeah.” I snarl. I could take his head off right here – I’ve got at least four inches and about fifty pounds on him – but I know that wouldn’t get me anywhere. So, I stare him down for a second, then, beer in hand, turn and walk away.
“Hey Slash,” he calls from behind me. I turn back to see what he wants. “You do good work, man. Don’t worry about what everybody else is doin’. You get the job done, then you move on to the next job. Simple as that.”
I don’t respond. Instead, I turn back around and make my way towards the back of the room. I’m pissed off. That couldn’t have gone worse. But the worst part is, I know Esai is right. “Do the work in front of you” – that’s how we roll. We’re not like some of these crazy-ass MCs where everybody’s always drinking and fighting and backstabbing. We don’t go in for that shit. Jerome and his men are all business. Esai was right to get me to back off like that. But it still doesn’t make me any happier. I know I can do more for this place.
Jerome comes out from his office about ten minutes later and goes through the roster for the week. And wouldn’t you know it? He puts me on patrol. Again. I’m to ride around our side of town, keeping an eye out.
But I’m unable to contain my irritation this time, so I blurt out, “For what, boss?”
Jerome’s eyes narrow as he scans the crowd, looking for the voice that just questioned his orders.
“You got an issue, Slash?” he asks behind his long, flowing beard.
“Naw, boss,” I say, backtracking just a little. “I just want to know what you want me to keep an eye out for. Are we expecting trouble?”
“We always expect trouble, son.”
I press on: “Anything in particular?”
“You know, the usual shit. Somebody out of place. That sort of thing.”
“You think somebody’s gonna make a move on us, don’t you,” I say. It’s not a question – it’s clear what Jerome is thinking.
“Slash, shut the fuck up,” Esai calls from beside Jerome. “I told you once, do your job. That’s all you need to worry about.”
“No, no,” Jerome says, holding up a hand. “Relax, Esai. It’s fine. Listen – all you men, listen and listen good. We’ve been living on borrowed time for a while. When that turncoat piece of trash Marcelo ditched us to go tiptoe through the fuckin’ tulips with the Tattooed Angels, he didn’t do it just to do it. He’s planning something. He’s been planning something, clearly, for a long time. So yeah, Slash, if you want to know the truth, I expect those sons of bitches are going to make a move one of these days. That’s why I need guys like you on patrol.”
“Guys like me?” I ask, a little amused.
“You’re big. You’re intimidating, and you’re not stupid. If you see something, you’ll know what’s up. And if they see you, they’ll just think you’re doin’ grunt work patrolling. See, we’re smarter than they are. That’s why I want you on this detail. You get me?”
I nod slowly. “Boss,” I start to say, “I can handle more if you want me to.”
“You just stick to the script, Slash,” he tells me. “We’ll work on later, later. Get me?”
I nod silently and shut my mouth.
“Good,” Jerome says. “Now, you boys all have your assignments. Get out there and do your jobs.”
We disperse and start revving our bikes, getting ready to head out. I’m taking point, so I’m on my way out to the edge of town. As I ride, I feel the wind rushing over my hair, the feel of the breeze in my face, the white stripes on the street lit only by the dim street lamps that cast little bits of a yellow haze over the whole town.
Despite my relative dissatisfaction with this grunt work, I have to admit, I do like being out on patrol sometimes. It makes me feel alive.
I circle around the north end of town, then head out towards the east side, being careful not to attract too much attention. I stop every so often and have a look around, just to make sure everything is in its right place. It’s awfully quiet at this time of night, a nice, comfortable quiet that amplifies even the smallest sound.
I hear some rustling in the bushes at one of my stops, only to see a clearly terrified opossum dart out and across the street. I’ve never understood people who don’t like opossums. They’re actually really cute creatures that eat the shit we don’t want to. And they’re a hell of a lot better than rats.
As I’m sitting there, watching the creature get its ass across the street as clumsily as possible, my eye catches a glint in the streetlight, and I turn to see headlights coming behind me – at least three motorcycles, maybe more. I wheel my bike towards a building when I realize where I am. I’m still in Savage Hearts territory, but right on the edge – and right up the street from the Red Club, the bar where the Tattooed Angels are based.
I quietly curse myself for not being more careful and for getting distracted by the goddamn opossum before they come barreling down the road, right out in front of me. Suddenly, the three of them cut their engines. What the fuck are they doing in our territory? They can’t possibly be this stupid.
“Shit, Andre,” one of them says, “we’re in the wrong place. I thought we were going to the Red Club.”
“We are,” Andre responds. “Just chill the fuck out. Marcelo gave me some info that I wanted to share before we go in.”
“What kind of info?” says the third guy, a porky little bastard with a shaved head.
“Shh,” Andre tells him. “Listen, Marcelo’s running a side project that he’s got a few of us out here to talk about. It’s not for everybody. But we’re running a little party on Friday night.”
“A party?” the porky one asks.
“You ever go to a v-card party? Marcelo’s got a bunch of little girls – all legal, but virgins – that he’s auctioning off. Gonna happen on Friday. You boys are lucky because he told me to invite you.”
“Told you specifically?” the first one asks.
“Would you shut the fuck up?” Andre snaps. “Just be there at eleven on Friday, all right? There’s guys from all over coming to this, other clubs, you know—”
“Why not keep it in the family?” Tubby asks.
“Because we’re trying to make money, dipshit.” Then Andre’s eyes dart around, as if the idiot is for the first time realizing where he is. “Oh fuck, you two fucking idiots, we’re out of our territory. C’mon, let’s get the fuck out of here. Quietly. Cut your engines, and let’s go.”
As they walk their bikes the two or so blocks to the
Red Club, I slowly emerge from the shadows. Those three idiots were too stupid to realize they were encroaching on our territory, so I have no reason to report it. But this v-card party that Marcelo’s throwing… well, to be honest, it sounds like the perfect place to score some dirt on that scumbag.
And now I know the place and the time – and Marcelo doesn’t know me, which makes it even better. I was going to do some reconnaissance on my own, a little freelancing, if you will. And the Savage Hearts were going to get their revenge on the guy who sold them down the river.
Chapter Three
Erin
The sign over the door to the bar says “Red Club”, and as I open the door and step inside, I can feel my stomach start doing flip-flops underneath my rib cage. Everything about this feels wrong – weird, somehow. There are at least fifty eyes on me – or, rather, on my body – as I make my way inside and head towards the bar.
