by Chiah Wilder
“Yes, Sir.” The truth was she hated him touching her, but sometimes her body would react even when she didn’t want it to.
He untied her and turned her so she was on her back. The chilling coldness in his eyes made her shiver. “Get dressed and get out of here, slut.” He stood up and walked away.
She slowly got up and went over to a metal cabinet to get her clothes. Wincing when her bra straps touched the cuts on her shoulders, she flung off her bra and slipped her dress on. Deciding to forgo the stiletto heels, she walked barefoot up the stairs. The house was quiet, and Victor was nowhere around.
She opened the large wooden front door and stepped out into the cold air, seeing the RV parked on the street. The tip of Bobby’s cigarette glowed in the dark. Misty made her way down the long driveway, feeling someone staring at her. Pausing, she looked over her shoulder and saw a pretty woman in her thirties watching her from a window on the second floor. For a single moment, their eyes locked, and then Victor came into view. He tugged the woman to him, and she broke eye contact with Misty and hooked her arms around his neck. The couple kissed deeply as Misty turned away and hurried down the walkway.
She slid into the passenger seat and stared ahead. From the corner of her eye, she saw Bobby looking at her, but she didn’t move a muscle or say a word. The RV started up and they rode in silence back to the motel. She scrambled up the stairs, anxious to get inside and forget about the evening.
“What’s your hurry?” Bobby asked, ambling toward the door.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” she lied. He smirked and let her in.
She rushed inside and locked the door behind her. For a while, the room would be her refuge. Taking off her clothes she stared at the reflection of her body in the mirror: bruises, welts from the cane, thin lines from the flogger, and red marks from the paddle covered her skin. Biting her lower lip, she turned away and went to the shower, turning the water on. The hot spray stung and made her eyes water, but she didn’t flinch. She took it like a good girl.
After soaping up the washcloth, she scrubbed her skin over and over, trying to rid herself of his scent.
Chapter Seven
“Yo,” Knuckles said as Paco and Sangre came into the Fallen Slayers’ clubhouse.
Paco tipped his head at the sergeant-at-arms. “You made the room bigger.”
“We knocked down some walls. We need more space for all the bitches who come to the parties.”
“Hot ones, right?” Army said as he walked over to the bar.
“Of course. How was the ride?”
“Good,” Paco replied. He watched as Steel, Diablo, Chains, Eagle, and Brutus placed their saddlebags down on two tables before joining him and Sangre at the bar.
“So when does the partying begin?” Eagle asked.
“Tonight we’re going to Satin Dolls Gentlemen’s Club. It’s the strip bar I was telling you all about when Brick and me were in Alina,” Roughneck said. “Knuckles just found out that it’s owned by a guy named Victor Bustos. He’s head honcho of the Los Malos Gang. Satan’s Pistons are in thick with the 39th Street Gang, who hate Los Malos and the West Avenue Bandits.”
“So the fuckin’ Pistons are dealing in arms with the 39th Street fucks, Los assholes, and West Avenue dumb shits?” Paco said.
“You got it,” Roughneck replied.
“How’s business at the strip bar?” Steel asked.
Patriot, the Fallen Slayer’s vice president, shook his head. “Real good. It’s taking away business from our bar, Lusty Lady. They paid someone off to get the permits in record time.”
“What time are we planning to head out?” Eagle said.
“Around nine. We’ll leave our jackets and cuts at the clubhouse. I don’t want them to know we’re from biker clubs.” Roughneck picked up his drink.
“It’s gonna be hard for them not to know, dude. We look like bikers,” Paco said.
“Or rockers,” Patriot added.
“If anyone asks, we can say we’re in rock bands on tour. I always wanted to be a fuckin’ rock star,” Army said. The brothers burst out laughing.
“We gotta come up with names for our bands,” Chains said.
“The first thing we gotta do is not take our Harleys. We’ll split in three SUVs.” Knuckles picked up the beer bottle the prospect put on the bar.
“That’s fuckin’ obvious, dude,” Sangre said as Knuckles bristled.
Paco chuckled. Knuckles wasn’t the brightest one in the group. Too many fights and blows to the head probably contributed to that. Diablo was always complaining about how thick he was, preferring to work with Brick and Patriot when it came to security and maneuvers.
“You got any chicks around here? I could go for some relaxing before we head out.” Brutus raised his eyebrows as he scanned the room.
“The club girls will show you where you can put your bags and crash. I’m sure they’re up for some fun with some new brothers.” Roughneck whistled and four women came out.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about.” Brutus elbowed Paco.
“I’ll drop off my shit first. Who’s up for a pool game against Diablo and me?” Paco asked the Fallen Slayers members.
“I’m in,” Patriot said.
“Me too.” Brick walked toward the pool table.
“Sounds good.” Paco followed one of the club girls downstairs. She stopped in front of a closed door.
“This is where you’ll be staying.” She ran her blue eyes over him, checking him out. “You’re the VP, right?”
“Yeah. What’s your name?” Paco turned the doorknob.
“Lila. How many club girls you guys got?” She stood in the doorway watching him.
Throwing his bag on the double bed, he glanced over at her. “Six. Why? Aren’t the brothers treating you right around here?”
“They’re okay, but I’ve always found your club members to be more respectful to the women.” Lila stepped inside the room. “Please don’t tell anyone I said that.”
“No worries ’bout that.”
“I was thinking about moving to Alina. It’s bigger than here, and I have some cousins who live in Tula, which is way closer to Alina than it is to Silverado. I like being a club girl. Would you have room for me?”
He ran his gaze over her quickly—she had nice tits, curves, and long golden hair. “Maybe. If you’re serious, come see me sometime when you’re in Alina. I can see what we can work out.”
A wide smile broke over her face. “Excellent. While you’re here, maybe you’d like a sneak peek of what I can do.”
“Maybe. I’ll let you know. Right now I’m aiming to win some bucks on a pool game.” He took out a comb and ran it through his dark hair. “Thanks for showing me my room.”
He pushed the lock and went back upstairs, joining Diablo, Patriot, and Brick at the pool table. Glancing at the clock, he figured he had three hours to make some money off Patriot and Brick. The two of them were cocky as hell and thought they were the best pool players in the two counties. Paco chuckled inwardly as he remembered how Raven had hustled Brick a couple of years before when they were all at Trick Shots. Brick had been so livid that a woman had outsmarted him.
“You ready to lose some money?” Brick asked as he set up the balls in the rack.
Paco smirked, then wrapped his fingers around a cue stick and glanced at Diablo who gave him a knowing look. The game was on.
* * *
In the main room, the chairs were in ruby-red plush velvet, and warm vanilla scents from flickering candles in private nooks and alcoves wafted around the establishment. A tall skinny woman with perfect breasts walked across the neon-lit room inside Satin Dolls Gentlemen’s Club dressed in see-through black lingerie. Another woman wearing pink panties and a short cutoff shirt exposing the bottom half of her breasts mingled with customers as two women twirled, ground, and spread their legs on the smoky stage.
“This is classy,” Sangre said as he sat at a table near the stage.
&nbs
p; “And packed. These assholes are killing our business,” Roughneck replied.
A scantily clad woman came over and asked for their drink order. Army jabbed Paco with his elbow. “The Fallen Slayers have some serious competition. I can see why this place is crowded. The dancers are fuckin’ hot.”
“Yeah, but letting these assholes get away with this is opening the gate for all kinds of shit to go down. Besides, some of the women look too young.” He jerked his head toward a girl who stood by the stage in a barely there school uniform. “I’d bet all the money I won at pool tonight that she’s not even sixteen.”
Army looked at the girl and red blotches appeared on his taut face. “You’re fuckin’ right. Underage girls usually means they don’t wanna be here.” Looking around, he bobbed his head. “Yeah… we gotta help the Slayers close this damn place.”
Anger licked at Paco as well. Dancing because a woman wanted to was one thing, but doing it because she had no choice pissed him and his brothers off real bad. Chains had done some digging into Los Malos and the West Avenue Bandits, and it seemed that Los Malos was into buying and selling women. The West Avenue Bandits were more into selling drugs, stolen bike and car parts, and petty thefts, but Los Malos’s biggest revenue came from the flesh trade. If Paco had to guess, he’d bet that a third of the women in the club weren’t there by choice. The thought disgusted and angered him. The fuckin’ badges are probably in on this too.
“Here you go.” The waitress put the drinks down on the table. “You want to start a tab?”
“We’ll pay as we drink,” Steel said, opening his wallet.
“I’m gonna walk around,” Paco said to Army and Steel. He stood up, and Diablo and Brick followed suit. They walked around the club, noticing the long hallway with numerous closed doors. Paco figured that was where the private lap dances happened.
The trio went over to the bar and ordered beers. “They’ve got underage girls working the place,” Paco said to Brick.
“I noticed that. Shit. I have a sister about the age of some of these girls.” Brick wrapped his fingers tightly around the beer bottle.
“They don’t look like they’re having fun. Not like the older one on stage. I’d say they don’t want to be here.” A frown creased Diablo’s forehead.
The crowd erupted in applause and another hard-hitting song came over the speakers. Paco leaned on the bar, his back to the stage. Seeing the underage girls and knowing they were probably being forced to take off their clothes gave him a real bad taste.
Loud whistles and hoots pulled his attention back. He spun around and saw the back of a woman in a G-string and stiletto heels swaying her hips. The cool beer slid down his throat. The woman bent backward and the tips of her long hair brushed the stage. Then she straightened up and spun around, her breasts jiggling with her movements.
Paco looked at her, then did a double take. Misty. What the fuck? A flush of adrenaline tingled through his body. Men cheered. Men ogled. Men whistled. And fire rushed in his veins as he glared at the crowd. Part of him was pissed as hell that the men watched her intently. He ground his teeth. This is stupid, man. She’s not your woman. But for reasons he couldn’t understand, he felt protective of her.
Standing next to the bar, a muscled man with a mustache stared fixedly at Misty, lust clouding his eyes. Paco got a bad vibe from him. The way he watched Misty looked like he wanted to possess every inch of her, even her soul.
“What’s up, dude?” Diablo asked.
Tearing his gaze from the jerk, he looked at Diablo. “Whaddaya mean?”
“You look like you’re ready to beat the shit outta that guy.” Diablo jerked his head to the mustached muscle man. “Did he disrespect you?”
“I just don’t like the fucker’s looks.”
“We gotta play it cool. Unless he disrespected you, we don’t wanna start shit right now. We don’t want these assholes to know that we’re checking them out.”
“I’m not gonna start anything.”
Army came over with an arm around one of the women. “And we’re headed to Pueblo to do a concert. This here is the bass player.” He pointed to Paco.
“I love bass players,” she said.
Paco rolled his eyes and focused back on the stage. “I’m going out for a smoke,” he said to Diablo.
The cold air blew away the shock of seeing Misty on stage. How the hell she ended up on a stripper stage in Silverado was a mystery to him. At least she’s not hauling her ass in a truck stop.
He walked around the back of the building and saw a slatted fence surrounding most of the backside that looked to be a little over five feet. He grabbed the top of it and hoisted himself up, then dropped down on the pavement. The back door to the club was propped open. Pushing it wide with the toe of his boot, he went inside. Several women rushed around, stuffing their tits in tight bras and putting on stilettos. A few of them winked at him, and he lifted his chin in their direction.
A well-endowed brunette in a skimpy purple metallic top and sheer G-string smiled at him, then turned to a redhead. “You’re on next, Reds.”
The redhead adjusted her bra and threw on a long cape. “Hope they’re tipping good tonight,” she said as she waited to go on.
The lights dimmed and he saw Misty coming down the stage steps. She grabbed a robe hanging near the curtain and shrugged it on.
“Here,” one of the women said to her. “You look like you need one.” Paco saw her hand Misty a joint.
“Thanks.” She took it and, with her head bent down, walked right past him and out the back door. Following her out, he watched her light up and take a deep drag.
“I never thought I’d see you in this place,” he said, walking toward her.
She whirled around, suspicion etching her face until recognition danced across it. “Paco!” Her lips turned upward into a wide smile.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I work here. Do you live in Silverado now?”
“No… I’m just visiting some friends. I stopped by Moab last week when I was riding through. Some older woman told me you’d left. You hadn’t mentioned you were moving on when we met.”
“Well, things change fast. I live a very transient life.” She pulled her gaze away from him.
He stared at her intently. “You okay?”
“Of course.”
He heard her words, but her eyes, her posture, and her movements told him she was lying. “You being forced to do this shit?”
“Misty! What the fuck are you doing out here?” A tall man came onto the back patio. Under the glow of the glittering white string lights, the man’s face was pockmarked, and Paco saw scratch marks on his bared arms.
“I was just smoking a joint.” She moved closer to the man.
“Who the fuck are you?” he grumbled to Paco.
Paco’s gaze darted to her, and he saw sweat trickling down her face, her body stiffening, and her fingers curling into a fist. He decided not to slam his fist into the asshole’s face, but only because he’d promised his brothers.
“None of your fucking business.” Paco took a step closer to him.
The man glanced at him, then turned to Misty. “Do you know him?” Paco was sure that the yellow-bellied fucker decided he was no match for him.
Misty shook her head. “No, Bobby. He was out here smoking a joint when I came outside.”
So that’s her fucking pimp. I want to pulverize him.
“You work here?” Bobby asked him.
“You ask me one more question and I’m gonna make sure it’ll be your last.” He took another step toward him. Twitching legs and erratic breathing told Paco the pussy was scared.
Turning to Misty, Bobby said, “Get your ass back inside.”
Without a glance, she went back into the club. Before Bobby could follow her, Paco stepped in front of him, blocking his way.
“I don’t want any trouble,” he said, trying to walk around Paco.
“That’s too fucking
bad, ’cause you’re gonna get it.” With one swift movement, he buried his fist in Bobby’s stomach. The man bent over, gulping for air. “Don’t ever question me again.” His knee made contact with the wheezing man’s face, and the crunch of bones was music to Paco’s ears.
“Fuck! I think my nose is broken.” He looked up, blood streaming over his lips and dripping down his chin.
“You’re fucking lucky that’s the only thing I broke. Asshole.” He went inside, hoping to see Misty again, but she was nowhere around.
“Where’s Misty?” he asked one of the women.
“Who? Look, honey, I’m about ready to go on. After I get finished, I’ll show you a better time than this Misty chick. I’ll give you a lap dance you’ll never forget.” She winked, then brushed past him as she headed for the stage.
He ran his fingers through his hair while scanning the room. His gaze landed on Diablo’s. “What the fuck are you doing back here?” Diablo asked.
“I’m looking for someone.”
“There’re plenty of women out there. Roughneck doesn’t want any unnecessary attention, dude.”
A door slammed behind him and he whirled around. Bobby leaned against it, his eyes flashing, a wad of red-stained tissues in his hand. Not wanting to jeopardize anything, Paco followed Diablo back into the main room and ordered a double Jack at the bar. As he drank, he kept his gaze glued to the curtain, but Misty never came out; she never even peeked from behind the black drapes.
What the fuck’s wrong with me? I don’t even know her.
By the time last call rolled around, Paco was ready to jump on his Harley, haul ass back to Alina, and forget all about strippers, lot lizards, and Misty. He was done thinking about her. He’d helped her out when she’d been sick and down. End of story.
Finished.
Done.
Chapter Eight
