by Snow, Nicole
I turned before he could say anything and headed for her room. Knocking several times on her door gave no response. I grabbed the doorknob and pushed it open, finding her halfway awake, sprawled out on the narrow double bed.
“What's going on?” My sister sat up, her eyes wide. There'd been too much bad news lately not to panic when these unexpected visits happened.
“I'm going out for awhile. I need you to stay here. There's games and reading to do on the computer. I'd really appreciate it if you can do some math or history while I'm trying to get you the teacher we talked about.”
She wrinkled her nose and sat up, throwing off the covers. “You're working for him, aren't you? Are they even paying you, Missy, or are we just total slaves now?”
My lips tingled, ready to throw sisterly venom back at her. God damn it. It would've been so much easier if the question didn't strike so deep.
“We're working off daddy's debt. Think of it that way,” I said, sitting on the bed next to her. I reached out to touch her shoulder, but she pulled away, looking at me like I was covered in stinking motor oil.
“Is that why they took all the money and threatened to kill us? Was it all about the cash in that bag?” She leaned forward, clawing at the blanket. “You're treating me like shit! I'm not a little kid. I can handle the truth, Missy. Why won't you give it to me?”
Because some truths are so fucking brutal it's blinding to look at them head on, I thought. I had to think fast, scramble to find my words, something to shut down the battle brewing.
“I already told you. Before he died, dad made some big mistakes. Terrible mistakes. The cancer really screwed up his head. He took some things from people he really shouldn't have. I don't like them either – they're bastards. But they've got their reasons for being pissed...”
Jackie closed her eyes and shook her head, annoyed with all my half-answers. If only she knew the half-assed answers really were the best ones I had. I didn't have a clue what was going on with Brass' MC, the cartel, and the money, not to mention all those phantom whispers about a war. A big part of me didn't even want to know why we were in this shit storm.
What did it matter? Knowledge wasn't power here. Right now, all I cared about was clawing my way out, and dragging Jackie with me to the safe, distant shore.
“Reasons?” Jackie repeated, rolling the word sarcastically on her tongue. “They must be pretty fucking good to go along with this and live here with this asshole like nothing happened.”
My face tightened. “Knock it off. Daddy wouldn't approve of that language, and neither do I. You've still got some growing up to do, sis. I know this doesn't make sense right now. One day, it will. I'm trying to do what's best and it's really fucking hard.”
I ran a hand over my face. So much for leading by example.
Jackie turned away from me, pulling her feet up to her chest. It was over. When she went fetal, I knew we were done talking.
Damn. Not at all the way I wanted this to go, but staying here trying to reason with the most flawed logic in the world wasn't going to help us get away from the Grizzlies' claws faster.
I got up and padded to the door, stopping one more time on my way out. “Stay here. Be good. I promise I'll keep working on the tutor thing so you'll have something to pass the time without thinking about this crap.”
No response. I pulled the door shut behind me and headed for the bathroom. It was a quick shower, cranked up as high as the building's water heater could manage. I let the hot droplets steam off my skin, ignoring the tears mingling with the shower near the end.
When I cleaned up and changed, Brass was waiting for me near the door.
We got on his bike and headed for the clubhouse. It was getting easier to keep my small hands around him, secretly admiring his taut muscles beneath my fingertips. Of course, I hated myself for loving anything at all about this asshole taking me to a job I never asked for.
Just before we hit the highway, he told me to cover my eyes. The man still didn't trust me to see where his clubhouse was. I did what he asked, tucking my face deep into his back. Hot, angry breaths steamed up around his neck, and I knew he could feel them when his skin rippled, the stubble on his face brushing my cheek several times.
Monsters shouldn't feel this good.
When we pulled into the massive garage, I got off and followed him inside. Brass led me to a small closet in the smelly hallway. I found a bunch of long neglected cleaning crap inside, but at least it contained all the gear I needed to make a dent in this place's filth.
“You know how to use this shit?” he asked.
“I'm not a moron. I mopped floors and wiped toilets part-time for my college before I quit. I don't think cleaning up after bikers is worse than a man with terminal cancer either...”
Brass nodded. “Got you. Well, start on the floors and then hit the bar. Fucking thing hasn't been wiped down since well before I got here. If anybody gives you any shit, tell 'em you're Brass' old lady.”
We shared an awkward look. Brass looked like he was about to say something else, but then he turned and left just as mysteriously.
The day went about as well as I expected. By afternoon, my shoulders were aching, but the entire clubhouse had gotten fresh Pine Sol swept over its floors. Everything except the rooms where the men smoked, slept, and fucked. I looked at Brass' room and cringed, amazed we'd stayed there for three days.
I couldn't help but wonder what else went on in there when we weren't around.
The men weren't shy about sex. Doors opened and closed at odd hours, releasing men with sweat still shining on their foreheads, or half-dressed girls barely older than me.
They all headed to the bar to pick up whiskey and water, hauling it back to their rooms to resume the insatiable passions happening inside. Some of them looked like they were drugged out of their minds. It was late when I finally started on the bar counter.
I cleared off the bottles, gingerly wiping them down, when I heard footsteps behind me. I would've preferred just about anything standing behind me except for the nasty freak with the barbed wire tattooed on his face.
“Whiskey, bitch,” Serial barked.
I held up my hands. “I'm not a bartender. Brass didn't tell me to touch any of this stuff –“
His arms twitched, and then his palms slapped the counter like lightning. “You fucking heard me. Don't make me ask again. I want a bottle of Jack to go, and I want it right fucking now.”
His eyes were stranger than the pitch black pools I'd seen on the night he wanted to kill us. They were brighter, but still so vacant, like light reflecting off a marionette's marble eyes.
His sleeve was pushed up. Several patches of skin were gray, discolored, dull red holes along their edges. Unmistakable bruises left behind by a junkie shooting up. I'd seen it plenty of times on ride alongs with daddy as a little girl.
This wasn't a man to reason with sober, let alone tripping out of his mind. I reached for the nearest whiskey bottle I could find and shoved it across the counter.
He popped the cap and took a long swig, pouring the crap down his throat like it was cream soda. “You remember who you're working for. I would've blown your girl's brains out if Brass and Blackjack hadn't pussied out. You're here at our mercy. This club doesn't need any parasites when it's fighting for its life. We fucking own you, and your little girl. We can stomp you both like a fucking flea any time we choose.”
He winked, and pointed his free hand at me like a gun. “BANG BANG! You're dead, cunt. Think I'd start on little sissy first, though.” he growled.
Pretty sure my heart stopped then. My fingers trembled as I heard his death threat echoing in my head, the cold, calm closeness to murder. I was still pinching the rag in my burning fingers when he was finally gone.
“Missy.”
I nearly hit the ceiling. I threw the rag on the counter and spun. Angry, shaken, and ready to face trouble. Brass was there on the other side of the bar, one hand braced against the granite
.
“How'd it go?” he asked, smooth as an assistant manager checking in on me at some bullshit job.
“Your friend with the thorns on his face just told me how much he'd like to kill Jackie. How the hell do you think?”
Anger roiled his face, a more violent, masculine mirror of mine. “Fuck. Don't listen to that shithead. He's always been a twisted little fuck since the minute I got to Redding. Come on. Let's fucking go.”
He grabbed the rag and cleaner off the counter and held them for me while I quickly pushed dusty bottles back into place. I'd have to pick up on this nightmare job tomorrow.
When our stuff was put away, we left, riding along the bluish fading horizon on his Harley. This time, I practically jabbed my nails into his stomach, trying to hurt him whenever he made a turn.
I never asked for any of this shit. And I definitely wasn't cut out for it – not for dealing with these animals.
It was just my first day on the 'job' – and calling it that was being painfully generous – and I was totally ready to lose it.
Jackie's words stabbed deep in my mind over and over. Slaves. That's exactly what we were, shackled to work with these brutes until we were dead or they finally got tired of us.
And what then? I thought about Serial.
BANG BANG!
I pressed my hands tight around Brass' waist. Rage churned in my veins, so potent I refused to recognize how seductive his stupid sexy abs were beneath my hands.
What if we never came back? Jackie would eventually break, leave the apartment, and run, wouldn't she?
I chewed my lip, seriously considering hurling my fingernails into Brass' eyes, making him wreck the bike before we got off the highway. But killing him and snapping my own neck wouldn't get us out of this. Not without giving my sister more hellish memories that would haunt her for the rest of her life.
I wanted it to be easy with him. Just once. I wanted to treat him like one of them, an easy target for my hatred, my pain, my will to survive.
Brass parked the Harley next to the apartment and switched it off. Quickly climbing off, he faced me, ripping off my helmet before I could work off the strap myself.
“Fucking shit, babe. I thought you were gonna tear a hole in my guts the whole ride here. What's eating you?”
I turned away. The painful lump in my throat made it impossible to speak – not without crying, anyway.
“Don't do this, Missy,” he growled, throwing one strong hand on my shoulder. “I need you to either keep it together or let me know what the fuck's going on so I can fix it. If you're upset about Serial, I'll break his fucking nose next time I see him. Brother or no, I'm not gonna let that psycho fuckwit shit all over my old –“
“Don't say it!” I snapped.
He tried to hold on, but I was too quick and his grip too tentative. I ripped myself away, climbing off the bike, throwing my hands into my pockets for the apartment's keys.
He knew better than to follow me inside when I was this upset. Jackie was locked in her room, refusing to respond every time I knocked. I left her a thick sandwich I threw together and a tall water bottle outside her door.
Then I cleaned up and turned in. The stink of cleaner and old smoke came off easy enough, but the putrid reek of bad luck didn't. Practically scrubbed my skin raw, wishing I could wipe away every trace of evil.
But it wasn't all on the outside, was it? Of course not, because that would be too convenient.
The real problem was the corruption inside me, the way Brass had gotten underneath my skin. I had my chance to kill him for Jackie's sake, and I knew there'd be more. Maybe there'd be a dozen chances, and I'd pass them all up, wouldn't I?
All because I didn't have a clue how to relate to this asshole who should've disgusted me just as much as Serial.
It was fucking sick. And so was I. My pussy betrayed me every time I got close to him, tingling while my nipples hardened, begging to be fucked by King Asshole.
Unfortunately, this asshole saved us. He'd delayed our doom while he continued to drag me back to his sick brothers every fucking day. He was the last little thread that held me together, kept me from lashing out, doing something stupid and getting us all killed.
I shouldn't care. Much less about him. Nothing should've mattered except freeing my sister, even if it cost me my own life.
And I shouldn't have the kinda thoughts I did while riding this bike, imagining what it would be like to run my hands on his stomach without leather and denim between his skin and mine. I shouldn't sweat and shake when his green eyes bathed me in his teal fire, wondering what his glare would look like only inches apart, watching me as I lost my mind on his cock.
Stockholm Syndrome. Wasn't that what they called it when a woman starts admiring her captor? What the hell did they call it when she was way past admiring, aching to run her tongue down his chest, and then even lower?
I wasn't sure, but I sank a little more into its one-way grasp every minute I was around him, and that scared the shit out of me.
God, I had a better idea how to handle my slave work with the Grizzlies and the dead eyed killers milling around the clubhouse. Serial's evil words hurt, but they didn't leave me confused, wrecked, disembodied. The hatred between us was a clear wall, keeping him away from my world, and me out of his as long as I watched my step.
I didn't have that luxury in my own fucking home, if I wanted to call this apartment that. I didn't have anything – much less my sanity – while I was forced to live here with him.
No protection. No safety. Not even the comfort black and white hate provided.
I never heard him come home, as usual. Whenever he finally dragged himself in and crashed on the sofa, I was already long asleep, my red eyes spinning in their nightmares after crying me to sleep.
IV: Cruel Charade (Brass)
I ripped circles through Redding half the fucking night on my bike, feeling the spots on my stomach where her nails almost tore through my clothes.
Why couldn't anything be easy with this girl? Why the fuck couldn't I catch a goddamned break just one time?
I thought my ship was sliding into happy harbor that morning, when she'd settled the hell down, agreeing to work on the one and only path that might set us all free. Then Serial had to stick his fucked up nose into it.
Shit! I should've rode straight to the clubhouse, kicked down the door, and pummeled his ugly face 'til it shattered. Too bad the asshole was the best shot this club had, and the Prez made it crystal fucking clear we'd need a good sniper on the roof if the cartel ever got the balls to attack our clubhouse.
Didn't stop me from wanting to beat him raw. It'd be satisfying for the first sixty seconds, before all the brothers descended on me, beating my ass to death before they dragged the girls away to the warehouse to be slaughtered like animals.
I hadn't been so frustrated since sitting through sis' wedding reception, surrounded by Prairie Pussies. I'd kept it together in Reno without taking a hit. But fuck, my whole body ached for one right now.
At least shooting smack up my veins would've cut my fuming body a break. I couldn't lose the hard-on turning my cock to steel no matter how many miles I rode, fighting to push Missy outta my mind like a madman stuck on OCD.
How fucked up was I for wanting her to scratch through my clothes on that tense ride home? If she would've gone at it a little harder, a little lower, I would've parked the bike on the side of the road and thrown her to the ground.
Tossing her to the earth and ripping off her pants sounded better than a shot of pure fucking heaven right about now. What I wouldn't give to feel her, fuck her, mark her with my teeth...I hadn't even given her a proper brand yet.
No, she wasn't really my old lady, but damn if I didn't want to make her fuck like one.
Just the thought of claiming that pussy as mine, stuffing her up to the hilt with my big dick, was the match that lit me on fire. I raced down the highway like an asshole who'd had one too many, weaving in and out the empty
lanes, pushing my engine to its limits.
The cold wind couldn't do shit to calm me down. Nothing would. Nothing except ripping her panties off with my bare hands and sinking into that hot, pink, arrogant slit, fisting her hair and grinding my teeth while I fucked her to the earth's core.
Didn't she understand her life and death was in my fucking hands? Christ, I wanted to drive it home, drive it deep, drive it hard and rough 'til she lost control and gushed all over my dick.
If she was gonna keep screaming and snarling in my face, then I wanted to give her a damned good reason to.
My balls were still on fire on the way back, hoping enough time had passed to put her down for the night so I could collapse on the couch like a zombie. I was afraid for what I'd do if I saw her again in this state.
My hands and my cock were done listening to my head for the night. They wanted to send a message one way or another, something she'd never forget, something to tell her this old lady shit wasn't a fucking game.
I stopped off at the liquor store for a six pack and barreled back to the apartment. Place was mercifully empty when I got inside. I chugged the brews fast, letting cheap carbonation and alcohol burn my throat, waiting 'til the booze punched me in the stomach and put me down for the night.
I never asked for any of this shit. I was coming apart a little more day by day, caught between my club and this beautiful chick with the bratty sister, without any room for mistakes that would end in us being buried together.
At some point, I passed out, wondering if I'd wake up and find out it was all a bad dream. But then, I would've had to wake up about five years earlier, about the time my life went to shit.
Missy wouldn't even talk to me the next day. We rode to the clubhouse in stone cold silence for another fun filled day ahead. I'd be hearing about the latest cartel raids while she worked her ass off trying to clean this shithole up and earn the brothers' trust.
I kept an eye out for her in between checking in with Blackjack and Crack. It was no small relief to have them riding my ass about cartel business instead of the girls.
