Rip's Baby: Hounds of Hades MC

by Nicole Fox

  Now I was stuck doing the real shit jobs for him. Last week it had been wrecking some little old lady's yard shop. The week before, beating some college punk kid's ass and breaking a few fingers. I could handle the old work, because I was generally going after some real sleazeballs.

  This kind of work, though? I was the fucking sleazeball, and I knew it.

  I pulled the old Pontiac into the packed dirt square that counted as a parking lot for the beer joint and headed inside.

  “Back for more?” Samuels asked with a grin growing on his lips, splitting it like a wounded gash. In front of him were his chips, what used to be my chips, but there were considerably less than I remembered. They'd probably been drinking all night and starting to spend on the women who'd finally begun to show up.

  I took a seat and threw down what little money I had, grumbling as I looked at the reduced pot. “I'm in for what I got.”

  Gomez leaned forward, peering at the money. “Barely enough there to keep you going through just a couple hands, the way you've been playing.”

  “Just fucking deal, all right? Quit giving me grief.”

  I played carefully over the next couple hours, slowly building my bankroll back up. I ended up driving them out of the game. Only problem was, I was still about five hundred short.

  “Sorry we couldn't keep it all around for you,” Samuels replied with a smirk as he leaned back in his chair, balancing on just the two legs. “Guess you're lucky you didn't spend it all on that whore you ran outta here with.”

  I'd been scraping my winnings together and cashing them out, but I stopped at Samuels' words. I stared daggers at him from across the table. I could feel my blood boiling already, canceling out any sense of victory I'd had at getting back at least a portion of my bankroll. “What the fuck you say?”

  “That girl that was in here,” he said, pausing to take another sip of beer as I stuffed my winnings in my pockets. “The one you gave a ride to. She's a fucking whore for Daddy Williams.”

  I didn't even bother to respond. Not with words, at least. I slammed the table forward, its legs scraping across the sawdust covered hardwood as I slammed it into Samuels.

  “What the fuck?” he yelled as he toppled over backwards, his beer going flying, his hands flailing in the air. He hit the ground with a loud crash, and I was up and around the table before any of the other players, or his buddies, could respond.

  He scrambled up from the ground and tried to get to his feet.

  I kicked him hard in the ribs, sending him back to the ground. “Stay the fuck down, Samuels!”

  A hand grabbed my shoulder and went to spin me back around, but I fixed that interruption with my fist. I knocked Alex Gomez flat on his ass in one swing, his eyes rolling back in his head as he went out with a light. I huffed and puffed, then spun back around and knocked Samuels back to the ground.

  I was on him in a flash, my fists flying as I pummeled him into a bloody pulp, cutting my knuckles open on his teeth. He tried to fend me off, but I just batted his hands away like he was a child, and kept whaling on him.

  I got in at least a half-dozen solid punches, practically turning his face into ground meat, before the rest of the guys got me off him. Two men grabbed my arms and kept them pinned back while the others began to soften me up in the ribs and stomach. One swung for my head, but I ducked forward so he caught my forehead with his knuckles, instead of my nose. I heard a satisfying crunch, and he screamed in agony, pulling his hand back.

  The pain didn't affect me. Not really. I'd had worse. Besides, these guys hit like pansies. I managed to wrench my arms free of their grasp, and got to one of the chairs at the poker table.

  Chairs, decent, sturdy ones, at least, don't break like they do in the movies. It's more like people that do the breaking. I slammed it down on the nearest guy, one of Gomez's buddies, and he crumpled to the ground, then I spun and knocked two more off balance.

  They started to come back at me, this time more focused and harder to fight off. I backed up, the chair in front of me like I was a lion tamer.

  “Don't let him get away!” one of them shouted.

  “The fuck I care?” shouted another one in reply. “You wanna get hit with a fucking chair? Be my fucking guest!”

  When I backed up to the door, I threw the chair away and ran, jumping back into my Pontiac. I started up the car as a couple of the guys ran out after me into the parking lot, and I took off, the car swerving as the tires lost traction in the dirt.

  “Fuck you, Ford!” one of the men yelled as he jumped out of the way.

  I didn't bother yelling back, or even honking my horn. I just took off into the night, laughing. I had some of my money back, and I'd taught those bastards a lesson they wouldn't soon forget. And the only price I’d had to pay was a dozen bruises.

  Chapter Five

  Micah

  “So, you ain't brought back a damn thing, huh?” Daddy asked. His voice had gone from just being angry to being disappointed, and I could practically see the hamster running on the wheel inside his head as he tried to concoct a punishment of some sort for me.

  I shook my head, my eyes focused on the ground.

  We were standing in the middle of my room together. My wardrobe was open, my little flat screen TV still running my DVD of Lost in Translation. When Daddy had burst into my room, I'd jumped up and forgotten to pause it.

  “Look at me when I'm talking to you,” he shouted, suddenly angry.

  I looked up at him, frightened he might hit me, or worse.

  I'd managed to sneak back in after Ford dropped me off, but one of the other girls must have seen me coming in and wanted to earn brownie points with Daddy. He'd come up about an hour or so after I'd returned. Now, I was cursing that girl. And myself, for not going about this better.

  He kept my eyes for a long minute, then nodded. “All right, fine,” he said. “Guess I can't expect a pretty little thing like you to get all dirty down at the roadhouse. But, tell you what, we got a little soiree about to begin up front, and I think you'd make a perfect addition to it. Mr. Paul, he loves him a pretty little redhead every now and again, and I'd say you fit that bill. Wouldn't you?”

  I pressed my lips into a thin line and looked down again.

  “Now, come on, Micah, sweetie pie. You'd be perfect for this little gig, and you'd be the prime attraction. You know what that means, don't you?”

  I knew exactly what it meant. Money. But, also, being an out-and-out prostitute. I just couldn't, not with the career wanted. Being an escort was skating the line as it was. But, a whore? I shook my head, frowning.

  “It means money,” Daddy said, his voice taking on a cajoling tone. “Sweet, easy money. Almost as easy as what you do, just with less talking. A little more riding, if you take my meaning. And more, much more, than what you've been making.”

  Looking up, I opened my mouth to respond, but closed it tight. If I gave him a response, I realized, he'd think I was somewhat interested. Which, try as I might to ignore the prospects of easy cash, I just couldn't.

  “Ten thousand dollars, little Micah,” he offered. “Ten grand, sweet and easy peasy, all cash and breezy. And that'd be your cut for the night.”

  My mind screamed at me to take the money. With that kind of cash, I could even find Ford and return the ring to him. I could be out of this hellhole in no time flat, headed straight for LA and my future career.

  But then I thought of Kessa, the closest thing I had to a friend in this whole crazy place. Daddy's favorite, but she never let that go to her head. Blonde, beautiful, positive all the time. The sweetest thing ever. Only problem was, she'd taken the money. She'd slipped down that hole and never came back.

  “Come on,” Daddy said, taking a step towards me, his big belly preceding him. “Do it for Daddy. Make me proud.”

  I sighed heavily. “Daddy, I just can't. It's just not me.”

  His face went from affable to angry in a split second, his features twisting into a mockery of th
emselves. “Fine,” he spat. “You go to your room, then, till I figure out what we'll do about you for not bringing home your two hundred.”

  “I have the two hundred,” I said as he turned away. “I can pay—”

  “How'd you get it, huh?” he shouted, cutting me off as he whirled around.

  I flinched and cowered back from him. “I made it working here.”

  “But not the way I said you needed to,” he roared. “That's the goddamn point, Micah!”

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “No,” he said, his eyes sweeping around the room, taking in my clothes, my bed. “But you will be. You stay here.”

  He turned back around and left the room, slamming the door behind him when he left. I heard a key inserted into the lock and heard the tumblers click as it turned and the bolt slid into place.

  I exhaled a breath I didn't realized I'd been holding, feeling like the air was just evacuating from my body all at once. On the TV screen, Bill Murray was on the street, whispering in Scarlet Johansson's ear, something so quiet the audience couldn't hear.

  I walked over to the door and tried twisting the knob, but it didn't work. Panic welled up inside me. I was trapped here! Dang it, if I'd known this was how everything was going to work out, I would have gotten a job as a waitress or something!

  My mind chastised me. But what did you think was going to happen, Micah? You knew the money was too good, especially for what you were doing. No such thing as a free lunch, and credit always costs. You gotta pay the piper at some point.

  Well, crap. I went back over to my bed and sat down, my vision beginning to blur as my eyes welled up with tears. I collapsed back onto the covers, my arms straight out to either side of me.

  As I lay there, my thoughts drifted back to Ford. The way he'd held me, the way his gruff commands in my ear had turned me to Jell-O as he moved behind me. I'd never willingly given my control over like that, never been used so well and fully. If he was here, he'd take care of Daddy Williams. I just knew it. Then, I'd be free.

  Still thinking about him and his hard muscles, his steely glare, exhaustion took over, and I closed my eyes just for a moment. Just to rest them.

  I opened them again, though, at the sound of the key sliding into the lock. I glanced over at the alarm on my little nightstand, surprised that my short rest had turned into my sleeping for the last thirty minutes. I got up from the bed as Daddy flung the door open and pushed Kessa, half naked, in ahead of him.

  “Get in there, slut!” he roared as he stomped into the room, clearly on the warpath.

  I flinched a little at the way he bellowed, at how his bass tones seemed to resonate inside my skull.

  Tall, beautiful, curvy Kessa stumbled forward, streaks of eyeliner running down her face, marring her makeup, her long blonde hair tussled like a rat's nest. All she wore was a matching set of lacy red underwear, a pushup bra, and a thong. Her lipstick was smeared around her lips, her eyes puffy from crying, and a bruise was already forming on her cheek. Behind her, Daddy frowned, his heavy jowls pulled even lower and jiggling with each step as he came up behind her. He reached up, grabbed a handful of Kessa's hair, and yanked her head back in his grasp.

  “Kessa!” I screamed in shock, reaching out for her.

  “Hold it!” Daddy roared again, holding up a big Bowie knife. Even in his big ham of a fist, it looked large and terrifying, gleaming wickedly in the light.

  Fear gripped my heart with its icy hand, and I stopped in my tracks, even took a step back, my breath ragged in my chest.

  My grandfather had a knife like that when I was growing up, one that he used for skinning rabbits and other small game he'd kill on and around the farm. “Them's good eating,” he'd always say as he brought a bundle of them back to the house, their little furry bodies slung over his shoulders. That knife had terrified me back then, and the terror still held now. Daddy raised the knife higher as he yanked Kessa's crying face back, exposing her throat.

  “Kessa here's been a naughty little bitch, Micah,” he growled, bringing his face close to hers. “She's done worse than you, but I can tell you're headed that way.”

  I swallowed, my throat dry and scratchy. I tried to speak, wanted to, but nothing came out. I couldn't even convince my mouth to open.

  “Now tell your little friend Micah what you did, Kessa.”

  Her eyes were wide with horror, her eyes lolling in her head as she seemed to search for that point in her life where things had gone so wrong. I watched her throat bob up and down as she swallowed nervously. “I—I— I didn't do everything the client wanted,” she said, her voice more nasal and stuffy than normal from all the crying.

  “And what did he want, slut?”

  “He—he wanted to hurt me. He wanted to hurt me, Daddy.”

  He bared his teeth and brought the blade up in his hand, nearly touching the naked edge of her throat. “Well, what did you think he'd paid me for, huh? Don't you reckon he thought he could do that because he'd arranged it with me ahead of time? Didn't you think I'd make him pay for a few bruises on your perfect skin, little girl?”

  She swallowed again and closed her eyes tight, squeezing more tears down her cheeks. “I'm sorry,” she breathed. “I'm so sorry. It'll never happen again, Daddy. I promise it'll never happen again, not in a million years. They can do whatever they want with me from now on, I promise!”

  He pressed the blade to her throat, scraping it up her skin like a razor.

  She shivered and trembled, her whole body shaking as he held her tight, back against his big belly.

  Was he going to kill her? Was he going to just cut her throat like a ho and, leave her to bleed out all over the floor of my room? No one deserved this kind of treatment, no one deserved to be threatened this way. Certainly not Kessa, either. She was the sweetest, most wonderful girl I'd ever met. My heart hammered in my chest as I took a step forward.

  Kessa's eyes, now wide, locked onto mine as she shook her head.

  I stopped in my tracks, my fists clenching at my side, angry at my own impotence and inability to save my only friend.

  “You gonna do what you're fucking told from now on, slut?” Daddy asked.

  Kessa, eyes now wide, nodded carefully, clearly not wanting to disturb the blade pressed to her neck.

  “Good,” he soothed, taking the blade away, lowering it almost to his side.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God,” I murmured under my breath.

  His eyes shot to me, his hand bringing the knife back up, this time to her cheek. “Never said what her punishment was gonna be.”

  She screamed bloody murder as he sliced down her cheek, blood welling up around the blade as he quickly slashed it down and through the meat. She tried to get away, but he held her blonde tangle in place.

  My heart nearly stopped at the sight of the blood gushing down her face and onto her chest, at the sound of her screams. “Daddy!” I screamed, reaching out to them.

  “No!” Daddy bellowed, pointing the tip of the bloody knife right for me. His eyes looked like a wild animal's, full of murder and rage. I knew if I took one step closer, he'd gut her, and then me.

  I stopped in my tracks as Kessa reached up to her face, her hands frantically trying to compress the wound, trying to staunch the flow. It didn't help, just covered her in more crimson as the blood came up from between her fingers and ran down the backs of her hands.

  “Daddy!” I sobbed. “Let her go!”

  “The whore needs to learn her lesson!” He threw her aside, knocking her to her hands and knees as she began to sob again, her words unintelligible. With the blade still pointed at me, his eyes narrowed. “Just like you girls all gotta learn your lesson. You defy me, Micah, you're going right where Kessa's going.”

  “What?” I stumbled out. “Where? Where's Kessa going?”

  “To market,” he said flatly, his voice devoid of all care or concern for his once favorite girl, who was now groveling and crying on the floor of my bedroom, her bl
ood dripping onto the carpet, her tearful sobs filling my ears. “Tomorrow night.”

  Market. I knew what that meant. Some of the girls had whispered about it, in hushed, concerned tones when none of the men or girls we couldn't trust were around. An auction Daddy had every so often, a secret one, where women were bought by the highest bidders. Kessa had told me about it, the fear in her eyes evident as she'd whispered the rumors to me. I knew it was her greatest fear to be auctioned off there.

  He turned and reached down, grabbing hold of Kessa's hair. “Move, whore!” he roared, yanking her hair forward till she was crawling on all fours after him, just like a poor, beaten animal. She sobbed as she scrambled in his wake, frantic to keep up with him.