Can't Stop Fate (Ronacks MC #4)

by Debra Kayn

  But, she couldn't. She knew the rules. Not the rules at the current bordello or even past houses, but the rules put in place by Vince.

  He never allowed another man to take her through normal sex. Her body was his and what he owned would not be shared with any other man, except her mouth.

  Vince believed her mouth was free to use. He believed her mouth didn't matter. He believed having a dick shoved in her mouth shouldn't bother her.

  She shuddered. Her rational fear had not lessened when she escaped the boss of the Yesler Street Gang that got ahold of her outside the homeless shelter three years ago. Vince made sure she ate fear for breakfast and kept her afraid.

  Until the day she no longer feared death, and instead feared to live.

  She'd reached her limit when Vince had backhanded her hard enough she lost consciousness, and she'd used his negligence to escape his house.

  Over nine months of being on her own and protected by the Network, she still waited for the door to open and Vince to drag her back out on the street.

  The door opened.

  Her body tensed. She swallowed the shock of surprise and smiled.

  Tiff raised her brows, holding a hand under her swollen belly as if comforting the child that wouldn't be born for three more months. The tautness in Roni's neck eased at the sight of her madam.

  "You have twenty minutes." Tiff stepped back into the hallway letting the customer inside and shutting the door.

  The man looked up, found Roni, and stepped closer.

  The large man stood confidently in the room. His short brown hair and intensely dark eyes topped off his rough appearance in a worn flannel shirt, faded jeans, and black steel-toed boots. Roni's head pounded, and she broke eye contact with him. Looking down at his hands, she gasped. He had a tattoo of a bird's head on the back of his hand between his thumb and index finger.

  Sparrows!

  A sudden chill left her shaking, and she reached behind her for something to use to protect herself.

  How many times had she stared at the same tattoo marking on Vince and the Sparrows members and thought she'd die?

  The man stepped forward. "It's okay. I'm not here to hurt you."

  She finally found her feet and moved back, pressing against the top drawer, and blindly searched for the handle. With only the minimum of necessities to her name, she only had clothes inside the dresser. But, she needed something to use as a weapon. Even a shirt might help her stay alive.

  "Please." The man's deep voice softened. "I'm only here to talk to you."

  "W-who are you?" she said, hating how weak her voice came out.

  "My name's Carver." He ran his hand over his whiskered jaw. "Dawson Carver."

  She inched backward, sweeping her hand along the top of the dresser and found the topless female figurine that came with the room. She snatched the object in her hand. A surge of energy burst through her fear at the added protection.

  She lifted her chin. "I'll scream."

  The tight security in the building, guarded by bikers and an alarm system, would protect her. The legal adult entertainment business, Silver Girls, downstairs in the Sterling Building remained locked during Red Light's working hours. If she yelled for help, someone upstairs would hear her.

  "Please, don't." Dawson held his hand out in front of him.

  Her gaze flickered between his hands and his tattoo. She'd seen most of the men who worked for Vince. They all had a sparrow head on their hand. Vince had flaunted his tattoo many times in her face and drilled the meaning into her head with his fist.

  A sparrow represented fear, courage, loyalty, and strength.

  "I only want to talk to you." Dawson pointed at the bed. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to touch you. I'm not going to make you leave the bordello."

  She remained where she stood, not believing a word.

  "It took me longer than I thought to find you." Dawson eyed her carefully. "I'm here to make sure you're okay. That you're safe."

  "Please leave," she whispered.

  "I will." His dark brows lowered. "When my time with you is up, I'll walk out of the room, and you'll stay here. You're not in trouble. What I have to tell you is only for your ears only."

  Deep lines etched the corners of his eyes and mouth. Roni's fingers ached around the figurine at the death grip she maintained. She no longer believed the words of others.

  A dark stubble of week-long whiskers shadowed Dawson's jawline. She lowered her gaze to his hand and stared at the black eye of the sparrow tattooed on his skin, glaring at her in contempt. The tattoo mocked her.

  The organization Vince ran followed his orders without mishap. The dedication to one man, one boss, went beyond her understanding.

  "What do you want from me?" she said, squelching the rise in her voice.

  "Nothing." He exhaled slowly. "I've come here to tell you that Vince is dead."

  No way.

  Impossible.

  She shook her head and refused to believe him. Nobody messed with Vince. Even those not belonging to Sparrows stayed out of his way. Nobody else would dare step in Vince's territory between James and Yesler Street, the underbelly of Seattle.

  "He's been..." Dawson's mouth tightened. "He's been dead since August. I've been trying to find you for the last nine months."

  The way he talked, he seemed to want her to relax and let down her guard. She wasn't stupid.

  She looked down at the figurine in her hand. At one time, Vince had pretended to care about her. He'd swept in and put a roof over her head and gave her a bedroom to herself. Until he moved her into his bedroom, into his bed, a week later and refused to let her leave. Then, he'd supplied her with a new outfit. When she'd expressed her thanks, he proudly informed her he'd taken the clothes off a dead girl, not even eighteen years old, who police found in the alley. Raped. Strangled. Naked.

  "I only have five more minutes before the madam will escort me out of the building." Dawson reached behind him.

  She sucked in her breath and pressed against the dresser.

  "It's okay." He held up a cell phone. "I only wanted to give you this."

  Dawson tossed the phone on the bed. "My number is programmed in there. If you have any questions after I leave, call or text. If you need any help..."

  She raised her chin in refusal. Her plans changed the more he spoke. She planned to leave the Network the moment everyone turned a blind eye to her. Her safety at Red Light compromised, she needed to run far away.

  "There's information on the phone to back up the news I gave you, so you can relax knowing I'm telling you the truth." Dawson stepped toward the door and lowered his voice. "House rules let customers come back every other day. I'll check in with you on Thursday. If you need anything before then, text me."

  The madam's knock came and echoed in the room. Roni shoved the figurine she still clutched behind her back to hide it from Tiff.

  Dawson removed cash from his pocket, dropped it on the shelf by the door, nodded at Roni, and followed Tiff out of the room.

  The door closed.

  Caught in her current troubles, she remained standing. Where would she go? How was she going to get somewhere far away?

  Having never been in Federal, Idaho before, she had no idea how to seek transportation out of here. She'd arrived by plane and landed in Washington via California. A private car brought her and the other three ladies from the Network to Red Light. From her view out the window, she'd be surprised if the town offered any public transportation to the residents. Federal looked no bigger than three blocks wide and sat snug between mountain peaks covered in snow.

  A knock startled her out of her plans. She set the figurine back on the dresser, tightened her robe, and hurried to the door. Her hand shook on the handle.

  Tiff stood in the hallway. "I wanted to check in with you before you go have dinner. The last customer, Dawson, has prepaid for three visits this week. Considering he's a new customer, please keep me informed if you have trouble with
him following rules. While our business thrives on regulars, we also want to make sure you're comfortable. We also try not to let the men get attached to you during your stay."

  Perspiration broke out on Roni's forehead, and warmth flooded her face. She nodded.

  "You're a shy one." Tiff laid her hand on Roni's arm. "Relax. We really are easy to work for once you learn the rules."

  "O-okay." Roni smiled, the muscles in her cheeks ticked. "Thank you."

  "Go ahead and get dressed for dinner. The other ladies are already at the table." Tiff stepped into the hallway. "It's fish and chips night."

  "Sounds good." Roni waited until Tiff walked away before she shut the door.

  Until she figured out how to get out of the Sterling Building and away from Federal, she'd need to go along with the schedule and act as if everything was fine. She hurried over to the bed and picked up the phone. It took her a few minutes to figure out how to turn it on. When the screen stopped flashing, she found her name underneath a yellow square and tapped the screen.

  A picture of a newspaper article appeared. She scanned the headline.

  Vincent Pladonta died from three gunshot wounds to the chest inside his house on Yesler Street. The leader of the Yesler Street Gang was found...

  Her legs gave out, and she caught herself on the bed, speed reading the rest of the article.

  Seven women in his employment were arrested.

  One female, Jane Doe, white, approximating twenty-six years old, found dead in City Hall Park and believed to have ties to the Yesler Street Gang AKA Sparrows.

  She raised her hand and cupped her throat.

  One woman, name unknown, missing.

  She turned the phone over, unable to read more. Vince kept nine women. Considering she wasn't arrested or dead, the missing woman was her. Were the police looking for her?

  Which one of the girls was found dead? She'd only known one of Vince's girls personally.

  Sadness clogged her throat, and she inhaled through her tight chest. Jackie nursed her back from every injury Vince laid on her, always telling her everything would be okay. She'd clung to the only friend she had and yet refused to acknowledge her friendship in front of Vince to protect Jackie.

  Vince favored Roni and kept her in the house, while he sent out the other girls to work the street. She hoped Jackie was one of the women arrested, and maybe her dear friend would get to start over someday and not live in fear.

  Not wanting anyone to find the phone, she shoved the cell between the box springs and the top mattress of the bed. She got dressed and walked to the kitchen.

  If the article was true, and Vince was dead, why would a member of Sparrows come looking for her? She sat down at the table, deaf to the conversation going on around her.

  Unless, Dawson Carver planned to pick up Vince's business and take her back to Seattle.

  "Roni?" Shana tapped on the table.

  She lifted her gaze from her plate. "Yes?"

  "We're all going into Ella's room to watch Netflix." Shana dipped her French fry into the pile of tartar sauce on her plate.

  The youngest out of the group of prostitutes, Shana let nothing stop her. From day one, she stepped forward and took the position of leader amongst the ladies, despite her age and barely one-hundred-pound body. Shana stood a head shorter than Roni and blew her long caramel colored hair out on the sides and top, so the only thing you noticed was massive, beautiful hair.

  "Not tonight. I need to catch up on my laundry." Roni moved the breaded fish around on her plate. If she found a chance to take off without anyone noticing, she wanted to be ready.

  "You can still hang with us." Ella wiped her fingers on the napkin beside her plate, careful of the long nails that she bragged about having professionally painted with no chips, worn edges, or smudges. "I don't care if we pause the show. You can do laundry, and while you're busy folding clothes or whatever, we can pop popcorn or something while we wait for you."

  Roni put her hands on her lap under the table, hiding the torn and chewed fingernails. A nervous habit that had only intensified under Vince's care until she made them bleed.

  Lynn pushed her plate away from her. "I can't do it."

  "Do what?" asked Marci, the madam's assistant who ruled the upstairs when Tiff wasn't around.

  "Eat fish." Lynn leaned back in her chair. "It's not my favorite thing in the world. It's at the top of my list of things to avoid, like sushi."

  "But when we went over the menu, you said you liked fish." Marci tilted her head and smiled. "Should I change the menu while you're here."

  "No. No. You don't have to do that." Lynn's cheeks reddened, and she mumbled. "Sorry. I can eat it if I have to."

  Marci's gaze softened. "Nonsense. We can order you chicken and fries next time."

  Roni looked away, her appetite gone. Lynn's need to please everyone backfired on her. Somewhere in Lynn's past, someone pressured her to accept everything thrown at her without question. Roni picked up her plate and carried it to the sink. Not that she had room to talk. She understood the need to do whatever made someone else happy, even if it killed her.

  She dumped her food in the garbage, rinsed her plate, and loaded the dish in the dishwasher. Shortly, the music would start downstairs for the Silver Girls dancers and the ladies in Red Light would be left to entertain themselves until two o'clock in the morning.

  The free time upstairs came with a cost. Roni couldn't leave the building, except to go up on the roof where Tiff had set up an entertainment area where the women could get outside without being seen by the public or to step out on the small balcony outside her room.

  Once Silver Girls closed, and there were fewer people around, Red Light's security alarm came on, and her chance to escape without everyone noticing would be impossible.

  While the others talked, she slipped out of the kitchen and grabbed her dirty clothes out of her room. Carrying the basket to the end of the hallway, she pushed through the last door with her hip and entered the small laundry room. Inside, she dumped her dirty clothes in the washer. Nothing she owned needed separated into similar colors or washed on the delicate cycle. What little belongings she owned had come from the homeless shelter or one of Vince's girls. The colors no longer ran together, but muted into a bland, washed out blah of their original color.

  The washer began to fill with water. She shut the lid and returned to her room. No longer able to ignore Dawson's visit, she removed the phone and reread the article on Vince.

  Then she read it again.

  Instead of relief that the man who'd held her prisoner, abused her, treated her like a whore, and gave her mouth away free to Sparrows members whenever he snapped his fingers was dead, she only dreaded what would come next.

  Dawson would be back, and her safe haven with the Network was over.