ENSLAVED BY SHIFTERS

by Astrid Lee Donovan

  Tina ran from the room before he could see her cry anymore. She didn’t stop to speak to the few men loitering around the hallway before slamming her way into her room; she had always had a bedroom over the bar, so that Tank could keep a close eye on her even when he was at work. The bedroom hadn’t been redecorated since she was 14, and the pink walls and fluffy bedspread offended her senses now that she had clearly become a woman. Woman enough to be married off against her will, at least.

  Tina knew how much Tank needed to curry favor with the Road Dogs MC, of which Curly was the President. The gangs had been rivals for many years before tough times had led them to an unlikely and uncomfortable truce. The Road Dogs had a monopoly on the Mid-Atlantic Coast’s drug smuggling business, but lacked the numbers to easily distribute the goods.

  The Hot Guns had a lot more members to traffic drugs up and down the coast, and connections that were always hungry for more. But the Hot Guns wasn’t the only club that could fulfill the Road Dogs’ needs, and Tina was Tank’s best chance at securing an exclusive contract. Without this partnership, Tina knew, the Hot Guns might not make it another decade.

  But none of that made it easier to stomach the idea of marrying Curly. He was old, for one thing. Really old. Like, older than her father. And he didn’t have a reputation for being nice to women, either. The thought of his wrinkly old hands crawling over her body made her stomach churn. She was 18, young and eager to get out there and explore her body – she was a virgin, but didn’t want to be.

  But the men she fantasized about were young, hot and strong, like the younger members of the Hot Guns. Certainly not prune-faced old perverts who’d probably just want to stick it in, pump twice, and finish. Could the old man even get it up? Tina cursed the existence of Viagra.

  Standing in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, Tina shivered to think of her youth wasted in a sick, twisted marriage. Her long blonde hair fell in graceful waves around her heart-shaped face, her blue eyes wide and still unstained by life’s hardships. Her pink, full lips fit perfectly under her button nose, her high cheekbones pink with youth. Her C-cup breasts almost seemed too large for her small frame, her generous hips and bottom giving her a perfect hourglass figure. The idea that the first man to explore her body would be Curly made her want to throw up.

  But she thought of Cottonball, who was probably dozing contentedly on her bed back home, and knew she couldn’t do anything to risk his welfare. She’d go on this “date” and be as nice as she could stomach being, but after that?

  She’d find a way out.

  She had to.

  2

  Curly was even uglier – and older-looking – than the last time she’d seen him. Which had only been about two weeks back, when he’d come around to discuss the “particulars” of the contract with Tank; she hadn’t known then that she would wind up being one of those particulars. At the time, she’d just seen him as a kind of fat old dude who wasn’t worth looking at twice.

  Now, she was damn near mesmerized by his beer-belly gut that hung over his belt buckle, his scrawny legs, the white tufts of hair in his ears, his greasy-looking sideburns and barely-there comb-over. His face was marked and etched with wrinkles; his breath had an overwhelming odor of cigarette smoke. He looked, in general, like a man who’d lived hard and long and hadn’t done himself many favors. A long, crooked scar ran from his nose to the corner of his lip. Tina wanted to throw up all over her shoes.

  She’d dressed nicely for the “date”, which would take place right at the bar. She hadn’t imagined the sympathetic looks some of the boys – she always called the club’s members “the boys” – gave her. She’d always been like a daughter to many of them, a younger sister to others. She’d grown up spoiled by gifts and candy and attention from these men – and she knew it hurt them to see her forced into a relationship with a man she clearly loathed. Not as much as it hurt her, though.

  She looked up; Tank was standing at the railing overlooking the bar, staring right back down at her. She shot him a dirty look before turning back to her suitor, who was well into his third whiskey while she sipped at a cherry coke. She had been so grateful when Junior, the bartender, discreetly splashed a generous helping of rum into her soft drink, she could have leapt across the bar and kissed him full on the lips.

  But that wouldn’t have been very “agreeable” behavior, now would it?

  “I’ve always had a way with women,” Curly was saying, his stinking breath hitting her face like a bad wind. “You don’t have to worry none about spending time with me. I’ll make things real nice for you, honey. Real nice. You think an old man like me might not have a lot of energy to spare on a young girl, but trust me; I’m as much a stud as any of these kids around here. And I got a tongue that’s eager to lick, if you catch my drift.”

  Tina’s stomach flopped as Curly’s tongue emerged from his dry, cracked lips and waggled in the air, his eyebrows rising up and down. He broke into a hoarse laugh that devolved, quickly, into gasping, wheezy coughs. A faint spray of spit crossed the table between them and Tina held her palm over the top of her glass to keep any of his germs from contaminating her drink. She looked back up to her father, knowing he’d seen the lecherous display Curly had just put on. If he cared, he didn’t show it.

  “I’m sure,” she finally said by way of response, waiting until his coughing fit was over to take a sip of her spiked drink.

  “You don’t believe me?” he asked with a wink. “C’mere, girl, I’ll prove it. Got a stiffy the size of the Eiffel Tower just waitin’ for you.”

  Without warning, he grabbed her hand and yanked it under the table, pressing her fingers to the crotch of his jeans, where Tina could feel there was, indeed, a hardness that could only be one thing. Instinctively, she yanked her hand back, and Curly narrowed his eyes.

  “Can’t be no fuckin’ prude around me, girl,” he growled, reaching his hand over to stroke her thigh. “I’m gonna make you beg for it soon enough.”

  “It’s just, my Dad…” she said quickly, motioning up to the railing where Tank watched with hawk eyes. Curly grinned and nodded.

  “I get it. Don’t wanna get caught blushin’ in front of your Pa. Just don’t be so damn modest when we’re alone, ya hear? I’ll treat ya real nice, honey. You want some money, you just come askin’ for it. You want a nice vacation in Bermuda, I’ll pack the swim trunks.”

  Tina managed a smile.

  “But if I ever hear about you runnin’ ‘round on me,” Curly said, his mood darkening as he finished his whiskey. “Well, that’s where I stop bein’ nice. My third wife was flirtin’ with a man in the club, and let me tell you, girly, she regrets that to this very day. You understand? When I say runnin’ ‘round, I mean even talkin’ to someone in a way I don’t like. You got it?”

  His gaze was so stern that she nodded out of instinct. She had no doubt that Curly could make her life hell if she stepped out of line.

  Except he won’t, she told herself, because you’re not going to let this happen. Anything but this. Anything…

  That night, as she lay in bed, crying periodically and clutching Cottonball’s white fluff to her face, she ran through all her options. The rest of the “date” had gone quickly, with Curly rapidly devolving to a level of drunk that required three men to help him out of the bar and into the back of the car that had been sent to pick him up. It hadn’t been over soon enough, of course, but at least it hadn’t lasted all night.

  The more Tina tried to think of a way out, the more she felt overwhelmed by her loneliness. Her only friends were the boys and Cottonball. She had no one to turn to. And she didn’t have any money of her own. She didn’t have anything of her own. She could pawn her phone, her computer, some of her jewelry but how long would that last her? She needed help. She could go to the police, but that would risk everything for her Dad and the boys, and she didn’t want anything really bad to happen to them.

  When her brain finally settled on her best possible
option, it didn’t make her feel any better. It would be risky, to say the least. But it was all she could do. She had to leave as soon as possible, before Curly could stake his claim on her in full. Sleep came when the first light of day was just touching her window, and when it finally pulled her down into slumber, she dreamt of a disgusting tongue pressing against her flesh, each taste bud like a dagger piercing her skin and making her scream in pain.

  3

  Tina sat outside the strip club, knuckles white on the steering wheel. She’d been sitting there for what felt like hours but had only been about 15 minutes. Some part of her couldn’t believe she was there at all.

  The club was a well-known front for the Black Ink MC, a rival club that had their headquarters in Baltimore, only a few hours from the Hot Guns HQ. There hadn’t been much bad blood between the two gangs, but there was enough that Tina felt she might have a chance with them.

  If she had a chance anywhere, it was here. She could offer them insider info on the Hot Guns, and a chance to take the contract that Tank had his eyes on with the Road Dogs. In the backseat, Cottonball snored lightly, having slept for most of the trip. He got sick during car rides, so Tina had given him some of the medication her vet had prescribed to help him sleep through it. She looked back and reminded herself why she was there, and why she was doing it.

  It took a few more minutes before she could exit the car, and a few minutes more before she could open the front door of the club. The bouncer, huge and bored-looking, barely skimmed her ID before handing it back and letting her in. It was hard to see in the mostly-dark bar, but she knew who she was looking for.

  She’d seen pictures of him from time to time on her father’s desk when something was going down between the clubs. Rig, the president, was in his thirties; in the photos, she remembered, he’d sported a thick black beard. His eyes and hair were as black as his beard, his face handsome and his body sculpted.

  Like most bikers, he was covered in tattoos; most notably, he had a huge chest piece, two guns and a skull ringed with black flowers and the name of his club across the top.

  On the stage, a slim brunette was doing away with her bikini bottoms, a heart-shaped tuft of pubic hair barely concealing her privates. The song was some old hair metal classic, and the men in the audience hooted and stomped along, showering the stage in bills. Tina was glad it was dark, because it hid her blushing cheeks.

  As it happened, she didn’t need to spend much time looking for Rig.

  He found her first.

  “Now what in hell’s name is something like you doing here?” a voice came from behind, sounding both smug and intensely interested. Tina’s heart caught in her chest as she turned on her heel to face the speaker, and was gifted with an eyeful of pure, sexy, man.

  Behind Rig, two men stood like bodyguards. One, she noted, had a VP patch on his leather vest, right on his heart. He had a reddish beard and intense green eyes, long hair that hung around his lean face, and a body worth a Calvin Klein ad. The other man was just as savory, a clean-shaven blonde who looked younger than the other two, but whose crystal blue eyes were dead serious.

  Is being drop-dead gorgeous a requirement in this club? Tina wondered as her mouth went dry, her brain skipping like a record, searching for an appropriate answer to the question. Rig’s eyebrows rose, a bemused expression on his face, as she stammered.

  “I’m…uh, you’re Rig? I’m…I’m…. I’m looking for a…a job or…anything, really. I heard you might be…maybe able to help a girl out. I’m kind of…I just really need a job and a place to stay,” she said, skirting the truth but hoping he would take her at face value.

  “Wait a minute,” Rig said, his eyes narrowing as he looked her over. “I fuckin’ know you. Shit, girl, you’re Tank’s daughter. What the hell are you doing here?”

  Tina’s heart rate increased as the Black Ink’s president tensed. His sudden change in posture wasn’t lost on the two men who stood behind him, and both stepped forward, flanking him. Tina suddenly felt very small and vulnerable in front of the three massive men.

  “I told you,” she said, voice quavering. “I need some help. I’ll do whatever it takes if you’ll give me a chance here. I’ll do any job, I’ll sleep in a broom closet, I don’t care. I just…”

  “And why in God’s name would I help a Hot Guns bimbo? Don’t you know we’re not exactly chummy with your people?” Rig spit, eyeing her up and down.

  “They’re not my people,” she protested. “They’re my father’s people, and my father…well, he’s the one I need to get away from.”

  “And why’s that, teacup?” Rig asked, biting back a bemused smile. “Did you crash his Chevy or something? Maxed out his credit card?”

  “He’s trying to sell me off as a wife to some old creep,” Tina said, mustering all her courage and trying to stand straight under the men’s relentless stares. “And he’s threatening my dog. This…this was the only place I could think to come. I figured…I figured…”

  “What the hell did you figure?” Rig asked. “That just ‘cause I’ve got beef with your Dad, I’d give you room and board? That I wouldn’t send you back in a hurry? I don’t need to start any trouble. Sorry, kid, sucks to hear about your troubles, but they’re not my problem.”

  “Please,” Tina said, calling his attention back as Rig and his men began to turn away. “Wait. The man he was trying to sell me to is the leader of the Road Dogs. He’s gonna lose his chance to make a deal with them. Which means you might be able to win the Road Dogs over and get the contract. That’s big money, Rig. If you send me back, you’ll lose your only chance at it.”

  That, at least, caught Rig’s attention. He stared at her, his jaw moving slightly, calculating.

  “And how do I know this isn’t some weird fucked-up trick your Dad is trying to play? That you’re not here as some sort of half-pint spy?”

  “I’ll do anything,” Tina said, coming as close as she dared to Rig. The men behind him exchanged a glance. “Anything.”

  He studied her for a long moment, and then barked out a laugh.

  “Too risky, kid. I don’t need that gig; we do plenty of business on our own. Thanks but no thanks.”

  When he turned again, Tina reached out and grabbed his bicep, a shiver running through her body at the contact. This was the kind of man she’d dreamed about, and she couldn’t deny her attraction when their skin met. And, from the wide-eyed look he gave her hand, she thought he might have felt the same.

  “Anything,” she said again. “Let me prove it.”

  The music in the background had turned to a sultry R&B song as the dancer on stage shimmied her way out of a barely-there top. Rig licked his lips, his eyes still on Tina’s hand, until she tore it away, and her heart in her throat.

  “Trick,” Rig said, turning to the red-bearded man who bore the VP brand on his cut. “Tell Slim that we have a special performer coming up next to the stage. A real exclusive. And make sure you get the whole performance on video.”

  He turned back to Tina - his smile nothing but sex.

  “You ever stripped before, princess?” he asked. “You’re 18, right?”

  Tina gulped and blushed. She’d been prepared for something like this, and watched a few videos online; knowing that she would do anything the MC asked if they gave her asylum.

  “Not really,” she said. “I mean, not in front of an audience…”

  “It’s real simple,” Rig said, leaning in close. “And if you’re serious about this, you’ll dance your damn heart out. We’ll capture it all on video, and if you turn out to be fucking with us, the whole world will see you begging for it on that stage. You understand?”

  She nodded; shaking slightly and feeling heat rise in her cheeks from Rig’s closeness.

  “If I do this…you’ll help me?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. He chuckled.

  “If you do this, we’ll discuss it,” he said. He pointed, with his chin, to a door next to the stage. “Go back there a
nd tell the blonde woman you need an outfit. Tell her Rig wants you to look good. You got a song you particularly like?”

  It was all happening so fast, Tina felt her mind was swimming. But this was still better than enduring another second of Curly’s company. And it would keep Cottonball safe. If he was telling the truth, of course.

  “Not really,” she said, voice shaking.

  “I’ll pick out a good one for you. And I’ll be sitting front row center. Impress me, teacup, and we may be able to work something out for you and your pooch. Now hurry your ass up, I ain’t got all night.”

  With that, Rig and his men were gone, crossing the bar, slapping backs and greeting other members along the way. Tina suddenly felt overheated and freezing cold at the same time. Mindlessly, she walked towards the door Rig had indicated.

  She hoped she could impress him.

  It was her only chance.

  4

  The outfit that Tina had been given was bright blue, sequined, and barely covered her generous chest or crotch. Like a mini-mini-mini-bikini. She changed into it behind a thin curtain, listening to the other girls’ chatter about customers and what they’d do after work and sharing catty gossip. Her heart pounded. What if she wasn’t good enough to impress them? She wasn’t a professional dancer, after all. But she had to try. Just had to.

  When she emerged and looked into the long mirror, which stood above a counter cluttered with make-up and hairspray, she could barely recognize herself. Her father had always made her dress so demurely, even if she was going to the pool, that she rarely saw so much of her own flesh unless she was in her room. Surrounded by the warm bodies around her, she blushed and instinctively tried to cover herself.

  “No use in that,” a pleasant-looking black girl said, eying Tina’s obvious discomfort in the mirror while applying lip gloss. “Those men want to see more, not less.”