Stolen: Hell's Overlords MC

by Zoey Parker

“No problem, hon,” she says, giving me a sunny smile and a wink. “Go slay ’em.”

  I slip through the door as we part ways.

  Inside, the cool air flows against my sun-warmed skin. The bump and grind of the dancers’ music rattles the walls. A cocktail waitress slides past me with a tray of drinks in her hand.

  To think that, just a month ago, this was my reality. The deafening music, the drunk, rowdy patrons—those were the things that affected my day-to-day living. Back then, the biggest issues I had were how much I was getting tipped out on any given night and whether it would be enough to keep gas in my car and a roof over my head. Now, I’m on a mission to save someone I care about, a man who I didn’t even know back then. A man who is now the father of the child I’m carrying in my womb. Life sure does take some wild twists.

  I size up the room and follow the waitress to the mouth of the hallway. She keeps moving, delving into the crowd to distribute beverages to the men lounging on the various couches, but I pause. Looking around, I finally spot the two Diablos on the far side of the stage, just outside of the ring of light. I can’t see their faces due to the shadows clinging all around them.

  Turning back, I make my way to a smaller hallway branching off the first. I fumble my way into the backroom. It looks just like the one I left behind in El Cruce. Mirrors adorn long stretches of wall, while racks of costumes are scattered around everywhere. Three or four girls sit around in various states of undress, touching up their make-up or checking their cell phones. Only one looks up at me, but after a brief once-over, goes back to flicking through her social media feeds.

  I walk carefully over to the biggest costume rack in the back of the room. It’s bursting with long, feathered boas and sparkly lingerie. Leather straps dangle and a set of angel wings sticks out prominently. I flick through the garments, casting about for ideas. One in particular stops me in my tracks. A plan starts to form in my head.

  I look around the room hurriedly. I feel as though I’m crossing a line here. How many times did I tell Eduardo I wasn’t ever going to dance? All I wanted was to feel safe in my own skin, not to be an object against which desperate men could hurl their violent sex drives. If I’d told him once, I’d told him a thousand times: no. Not me, not ever.

  And yet here I was, stripping off my dress and underwear in a hurry. I ignore the other girls, who do me the same favor. Shucking my shoes, I toss everything I was wearing into a pile in one corner before pulling on the outfit I selected from the rack. When I’ve tugged everything into place, I move over to a full-length mirror to see if this will work.

  The reflection staring back at me is another girl entirely. I’m wearing a raunchy police uniform. The crop top barely stretches down far enough to cover my breasts, exposing enough of their underside that there is very little left to the imagination. A black tie is knotted loosely around my throat. The starred badge glimmers from my chest. Below my bare midriff is a tiny pair of navy blue panties rimmed with black. I latch a belt around my waist. It has a pair of handcuffs and a baton suspended on either hip. I slide into six inch stilettos that descend into a dagger sharp point. The last thing I put on is a pointed cap and dark aviators that hide my face.

  I have to admit, I look sexy as hell. Tan skin shines everywhere, and my curves gleam alluringly in the low light. But in spite of the stripper’s get-up, there’s still a little bit of shy Rose in my appearance. I take a deep breath, then I throw my hips out and arch my breasts forward seductively. When I do, the transformation is complete. For the time being at least, I’m the girl I always tried so hard not to become.

  Then I’m ready.

  I walk out of the room and down the hall. The DJ booth is stationed just around the bend in the hallway I first entered, looking out onto the stage and the main room. I tap on the window. The man inside lowers his headphones and waves me in.

  Opening the door a few inches, I stick my head inside. “Hi, sweetie,” I say, using my most sugar-coated sex voice to seize his attention. He looks me up and down. DJs see girls dressed like me all day and night, and yet he still looks impressed at my appearance. He offers a low, approving whistle.

  “What’s up, honey?” he says smoothly, with a wry grin smeared across his face.

  I ask, “Who’s supposed to go on next?”

  He stoops over to check the list taped next to his sound equipment. “Uh, lemme see…Jessie’s on deck right now.”

  “Oo, hmm, okay, that’s what I thought,” I tut doubtfully. “She’s not feeling well. She told me to ask if you could bump her down a spot and let me go up until she can get ready.” He looks hesitant at first, but I bat my eyelashes and he melts.

  “Whatever you want, doll,” he says. “Who are you again?”

  “Lucila,” I offer with a smile. As I shut the door and leave, I whisper to myself, “But don’t worry. You won’t ever see me again.”

  * * *

  The music hushes for a moment. I’m standing backstage, eyes closed, trying not to look through the door to the crowd gathered around the stage. Panic keeps threatening to induce another round of vomiting, but I force it down. I just need to last a few minutes on stage. If everything works the way I have planned, then I’ll be able to move forward with the next steps: getting one of the Diablos alone. First, I have to grab their attention. This is the best way I can think of to do that.

  I crack open one eye and make sure they’re still here. Neither one has moved. They both stare expectantly at the stage, hands tapping impatiently on the armrests of their seats.

  The DJ’s voice comes before I’m ready, although, to be fair, I don’t know if I’ll ever truly be ready for something like this. “Now introducing…Lucila!” The sound of my friend’s name makes me wince, but there’s no time to pause. On with the show.

  I sashay out as the bass begins to vibrate through the speakers. A crooning rapper comes layering over the sizzle of drums and guitars, the soft tones of piano adding a light touch to the music. I swing my hips wide and walk towards the pole. A chorus of whistles breaks out as I hold onto it, lock my feet around the base, and do one slow revolution, taking my time to wind around and around. It’s hard to resist the temptation to stare straight at the Diablos the whole time. Take it in, you bastards, I think to myself. This is the last chance you’ll ever have.

  I drop low to the floor and then rise back up, ass first, letting the spotlight focus in on my curves. The music continues to thump as I lower to my hands and knees and crawl towards the man sitting on the left side of the stage.

  I take my time moving towards him, pressing my breasts together to form maximum cleavage. His eyes are opened wide in appreciation. There’s an empowering element to all this. I feel sexy and in control, like I can make the whole room swoon with one flick of my hips. I come close enough for the man to almost graze my ass, but when he reaches out, I slip away.

  I crawl around the rim of the stage like that, flirting in and out of the reach of the patrons. I don’t let any of them touch me. Despite what they think, I’m the one in charge here. I make the rules.

  I keep moving until I am in front of the Diablos. They’re a couple rows back, too far to touch or be touched. I sit back on my knees, blow them a kiss, and beckon them towards me with a ‘come hither’ finger. They look at each other. One stands and moves forward to the front row.

  My heart nearly stops when he enters the light. This isn’t just any Diablo. This is the one who tried to rape me, then took me from Vince. I remember that sneer, staring up at me with the street light silhouetting his head. I haven’t been able to forget it since that night in the parking lot. It takes everything I have to force myself to stay calm and keep going.

  I undo the knot of the tie, still shimmying to the beat, and wrap it around the back of his head to pull him closer to me. Through the sunglasses, I drink in his bare desire. He wants to do to me what he did to Lucila. I want to let him think he can have that. Then I’m going to use it against him.

  He is
putty in my hands, drifting closer and closer as I tighten the slack in the tie. My ass wiggles behind me. I wrap the tie around his neck and climb down from the stage. Turning away from him, I sit back until my thighs lie on top of his and my ass is in his crotch. I let the music dictate the pace of my slow grinding.

  Leaning back to rest my head on his shoulder, I tilt his ear towards me. My lips brush against him as I whisper, “Do you want to go somewhere a little more private?” As I do, I let one hand fall between my legs to tap threateningly near to his bulging manhood. I feel him nod. That’s all I needed.

  Chapter 23

  Vince

  I go home. There’s nowhere else to go. But the second I step inside, I realize what a mistake it was to come back here. Everything smells like Rose. Just a week in the house, and she’s infused everything with that haunting scent of hers. I can’t get away from it. It fills my nostrils and refuses to leave.

  I need it gone, though. I meant what I told her. She’s dead to me. She might as well have never existed. I plan on erasing every trace of her from my home, from my memory, from my life. I start to march towards the bedroom to begin stripping her away, but something on the kitchen table catches my eye.

  It’s a pad of paper, covered in pen. The writing is a swirling, feminine script. I know without having to think that it’s Rose’s. I sit down and start to read.

  Dear Vince, it starts. From there, it flows in a meandering scroll that winds from emotion to emotion. Each word is thick and dark, bearing the weight of so much feeling behind it. I can practically sense her aura, like it’s still lingering here even though hours must have passed since she first wrote it.

  I should have told you right away about the baby. But I was scared. I still am scared, actually. More than scared. Terrified. I feel like I don’t have control over my life anymore, like I’m nothing more than a victim to bigger, meaner men throwing me around at their whim. I’m scared you are one of them, even though everything I’ve seen tells me you’re so much more, so much better than they are…

  I read on, feeling a foreign burbling in my chest. I’ve never had a feeling like this before. Ever since I met Rose, I’ve waded through emotions I didn’t even know existed. But they must have been in me all along, just waiting for her to tug them out from the dusty corners where they were hiding.

  Fucking hell. I reach the end. In big, careful letters, she writes her final words.

  You said you’d protect me, that nothing bad would ever happen again. I just want you to know, I trust you.

  Love,

  Rose

  She might as well be in front of me, saying the words herself. I can almost hear her voice speaking them. Love, Rose. She does love me. The truth there is obvious to me. I don’t care what Carlos says, Rose would never betray me. I can understand being afraid of a man like me. I wasn’t given an easy lot in life and I certainly didn’t make it any easier on myself with the path I’ve chosen. There are things to be frightened of. I’ve seen bad things. I’ve said them and done them, too. But goddamn, Rose makes me want to shield her from all of that. I want to be there for her, to protect her from all the dark shit the world throws at a person. She deserves to wake up every day and have those eyes be unclouded, free from fear and pain. She deserves to have a baby look back at her with those same blue eyes, just like Devin’s, full of hope that maybe there’s a better way than the one I’m mired in right now. I want to make all of that happen. For her. For my child.

  My father may have abandoned my mother and me to a life spent adrift being battered around by forces bigger and stronger than us. I made it out of that, but I was lucky. So many others suffered worse fates. I won’t subject Rose and our son to the same kind of life that I was forced to endure. For their sake, I can’t give up. Surrender is not an option.

  I stand, tucking the note into my back pocket. I grab my cell phone as I run out the door and mount my bike, veering off down the street the instant the engine comes to life. “Boulder,” I bark into the mouthpiece as I ride. “Don’t let anyone leave the clubhouse. The Inked Angels aren’t going down without a fight.”

  Chapter 24

  Rose

  I straighten back up as the music draws to a close, taking the Diablo’s hand in mine and standing to lead him to the back room. The crowd boos at first at my departure, but they quickly move on as the next dancer is introduced and takes the stage. When we pass by the other man in black, they give each other an appreciative nod. I smile grimly.

  The hallway shelters some of the noise. I see a tall door covered in red leather. This must be the private room, at least, I hope it is. I open the door and pull the man inside.

  The interior is lit with dim orange lanterns that flicker and leap. There’s a throne at one end. I twirl and shove the man down into it, then tug the door shut. It clicks, cutting us off from the outside. Perfect.

  I spin back around to face him, flashing my most seductive smile. He grins and settles back in the chair. Gyrating my way towards him, I sink to the floor between his knees. I run one hand up his thigh towards the rising lump behind his zipper, though I pause before I get all the way there. My fingertips retreat, tracing lightly down over his jeans. He reaches towards the buckle of his belt, fumbling with it in an effort to free himself from the pants.

  “Not so fast,” I say in a sensual voice. I take his hands and lie them back down along the armrests. Reaching for the belt around my waist, I withdraw the handcuffs and slap them down around one of his wrists, securing him to the heavy chair. It clicks into the locked position.

  His sneer broadens. He must think I’m just being kinky. Wait until he finds out what I actually have in store. “Have it your way for now, slut,” he drawls.

  I rise to my feet. My tone slides from seductive into a violent snarl as I say, “I’ll have it my way all night long, you fucking son of a bitch.”

  He frowns and starts to say, “How fucking dare you,” but the baton smashing across his face stops him mid-sentence. Blood and tooth fragments splatter against the far wall. He looks up at me in horror as I raise the baton back and strike him again. A low moan of agony pours out of his throat. He raises a hand to try to stop me from hitting him a third time, but it’s useless. I fix weeks of rage into the tension of my muscles as I bring the baton up and down once more. It thuds into his flesh with a sharp crack. He screams, but the walls muffle all noise.

  I push the baton back through the loop on my belt and lean over him, setting my hands on top of his. His fetid breath rolls into mine. I crinkle my nose but don’t retreat. “No one can hear you except for me, do you understand?” I hiss. “And the only way you stand a chance of getting out of here alive is if you start talking.”

  He says nothing, blood dribbling down in thick streams from his nose and mouth.

  I press forward despite his silence. “What is Carlos planning?” I ask.

  The man spits around broken teeth, “Fuck you, bitch.”

  I reach up and seize hold of his shattered jaw. The lightest touch of my fingertips sends pain hacking through his skull and mouth. I let him writhe for a few long seconds in my grip. “I’m gonna ask you again,” I grit. “What is Carlos planning?”

  He stays stony silent, refusing to speak. I rip off the hat and sunglasses. “Remember me?” I yell in his face. His eyes bulge in recognition. “You know exactly who the fuck I am. You tried to rape me. Then you kidnapped me. You know damn well what you did to me.” The man is squirming in my grasp, but I bear down harder. I feel another tooth give way in his cheek. His blood is streaming over the backs of my hand. I don’t let go. “Tell me right now, motherfucker. What is Carlos planning?”

  Still, he won’t say a word. I sigh, pick up the baton, and raise it again. I’m halfway into a viciously fast descent that will pulverize what little remains of his jaw when he starts to scream. “Okay, okay!” he bellows in a voice distorted by his mangled bones. “He’s going to kill them all!” Random syllables are missing from his speech,
falling victim to the devastation in his mouth, but I don’t let him stop. Whatever pain he is feeling is just a fraction of what he deserves.

  “Keep talking,” I instruct.

  “At the surrender tonight. He’s going to kill every last man. Please, God, don’t hit me again.” His eyes are hazy with pain. He looks like he’s about to pass out. “He’s got dozens of men and containers full of guns on the cargo ship, ready to go as soon as they’re in position, but oh, God, please don’t do anymore.” He’s a whimpering, blubbering mess, oozing blood and bone chips.

  I turn away and close my eyes to think for a moment. Shit, shit, shit. My worst fears have been confirmed. I can’t let Vince go blindly into a death trap. I just hope it’s not too late to stop him. I need to find a way to get in touch with him. But how? I don’t have a phone or a car. Shit, shit, what do I do? If I don’t do something, Vince and every man in his club are going to die.

  The whoosh of an outgoing text message catches my attention. I pivot back around to see the Diablo cuffed to the chair with a cell phone in his hand. He looks up at me and tries to grin through the damage to his face. “Get ready,” he mumbles. I scream and crack the baton across his face. He’s out instantly.