by Madeline Fay
Spiteful Punks
Dolls and Douchebags Part One
Madeline Fay
Contents
Trigger Warning
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
Afterword
Stalking links for Madeline Fay
About Madeline Fay
Copyright @ 2021 Madeline Fay
Spiteful Punks (Dolls and Douchebags Part One)
Dark, Bully, Why Choose Romance
First Publication: March 5th, 2021
Editing by Proofs By Polly
Cover by HQ Artwork
Proofreading by Emma Luna At Moonlight Author Services
Formatting by Inked Imagination Author Services
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Madeline Fay
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.
Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in, or encourage, the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This is a Dark, Bully, Why Choose Romance.
Trigger Warning
This is a dark, bully theme, and enemies to lovers romance story ending with a cliffhanger. A why choose romance where the heroine won’t have to choose between her different love interests.
This book contains graphic and violent scenes, including rape, physical and emotional violence, child abuse, swearing, sexual scenes, and PTSD. Suitable only for readers aged 18+.
Please do not take this warning lightly if you are sensitive to any of the triggers listed above.
This is part one of Spiteful Punks (Dolls and Douchebags), which does end with a HEA eventually.
If you have any issues regarding the book, please reach out to the author using one of the links on the last page.
“To all of the queens who are fighting alone
Baby, you're not dancin' on your own.”
~Ava Max~
True Queen.
Tillie
“Obedience is a funny thing. You don’t catch on the first time right away, but I can guarantee that the second time around it will click as I teach you, beating it into your skin.” His back is turned to me, the gypsy symbol patch of a Joker expanding on his MC cut, mocking me from my kneeling position on the cold, concrete flooring.
It doesn’t matter how many hours my knees are in this position, time becomes an endless loop of agonizing pain, until it eventually numbs me inside and out like a shot of morphine. They say if you keep doing the same thing every single day, your body gets used to that routine in a matter of time. I’m at the point where my body is used to the feeling of being tormented. He always seems to know when I shut down everything around me, as I try to find my happy place, no matter how small. It must be the emotionless glint in my eyes, a faraway look that says nothing you can do really hurts me anymore. That’s a lie though, a filthy lie that I keep speaking, screaming out just to prove I’m not weak. He comes up with new ways to torture me, to make the suffering last just before my breaking point. My body can’t take much more, the burning inside of each cut is like salt rubbing into the wounds he inflicts upon me.
I must have spaced out because the next thing I know my head whips to the side with a searing pain across my right cheek, throbbing with my pulse. His dirty hand that reeks of cigarettes and engine grease grips the underside of my jaw tightly, bruising the skin there. A reminder he can do anything he wants and get away with it. He doesn’t care if my face is bloody so long as I’m staring right into his soulless eyes.
A cough slips past my lips as he tightens his hold. Don’t ask me why I needed to cough, I think it’s just a way to suck in a new breath, oxygen I was denied from that brief second his hand connected with my face. This is why I can’t get lost in my head, he senses it like a shark in the water and wants my full attention on him. The sick bastard gets off on my agony, it feeds him… his panting breath fanning my face in his excitement. Whiskey, cigarettes, and under all that is the stench of death. The smell alone has bile rising from my stomach to my throat. A man can only go so far in life without having the grim reaper attach to his wicked soul, knowing he’s owned after doing countless deeds for the devil.
“Tillie, Tillie, you never learn.” He pauses, his cracked lips stretched into a smile, and I’m sucking in a breath to avoid the vomit that so badly wants to pass my lips. “I’m going to give you one chance and if you can leave a mark on me, I’ll let you run, girl until you're far, far away from here.” I watch his lips form the words and it sounds so distant, I can hear every little sound around me but him.
He releases my jaw with a rough shove like he’s disgusted with me. My breath stills in my chest with a whimper trying to escape as what he says registers in my head. My one eye that isn’t swollen shut stares him down warily, afraid to believe anything that comes out of his mouth. Everything is always a test, a way to weaken me more with false hope. Escape is out of my reach, a tease that makes my throat dry and kills me slowly inside like a deadly cancer.
Hope.
Freedom.
All an unforgiving lie. Lies that burn off his tongue, slithering towards me until it bites into my skin and is worse than the torment he gives.
“That’s right, swing at me with your frail, weak arms.” He taps his chin three times in quick succession with his filthy finger. “Come on, with your best shot. Right here.” His brown eyes, which are so familiar to my own if I were to stare into a mirror, harden into a glint I know so well.
Sometimes it’s like looking into a bottomless pit and realizing there isn’t a way out, staring right into the eyes of Satan.
My arms are weak, covered in scrapes and bruises, feeling like cement is holding me down. Do this, hit him with everything I’ve got, or suffer more punishment. My eyes squeeze tight, picking door number one because it’s my best bet and I don’t see another way out of this. When I was little, Uncle Rig would have tried his best to keep me away from his MC President because he noticed the evil his brother possessed. Payne took over for Grandfather when he passed away, the man is known for his cruelty and insanity. Unfortunately, he is also my Dad. Uncle Rig, Vice President of the club, first right hand man to Payne, did everything he could to shield me from club business and the cruel world. That bubble popped suddenly, one day the sun was shining bright and the next I found out Uncle Rig was just gone. Disappeared without a goodbye and that was the day my heart knew I’d never seen him again. Two weeks after his disappearance was when my obedience lessons started with dear old Dad. That first lesson was three years ago.
The squeak of his leather cut jolts me out of my memories, making my eyes pop open wide, only to se
e darkness surrounding me as usual. I watch as Payne sits on his heeled biker boots, his chin jutting out, and pointing his index finger clad with rings towards his jaw for me to make a move. He’s patiently waiting for my weak hit that I know without a doubt won’t leave a mark. But I have to try.
Without thinking about it too much, I pull my arm back and take a driving swing that connects with his skin so hard that I know it hurts me more than it hurts him. Not even a flinch mirrors his face, but sweet satisfaction gleams in his cruel eyes at my display of weakness.
“Oh child, how I wish you were a boy instead of a pathetic cunt, and I’m betting you’re wishing the same thing just about now. Don’t you know men rule this big, bad world? Strength comes from a man, not a woman.” He laughs in my face, spittle spraying everywhere and making me cringe away in disgust.
Jokers are death, the devil's right hand in his dirty work, and makes God a laughing stock as they mock him with each deed the club delivers. All who know the Jokers MC on the outskirts of Las Vegas fear them, but not as much as I do.
“Please, I’ll do b-better! I promise!” My voice echoes in a cry of desperation.
I gasp on a tearful watery breath at the sound as it bounces off the cement walls that are stained in old splattered blood spots and other things I’d rather not think about. He slowly shakes his head in disappointment before straightening to his full height and walking over to the steel door that leads up the stairs into the club’s bar area. My heart pounds in sync with his footsteps. He pauses at the door frame and looks over his shoulder at me with dark delight, which can only mean something is going to happen. Something that I’m not going to like.
“That’s another funny thing, promises mean nothing unless you can prove it and I’ve only seen failure from you. You're going to find out what it means to be a woman in this world and spread your legs without a single word coming out of your whore mouth. You should have been opening your legs to many men for a long time now but I’ve been a good Father, no? Sixteen is the perfect age to lose one's innocence, don’t you think?” He opens the heavy steel door with ease, his chuckle slowly eating away at me as the blood drains from my face when a group of the Joker’s members fill the open space one by one.
The air has a smell that terrifies me. It reeks of disgusting lust that is aimed at my body and each Joker’s facial expression tells me what’s going to happen, no matter how loud I scream for help, it will be pointless in the long run. No one cares, no one will come, and I’m all alone.
Motorcycle boots shuffle over the cement basement floor and the sound of zippers lowering is like a gunshot going off in the silence. Sick, twisted eyes stare down at my crouched position as I hunch my shoulders in an attempt to appear smaller. It doesn’t work for men like them, they have the same look of the Devil shining in their greedy, lustful gazes. The same look Payne has each time he sees me. It doesn’t matter that I grew up around these men, some perched me on their knees and taught me my ABC’s. It all comes down to this and any hope I was holding onto fades away as Cruz, the one guy I thought I meant something to, is the last to walk into the room.
“Do this, boy, and you're in. Training for the future President starts with this. You’ll receive your patch afterward.” Payne pats him on the shoulder, whistling as he climbs the stairs without looking back.
Cruz slams the door behind him with a carefree smile and his empty eyes take in the room, seeing me crouched on the floor like a wounded animal without a flicker of worry. Gone is the guy who showed any level of kindness to a young girl's heart. He may be a few years older than me but he played me for a fool as he charmed me into believing that love exists. The joke is on me. No love is shining in his eyes now. Instead, it’s a dark and depraved gaze of a man with no emotions and abnormal thoughts. He’s dead but oddly still breathing.
“Who’s up first boys? I’ve been dying to claim this cunt for a while, she seems to think it’s made of gold, such a tease and so very innocent… just the way I like them. So fellas, step in line because it’s going to be a long wait!” Cruz says with a loud chuckle.
Ten Jokers circle around me, gazing down at my shivering body and palming their hard dicks.
Poe taught me how to hold a shotgun at the age of five behind the junkyard the club owns.
Zagan’s been beating the boys away from the doorstep since my body started blooming.
Nix, just last week was showing me how to tune up an old mustang in the garage.
Whiskey joked around and showed me how to slow dance in a room full of bikers when I used to roam the club at night because I couldn’t sleep with the loud music playing.
The list could go on and on of members who were always there for me growing up but right down to it… I’m nothing but their President's daughter, and that makes me hot off the press for picking with just one nod from their big boss. My dad’s closest crew, guys I’ve known my whole life, roughly grab my legs to spread them open. Hands tear at my clothing as I kick, buck, shout, anything to get away, but it’s useless as fingers tighten to hold me still. It doesn’t do me any good as criminal eyes stare down at my exposed body with uncontrollable lust until I look away. My gaze catches on the ceiling, seeing the crooked nail, the imperfection, and for the next few hours, grunts sound in my ears, and pounds of my flesh is taken from. My mind leaves to another place that isn’t here, somewhere anywhere else but here. My screams never fade, they still echo in my head along with my sore throat that feels raw.
A sudden hit to my lip has me reeling back with the force, my face swinging to the side as the blow was delivered. Blood pools on that single split but I can’t focus enough on why it doesn’t seem to hurt. My body is moving without me controlling the movements, back and forth my back scrapes across the cold cement. I know one of the club members is grunting over my body, as he pushes inside me, I don’t bother to look. It’s as if I’m not really here, even though I can feel whoever is inside me with each dry thrust causing me unbearable pain. That hurts, having someone shove their way inside of your body when it’s dry. That’s when my own haunted screams reach me, breaking past the barrier I tried building around myself until it’s over. Being tossed around like a rag doll, touching me in places I’ve never thought of being touched with my innocence that is no more. Payne was right, this is a man’s world and I’m feeling the effects of it.
Someone tosses me onto my stomach, my body limp, and not really mine anymore at this point. I wish I could keep staring at that nail, to see something that will keep me partially sane. A hot breath bears down on my ear just as something small, sharp, and cold is placed on my back. My focus sharpens to that one object while my whole body tenses up after what feels like hours of having loose limbs.
“You're going to feel this, remember this, and you can’t escape me after this. Tell me, Tillie, have you ever dreamed of your ass getting fucked?” Cruz chuckles just as he starts carving something into my shoulder blade.
My screams aren’t screams anymore, they’re howling prayers for the devil to come already and take my battered soul away. After some point he stops carving my skin, breathing heavily on top of me and giggling like a schoolgirl when the rest of the men clap in loud applause at his artwork. Every breath is like my last but it stops altogether when something hard touches between the line of my butt cheeks, somewhere a girl my age considers forbidden. Searing, unbelievable pain is all I can feel after that. A small, quiet voice reaches me and it makes me jolt as I realize it’s me repeating the same thing over and over out loud.
“Please, God, let it end. Just let it end.”
I must have blacked out at some point or I could have been wide awake the whole time but not really seeing anything because once again I’m staring up at that crooked nail. The sound of the basement door slamming shut with their echoing laughs makes my cold, stiff body start to shake as reality comes back like a splash of cold water. I wish it didn’t. My mind is broken, beyond repair, and any innocence I possessed is long gone.
“I have you, Tillie, I’m going to help you up and we’re going to take one step at a time. When we walk out that door, don’t you dare look down, and chin up no matter what happens. Don’t give them that fear and each painful step will give you strength.” She puts her arm around my waist and helps me towards the door, not once grimacing as I cry out with each shuffle of my feet.
I can’t go through that door, monsters wait for me in leather vests. Blaring music comes from the other side of that steel door, sweetbutts getting dicks wet even with my smear of blood still coating club members' dicks, like it’s a normal Saturday night. But it’s not a regular day for me, it’s the day I lost one part of me I thought I would be able to give away when I was ready.
