Prologue
Six Months Ago
Brenda
The afternoon’s not even done yet, but the clubhouse of the Kings MC is as smoky and lively as if the party has been going on for hours. Bikers of all shapes and sizes, old, young, bearded, smooth-cheeked, long-haired, bald, and everything in between talking loud and drinking hard. Leather armchairs and sofas dominate the old warehouse that had been converted into this clubhouse, back when warehouses were still mostly made of wood. Ages ago, in other words. There are small round tables and wooden chairs littered around the wide-open space, but only the junior members sit there, never the higher-ups.
Monarch, the president, is lording over it all, sprawled out on the black leather sofa he had placed on a sort of wooden pedestal against one wall to better survey the room. He’s nearly fifty and mostly bald, but his bushy beard more than makes up for it. His belly protrudes out over the waistband of his dark jeans like an oversized baseball. Nothing will ever make it small again, and he has to have his cut and jackets made specially. He was a good-looking guy in his youth, I know because I’ve seen pictures, but all that’s now gone down the drain along with too many good dinners.
Not that I care about his looks.
He’s the king of kings here and I’m his little princess darling. Not his queen. She’s at home, in the huge house he pays for, taking care of his kids he rarely sees. I like the arrangement just fine. I like it when he beckons me over like he’s doing now, his full red lips blooming amid the washed-out black of his beard as he smiles. Almost I’d say like a rose, but that’s too feminine. Too gentle.
I walk towards him, careful to keep my steps dainty and short like a cat’s. I’m wearing sky-high stilettos and swaying my hips, making the short, flowing dress I’m wearing even more decadently delicious. It’s tight over my breasts, but flows down over my hips, short in the front to show off my long legs. Just as he likes it. He also likes to stroke my hair and tell me I’m pretty, tell me I’m sweet. But that’s as far as his gentleness goes. He fucks like a bull and takes what he wants, as hard as he wants and when he wants. Sometimes he takes more than I want to give.
And I’m over it all.
Over and done with playing his sweet little princess. Never was, never will be. But it was fun pretending for a while.
All I needed was an exit strategy.
And I finally found it. It’s Josh and the money my best friend Stormi, him and I stole last night. He’s leaning on the bar counter, as transfixed by my slow walk across the room as Monarch is, as half the guys in here are, but he’s the only one who dares stare at me with open desire and lust. He’s Monarch’s distant and much younger cousin visiting from out of town, and the lust in his eyes is a good sign. It tells me I can be on the back of his bike and away from here soon. Monarch isn’t staying tonight. He’s got some stupid recital at his kid’s school to attend.
I keep smiling back at Monarch as I walk towards him, but from the corner of my eye I’m watching Josh and he knows it. And likes it. Easy prey.
Just like those two shmucks, we stole the twenty grand from last night. Horse and Piston, two nothings and nobodies from some backward MC who knows where.
One more night of partying in Vegas to give it a proper goodbye before I ride off into the sunset with Josh. Or as far away from here as his bike will take us. Every man I’ve ever met has only wanted one thing from me: My body to use. And I don’t come cheap.
1
Six Months Later
Brenda
The bar is rowdy tonight. Rowdier than usual. There’s a tension weaving over the noise, and in between the full tables. It’s making all the loud laughter sound forced, all the yells and pieces of conversation I can hear laced with harsh undertones. Or maybe I’ve just finally, completely lost my mind.
The Roadside Sinners MC bar slash clubhouse is only usually this full on the weekends or when they’re gearing up for some big thing. Neither is the case now, to the best of my knowledge. Not that I care.
When I left Monarch and the Kings clubhouse on my last evening of freedom six months ago, I thought things were looking up. I never thought I’d miss the greasy leather sofas in that place, but I’d give anything to trade this smelly, smoky, run-down bar for being there right now. Even with Monarch’s groping hands all over me. Never thought I’d miss that guy, but I kinda do. I’m very close to calling him to come to my rescue, somehow, some way.
But what’s he gonna say when he finds out his cousin Josh is dead? Will he blame me? Probably. He was never the brightest. And I bet he’s gonna know I was stepping out with Josh. He’s not the forgiving type. Best case scenario, it’s straight to one of the many truck stop whorehouses he operates for me when he finds me. Worst case, he kills me for cheating on him. I could charm him back, tell him some tale about how Josh forced me to go with him… No. It’s time I stop thinking about him altogether. I’ll get out of the Sinners’ clutches on my own. I’ll find a way.
Cleaning up after this get-together tomorrow morning will be hell, and I bet Stormi’s not gonna be around to help me, as per usual lately. I’ve developed a damn repetitive strain injury in my back from all the sweeping and taking out the trash I do around here, and she’s helping less and less now that she’s with that new guy, Ace. She’s not here now either, and she said nothing about going anywhere before she left with him earlier. I bet she sees him as her ticket out of here. Though I have it on good authority he’s not leaving this place anytime soon.
I wish I had my own ticket out of here.
But all I have is endless glasses to fill with cheap whiskey, endless bottles of beer to lug in from the back, stack in the fridge, unscrew, serve and then trash again before I repeat the cycle. And endless trying to get the president’s son Piston to take a more concrete interest in me. Something that’ll get me out from behind this bar and into some semblance of a normal life.
But I lost my touch. Lost my mojo. It died when the Sinners shot the last guy I picked to save me from a bad situation. That and I’ve also been working very hard on being a mean girl in an effort to prevent getting fucked by any of the Sinners. I just don’t know how to play nice with men anymore. Sometimes I think I deserve this. Sometimes I hate everyone and everything. Most days I just hate myself very much. Never did that before.
I had a good thing going with Monarch. I had everything I needed and more besides. Just not what I wanted.
Now I’ll be behind this bar for the rest of my life, which will probably be short. Serving bikers who either don’t want anything to do with me or hate me. Bikers who wouldn’t lose a second of sleep if I just dropped dead behind this counter. At least I’ve done a good job of keeping them from wanting anything more from me than the drinks I serve. Chasing a guy away is just the other side of the coin of attracting one. I know both sides of the coin very well.
Sometimes I think of burning it all down after the last of them leaves for the night.
Sometimes I almost do it.
Then I remember I have nowhere else to go. Besides, they’d hunt me down and kill me sooner rather than later if I do that.