Page 4 of Blue-Eyed Jacks
“I bet she’s one of those girls who likesgetting abused.”
But I wasn’t in Pittsburgh anymore.We were halfway across the state of Pennsylvania, where no one knew me, no one would whisper about me, and where, if I was lucky, I might find someone brave enough to stand up against Keith “Shock” Weaver, mylegalhusband who I hated down to the screaming depths of my soul.
Daddy saw to the paperwork himself.He signed my life away, then snorted a line of coke off the marriage certificate.My “husband” joined him.Then consummated the marriage in my bedroom under my music-themed decor and a plethora of boy band posters.Their smiling faces laughed at me and my pain.When Shock’s men packed up my room, they tore those faces down and rolled them into tubes of a reality I’d never know again.
I burned all of them.Bye.Bye.Bye.
The van lurched through a gated wall.No one said there’d be gates.My heart rate picked up.
The prospect assigned to the van to watch me noticed me taking note of the surroundings.“Skilletsville is so cheap they stuck their club in a junkyard.But don’t worry, the building has two floors, and the top floor isallbedrooms.”
A lump of bile crawled up my throat.My insides churned with panic.I wasn’t going to get away tonight; I’d arrived at a deeper level of Hell.
“Girls through the back, Toro wants them checked first.”Shock’s VP, BamBam, pulled women from the other van and shoved them toward the end of the building.There was a small access door propped open.A dumpster sat behind it, overflowing and squalid.It matched the tableau of stacked rusty cars and dirt.The piles were so high in spots I couldn’t see the pine trees surrounding the compound.
The prospect dragged me out of the van.“Come on, Kate.Shock’ll get mad at me if you’re not ready.”
I’d never be ready, not for any of this.
“Whoa.Where ya going?”BamBam grabbed my arm and snapped his fingers at the prospect.“Get your ass in the front, Shock’s got errands for ya.”
His grip was much tighter than the prospect’s had been.
“You, kitchen is to the right as you walk in.Don’t go upstairs.”
Oh, thank God.I followed his directions and hovered in the entrance to a modest industrial kitchen to note if the back door would remain open.But BamBam slammed it shut with a bang.And the distinct rattle of chains being looped through the handle crushed my hopes.
“What are you doing standing there?Get upstairs with the others.”A blonde woman, dressed in scanty red satin and black fishnet stood at the bottom of the stairs.In her right hand was a joint, held like a cigarette.Her elbow propped against her hip, artfully angled to resemble an old movie harlot.Her skin was almost as pale as her hair.It contrasted with her bright red lips that matched her outfit.She had smoky kohl eyeliner, smudged grunge style.Despite the obvious wear, was Playboy model pretty.
“I was told the kitchen.”
Please don’t make mego upstairs.
A barely five-foot-tall woman pushed me aside as she barreled out of the kitchen.“Jewel, get your ass upstairs and stop harassing the guests.”
“She ain’t no guest.”Jewel, the blonde, eyed my clothes with contempt.Every item of my clothing except for the “property of” vest on my back was borrowed from someone in the club’s arsenal of hookers.I tried my damnedest not to think about where the hand-me-down thong used to reside because it was either that or go commando.Never go commando around bikers.It’s like waving raw meat in front of a grizzly.
That was why I’d layered on a pair of booty shorts over the thong and under the black leather micro mini school girl skirt.
On top, I’d layered more clothing over a red lace Demi-bra.A muted gray Henley no one claimed, a ripped lace body suit, and a slouchy tank top with the slogan “Lifestyles of the Tattooed and Famous” written on it in glittery gold script.It clashed with the muted vibe I desired, and if pressed, I’d ditch it or turn it inside out once I got free.Ditching it was secondary.If I was going to wander the streets of Skilletsville after dark, summer or not, I’d need warmth.Only the vest would go.And with it, every tainted memory of the Destroyers Motorcycle Club.
I wasnotproperty.
But first, I also needed to get free of this place.I made myself as small as possible against the wall.
“Are you an old lady?”A little girl, maybe seven or eight, pulled on my left hand and played with the ring there.
To a normal seventeen-year-old, that question would sound ridiculous.But three painful months changed my entire vocabulary.I knew she meant “significant other” or “wife” by that question.Technically, that included me, as much as I didn’t want to admit it.I glanced at the girl’s mother, who regarded the girl’s question with interest.“I’m Shock’s.”That killed me to admit.I wasn’t his.I belonged to myself.Or would as soon as I could get free.
The mother’s face changed from guarded to defiant.“Hearthat,Jewel?She’s the Pittsburg’s President’s ol’ lady!”My defender, all five feet of her, looked like an older clone of the little girl still holding my hand.Both had curly black hair, deeply tanned skin, and gorgeously wide, dark-brown eyes with thick eyelashes.The mother, I guessed, also hated Jewel.It proved true in the scowl she sent the woman and the sharpness of her voice.
“Whatever, I’ll fuckhimfirst.I hope you don’t mind.”Jewel singsonged that last sentence and then retreated upstairs.
“Bitch,” the mom muttered.
“Bitch,” the little girl mimicked.
“Poppy, don’t.We don’t swear.”
