Page 11 of Sinful Deeds
The thought of him makes me anxious. His warning to everyone that I’m off limits isn’t sitting well with me. Like I’m a tainted treat, the poison apple that seals the fate of all mankind. I shouldn’t care, but I do. I’m not here to get laid and I’m hitting the road the first chance I get. As much as I want to stay, I can’t.
“It’s that ‘fuck you’ grin. It scares most people.” Her response throws my thoughts into a spiral. Despite the emotional rollercoaster I’m on today, that grin is sexy as hell.
The sting of the tweezers rubbing against a splinter of glass causes me to flinch. I tap my fingernails against the tray of medical supplies to distract myself from the pain.
“I’m not scared of him.” My words don’t come out as strong as I want them to. Chainz does scare me, but that’s what makes him so exciting. I’ve known fear. A lot, but this kind of fear is different. Pleasure and pain go hand in hand. No one wants to hurt, but the right amount inflicted at just the right moment can make your toes curl. I bet Chainz knows just how to bring a girl to her knees and beg for more.
“Maybe you should be. A little. He wouldn’t have brought you here if there wasn’t something he wanted from you.”
Her kind bedside manner makes it easy to open up to her. “He wants information I’m not sure I should give him.”
“You should. He always gets what he wants, and that look in his eyes tells me he wants more than information.”
I turn her words over in my mind as she stitches up the cut and covers it with a bandage. What more does he want from me?
Mercy finishes patching me up and leads me back to the main room. There are only a few people hanging around. None of them are wearing cuts except a young guy behind the bar. A twinge of nerves edges over me as we walk past three women glowering at me when we pass by. I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something unsettling with the way they size me up. Mercy follows my eyes, which lands on the fake blonde in the center of the group.
“That’s Shawna. Don’t waste your time with any of them. They’re patch whores. They can’t be trusted and are only here for one reason.” She nudges me with her elbow, “Stick with me and Cat. We’ll show you the ropes.”
“I won’t be here long, but thanks for the offer.” I feign a smile even though the looks I’m getting from the others have the hairs on my neck standing on end.
Mercy pins me with her dark brown eyes, drawing her lips into a tight line. “There’s no use in fighting it, Chainz wants you here so make yourself at home. They’ll be back there for a while.”
“Back where?” I ask.
“Church.” She pauses for a minute before realizing I don’t know what she’s talking about. The blank stare on my face makes her laugh. Picturing Chainz kneeling at the altar, repenting for his sins makes me laugh. Not that I doubt he has morals, but it’s contradictory to spout religion at the same time as threatening death upon someone. Even if that someone hurt his family. That’s what the MC is, that much I can tell. “A meeting to discuss club business. Which is none of our business. Don’t even ask about it. That’s a surefire way to piss him off.”
“Got it,” I reply. Judging by our interactions today, he’s already pissed off, but I’m smart enough to know I don’t want to see how much worse it can get.
“Hey Prospect, get Raven a drink while she waits,” she calls out to the lanky man behind the bar. He looks out of place compared to the men wearing cuts like Chainz and Fuel wears. His cut is missing the club colors on the back. Instead, he has a giant patch that says Prospect and a smaller one on the front next to the Krymson Destroyers club name. He’s not as hard as the others either, which allows me to relax some. His blonde hair reminds me of a surfer who spends way too many hours in the sun, and it hangs over his face, obscuring his eyes. He’s a pretty boy and I wonder if he spent his days before coming here riding waves and hitting a bong. His life of leisure must have taken a wrong turn to end up here. I know little about MC’s, but I know he’ll be working his ass off to exchange the prospect patch on his cut for a permanent one.
“Take care of her, Denny,” she says to the prospect behind the bar. “I’m going to find you something to change into, your shirt is a bloody mess.” Mercy adds and heads upstairs.
I pull up a barstool and ask the prospect for a Vodka Shooter.
This place isn’t at all what I expected for a biker club. I’ve driven past it a few times, seen them coming and going from the street. Occasionally Skyler would show up for a shift, hungover as shit telling us about a wild party up here. It used to be an old warehouse, so I’m not surprised by the concrete floor and stone washed brick walls, but it’s not as cold as I thought it would be. There’s a leather couch and some recliners around a large screen TV, a pool table and dart boards. There’s even a massive sound system with speakers taller than I am playing a live rendition of Roger Waters singingWish You Were Here. I sing along under my breath, “two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl year after year”. This place is a haven for lost souls, souls that found a place to belong. I take in everyone as I slam my shot. With so many people coming and going, it must be hard to feel alone. It’s been a long time since I felt like I wasn’t alone.
Without being asked, the prospect pours me another drink. I swallow the second shot, placing the glass upside down on the bar top and drum my fingers for the prospect to pour me another.
I lean back on the stool, trying to steal a glimpse down the hall Chainz went into. All I can see is a small table with a box on top and a closed door. There’s a glass pane above the handle, but it’s blacked out with a piece of cardboard. Mercy made it clear what happens in there is none of my business. Still, I can’t help but wonder what they’re talking about. I snicker and the prospect pours me another. Who am I kidding? I know exactly what they’re talking about. Me. Fuel. This mess.
Chainz said they could protect me, but will they want to when I tell them who’s looking for me and why? Does it even matter? I should pick my sorry ass up off this stool and hit the road, but that asshole has my keys.
The three shots of vodka are doing nothing to subdue my troubling thoughts. I might as well have another. “Hey Prospect, Line ‘em up.”
He places three more shot glasses in front of me and pours. As I reach out for one, long red nails attached to boney fingers wrap around the glass. The blonde patch whore Mercy called Shawna, raises the glass to her mouth, puckering her lips from the bitter taste. She swallows it down and slams the shot glass on the bar top, narrowing her eyes at me, “Take a walk, Prospect. Let us ladies have a chat.”
I rake my eyes over her features, she’s tall and thin. So thin, in fact, I’m not sure how one of these massive guys hasn’t snapped her in half. Her bleach blonde hair is as fake as her eyelashes. I can’t find anything attractive about her except maybe her plump lips and big tits, but even those are fake as shit.
My gaze cuts to the prospect and back to her. This skank is testing my patience, and there’s very little left at this point. “Keep pouring Prospect, but...” I scoot further away, “slide my shots this way, I’m not in the mood to catch whatever she’s got.”
She narrows her eyes at me, “You’re fresh meat, and they’re all gonna want a taste. Then you won’t be any different from me.”
“I’ll always be different from you.” I lean closer, “I know how to keep my legs closed.”
The prospect laughs and slides another shot in my direction while Shawna stomps off in the other direction, leaving me to drown my sorrows in peace.
