Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
The next night, I was gearing up for an evening of annoyance as I rode over to the strip joint. This fucking strip club was the last place I wanted to be tonight. There were a million other places I would rather spend my time. The owner was a real slime ball. If he wasn’t so scared of what we would do to him, he would have underage strippers on stage shaking their tits and having toonies tossed at their slits. Mighty fine establishment he had running there.
The way Home Wreckers’ owner always watched me made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. He knew I wore a patch, but he still believed I was only an old lady of one of the guys. He would continue in his world of falsities until I deemed it necessary for him to know. In the meantime, he had better keep his sweaty cum laced hands off of me, or the only way he could get himself off would be to gain some flexibility.
Sometimes I hated having to rub elbows with the scum of our city, but it couldn't be helped. We had to visibly break just enough laws to keep up our appearances. Street cred was paramount in our line of work. We needed just enough lips moving to fuel the stories passed around about us.
As I was marching my ass over to the door of the skeevy strip club, it shocked me to see the sign above the door had been replaced. Someone had gone with the more tasteful Heaven’s Lace, and removed the bright neon Girls, Girls, Girls below it. The designer had done nothing else to the exterior of the strip club, but it signalled someone new had likely taken over. No one had told me about a change in ownership, but that was the only reason I could imagine the name would have changed. Home Wreckers had been a household name for the last twenty years, so I wondered what the new ownership would bring to the table.
I showed my identification to the newest bouncer at the door and headed inside. They had changed nothing in the room yet, but with the changes already made out front, I knew it would be better than what it was right now. I could feel the tackiness of my boots on the floor as I made my way over to the bar. A couple of patrons were waiting at the other end of the counter, ordering their drinks, so I made my way to the middle to avoid them.
Cherise, the bartender, would get to me when she had the chance.
While I waited for her to finish serving the customers in front of her, I glanced around the club. One long stage leading to a circle in the centre of the room had one dancer hanging upside down on the pole, wearing nothing but nipple pasties, a thong and stilettos. Horny men tossed money on the ground below her, just hoping she would get close enough to hang her tits in their faces. Several other girls worked the crowd away from the stage. The women in these places were skilled, enticing men into a more private dance by giving them lap dances and whispering sweet nothings in their ears.
“Can I get you a drink, honey?” Cherise asked.
“Nah, that’s okay. I’m just looking for Charlie tonight.”
“He’s in one of the private rooms. I’ll go get him,” she answered.
“Thanks,” I told her and placed a tip in her jar.
“Anytime,” she replied, then disappeared behind the bar.
The last place I wanted to be was in one of the private rooms with his slimy ass. He was probably auditioning one of the new dancers. Everyone knew Charlie had a second income stream in here. As much as I despised men who took advantage of women, there was nothing I could do because he wasn’t breaking any of our hard set rules. Some guys paid for sex, and some girls wanted to do it for the money, so I wasn’t about to get involved.
Especially when most of the women I talked to in here liked the extra money and told me not to do anything about him. Some of the women didn’t appreciate his greasy hands, and if any of them every asked me for help, I would be there. The moment I witnessed or even heard of an underaged girl in here, all bets were off.
The bartender returned with some guy I had never seen before.
“Charlie isn’t here,” he said.
“When will he be back? I need some information,” I told him.
“No idea. We’ve got a new owner toots,” he responded. “If you’re looking to audition, you’ll need to talk to him.”
“Do I look like I’m here to suck dick so I can bare my tits on stage? Another thing, the last guy who called me toots ended up eating his own dick, so I’d watch what you say in my presence.”
He held up his hands in surrender.
“Show me to the new owner,” I demanded.
The phone rang behind the bartender. Her eyes widened in the mirror as she conversed with whoever was on the line. My guess was the new manager. Her reaction made me wonder exactly what I got myself into coming here alone tonight. She nodded to no one, hung up the phone and flipped up the counter at the end of the bar.
“Mr. Martin would like to meet with her in the back room,” she told the thug.
“Fine, let’s go then.”
“Lead the way,” I told him.
Even though I had been there before, there was no way I was going to allow him to walk behind me. We walked down the long hallway to the door of the back room. Frequently, they forced me to meet Charlie in his den of debauchery, and I hated every moment of my time in that room.
There was nothing like having to pretend to enjoy the company of a slimeball. He knew enough not to place his grimy hands on me, but that didn’t stop him from making me watch him. Unfortunately, there was nothing he I could prove that he had done to convince me to give him the special treatment I reserved for scum balls. The last time I was here, I threatened to beat him within an inch of his life if he made me watch him getting his dick sucked again.
God help the new owner if he tried the same thing.
The well-dressed thug knocked once on the office door and opened it, ushering me inside. The first thing I noticed was the lack of the nauseating smell of cheap perfumes and cigarette smoke. The next thing I noticed was the sharply dressed man in a suit seated in a brand new leather chair. I had never seen him around, so he must be new on the scene.
They had completely renovated the office beyond the door. The walls had been repainted and all the random thumbtack holes littering them had been fixed. The tacky posters of naked women had been removed and replaced with tasteful art.
“Did you frisk her?” he asked Mr. Thug.
“No sir,” he responded.
“I don’t need a weapon,” I told him, crossing my arms in front of my chest.
“Let me guess. You are the weapon?”
“Something like that.” I smiled.
“Fair enough,” he responded. “Tony, you can leave.”
“Boss,” he hesitated.
“I think if she wanted to kill me, she wouldn’t have come looking for Charlie,” Mr. Martin told him. Tony didn’t argue again and left us to our discussion. “Sorry about him.”
“No problem.”
“I’m new to town and I don’t know all the players yet, so forgive me if I ask what your name is.”
“Harleigh West,” I answered him.
My sweet little Harleigh alter ego wouldn’t work for tonight’s conversation. I needed the respect that my last name demanded.
“Of the Renegade Reapers’ Wests?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Seriously? You’re with the Reapers?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Cole Martin,” he replied. “I didn't realize they had women patched in.”
“I’m the only one right now.”
“You’re just that special, huh?”
“More like all the other women who have asked them to join, weren’t as blood thirsty.”
Cole Martin was a gorgeous man with cold, calculating eyes. He had effectively clocked every movement I made since entering his back office. I glanced around the room, noting everything Charlie had done to the office had changed. The only thing that hadn’t changed was the presence of strippers. A blonde, wearing nothing but nipple tassels and a thong, stood behind him, kneading his shoulders diligently while he didn’t take his eyes off of me.
“The bartender told me Charlie’s not here.”
He nodded. “I purchased this fine establishment about a week ago.”
“That would explain my ignorance in the matter.”
I would have to ask Liam how he missed this not so minor detail. I was geared up to deal with Charlie, when really I should have been prepared to liaise with someone whose whole demeanour screamed he was a mob boss.
“You sure worked fast with getting the sign replaced and this room fumigated.”
He barked out a laugh. “Have a seat,” he told me, as he waved to the chair across from him.
“At least I won’t have to worry about you trying to get into my pants every time I come here.”
“You won’t?” he asked, lips twitching.
“Seems to me you have no issues finding a partner for the evening. Charlie was always hinting at us getting together, which was beyond absurd. If there was one thing my brother taught me, you never mix business with pleasure.”
“You won't have to deal with him for much longer,” he responded vaguely enough I knew not to ask what he meant.
Charlie would sleep with the fishes soon enough.
“So, let’s get down to business. Cherise told me you were looking for some information.”
“I’d rather speak in private,” I told him. “If that’s okay with you?”
“All my employees know how to keep their mouths shut.”
“All the same, if you don’t mind?” I tilted my head toward the stripper behind him.
“Fair enough. Darling, your set will be coming up soon. Wouldn’t want you to miss out.”
Darling?
He swatted her ass when she walked past him, swaying her hips suggestively.
“I saw the look,” he commented. “Ask.”
“What you do in your spare time is none of my business,” I told him. He didn’t seem like the type of guy who would be too controlling to allow his girlfriend to strip.
“For the record, the pet name wasn’t mine, if you’re wondering. That’s her stage name.”
“Fair enough.”
“So, back to the matter at hand. What did you want to ask Charlie?”
“There’s word of a hit on a cop working for the Sandstone Police Department. You and I both know something like that is bad for business.”
“True,” he agreed, leaning back in his leather chair.
“I usually come to Charlie to see if he’s heard anything. He seems to have his ear to the ground for this type of thing.”
“Charlie has his hands in too many cookie jars,” he replied.
“So you can’t help me?”
“My suggestion is for you to talk to my daughter. She probably knows more than I do.”
Cole looked too young to have a daughter that would be of any use to me, but I didn’t have the balls to contradict him.
“How do I get in contact with her?” I asked.
“I’ll set up the meeting, but I have one condition.”
I nodded. “Name it.”
“You’re gonna have to meet here.”
“Done. What are your plans for Charlie?” I asked.
“That’s none of your concern,” he told me.
“Fair enough.”
“Humour me though,” he replied. “Why would you want to know?”
“I think a couple of your girls would like a round with him,” I responded.
“What do you mean?”
“Charlie’s way of auditioning the girls is by sampling the wares. They’ve never straight up said that he raped them, but let’s be honest. Do you honestly think any of those women would want to be coated in his grease?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Tell him he’s getting his last freebie and set them loose on him. Maybe he’ll learn what it’s like to take it up the ass the hard way with one of the dildo props from on stage.”
Cole barked out a laugh. “You and my daughter would get along just fine.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Somehow, I believe you’ll make sure they do exactly what you described,” Cole responded, examining me once more. “Yeah, I think you would.”
“Of course I would,” I told him. “I’m a straight shooter and my word is my bond.”
The legends had to be scary enough that no one would ever consider messing with us. It wasn't like we were going to get some five star review on the web or anything like that. Next, we had to be approachable enough that those people who were actually in need and couldn't find justice in the legal system would feel able to walk through the clubhouse doors. If they did, I was one of the first faces they saw.
Sweet little Harleigh.
Little did they know, I had an extreme penchant for violence. It wasn't how I was raised. I was convinced I had been born with it. Born to be a little wild. I wasn’t into playing with dolls. There were no princess tea parties on my agenda. I wanted to be just like my older brothers, learning self-defence and how to shoot multiple types of guns.
At the tender age of thirteen, after I knocked out the high school quarterback with one punch, my brother realized I needed an outlet for all my deep-seated rage. It didn't help that I was a thirteen-year-old taking down a much older and visibly stronger nineteen-year-old. Then there was the unfortunate fact that his parents were rich and influential members of the community. Erik knew there would be retaliation for their embarrassment.
Regardless of the reason for my actions, the suspension that I received from school was cause for discipline. Then, once he learned why I knocked Jason out, he pulled me out of school permanently. High school was a cakewalk to me. Maybe that was part of the reason they had bullied me. The other part was having a family full of bikers, along with having a dead mom and dad. Teenagers didn’t hold punches when it came to people with differences. The punch was for me finding Liam naked and ducked taped to the goal post at the visitor’s end of the football field.
Back to the punishment though, cause he didn’t forget that part.
His method of punishment had three parts. First and foremost, I was grounded. Being isolated served a purpose and aided in the remaining tasks assigned. Second, I was required to dig up dirt on the prick quarterback's parents. Enough to bury them, should they resort to underhanded tactics to attack our club. Third, I was to train every day, which, to be honest, was a reward in my eyes. Until that moment, they mostly excluded me from their training.
The only things I learned from the whole incident were that I could indeed take care of myself and that I enjoyed inflicting pain. It was the last lesson that was the most difficult to swallow. I didn't want another reason to feel different, a freak. The same thing the asshole quarterback had accused me of being. Being thirteen years old and in grade ten was enough to make me stand out. Now that the switch was flipped, so to speak, I would become even more of an outcast.
That was, until my brother offered me his counsel.
He had hoped I would be spared the curses of our blood. Nature vs nurture and all that shit. Maybe if I had been spared the experiences of my first five years, I would have been okay. So he did what he thought was best and gave me what I didn't have: a stable home. Unbeknownst to him, I had always been angry. Even when my mom was alive, I was angry.
Genetics definitely played a role.
I had underlying sociopathic tendencies without the normal lack of empathy that went with it. I felt things too deeply. Maybe that was the problem. The need to protect someone other than myself was at the forefront, but I was too jaded to go the legal route. There was no way I could be a cop. All the restrictive red tape and regulations.
I needed to feel the freedom of the open road, even when I wasn't on my bike. The shackles of society would dampen my spirits, dull my senses, and eventually drive me to madness. so I took the only logical route. I became the first female prospect of the Renegade Reapers.
By the age of fourteen, my brothers were using me as bait to get dirty Johns off the street.
By fifteen, I had learned the sound a man made as his balls were getting sliced off.
At sixteen, I was tossing dirty motherfuckers out of our club.
When I was seventeen, I was running my own ops, telling grown men what to do.
The day after I turned eighteen, I claimed my room at the clubhouse and started bartending and managing the place.
Now, at the not so tender age of nineteen, I was almost finished two degrees at university and had no plans to quit what I loved.
One percenter for life.
Ride and die, motherfuckers.
It was in my blood.