Chapter Seventeen
Poppy
(One Year later)
Taking a deep breath, I move my hand over the fogged-up glass, staring at the girl on the other side, the familiarity gone, the pain still lingering.
Glimpses of the girl I used to be peek through the darkness, but the decay has fully taken over, replaced by the pinpointed pupils, pale almost translucent skin, and eyes so hollow you’d think they were void of life.
And maybe that’s what I was. A zombie walking on Earth in the shell of a girl who once had promise.
“Yo, Poppy, you ready?” a girl named Gina shouts from the stall in the bathroom we share.
I somehow found myself running around with a one percent motorcycle club called the Raging Misfits.
I followed Jericho here, and after he sold me off to their President Warden, he took off.
Now I’m what they call a ‘club bunny’ a girl that spends her time spreading her legs for whatever member that decides to take interest in her.
It’s not the life I expected to have, but they feed my habit, gave me a roof over my head after I lost my apartment and my parents disowned me, providing me with a family and support system I didn’t have any more after Pippa died.
Hell, nobody’s heard from Amber in over a year, and from what I’ve heard, Eddie and Rich up and left Reno, just like I did, finding a home in Fernley on the other side of town.
They don’t know I’m here… nobody does, and I prefer to keep it that way.
I’ve cut myself off from that part of my life, embracing the harder and edgier Poppy that I always wanted to be but never had the guts to become.
Until now. Now I feel invincible. I’m protected and loved, even if I have to do fucked up disgusting things to stay here.
“We really going clubbing tonight?” I question, just as she comes out of the stall, rocking a skirt that barely covers her ass, and a tank that’s all tit and barely any shirt.
“We need to get out more. Besides, it’s Warden’s birthday, and he’s throwing a big party. It’ll be fun.”
She adjusts her shirt, so it barely covers her nipples, pops her lips in the mirror, then turns to me, frowning a little when she realizes I barely tried.
“Oh no, we’re fixing this mess,” she exclaims, pulling out her makeup case.
“I thought I looked okay.”
“You’re representing the club, Poppy. You need to look hot. I’ve overheard some of the guys talking, and they aren’t exactly thrilled with how much you’ve changed this past year. You’re too thin, and you’re starting to get the pick-pox all over your face.”
Frowning, I glance back at the mirror, eyelids sliding shut in defeat. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugs. “It’s okay, you just need to snag yourself a member who will take pity on you, and make you his Ol’ Lady, then you won’t have to worry anymore.”
There wasn’t a man in the club that I wanted to be connected to like that. “The good ones are all taken,” I mumble, even though that was only half true. Even the ones with significant Ol’ Ladies still had their fun, taking the rest of us whenever they felt like getting their dicks wet.
“It’s only a matter of time. I heard they’re incorporating a new member today. He doesn’t even have to be a prospect or earn his place, it was just handed to him.”
“How’s that possible?”
She shrugs as she heavily applies some foundation to the circles and bags underneath my eyes. It helps… kind of.
“Apparently, he’s highly connected to Moseley.”
“Oh,” I say quietly, my skin crawling at the thought.
I’m not exactly Moseley’s biggest fan. He’s a pervert, and a bit of a womanizer. He’s Warden’s uncle and thinks he owns the club. Maybe in some way he does, but that doesn’t mean the fat pig gets to touch me. That shit is not happening.
Eyeliner, mascara, eyeshadow and blush are painted onto my face, covering the pick-pox and making me almost look normal.
She fishes a long sleeve black top that’s partially see-through and throws it over a red polka dot shirt, pairing it all with a short red skirt that’s just as revealing as hers before handing it to me.
“Wear this. You’ll definitely turn some heads tonight.” Gina smiles proudly as I disappear into the stall and come back out wearing her clothing. “You look hot, Poppy.”
For a second, I believe her, until I turn toward the mirror and stare blankly at the stranger blinking back at me.
Imposter syndrome is definitely a thing.
“Come on,” she orders, grabbing my hand to pull me toward the door.
Most of the guys have already left for the club Moseley purchased, but a few of them hung back to give the girls a ride. Mostly prospects and a few lower-ranking members.
Sol gives me the once over, smiling in approval. “Looking good, ladies,” he says cooly, smoothing his long mop of jet-black hair out with his big beefy hands. It’s strictly forbidden for prospects to put the moves on us, but if I had one that I’d let it happen with, it definitely be Sol.
He winks at me as he holds the door open for the cage, which is what bikers call all vehicles with walls that aren’t motorcycles.
It takes us almost an hour to get to the club, but when we do, it’s packed with people. A private event just for our club and its affiliates.
Warden’s already there with his girl, Sammie, that I’m not exactly fond of. There’s something about her that seems off to me, but Warden’s obsessed with her.
“Ugh, they’re disgusting,” Gina growls, just as Warden manhandles Sammie’s ass and shoves his tongue aggressively down her throat.
“You’re just jealous,” I quip, catching her off guard.
“Shut up. Before she came along, I was his favorite. Now he barely sees me.”
“Face it, Gina. Once you become a club whore, you stay one.”
“Club bunny!” she shouts. “I’m no one’s whore.”
But she is, just as much as the rest of us. We are all equally used and abused around here.
“You still upset about Jericho?” she asks, changing the subject.
“Not really. The man’s always been about money. The second I was no longer of use to him; he got rid of me.”
“At least Warden took you in.”
“True, living in the clubhouse is a lot better than that dinky warehouse space I was living in. At least I have a room now and earn my keep with everyone else.”
She smiles just as Lockjaw passes by, grabs her hand, and pulls her onto the dance floor. “Come on, Gina, let’s dance.”
The big meathead is all over her the second they’re on the floor, hands roaming, not giving two fucks who sees them. I try to look away, but it’s hard. It reminds me of the night Wesley got locked up.
Hell, I haven’t thought about him in over a year, but for some reason, he’s all I can think about right now.
“Wanna dance?” a thick accented voice asks me, forcing me to turn around.
I’m met by a solid wall of muscle. The man towers over me, his olive skin fully illuminated by the club’s strobing lights. He’s older than me by quite a few years, but that age has blessed him tremendously. He smiles, perfect white teeth flashing me in the black light.
“I’m Arturo,” he exclaims, sticking out his hand.
I shyly take it, unsure of how to feel about the man who could easily be my father’s age. “Poppy.”
He smirks. “You part of the club?”
I nod. “One of the club bunnies.”
His nose scrunches for half a second before evening out. “So, not an Ol’ Lady?”
“No.”
He nods. “Wanna dance?”
My head bobs for a few seconds before the words catch up. “Um, sure.”
Arturo takes my hand, leading me onto the dance floor. He unbuttons his jacket before taking it off and hands it to a man that hovers near us. A tiny tuft of hair peeks out of the top of his crisp, white button-down shirt that’s rolled up to the elbows, those first two buttons dangerously undone.
He’s a gentleman at first, keeping his distance, before silently asking for permission to move closer with those large, brooding, brown eyes. I allow it, even though everything in me thinks this is a bad idea. But that’s nothing new. I’ve made nothing but bad decisions this past year.
After a good few minutes of dancing, he makes his move.
Hand attaching to my hip, the smell of his expensive cologne hitting my nostrils with an alluring draw that has me inching closer.
His lips don’t give me hives like all the men that came before him.
They’re warm and welcoming, the kind of kiss that makes a girl forget all the bad shit that’s happened over the past year.
The last time a man erased my thoughts like this, it was Wesley.
Maybe that’s a sign?
But if it’s a good or bad one… I have no fucking clue.
“You claimed, Poppy?”
I shake my head, buried in a lust-driven fog that has me forgetting how to speak. “I just exist.”
He grips my chin, gently forcing me to look in his eyes.
“Well, I’m going to make sure you never “just exist” ever again.”
He tugs me to the center of the room, his voice commanding everyone to look his way. “I’m shouting this so all of you fuckers know, that Poppy is mine. I claim her.”
The Misfits barely nod in agreement, too many of them are too drunk to really care, or busy wooing women who will have no problem helping them get their dick wet.
“They may not care, Poppy. But I do. You’re my girl now, okay?”
I nod robotically, standing up on my tiptoes to beg for more kisses.
For once, I’m not thinking about my cravings, or how they’ll make me forget how pathetic my life has turned.
All I’m thinking about is Arturo… how to please him.
How to keep him from seeing the real me.
It’s all my mind can think about as he leads me out of the club and straight to a sleek black limousine parked outside.
Once we’re outside, he notices the markings on my thin arms and frowns. “Is this how you live your life?”
The disappointment in his eyes brings on more guilt than it should. My arms instantly retreat behind my back, my gaze hitting the cold concrete for support.
His fingers gently lift my chin again, his smile small but unjudgmental.
“Hey now. It’s okay. We all have our demons.”