Chapter 7 Wren
CHAPTER SEVEN
WREN
Clutching my bag to my side, I stare up at Gravel and Grit. I didn’t expect it to look so rundown. I’m just glad I didn’t have to walk all the way here. When I asked the man running the motel how to get here, he told me it’s too far to walk and called me a taxi.
Paying for things was becoming easier, especially when it seemed like I had enough to last me a bit longer than I had initially thought, without having to worry too much.
Music and loud voices break the silence of the night as I gather my courage to step inside. Motorcycles are parked everywhere, and my hands start to grow clammy with unease. I’ve never met a biker before, and wasn’t sure what to expect.
Knowing there’s no turning back now, since I had no way out of here without asking someone to call me a taxi, I take a deep breath and push the door open.
Everything is ten times louder inside, and it takes me a few seconds to adjust. I’ve never been anywhere so noisy before. I thought the diner during dinner time was bad, but this is another level.
The bar is packed. Almost every person I see is a rough-looking, intimidating man wearing a black jacket or vest with thick beards. They must be the bikers. Laughter rings out from one corner, their voices growing louder to be heard over the rest of the crowd.
Remember why you’re here.
I try to put all the distractions in the back of my mind, but it’s not something I’m used to. I’ve never really been around more than a few people at a time before, and never people this… chaotic.
The bar is hard to find because it’s surrounded by men sitting on stools, drinking what I suspect is beer.
I head over and realize there’s no way for me to speak to the bartender through all these men, especially at my five-foot-five height.
“Excuse me?” I ask tentatively, but nobody notices me.
“Excuse me!” I say, louder this time.
The two men sitting closest to me swivel on their seats, their eyebrows lifting when they see me.
“You lost, sweetheart?” one man asks as he eyes me up and down.
“No.” I offer him a quick curtsy. “I’m looking for someone, can you help me?”
The second man turns entirely toward me, a huge grin covering his face. “I’d be happy to help you, honey. Shall we get out of here?”
“You—” I cock my head to the side, unsure what he means. “Pardon me?”
His friend barks out a laugh, making me jump a little from the sudden noise.
“Hey, doll, who are you looking for?” This question comes from the bartender as he leans on the bar, waiting for my answer.
“Tony.”
“Oh shit,” the first guy murmurs, looking alarmed, before turning back to face the bar.
“He’s over there,” the bartender says, his eyebrows pinching together as he points to the far corner. “Sitting in that corner booth. The one with blond hair tied back.”
“Thank you,” I say, offering him a small curtsy.
As I head through the crowded bar, people start to notice me. Not only that, but the noise begins to die down as people seem to stop mid-conversation to watch me walk through the crowd.
Remembering my upbringing, I keep my chin up and pretend I belong here, even though I’m clearly a fish out of water.
When I get to the corner, there’s a large group of men hanging around, and a few are standing and blocking my view of the booth.
There isn’t much noise in the bar now, except what’s coming from this group, and as if they suddenly sense the quiet around them, the two in front of me turn, their eyes dropping to me standing behind them.
“Excuse me,” I say, pointing between them. “I need to get through.”
One man looks at me like I’m crazy, and the other man’s eyebrows raise so high they get lost under his bandana. In unison, they step apart, and I try to slip between their bodies without touching them, but the space is tight and I feel my arms brush against them.
I swallow down my nerves as I press forward until I’m standing in front of the table. The conversation there dies instantly as they all stare at me with a mix of confusion and amusement.
I scan the faces and find Tony’s blond ponytail. He’s sitting in the back of the booth, surrounded by two men on either side.
He raises an eyebrow in question when he sees me. “You must be Tony,” I say, maintaining eye contact for a moment before I drop my eyes and give him a small curtsy of respect.
“What the fuck is this?” someone whispers from my side, but I ignore them.
“Move.” Tony waves a hand at the men sitting beside him, and they quickly slide out of the booth, allowing him to move around to the edge.
He stays seated and crooks a finger at me to come closer. I move to stand in front of him, and a slow smile covers his face.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. My name is… ah… well, please forgive my informality, but I was told you could help me get a fake ID. I don’t want to use my real name anymore.”
“Fucking shit,” someone whispers behind me.
“Well, aren’t you precious?” Tony asks, looking me up and down.
I’m not exactly sure I’m supposed to answer, but when he doesn’t say anything else, I answer, “Yes?” It comes out as a question, but laughter booms out around me, and I try not to cringe, but Tony notices.
“Quieten down, boys. Let’s show our little guest some respect, hmm?” He doesn’t look angry as he glances around; he seems amused.
When he glances back at me, he pushes to his feet and holds out his hand toward me. “Come on, tiny, I can get you that ID. Let’s head to my office.”
Does he have an office here? That’s handy! I place my hand in his, despite my internal warnings not to touch him, and he gently leads me to a hallway past the bar.
Instead of turning into any of the rooms we pass, he leads us out the side door and into a parking lot filled with bikes.
The second I realize there’s no office here, I pull my hand from his and take a step backward toward the building. Tony stops and looks back at me with a raised eyebrow. “Is something wrong?"
“This isn’t your office,” I say, trying to sound confident and not like I’m about to pee my pants in fear.
He smirks as he turns to face me fully. I sense the other men and glance around, seeing all the men who had been with him in the bar have come outside, too. There must be at least a dozen of them, and they’re surrounding me.
“No, but I’m going to take you there. It’s at our home.”
“Can’t we do it here?” I ask, glancing around as my hands start to tremble.
What the hell have you gotten yourself into?
“You think I carry a camera, printer, and laminator around with me?” He raises an eyebrow, and I take a second to think about it. It would be stupid to think he could give me a realistic-looking ID without the proper equipment. Why hadn’t I thought of that?
“Will it take long?” I ask, hoping it can at least be done in under an hour, so I can get back to my terrible motel and away from them quickly.
“No, don’t worry, tiny. I’ll take good care of you.” Was it just me, or did he put a little too much emphasis on good? “Come on, my bike is right here. I’ll even let you wear the helmet. In fact, I insist you do.”
He steps over to a large motorcycle and opens a pack at the side, pulling out a helmet and holding it out for me.
Even though my entire body is screaming DON’T DO IT, I move toward him and take the helmet. I have terrible instincts, so I can’t trust them. Besides, there is no plan B. It’s just one hour, then I can go anywhere and be free of Robert and Ivan forever.
He helps me get the helmet on, then lifts me by my waist, making me squeak, as he places me on the back of his bike.
I have to quickly rearrange my dress so I’m not flashing him, and once he takes a seat in front of me and pushes his bike fully upright, kicking back the kickstand, he turns his head and tells me, “Move closer and wrap your arms around me.”
I do as he says as he starts the bike, and when we start moving, I grip him tighter, afraid of falling off. After a few minutes, my tension begins to fade. If it wasn’t for the circumstances or the company, I might actually enjoy the ride. Unfortunately, I’m not exactly thrilled with either.
I’m pleased it only takes ten minutes to reach his place. But I expected a house. This place is a compound. We roll up a gravel driveway, if you can even call it that, and park in front of several attached buildings that look more like a warehouse than a home.
“You live here?” I ask as he switches the bike off.
“Yes, now scoot back so I can get off.” I do as he says, and when he’s standing, he lifts me off, takes the helmet from me, and leaves it on the bike seat.
“Will you be able to call me a taxi when we’re done?”
He makes a small grunt, not confirming either way, then places his arm across my shoulders, leading me toward the buildings as his friends all park their bikes and follow us.
I want to push his arm off me—it makes me uncomfortable—but I don’t want to be rude or upset him.
When we step inside the building, there’s some music playing, and a handful of bikers hanging around on some grungy-looking couches that have seen better days.
But what really catches my eye are the women—dressed provocatively and—“Dios mio!” I exclaim in Spanish, throwing my hand up to cover my eyes.
That woman had no top on, and what was that man doing to her breasts?
Tony chuckles and pulls me closer to him as he leads us past them.
“Who’s the fresh meat?” someone yells as I drop my hand.
“Hands off. Tiny’s mine.”
His?
A chill goes up my spine, and I seriously start to wonder if I’ve misunderstood something here.
“Tony?” I say tentatively.
“Shh, we’re almost there.”
I nod and keep quiet, wanting to get to his office and get this over with as soon as possible. Maybe he just said that to keep them away from me?