Chapter Eight
Hadley
A knock on my door has me jolting upright and fear ratcheting inside me. I’d fallen asleep on the comfortable bed, lulled into a false sense of security. I can’t forget that I’m in enemy territory. Trapped and kept like a prisoner. I glance around my “cell” and frown. It’s the nicest room I’ve ever been in and that says a lot considering what I grew up in.
“Who is it?” I croak out.
“Stormy Jean.”
The blond club whore who was eyeing me like I was an alien. No, thank you.
“I’m not allowed to have visitors,” I lie.
She snorts. “And I’m probably not allowed to visit, but here we are. Put your panties on. I’m coming in.”
I roll my eyes because I’m still dressed in the horrible outfit I borrowed at Animal’s clubhouse. Stormy walks in, a picture of Southern biker babe perfection. She’s beautiful and not quite hardened like most of the club bitches are. There’s a predatory glint in her eyes that I home in on.
“What do you want?” I say not unkindly. “I was napping.” Okay, so that part didn’t come out exactly nice.
She tosses a handful of items onto my bed. “The guys let girls visit, but so far, I’m the only one they allow to stay. This is exciting.”
Yes, because being held prisoner by the man who killed your boyfriend is so very exciting. My chest aches whenever I think of Junior. I try not to let my last memory be of him hitting me or balls deep inside Juicy’s filthy cunt. I try to think about stargazing on the trampoline, heavy make out sessions when we were younger, and long phone calls where he spoke freely without his father’s influence. The good ol’ days.
“I brought you clothes and some shoes. Makeup. Whatever shit they have you wearing doesn’t fit well and looks homeless. If you’re going to be staying at the Man Mansion, then you gotta look hot. There are a ton of hotties to choose from. Except Filter. He’s mine.” She bats her lashes at me and smiles. “Surely you were eyeing one of them? Dragon maybe? You two would make beautiful babies. He’s crazy and I’m talking batshit crazy, but I bet he has a big dick.”
You don’t have confidence and swagger that practically drips from you unless you have the dick to back it up. I have no doubts Dragon is hung.
“Man Mansion, huh?” I’m amused by this. This whole MC is so different than the Roaring River MCs. Like characters out of a comic book.
“That’s my nickname for it. Koyn hates it. He calls it, and I quote,” she says deepening her voice, “‘the compound.’”
The compound.
Man Mansion does sound better.
“Is he always a dick?” I ask, picking up a silky top.
“Always. Without fail.” She grins. “It’s because he lost his wife and daughter. They were murdered.”
I gape at her. “Murdered?”
“Yep. It’s totally hush-hush, but everyone knows. I wouldn’t bring it up if I were you. He gets a crazy look in his eyes sometimes and it scares me far worse than Dragon ever could.”
“Are you in love with Filter?”
My question must catch her off guard because her smile falters and her eyes dart to the side. “Yes. Of course I am. Just gotta convince him I’m good enough to be his old lady.”
I’ve been around Magna long enough to sniff out liars. It’s what he was best at. I had to become the best to outsmart him. Tell my lies and believe them as truths.
“Hmm,” is all I say.
“I could fuck Dragon if I want. And believe me, girl, I want. Just to see what he feels like. To see if he’s as wild in bed as he is in real life. It could be fun.” Her brows knit together. “But I’m not here to have fun. I’m here to be with Filter.”
Stepford wife, much?
And I thought the bitches my dad knows and runs around with were bad.
“They kidnapped me,” I tell her boldly. “Killed my boyfriend and everyone I knew.”
Her gaze darkens. “Did they…touch you?”
No, that was my boyfriend and his dad.
“Not like that. No.”
Relief floods her features. “Good. I…I did not want to deal with that today.”
“How exactly were you planning on dealing with it if it were the truth?” I challenge, curious about this woman.
She plasters on a fake smile. “I’d whip their asses. Now put on something cute and fix your face. Bermuda and I went to the store. Got all kinds of fixins for the Q.”
“Q?”
“Barbeque, baby. Everyone’ll be here. It’s the best part of the month because I’m included and not treated like an outsider.”
“Who is everyone?” My heart rate picks up as I ponder my escape plan. If I can slip into someone else’s car, maybe I can ride on out of here.
“Family and friends. The Tulsa Royal Bastards chapter is small. Probably one of the smallest. Koyn is super fucking paranoid and doesn’t let just anyone patch in. It’s also why this joint’s not overrun by club whores. Not sure why I got the free pass, but I’ll take it.” She waggles her brows. “Must be all the anal.”
I snort. “I wouldn’t brag about that.”
“Why not?” she asks, clearly offended.
“You want them to keep you around because you let Filter put it up your ass?”
She shrugs. “It’s my claim to fame.”
A giggle erupts from me and she smiles happily at my response. “Fine. I’m ready to get out of these clothes anyway. And if I’m going to be a prisoner, at least I can be a hot one.”
“Then, maybe Prez can get laid for once.”
I scowl. “I’m not fucking that psycho. Besides, I remind him of his daughter. That’s what I gathered anyway.”
Her head cocks to the side. “How old are you, hon?”
“Eighteen.”
“Too young, baby.”
“So I’ve been told by Dragon. But don’t worry, I’m not planning on sleeping with anyone, especially Koyn. He’s old.”
Stormy cackles. “Oh my God, bitch, don’t let him hear you say that!”
“He acts like he’s my damn dad, so I’m sure he already knows. How old is he anyway?”
“Late forties, I think.” She stretches out on the bed, her boobs nearly falling out of her tank. “He’s a tough nut to crack. I flirt with him every chance I get. Since Filter doesn’t want to claim me as his old lady, I figure maybe it might do Prez some good to get laid. He never bites, though. Maybe he’ll bite you.” She smirks. “Though that’s kind of a huge age gap and kinda weird.”
I don’t tell her just last night I sucked Magna’s dick and he’s hella old. I’m not a schoolgirl virgin. Age means nothing in the MC world.
“I’m not sleeping with him. Ever.”
“Just swear you won’t bone Bizzy. We so can’t be friends if you have sex with that idiot.”
“I’m not having sex with anyone here.”
“Not even me?” she purrs, waggling her brows.
“Especially not you. I don’t have a dick, anal girl. You’re on your own.”
Her giggles are infectious and I find myself feeling lighter for the first time in a long time, which makes zero sense considering my past twenty-four hours.
Turns out, Stormy isn’t their cook. She just pretends. If anyone is the cook, it’s Bermuda. He knows his way around the kitchen and doesn’t burn, spill, break anything in his path like she does. The girl tries, though.
I like Stormy.
It’s not her fault she’s in love with the VP of a murdering MC. I think of her as someone like me. Victims of our hearts. She’s bubbly and sassy and fearless. Unlike Juicy and some of the other girls back at my old clubhouse, she’s refreshing.
“It’s not that hard,” Bermuda says as he skins a potato. “Just like cutting the flesh off some asshole.”
I curl my lip up and he laughs.
“Bermuda is a softie,” Stormy tattles. “Look at those cheeks. A face only a momma could love.” She tries to pinch his cheeks and he swats her away.
“Do they always make you cook for the barbeques?” I ask, frowning.
“Nah. Prez says we could cater in sides and shit from Rib Crib, but I like cooking. Gibson’s brother Randy makes the best brisket. Nees’s momma will bring desserts because she’s a fucking baking queen. We all pitch in.”
It’s all so…cute.
They’re like a family.
I’m not sure why, but it ruffles my feathers. Irritates me. Makes me nervous.
I throw my attention into my tasks. The three of us make potato salad, pasta salad, a broccoli type salad with crunchy noodles in it, baked beans, and some fluffy fruit nonsense that I can’t seem to keep my fingers out of.
“Randy just pulled up,” Gibson calls out, peeking into the kitchen.
Bermuda flips his ball cap around and gives my bottom a pat on the way out. I frown and shoot a look Stormy’s way.
“These boys are ass grabbers. Get used to it. They’re affectionate in that sense and don’t mean nothin’ by it.”
I scowl as I stick the fluffy fruit bowl back into the fridge so I won’t eat any more of it. “It’s a good way to get their asses kicked.”
She puts her hands on her hips and lifts a brow. “You gonna kick their asses? Bermuda used to play football for OU right out of high school. He’s probably slapped every ass on that team the same way he slapped yours.”
It’s not like he made me suck his dick.
I guess I am being a bitch.
“Whatever,” I grumble.
“Now if Dragon grabs your ass, you gotta watch him. His hand will wander right into your pants.” She shrugs. “I mean, it’s not the worst thing to happen. You’ve seen the guy.”
My thighs clench. Ugh, ignore the hot bad guys. “I’ll cut his hand off if he tries.”
Her eyes flash with worry. “Don’t tell him that.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” She frowns. “You should go home.”
I’m stung by her sudden change of heart toward me. “Why? Because I don’t want Dragon’s hand in my pants?”
“No,” she hisses. “Because you look like you might get off on taunting him and Dragon isn’t one you taunt. I don’t think he’d hurt a girl, but I don’t know. You’d do best going home. Don’t you have a family that’s worried about you?”
“I’m not going home.” I let out a sigh of defeat. “And I won’t taunt the dragon.”
Her shoulders relax. “Good girl. Now let’s go find something to drink. Momma’s thirsty.”
I follow her outside where “A Country Boy Can Survive” by Hank Williams, Jr. plays on the outdoor speakers. People are milling about as several of the guys are setting up outdoor tables. I see a few women chatting it up as Bermuda, Gibson, and some guy who must be Randy unload big metal trays of food from the back of a Tahoe.
It’s all so…easy.
I don’t do easy.
Easy makes me un easy.
My hackles rise and I search out the threats. What’s hiding behind the false sense of security? Dragon sits in a lawn chair, kicked back and talking to the guy named Katana. They’re both sharpening knives. Definitely the threat in this homey scene.
A little girl with brown pigtails runs over to Dragon and bounces into his lap. He grins at her, dropping his knife into the grass to tickle her.
He may look like an adoring uncle, but I’m not fooled.
Stormy prances over to Filter, who emerges from the garage, grease smeared on his bare chest. I rake my gaze down the golden god’s body, appreciating the view for a moment, before looking for him.
Prez.
Koyn the boyfriend murdering bastard.
As I search through the growing crowd of people, I take note of the property. Trees surround the compound . The house is massive and so is the garage beside it. The back patio is covered and filled with chairs. I walk to the edge of the house and peek around the corner. A giant pool fills the space and to my surprise there are kids already diving in. It must be heated.
What kind of Twilight Zone am I in?
Man Mansion. Giggling kids. Heated pools. Fucking brisket.
The shindigs we had with the Roaring River MCs were wild and insane and filthy. This reminds me too much of a time when I lived at home and was part of a real family. The urge to escape intensifies.
I need a plan.
One that doesn’t involve blatantly sneaking off. Because I’m not stupid. I see the cameras. I notice the way Dragon’s smile is for the little girl, but his green eyes are locked on mine. It doesn’t get past me that Filter watches me like a hawk even as he gropes Stormy’s ass. These guys aren’t your usual run-of-the-mill bikers. They’re smarter and more calculating. Vicious monsters who choose to hide behind smiles and money.
I’m not fooled.
I gaze at the woods, wishing it were that easy. It’s then I see someone. Hidden in the shadows. It’s the one they call Payne.
“What the fuck?” I mutter. What a creep! How long has he been standing there watching me?
I beam at him and give him my middle finger. I see you, asshole. Problem is, they all see me. My plan has to be smarter. More detailed. Intricate. I need to warm these people up, earn their trust, and then skip the fuck out of town when they least expect it.
For tonight, I’ll drink, maybe dance a little, and eat more of that fluffy fruity nonsense.