Chapter Seven – AthenaFelix
The headlamps momentarily blinded me until Fendi’s body was shoved in my line of vision and a shotgun was pumped.
“No!” I screamed, the next blast almost deafening me. A plume of guts and gore polluted the air. “Fendi!”
“Only good Harlot is a dead one.”
I trembled as if I’d been shot, but the sound of Thirteen’s voice chilled me more than my frozen surroundings ever could.
She, Chantilly, and Trixie’s bright headlamps illuminated the area, allowing me to see their cuts and Bloody Femmes insignia.
Why were they here, and who set us up?
Those three cunts smirked at Fendi’s body. I pressed my lips together, searching for a way to de-escalate the situation. Not only for me to survive, but so I could get my VP away. If they took her, they’d desecrate her remains.
“Hand over the briefcase,” Trixie demanded, pointing a revolver shotgun at my heart while Chantilly aimed an Uzi at my head.
“I want that fucking money, Athena,” Thirteen spat.
I looked around, praying for a small opening, a way to distract them, but finding nothing. “Fuck you.”
They’d take the briefcase once they gunned me down, but no fucking way would I just hand it over. Fuck them.
Trixie opened fire. Not on me, but on Fendi. Again.
The bullets tore into her flesh, ruining her a little more. I’d held my dead baby in my arms, so fuck them.
Seemingly through a tunnel, I watched Thirteen reload her shotgun, put it to Fendi’s temple, and pull the trigger. Her head exploded, and I leaned over and vomited.
“Give me the fucking briefcase, Athena,” she ordered again, aware she’d just completely fucked with my head. I was defenseless and at their mercy, which left me no choice but to allow their abuse of my VP.
“Roman’s dead,” Thirteen spat, brimming with anger and resentment. “All the brothers from the KC chapter are.”
What the fuck did she want me to say?
“On your fucking knees,” Trixie ordered, a wad of spit hurtling from her mouth.
Still clutching the briefcase, I dropped to my knees. Thirteen sauntered forward and jammed her reloaded shotgun against my temple.
My eyes flew open. Drenched in sweat, I blinked, and my heart pounded. It took me a moment to realize that I’d been dreaming about that awful night, and that I was currently safe…
Safe…
“Doc?”
No response.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but I only saw blood and gore. As if I’d faced her. The entire scene replayed in my head. Fendi landing on my back. The shotgun they put to her head…
A shudder ran through me, but I allowed no other reaction.
This world wasn’t for the weak and the meek. In my experience, my existence diminished every time a tear slid down my cheek. It exposed a frailty, a fact that something in my world had gone horribly wrong.
My lost virginity in exchange for two hundred fifty dollars because my father pissed away that same amount after Mama earned it on her back.
Choosing between Warrior and my family when starry-eyed love sent me into his arms. Until him, sex, my body, had been currency.
Finding out my parents had been killed by one of Mama’s johns.
Losing my baby. Warrior’s ultimatum and the discovery that he was fucking Fendi as revenge.
Devastating events that ripped me to pieces and exposed all my vulnerabilities. Some people shed ‘happy’ tears because maybe they were able to compartmentalize. Or maybe they hadn’t endured my trauma.
Yet, every time I thought about Fendi, I came close to breaking down. Even as I hoped she’d somehow survived, I knew that was a pipe dream. She was gone, and not only in the dead sense. They’d taken her. They’d taken Razor’s money. Not that it mattered, because the blame lay at his feet.
Motherfucker. Traitorous old noodle-dick fuckhead. He’d set us up and would make us the scapegoats. There was no fucking way those cunts would’ve known our location without someone feeding them that information.
That money hadn’t been for Roman Mac’s help. It was a Bloody Femme payoff to fuck us up.
But why? What had we ever done to Razor except prove our loyalty through blood and sweat?
Our shops earned money for the Bastards, enough that we sent a percentage to the KC chapter, to National, and to Duchess, and still had enough to give my club members a decent amount.
Whenever Razor, Jameson, or Duchess had a job for us, we never complained.
We got it done with smiles on our faces and determination in our hearts.
So, what fucking reason would Razor have to order our deaths?
An even more alarming thought settled into me, and I shot into a sitting position, then moaned. Fucking gunshots. Those bitches hurt, yet I was pretty mobile all things considered. Either Dr. Feel Good was a crack surgeon, or the injuries weren’t as bad as I imagined.
Dr. Feel Good. Bet he wouldn’t like either Motley Crue’s song or Aretha’s.
Snickering, I scooted to the edge of the bed, grunting the entire way, but I needed to piss, and I didn’t want to deal with that snooty motherfucker when all I wanted to do was sob.
In the two days since I awakened, I’d gotten stronger. Mainly because Dr. Feel Good was also Dr. Fuckhead, insisting I walk to get my strength and ordering my every move as if he had the fucking right.
We were in a waiting game for that massive amount of snow to fucking melt enough so he could get help for me and send me on my happy way. Probably never to think about me again.
Asshole.
It was shitty to feel so weak when I didn’t have Mama, Juno, or Lake to comfort me. Even Jinx would’ve been nice. We commiserated over lost babies. Fucked up type of bond, but whatever.
Roman Mac, with his fine ass, would’ve been even better. So, I was a vindictive bitch to sleep with an enemy of the Bastards, but I’d also been crushed after I discovered Warrior and Fendi were fucking.
I squinted.
Well, goddamn. I hadn’t thought about how good Warrior’s arms once felt around me. How he’d comforted me after my parents’ deaths and vowed vengeance.
His presence annoyed me now because his fucking ego blew up our lives.
Yes, I listened to him for everything. It was what had drawn me to him.
He gave me structure and protection. In the world he created for me, I didn’t have to worry about anything if I followed his commands.
If things became too intense, then I had safe words for all aspects of our lives.
After I lost the baby, though, I spiraled.
I resented his dominance, my submission. He was the one who first brought me to the Haven but balked when I wanted to prospect. I did it anyway, so he made me choose.
My bladder throbbed. I got the message and staggered to my feet, gritting my teeth at the pain in my thigh that traveled to the other wounds and spread throughout my fucking body.
Grateful for the lanterns that cut through the darkness and wishing the electricity would come back on, I started toward the closest door, then halted, huffing and puffing.
Limping wasn’t cutting it. I was still in massive pain, so I dragged my injured leg. Sweat popped off me thanks to the exertion, which made me realize the fire was dying down again. I didn’t have the fucking energy to stoke it.
Reaching door number one, I leaned against it and then threw it open. Not a fucking bathroom but a closet. I made my way to the second door and found it locked, so I knocked.
“I need to pee,” I called, then tried the knob again. Nothing.
I’m certain the fancy schmancy cabin had another bathroom, leaving me no choice but to go in search of it. Opening the bedroom door, I peeped out, finding it even chillier in the little hallway than it was in the bedroom.
It was so silent, he must’ve been asleep on the couch. Maybe, after I peed, I’d make my way to him to see if he had enough covers. I wouldn’t want him to freeze to death. And hopefully, he’d give me something else for the pain.
The first door was a storage closet filled with supplies and canned food. The second door opened to a linen closet.
Fuck me!
I squeezed my legs together, wishing I could do the pee hop, but my thigh was hurting too much.
Finally, I reached the third door on the other side of the living area with the high ceiling and tall beams. Unlike the kerosene lanterns in the bedroom, there were battery-operated ones strewn about in strategic places, giving off just enough light that I wouldn’t fall and break my neck.
Expecting to find the fucking Easter Bunny behind this door, I jerked it open, already annoyed, thanking the stars for my Kegel exercises that Warrior once demanded I do.
Squeeze the pussy and release. Squeeze. Release. Much more fun on a cock—especially certain ones—but it still helped.
Giggling, I zeroed in on the toilet, ensnared by the cozy warmth of a small fireplace and more than a few kerosene lamps. “Fuck yeah!” I shouted, then glanced around.
The doctor’s stiff cock registered first. Honed thighs and long legs, both deliciously hairy, seeped through my shock next.
I took in his narrow waist, hard stomach, wide shoulders, and a towel wrapped around his neck.
He stood at the wash basin, shamelessly displaying a body many only dreamed about.
I wanted to look away. Truly. Ordinarily, I would never hang around someone so uptight and arrogant. He wasn’t my type for so many different reasons, but mainly because that motherfucker thought he was better than me.
His dark blue, assessing gaze sent shivers through me.
Goddamn.
I didn’t want to make a stupid decision. But pleasure jolted through me as I took in the displeasure in his dark blue eyes, saw his thinning lips, and glanced at his bobbing dick.
He narrowed his eyes, and I saw a message. Unspoken but unmistakable. I dropped my gaze.
“I-I need to pee,” I managed, almost adding sir . My heart pounded; I’d lost my fucking mind.
Warrior was the only man who’d ever had that power over me. It was a give/take arrangement. I gave him the power, and he pushed me to my limits because I allowed it.