Chapter 6 Bonnie
BONNIE
The buzz of Snake’s tattoo machine fills the shop, rhythmic as a heartbeat.
There are four more days until the wedding, and I’m working on a client’s shoulder blade, shading in the petals of a rose that wraps around an old scar. Mrs. Collin, sixty-three years old, is getting her first tattoo to cover up where her ex-husband burned her with a cigarette forty years ago.
“You’re doing great,” I tell her as she winces slightly. “Almost done with this section.”
“Take your time, honey.” Her voice is steady despite the pain. “I’ve waited four decades for this. Another hour won’t kill me.”
Snake glances over from his station, where he’s finishing up a full sleeve on a client. His eyes meet mine, and he nods approval at my work. For three years, he’s been teaching me, and I still get a thrill when he’s pleased with what I do.
The front door chimes, and Louie walks in—Snake’s boyfriend of five years, carrying takeout bags that smell like Chinese food.
“Lunch break,” Louie announces, setting the bags on the front desk. “Got enough for everyone if your clients are hungry.”
“We’re good,” Snake says, wiping down his client’s arm. “Give us twenty minutes to finish up.”
Louie nods and disappears into the back office. I focus on Mrs. Collin’s rose, adding shadows that make the petals look three-dimensional. When I’m done, I clean the area and wrap it carefully.
“Beautiful work, Bonnie.” Mrs. Collin examines it in the mirror, tears in her eyes. “I can finally look at this part of me without seeing him.”
Those words sting me, because in a few days I’ll have marks on my body from a man I don’t want, and no amount of ink will cover up what that means.
“Come back in two weeks so we can check on it,” I tell her, pushing the thought away. “And keep it clean.”
After she leaves, I clean my station while Snake finishes with his client. Louie emerges from the office with plates of food.
“Orange chicken for you,” he says, handing me a plate. “Extra spicy like you like it.”
“Thanks, Louie.”
We eat at the front desk, watching people walk past the windows.
“You’re doing good work,” Snake says quietly. “That rose on Mrs. Collin was some of your best shading yet.”
“Thanks.”
He sets down his fork and looks at me directly. “I meant what I said last week. You’ve got real talent, kid. Don’t let anyone make you forget that.”
He knows this might be the last time I sit in his shop as his apprentice.
“I won’t,” I manage.
“You’re going to be okay.” Louie appears behind Snake and squeezes his shoulder.
“You don’t know that,” I say quietly.
“No,” Snake admits. “But I know you’re tougher than you think. And I know you’ll find a way to survive this.”
I want to believe him. Want to think I’ll come out the other side of this marriage still myself. But I know better.
The afternoon passes too fast. By the time we close up at six, my hands ache and my throat is tight with unshed tears.
Snake pulls me into a hug at the door. “You know where to find me if you need me. Anytime. For anything.”
“I know.”
“I mean it, Bonnie. You’re not alone in this.”
I nod and force a smile before heading out to where my Softail waits in the parking lot.
The ride back to the clubhouse is too short. I pull into the lot and kill the engine, staring at the building that’s been my home my entire life.
Four more days. Four more days of freedom before everything changes.
Inside, the clubhouse is busy with the dinner rush. Brothers at tables eating and drinking, and old ladies serving food. I try to slip past unnoticed, but my father’s voice stops me.
“Bonnie. My office. Now.”
Every head turns to watch as I follow him down the hallway. Whatever this is, it’s not good. The door closes behind us with a heavy thunk.
“Sit,” he says.
“I’d rather stand.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. “Tomorrow morning, you’re going to the Savage Legion compound.”
My stomach drops. “The wedding’s not for four more days—”
“This isn’t about the wedding. It’s about their tradition.” He won’t meet my eyes. “They consummate before the marriage ceremony. Not after.”
The words don’t make sense for a moment. Then they do, and I want to throw up.
“You’re sending me there to fuck him before we’re even married?”
“Watch your mouth—”
“No.” Fury burns through the nausea. “You’re literally pimping out your daughter, and you want me to watch my mouth?”
His face goes red. “This is their tradition and part of the agreement.”
“Part of the agreement.” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Did you negotiate how rough he’s allowed to be? Did you ask for a safe word?”
“Bonnie—”
“What kind of father does this?” My voice cracks despite my best efforts. “What kind of man sends his nineteen-year-old daughter to sleep with a monster?”
“The kind of man who’s trying to save his club!” He slams his hand on the desk. “You think I want this? You think this doesn’t destroy me?”
“Then don’t do it.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Yes, you do. You’re just too much of a coward to make the hard choice.”
The slap comes so fast, I don’t see it coming. My head snaps to the side, cheek exploding with pain. We both pause, him staring at his hand like it belongs to someone else, me touching my face in shock.
He’s never hit me before. Not once in nineteen years.
“Bonnie—” His voice cracks. “I didn’t mean—”
“Tomorrow morning,” I say quietly. “What time?”
“Eight. One of Marcus’s men will pick you up.”
I turn and walk out without another word. My cheek throbs in time with my heartbeat, but the physical pain is nothing compared to the knowledge that my own father just hit me to shut me up about my impending rape.
Because that’s what this is. Dressed up in tradition and agreements, but rape all the same.
I make it to my room before the tears start. Sink onto my bed and let them come, hot and furious and useless. Crying won’t change anything. Won’t save me. Won’t make tomorrow not happen.
Eventually, I run out of tears. I wash my face, avoid looking at the red mark on my cheek, and crawl into bed fully clothed.
My life really ends tomorrow.
Morning comes in the blink of an eye.
I dress carefully—jeans, tank top, leather jacket. Downstairs, the clubhouse is quiet except for a few early risers in the kitchen.
Ash and Ghost are at a table with coffee, but I walk past without acknowledging them. I can’t deal with that right now. Can’t handle seeing the anger or pity or whatever else might be in their eyes.
At exactly eight, a black SUV pulls into the lot. The driver is Savage Legion—I can tell from the patch on his vest. Mid-forties, scarred face, with dead eyes.
“Miss McKenzie,” he says.
“That’s me.”
He opens the back door. I climb in and he shuts it behind me, sealing me in leather seats and tinted windows. The door locks click, and my heart rate spikes.
There’s no going back now.
The drive takes forty minutes. We leave Ruthless Devils territory and cross into neutral ground, then into Savage Legion land. I watch the scenery change through the window.
Their territory is cleaner than ours. Streets well-maintained, businesses thriving and people going about their lives without the edge of desperation I’m used to. Money flows here. The dirty kind.
The compound sits on the outskirts, surrounded by high walls and security cameras. The gates open as we approach, and I get my first real look at Savage Legion headquarters.
It’s beautiful. Not the run-down clubhouse I expected, but something that looks more like an expensive hotel with three stories.
The brutality is underneath. Guards at every entrance, cameras tracking every angle, and men with guns patrol the perimeter.
We pull up to the front entrance, and the driver comes around to open my door. “This way.”
Inside is even more impressive. Marble floors, expensive art on the walls, furniture that costs more than cars. Everything screams wealth, power, and the ability to take whatever they want.
A woman approaches—blonde, late thirties, and wearing designer clothes. She looks me over with a cold assessment. “I’m Melissa. VP’s old lady.” Her voice is clipped. “President Stone is expecting you.”
She leads me deeper into the building. We pass brothers who watch me with varying degrees of interest and hunger. I keep my eyes forward and my spine straight.
I refuse to let them see fear.
We stop outside the double doors. Melissa knocks once, and a voice calls out to enter.
The office is massive. Expansive windows overlook the compound, an opulent desk faces the door, and leather furniture is arranged in a sitting area. Behind the desk sits Marcus Stone.
He looks maybe thirty-five. Much younger than I expected. His face is the kind of handsome that turns heads—strong jaw, full lips, eyes the color of ice.
Is that a good thing? I mean, it’s one thing to be manhandled by an old, smelly man and another by a young, handsome one. I’ll take the latter because I’m assured my nightmares won’t be all that terrifying.
“Bonnie McKenzie.” He stands, revealing a height that matches Ash’s and a build that says he knows how to fight. “Finally.”
My father stands from one of the chairs. I hadn’t seen him there. He won’t meet my eyes.
“President Stone.” I keep my voice neutral. “Thank you for the invitation.”
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Please, call me Marcus. We’re going to be very well acquainted soon.”
This makes my skin crawl.
“Your father and I have some final details to discuss.” Marcus gestures to Melissa. “She’ll show you where to wait.”
Melissa’s hand on my arm is firm as she guides me out. The doors close behind us, and I’m separated from my father.
She leads me through hallways to an elevator, down to a basement level that makes my anxiety spike. But when the doors open, it’s not a dungeon.
It’s a club.