by Colbie Kay
Copyright © 2020 by COLBIE KAY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the content is a model.
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher, Colbie Kay. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without premising from Colbie Kay.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 ( http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/ ). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights and livelihood is appreciated.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Designer: T.E. Black with T.E. Black Designs
Photographer: Gigi Hoggard, Gigi Photography Studios
Model: Cristina Evans Maine
Formatter and Editor: Maria Vickers
Created with Vellum
Contents
Dedication
A Note From Colbie Kay
1. Shug
2. Cody
3. Shug
4. Cody
5. Shug
6. Cody
7. Shug
8. Ghost
9. Cody
10. Shug
11. Cody
12. Shug
13. Cody
Epilogue
Play List
Acknowledgments
All About Colbie Kay
Also By Colbie Kay
To my readers…
This book takes place between Night Sky and Returning Home in my Satan's Sinners M.C. series. A part of this story first appeared in the Ridin' Dirty Anthology.
To the outside world, I’m Sonya Collins. I’m just a normal twenty-two-year-old woman, a college graduate, a friend, or a young woman who works at a clothing store. You always see me smiling, laughing, being happy, just like any normal woman. This is who I am.
To the M.C. world, I’m Shug. I’m the club whore, the sweet butt, the club girl, or whatever else you want to label me as. I'm the woman up for anything, the woman who lays down and spreads her legs, the woman who likes to party. This is also who I am.
I didn't choose the life I live in the M.C. world; I was born into it. I don't want to be a club whore, but it’s what I am. I don't want to live a double life, but I have no choice.
I'm not the typical club whore where I have this unrealistic fantasy that someday I’ll become an Ol' Lady. I’m indebted to the club, and I pay them back with my body. Maybe one day, I'll get out, but I'm not holding my breath. I'm not hoping, praying, or wishing for it. Does that shit really happen anyway? Like you can really do that—make a wish, snap your fingers, and then it happens. I don't fucking think so!
Could I ever really hope, pray, or wish that I would find that nice guy outside of the club? That he would come in to swoop me off my feet, carry me away, be my knight in shining armor like every little girl dreams? Could I really get my happily ever after? Yeah, fucking right. It might happen, that is, until he finds out that I'm mixed in with the Satan's Sinners and spend my free time as a whore for them. Then he would run away faster than me in a church. Get it? A whore in church.
I’m pulled from my thoughts when my phone starts blaring the song Fancy for the fifth time in a row. I figure it must be important because whoever it is won't quit calling, I may as well answer the damn thing. Grabbing it from my purse underneath the counter, I glance at the caller I.D., seeing my best friend's name across the screen. "Hello," I say as soon as I answer it.
She squeals into the phone, and I have to pull it away from my ear. Her high-pitch voice makes me grimace. “Tomorrow night, you and me, fair and rodeo, baby!"
Her excitement is contagious, causing me to chuckle. "Pudge, you couldn't wait until I was off of work to call me?"
"Fuck no, girl! What the hell's wrong with you? This is an emergency! Did you hear me? I said rodeo, and what does the rodeo have, Sonya?" She sounds serious, and I can't help except laugh harder. The days fair and rodeo are in town is her favorite time of the year.
I huff out a breath before trying to appease her. “The rodeo has hot cowboys."
"That's right, bitch! And what comes with hot cowboys?"
I roll my eyes even though she can’t see me, but I’m grinning like a schoolgirl. "Stetsons, cowboy boots, and those tight as fuck Wranglers!” We both burst into laughter, making me forget for a minute that I’m still at work. "Alright, let me talk to Ever and see if I can get the night off. I'll call you later. Love you."
"Okay, love you too, girl."
Hanging up, I dart my eyes around the empty store, quietly thanking God that I’m still by myself except for Demon in the back. It would've been very unprofessional for someone to hear that conversation. I’m grateful to Ever for giving me this chance to work in her store, for seeing something in me, and I will do everything in my power not to disappoint her. The other Ol’ Ladies are nice and all, but I know they only see me for what I am. Ever doesn’t; she’s different.
As for Pudge, I met her during our freshman year of college at Wichita State University. Neither of us knew what the hell we were doing or where we were going, and we were all alone. I don't know if it was fate or what, but we ended up as roomies in the dorm, too. We formed a fast friendship and have been mostly inseparable ever since. She’s the only one outside of the club who knows what I do at the compound, especially since I moved back in there once we graduated college. She wanted me to move in with her, however, since I have a debt I’m paying, I decided it would be better to go back to the Sinners. Pudge has never been to the clubhouse, and I wouldn't want her there. I never want her to see me in that lifestyle. Bless her heart, though, she never judges me or asks questions, and I love her even more for it.
I asked her once why her name was Pudge because I didn’t get it, she’s beautiful. She’s the opposite of me in every way, from her shoulder-length blonde hair to her sun-kissed skin. She isn't fat or pudgy, but she said she got the nickname as a kid when she was a chubby little shit, and the name stuck. That made me laugh my ass off; she's been Pudge to me ever since.
Seeing I have one hour left until I get out of here for the night, I decide it’s time to start checking the inventory. About halfway through, the store phone begins to ring. Stepping to the counter, I answer, "Lady Sinners Clothing and More, this is Sonya. How may I help you?"
"Shug, how is everything?" Ever's voice comes through the line. About six months ago, she got a cochlear implant, and while her speech is slurred, monotone, and a little higher pitched than before, it's getting easier to understand her every day. It proves she’s doing fantastic in her therapy, and I'm happy for her. I know writing shit down for me had to get old, even though she never complained about it. Now that she has the implant, she calls about five times a day to check-in. I think she mostly does it since she can use the phone and talk. She never had that privilege before. Ever has this brilliant kind of light
that shines in her eyes when she hears a new sound or speaks to someone and never takes anything for granted when it comes to hearing. She holds it in, savoring it, reveling in it.
"Everything’s great. Demon’s in the back, doing the books. I'm about to start my clean up and finish the inventory. It’s been a slow night. I’ve only had a few customers since the last time I talked to you.” I repeat the same words I tell her every night before closing. "I wanted to ask you if there was any way I could have tomorrow night off?"
"Is everything okay?" Worry can be heard in her tone. I never ask off, so it’s no wonder she’s concerned. That and being the wife of Writer, one of Satan's Sinners members, has got to be stressful. I don’t know club business, but it seems like those men always have some shit coming their way.
I rush to assure her, "Oh yeah, everything’s fine. I realize I never ask off, but a friend asked me—"
Ever cuts in before I can finish, “You don't have to explain anything, I only wanted to make sure everything was okay. You work hard, Shug, you deserve a night off. Go have fun with your friend.”
"Thank you!” I couldn't ask for a better boss than her. She’s pretty amazing. “Are you at the clubhouse?”
"No, we won't be there tonight. X had a long day playing with all the other kids. He's down for the night." Ever's laugh rings out, and it’s a beautiful sound to hear. I admire her a lot. I bet Xander runs her ragged now that he’s crawling everywhere.
"Okay, I'm going to finish here and head over there. Have a good night."
"You too."
Hanging up, I flip the switch on the open sign, shutting it off, then I go finish my work. After the inventory is counted and the floors have been swept, I stock racks and shelves with the merchandise we have stored in the back room. I count the money in my register and write down my totals, grinning when I verify that it’s not missing one penny and take it to Demon in the office. “Here you go.” I hand him the blue bag to put in the safe.
His response is a low grunt, and he doesn’t lift his head to look at or acknowledge me. I roll my eyes and grab my backpack off the empty chair before leaving the office and heading to the bathroom.
Slipping out of my knee-length baby blue skirt and white button-down top, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I shake off the sickening thoughts of what I’ll be doing tonight and start pulling what I need out of my backpack. Leaving on my white silky bra and panties, I replace my conservative clothes with a pair of fishnet hose, black booty shorts, and a cut-off white top that barely covers my well-endowed breasts. My baby blue ballerina slippers get turned in for black thigh-high heeled boots.
I pull my hair out of the tight ponytail, letting my dark locks fall around my shoulders and down my back. My fingers fluff my hair, messing it up a little for more volume. Next, I rid my face of the light makeup only to reapply with thicker eyeliner, heavier eyeshadow, and brighter lipstick. If I'm going to be a whore, I might as well look like one, right? Lastly, I pull on my knee-length black coat, hiding the way I’m dressed for when I walk out of this building. That's all I need, to be mistaken for a hooker.
After shoving my stuff down into my backpack, I clean the bathroom and make sure the trash is empty. I retrieve my purse from under the sales counter in the shop and meet Demon in the office, plopping down into the empty chair. “You about ready?”
Another grunt in response. I give him an over-exaggerated sigh and pull my phone out of my purse to play a game while I wait. An hour later, I’m in my car heading to the clubhouse with him behind me on his Harley.
I sit in my car for a few minutes, staring at the one place I don’t want to be: the clubhouse. It makes me angry to come here, but at the same time, I have a feeling of gratefulness for what the club has done for me. Sighing, I tap on the phone screen and hit Pudge’s name in my contacts. While waiting for her to answer, I glance into the rearview mirror and check my makeup. “Hey, girl!”
I smile when I hear her voice. Pudge always gives me a sense of peace within myself, and she doesn’t realize it. I don’t know what I would ever do without her. "You and me, tomorrow night, fair and rodeo." I laugh into the phone.
"Yay! She gave you the night off! Oh my God, I'm excited! We’re going to have so much fun."
My eyes are glued to the clubhouse as I respond absently, "Yeah, we are."
Pudge must hear something in my voice because she’s quiet for a minute. "Where are you?"
I mumble, "The clubhouse."
"You gonna be okay?" Her tone turns serious, which doesn't happen very often. “You know you can move in here with me anytime, right?”
I sigh into the phone. "Yeah, I'll be fine. I gotta go."
"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow. If you need anything, just call me. Love you, girl." "I love you too." I throw my phone into my bag and remove my coat. I don’t need to wear it here, there’s no point in trying to hide my body.
I stand outside of my car with my hand still on the door as I stare at the clubhouse. “It’s just another day.” I breathe and square my shoulders before strutting toward the clubhouse door.
When I step inside, the stench of alcohol and smoke surrounds me. It takes every ounce of nerve I have not to turn around and run to my car. I could easily escape, but in the back of my mind, Bulk’s voice screams at me. Loud music blares in my ears, and the sight before me makes me want to vomit. You would think that I’d be used to this life by now, it’s all I’ve ever known, but that’s not the case. I’m not used to it, and I never will be. I don’t want this, which makes me hate it all the more.
Once you cross over that threshold and enter the compound of a motorcycle club, it's like stepping into a whole new universe. You're in the world of outlaws, criminals, guys who won't hesitate to take you down. They handle business themselves even if that means someone has to die.
Outside the compound gates, where law-abiding citizens roam, if there is a hint of trouble, people pick up the phone to call the police. Here, it’s different. The club has its own set of rules and laws. Two vastly different worlds that survive in the same space.
The bar is lined with bikers wearing their cuts and showing off what they represent. The whores like me are barely clothed as they run about, trying to catch the eye of one man, or several, in the hope they’ll be picked for the night. Most of them have this dream of showing a man a good enough time that he'll put that property cut on her back. It’s a fucking stupid dream, and they need to get their heads out of the clouds. I hate to break it to these bitches, but it's never going to happen. All they are ever going to be are whores with holes that these guys use to get their dick wet.
The hang-arounds tend to stay close to the tables, minding their own business. They want somewhere to party and to have a good time, but they don't want to piss off one of the members. If they do that, then they’re banned, never to return. There have been a few instances where one felt frisky, but they were quickly shut down and thrown out.
I’m heading down the hall toward Hanger’s office when Chayser stops me. "You're with me tonight, Shug."
I give him my best fake smile. “Yeah, okay. Just give me a minute, I have to talk to Hanger."
His hand lands on my ass with a hard smack, making me grit my teeth to keep my mouth shut. "Sure thing. Come find me when you're done." I nod as he leaves me standing here.
I'm kind of thankful it's Chayser tonight. He's become a friend, I guess you could say. He's one of the gentler guys and young, which is a plus. Sometimes, the guys get too wasted, not realizing what they’re doing, and get a little rough. I wouldn’t mind the roughness if I chose it. But Chayser talks to me in a way the others don’t. They get what they want, then I’m out the door. With Chayser, it’s not always about sex, and he makes me feel like a person instead of an object.
I knock on Hanger’s office door and stand there anxiously.
"Come in,” his deep voice instructs.
Stepping inside, I close it behind me. "Hey, Hanger. Can I talk to
you for a minute? I don't wanna bother you, though."
He glances up at me, furrowing his brows. "Sit, Shug. You ain't bothering me. What's up?"
I drop down in the chair across from him. “I...I wanted to let you know that I won't be around tomorrow night." I bite my lip nervously, waiting for his reply and drop my gaze to my lap.
Hanger's deep chuckle fills the room. "Shug, look at me." When I do, he continues, "You don't have to come and tell me if you ain't gonna be around. This isn't a job, honey, and honestly, I don’t know why the fuck you do it or live here?"
My eyes widen as my head tilts to the side. "You know why, Hanger. I owe you and this club."
He shakes his head and runs his hand down his face. "But you don't wanna be here whoring around, correct?" I give a slight shake of my head no, and it's enough for him to see it. Hanger huffs out a breath and laces his fingers together, placing his hands behind his head, leaning back in his chair. "Shug, you don't owe me or this club a goddamn thing. You have a lot going for you. I don’t understand why you got it stuck in that thick fuckin’ head of yours that you owe the debt."
"My mom, Hanger—" I murmur, and his hands come down on the desk hard, making me flinch.
"Shug!” he shouts my name. “Your mom’s debt isn’t your responsibility. Bulk gave you a place to stay, and he set up your college fund. After he died, I just continued to do what I felt was right and finished paying. That’s a choice I made for you and never wanted you to feel like you were in debt to me or this club.”
"But—"
Before I can finish, he interrupts, "You do what you want, Shug. Just know that you ain't gotta do this, and you don't have to pay any debts that aren't yours to pay. You keep coming around until you feel you're done, not when someone else thinks you are. Your mom should be the one paying, and if she ever comes around, she will be."