by Sam Crescent
The door to the bedroom opened and Forge, the man who now owned her, stepped inside. He held something in his hands but she couldn’t make it out. The light coming from the lamps didn’t cast enough glow to show every single corner of the room.
She lowered her hands and stared at him, feeling frozen to the spot.
“Did you offer to come here? Is this all an act?” He pointed at her body.
At first, she didn’t know if this was a trap. If she told him the truth, would he tell her father? Would he beat her? She’d been on the other end of a belt before. If there was one thing she knew, she didn’t like to be hurt, to be whipped. Even being slapped. She hated it all.
“Look, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not a monster,” he said. “I’ve brought you some clothes. I want to know the truth. Do you get off on this sort of thing?”
He held out two items of clothing. They looked like jeans and a shirt.
“You want me to wear clothes?” she asked. Her voice didn’t sound like hers.
“Yeah, I do. Does that surprise you?”
“I don’t know.”
“I figured you’d be hungry. I haven’t eaten for most of the day. We’ve got the grill fired up, and you’re welcome to join us.”
“I am?”
Forge laughed. “Exactly who are you?”
“I’m no one,” she said, answering quickly.
“Something tells me you’re way more than someone.”
She pressed her lips together, not wanting to give anything away.
“Fine. Your secrets are your own. I won’t pry just yet.” He shook the clothes. “Here, take them.”
She got off the bed, grabbing them.
Forge then surprised her as he turned, giving her some privacy. “Get changed. I’ll escort you down. Not all the boys were there when I picked you up. They need to know not to mess with you. You belong to me.”
He was being … kind. She wasn’t used to anyone caring.
“I didn’t offer to be this,” she said, quickly pulling the jeans up her body and the shirt over her head. “You can look.” She folded her arms across her chest, trying to hide herself.
Forge removed his leather cut and handed it to her.
“What is this?”
“It’s for you.”
“It is?”
“Yes. Wear it. It’ll make you feel more comfortable.” He held it open and she stepped into it.
The warmth of his body surrounded her and for the first time all night, she felt safe. Warm. “Thank you.”
“Do not mistake this kindness I’m offering you as any weakness. You belong to me, Beth.”
She nodded, feeling the smile fall from her. Of course. There was no chance of her ever being happy. She was surrounded by men determined to hurt her. Who only wanted to use her for their own gains.
Her father had made sure she wasn’t near any men growing up, believing her virgin state would help his cause. He’d been right. Look at where she was now. In the middle of nowhere, surrounded by an MC club she didn’t know, with instructions to keep him happy.
The first time she saw a naked man was on a television screen with her father right beside her and his men. It had been so embarrassing. She was sure if there had been more time, he’d have even forced her to practice. The humiliation washed over her.
“Now, are you hungry?”
She nodded her head. It was easier not to talk. To just nod her head. Be the quaint little submissive everyone wanted her to be. Not to put up a fight or to pretend she wanted her own life.
Forge took her hand and she tried to ignore the heat coming from him. Even as he’d brought her swiftly down to the real world, he still felt safe and warm.
They left the bedroom, walking down the long corridor, going toward the stairs. There were several rooms on the floor, and they were on the third floor. Forge had told her on the way up. They went to the main clubhouse floor. Men and women were singing, dancing, laughing, drinking, having a good old time of it.
Forge didn’t linger. He pulled her toward the kitchen where the counters were laden with food.
Her mouth watered.
He let go of her hand but didn’t walk away. He handed her a plate and she took it, staring at the food.
She had always been on a diet at Peterson’s house. The family cook had to prepare her meals and she never felt full. Of course she never went hungry but she’d never been satisfied and if Peterson’s wife felt like it, her rations were often cut in half.
Just another reminder of the whore’s daughter she was.
Pushing those feelings aside, she walked with Forge and put food on her plate.
“You can have whatever you want.” Forge turned toward the women in the kitchen. “She belongs to me. You give her any trouble, you answer to me. I won’t have you fucking with her. Understand?” His voice filled the space of the kitchen. He was so loud and commanding.
The women nodded and within seconds, they were gone. They’d rather clear out of the kitchen than risk being near her.
Nice.
No, she felt miserable. No one would ever take the risk to be her friend.
Once her plate was full, she took a seat beside Forge, but her appetite had disappeared. She grabbed her fork and began to work through her food. Her hand shook and she tried to stop it. She didn’t want to draw attention or anger him.
“Those women, they’re club pussy. You don’t need to get mixed up with them. They’ll never be your friends.”
“I didn’t … why did they leave?” she asked. Could he read her mind?
“Because they know not to be around me unless I want them. Don’t ever be alone with club pussy. I’ll introduce you to some of the old ladies. They will more than likely be your friend.”
Did she even want a friend right now?
End of sample chapter
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