by V. Theia
She needed no second to think, surprising Rider, she was on the back and clinging to him, her face buried in his shoulder-blades. He felt small breasts poking his spine, hands rounding his waist in a death grip, engines roared to life and took off down the street..he was the last to leave.
He'd let the warmth of the chick startle him for a moment, almost like a memory had kicked his brain.
The hell. She was probably a goddamn kid as well, and here he was letting a pair of underage tits affect him.
Shaking his head, he snapped on his helmet, followed his men for the forty-minute ride back to Armado Springs.
She clung to him the entire time. Once or twice he laid his palm over her joined fingers, reassuring her she was okay, she was shaking so badly he even increased his speed.
Parking in his bay next to the row of other bikes, he could hear loud music from inside, rowdy voices, and feminine laughs. Good, shit was going down inside, all the better for if and when the cops showed up. "Climb off, babe."
The moment Lawless and his passenger stepped off his bike the kid raced over to his bike chick, who drew her in quickly both clung together. This had not been in his plans, but neither was not finding Hades and finishing that shithead for good.
Hawk appeared at his side, helmet in hand, a look of menace on his face. It was his resting face. "The fuck are we doing with these chicks, Ri?"
Good question. Valid question. Rider didn't fucking know.
All he knew was they were frightened, obviously not at the Raging Rebel's place through choice. He shook his head as an answer.
"Inside. Go get a beer, grab a groupie. Look fuckin' normal in case we get company."
Turning his gaze, he addressed the girls. "Come on, get inside, no one will touch you. You can make calls to your family, people, whoever you want to come and get you."
Feet shuffled as his boys took off inside, he made to follow, reaching the door a prospect held open for them all when he heard from behind, two shorter girls following in his wake almost as if attached to Rider by a rope, or they'd seen safety in him and was sticking close by to it.
"Zara, what are we gonna do now? I don't want to go back."
He was right. The kid was young, but that's not what had Rider's head rearing around like he'd been cold-cocked in the back of his skull.
He hadn't heard that name in more time that he could think.
Too much of a coincidence, but his spine went tight, he practically dragged the chick through the door into the illuminated light of the entranceway so he could see her face finally...
When he did, all oxygen left Rider's blood stream until he was ice cold, he ignored the confused look from his second in command and sergeant at arms who all had stopped too, probably wondering why the fuck Rider was glaring at the taller of the two females, not that she was much taller, both of them didn't even reach his shoulder.
But shit. Shit. Fuck.
Her hair was a mess as though it hadn’t seen a brush in weeks, the color dulled by dirt and grease, her clothes hadn't fared much better and she smelled not too clean, bruises marred her face, old bruises, new fresh ones lay on the top of her dull skin, she had a fat lip, and one of her eyes was blackened, when she reached up to move hair from her cheek, he saw a cut there, and another along the back of her hand, she kept the young kid smashed up against her, giving comfort. With a forceful hand, he let go of the top of her arm and wrenched the bandana down off his face leaving it hanging around his neck.
All of this registered on an automatic level, but none of it sunk in really, not when Rider's brain was exploding the fuck all over his hallway with his men glaring at him, and the chicks’ eyes glued to him, tears brimming over to splash down her cheek.
She was openly weeping when she spoke "R-R-Rider?"
"Motherfucker." It was her. It was fucking her.
Nothing had ever stunned Rider as much as staring down at the beaten chick he'd once fucked into a stupor.
The same chick he'd thought about many times, the very same one that all other chicks had had to live up to when they were on his cock, all of them paled ... he'd never had anyone like her since.
"Jesus Christ. Zara! What in the hell were you doing there?”
CHAPTER FOUR
“He walked into hell and brought me into the light. There is a God…” - Zara Freeze.
Coincidences were for people who refused to believe miracles didn’t happen in this world, who couldn’t trust magic happened at the right time when you least expected it.
Zara blinked, not trusting in anything anymore, not even her own sight, waiting to wake from this dream.
It had all felt so real. Of course, it had.
She’d dreamed that same rescue many times, not the same as tonight, even some with Rider as starring role.
He would pull her onto his bike, tell her he was taking her away from all this, then they’d kiss and live happily blissfully ever after like a filthier version of Cinderella with Prince Charming liking blowjobs a lot more than the cartoon version of him. Just a dream.
She was buying into her own delusions finally, sucking from the Kool-Aid through a swirly straw.
Her old psyche class professor had once said madness came in many forms, you didn’t always have to be crazy.
Wake up. Wake up. The nightmare was so much worse when she was asleep and pretending her normality had returned in stark beautiful peaceful color. That place where she could reach out and touch hope, feel it as a living breathing entity just waiting to be plucked like a deadly flower.
She’d cried many mornings when she’d realized it was all a big fat lie, her own brain weaving tales to pacify, to grind her down even further if it was possible.
She was looking at her dream full in the face as he stared back at her unblinking. The jolt of it traveled to her toes.
Her dream Rider had never scowled at her; he’d always been too busy shoving his tongue in her mouth.
Angela whimpered and Zara blinked rapidly, grasping the little girl automatically as motherly as she could to reassure her that everything was going to be okay even if she herself didn’t believe that. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. Breathe.
What a way to be faced with a one-night stand.
The walk of shame had just intensified and tripled by ten.
And here she stood, shivering with eyes on her from all angles yet only one set of blue eyes had her attention, and she was abstractly aware of just how she looked.
Her blonde hair needed combing, washing. Forget about styling, it hadn’t seen the better end of a curling wand in longer than she cared to remember.
She was dirty and she felt it, as if every piece of filth clung too deep into her pores.
The caked grease making her hair hang in heavy limp strands around her face.
Clothes in desperate need of washing and mending, she held Angela in one arm as the girl burrowed deep into her ribs and went on with her quiet crying, the other hand tugged self-consciously at her off-white tank top drawing it away from the shape of her bare breasts.
She tried hard to stay clean, not permitted to shower often, another cruel way to control her, she’d used her daily ration of bottled water to keep her clothes tended to, and to have one of those stand-up washes as best as she could. But even after a while that too had decreased.
What did she have to be clean for, who was she wanting to look nice for?
The dirtier she was she had hoped she’d be left alone for a prettier cleaner woman who came back the club looking for fun.
Now, though, as she watched Rider’s eyes roll down her frame, she felt nothing but utter shame at her current state.
So different to the last time they were in the same room together.
“Rider…” she tested his name and got no further.
Her tongue didn’t want to work, glued to the roof of her mouth, paralyzed with silence.
Luck would have it. And that was a joke... Angela began to cry loude
r, she saw the guy with the shaved head stood off to the side of Rider scowl, his brows so dark pull down over his eyes studying them both closely, she felt her spine go rigid expecting him to pounce, but he neither moved nor spoke, only stared at Angela with the kind of stare you’d expect from a serial killer.
“Shhh, sweet girl, everything is okay now, it’s all over, we’re fine, sweetheart, I promise. Didn’t I tell you everything would be alright? There now, stop crying...shhh...shhh...” turning her body away from Rider, she cradled the girl, unsure who was shaking more.
Angela was a slender bit of a kid, ink black hair that reached down to her backside, and a tan so natural in any other circumstances Zara would have been envious.
She was fresh to being fourteen years old, just turned it two weeks ago, she’d told Zara. On a late vacation to the Rocky Mountains with her parents from New Mexico, the summer season had only just finished and her parents worked the tourist spots selling their homemade jewelry, home-grown organic veggies and needed to wait out the season to make as much money as they could.
What a belated gift for the girl, to arrive in the North of Colorado, for what they thought ten days of idyllic quiet family time in a cabin, not far actually, and instead of swimming in the lake, the cruel reality had given Angela the nightmare of watching her parents robbed at gunpoint, and killed when her father tried to put up a fight.
As far as Zara could work out that had only been several days ago, when Angela was brought to the Rebel’s base of operation.
Hades growling at Zara to ‘keep that fucking brat quiet, or else’ she knew his or else and moved by the tiny girl so obviously traumatised Zara had cared for her.
Hades moved women through the compound fast, like grocery deliveries, brought against their will, to use, abuse and sell on to the highest bidder.
The guy was from the fucking revolting stone age.
Zara had taken one look at the traumatized young girl covered in her parent's blood, saw her nubile body in her plain T-shirt and jeans, knew exactly what the Rebel’s would do and vowed to keep her out of harm’s way no matter what she had to do.
That had proven easier than she’d thought when masked men had come through the club, stealth, deadly. God sent.
The raid had terrified her, assuming she was next, she’d grabbed Angela, crawled under the table and held her hand over the crying girl’s mouth, telling her it would be fine.
She hadn’t known the reason for the raid only that Hades’ must have enemies a mile long. Fucking evil bastard.
She hadn’t known in those paralyzing moments of hearing scuffed feet, muffled deep voices that salvation was coming.
From Rider. Jesus. Did that happen? She really wasn’t sure.
It's said no one looks good in their darkest hour; when despair, terror, unmitigated rock bottom has swallowed you whole, who could put their best face present for that.
Zara tried to stand strong, to lift her chin and display herself in a way that wouldn't have any of those tall intimidating men look down on her with less than complimentary thoughts in their eyes.
She couldn't focus on the periphery, not when a set of the bluest eyes she'd ever seen held her steady. Unblinking.
Twin points of accusation.
Shivering under such abstract scrutiny, there was no way to emerge victorious in anything about tonight.
Sure, she was out of that hellhole. God. She was out of there.
She was dizzy with it and even swayed.
Suddenly he'd moved like lightening for someone so huge, and was in front of her.
"Steady, babe. Come on, we gotta get ... fuck, I got no idea. Jesus. What a clusterfuck. What were you doing there?"
His arm slipped around her waist holding her up.
She stiffened with the contact
"Tiny, bring some blankets to the common room, and coffee, a lot of fucking hot coffee. Hawk, you wanna get hold of Grinder, see how he's getting on locating that bastard. Easy there, Zara, easy girl. No one is going to hurt you here, but we gotta sit your ass down before you fall and the kid ain't looking any better. You can tell me what the fuck you were doing over at Westbank with the Raging Rebels while you eat something."
Her heart started beating faster, all irregular as if protecting itself from this new environment, knowing the panic she was feeling it thumped and rolled, and her skin began to tingle irritably.
The air around her grew thick, stuffy, making it hard to breathe, why weren't her lungs working properly, she pulled in more air feeling the panic settle in. Lightheaded, her stomach clenched painfully.
Before she did something stupid like faint to the floor, she plonked herself to the nearest chair, a soft cushioned hardback with raised arms on either side. She wanted to ask for everyone not to look at her, she could feel all those eyes, what must they be thinking... she knew already, they saw the dirt and the filth and not much else.
Such accusations she was imagining; it tore at her mind.
That wasn’t who she was. Not really.
She wasn’t a whore or a biker bitch, she wasn’t bad or evil.
She heard more than once ‘Hades’ bitch’ it made her gag, the swell of bile rushed up from her belly and the only way to quell being sick was to breath.
Breathing she could do. She’d been in worse situations... Ha... joking in times of crisis.
She breathed and waited…turning a wavering smile up at Angela who had plastered herself to the arm of the chair.
Such a little girl going through something so unthinkable.
This fucking world sucked.
No child should ever see their parents brutally killed, no child should ever be used.
Thank god it had only been a few days since Angel had been brought to that hellhole, no one had touched her, of course not, those bastards had to get the merchandise ready before the bidding began.
Selling girls…this fucking world sucked, she thought again.
She patted the girl’s leg, told her it was okay again though Zara didn’t believe a word of it.
Her eye was hurting, throbbing actually, feeling the pulse of it tormenting her to its existence, the swelling making it puffy and raw, she fingered around the delicate tissue, not her first black eye, this one was earned when she'd told Slim to go fuck his mom in the ass with his shriveled up dick.
Some men are so touchy, he'd taken offense and walloped his fist straight to the side of her face, the pain had exploded. Hours later it still ached.
She closed her one good eye, ignoring everyone coming and going, ignoring the ugly memories that lived in her brain. Too much ugliness.
First things first, she had to think rationally. She had to think like a normal person again. Easier said than done, she was what, an hour free.
Her mind was a whirl of thoughts.
Rider continued to speak issuing his quiet orders to his men who all shuffled off to do his bidding without question.
She listened despite the hard beat of her heart.
One growl stood out of the crowd. Hawk…she remembered him, he'd looked like an intimidating Jesus… still did, gave her the hairy eyeball before bending his head to talk in a hushed whisper to Rider, who nodded in return, the other man strode off, but not before she'd felt the full hit of his gaze.
And the same to you, buddy.
Zara frowned tipping her head down, shivering as adrenaline leached out of her leaving her lethargic, her undernourished muscles like heavy string, limp at her side. In out. In out. She just continued to breathe and it felt like the hardest thing she’d ever done.
“Zara? Wh-what’s happening? I want to go home. We’re not going---not going back there, are we? I can’t…I c-c-can’t go back there.”
A growl so menacing Zara’s head came up, Lawless, the bald one, growling, otherwise he said nothing.
Bile continued to slosh around her belly reminding her it had been just over two days since she’d eaten anything, the cheese sandwich she’d been given earlier she
let Angela eat, the poor thing was so hungry in between sobs she’d gulped in down in three bites.
Catching Rider’s gaze before turning to the girl. “No, we are not going back. Never going back. The police will deal with it, I promise.”
It was a promise she couldn’t keep, but what other choice did she have but to placate the girl. Zara had no answers, no solutions and outlaws were not likely to involve the law.
Hades needed stopping. Needed punishing. Needed a bullet in his fucking head.
She was good with all three options.
It didn't matter how good looking the outer package was if the insides were a rotting ugly mess. And the man she'd left behind was ugly in every pore until it bled out through his vicious fists.
Hate. Hate. Hate.
It boiled through her veins even as shudders racked her bones. She couldn't get warm, knew it was the crash of adrenaline. Much had happened in such a short amount of time. One moment she was there, now she was here, and she was no clearer of what or why, or even what came next.
Had she been taken from one prison to replace a new one?
It seemed unlikely… but fear whispered. Please, god. No.
She couldn't say she knew the president of this MC… knocking hips with her virginity forever ago in another lifetime didn't amount to much other than she knew he was skilled in giving pleasure until she thought she'd die from it.
As for his character... she was unmindful to that.
And therefore, wise to continue to feel fear.
Zara had known nicer feral dogs than Hades was.
For three years, she'd assumed Hades was the biggest terrifying man on the planet after all his monster reputation preceded him.
Whispers and rumors from within her cage had said as much.
People feared him.
That was until Rider had rescued her. She still couldn't shake that look piercing from his eyes when he'd realized who it had been cowering on the floor freshly beating looking like a Goodfellas reject.
He’d been a snarling monster behind the bandana, scaring her further. His fists had been clenched, bloodied, hatred in his dark eyes, every line on his face highlighted by his perfect tanned skin and when he reached down for her, his hand outstretched, Zara had known she was looking up at a bigger danger than Hades had ever been, could ever wish to be.