by Snow, Nicole
Bitter acid churned in my stomach. Then the wildcat inside me rose up, a vicious hatred I hadn't felt since dealing with Em and the guys pumping me for information.
“I signed up for the stage,” I said coldly. “Nothing else.”
Marks took a good long look at me. Then he laughed, flicking his cigarette on the floor and crunching it out with his boot.
“You're a real cute bitch, you know that? You almost had me. Seriously.” Still laughing, he shook his head. “Hope you show me and the brothers one day what the real Ginger-Bell's like. Cause with all these fake fucking masks you wear, I don't got a goddamned clue.”
Crazy, suicidal impulses ran through me right then. I wanted nothing better than to stomp up, grab his big dirty beard, and slap him across the face. Of course, he'd end up backhanding me across the head or worse, but at least he'd understand I wasn't kidding.
My stomach lurched again and I had to get out. Marks never said goodbye. I grabbed my things and left, not looking forward to the ten hours or so of rest I'd get before I had to get up and do it all over again.
Didn't sound like the bastards were going to give us any time off for Christmas either. Not that it mattered. Hell, after what he'd said, I'd be lucky if he wasn't pimping me out at the Filthy Crown's Christmas party, which promised nothing but rowdy testosterone on steroids.
Holiday vacations were the least of my worries. I had to take stock of all my cash, bus routes, everything tonight, before I left for another shift. If there was any hint Marks was going to follow through on the crap he'd talked about with his twisted brothers, I had to go.
I had to start over. I had to really get away next time, rather than winding up in the same merciless head spinning circle.
There were only two choices: flee to the southwest, where I knew no one and nothing, away from Grizzlies territories. Or else go east, where I'd inevitably run through Missoula and other Devils charters.
The shame of running into any of the Montana crew – or Jesus, Stinger – turned my blood cold. But I was so desperate, so fucking sick to myself, I was ready to consider anything. Before I tried to sleep off the screwed up conversation with Marks, I spent a long time staring at my cheap phone.
I still had his number. Sting was just a call away, and I remembered what he'd told me, the offer to come running if I was ever in trouble.
Anywhere. Anytime. Any way he could.
God help me, it made me smile like the idiot I was. I wasn't crazy or desperate enough to make the call, though. Inviting him back into my life would bring even more complications, but they were starting to look a lot less daunting compared to everything else going wrong.
What the hell was I thinking at the club? I must've been delusional. When I reached out to Marks, I was looking for some little inkling that someone gave a shit. I hadn't found it with that asshole. Stinger, on the other hand, was the real deal.
He really gave a damn. And I'd let him down in return, running off like a scared little girl after tasting his lips for the first time. Christ, I still couldn't shake his heat, his taste, his energy, even after all these months.
What I would've given to feel it bathing me in his stern glow...
But I'd shamed myself so fucking bad I couldn't stand to see him. Not now. Thinking about his bright eyes clouded with disappointment, darkness, twisted me in knots.
The tears came, hot and fierce. I buried my face in my pillow and let exhaustion claim me.
Christmas Eve.
The bar and the stage fixed to it were surprisingly sparse. For the first night in a long time, I wondered if I'd get halfway decent tips. It was just a couple other girls and me, go-go sluts with more worn bodies than mine, girls who were used to a lot more kink too.
Men grabbed at them through the holes in their enclosed cages. Half the girls were hooked on bad shit, and they knew they had a good chance at getting more if they put up with the groping, making taking a few guys up on backstage deals if they offered the right hit.
I was all by myself, dancing for a small audience. The music cranked up, reaching its crescendo. I rolled my hips, transporting my brain far away from this place, getting into that cozy grove. When I danced long and hard, I could flick the strings on my skimpy panties without feeling like a debased whore.
The usual hollers rang out when they came off. I shook, undulated, having a tiny flash of pleasure when I imagined Sting seeing me like this. There were times when he intruded on my act, seizing my head at the most vulnerable point.
He got me wet. The men saw it and thought they stroked my lust, feeding their deranged fantasies. If only they knew the man making my body hum was half a state away, and one of their sworn enemies.
Then the heat turned to shame. Christ, what would he say if he saw me like this?
What would any of the men wearing the Prairie Devils patch who'd put up with my crap say? What about Dad?
I was remembering him more every day, our life together and his sudden death. It hurt like hell. A lot of things were as foggy as the low lying, stinky smoke in this place, but my memory was getting clearer, little by little. And it did me no favors except showing me how fucked up my situation really was, how much I'd lost for good.
Men grunted, roared, and pushed their hands up toward the stage. Marks stalked over and slapped away their grubby palms every time. I was nearing the end when the new crew came in, four large men in cuts, pushing their way to the front.
Marks stopped just short of shoving them away from the stage when they got too close. At first, I thought they were all Grizzlies, local guys from his own MC. But their colors were all wrong in the light, and the man in the middle wasn't leering with lust.
He looked at me like I was a literal piece of meat, something he was ready to scoop up and devour.
Shit. Where had I seen that pock marked face before?
I was trying to focus, finish up the act, ignoring his ice cold stare. The big man was in Marks' face. Something I thought would've set the biker-turned-bouncer right off, but no, it looked like he was wilting in the stranger's presence.
The music died just then as it was changing to another track. I cut my act and took a bow, flashing my biggest, fakest smile ever as crumpled cash came bouncing onto the stage at my feet.
“You know who we are...that bitch there...gotta have a good long talk...” My ears perked up as I listened to the man in the strange cut talking to Marks.
Why did he look so familiar? He definitely sent a chill coursing up my back, and it wasn't just because I was naked and the Filthy Crown had shitty heat.
For a second, we locked eyes. He leaned into Marks, hand on the big biker's shoulder, and whispered something in his ear.
Growling, Marks stepped backward, throwing him off. “I don't give a shit what you fuckers do! Just keep my ass outta it. You drag me or any other brother with my patch in, and I'll make sure it goes all the way to Fang. You Slingers assholes can deal with him then.”
I grabbed my underwear and slipped backstage. Whatever was happening, it wasn't good. I'd heard the name Fang floated around several times before, always ominously, the national President of the entire Grizzlies MC. Whoever these strangers were, they'd rattled Marks bad enough to threaten tattling on them to the very top of the chain.
I threw my robe on and dressed. Thank God it was the last act of the night. I was beyond ready to get home before the clock flipped over to Christmas morning. I'd keep myself busy with bad TV, counting my savings and laying plans to get the hell out of this situation.
Anything beat focusing on my lonely, crappy holiday.
Fully dressed, I got my purse and jacket, and slipped out the back exit. No need to go through the bar again and risk running into Marks – let alone those other guys.
It was a five block walk to my rental, one side of an old run down duplex. The winter wind was mercifully quiet, but it wasn't much comfort. The streets were eerily dead, like the entire world had gone into hiding for Christmas, lost behi
nd the festive lights and grinning Santa statues in snowy yards.
I walked fast, trying not to let my mind go crazy with all the shadows in the empty streets. One car passed me by, a little too slowly for my liking.
It was just an old man who slowed down to wave. Probably a drunk, some lost asshole who'd just seen my act at the club. Jesus, I was shaking. If it weren't for the freezing ground, I would've kicked off my stripper heels and ran the rest of the way home, taking my risk of slipping on the ice falling on my ass.
That bastard's eyes at the club were so dark, so familiar. So fucking evil. How did I know them?
Dad's last foggy memories kept coming back. I remembered a huge shadow behind him at the Rams' clubhouse, beating him over the head, watching his life slip away as the crap in my drink claimed me.
No, I couldn't think about that. I had to just keep going, one step at a time, straight home, where it was neat and warm and safe.
Finally. When I reached the home stretch leading to the door, I fished my keys out of my pockets and dropped them in the snow by the mailbox like a fucking idiot.
The stuff was deep and dark. I cursed, crouched on the ground, and ran my fingers through the snow, searching and trying not to scream at every little noise.
A truck grumbled, its belt squealing in the distance. I shot up, heart banging like a drum, and then softening as the adrenaline bled back into my veins.
Christ. I'd heard the same sound a dozen times before. It was just the neighbor's crappy old pickup across the street...and where the hell were those damned keys?
My hand was going numb, same as my knees on the cold pavement. Snarling, I ripped it out of the snow and shook it. I was about to dive back in when I was yanked up.
They moved fast. The rough hand clapped on my mouth right as another wrapped around my throat, choking off my scream before I could let it out.
“Long time no see, cunt.” The same smooth, icy voice I'd heard at the club rumbled in my ear. “Get on your fucking feet and follow us inside. I got a few questions for you. If you don't scream, you'll live. You start barking and ruining the sweet silent night we got here, I'll choke you right here and bury your whore face in the snow.”
I whimpered, feeling his hand tighten on my throat. He shoved my face uncomfortably close to the snow and held it there. I thought it was all going to end in a wink, but then he jerked me back by the hair, kicking open my screen door.
He'd found the keys in the snow. They jiggled in his hand as he tried keys and found the lock, seemingly interested in taking his sweet time. When I looked up, I saw why.
He wasn't alone.
Three big dark shapes were grinning at me from the driveway, blocking my escape even if I somehow broke his grip and took off in those stupid heels. Soon, he pushed me inside, and the other three men were right behind him.
There was no sanctuary. Not here. Not anywhere alone.
Just like that, all the nightmares I'd tried to forget followed me inside, and their name was Nero.
Nero, Nero...holy shit. I remember.
He pushed me to the wall and the knife came out, growling about some stupid handwritten map my father had. Memories hit me in the face again and again. If I wasn't so scared, I might've fainted at the sheer force.
I broke. I cried. I quivered.
When I settled down and listened to his harsh questions, I knew I had to answer, especially when he started threatening me with the psycho he'd brought along, the nut with the razors and cuts all over his body.
I gave up Stinger and his club. I forfeit my own life, and I should've known it right then. But I didn't until I slouched, listening to him tell me I hadn't saved a damned thing, much less my own neck.
Everything was past numb, frozen and dead as the snow outside. I watched Nero and his VP, Shark, head out the door with one last wicked order.
“I'm gonna give you boys an hour with this bitch. Have your fun and then clean up the mess. We'll dump her body off on the way to Montana.”
The door shut. The truck outside revved its engine right as I ran, hit the basement, wondering how long I could fight them and avoid this death sentence. My whole crazy life up until that point flashed before my eyes. Wasp and lunatic Hatter caught up to me, tackled me to the ground, tearing at my jeans.
My stripper shoes were long gone. It would've been nice to drive one of those spikes through their evil eyes. I kicked anyway, thrashing against them, slamming my bare heels into everything I could find behind me.
One of the men screamed. My foot bashed something that felt like his brow, digging into his eye.
The other man stumbled, snorting like an angry bull. I ripped myself away, got up, and ran, fast as I could. They were still lumbering around on the floor as I tore through the laundry room.
There was a tiny crawlspace in the corner by washing machine. I knocked the old panel down and flung myself in, tugging the panel back into place behind me. I wasn't sure if they'd seen me, but I hadn't bought more than a few seconds.
They were downstairs now, sniffing around like the animals they were. I listened to them go the opposite direction, trying not to cough on all the fucking dust billowing around me in a swarm.
They rifled through the storage closet, the shelves. One of them ripped it right off its old fixtures and tossed it across the room, where it smashed to pieces.
“Fucking cunt. I'm gonna hold her down while you tear her asshole up, bro. Don't give a fuck about sloppy seconds after she punted me in the fucking eye...”
They were coming closer. The single light bulb had broken when the shelf was thrown, but the darkness wouldn't keep me hidden forever. Soon, one of them would feel the draft, or I'd cough, sneeze, giving myself away.
I closed my eyes. This was it. The rest of my life was measured in seconds, maybe a few minutes at most.
“What the fuck? What's the Prez doing back?” Wasp's hand was on the panel when he froze.
Opening my eyes, I listened along with them. A vehicle was out front, its distinct growl slicing through the thick silence, clouding the rage. My heart picked up faster.
Oh, God. Did that asshole Nero come back to torture me himself?
I wasn't sure if Hatter scared me worse than his fearsome leader. I listened to the men approach the basement stairs. There was noise upstairs, and then footsteps, someone heading down.
“Hey! Is that you, Prez? What the fuck's happening up –“
A gunshot exploded. Someone made a sound like they were gargling syrup, and then there was a long pause, a return of the monstrous silence.
Something heavy leaped off the stairs and hit the floor. For the next minute, I listened with my ear pressed against the panel, wincing each time I heard men hissing, spitting, clawing at each other. They rolled on the floor, banging against the wall like feral animals.
It can't be...
I wouldn't dare let myself consider it. This was supposed to be the end of my story, judgment for failing to keep my cowardly mouth shut. I'd stared death in its vacant eyes and realized what an awful woman I'd been.
I didn't deserve to have Sting here, and I definitely didn't deserve to have him risking his life for me.
The men were snarling louder. Another gunshot went off, and one of them screamed. A familiar voice cursed and footsteps hit the floor, going for the backdoor. It sounded like someone jumped right through the glass. The tremendous crash left my eardrums ringing.
I barely heard the new footsteps crunching over the debris in my little laundry room, closer and closer to my hiding place.
Jesus Christ. It can't be him. No fucking way, no how...
A large silhouette stopped in front of the panel.
I was ready to meet my fate. If the gunman on the other side had a bullet earmarked for me, then I'd take it.
I was ready to die. I wasn't ready for the panel to come flying off a second later, bringing me face-to-face with him.
“Stinger?” I squeaked, shaking my dusty head in disbelief
. “Jesus, it's really you!”
“Fuck, baby. What the hell did they do to you?” He ripped me out, pulling me tight to his chest.
Meltdown came. I bawled, my strength fading against the rock hard chest I never expected to feel again. I took a deep breath, inhaling his scent, strength and violence and sweat mixed together. Amazing how it could be so comforting.
“Easy, girl. I gotta get you out of here.” He guided me into the hallway, where there was a little more light streaming down from upstairs.
He saw the cut on my neck where Nero's knife had nicked me. Stinger's face twisted. Before, he looked ready to kill, but now he was positively bent on it.
“Fuck! Does it hurt?” He ran a finger close to the cut.
I shook my head. “No, it's not deep. It could've been a whole lot worse. Trust me.”
“I'm gonna kill those assholes. Never heard of the Slingers before tonight, but those fucks just dug their graves. Shit! Can't believe that other fucking rat slipped away with a bullet in his ass...I should've gone after him.”
“No!” I hissed, pinching my arms around his back. “Stay with me.”
I looked over his shoulder while thunder echoed in his throat. Wasp lay dead on the floor, splayed out, a deep chasm right in the middle of his forehead.
Something inside me snapped. I shook my way out of Stinger's grip and marched over. I planted my bare heel right in his dead guts, screaming like a maniac.
“Holy shit, calm down, baby. He's dead. You can't kill his ass a second time.” He grabbed me, wrapping his strong hands around my arms. He held me down, probably scared I'd pop a shoulder or something, but still I fought him.
“You don't understand!” I shouted. “I should be on the ground with him. These men fucked up everything – everything! I ratted on you, Sting. I hurt your club. I told them about the fucking map you got from my dad...”