Chains (Quarter Kings MC Book 1)

by Iris Sweetwater

  I wait in the shadows until Chains notices me, our eyes meeting. It is the first time in years I have felt this way just looking at someone, and my stomach lurches thinking about the ultimatum he gave me.

  I have never had anyone ask me to go exclusive. I mean, I am a low down, trashy, clubwhore with too many years on her face and her pussy. Who would want me like that?

  Chains, that’s who. And part of me wishes I would have known sooner. Maybe I would be able to save him from whatever he might face today. Because I know even as the words leave my lips with him stranding two feet away it is too late. He won’t listen.

  "You really shouldn’t do whatever it is he has you doing," I say hopefully, but it comes out flat.

  "What the fuck do you mean by that?" he snaps at me, and I can’t blame him. It sounds like such a ridiculous suggestion with him being a new member under orders.

  "I don’t want you to get killed, and I get the feeling that the prez isn’t sending you to the fair or something," I admit to him, letting him in way too much for my own good right now. "I don’t think whatever this is is what you think it is. I think it’s halfcocked," I continue, pleading with my eyes. I really wish I knew he would listen, but he won't.

  "What the hell happened to you?" he asks instead, ignoring the conversation at hand altogether as he nods towards the cheek. I don’t dare look at in the mirror.

  I shrug. "A client and I got into a disagreement of sort over how much I was worth." It wasn’t exactly a lie. "Look, if you insist on doing this, I came to say goodbye," I offer, hoping he will at least accept that and see that I am trying.

  He looks me up and down in confusion. "Goodbye," he says quietly.

  "Try not to get killed, because if you make it out alive...I have something for you when you get back." He nods, and I turn on my heel, headed to hide in my room the rest of the damn day.

  Chapter 9

  Chains

  As gunfire finds us, blowing holes in two of the men to my right, all the words of warning that Nails gave me come rushing back to me in quick succession. I don’t know why the hell she would know anything about this, this is supposed to be mostly a secret, and I doubt the prez would be sharing any secrets with a clubwhore. But maybe it’s just that she is nosy. But why the fuck now?

  She said she had something for me when I came back, and I hope she is not trying to pull some shit again to get in my pants and then keep doing what she is doing. But maybe there is some chance that if I make it out of this alive that I will get to have her. Really have her. It is likely wishful thinking, but if it gives me motivation to fight like hell right now as we are under attack, then I sure as hell am going to cling to it for as long as I can.

  We thought we had things all figured out. I was put in charge of the heroin runs from now on. We were able to get the shit more easily this time than last time, and I feel like a fuckin' god. I think all the men did up until about ten minutes ago.

  We had been an hour out of the city, taking a little back road, when a bunch of men came out of fucking nowhere and shot at us, forced us off our bikes and into the fuckin’ toolies beyond to try and get away from it. They are shouting in another language I can’t make out, but I can tell they are pissed and out for blood. I think that Nails was right, that this plan that prez has to be a part of the heroin trade is halfcocked. I would be willing to bet we have landed in someone else's territory and made the kind of enemies we don’t want to have.

  Things go silent, and it is dark, just barely. I hope the barrage is over and that the silence is good news and not the worst.

  I don’t know my own damage as I am afraid to move and be found. So, instead, I let the adrenaline distract me, and I gaze up at the sky and watch the stars come out, playing dead in the brush until I think I can make it back to my bike. Though, I don’t know what kind of mood prez will be in when we do make it home. Surely, we all look like a trailer park after a hail storm, and I doubt we are making it out with our stash either. That’s a hell of a lot of money lost. Though, I think some of us were able to dahs with a little of it in our pockets. The drugs strapped to the cycles have no chance at all if we have made these enemies. They will take it and sell it themselves to pay for the business they think we are ruining. Even though we don’t sell it here, it is probably just too small for all of us to exist in this space.

  How could prez not know? Isn’t it his job to know these things?

  Of course, there’s a worse alternative I won’t dare say out loud because it will be the death of me, but there is a chance that he knows and just doesn’t care. We are expendable as long as one of us brings him the product back to New Orleans safely.

  Shit, wouldn’t that be the icing on the fucking cake, learning that he made me a full member to be a pawn in some game he is playing, some lame game of chicken with another gang?

  Finally, I quietly drag myself out to my bike, and I see some of the others are already gone, probably scared shitless at this point. I can’t blame them, though splitting up is probably not going to look good to prez any more than not coming back with all the heroin.

  I start my bike, and a few others come out of hiding, some bleeding, others with smears of blood from the dead on them, looking like s scene out of a zombie movie. This fuckin' sucks.

  We ride silently, morale down, all the way home and hoping that we don’t lose anyone else to a bleed out or a wreck because they can’t concentrate. Doc is going to have his work cut out for him when we get back. The poor old man.

  Chapter 10

  Chains

  After I am looked over by Doc and get the full extent of the news, I don’t feel like going and talking to any of the guys. I don’t feel like dealing with the prez. And I sure as hell don’t feel like talking about the two men that we lost like it’s a fuckin’ funeral because there are no bodies at all. We had to leave them behind. No dragging those that many miles without being more suspicious than we already were. We couldn’t afford that.

  No, there is only one place I am interested in being right now, and I am shocked at the realization of it.

  It is later in the day, dusk, perhaps. I don’t know how long I have smelled the stench of blood and antiseptic, waiting to be checked out because I wasn’t anywhere near the worst needing to be taken care of. And I feel lucky. I feel so lucky because two men died, and I didn’t. And I think I owe the one person that kept me alive, in my opinion, a chance to give me what she wanted even if it goes against my very moral code.

  I don’t find her in her room or anywhere at church, so I decide to go over to the bar, which will be open by now, and see if I can find her there. I make sure there is a wad of cash in my pocket, in case I have to buy her time off some early bird drunk. I don’t really care tonight, because I am going to get her attention one way or another.

  I walk into the bar, and she is there, nursing whatever wounds she has with a full bottle of vodka in her hand. From here, I can see the cheek that was injured before I left, and I still wonder who gave her that and why she allows men to keep treating her that way, money or no money. The swelling is down, but a handprint shaped bruise is now visible, and I can see it was a rather big hand that hit her.

  I shake my head and order my own drink before going to sit on the stool next to her. This time, Tequila is the one running the shift, which makes me scoff. It’s going to be a party kind of night. She’s called Tequila for a reason, and she will be drinking right along with the customers, eventually taking to dancing on the bar. She is our resident party chick, and you either love her or hate her.

  “I see you made it back alive,” Nails comments through the bottle before taking another swig down her throat, and I can’t help but watch the liquid pass her lips like it is some sensual show I am getting here. My cock is already at attention, pushing into my jeans uncomfortably. After what I have been through, I really shouldn’t be turned on. But this is what she does to me, which is why I am bending all the rules for her tight now.

 
I slap the wad of cash down on the bar in front of her. “Is this enough for the rest of the night?” I ask her, and Tequila turns and squeals profanities about how much money she is looking at.

  Nails looks at me, slamming her half empty bottle down on the bar and almost busting it. “What the fuck makes you think you can buy me, Chains?” she asks me, the anger and the alcohol making her face a bright shade of red. “You are so full of shit, Chains. I told you I had something for you if you made it back alive, and you told me you don’t share. But here you are, coming to me like a paying client.”

  She gets up from the bar, taking her drink with her and trying to stalk off. Only, she is tipsy enough that I easily catch her around her waist in a sway, falling into me like she can’t hold herself up. “What the fuck did you want to give me, Nails, because I need some time to get watching men die off my mind. I need you right now. I want you right now. How do I get you?” I ask, and I know I sound so fucking desperate and weak, but I just can’t help myself.

  “Take me to your room, and we’ll talk,” she says quietly, eyeballing the few MC members that are starting to come rolling in for their own drinks. I guess she doesn’t want an audience, and that’s fine with me, so we head back to church and then down into the living spaces. I feel damn lucky to not share my room with anyone, so that I can do whatever I want with her without interruptions. Though, I hate that the women have to pack into a room like sardines because they are lesser. Clubwhores are necessary to us as much as prospects and members are, so why they are treated like shit beats me. They know already how to treat themselves like trash. No one needs to remind them of the fact on a daily basis.

  I close the door and wait for her to tell me whatever it is that’s on her mind, though I really just want to kiss her and make her feel good; make me feel good, if I am being honest.

  She sighs and sits down on my bed, and the sight of her there throws me for a loop. It isn’t something sexual that hits me, though. It’s more domestic. Like she belongs there. I can picture her in one of my tee shirts, cooking some lame breakfast on a hot plate and having mimosas for breakfast in bed before we have a nice morning fuck and start our day. I am pussy whipped, and she is not even mine to have.

  Not yet.

  “I think I want to try out what you mentioned,” she says, looking more nervous and innocent than I have ever seen her as she gazes up at me. “Like the exclusive thing,” she specifies.

  Well, fuck, is she serious about this? I don’t think I ever expected to hear those words out of her mouth. My first instinct is to tease her or to make her swear over and over that she means it, but I find myself wanting to try thing as much as she seems to, and I know it won’t work out if that’s the way we start things. Instead, I know I need to go with honesty, which will be hard for me. I talk a good talk, always have, but I don’t know how many have ever taken my idiosyncrasies seriously. That they think I am just joking or a little off. They don’t know what lurks underneath my bed and in the depths of the most fractured and black parts of my mind. Those are corners no one wants to be trapped in, and I can’t bring Nails into my world without her knowing all about what I like.

  “If we’re going to do this, you have it understand what you’re getting into. There is a reason I need exclusivity. What you experienced the other night was nothing, Just the tip of the iceberg.” I bend over under my bed and slide a large chest out from under it. It looks like it could contain anything, maybe even kids’ toys, but these toys are never something that kids should be exposed to, even if I was.

  I open it up in front of her and show her, watching her mouth form into a large ‘O’.

  “You know, I figured you were into something. I know there are people that are, but I didn’t take you for a dungeon kind of guy, especially living between these four white walls,” she says. I look into her eyes, and she doesn’t seem scared, like she might run. That’s the best sign there is but guarantees me nothing. I think I am going to have to forgo my instant gratification here and take my time with her so she can get acquainted with the lifestyle I am asking her to step into.

  “I will need your ultimate trust, Nails. I will need you to hand your body over to me and follow my commands. I will need you to let me do whatever I want and need and trust that I won’t truly hurt you, not in any way that isn’t meant to invoke a feeling of euphoria,” I explain to her, hoping I haven’t just lost her with my big confession.

  “I have been giving my body to men and letting them do horrible things to it for years. And then you come along and are actually concerned about whether or not you hurt me. I may not be able to tell you for sure that I will like it, but I am willing to try for the sake of feeling like something is my choice for once. I am done being a clubwhore. I want to try this with you, even if it means I go hungry.”

  I reach up and brush my thumb along her pink lips, taking some of the color there with me. “As long as you’re with me, I won’t let you starve. Just promise me I am not just your meal ticket.” I sound so vulnerable right now. I AM vulnerable right now, and I don’t like it very much.

  “It’s convenient, for sure,” she admits, “but I don’t expect it. I just want the respect you might be able to give me. There is something I am curious about, though.”

  “Hmm?” I ask her. Not sure if I want to hear her question because I feel like I am about to reveal way too much of myself that I have kept locked away tight my whole life.

  “How did you get into all of this?”

  And there it is.

  I sigh, knowing I had promised myself to give her the truth, but I didn’t know for sure she was going to ask for all of it. So, here I am, about to spill my guts.

  I sit down on the bed next to her, looking at my hands. “Damn, you don’t make this easy on me,” I tease her, though I am sure she can hear the nerves in my voice. “My past is different, not an easy one to talk about. So, I would appreciate that regardless of how you feel about me after this, it doesn’t leave the room.”

  “Wow, this is some real shit, isn’t it?” she asks, and I nod. “Okay, I won’t say a word, Chains. I didn’t know it was this deep. I am sorry if I have intruded on your privacy.”

  I put my hand up to stop her words. “I am the one who told you I wanted this, so I guess there’s no turning back now. It’s only fair you know before you get involved with me anyway.”

  I don’t know where to begin, so I just start with the beginning. “My upbringing wasn’t like most others’. My mother was with a man who wasn’t her husband, wasn’t even anyone she loved. She had four other children already by the time I was born, and by the time I was old enough to see what was going on, my oldest two siblings had already been sold.”

  “Sold?” she ask incredulously.

  I just keep talking. It’s the only way I am going to make it through this. “There is this lifestyle, dom and sub shit, but with some communities, it has gotten out of hand. Instead of getting consenting adults, they breed and train children that they have with the other subs they already own. It is sexual slavery, and while some women can get down with it, it is usually because they don’t know anything else. And that’s what I was born into. This particular dom’s fetish had to do with pregnant women. It turns out that pregnancy is pretty lucrative when it births dozens of children to sell off to other doms. Well, he tried his best to have girls, but obviously, he wasn’t god, even though he thought he was. So, some boys were born. Like me. We aren’t as useful as subs most of the time. There are some male subs, yes, but they don’t fetch as much as the girls do. Not unless there is really something in it. But I guess he saw something in me and thought I could be useful. The minute I started going through puberty he could tell I was going to be a good-looking boy and maybe strong; strong enough to take him. He didn’t like that. So, what better way to keep that from happening and to take advantage but to train me to be a sub?”

  I pause, my hand wiping at my face as I remember my life then. It isn’t something I li
ke to think about often, even if I do enjoy the darker side of sexual pleasures. It made me who I am, but it also broke me and made me something that is often unlovable and unredeemable. It wrapped me in chains, the chains of needing more than just a warm pussy and so rejection is rampant.

  “I was tortured until I had to have pain in order to get off. I don’t think you need to know the specifics to get the kind of conditioning that went on, like I was not human but an animal. That’s what most subs are in that type of situation, though, little more than animals. Though, there are some that do love each other in some twisted way. I also realize not all communities are like the one I grew up with. Just luck of the draw I guess.” I shake my head and sigh, knowing I am going off on a tangent here.

  “So, then how did you end up being more dominant like you are now and then getting with the club?” she asks curiously, daring to slide her fingers through my buzzed hair. I shiver at her touch, not realizing how good a simple comforting touch of a woman could feel for me rather than just something sexual. I have never had anything to last very long and have been afraid to try for a couple years now. I miss this. And this is so unexpected coming from Nails of all people.

  “I was sold eventually, to an older woman, white hair but still a good body, who wanted me as her sub. She was vicious with me, and she liked me fighting against her. It was a real turn on for her. So, that plus the anger at everything just kind of made me wonder what it would be like to dominate someone. I got a hold of one of her female subs one day and made her mine. I got severely punished for it, but I didn’t care. I suddenly knew who I was and knew how to fight back in my own way. When I was about 18, she ended up dying, and I knew if I didn’t get out, I would just be sold again. So, I fought my way out, which wasn’t pretty, and I needed sanctuary. I knew there was an MC here, and I figured I’d give it a go, see if they would take me in. They told me I would be prospecting for 10 damn years to make up for the favor they did me, but I took it. I needed a place to go, a place to be safe and belong. So, here we are.” I gesture around me and let out a dark chuckle, but I am sure she can see right through me. I feel it when she looks at me, and it is both intimidating and the hottest damn thing on the planet. I have never had a woman look at me like that like they could know me so much in such a short time.