by Raven Dark
I wasn’t homely by any stretch, but years of physical training intended to keep me at the peak of health and fitness, with a painfully controlled diet, meant I had breasts that were merely a handful, and narrow hips. I envied Cherry’s womanly look.
“What?” She stopped on the last step.
I sunk into the water up to my neck, face flushing.
“Yeah, I’ve got some hip on me. We eat, here at the Grotto. The men here like women of all shapes and sizes.”
“I can’t even imagine that. Where I lived, a slave’s every move was monitored. Every meal logged, every morsel marked down. Exercise regimens were crazy strict.” That’s all I needed, another reason to love this place.
“Hmm.” She picked up the shampoo and lathered her hair. “Must be hard to be so perfect.”
I shoved down my annoyance and resisted the urge to tell her it wasn’t pleasant to have your every move watched like a hawk. “The men here don’t monitor everything the women do?”
“They do, but not the same way you’re talking about. There are rules to follow, both for the good of the Grotto as a whole, and for individual masters. But if you follow them, for the most part, you’re allowed to do what you want when you’re on your off time. Most of the rules are in place to protect the Grotto and the people in it.”
I pondered this while I scrubbed the sweat of the day away with soap and a cloth. The far less structured way of living, the idea of such freedom sounded fascinating. Until now, every moment of my life had been scrutinized and regimented. Eagerness tugged at me for a taste of a life that, while still a slave’s, would at least sometimes feel like my own.
When we finished with the bath, Cherry took me to the dressing room. For the next hour, I was dolled up, every inch of me made to look the part of the pleasure slave I was. I looked the part, though that role appeared very different here in the Grotto than it would have at The Compound.
Cherry squeezed me into a slinky black dress made of some kind of stretchy material. It barely covered my backside, drew in my waist to make my hips look fuller, lifted my breasts, and tied at the back to make for easy removal. She taught me to tease my hair so that it surrounded my face in a cloud of soft lavender, then added charcoal to my eyes to give them a smoky look. Plumper covered my lips, turning them a soft pink.
“Am I supposed to look this…?” I trailed off with a wince.
“Slutty? Yes. You won’t be going to the barbeque to play poker. Turn around.” She spun me to face her and straightened the dress.
The mocking satisfaction in her eyes made me think of a piece of meat being thrown to a pack of wolves, like last night in front of all those men.
“It’s a little small on you, but that works in your favor.” She set a pair of black heels down on the floor. “Wear these for now. They’ll pinch, but they’ll have to do for now until we can make you a pair that fit.”
I glanced at myself in the mirror again. The dress was small, and except for in the bust, tight, probably because this dress didn’t belong to Cherry, who was close to five nine, like me. The shoes squashed my toes; I’d be in agony by night’s end.
Rough male laughter rang out from what sounded like the main clubhouse cavern and a glass shattered. I thought I heard a fist connect with something and I lifted my eyes, willing my heart rate to slow down.
The corners of Cherry’s mouth turned up. “If they’re already punching each other, it’s going to be a wild night. I wish I could be there to see it.”
“You’re not coming?”
“Nope. Pleasure slaves and house whores only, and I’m neither. I’ll come to eat, but that’s it.”
If the situation had been different, I would have asked her how that was possible. Women her age rarely escaped a life on their backs, especially when they looked as good as she did. Head of Slaves was a position usually reserved for older women who were past childbearing age who’d earned their status through years of pleasing men. How had Cherry ended up with such a title?
“Time to go.” Cherry led me toward the door. “Pretty Boy should be here to get you any second now.”
Not that I was eager to spend time with this woman, but she’d become a familiar face. As anxiety slashed at me, I took my place at the door.
But Pretty Boy didn’t appear. Instead, two men who looked to be in their early thirties showed up. Each wore a patch shaped like the golden hawk on the left breast of their cuts except, in place of Hawk’s letters, there were four black stars. So they were Hawk’s men, though I didn’t know enough about the ranking system here to know what the stars meant. Both men wore stoic, expressionless looks.
“Captain Hawk sent us to bring you to the clubhouse,” one of them said.
It sounded odd, nearing Hawk addressed as Captain of the Guards when, until now, I’d only ever heard him called Hawk.
When I bit my lip nervously and didn’t move, the Guardsman nodded to the entrance to the cave.
“Let’s go.”
I followed them out toward the main clubhouse across the way.
A few paces across the lawn, I looked back at Cherry, still in the entranceway. She gave me a mockingly friendly wave.
“Have a good time, Violet. I’ll see you soon.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
Flanked by my two bodyguards, I stopped at the entrance to the main clubhouse, the inside glowing with fiery light.
One shaking breath.
Two.
Pretty Boy and Steel wouldn’t let anything happen to me tonight.
I put my hand over my wildly squirming belly. It didn’t stop me from wanting to bolt the other way.
A good time indeed.
Maker, kill me now.
Chapter 6
A Whole Other World
The moment I followed the guardsmen into the main clubhouse, I knew Cherry was right. I was in for a hell of a time.
Like last night, road warriors filled the place, lounging on the leather couches and chairs situated in clusters about the room, playing billiards, or sitting at the bar. Near one wall, a group of men tossed darts at a dart board. Nearly everyone had a drink in hand. Most of the men were just sitting and talking, the occasional brawl breaking out here and there. One of the two women I’d seen the previous night—the one with the tattoos on her legs—moved among the men, passing out drinks, stopping now and again to rub one’s shoulders or kiss another. She wasn’t naked this time, but dressed like me, in a skimpy dress, only hers had a wide silver belt and an even lower neckline. Things weren’t as rowdy as I feared they’d be, but the real wildness was coming, I could feel it.
One man punched another and sent him crashing into the bar. Most of the men paid the scuffle little mind, but the whole room simmered with aggression waiting to be unleashed. Suppressed violence mingled with restrained sexual energy that burned in the hungry gazes the women received with every move they made until the air nearly crackled with it. The men were holding back, but why? And what would happen later when the night had a few more hours on it?
“Your masters must be outside. This way,” one of the guardsmen said. He and his partner led me through the maze of seats and road warriors, across the room to a side entrance.
I blinked when I saw what was outside. An open field, twice as large as the laundering area, spread out for at least a hundred meters, every inch of it scattered with picnic blankets, carved wooden chairs, and picnic tables. More of those solar trees dotted the edges of the field. Leather cuts displayed the infamous Dark Legion reaper skull and crossbones everywhere, tattoos covering nearly every arm and bared chest. Two boys who couldn’t have been more than ten played amongst the maze of adults. Several teenaged boys played cards or ate at the tables along with the men.
Suddenly, the more laid back, reserved attitude of the club members made sense. The gathering out here had a distinctly family-oriented feel. Not what I pictured from the terrifying Dark Legion.
Where was the bloodshed? The savagery?
Far from frightening, no fewer than four large grills stood about the green, men talking and laughing as they rotated and flipped steaks.
If I had to guess, the real party would start in a few hours. The children would be removed, and with the fall of darkness—and more alcohol applied—the atmosphere would change completely.
Well, there was no getting out of this. I might as well make the best of it.
Duty took over, and I found Pretty Boy in the middle of the green, talking to a large group sitting on one of the picnic tables. I didn’t see Steel, so I pointed Pretty Boy out to my protection detail. They led me over to him.
When we drew closer to where Pretty Boy stood, the nervousness in my belly intensified. The memory of the previous night with him and Steel filled my thoughts, causing my heart to speed up. With lust, or something more unpleasant?
Or both?
I was learning that my body’s reactions around those two didn’t always make sense to me.
While I wove through the crowd with my protectors, I instinctively looked around the field for Steel. Finally, I saw him at one of the grills, joking with the man tending to the food there. He didn’t seem to have any idea I was there.
The patter of my heart slowed a little. Pretty Boy seemed less unpredictable without his club brother at his side.
Someone got Pretty Boy’s attention and he turned. Those gorgeous blue eyes locked on me before he rose from his seat and set his mug of drink down.
“Look, boys, the fun’s arrived.” He sauntered toward me. “Come here, Princess, let me show you off.”
Training kicked in. I kept my face neutral as I closed the space between us. As soon as I was within reach, Pretty Boy’s arm snaked around me, pinning me against him. One of his hands cupped my backside, molding me to him so that his hardness pressed through his leather pants, rubbing against my sex. His other hand tipped my chin up.
“Did you miss your master, Princess?”
His sharp eyes didn’t give me time to ponder my answer. I hated that the answer wasn’t as straightforward as it should have been. His palm massaging my backside felt straightly right, like it was made for him, the heat of his breath on my lips making me ache to feel his mouth possessing mine.
“Yes, Master.”
“Why would anyone miss you, Pretty Boy?” A man with a thick beard at the table teased. “She must be extremely well-trained.”
Laughter erupted.
“Fuck you, Bear.” He tipped my chin up a little more. “Show these boys how you kiss your master.”
He wanted a show. Nervousness chewed at me. I’d never get used to this constant open display of affection. I put my head to the side and drew my lips to his, cheeks burning at the thought of so many eyes on me. Lips parted for him, I let his tongue sweep in, our mouths mating slowly. The low, approving rumble that came from him went all the way to my clit. My tongue flicked out, swirling with his before I’d realized it.
The men whooped and thumped the table with hands or mugs. The teenagers nearby made cat calls.
“Like I said, well trained,” Bear teased again.
Pretty Boy explored my mouth for a moment longer, sucking on the tip of my tongue before turning to the bearded one. “Jealous, Bear?”
“A little, yeah.”
Laughter rippled.
“I can’t get over your luck, Pretty Boy.” The one with the eye patch from the previous night stopped on his way to the table and gave me a lingering look, taking in every inch with such intense envy I struggled to hide my surprise. His gaze zeroed in on the curve of my backside for a little too long as if Pretty Boy wasn’t there.
Pretty Boy’s hand on my butt cheek stilled, his arm tightening possessively around me. “Help you with something, Patch?”
He hadn’t had a problem with anyone ogling me before, so his reaction puzzled me.
Silent, Patch shook himself and took a seat at the table. I felt his eyes on me again, and unease tightened my chest.
“You started without me.” Steel appeared at Pretty Boy’s shoulder with two plates of steak and bears in his hands.
“You’ll get over it, brother.” Pretty Boy grinned.
Steel put the drinks and plates down, one for himself, the other for his friend. As soon as his hands were free, he seized my wrist, and without a word, jerked me against him. I hardly had time to process the hardness of his huge chest mashed against mine, his grip swallowing my wrist before his mouth was all over mine.
Heat speared me, dizzying in its intensity. His mouth ravaged, tongue stabbing in hungrily while his fingers tangled in my hair. The instant aggression reminded me of the way he’d taken me last night, hard, rough, and dirty. An ache between my legs soon had me squirming against him.
“I shouldn’t have waited this long to see you, rose petal.” He put his mouth to my ear, his voice lowered to a dark rumble. “I thought about that hot little mouth of yours sucking my dick all day.” His hands kneaded my backside, one cheek each. “I can’t wait to fuck your mouth all over again tonight.”
The words were thick with threat that sent a shiver through me, the kind of threat that implied I wouldn’t have a choice. That thought scared me, but it also made my skin hum.
Before releasing me, Steel’s mouth captured mine again, a quick but rough kiss, so that by the time he set me free, my senses were reeling.
“Come, sit on my lap.” Pretty Boy took his own seat, straddling the picnic table’s bench and pulled me so that I sat between his legs with my back against his chest. Thank the Light, because if he hadn’t done so, my legs would have folded under me.
Steel swung onto the bench on my other side so that the two of them penned me in. He dug into his food.
The men talked about mining work while they ate. Pretty Boy kept an arm around my shoulders from behind, feeding me strips of steak marinated in a spicy sauce. He took bites of his own, dropping kisses on my bare shoulder, my cheek, my ear.
After a while, when he’d emptied his plate, Steel hauled me into his lap, letting Pretty Boy focus on his meal.
“Anyone seen Hawk? He’s missing all the fun as usual,” Pretty Boy said, finishing a beer.
“One of the other sentries found a couple of Road Dogs getting too close to the edge of zone zero,” Bear answered. “He’s dealing with them; he’ll be back later.”
“Typical Hawk. Always working.” Steel held a strip of succulent steak just above my mouth, dangling it until I opened my mouth and let him feed me. “Someone needs to teach that man to have a good time.” He licked my ear. “One night with you ought to loosen him up, hmm, petal?”
Before I could answer, the talk around us grew louder, drowning anything I would have said out. All about the field, several men, including some from our table, rose from their seats, walking over and slapping someone on the back, greeting whomever the new arrival was with obvious respect. Intrigue pulled at me and I craned my neck, but I couldn’t see over the men sitting or standing in my way.
Pretty Boy must have seen the question on my face. “Sheriff’s here,” he said. He stood, snagged a mug of beer from a tray near him, and pulled me to my feet. “Come pay your respects, Princess.”
Sheriff. The memory of meeting him last night returned, along with the cold dislike I’d seen in his gaze when he’d looked at me. My stomach tightened at the thought of meeting him again.
Steel followed Pretty Boy’s lead, bringing me across the field toward the center, where men stood gathered around Sheriff.
It struck me how magnetic he was. With his closely cropped hair, every inch of his muscle-roped arms covered in a kaleidoscope of tattoos, and his long legs rippling through his leathers, he exuded a powerful authority that, even without the men swarming him, would have left no doubt he commanded every bit the respect Damien did over his men. His presence alone created a palpable heat, so that when his eyes found me in the crowd, I felt his stare go right through me.
“Sheriff.” Pretty Boy handed him the mug of beer.
Sheriff put a brotherly arm around him. “Crazy kid. How much trouble did you get into while I was gone?”
“Hey, the place is still standing, isn’t it?”
He chuckled and squeezed his shoulder, then patted Steel’s back.
Pretty Boy drew me forward by my arm.
“Keeping her in line, are you then, Pretty Boy?” Eyes never leaving me, Sheriff took a swallow from the chilled mug.
“You tell me. Princess, why don’t give the General a kiss hello.”
I might have been confused with him being called Sheriff like it was his name, and then referred to as General, except I knew every road warrior’s club leader bore the title General, equal to Damien’s position as the leader of the J’nai. Besides, I could make out the word General stenciled onto a patch on the breast of his cut.
Pretty Boy’s order made me stiffen where I stood, but I forced myself to go to Sheriff and lift my chin up for him.
Sheriff’s jaw tightened, his deep indigo eyes penetrating mine. Foreboding pounded off him, and I didn’t know what to make of it, so I froze again. His gaze fixated on my mouth for a moment before he lifted one hand and slowly set his palm against my chest. The heat of it burned right through my dress.
“I’ll bet Damien has taught you how to kiss a man blind.” His voice was a low, quiet growl, too low to read it well.
“Yes, General…Sheriff. General.”
A soft ripple of laughter met my stumbling over his title. Maker, everyone was watching us.
“I mean, sort of. I’ve been told how…” My face flamed.
“Mm. He’s made you the perfect slave.” He pressed his hand against my chest just hard enough that I had to step back, putting distance between us. Then his eyes took me in from head to toe, appraising. I swore I saw the lust in his eyes before it disappeared.
Then, just like that, he turned and walked off, laughing and joking with Bear and Patch as if I wasn’t even there.
If I was smart, I’d have been relieved. The sense of danger I felt from that man hadn’t changed since last night. If anything, it felt magnified now, as if his touch had left some kind of brand on me. So why did it sting knowing he didn’t want me touching him?