GIVE IN: Steel Phoenix MC

by Paula Cox

  I march over, turning it off, as I shout at him, “Who checked in while I was gone?”

  “What the fuck man?” He stands up and storms towards me. Before he can say another word, his collar is in my hand, and his feet are off the ground. I toss him, like a ragdoll across the room to the window. His back slams against the glass so hard that I almost think he’ll break through.

  “I asked you a question, you stupid son of a bitch. Who checked in while I was gone?”

  The guy fixes his antique-looking wire frame glasses with his one free quivering hand and stammers, “A few people. There was this girl a few rooms down from you. She and her husband are regulars. They ain’t got anything to do with Vic or you.”

  Damnit! Why the fuck are these people so incompetent? This here is why I work solo.

  “Who else?” I sneer.

  He turns his head towards the window, scanning the lot like it would jog his memory. Sure enough, after a moment, he exclaims, “Oh! A man. He came in yesterday a little before you and Vic’s boys. A guy wearing one of those luau shirts. He wanted to be somewhere quiet—away from the road—so I put him on the other side of the hotel by the pool. I saw him go out to there for a little while, then he left about ten minutes later with someone.”

  Fuck! Jenna! “Let me see your tapes.”

  He looks at me with a blank face. “Tapes?”

  “Your surveillance video! If you’re working for Vic, I know you’ve got ‘em. Pull out yesterday’s!” I place him back down on his feet, taking a small step to the side to let him pass. He leads the way back towards a broom closet behind the check-in counter.

  Three screens point towards the common area of the motel. On one side is where our room is. Vic’s men pace outside the open door. One walks in and returns with Jenna’s bag—I’ll have to remember that for later. The other faces the parking lot. It’s all but empty except for three motorcycles, the owner’s white van with the motel’s logo on it, and an old-school Chevy I’m guessing belongs to the guest next door.

  “That one,” I say as I point towards the screen where the pool is. “Rewind it.” He fiddles with the buttons, a little unsure. The recording looks as if it’s doing nothing. There are zero movements... until a figure walks backward into the frame. His hand is placed on the back of a petite woman.

  “Stop!” I say as Jenna comes fully into the frame. “Let me watch this.” He pauses and then presses play. The video shows Jenna sitting by herself by the pool. A man approaches her from behind and sits down on a nearby chair, then confronts her directly. He looks harmless. I wouldn’t put it past Jenna and her total naivety to trust a guy like him. But he leans in a little too close and shields his face a little too much. It’s obvious from my angle that he’s up to something.

  My stomach drops as I watch him follow her back in the direction of our hotel room. When the tape goes back to the beginning, I ask, “Do you know him? Got any info on him?”

  “No. Paid cash. I don’t ask for names, you know.”

  “You’re telling me that you don’t have anything on him?” I run my hands through my hair in frustration and turn my back towards the window. The main street seems quieter than now, but it could just be my mind playing tricks on me. Everything in my brain is firing off at a thousand thoughts per second. Nothing seems clear to me.

  “I, uh, I saw him go towards the left. Came from that direction too. He was on the phone when he checked in. Mentioned something about Evanston. I didn’t hear much with the game on.”

  Evanston? I remember the address stuffed in my pocket. The Red Duke’s club was up on the border of Evanston and Chicago. Maybe it was something. Maybe it was nothing. But if I was going to get Jenna back, I had to try.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jenna

  “Take this. They’re going to want you to wear it most of the night.” Becky hands me a black dress two sizes smaller than what I usually wear. She turns her gorgeous head over one shoulder as she adds, “Just don’t mess it up or spill anything on it. My Sunday client likes it when I wear that.”

  “It’s not going to fit me,” I mutter under my breath. “What does he expect me to do?”

  She gives me a side eye glare—one that makes me feel small and insignificant. This girl’s clearly seen it and done it all. She has no time for a newbie like me that apparently needs to be trained in what to wear to a club party. She rolls her dark, doe eyes at me and says, “He expects you to get down on your knees and make some cash.”

  I know that, I do, but in my head, I’m still here looking and fighting for my brother—not prostituting myself out to a bunch of strangers with handguns and leather jackets. I sit down on the bed against the wall. It was where I slept last night while Becky was out working. The only thing Enrique’s guys gave me was a dirty sheet and a thin pillow to put on the bed. One of the men warned me that Becky wouldn’t want me using her blankets, so I slept on the edge of the bed with my legs curled up to my stomach. It was far different from waking up with Rev’s long arms draped around me.

  I quietly undress, turning my back to Becky. She pretends to do her makeup in the mirror, but I can feel her glare on my back. Maybe she’s checking out the competition? Maybe she’s interested in what I have to offer? Either way, I feel more and more exposed, and this is only the beginning of what’s to come.

  To my shock (and mild disappointment), the dress fits like a glove—probably because the only thing I’ve had to eat in the last three days is stale cereal and a piece of pizza. I try to pull up the neckline, but it’s stuck right at the top of my nipple. The hem rides up the curve of my ass, but if I try to yank it down, I’m exposing my top half. The designer of this dress sure knew how to make this dress border between cute club wear and total stripper attire.

  “Damn,” Becky says with an air of approval. “I didn’t think that would look good on you at all. But your tits look incredible when you’re not wearing some shit bra and a tank.”

  I shrug slightly, still conscious that any wrong movement and my boobs would fly out of this thing. “Thanks... I guess.”

  “You’re welcome,” Becky shoots back, “but don’t forget about the whole not spilling crap on it. You’re working the tables tonight. All the new girls do it their first day. It’s Enrique’s way of showing off the goods for the clients.”

  “Working the tables?” I ask. “Do you mean like waitressing?”I could do that. I was actually a waitress in college—it was the only way I could afford to pay for my tuition without the help of my parents or a loan. I could balance a tray with ten or eleven drinks and not spill a drop. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

  “Yeah. Sort of. You’ll be serving drinks and pouring shots. But the guys will get handsy on you after a few rounds. The more you let ‘em, the more tips you’ll get to keep for yourself. Enrique’s fair like that. You put in the effort, you get to go home with some cash.”

  “Fair? That doesn’t really make sense.” He was a pimp. I’ve seen this story before with girls that finally hit rock bottom with their drug addictions. Lots of them pay their dealers with services rendered under the table or in the bedroom. But they weren’t usually alone. There was always some guy taking a cut of the action, and helping them find new clients willing to buy what they were selling.

  Becky doesn’t take too kindly to me talking out of turn about her boss. Her nostrils flare as she sucks in her plump bottom lip. “I’ve worked for a lotta guys out there, babe. And there ain’t no one as nice to us as Enrique is. He knows how to treat us, gives us a place to stay, and makes sure we get protection when we go out. You best know when to shut your mouth when you talk about him around here.”

  Rev had mentioned the loyalty thing before, but this was sounding like a cult. Becky was too blind to see that Enrique didn’t really care about her. If he did, she wouldn’t be sleeping in a shed outside the club’s warehouse. There were ten other girls in this hut—their rooms roughly the size of my walk-in closet back home, so very small
and boxy. Some of the girls look like they haven’t had a good meal or a glass of water in weeks. And the shared bathroom is full of needles and tin foil. There’s no love here from their leader—just brainwashing.

  Still, I know my place. If I’m going to survive here, I’m going to have to play along. I’m doing this for myself, for Mark, for Rev—though I’m sure Rev would rather eat nails than know that I made a deal with the devil. I can just see him now, standing before me with his arms crossed. He looks down at me and says, “What the fuck, Jenna? Why the hell would you give up so easily?”

  Last night, as I’d struggled to get to sleep, I’d wondered if he was looking for me. It’s not like I left any notes or clues for him to follow. My bag is probably still sitting in the motel room where I left it along with all my supplies and a half-eaten pizza. That is, if Rev hasn’t thrown them away. I’m sure he’s furious enough to do it. I disobeyed him and left the room when he explicitly told me to stay put. I should’ve trusted him, but I’m so used to never trusting any man that walks into my life.

  Now I’ve lost it all—my brother, my job, my dog, and Rev. Though, I’m not sure if I can count Rev as something to be claimed. He’s wild and untamable. Every part of him told me to stay clear and not get attached, but the more I was with him, the more I wanted to find out what was behind those flashing eyes and wild hair. I still wonder why he couldn’t be tied down to anything, and if I was capable of holding the rope.

  I’m not going to find out now. There’s no way of escaping out of here, even if I tried. The deal with Enrique is to settle the debts my brother owes and then convince him that I’m okay to be set free. Who knows how long it’ll take or how many clients I’ll need to land. I’m not even sure I’ll be able to spread my legs for it. It seems so impossible, so tasteless. Even though I know that I slept with Rev on the second day of knowing him (and after he kidnapped me).

  “Ladies!” Becky suddenly hollers from her spot at the makeshift vanity. “Enrique just texted. The party’s started. He wants us there ASAP. Get your heels on!”

  “Heels?” I find myself asking before stopping myself.

  “Don’t worry—I got you.” Becky walks towards her bed and rummages under the mattress. She pulls out a pair of sky high heels that had “break your neck” written all over them. I cringe as I thank her. They fit, though my toes slightly stick out from under the black straps.

  I wobble as I follow her through the shack and past the other girl’s rooms. Girl after girl—all looking like Becky’s clones—finish up getting dressed. One by one, they follow her like ducklings to their mother until they make a line straight into the back door of the Red Duke’s warehouse.

  As soon as the doors open, I’m hit by the sound of pounding rock music. The bass shakes the bottoms of my heels so much that I feel as if I could topple over just from the noise. I can barely get up the step without the help of one of the Red Duke’s hired help offering me a hand. The man winks at me knowingly as he scoots me inside with the rest of the girls. Despite the music, the entire room is empty except for two older women cleaning out a fridge full of empty beer cans.

  Becky gracefully hoists herself onto the bar, her brown boots clicking on the tiled surface. With her hands to her mouth, she shouts, “Okay. You gals know the drill. Tilla and Annie man the bar. They’ll sling you the beers. If your guys want shots, let ‘em know, and they’ll give you the bottle. If you land a client who wants a little one-on-one time with you, take the cash first. No back rooms until you get the cash. Hand it off to me, and I’ll give you the key.”

  “The back room?” I ask the girl next to me. She blinks quickly and then points towards a line of doors all painted red. One of them is open just enough for me to spot a run-down looking couch and mirrored walls. My imagination runs wild with what those mirrors have seen.

  With their instructions, the girls hurry off towards their stations, while I stand in the center of the room completely dumbstruck. Finally, someone hands me off a tray with a few beers on them, and I take position near the front with the rest of the younger women. I mimic their hands on the hip pose and pretend to look as confident as possible, though, on the inside, my stomach is struggling to keep down whatever rock was lodged in there.

  Doors open from a long white conference room. About thirty or forty men stream out of it with Enrique leading the way. With arms opened wide, he greets each of us with kisses to the head. However, when he gets to me, he stops. I can see him struggling to remember until it dawns on him like a light bulb over a cartoon character’s head.

  “Jenna...” he coos as he places a long, dirty hand around my waist and guides me over towards a dark booth. “I didn’t even recognize you. Becky is good, but I didn’t think she would be this good.”

  Shaking, I reply, “I’m just doing what I was told to do.”

  “Sure, sure,” he reassures me with a hand placed directly on my inner thigh, “but after tonight, you may be singing a different tune. All the girls do when they get a taste of the action. I’d be happy to show you how it’s done if you—”

  Mercifully, our conversation is cut short. He shoots out of the booth and walks towards a man beckoning to him. I quickly scoot myself out of there and towards the front of the room again with my train of beer. This time, my hands quiver from the thought of him taking some claim on my body, and my knees practically buckle from the feeling of Enrique’s touch on my skin.

  As I go back to my place, more men put their hands on me. First is the guy who grabs me by the ass, taking the meat of my flesh in his hands and massaging it until I have no choice but to lean back into him. He mutters something into my ear about thin chicks, but I ignore it with a placid smile.

  The second guy is a bit nicer. He takes me by the arm to pour his table some shots. They stare at me with clearly disappointed faces as I don’t offer my body over as some table or drinking fountain like the other girls. From across the room, I can practically feel the icy glare of Becky.

  The next table isn’t as nice as the last guys. The main man, a burly guy with a long, red beard, slams me down toward the booth, and calls out, “Get in here, babe! We’ve been looking for a girl like you all night long!” He places me between himself and two other, equally hungry looking beasts. They smell of herbs and cheap beer.

  “What can I get you, boys?” I try to say with some bit of confidence.

  “Oh, I think you know, girly.” The original man twists a strand of my blonde hair around his finger. He pulls a little too hard, forcing me to face him.

  “Beer?” I say as nonchalant as I can be.

  He leans in towards me, his sticky hot breath blowing on my face, “The harder stuff.”

  “We’ve got tequila. There’s some scotch too.”

  To my surprise, he laughs; a giant belly laugh. The entire booth shakes with his roar. He wipes away tears from the corner of his eyes as he says, “You must be new here, girly. Enrique hasn’t told you who I am yet.”

  “No. He hasn’t.” I glance over towards Enrique who’s watching me like a hawk. He lifts a glass in my direction, egging me on. Dammit, where did I land myself now?

  The man extends his hand to me while the other finds my bare knee. For a guy his size, he moves like a fox. I don’t even notice his wandering fingers until they are drifting under my dress. “I’m Yule—leader of the Smoke Stacks.”

  “Smoke Stacks?” I ask, trying to distract him. The other two men crowd around me so that my back is pressed against one of their shoulders. I’m trapped.

  “Yeah. We work for Enrique doing security and... other services. We handle the west side.” He whispers the rest, “A guy like Enrique needs me. We run this place. Rolling with me is rolling with power.”

  I get his meaning almost instantly. Sleeping with him—letting him claim me—meant getting in good with both Enrique and the rest of the Red Duke clans. Being his woman gave me special privileges. When I was brought into Becky’s room last night, the guys had mentioned some o
ther girl who lived there, a girl who got herself in with some higher up in the club. They talked about her like she was a prize that was won. Even the thought of that makes me shudder.

  Two fingers press themselves up against the liner of my panties. I shoot up from the shock of it a little too quickly. The table bounces against my leg till it nearly falls over on the other side. The shots I’ve poured slide off of the table and onto the floor. I ram myself over toward the small exit I’ve made for myself and into someone completely different.

  “Jesus, girl. Watch yourself!”

  That voice! I recognize it almost instantly.

  “Rev?”

  He doesn’t look down at me. He’s too busy scanning the other girls flirting and serving their way to those back rooms. I repeat his name again, this time a bit louder. When he doesn’t respond, I take the chest of his leather jacket into my hands and pull him in.