Tied Down

by Vanessa Waltz

  Bending over, I pick up the chair from the floor, avoiding my mother’s gaze. “I gotta go.”

  “Already? But you just—”

  I take a few steps toward her chair and give her a kiss on the cheek. “Yeah, thanks for the food.”

  “Wait—I have to give you leftovers!”

  “No, really. I got to go.”

  I finally breathe the moment I’m out of that fucking house, and for some reason that girl pops into my head again, shoving all thoughts of my exes away. She was a fucking tease, and she talked to me as though I were just a regular guy. Hell, she acted as though she was better than me. It’s so rare that I meet a beautiful girl who is self-confident.

  Then I think about how hot those haughty lips would look wrapped around my cock, and I hope she returns to the bar.

  I’m not taking no for an answer.

  Chapter Two

  Maya

  For a while I was content to sit there in my cousin’s badly fitting dress, surrounded by men I didn’t know as conversation and music boomed around me. It felt familiar and yet different from the obnoxious beat of the clubhouse. It was just as loud, but without my father’s men treating me like a princess. It was nice. Now it’s like nails on chalkboard, like an unpleasant shrieking sound, growing louder and louder. Kind of like my heartbeat, slamming against my chest.

  Shit. What did I almost get myself into?

  My chest rattles from my heartbeat as I totter in my heels, trying to look dignified as I focus on getting the fuck away from this bar as fast as possible.

  That Italian guy in the bar had me wrapped around his finger. He just wanted to fuck me, to use my body. My father’s dire warnings against them ring in my head: Never ever let me catch you with an Italian, Maya. They’re no good. They’ll just use you for your body and dump you when it’s over.

  Damn, I almost made a decision I would’ve regretted.

  Don’t kid yourself. You would have loved stripping off your dress for him. He was sex on a stick.

  He was. Fuck, the way his hands glided up my legs, just brushing my upper thigh. I was ready to give myself to him there, to let him smooth his hands all the way up my thighs and make me come the way he said he would.

  Daddy will never know.

  I shiver in the warm June air as I think of that desperately sinful smile, those dimples curving into his face, the small wrinkles near his eyes. Just having his hands on me in the office was almost enough for me to get wet. They felt so strong and confident, as if he’d held a woman many times before. There was no lack of confidence in that hot gaze, even when he told me to let him talk to my dad.

  Hah. As if.

  I’ve never met such a ballsy bar owner, but then again, I didn’t tell him who my dad was.

  “You’re thinking about that hot Italian guy, aren’t you?”

  “What?” I say in a voice that’s way too high-pitched. “No, of course not.”

  My cousin gives me a sidelong glance, the corner of her lip tugging into a smile.

  “You are.”

  “Fine. So what? He was hotter than any guy in the MC.”

  Beatrice shrugs one bare shoulder. “I don’t know about that.”

  “Are you crazy?” My voice rings down the street. “What, you like those bearded, nasty assholes who get drunk every Thursday with those strippers my father always hires?”

  She throws back her blonde head and laughs, the golden highlights harsh under the streetlights. “Oh come on, they’re not all like that.”

  I stare at her wide smile as we walk back to her car, unable to understand her levity. We both grew up behind the same walls—both have restrictions on our comings and goings from the compound. Fuck, we’re not even supposed to go to bars without an escort. Let alone a bar rumored to be connected. Dad would flip.

  How can she be happy about this?

  “So what happened when you went into his office?”

  My insides seize up as she walks past me with a shrewd grin. My hand slips on the door handle of the car as blood careens inside my veins. “I—I didn’t do anything with him.”

  The sound of the doors unlocking makes me jump, and her grin widens. “Right.”

  As much as I like Beatrice, I could never trust her with something like this. All it would take was one word from her to my father and I’d be fucked. She needs to understand that nothing happened.

  I wrench open the car door and slide in next to her. For a moment there’s nothing but the sound of her keys as she slides them into the ignition. She won’t even look at me.

  “Hey. Nothing happened.”

  I touch her shoulder and finally she turns her head around. “I came with you here because you seemed determined to piss off your dad, and because you needed someone to watch over you.”

  Anger rustles in my chest. “I have enough of that at home, Beatrice. I don’t need it from my cousin.”

  “Actually, you do. You’re the president of the MC’s daughter. Every time you step outside, you put yourself at risk—”

  “We’re allied with the mob!”

  “That doesn’t matter!”

  Her sharp voice rings in my ears, bouncing within the walls of the car. I look down at my lap and clench my hands.

  “They’re no good, Maya—and whatever you did in that office with that guy—”

  “Shut the fuck up!”

  I lean over my seat, raising my fists as Beatrice backs up against the car door, looking at them with widened eyes.

  “You’re right, I’m the president’s daughter. I told you that nothing happened and that should be good enough for you.”

  I’ll pound her fucking face in if she makes another stupid comment. Beatrice eyes my hands, a scowl twisting her face. “You don’t have to be a bitch.”

  “If you say a word to anyone, I’ll beat your fucking face in. Understand?”

  She says nothing as my heart pounds against my chest. Threats are a way of life in the MC. There’s no getting around the fact that we both grew up knee-deep in violence. I watched my mom beat the shit out of some poor girl she found in my dad’s bed. As the president’s daughter, I’ve had to flex my power a few times to keep the other girls in line.

  I do whatever the fuck I want, and you’re not going to stop me. Bitch.

  Beatrice backs down, the fire disappearing from her eyes as she starts the car.

  It’s important to watch their eyes for the change. She needs to respect me, and for that, she needs to fear me.

  And I can see her hair trembling around her face.

  I won.

  My cousin and I glance at each other as we gaze up the concrete walls of the bunker we call home. Getting back inside the compound isn’t too hard. It just takes stopping at a gas station and changing out of your slutty clothes, so that your dad won’t know you went out partying instead of shopping like you said you were.

  She lays on the horn, and I wince at the sound. The guards walking the walls recognize us and wave their hands. The massive steel doors shriek as they roll to the side, and Beatrice pushes on the gas pedal to move us inside.

  “Your dad would freak out if he knew about that Italian guy.”

  Just the mention of him sends a rush of heat to my skin that suddenly makes me feel sick. Yes, Dad would fucking flip out. He would march over to that bar and put a bullet in his head, all for the crime of being Italian and hitting on his daughter.

  “I thought I told you to shut up about it.”

  “Relax. My ass is on the line, too.”

  My ruffled feathers settle down somewhat as we park in the compound and step out of her car. I imagine how odd the sight of this place must look to an outsider. Reinforced steel and concrete, barbed wire, and men patrolling the borders with guns big enough to shoot you in the ass a mile away. They wear their leather cuts with “THE DEVILS” emblazoned in a white font.

  We walk together over the paved concrete toward the clubhouse where we both live. It’s always loud in there, fill
ed with smoke and drunk assholes. Whores occasionally fill the entire place when my dad thinks that his men need another fucking party where everyone gets wasted. Then it’s inevitably the women’s job to clean up the mess. The puke. The beer bottles. The cigarette butts. Jesus Christ, I’m sick of it.

  Sounds like there’s another party going on. The walls rattle with rock music and I’m greeted with the sight of scantily clad women. They wear pasties and G-strings as they strut around the club, grinding on the members as the prospects keep watch or pour drinks.

  I’ve seen so much shit that it hardly fazes me, but the irony doesn’t escape me. I’m surrounded by sex, and yet I can’t have any. Daddy won’t let me date any outsiders, and because he’s president I have to do what he says.

  Everyone does what he fucking says.

  Beatrice spots Paul, one of the prospects she has a crush on, and joins him at the bar with a wide smile on her face. Unlike me, Beatrice doesn’t have a burning desire to leave this fucking place. In a few years she’ll get married to one of these assholes and spend the rest of her life trapped in this concrete hellhole.

  I make my way through the maze of the clubhouse, finding my room in the back, which is across from my dad’s. Of course. I open the door and shut it, wishing that I had a lock. Then I grab the too-small dress from my purse. I borrowed it from Beatrice, and a hot blush fills my cheeks when I realized how bad the fit was on me. Even Johnny said so.

  “Your tits are popping out of your dress.”

  Instant heat spreads across my chest. He looked at me as though I was a piece of meat. I was desirable. I can’t remember the last time a man expressed interest in me. The only men I hang around with are part of the club, and they don’t dare hit on the president’s daughter. Not that I’m interested in any of them.

  The door bursts open, swinging inside as I fling the dress away from me in surprise, looking up into the eyes of my livid father.

  He stands up straight, but I can tell that he’s already fucked up. Red-rimmed eyes bore at me as he clutches the frame of the door.

  “Maya, where the fuck have you been? Julien tells me that you just got in.”

  “I told you, Beatrice and I went out for shopping and a movie.”

  He stares at me for a little longer and nods, almost accepting the lie, and then his eagle-like eyes fall on the discarded dress.

  “What the hell is that?”

  I try to stuff it out of sight with my foot, but he reaches down and snatches it.

  It would almost be funny to see the horror transforming his face as he lifts up the skimpy dress, imagining it on me.

  Almost.

  “You fucking lying bitch. You wore this and went out to party, didn’t you?”

  “I—I didn’t—”

  My father’s grizzled face comes within inches of mine as he inhales.

  Is he sniffing me?

  His nostrils flare as he catches a whiff of my perfume and smoke and God knows what else.

  “You went to a bar, didn’t you? Wearing this thing?”

  I hate how he makes me feel ashamed just for putting on a stupid dress and feeling alive for once in my goddamn life.

  Yes, I did, and I met an Italian I almost had sex with.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  The acidic tone cuts right through me. He acts as though I committed treason.

  “What, I can’t go out like a regular person and have a good time?”

  “You’re not a regular person!” he bellows. “You’re my daughter, and I won’t have you acting like some fucking slut!”

  How dare he?

  “So you’re allowed to fuck strippers behind Mom’s back, but I’m not allowed to go on a date with someone I like?”

  His biceps ripple over his leather cut as his knuckles turn white, clenching the dress so hard that I’m sure he’ll leave holes.

  Fuck him.

  Fuck the MC.

  His hand blurs in front of me, too fast to follow, and suddenly my cheek burns with a vicious slap. My body falls over my bed with the weight of the blow. I’m too stunned to sit back up.

  He hit me. Dad never hits me.

  Heavy boots creak the floorboards as he walks to the edge of the bed, venom spitting from his mouth. “Don’t talk to me like I’m your fucking friend.”

  Believe me, I don’t think you’re my friend.

  “Your job is to stay here and look after the kids. That’s it.”

  A boiling feeling makes me sit up abruptly. “I don’t want to look after someone else’s brat. I want to go on dates.”

  Even Dad can’t ignore that I’m a twenty-two-year-old woman. That I’m going to attract male attention, and that every cell in my body is screaming for a man’s touch.

  I want sex.

  Is that such a crime?

  The hard lines in his face don’t fade. I can see it in his eyes: the bastard thinks I’m asking for too much.

  “There are plenty of good men here for you to date.”

  Good men? You mean the ones that peddle crack to kids?

  “And I’ve told you that I’m not interested in them.”

  “I won’t have a daughter of mine dating an outsider.”

  The unfairness of it all seethes in my chest. I’m not a submissive person. I buck against authority and do whatever the hell I want. Always have.

  Fuck, do you know what it’s like being horny as fuck, but having no way of satisfying yourself? I can’t even masturbate because my door doesn’t have a lock.

  “You can’t keep me here forever, Dad. I’m going to go to beauty school—”

  He wipes his hand over his face. “Waste of fucking money.”

  “I’m going to do what I want, because it’s my life and only I get to choose what I get to do. Not you. Not Mom. Me.”

  He stands in the middle of my shabby room as at least a decade’s worth of hostility hangs between us like an electric cloud.

  “You’re a stubborn little bitch, Maya. You know you can’t leave the club. The Popeyes, hell, the mob would love to get their hands on you.”

  Maybe I want their hands all over me, Dad.

  I think of Johnny and how much I enjoyed his hands all over me. Desire simmers in my stomach. He was slim and handsome—almost too perfect looking in his fitted suit, his hair gently slicked back. He caught my attention the moment I saw him walking toward me, that small smirk tugging at his lips, which were just begging to be kissed. Then he got rid of the guy hitting on me. I don’t know how he did that, but damn. The balls on that guy.

  It was fucking hot.

  Everything about him felt intoxicating, and I had to work really hard to appear in control. Johnny seems like just the type to take advantage of any weakness. His hands on my waist made me so wet that I was afraid it would soak through my panties. Then his hot lips touched mine and he actually shoved his tongue into my mouth, right in front of anyone.

  It’s all I’ll ever think about again.

  It’s stupid, I know. Beatrice and I heard rumors the bar was connected with the Mafia. It might be true, but I convinced her to go anyway. I didn’t expect anything to come out of it. Maybe I was desperate for a bit of harmless flirting, but every dirty word that flew out of Johnny’s mouth turned me on.

  The side of my face still burns as I sit on my bed, forced to a sitting position as my dad takes a step closer, flinging the dress at my face.

  God, I hate him.

  I’ll take classes at the beauty school I picked out and upgrade from my job at the café. I’ll become a hair stylist and finally get enough money for my own place.

  Then I can get the hell out of here.

  “Are you done? Can you get out of my room?”

  Don’t fucking push it.

  Dad’s bushy eyebrows narrow even farther. I can’t suppress a shiver when he turns his face, that horribly pitted scar like a crater in his skin. I’ve never been afraid of my father. All my life it’s been push and pull. Seeing how much I c
an get away with. He smacked around my mom enough to make me hate him. Sometimes I hate myself for being too much of a coward to try to stop him from laying one more hand on my mom’s face. He stopped doing it years ago, when he became president and wanted to clean up his image. It was enough to stop him from hitting his wife, but not enough to stop his bikers from peddling crack to kids at school.

  “Tony wants a haircut tomorrow.”

  “Tony can cut his own goddamn hair.”

  “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

  “I’m not cutting anyone’s hair for free anymore. My time is not a fucking charity—”

  “You’ll do what I say, or you’ll get another hand across your face.”

  I stand up from the bed, knowing that he won’t do it. He’s already regretting his words. Doubt flickers in his eyes.

  “I want in-and-out privileges. I don’t want to ask you permission to go to the store or to my work.”

  Someone crashes through the hallway, stomping noisily. I catch a flash of a half-naked stripper clinging to a patched member, and my blood boils.

  His smiling face turns back toward me. “No.”

  No.

  It’s a word I’ve heard my whole goddamn life: no.

  No, I’m not going to buy that for you. No, I’m not taking you to practice. No, I’m not paying for fucking school. No, no, no.

  I fucking hate that word.

  Even worse is that smug look on my father’s face when he denies something that I really want. Something I’ve been saving up for a long time, like the beauty school classes.

  I used to cry my fucking eyes out. Scream with rage and pound my fists on the walls so that everyone in the club could hear how much of a spoiled brat I was, but I didn’t care. Mom would argue with him, would try to take pity on me—to allow me this one, small thing. No.

  Then I swallowed it down over the years. Did whatever Dad said, because it was easier. Pretending not to care and building up walls around myself was easier than letting myself feel how powerless I am.